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It's a disgustingly long train ride. Four hours, forty-three minutes of scenery that seems utterly endless, any form of small town vanishing in the blink on an eye as the train wizzes through the stations, too quick for Alex to catch the name written on signs. Alex supposes he's grateful for the ride - unlike his seatmate across the table from him - he actually enjoys the down time, more time to write tasks and whatever else, jotting them down into the notebook in front of him after forced into being left to his own thoughts for the remaining few hours of the ride, especially in a luxury first-class carriage, all expenses paid by Avalon.
Despite the worse leg room, his comedy partner absolutely prefers a plane ride up. Greg isn't one to particularly enjoy being left alone with his thoughts - an observation Alex made very early on into their relationship, and it's increasingly evident right now, by the constant restless fidgeting the man is making every few minutes. Alex also tunes in to the fact despite his laptop being wide open in front of him, Greg hasn't actually typed anything in a quite a while, zoning aimlessly into the abyss only to be broken by a shuffle.
There's a gentle hum of soft chatter all around them in the carriage but the silence between them is stilted and heavy. Greg wasn't very keen on going, Alex recalls from the various meetings they had many months ago now when the opportunity had arose and Avalon had pushed them forward to do the event. Unlike Alex, he just wasn't keen to return to the festivities of the Edinburgh Fringe - well, this was an Edinburgh International Television Festival event however, the Fringe was happening at the same time - running around an old fashioned overly crowded city that's swamped with tourists and people that likely recognise you around every corner.
He doesn't realise it, but he's doing worse than Greg right now, pen no longer scratching away at the notebook in front of him, openly staring at Greg's face like a gawking fish, eyes boring into him like Greg's a complex puzzle to be solved. Their eyes meet in a daze, Alex startles like he's been electrocuted, the tips of his ears turning rosy but completely unable to look away from the grey eyes that pierce his soul. Greg's mouth twists into one of confusion tinged with amusement, "Is there something on my face, Alex?"
Alex can only rapidly shake his head, "No! No, I just noticed you stopped typing and well, you just happened to catch me watching?" The end comes out as a squeak, as Greg's face morphs into something more unreadable as he's pulled up on his inability to work. "Just making sure you're okay?"
"'M fine. Just not keen on this whole trip." Greg says with a huff and rips his eyes back down and begins typing again, forcing this conversation shut with a metaphorical door slam. Alex takes the hint for a moment and tries to bury himself back into his own work, finding his head unable to focus on any thought besides attempting to cheer Greg up.
The awkwardness lasts for five whole minutes before Alex can't help himself but perk up again, "I booked us some Fringe tickets like you suggested, if, if you're still interested at least?"
While the initial suggestion and comment had been made somewhat sarcastically during a meeting, but Alex took it to heart and sought out a handful of tickets to performances made by friends and potential future Taskmaster contestants. To him, it was a good bonding opportunity, the more time they spent together on screen and developing their dynamic, the more they should realistically spend time together outwith the show.
"Oh? Who have you booked us for?" Greg hums, glancing up again and resting his face in his palm, once again giving a soft smile in Alex's direction. The change in tone from a few minutes ago sends little butterflies into Alex's stomach that he refuses to acknowledge.
He can't help the giddiness in his voice as he pulls the iPad out of his bag and brings up the ticket confirmation email, turning the screen to show Greg, "Since our train gets in at the back of one, after we check in at the hotel I thought we could pop on over to see Ed at three-fifteen, grab something to eat then Lolly, James and Mark at the Pleasance this evening?"
There's a silence while Greg scans over the information presented, a light nod and a hum of appreciation. "Haven't been there in years, guess it'll be better going back on the other side of it all,"
"We shared a dressing room a few years ago, do you remember?" Alex remembers. He's naturally good with faces and knowing people, even though they knew each other in light passing from being both on the British comedy scene, however seeing someone in those brief five to ten minutes before they perform is completely different beast. The ecstatic high of coming off stage from an audience filled with cheers then seeing Greg sitting in the dingy little room set up for performers, head in hands and looking about to vomit with the overwhelming stress of the festival, the awards and at how draining performing near enough nightly was.
