Chapter Text
"There's nothing I won't do to see you shine
I'll swing for the fences
I'll run to the line
And it's high time that you love me
'Cause you do it so well"-I'm With You, Vance Joy
Two Years Later
Will never goes home. After Tom leaves and his aunt and uncle come home, Will helps them for the remainder of the summer. Even when the chill starts to encroach back up the country, Will can’t find it in himself to return his parents. It’s been two months since he’s seen Tom, but he knows his father would be able to see through him— be able to tell that he was different now than he was in May.
It’s preposterous, absurd, the idea that his father would be able to tell a difference— but Will is a coward, so he stays with his aunt and uncle.
For the first few months, Tom writes to him as if they were secret lovers during the early twentieth century. Will pushes away the thought that they are, in a way. He pushes away the fact that part of the reason he’s stayed with his aunt and uncle is so that Tom’s letters continue reaching him. They could talk on the phone, but Will’s sure it would draw the eyes and ears of his aunt and uncle. It isn’t normal for him to need the phone so often. At least with letters, Will can hide his actions a little better.
And then, like all things in life, Will gets distracted and forgets to respond until he justifies it to himself that it’s too late to write Tom out of the blue. Will stops making sure he gets to the mailbox before his aunt, throwing himself instead into helping his uncle with everything around the property.
His aunt directs pitying glances at him, as if she knows what he’s going through, but how on Earth could she know? Will never told her anything, has not uttered a word about Tom since he left. Besides, she has her husband right here, always has, and hopefully always will. She will never know what it’s like to lose someone because of one’s own mental anguish, because of one’s own inability to shove away negative thoughts and embrace happiness.
Will begins bottling his anger up until he’s alone and can safely unleash it out in the middle of the pasture where no one can hear him. He bottles it up until it slowly ebbs and l there’s nothing left to scream about, nothing to sob about.
The intrusive thoughts begin to fade with the thoughts of Tom, because what’s the point of keeping them around if they’re not busy trying to actively push Will away from someone?
The village pub becomes Will’s hangout once more, and he begins to spend his days with a few local kids who also never went to uni, who also never left.
He meets a girl named Charlotte who’s nice and helps pass the time between doing nothing and tending to his aunt and uncle’s farm. Charlotte takes to him easier than Will would have anticipated, but he goes along with it because the sex is fine, and his head isn’t trying to convince him he’s wrong. In a way, she helps fill some of the Tom-shaped hole in his life.
It might be dishonest, that Will doesn’t feel nearly as strong for Charlotte as she does for him, but he likes her enough to give her the attention she deserves, and within eight months, they’ve moved into a flat above one of the shop fronts on the main street.
They’re only a few months into their tenure of living together when a postcard forwarded from the farm arrives in the foyer. It’s a generic photo with a landscape of rolling green hills dotted with trees and a few livestock.
For a moment, Will is puzzled over who could have sent him a postcard and why. And then, he turns the card over to see the salutation, his heart dropping. There, sitting on the cardstock in black and white, are the words: “I’ll be back in town for a short stint. Want to meet? -Tom x”
Will feels his legs grow shaky— he needs to sit down before he collapses in the hallway for Charlotte to find him. Thankfully, there’s a return address on the postcard, so Will stumbles to the secretary desk and yanks out a piece of stationery that they only have because Charlotte had wanted it. Now, he’s grateful for it.
The postcard is beyond unexpected a year and a half into the radio silence between the two of them. Even so, Will feels the longing to see Tom again viscerally all of a sudden. Will had become skilled at shutting off that part of his brain, the part that lived with Tom along with the memories of that summer. By sealing it away, Will protected it from the more lecherous unconscious thoughts that had the potential to sneak in and corrupt everything.
Fuck though, the idea of seeing Tom again sends a thrill down his spine. Will misses their moments of banter. He misses the banter and the jokes, the easy way Tom just accepted whatever parts of him he could give.
Above all, Will misses his friend.
Will hadn’t wanted Tom to leave him at the end of it all, he’d desperately wanted to stay with him, follow him down South. He can’t fault Tom for leaving though because he’d been the one who’d pushed Tom away. This could be his chance to finally reconcile and stay in touch. Purely on the pretext of friendship of course.
Charlotte is happy for Will when he tells her later that afternoon about Tom coming to town. He’s only mentioned Tom by name once or twice when she’d asked that summer, and now she’s eager to know the face behind the man.
Will imagines that one of the other reasons she’s happy for him to reconnect is because it means that he’ll interact with someone other than her or her friends. Will can’t say he blames her. These past few months have been especially difficult with his uncle and aunt, and Tom coming right now would probably do Will some good.
And then one afternoon, Tom’s there and Will’s skipping down the steps to his flat and crashing into the younger boy on the doorstep. Tom folds into Will’s arms just as well as he had two years prior and Will revels in the feeling of Tom’s arms tightening around his back.
They stand there for several moments just holding each other. Will feels like a part of his soul has come home, like something that’s been missing has suddenly been found. Just the feeling of Tom’s arms feels like home.
Regrettably, Tom pulls away from Will’s arms even though Will wants desperately to hold on. At the very least, Will doesn’t let Tom pull away farther than an elbow’s length.
At this distance, Will is intimately reunited with those features of Tom’s that had made him crazy before. He looks the same now, though perhaps just the slightest bit older. Unlike when they were out on the estate, Tom’s hair is cut to one length, but it’s growing out such that it curls just at the top of his ears. He looks like he’s been living a good life.
Will’s spending too much time looking, he knows, but when Tom smiles that dazzling and soft smile of his, that smile that still makes butterflies flutter in his stomach, Will knows he’s still a goner. He can’t help but pull Tom to him, this time in a searing kiss rather than a hug. The moment that Tom’s lips connect with his, Will pulls them both back through the front door so they’re off the street and protected from view in the stairwell up to Will’s flat.
Tom kisses Will easily as if no time has passed at all since they last did this. All of the kisses that Will has ever had with Charlotte pale in comparison to this now— Tom’s hungry lips on Wills, Tom’s hands bunched in the fabric of Will’s shirt where it settles at the top of Will’s jeans. It’s so much and still not enough.
