Chapter Text
He wakes with a start to a sudden sound, just outside, through the open window. A quick glance to the alarm clock tells him it’s just after seven in the morning.
Salvatore growls first, a low rumble from the foot of the bed, and then Sol does the same from behind Tom. With a soft grunt, he shifts up to sit, rubbing at his eye and grimacing at the usual stiffness in his shoulder. A year and a half later, and he’s still sore.
It’s the way you sleep, all curled up, Tom could hear his lover say.
He glances over at the other side of the bed and pushes the duvet back, smiling down at the one hundred and twenty pound Rottweiler that stares up at him in return, panting softly. He’d thought that was Chris sleeping behind him.
“Good morning,” he murmurs, petting between the dog’s ears, which are still perked to listen.
Sol was the baby of the litter that the two brothers had come from. Salvatore was the protective one, always growling at little sounds in the night and rarely letting anyone touch him that wasn’t Chris or Tom. They had adopted the two pups when they first moved to Australia, for protection and love, and adopted a cat for Tom. He loved the pups, but he was partial to Rosie, his lazy Van Kedisi that was partial to the kitchen sink.
With a morning kiss from Sol, Tom moves from the bed and goes over to the dresser, quietly pulling on loose shorts and a thin t-shirt as a familiar feeling crawls up his spine.
They aren’t safe. They never will be. They’re far from the danger of being caught, but that paranoia is still there when things go bump in the night.
Or, early morning.
Sol and Salvatore watch Tom reach for the bat behind the dresser, curling his fingers around the cool metal.
The house is quiet and A/C cool, until he can hear the front door opening, and he hushes Salvatore’s growling as he goes over to the bedroom door. It’s wide open, and he presses his back against it, listening to his thumping heart as heavy footsteps come closer and closer from down the hall.
Where is Chris? He’s never out so early. They went to bed together last night, as always. Chris doesn’t wake up early.
He nearly swings at the shadow he sees, the bat caught in a ringed hand as Chris rounds the corner with a surprised sound.
“Jesus Christ, don’t fucking scare me like that,” Tom gasps in relief as he drops his weapon and wraps his arms around Chris’ shoulders, shaking gently as the Aussie rubs up and down his back soothingly. The pups rise and go to them, barking happily while their docked tails wag.
“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” Chris murmurs as he presses a kiss to Tom’s cheek, breaking the hug to crouch and pay attention to the two dogs, “I thought you were still sleeping.”
“You woke me,” Tom hums, smiling down at the three of them, watching them exchange good morning kisses before asking, “Where were you?”
“Loading up my board. We’re going to the beach today, remember?”
Right. It was Saturday, they always went to the beach on the weekend.
“I do. Breakfast?” Because he wouldn’t be going back to sleep now.
“Yes.”
**
It hadn’t been easy. It was hard to pack up his life into two large suitcases. He’d donated most of his clothing and tossed whatever else he couldn’t take into the dumpster behind his apartment. Chris helped him a great deal, promising they’d have everything they needed in Australia, soothing every bit of Tom’s worry.
But, would they? If they didn’t have everything, would they have nothing?
No. He trusted Chris.
Packing took about two days, in which Chris stayed. He lazed around the apartment, sprawled across the small sofa, sitting in front of Tom’s DVD collection with a small look of concentration on his face. They shut the blinds tight and ordered pizza to watch with the movies Chris picked out.
They smoked on the balcony together, Tom’s feet in Chris’ lap, with Chris rubbing warmth back into his icy toes with one hand while the other flicked ash from his cigarette.
“Maybe we should quit,” Chris murmured the first evening, staring at his cigarette as he thumbed at Tom’s ankle.
“Maybe.” Tom sighed out with his smoke, staring at the setting sun across the rooftops, wondering what the sunsets were like in Australia.
The next day, Chris’ house was ready.
“I’m scared.” Tom whispered into his fingertips, pressed against Chris’ side as they rode to the airport.
Chris said nothing, but he thumbed at Tom’s knuckles. Kissed them.
It was like every muscle in his body was tensed as they made their way through the airport, fake passports clutched in a shaky fist. Going through security was worse.
They know it’s him, they do.
Chris smiles easily at the woman checking his passport and ticket, thanking her and wishing her a good day before Tom approaches her and smiles shyly.
Chris takes his hand up once they’re through, wheeling his luggage through the gates and further down, until they’re outside and the jet is just ahead.
Clover is standing there, silent and steady as a rock, watching them behind his sunglasses and helping Chris load up while Tom climbs the stairs.
His heart is racing and he’s sweating, wondering if he’ll sweat blood from his temples. He licks the salt from his upper lip as Chris and Clover board after him, watching them quietly, clutching his book against his chest when Chris hands it to him silently.