While they weren't overly close, it was still a rotten feeling seeing someone so down. Alex made it his own personal mission over that month to do his best at cheering Greg up, cracking silly quips, leaving snacks or post-it's in the room for Greg's arrival. A few of these were rewarded with smiles that didn't reach the eyes and a soft 'You're ridiculous' that Alex didn't take to heart - Alex wonders if this whole 'bit' was a precursor to what the Taskmaster and Assistant would develop. There's a moment that stands out in his mind. Greg standing in the entryway of their dressing room as Alex comes off, cheeks flushed and aching from smiling, eyes blurry from all the bright lights and a skip in his step from a well-received performance, especially towards the end of the event. He remembers Greg standing to his full height - towering over Alex - and then patting him on the shoulder and leaning in to whisper in his ear before he stalked past, "Well done, Alex. Good show,"
If anybody had questioned, the redness on his face was because of the heat in the back of the venue and not the way Greg had spoken to him, low and tenderly. They had been running behind that evening so of course they had to rush past one another and didn't have time to chat, but if Alex lingered to hear the opening segments of Greg's set before he had to rush off to perform The Taskmaster of all things, then that was nobody's business but his own.
"I remember. You were a little pest during that year," Greg says without a hint of malice in his voice, chuckling slightly, likely going through the events of the Fringe backstage from his perspective. A pathetic part of Alex wonders if he recalls the way Greg made him feel that night and then instantly squashes it down as Greg is speaking to him again, "That's the year you took Taskmaster to the Fringe, yeah?"
"Mm-hm, didn't expect to be taking it this far six years later," Alex nods, it really has been the wildest past few years of his life, from getting the show off the Fringe floor and ready for the telly, now he's presenting it to a room-full of potential TV heads. Well, he's more there to add flair to Greg's presenting, on-stage admin and all that. Plus, knowing they'll be humiliating other TV executives rather than comedians was almost more satisfying for an event like this.
He doesn't realise he's broken the eye contact to wistfully stare out the window, smiling in his daydream about his silly concept becoming a fast-growing well known name, something that feels and sounds absolutely surreal - Alex wouldn't have believed anyone if he been told that six years ago. His attention is snapped back to Greg who clears his throat and fixes Alex with a gentle smile, shaking his head when Alex attempts to splutter out an apology for zoning out, "I'm glad I could be a part of this, helping you bring this strange concept to life, I mean,"
Greg never lets Alex speak to how grateful he is for Greg's presence on the show. They wanted someone with more authority and fame than Alex to be the acting 'true' host, who else than an ex-teacher and one of the few people on the comedy circuit taller than Alex. He's uttered a hundred 'thank you's, none feel any less earnest than the last. This one especially, "Thank you, Greg,"
-
With the awkward tension broken, the rest of the train journey does go a lot smoother. Overpriced snacks are purchased, while light banter is thrown back and forth. Even with the idle chit-chat, Alex is able to get a surprising amount of work done. Greg also seems pleased with himself and the work he himself has done, as he packs his laptop away shortly before they arrive.
The unease in Greg's posture returns although not to the same intensity as previously, a twitch under the skin that is likely due to not having anything to focus on for the remaining fifteen-or-so minutes left of their journey. Alex racks his brain to come up with a topic that they can meander through for the last few minutes and is interrupted by an overhead announcement the second he opens his mouth, the visual making Greg laugh, the type of laugh where he covers his mouth like he's caught out laughing at something he shouldn't be.
Alex can't help himself but join in, overcome with giggles at the silliness and drawing the eyes of nearby passengers, which only serves to make their laughter harder. One his honks escapes and Greg's eyebrows fly up, he's only heard Alex laugh that hard a handful of times, each time catches him completely off guard and just serves to add fuel to the fire. Both of them red and gasping for breath from trying to stifle themselves, an image that Alex will probably revisit later in a different context.
At the present moment though, he's grateful for how easy it was to yet again cheer Greg up, keep him out of a negative head space, even from a moment so silly. It's going to be a rough forty-eight hours for him, keeping his morale high enough to slog though the few days. Alex hopes that keeping him busy and the opportunity to bully some posh telly people will be to get them through the days.
"Do you think we'll have someone waiting for us at the train station to escort us to the hotel?" Greg asks as the giggles die down, chewing at his lip, fixing Alex a worried look. They really don't want to draw attention to themselves, even if it is likely that nobody knows who they are.
"Oh, I hope not." Alex chuckles nervously. It would be disgustingly awkward to be escorted around. Especially as they've both been around Edinburgh before.
"If there is, shall we ditch them?" There's a proper spark of mischief in Greg's eyes, the thrill of being in charge of one's own journey against Avalon's wishes. They could get a proper slap on the wrist for it, a stern talking to maybe, but likely no real repercussions so long as they make it to their hotel and remain professional.