Will wants to crawl inside of Tom and just exist, feel peace after two years of settling and internalized fear. The internalized fear that somehow, someone who knew about what he and Tom got up to on that estate, in that barn, was going to catch up to him. Now, Will supposes that Tom is that person who knows, who’s caught up to him, but rather than fear, Will feels a moment of glorifying holiness— as if he’s been redeemed by the touch of Tom alone. The touch that Tom uses now at the sides of Will’s face once they break apart for air.
Tom’s petting at the sides of Will’s hair as if to flatten it, a fond yet exasperated grin on his face. The corners of his eyes have a new crinkle to them, and Will is sorry that he wasn’t there to bear witness to its formation.
As they stand there in silence just looking at each other, Will realizes that he’s said nothing to Tom, not even a friendly hello before he practically attacked him on his front step. A goofy and shy grin at the realization overtakes Will’s face while he continues to rub his thumbs across Tom’s cheekbones.
“Hi,” Will whispers. It’s so simple for everything they’d just done, but it’s somehow perfect for them.
“Hi,” Tom whispers back in turn. “That was quite the greeting. Do you greet all your long-lost friends that way?”
“Only the ones I’ve spent way too long regretting their absence.” It’s probably heavier than Tom was going for, but he smiles anyway.
“Okay, good. I was worried for a moment.” And then Tom closes the distance between the two of them in a much slower and sensual kiss. A kiss that truly speaks to a homecoming and years of familiarity.
A shout from somewhere outside startles them apart, helping to remind them that they’re not in as secluded a place as they could be. A breathy giggle bubbles out of Tom’s throat and he lets himself collapse against Will’s chest.
Will’s missed this feeling, this giddiness and fullness in his chest of having someone he really loved there and just leaning against him. Now that Tom is the one leaning against him, Will drops his hands so they’re loosely wrapped around Tom’s waist.
Of course, this movement isn’t exactly exclusive to Tom, to this moment, but it feels different. It feels different than when he lets his arms drape around Charlotte, perhaps because despite the familiarity, there are plenty of things that set Tom apart from Charlotte. Tom’s waist doesn’t dip inwards as severely as Charlotte’s, his hips not as prominent. An odd difference that Will notices is that Tom’s hair tickles Will’s nose differently than Charlotte’s own. Maybe it’s because Tom’s hair is finer than Charlotte’s, the shorter strands sitting looser and lighter on Tom’s head than where Charlotte’s coarser and longer strands cling tightly to her scalp from the weight of it all.
“God, I don’t think I realized how much I missed you until this moment,” Will murmurs into Tom’s hair, inhaling the combination of Tom’s shampoo mixed with the overall smell of him. It’s also different than when they were out on the estate for obvious reasons, but that doesn’t mean it’s bad.
“I missed you too. I’m sorry I stopped writing. I thought—”
“No, it’s my fault. I’m sorry.” Will pauses for a moment as something falls to the ground above them. The illusion of alone time, of seclusion has officially been shattered then as Will remembers that Charlotte’s still upstairs, waiting to meet his friend— the mysterious Tom.
“Before we go out, would you like to meet my girlfriend?” It’s like ripping a plaster off, and Will doesn’t miss the way that Tom freezes in his arms before pulling his head off of Will’s chest.
The look in Tom’s eyes is almost heartbreaking. It’s a mix between surprised and saddened— his eyes have gone wide and his eyebrows are raised nearly to his hairline— certainly high enough to disappear behind the hair falling across Tom’s forehead. Will wants to tell him that she’s never made Will feel anything close to what Tom made him feel back in that barn, in those fields.
He wants to tell Tom that he only found someone else to shut that part of his brain off, to stop the never-ending self-deprecating thoughts. And regrettably, it had worked. It had worked far too well and even though Will’s tired of it, he doesn’t know if he can stop the charade. He can’t tell Tom that last part though, at least not right now while they’re together in Will’s stairwell.
“You’ve got a girlfriend?” Tom manages to sound largely nonchalant even though his voice rises higher than normal on the question.
“Yeah, her name’s Charlotte. I was having a rough go at it and she helped me. It was enough at the time.”
“Is it still enough?” It’s challenging and low, as if Tom’s taunting Will, and honestly, this is not the place. Will’s missed the taunting, but if everything goes to plan, they’ll have plenty of time for that later.
Still, Will can’t help the sharp inhale the question pulls from him. “We’re not talking about this now. Later.”
Something in Tom’s eyes darkens and he nods, pulling away from Will in the same movement. Will misses the warmth that Tom carries with him everywhere, always seems to exude. “Lead the way then.”
When they’re at the top of the stairs, Tom grabs Will’s wrist, his fingers clasped tightly at Will’s pulse point. “Wait. Does she—?”
“She knows we’re friends from the estate. That’s all.”
And then Will’s pushing open the door to see Charlotte sitting at the kitchen table with a glass of water and a book. Her long red hair that usually hangs loose down across her shoulders is pinned up, exposing the length of her neck. Will knows she’s pretty, is able to see it himself, but it’s different than how Will sees Tom’s own beauty.
When the latch on the door clicks, she looks up at them and smiles, though Will can’t help but feel there’s something off with it. It doesn’t quite look forced, but it doesn’t look organic either. Will makes a mental note to ask her about it later.
Her smile does become forced though when Will introduces her to Tom. Relaxing into the room, Will looks over at the other man in his flat and realizes how well Tom fits into the environment. Despite Will telling Tom they would have time to talk, Will can’t help but admire now how Tom looks with his hip propped against the kitchen counter and that easy smile on his face. There’s a particular look in Tom’s eyes, a hungry one, and Will thinks they need to get out of there soon, or else he might do something he regrets in front of his actual girlfriend.
So, he tells Charlotte that they’re going to head to the pub for a pint or two before Will gives Tom a tour around town. Charlotte tells them to have fun, and the two of them leave before Will can put too much stock into that look in her eye. It doesn’t escape his notice how much easier he’s able to read Tom than he’s ever been able to read Charlotte.
True to his word, they do drink a pint at the pub before they hop in Will’s truck and drive to the river on Will’s aunt and uncle’s property. Will doesn’t remember the exact spot on the river where he and Tom had been that day when Will had ruined it between them. He made a point of forgetting that part, but this spot on the river now, this spot with the lush green grass and rocks poking through the soil every few meters could just as well be the spot as any other.