Even as the pilot starts up the jet and begins to drive down the runway, Tom is tense, so much that he has a headache beginning to curl around his head.
It’s going to be a long flight, Chris tells him. Try to get some sleep.
There’s no way in hell he’s going to sleep. So, he cracks open his book, and tries to distract himself.
Hours later, drifting in and out of fitful sleep, he feels them begin to descend. A soft feeling in his gut makes him curl up in his seat, book pressed against his chest again as he closes his eyes and waits for something terrible to happen. They fall, they crash, they die. A deity smacks them out from the sky as punishment and they’ll never be together.
But then the wheels kiss the ground and Tom sighs a shaky breath of relief.
**
The house is a gorgeous thing, placed in Victoria, far enough from the busy cities but not too far to be completely secluded. It’s hot and humid, more than California had ever been, but Tom loves it. He loves the heat and the sun and the fact that this is his home now, with Chris. He stepped out of the car Chris had waiting at the airport and approaches the house with wide eyes.
The roof is nearly flat, and extends a foot or so from the house, giving the large windows enough shade to keep the house cool during the day. The house is a dark, faded green, set atop a small hill with a driveway just underneath it. The windows are Tom’s favourite part of it: nearly floor to ceiling, but with plenty of heavy curtains. There’s a large tree in the small front yard, the leaves shift in the wind as Tom takes a deep breath and heads towards the door.
Inside, it’s clean and modern, but still shows its age. It’s only one floor, which Tom likes, with a spacious living area where the sun can come into in the mornings. He can already see himself on the sofa, sipping tea with a book, or having a nap with Chris there. There’s an ottoman and a small curved sofa, but nothing else, not yet. Tom’s already planning on what to hang on the walls and what type of rug would look best on the floor.
The kitchen is small, but it’s understandable. Neither of them are cooks, but it’s still a good size if one of them wanted to try in the future.
The long hallway extends down to the master bedroom, with a large bed, walk-in closet, and half bath. There’s only one window, but he’s fine with that.
Tom’s leaning against the doorway when he feels Chris behind him, and then he’s brought into an embrace so soft and warm he can’t help but lean back into him.
They stand there, hugging, with Chris’ lips pressed against his ear, breathing gently. They say nothing, just take in the moment. This is theirs, they made it, and nothing can or will take it from them. Tom will fight for this until his dying breath leaves his body, because this is all he’s ever wanted.
“Welcome home, baby.” Chris rumbles into his ear, and Tom feels tears in his eyes.
**
“We can’t get a puppy, Chris.”
“Why not? We’ve been here for three months - I think that’s long enough to get settled.”
Being back in Australia brings the accent back to Chris. He doesn’t sound so silly anymore, just sexier.
“We have Rosie. I think she’s enough.” Tom glances over at the kitten sleeping on the sofa’s back, nestled perfectly and happily. He strokes her head and she purrs, content.
Chris smiles at them, “Yes, she’s darling, but she can’t protect us, can she?”
He has a point.
So, Tom caves. “Fine. But we have to get two.”
Chris’ grin is wider than ever and he presses a hard, messy kiss to Tom’s cheek in thanks.
**
The paranoia began to fade around the nine-month mark. Their dogs are bigger than the small beans they’d brought home one evening, introducing them to Rosie carefully and making sure to socialize them at dog parks and on the street during walks. They eat a mixture of puppy chow and table scraps, they play together and watching Chris wrestle around with them brings Tom so much joy.
It’s so…normal.
But, Tom gets restless, and so does Chris.
The itch to go, to leave, is always there. Tom finds himself looking at plane ticket prices and Chris talks about the places he misses visiting, like Vegas. Especially Vegas.
“For our five-year anniversary,” Tom murmurs that night in bed, kissing Chris’ neck gently, “We’ll go back. Just for a bit.”
Chris hums, because he knows it can’t happen, and it’s terrible to crave something you can’t have, but they’re both used to it so it’s not so bad.
“Let’s explore Australia a bit more, first,” Tom murmurs as he kisses Chris’ chest, down his breastbone, his stomach, the soft skin beneath his navel.
Chris agrees with a breathy ‘yeah’ and says nothing else for the rest of the night that isn’t a moan.
**
After a year at home, they decide to celebrate.
Chris sees his family again, after ten years of being away. It was his form of protection, he’d explained to Tom. He had to disown himself in order to keep them all from harm.
And they welcomed he and Tom into their lives with open arms and happy kisses on the cheek, but not after a tear-filled reunion. Tom had expected anger, yelling of betrayal, or something like that. All they got were tight hugs and proper introductions. Tom’s never known a functioning family – a happy one, at that. It’s so strange. They’re always laughing and making jokes that aren’t laced with an insult. How can any of this be real?