He can't fight excitement of Greg's proposition off his face, grinning as he tracks Greg's face for any signs of calling a 'just kidding' or backing down. Seeing none, Alex nods erratically like a bobble head, unable to back down from a dare or ridiculous little request, 'yes and-ing to the extreme - a quirk of his that Greg had discovered fairly recently at the series three recordings when he'd told Alex to take his shoe and sock off, generating a delight on Greg's face that Alex knows spells 'trouble'.
Another train announcement snaps them both out of the bubble they're in, informing them that the train is arriving, pulling into the station. It's a mad scramble on the carriage to get bags and suitcases, but they thankfully don't lose one another and sneak off the train sharply, scurrying through the gates and smiling away to themselves as they escape the station. Neither paid attention to whether or not there was an escort, or well, Alex didn't, keeping his head down and following Greg out into the warm sunshine.
Navigating the old streets is akin to wandering though the place you grew up in, distantly familiar but enough has changed slightly that it makes your head go fuzzy trying to recall it. The steep uphills really making Alex feel his age this time, unused to the climb and Greg even more so, having to pause for a breather halfway there and telling Alex to "Fuck off," when he can't control the amusement spreading across his face.
There's a buzz of energy in the air from the hoards of people, swarming to get to their next show or clamouring to see a street performer - it makes Alex feel alive and Greg want to be the opposite. Everything is too busy to dawdle though, powering through crowds towards the hotel - a particularly fancy one which is the price an all expenses paid trip to promote a TV show can garner.
Check-in is smooth and neither question the lack of an extra set of keys as the two of them squish into the lift, assuming it to be a room with two double beds. It was a fancy hotel and they were only staying for two nights during the busiest month of the year, there had to be corners cut somewhere. Key in the lock, Greg yawning behind him, mumbling something about taking a quick nap before they head out for the evening which makes Alex hum in agreement, they had been travelling since early morning. Then everything grinding to a screeching halt at the view inside the room.
"No. No, no. Clearly there's a mistake?" Greg snaps, suddenly sharply awake and aware, stomping around their hotel room like an enraged elephant. Alex can only stand there a little gobsmacked and embarrassed at the sight. There is only one bed. A very large and comfortable looking one at that, but only the one. It makes Alex's skin run hot, at the nasty places his mind rushes to but extremely embarrassed at the same time, Greg is very clearly upset and disgusted by the sight.
Alex is a little lost in his own head at the situation presented that he startles when Greg places a large hand on his shoulder, jolting him back. Greg instantly softens slightly, "Sorry for giving you a fright, mate. Gonna go back down to reception and sort this out, you coming?"
"I- yeah. Must have placed us in the wrong room or forgotten a set of keys?"
What follows is the most headache inducing thirty minutes of Alex's life. Reception insisting they've gotten the right room, a tense and awkward phone call to Avalon who are clueless as to who actually booked the hotel and how that person messed up so badly, but ultimately informing him that yes, they accidentally only booked one bedroom with only one bed. Then, begging to hotel staff for a spare room. However, in the middle of the Fringe, of course there's no spare rooms, no upgrades available, get what they're given or try asking other hotels for spaces.
"Head to toe?" Alex asks, trying to make light of their situation as they awkwardly wander back to their room. It was decided it was impossible to find another room on such short notice and they would have to suck it up. Two men over six foot, who have just dipped their toes into 'friendship' status sharing a single queen-sized bed.
"Yeah, something like that. Gonna take a shower then we can head out," Greg dismisses him, grabbing his suitcase and locking the bathroom door after him with a force behind it. So much for trying to keep Greg's morale high.
He catches his eye in a full body mirror sitting across the room, taking in his weary state and tired posture from the long travel and stressful situation. There's a layer of exhaustion on his shoulders that's bogging him down. Alex can't bear to watch himself any longer, flopping down on the bed and rubbing his eyes. Maybe a short doze will wash the stress out his system.
-
Thankfully the tension manages to stay in the room, as despite the crowds of people lining the pavements and making the whole place a nightmare to navigate, alongside the pelting hot midday sun, the two of them are in high spirits. There is a luxury in knowing that you're not the one performing at the Fringe, no looming stress about how many tickets you've sold for that evening and reciting your lines in your head over and over and over again. It's also a blessing not being recognised during this outing, especially as taller men who can't hide in the sea of people, more and more people are starting to know them from the telly and Alex doesn't think either of them could handle a fan conversation right now.