At some point, the conversation wanes, the two of them watching the passing scenery. Only, when they make it to the river, the silence doesn’t evaporate. Tom’s silently unloading the blanket and food they’d acquired along the way from the boot. He’s silent while spreading it all out, the silence even stretching up until Will takes Tom’s hands and pulls Tom down to sit with him.
Will marvels at their reversed roles— once upon a time, it was Tom who would pull conversation from Will, coax him into a friendly discussion to pull his mind from whatever dark corner it had been in. Now, it’s Will’s turn to pull Tom back to the present, out of his own mind. Tom’s got a vacant look in his eyes as if his body were just going through the motions, and Will can’t have that, especially not while their time is more limited than ever before.
When Tom’s knees hit the blanket, he tips forward into Will, his eyes clear and a hint of a smile edging at the corner of his mouth. It’s just enough for Will to detect the person he had missed— the person he wanted to desperately throw it all away for if it weren’t for his own brain.
“Where have you gone?” Will murmurs, letting his face drift close to Tom’s own.
That actually manages to pull a quiet huff from Tom while he lets one of his hands come to rest against Will’s neck. Will realizes with startling clarity how much he missed that weight. It’s different than when they’d been in the stairwell earlier— it’s simultaneously more casual and more intimate, almost like before.
“Can’t say I really expected the girlfriend angle when I planned on coming up here. Almost makes me feel bad.” Which— fair. Will should have been upfront when Tom had written to him, but it’s not like the first thing he’d anticipated doing upon Tom’s arrival on his doorstep was to kiss him. No, but you’d wanted to when you wrote the letter back.
Will never thought himself to be a cheater, but he tells himself that if society had let him have his way the first time, perhaps he wouldn’t be resorting to such methods now. “We don’t even have to do anything right now. Just be here with me. God, I’ve missed you.”
Will watches Tom’s eyes flutter closed as he sways closer. Tom’s granting him this one thing, Will can see that, so he slides a finger under Tom’s chin to tip it up and closer to Will’s own mouth. The kiss he places there is light, nowhere near as deep as the one from hours prior. It’s light and teasing, and Will wants Tom to want more from it. He wants Tom to want more, but he will not drag it out of the younger man. Will may be a cheater now, but he’s no abuser. For now, Will leaves Tom with a hint of ‘what could be’ before they pry off the tops of their beers.
The beers and conversation only hold them for so long, of course. Being this close to Tom and not being able to touch him, to revel in the feel of him after two years, is borderline torture. It’s rich, coming from Will, the one who more or less was the reason behind their end before, but Will feels touch-starved in a way he hasn’t been able to satisfy with Charlotte. It makes sense, really— this is the reason why his father felt the need to pound that bigotry into his brain. If given the choice, Will would not be warming the bed of his girlfriend of a year and a half.
More than once, Will forgets he shouldn’t be paying attention to the way Tom looks while laughing, his eyes squinting shut, and head thrown back. He forgets he shouldn’t be staring at Tom’s lips or his hands when Tom gesticulates emphatically on a particular point he’s trying to make—forgets that he shouldn’t be trying to remember what those fingers taste or feel like.
For a moment, Will thinks they’re really going to go the whole afternoon without doing anything besides the brief sting they had spent kissing earlier in the day. It almost physically pains him, but if that’s truly what Tom wants, then it will have to be enough. Will thinks he’s going to have to drive Tom back to the train station or the inn and say goodbye to him for another two years with nothing but a friendly goodbye hug to mark their time together.
All of this runs through Will’s mind when Tom leans past him to grab at another beer where it’s sat on the other side of Will, though rather than grasping for it, Tom’s hand makes contact with Will’s thigh and he makes no move to retract it. Will’s mind comes to a standstill, his gaze flying instantly to see where Tom is indeed closer than he’d anticipated.
Tom doesn’t look the least bit sorry—he looks like he’s finally made his mind up about what they’re doing out here. Things devolve quickly from there when Tom shifts and winds his other hand up to the juncture where Will’s shoulder meets his neck. The weight is comforting as always, bordering on overwhelming coupled with the heat of Tom’s hand that’s still on his thigh.
Will’s about to open his mouth, to ask if Tom’s sure about this, to ask how far they’re going this time, but Tom’s mouth is swallowing Will’s words and whines before he can get more than a syllable out. Given this turn of events, Will can do little more than let one hand settle at the base of Tom’s back and the other on top of the hand he has gripped at Will’s thigh. The kiss is all Tom—it’s him who controls it, and Will is content to let him take what he wants. Will would let him have anything if it meant redemption in the younger man’s eyes, and that fact only scares Will a little.
Their positioning is somewhat awkward after a few minutes. Will is sitting on their blanket with one leg out in front of him and the other folded under the prone one. Tom is leaned up into Will’s space, and because Will has both hands on Tom and not one bracing himself on the blanket, the burn of effort in his hamstrings at sitting upright is beginning to get to him. Will needs to move them, but he’s afraid that if he moves, it might spook Tom. What if Will being in Tom’s way from alcohol is the only reason he’s doing this right now? What if Tom’s only seconds away from pulling away and abandoning Will again?
So, Will thinks maybe he can put up with the burn for now until Tom shifts himself, relieving pressure on Will’s leg and sitting back onto the blanket, legs bent, and pulling Will toward him. Will goes easily of course—his right leg is only half asleep with minimal numbness, but now is certainly not the time to pay attention to that. He falls into Tom’s space easily, following Tom down to the blanket as the latter lies down, and Will feels how Tom’s legs subtly squeeze at his sides, caging him in.
Now would be a great time for some actual communication, a hashing out of some kind, but Will can’t force himself to break either of their trains of thought. Tom’s hands feel like they’re everywhere yet somehow unmoving. They roam across Will’s cheeks and dig into his hair before traveling down his neck and gripping onto his shoulder blades.
Will lets his own hands travel themselves, lets himself finally touch what he’s been dying to all afternoon. He lets his hand push up under Tom’s thin shirt, thinner than probably appropriate given the early summer breeze, but he doesn’t think Tom cares in that moment judging by the shiver that travels up his spine. The spot just above Tom’s belly button had been a source of ticklish sensitivity last time they’d been like this, and Will is pleased to see that it’s still like that—a giggle accompanied by a minor squirm that turns into a breathy sigh halfway through. One of Tom’s legs comes up further to squeeze at Will’s thighs in response.