Just like Chris’ affection, it’ll take some time getting used to. But, then again, he has the rest of his life.
He loves Chris’ nieces the most. They’re so happy all the time, and they don’t hesitate to play with Tom. They’re loud and annoying and Tom’s happy to babysit them whenever he and Chris can.
That night, Chris holds him close, and asks, “How happy are you?”
Tom’s happiness isn’t in question, but rather, how much of it is he experiencing?
He smiles at his love and kisses his cheekbone gently, muttering, “The happiest I’ve ever been.” He never lies anymore. He and Chris are open to one another, unashamed to say how they feel, even if it starts a fight that’s over before supper. It’s healthier than bottling up and exploding.
**
He makes friends. Slowly, of course. Chris reconnects with a few people that he can trust – people that aren’t in the business. Tom joins an art class that he goes to twice a week at the local college and actually meets people his age. It’s strange, much like everything else in his life. They talk about school and what classes they’re taking and ask Tom the same questions. He’s embarrassed when he admits to not attending school, but instead of harsh judgement, they tell him it’s his choice and that not everyone is the same.
He takes a liking to them immediately.
There’s Tara, a girl with pastel pink hair that discusses classic books with him on sunny afternoons in her backyard. And there’s Aiden, who’s into photography and likes to take pictures of Tom the most, because “your jawline and cheekbones are crazy, Tom!”. And Maggie is introverted, unless you bring up Harry Potter, then she won’t stop talking and Tom loves listening to her gush over the books and her criticism of the movies.
He takes up painting as a hobby, and Chris has reserved a room in their house specifically for Tom’s newfound passion. He’s in that room more often than not, creating messy pieces and finds it rather therapeutic. Much more than his former shower havens.
Sometimes, he catches himself thinking back to his days as an escort, and it seems like a lifetime ago. He’s here now, happy and painting and making a little money from them, too. Chris is working for his father at his business and stays inside a lot, except for when they can’t handle being hermits anymore and head to the beach for a day. They have their little house and little family. They don’t need anything else, and Tom knows he’ll never completely shed that feeling of paranoia. Instead, he begins to accept it, and works around it. He looks at the facts of where they are and the likeliness of being caught, and he calms down. Chris tells him the same thing, too. He’ll hold Tom close and whisper to him that it’s fine, they’re okay, and there’s nothing to worry about.
And that rational part of him tells Tom to not believe him, to disregard everything and be paranoid of everyone, but it’s exhausting and he gives in, nodding in agreement and knowing it’s for the best.
**
He turns 23 on a rainy Tuesday evening, surrounded by his lover, friends, Chris’ family, and their pets. He holds Rosie against his chest and presses his smiling, blushing face into her soft white fur as everyone sings to him in the dark kitchen, a homemade cake set in front of him with just barely enough candles to be considered a fire hazard.
“Make a wish, Tom!”
He takes a moment before blowing them out and everyone cheers.
There’s plenty of drinks and laughs as the evening goes on, a few gifts from friends that Tom cherishes – and the one picture from Aiden will definitely be going to Chris’ collection, he knows that. He feels a warmth in his chest that spreads throughout his entire body as the evening turns to night, and then he and Chris are wishing everyone a safe ride home and thanking them for being there.
Sol and Salvatore are in bed before he and Chris are, which is fine. They pick up some of the mess before swearing to each other that they’ll clean up tomorrow, and collapse onto the couch together.
“So,” Chris clears his throat, nosing at Tom’s curls.
“I had so much fun,” Tom whispers with a grin, trying to smother it a moment later as he wraps his arms around Chris.
“Yes, I know, I could tell by your smile.” Chris teases, chuckling softly as Tom notices the ache beginning in his cheeks.
“I never would have thought I could be this happy,” he admits quietly, breaking the silence that was consumed by the rain outside. He stares out of the large window and watches the tree move with the wind, recalling his birthday last year and how different that had been from this year’s.
Chris hums gently but says nothing else, content to lay there and share body heat. There’s nothing else to really say. Chris is happy because Tom is happy. How strange, to find happiness in other’s happiness. But, he can’t expect anything less from his lover. Chris has always been selfless, ever since Tom had met him.
“Can you promise me this, for the rest of my life?” Tom asks softly and suddenly, his tone serious as he held Chris’ arm. “No matter how long or short it will be?”
He can’t see Chris’ face from here, but he doesn’t need to. Doesn’t want to.
“Yes, baby. I promise.” The soft, thoughtful tone is just as serious as Tom’s had been, and that’s all he needs to know to feel peace.
“Thank you.”
He turns onto his stomach to share a kiss with the man he loves, and feels at home.