They weave in and out people, travelling up the streets towards the venue Ed is performing at with the knowledge that if they arrive with enough time, they can nab a drink beforehand. And afterwards most likely. Logistically, it's probably not a good idea to go hard on drinking when you have to perform at eleven the following day, but with the bed situation looming over them, if they pop into the beer garden adjoined for a cheeky pint beforehand then it's nobodies business.
He really should be the sensible one of the two, but it may have been Alex's idea, to drink their first drinks as quickly as possible to take fresh ones in to the show. If Greg agrees because he - like Alex - is desperate to forget what's coming tonight or he just wants to ignore the whole Edinburgh situation, for whatever his reason, he grins wolfishly at Alex and waggles his eyebrows as he chugs the drink. Suddenly the half-full pint resting his own palm is increasingly more interesting.
Ed absolutely clocks them right away, more so Greg, judging by the glare he shoots early on in the set and the fact him and Alex don't know each other that well. It's a bit of a squash at the back of the venue, an attempt at being considerate of others with their heights, but it's hard to go unnoticed by your own mates when Greg is the size of a giant anyways. When Greg leans down to whisper, Alex can taste the alcohol that's breathed into his space, it's vile and delicious, "Bet the prick won't even say hi to us afterwards,"
He's right. They linger for a little while afterwards, to get another drink, and a flash of a text that does not seem in the slightest apologetic pops up on Greg's phone. Alex has to stand on his tip-toes and squish his face against Greg's shoulder to get an actual glimpse of the message, as it's tricky to see in the bright sun, and Greg simply adjusts, wrapping an arm around him and turning the screen for Alex to read. Alex looks up to Greg, "It's fine, we've got food to get and more shows to see,"
It's the type of heat where when you look off in the distance, the edges of the horizon you can see go blurry, sweat trickling down Alex's spine and making him feel like he's wearing a soggy towel instead of a t-shirt. The material is clinging to his form, he would almost be embarrassed if Greg wasn't the same, his forehead so shiny with sweat that it takes Alex lot of willpower to not follow a droplet that falls down to his neck. Greg charges them forward, pulling them to the curry house around the corner, no questions asked to Alex, just an expectation that he'll follow.
The meal they have there is really good and Alex is grateful for the little corner they find themselves tucked away in, unbothered and in peace to eat until their stomachs want to burst. The carbs in his system dull the affects the alcohol was trying to take a hold of, however it selfishly means that they'll just have to do more drinking together to regain the loosened state and lowered inhibitions.
It's not until they're on the winding side-streets on the way to the Pleasance - an hour early but plenty of time to nab some drinks beforehand - that Alex actually voices the feeling of beer loosing it's grip through every step he takes, "Feel like I'm just sweating it out at this point, I didn't even feel that tipsy earlier,"
Greg grins in a way that Alex can see the neurons in his brain connect the dots as every feature on his face lights up, turning to Alex with a vigour that should be intimidating or make him fearful, but does the opposite, "D'you want to get a little fucked up, Alex?"
"I'd like to see you try," Hindsight will say that this is the worst best thing he could have said, challenging Greg's plan, particularly as a bigger man who can hold his drink far better than Alex can. Although, he wouldn't really know this until later on. For now, it's a test, a dare, a task if you will. Get shit-faced drunk, your time starts now.
As they arrive the bar is swamped, as the evening crawls in and more shows from big names start happening, it was inevitable for it to be this heaving. Greg doesn't hesitate to be loud about his order, calling the attention of some poor stressed out bartender, "Two vodka red bulls,"
"Please," Alex attaches without realising the words are tumbling out his mouth, squeaking like a mouse when Greg turns and stares at him, studying Alex like he's unsure which of them will crack first under the pressure. It's Alex, a laugh bubbling out of him and pivoting the conversation away from his unintentional correction, "I don't think we're the target demographic for vodka red bulls, Greg,"
Which is to say, Greg what the fuck are you ordering for us, in much more polite terms. In the atmosphere of the courtyard, they're back to either yelling or leaning into close proximity to each other to actually get a word in. And Alex can't shout to save his life. It does make it hard to distinguish if the warmth in his system is the increased skin contact, enhanced by the thin sweat-damp clothing they're wearing in the summer heat, or if it's from the ludicrous concoction that Greg has ordered for them, sickly in a way that simultaneously dulls and enhances senses, like a pencil sharpener that can't make it further than a blunt lead.