“You bastard,” Tom manages to breathe, and Will can’t help the smile that briefly overtakes his own face before repositioning his mouth to the underside of Tom’s jaw, teeth barred just enough to give Tom an idea of what’s on his mind.
“You missed this,” Will murmurs back before pressing down both on his neck and into his groin enough for Tom’s entire body to flex around Will. His words are received precisely during a moment that Tom can’t really respond, though Will knows the answer regardless, is pleased and somewhat relieved to feel the hardness in Tom’s jeans.
A shift of Will’s hips down onto Tom’s own, pressing the two of them together again, startles a choked off moan from Tom’s throat. His hands grip tighter where they now clutch at Will’s biceps, his head pressed into the blanket and chin tilted toward the sky as if in search of a breath.
The noise sends something visceral down Will’s spine, causing heat to pool low in his stomach. There are a lot of things that Will has missed about Tom or has simply forgotten about. This—the way he looks with pink flushed cheeks and his lips parted enough for sound to escape, seeming to give in to his desires, is an image that has diminished in Will’s memory like a faded old photograph. Seeing it again brings back a flood of memories and emotions that Wil doesn’t have time to translate and parse out into coherent thought. So, to avoid having to do that, Will lowers himself even closer to mouth at Tom’s neck, pulling the shirt down at the collar to expose the base of his throat.
Whether or not Tom lets himself release a whine or if he does it without realizing it, Will smirks into Tom’s skin all the same, the sound doing nothing to help his composure.
“Will,” Tom breathes almost directly into Will’s ear because of their placement. The sound sends, even more, shivers down Will’s spine, but he doesn’t respond, watching to see instead if Tom’s going to follow it up with something. “I want you to touch me.”
It’s been a long time since a distinctly male voice has begged that from Will, and now he tries to channel the self-restraint he has to stop himself from just stripping Tom down. They’re going to take their time and enjoy this.
“I thought I already was.” Will punctuates his statement with a particularly hard grind of their groins, ripping another groan from Tom.
“You know what I mean, you bastard.” A hint of a smirk finds its way to Tom’s mouth, but Will kisses it away and leans back to settle a hand at the button of Tom’s jeans.
Will’s become practiced at unbuttoning jeans with one hand—both his own and others. This time is no exception as he pops the button on Tom’s jeans and coaxes the zipper down far enough to then make the act of pulling the offending material off Tom easier.
Tom hisses as the cool air hits his overheated skin, but Will’s not paying attention to the small noises from Tom. He’s busy cataloging the way Tom looks almost naked, refreshing and restoring that mental image.
Once Tom’s jeans are down and off, Will pulls off his own before falling back on top of Tom. For a moment, Will can’t help but look at Tom, the other boy staring back with semi-glassy eyes. They’re taking on that hazy, lust-filled quality, and once they reach that stage, all bets will be off.
Despite what Will wants to do, he stops to comb a hand through the top of Tom’s hair, through the long strands that are still as silky as he remembers them being. Tom’s eyes grow dark, his pupils dilating at the feeling.
“What do you want to do?” He’s correct in the assumption that this question would have been better asked before their jeans had come off. Will had been so caught up in Tom’s begging that he’d momentarily forgotten such a basic thing— besides, at least they’re talking now.
“I want to pretend it’s just you and me out here. No one else exists for the foreseeable future. Deal?” Tom sounds genuine, like he’s thought about this, so Will nods, is about to lean back down when he realizes he didn’t actually get an answer from Tom.
“So, does that mean you don’t want me to stop?”
Tom groans, but it’s not necessarily one born from total arousal— rather, one that’s half exasperation. “ Fuck , just remind me of what I’ve missed out on. Fucking touch me.”
Really, Will doesn’t need any more encouragement after that. He closes the distance between the two of them, their kisses no longer bordering on semi-chaste but rather obscene. Tom still has his underwear on as Will toys at the waistband, marveling in the minute shudders it produces from Tom.
Charlotte hates when Will teases her, can’t stand it, but Will remembers how much Tom had thrived on it— how he could get off on simple touches before Will even did anything major.
“Will,” Tom whines when Will still barely brushes past Tom’s hardening cock.
Without saying anything, Will finally relents, spitting into his palm before wrapping his hand around Tom’s length. He watches Tom’s eyes fall shut, a shuddering breath escaping his chest as Will moves his hand just like Tom had liked it back then. It’s been two years, but Will finds that he still knows how to wind Tom up, how to push him right to the edge before backing off and letting the other man huff in displeasure. Will listens to the litany of noises that escape Tom—everything from sighs and moans to expletive-laden sentences begging Will to twist just a bit more here, a little faster there.
By simply watching Tom work himself up like this, Will can feel his own hardness straining against his boxer briefs. He knows they’ve got time, but Will decides that he desperately wants to be inside of Tom again feeling that warm heat surrounding him, the give of Tom beneath him.
Tom’s practically writhing on the blanket by the time that Will realizes he neglected to bring any type of lube for them to use. He’s not so sure that it was his ill-planning so much as that corner of his brain that was adamant they could just meet up as two friends who haven’t seen each other in a couple years. It wasn’t like Charlotte was standing over him while he fetched his bag from the bedroom after all.
Will fears he’s beginning to spiral when Tom steadies one of his hands on the side of Will’s face and forces him to look in his eyes. “I’ve got some in my bag. Figured you’d be too behind the curve to think for yourself on this.” It’s gentle and knowing, like Tom also remembers Will’s small ticks after all this time—as if reminding Will that two can play at this game.
Will wants to play dumb, ask Tom what he means, but his head is too foggy, his mind largely still focused on the task at hand— Tom naked under him with his hair mussed and his breath coming in pants. So, he nods distractedly and detaches himself from Tom to crawl across the blanket to Tom’s backpack and unzip the front pocket to find the bottle of lubricant. It’s about half full, which is plenty for now. Tom laughs at him when he notices Will hold the bottle in front of his face, checking the level.
A fierce blush of his own spreads across Will’s face at the sound of Tom’s laughter, but Will shuffles back over to Tom and shuts him up with a sound and deep kiss to the latter’s lips. While his hands start by bracketing Tom’s face, one hand moves upwards and sinks into Tom’s hair, pulling gently at the strands there and reveling in the noises it wrenches from high in Tom’s throat. Will’s got one of his legs pressed in between Tom’s own, his back bowed to accommodate the angle, and while uncomfortable to a degree, it warms Will up from the inside that they’re doing this again.
Will drives Tom to near insanity with his fingers buried inside of him within five minutes. Tom’s babbling and swearing, panting into the open space where Will’s head would be if Will weren’t so busy trying to make this as good for Tom as possible after so long. Will has three fingers inside of Tom, stretching and pumping when Tom tells him that he’s close to coming, practically begging Will to let him. This was never one of their things—they warned each other, sure, but they never asked permission before doing so.
Nevertheless, something shoots down Will’s spine at the request, and he is nothing if not putty in Tom’s hands. Leaning down to Tom’s ear, Will places a feather-light kiss to the shell of it, the opposite in feeling to the rest of the atmosphere, before telling Tom to come for him. They may be two years on, but if Will knows anything, they’ve never been ones to call it quits after one orgasm, especially when they’re still racing towards something.
Watching Tom come apart beneath Will is otherworldly. No amount of fantasizing could do justice to the way Tom looks with his head thrown back and his bottom lip pulled between his teeth while he comes untouched, his cock making a mess on his stomach. Through it all, Will continues to pump his fingers in and out of Tom, paying special attention to brush against that bundle of nerves more than a few times until Tom is shaking from overstimulation.
Will’s practically bursting at the sight, wanting little else than to sink into Tom’s warm heat. Tom needs to rest for at least a few minutes though, so Will withdraws his fingers and groans himself at the feeling of Tom trying to keep him inside.
Tom surges up and wraps his arms around the back of Will’s neck, capturing him in a messy kiss that’s half uneven panting breaths and half tongue. Tom does his best to suck on Will’s own tongue once or twice, but his lung capacity is too weak to keep at it for long.
If given the opportunity, Will would never leave this bubble of theirs. If given the opportunity, he would let the world burn if it meant he and Tom were the last ones on Earth to spend the rest of eternity together. There’s a kind of dedication here that he’s never felt with Charlotte, and Will can see now how unfair it is, how fake he’s been with her this past year and a half.
Soon enough though, Tom pulls him from his thoughts, one of his hands reaching down to stroke Will’s sorely neglected cock. The sudden sensation shocks him back to reality, punching a noise from him that sounds like it’s half a whine and half a moan. It’s wanton enough that he’d almost feel embarrassed by it if not for the fact that Tom’s practically panting into Will’s mouth his desires.
“I want you to fuck me, Will. Like we used to.” Tom pulls away from Will’s face enough so that they can look each other in the eye, to drive the point home that this is what Tom is choosing, and Will swears he could come right there by simply looking at Tom open and anticipatory out in the middle of the grass on his aunt and uncle’s property.
Will finds he can do little else but nod, so he does that while reaching down and regrettably pulling Tom’s hands off him and pinning both above Tom’s head. As much as he wants Tom to touch him, egg him on and claw at his back, Will knows it will be more intense this way—Tom helpless and pliant as Will drives into him hard enough for the memory to last until their next encounter once Tom inevitably disappears from his life tomorrow. Will pointedly only pays mind to the first half of that thought for now, and instead busies himself with watching how Tom watches him slick himself up before positioning himself at Tom’s hole.
Despite Tom having been stretched out on Will’s fingers, Will still goes slow, pausing every few seconds to let Tom adjust. Against all odds, Tom seems to have been struck wordless as Will slides home, the feeling making him also gasp and try to think about literally anything in an effort to not blow it so soon.
Like this: chest heaving, hair a mess, his eyes squeezed shut, and the sun shining uninterrupted by the clouds, Tom looks positively angelic. He’s got one of his legs hitched up around Will’s hip, and the angle is heavenly. Will realizes part of that heavenly feeling is most likely the dopamine rushing through his brain, but he can’t remember feeling this complete in recent memory.
Tom feels like coming home, in more ways than one. Will wonders if Tom’s presence would still feel like this if they had been together for the past two years and not starved of it until this moment, if it would still feel this intense. Will feels like a dying man who’s just been given a new lease on life, one he doesn’t want to waste.
Punched out breaths, mingling with moans spilling from Tom’s lips at Will’s thrusts, nearly overwhelm him. “Will, fuck Will, please kiss me. I need you to kiss me.” Tom’s voice sounds utterly wrecked, higher pitched than normal and choked off at the ends as Will rocks forward to be closer to Tom’s mouth.
The kiss is filthy, full of tongue and teeth and ends with them panting into each other’s mouths. Will’s got his unoccupied hand gripping Tom’s chin to keep it canted forward, to prevent Tom from pressing his head into the ground and exposing his neck.
“Fuck Tom, you feel so good. I missed you so much.” Will feels that familiar coil of warmth starting low in his stomach, the telltale sign that he’s getting close, that he won’t last much longer. “Tom, tell me what you need. I want to finish with you.”
Whether it’s from Will’s statement alone or a combination of those words and Tom’s immobilization under Will’s hands, he seems to be able to do little else besides moan almost directly into Will’s mouth.
“Yeah,” Tom gasps, chest heaving and half-lidded eyes meeting Will’s. “Yeah, I’m close. Just touch me.”
There’s no way that Will’s releasing his grip on Tom’s hands, which curl tightly around Will’s fingers, so he makes the decision to release Tom’s chin and wrap his hand around Tom’s neglected cock. Rather than reach again for the lube, Will uses the precome already there to smooth his movements. Will watches as Tom practically keens at the movement, at the feel of being unable to move under the onslaught of Will’s ministrations.
Will only has to stroke at Tom’s cock three times before the other boy is clenching around Will, a drawn-out noise that’s so loud that Will thinks it’s a good thing that they’re alone out here with no one to hear them but the birds and insects. Will gets so caught up in the presentation of Tom—how he looks truly falling apart beneath him again for the second time this afternoon with his head thrown back and throat taut. And the noise . Tom so rarely made noise mid-orgasm before, and Will almost loses it now because of it. Tom squeezes at Will’s fingers and tightens his legs around Will’s waist, the feeling of Tom’s tight heat and everything else pulling Will over the edge within seconds of Tom’s own fall.