Whatever the reason, to Alex the night seems to be getting hotter, fuelled by the beverage that Greg continues to order for them, seemingly topping them up as Alex is finishing the dregs, either more aware than Alex and able to think coherent thoughts or maybe a psychic cognition that lets Greg know when he needs a refill. Either way, Alex is kept drinking through the shows and in-between, cosied away at the back of the venues and increasingly giggly. While it's harder to tell Greg's cues from the outside, the amplified touches across Alex's shoulders and arms, firm and tender, a little clumsy, speak volumes to Alex. He looses control of the volume metre in his voice and there's a constant sparkle in his eye of delight.
"Can't believe you're dragging me into seeing your mates show," Greg slurs slightly, as they wander out of Acaster's performance and circle around back to the bar for yet another drink. "Gonna heckle him like nobody's business, serves both of you right,"
Alex nudges into him, mock offence on his face, clearly unable to school himself into the assistant persona while the liquor has a fistful of his controls. "We saw Ed for your mates! Plus, it's the Fringe. Greg Davies heckling him will be one of the tamer evenings he's had,"
Greg lights up at that, "Light Fringe if that's only 'tamer' than the rest of his shows," He takes a swig of his drink and nudges Alex towards the end join the end of the queue, "Have you made any plans for us after Mark? Clubbing perhaps?"
"I'm not even forty yet and I know I'm too old to go clubbing. Never mind you," Alex gives Greg a smile that's full of mischief, one that grows at Greg's squawk of "I'm not that old!" which blurs together into one word.
They're steadily shuffling forwards in the line, sandwiched in-between bodies and the smell of alcohol swimming in the air around them. Greg looks around them, observing the people and coming back to Alex. Instead of letting his voice carry and announcing his thoughts and opinions to the world, he leans down to whisper-shout, a private message for Alex's ears only, "Do you remember when I called you little Alex Horne in the record a while back?"
Oh, how could Alex forget. Greg had gone slightly off-script, sneaked the extra word in and produced a silly nickname for Alex. Technically Alex is not small at all, he's six-foot-two and actually stands taller than a good amount of people, however when your co-worker and on-screen 'Master' absolutely towers over you in every way, it's impossible to not feel small in some way in his presence. Something about being called 'little' despite his height scratched an itch Alex never knew he had, "Yeah, I remember. What about it?"
Greg hums, "Hm, nothing about it specifically, just came into my head just now. Even though we're tall amongst all these people, you're still little next to me,"
And fuck, if the first time it came out of Greg's lips was scratching an itch, this was a full on massage. A shudder threatens to wrack his system, spreading across his back, sending a flutter into his heart and butterflies into his stomach. It's more intoxicating than the vodka clasped in his hand. Alex's eyes look up, wide and glassy, pupils dilated with the alcohol, thrills in the hiss of breath Greg intakes before jerking his head and placing his hand around Alex's shoulder to nudge them forward in the queue, "We're heading in, come on,"
Alex can feel his head swimming and he's no longer sure in the drink is the sole cause of it anymore.
-
'One more drink?' after Mark's show quickly turns into two, the liquid now burning his throat and a need to piss every twenty minutes is becoming overwhelming. Alex's body feels loose and fuzzy around the edges, leaning into the cool brick wall behind him as he takes another swig of his drink only to find the plastic cup empty. There must be a noise of confusion escaping his throat because Greg's voice startles him, low and throaty, head in palm and admiring Alex with a dopey grin on his face, "You're wrecked, mate,"
Whining in frustration, Alex throws his head back and winces when it smacks into the hard bricks. He rubs his eyes that cannot seem to focus and drags it down his face, mumbling, "Greg,"
"Hm?"
"We have a show to perform at 11am tomorrow," There's worry behind the amusement of it, delirious almost in how ridiculous the situation is, they absolutely should not have gone as hard as they did on the drinks and now they're both fairly drunk, hours before they have to perform. Neither of them know if they should laugh or cry.
"I think we're both wrecked, Alex," And it's what cracks Alex onto the side of laughter, giggles escaping him as his whole world spins.
"We should go back 'n try to sleep," As soon as the words are out of his mouth, Greg's expression changes instantly. In the wooziness of his head, Alex frowns and recalls his own personal little task of keeping Greg happy during their trip and groans when he recalls why Greg's upset. "I forgot, I can sleep on the couch? You're bigger than me, take the bed,"
"Alex, there's no couch in our hotel room," There's a twist of a half-hearted smile on Greg's face but it doesn't reach all the way across, probably from watching Alex flounder around, every bodily movement over exaggerated.
"The floor then? Can sleep on the floor," It's more a question than a suggestion and the frown returns.