Will works Tom through his orgasm, stroking him until Tom’s moaning weakly from the overstimulation, though still unable to move away. “Will…” Tom’s out of breath and exhausted, his chest heaving and eyes sufficiently glazed over. Tom looks beyond sated, like all he knows how to do is lie there and take what Will gives him.
Almost as if his brain turns back on in phases, Will releases parts of Tom at a time rather than all at once—as if by doing it little by little prolongs their separation. He removes his hand from Tom’s cock first, moves it up to Tom’s cheek and gently strokes his thumb across his cheekbone before pressing reverent kisses to nearly every piece of skin he can. Detangling his hand from where he holds onto Tom’s own hands is slightly more difficult. Tom’s fingers are still clenched there despite his lack of muscle tone in the rest of his body. Will practically pries them apart and rubs the feeling back into Tom’s fingers, humming against Tom’s lips as the latter makes soft, content noises.
They lie there for several moments, taking each other in and reveling in one another’s presence. Will lets himself brush the hair from Tom’s forehead, lets his hand rest at the crown of his head to just pet the now sweaty hair. Will’s still seated inside of Tom— Tom’s own legs still wound tight around Will’s hips.
“God, I missed you. And not just for all of that, though that’s certainly a perk,” Tom eventually says, startling a laugh from Will. They need to clean up and put themselves back together because the longer they lie there, the more their bubble shrinks.
Will can’t do anything but answer Tom’s confession with small kisses to the underside of his jaw. He does better without vocalizing his feelings because he knows he feels the same as Tom, only there are complications. He would give anything to be able to leave with Tom whenever he decides to go, but Will has too many ties here to worry about. It’s not like he’s living alone and can drop his lease—he’s made a commitment to Charlotte and his aunt and uncle. Something like this would take careful planning, an evasiveness that didn’t destroy his familial ties for the rest of his life. So, Will says nothing for now and instead, mourns the loss of Tom’s legs when he gradually lowers them so Will can finally slip out.
Neither of them are in any rush to dress or make their way back into town like they should be, so Will heaves himself off Tom and lies down on the blanket, pulling at Tom’s arm for the other boy to follow. Tom’s weight on top of him is familiar and comfortable. He’s not even lying completely on top of Will, but it’s enough to bring back memories of their time in the barn tucked against each other under their mounds of blankets. The sun beats down on them now, warming their bare skin as they lie in silence.
In the quietude, the sounds of nature filter back in, and Will can once more hear the birds chirping in the trees around them. Tom’s head is heavy on Will’s chest, the former’s finger tracing abstract patterns across Will’s ribs. It’s peaceful.
Of course, that means one of them has to inevitably break the peace, break the tentative truce they’ve created for today.
It ends up being Tom. “How did you meet her?” The question isn’t terribly loud, and Will wonders for a moment if he’s heard correctly. It takes him another few seconds to figure out what Tom’s talking about.
Tom’s seriously bringing up Charlotte in the midst of their post-coital haze, and Will finds he wants to smack Tom because of it.
Will sighs while deciding how to answer. Why Tom wants to know more about Will’s relationship, he has no idea. Is he trying to goad Will into admitting something after all of this? Because Will is not afraid to admit he does not love Charlotte as he should. If he did, he and Tom would not be in this situation right now.
“I just met her down in the pub. I don’t know… She was nice and helped take away some of the emptiness that I felt after you left, and we stopped writing.” Will’s never actually admitted that aloud to anyone before, and it feels sort of freeing to let that go.
Perhaps that’s the end of the conversation— Will hopes so at least as the silence between the two stretches on. In actuality, it probably only lasts for as long as two or three minutes. Will loses himself in the feel of Tom’s skin under his fingers, the weight of one of Tom’s legs wedged between Will’s own.
“Does she still fill that emptiness? Do you love her?” Tom’s hand that had been drawing patterns into Will’s skin now fans out, presses almost possessively into his flesh as if to leave his mark.
Will can tell that Tom’s somewhat afraid of the answer, afraid that he’ll answer in the affirmative for what’s really a simple question with complicated motives. “Not like I should— not enough.”
“Then why don’t you leave? At the very least, you can live alone and be happy .” Tom sounds like he’s gaining confidence, like he knows now that his words and feelings carry weight.
Will wants to explain to him just how complicated the situation is, but he knows if Tom feels justified in his indignation, he’ll never let up on Will’s backward reasoning. At the same time though, Will knows he needs to give Tom an answer.
“It’s not that simple. My being with Charlotte helps keep my family off my back.” And he’s well aware of how that sounds, can sense the flex of muscles in Tom’s back as the latter pushes off his chest to properly look into Will’s eyes.
So much for basking in the feeling of being together. Tom is wide-eyed, his eyebrows pushed up to his forehead. Will tries to look away, to turn his head so he doesn’t have to look at Tom’s scathing look, but Tom grips at his chin and pulls it back toward him. It’s not as gentle as Will had been with him earlier, but Will’s not suddenly afraid that Tom’s going to lash out and hit him. No, Will feels shame at the gesture.
“You’re using her as a fucking beard to cover your own arse from your family? Seriously Will, fuck your family.” Tom’s voice oscillates between a higher-pitched tone of astonishment and one of exasperation— like he can’t quite decide what to feel about what Will’s telling him.
“I know I used to have my own issue with this,” Tom continues, grip still tight on Will’s chin and eyes still boring into his own, “but being gay isn’t illegal anymore. It’s 19-fucking-97, and you’ve got better things to do than be afraid of your family and be trapped in a one-sided relationship because you’re afraid of a few homophobic relatives who I’ve never heard a nice thing said about.”
Tom’s speech lights a fire in Will. Good for Tom, that he was able to get past his issues. Not everyone has that luxury. Will wants to rip his chin out of Tom’s grip, to stand up and stalk away, but he knows doing that would sever something between them for good. So, he lies there, lets Tom preach to him until he can’t take it anymore.
“You just don’t understand. I can’t just pick up and leave. I have too many ties to the people here—”
“I never said you have to sever the ties. Christ , I just want you to be happy, Will. I’d like to be happy with you, but I just want you to be happy in whatever capacity that is.” Tom’s voice grows softer, mellow compared to the impassioned rage from a moment ago. He releases Will’s chin and strokes up to Will’s cheekbones instead.
The sudden tenderness threatens to smother Will. He feels like he can’t breathe, afraid that he’ll never live up to Tom’s expectations of him.
“And what if I said Charlotte made me happy?” Will manages to choke out. He leans into Tom’s touch and watches the latter’s eyes grow even softer.
Tom leans down so that his lips are hovering over will’s, and Will wants to just lean up and claim them for himself. He doesn’t though, waiting for Tom to make his move. The retort to Will’s own baseless bluff is murmured against Will’s lips. “I’d say you were a shit liar.”
Will huffs out a quiet whine before Tom gives in and successfully silences Will’s thoughts for the time being.
They only exchange a few slow kisses, but they’re enough to get Will sighing into Tom’s mouth, to thread a hand through Tom’s drying curls. He thinks this was maybe all part of Tom’s plan: get Will angry and then placate him with kisses to show him what some of that happiness he could get with Tom could look like.
“Give me two months, okay?” Will breathes into Tom’s mouth.
The look that Tom gives Will could be considered starstruck. Whereas earlier, his wide eyes portrayed a look of surprise and anger, they now hold hope and love— anticipation for a better future. Will imagines he probably looks the same.
Will ends up dropping Tom off at the inn on his way home with a promise to grab lunch the next day before Tom leaves. He doesn’t come back to Will’s, because honestly, Will doesn’t know if he’d be able to act normal, like nothing happened on their day out. At the train station the next day, Tom slips Will a slip of paper— his new address and phone number— and squeezes his hands tightly before running to catch his train. It’s bittersweet, but Will knows that he has to be strong now to do what he needs to truly find happiness.
As the days extend on into Will’s self-imposed two-month sentence, he senses Charlotte growing more frustrated at his withdrawn demeanor. Whether it’s a conscious decision or not, he’s stopped leaning into her touch, into her requests for intimacy. Perhaps it’s because he’s been reminded of what real intimacy feels like, of what he could have if he would just be strong about it.
Charlotte’s frowns increase in frequency and Will pretends not to see them. He stays at his aunt and uncle’s farm for longer days— drinks more beer at the pub when he visits rather than his allotted pint most nights. She says something the first few times it happens but quickly grows tired of the brick wall that Will constructs to block her questions out.
About a month and a half into the two-month timeline, Will still hasn’t worked up the courage to bring up the topic of their relationship. Unlike last time where she’d helped fill an empty crevice inside of him, Charlotte’s presence is no longer enough, and Will feels like he’s going out of his skin with guilt and dissatisfaction. He feels like the silence is eating him alive.
Tom hasn’t contacted him, content to let Will have his time to try and get things together. Will could always contact him if he wanted to though. He should probably contact Tom and tell him at the very least that he’s chickening out, that he hasn’t told Charlotte yet, and his deadline is fast approaching. Instead, he continues to spend his nights at the pub, avoiding confrontation.
It all falls apart a week after the two-month deadline passes. Will just knows, deep in his bones, that Tom will have expected it probably, just like it’d been him who had stopped their correspondence two years prior. Will’s too ashamed to check the mail or to be anywhere near his phone in case it rings with Tom on the other end.
The inside of his glass tonight is particularly interesting— there’s a nick chipped into the side of the glass that Will keeps running his finger over. He does not see Charlotte push in through the door, looking positively murderous in all her glory. She stalks the entire way over to where he sits on one end of the bar before he notices her.
It’s cliché, but if looks could kill, Will would be dead where he sits from the steeliness of Charlotte’s gaze at that moment. “We need to talk, Will. Now .”
He’s not entirely drunk, still sober enough to understand that she’s serious. That she’s angry. A few heads have turned to look at the lovers’ quarrel, and Will thinks of how this is really not the way he envisioned it going down. “Let’s go back to the flat, please.”
“Oh, is that what you want? That’s what’ll get you back there?”
Will does his best to ignore her, clenching his jaw and throwing down change for his tab before grabbing his coat from the back of the barstool. She’s quick on his heels out the pub, the hush of the other patrons following them all the way to the curb. Will purposely does not look at her or direct any kind of conversation to her the entire walk back and up the stairs until they’re inside.
As soon as they’re inside with the door closed, Will rounds on her and watches as her eyes go wide. As if he’d ever lay a hand on her. “ What could possibly be so important that you had to come down and embarrass me like that?”
“Embarrass you? I haven’t seen you in what feels like weeks. You’re either always at the farm or getting drunk as if you can’t bear to be in the same place as me. Ever since your friend came to visit, you’ve been different.” The way she says ‘friend’ feels off, as if she doesn’t quite believe the term is correct. No , that’s just his subconscious filling in.
In all reality, he doesn’t have a proper answer for her that doesn’t out himself and his entire plan. The only thing he can provide is some generic bullshit that she’ll never believe anyway, so what’s the point in saying anything? Charlotte won’t accept nothing though, so Will tells her that he thinks they’re just growing apart. The laugh she answers him with is chilling.
“You expect me to believe that? How thick are you? You don’t honestly believe that it’s a coincidence that Tom came to visit, and then suddenly you begin withdrawing? Please tell me you know.” Her voice is no less full of disdain, but by the end of it, she sounds utterly patronizing— as if she were talking to a six-year-old.
Will tries not to read into what she’s saying, tries to keep his face neutral, but it gets more and more difficult the more she talks. “I saw you, you know. When you ran down to meet him at the door, you left the stair door open just a bit. When you two were taking too long, I poked my head out, and let’s just say you’ve never kissed me like that.”
Will would be hard-pressed to be told a bucket of ice water isn’t literally poured on him at that moment. What’s the point in jumping into the shower to try and shock some sobriety into you when you can just have your significant other tell you she’s caught you cheating with your friend only a few feet from her? He genuinely has nothing to say to that, because she’s hit the nail on the head with that line of reasoning. He imagines he looks like a fish, opening and closing his mouth with no sound coming out.
“Charlotte…” he manages to say. At least it’s something.
Charlotte sighs, rubbing her hand over her forehead and sighing. “I couldn’t give a fuck who you shag, Will. What I’m angry about is that you cheated on me and have been trying to ghost me since. The least you could have done would have been to tell me like a fucking man instead of wasting both of our time.” She sounds more tired than angry at this point, which is something Will honestly didn’t see coming.
He’s built this image of her up in his mind as someone who would be positively livid and disgusted by him leaving her for a man. Now, as she yells at him for the act of cheating and not actually because of who it was with, Will realizes how unfair that was to her. There’s a reason he’s stayed with Charlotte for as long as he has, and it wasn’t solely because she unknowingly provided a cover for him. Charlotte had been a lovely girl then and was a lovely girl now, just not the proper person for him.
“I’m sorry,” Will manages to whisper. The words nearly get stuck in his throat, and he can’t help but flinch embarrassingly as she takes a step towards him. He’d hoped she would’ve missed it, but evidently, she sees it, pausing with an outstretched hand. “I can’t— God , what’s wrong with me?” Will buries his face into his hands and collapses back against the entryway wall, sliding against the wall until he’s seated on the floor.
He’s purposely not looking up to take in Charlotte’s expression, but he does hear the shuffling of fabric and the creak of a floorboard before a gentle hand lands on his ankle. It’s low enough that he doesn’t flinch at the contact, and Will knows she’s keyed in now into the underlying psyche of why Will is the way he is.
“I never did like your father,” she murmurs. “I’m sorry if I ever made you think that I thought like that.”
They lapse into silence for several minutes, Will eventually pulling his head out of his hands and letting it rest against the wall as he stares into nothingness. Charlotte’s hand doesn’t move from his ankle the entire time— a small part of Will is grateful for the small action.
“Will you go to him once this is over?” Charlotte asks seemingly out of the blue. Will doesn’t have to ask her who she means, or when what ends. He’s done hiding, he has to be, so he nods.
“I love him, I think.” Will turns to look at Charlotte for the first time since slumping to the floor and sees quiet understanding on her face.
She nods and then appears to think for a moment before speaking again. “You should take your things and go to him. I’ll worry about the flat. I don’t know, I might stick around for a while. We both deserve honest happiness, Will.”
Honestly, it’s kinder than Will thinks he deserves, especially after the way he’d treated her for the past two months, but he takes the acceptance and the out that she offers. Everything that he owns pretty much can fit in his truck bed, and if she’s going to keep the flat, then he might as well leave the furniture since they bought it jointly anyway. The ease of the out that she offers him makes Will want to cry, but he holds it back for both their sake.
With a finality, Charlotte leans over and presses a small kiss to Will’s jean-clad knee before rising and walking into the bedroom. Will doesn’t follow her, but instead, makes his bed on the couch for the night.
Charlotte helps him pack his belongings the next morning, and he’s out by midday. She gives him a firm hug and takes his keys from him before going back inside, not watching him drive away. He can’t blame her for being hurt by the whole thing.
On the way out of town, Will makes a stop off at his aunt and uncle’s farm and informs them he’s going on a trip. They don’t ask him where and he doesn’t offer, though they no doubt see his belongings in the truck bed and a lack of Charlotte in the cab with him. His aunt gives him an extra tight hug bordering on uncomfortable, and then Will’s driving south to the coast where Tom’s address instructs him is now home.
It takes Will about four hours to drive to the address Tom gives him, and it’s just now nearing the end of the workday when Will pulls up to a small semi-detached house. From the outside, it doesn’t look like anyone is home— blinds drawn and interior lights appearing to be off. Will gives the doorbell a ring, hears it echo inside, but no one comes to the door. Damn, he knew he should have called first. Will also knows that he’s about a week and a half late. Does Tom even think he’s coming anymore?
Tom must still be at work, but Will has no idea where that is. They hadn’t exactly discussed the specifics of their lives last time they’d talked, so Will sits down on the front step and decides to wait for Tom to come home.
The midday heat is beginning to fade now, the cool sea breeze ruffling Will’s hair as he sits there picking at his fingernails. He’d worked himself up as soon as he’d gotten within the city limits, and now as he sits there, that courage begins to abandon him. What if Tom’s over waiting for Will? What if he really didn’t mean for Will to just pick up and come live with him after breaking up with Charlotte? So many what-ifs run through his mind while he waits that he completely misses Tom walking up the front path and stopping in front of him.
“Will? What are you doing here?”
Will’s head shoots up at the confused use of his name to see Tom standing in front of him with coveralls tied around his waist and a grease-stained t-shirt adorning his upper half. He looks positively sinful even if he is likely tired and dirty from a day spent in some kind of shop.
“Tom,” he breathes into the air between them. He doesn’t even know if Tom hears it, but it gets him to start walking forward again at least. Will stands in anticipation and swallows as he’s reminded just of what he told Charlotte the night before.
“I’m sorry. I know I should have called first, but Charlotte found out and—”
“Hey, hey,” Tom placates, cutting off Will’s rambling. “It’s okay. I just thought you changed your mind, is all.” Will must have a funny look on his face, so Tom reaches out and hooks a finger into the sleeve of Will’s jacket. “You’re late.”
A choked sob escapes from Will’s throat, and Tom is pulling Will into his arms, folding the taller man into him. It’s only been two months, but Will feels like he hasn’t felt tenderness in years. Not since Tom had promised him he’d be there for Will in the hospital after his uncle’s stroke.
“Shh, don’t worry. You’re here now and that’s all that matters. You are staying, right? That’s why you’re here?” A comforting hand rubs slowly up and down Will’s back and Will can feel himself melting into the touch.
Will pulls away from Tom so that he can look into the other’s face, so he can study the way his eyebrows knit together in concern, the way his mouth pulls down at the corners. “Yeah. For as long as you’ll have me.”
Out here on Tom’s front stoop, they’re largely secluded from the public, but it’s still a testament to how over the whole situation Will is because when Tom pulls him into a searing kiss, Will doesn’t jump away. Instead, he grips at Tom’s wrists where they hold onto Will’s cheeks and revels in the feeling of Tom against him. It properly feels like coming home, and Will knows now that he was a fool if he ever thought he could deny himself this type of love, this type of feeling from a partner—a lover.
“I love you,” Will whispers into Tom’s mouth, swallowing the latter’s muffled groan. They part long enough for Tom to drag Will into the house, Will’s belongings be damned for now. By the sound of it, Tom isn’t bound to get bored of Will anytime soon, so they’ll have plenty of time to unpack, to ingratiate Will into Tom’s life here in his small two-bedroom house. For now, the feeling of Tom pressed against him, is enough.