"Don't be ridiculous, mate,"
"Head to toe?" He tries, feeling a little fruitless as he's running out of suggestions, short of just saying he'll sleep on the street in an effort to make Greg comfortable.
"I'm drunk enough and comfortable in my sexuality enough to just share a bed with you normally, I think," Greg looks away briefly and after a moments hesitation, "I hope you are too?"
"Oh! Yeah, I just, didn't want to make you upset. That's - that's more than okay with me," Alex is a bit flustered at the though of sharing a bed together, but his heart sings as Greg tosses back a proper smile as he stands. All the lights behind Greg blur and mesh together, bathing him in a warm glow that makes him look almost angelic. Despite the August air being cooler in the near-midnight, Alex suddenly feels hot and sweaty all over again, although it has nothing to do with summer weather and everything to do with the larger man hoisting Alex off the bench. He's pulled into Greg's chest, his bones feeling floppy and useless, melting into the warmth that Greg exudes.
The walk back to the hotel is both too long and too short, they contentiously stumble into one another, bumping hips and bodies, grasping onto each others arms to steady themselves - far less sober than they both initially though. The air between them is filled with giggles as they trip over the rough cobbles that cover the streets of the Old Town, the gentle breeze cooling their flushed cheeks. Alex himself is fizzing with nervous energy, the though of sharing a bed with Greg sends a heat through him in ways he refuses to decipher.
Once they stagger into the hotel, Alex's fingers are struggling with the key, his surroundings are unfocused and hands trembling, manoeuvring a key into a small slit is a challenging task. A soft gasp escapes him as Greg wraps his hand over Alex's and steadies it, pushing the key inside the lock, making the process look smooth and easy. To top it off, Greg's voice taunts him in his ear, "Was that so hard, little Alex?"
If the task was hard, it's nothing in comparison to what's going on downstairs for Alex. As they make their way into the room, Alex grabs his bag and beelines for the bathroom, "Knock when you're decent,"
He doesn't look behind him or wait for Greg's affirmation before he has to slam the bathroom door behind him. Pressing his whole body up against the cool wooden door, squeezing his eyes shut and willing away his bodily reactions. He's just drunk to the ninth degree, heightening all his interactions, the knowledge he's going to be sharing a bed with another warm body, one that's been whispering in his ear all day and giving Alex his pure undivided attention since the early hours of the morning. His skin feels raw, a blush that trails across his torso and sinks into his veins, spreading arousal around his system.
Too conscious of spending too long in the bathroom - he doesn't need Greg making wanking jokes, couldn't handle it right now - Alex yanks his clothes off his burning body, grimacing as the smell of sweat from the day hits his nose. After a brief moment, Alex hops in the shower in an effort to rinse away the day of sweat. It's ice cold, washing away the heat and calming his body right down, unsatisfying but needed; it also helps to sober him up a little, the room is spinning less and the florescent light overhead feels obnoxious.
A sharp knock comes as he's towelling off his body, the noise making Alex jump as he's completely forgotten about telling Greg to knock. Muffled by the door, Greg's voice comes through with a sense of urgency, "I'm uh, ready whenever you are. And desperate for a piss,"
"Sorry! I'll just-," Alex scrambles to tug his clothes on and pulls the door open staring at Greg who's restlessly fidgeting outside. The image in front of his is captivating, Greg is dressed in nothing but a pair of form-fitting black boxers, leaving little to the imagination. Suddenly, he feels extremely overdressed in joggers and shirt but he's a cold being, even in the tail end of summer.
"Not much to see," Greg slurs, raising an eyebrow cockily to Alex, who can only splutter and flush deeply. He has to bite down on his tongue to keep himself from disagreeing, every inch of bare skin from the expanse of Greg's stomach to the mile-long legs is a treat. A part of his brain going feral - a burning desire to caress all the exposed skin in a way that makes Alex feel dirty. Greg's voice yet again drags him out from his own head, "Do need you to move though,"
"Ah, yes," Alex nods and shuffles towards the bed, brushing past Greg as he squeezes out of the doorway. The teeniest brush feels like a wildfire spreading across his arm. He has to lay down, pressing the heel of his palms into his eyes, willing the walls to stop moving and his brain to not got haywire over the situation. There's realistically only a few moments between Alex getting into the bed and Greg laying down at the other side, but it feels like a lifetime.
It's almost comical how they choose to squeeze into the bed, at the edge of each side, one roll and they would topple overboard. The duvet is stretched to it's limit, only covering to their shoulders, leaving Alex's front open and exposed to the cold. He just can't help the fact he runs cold, especially while sleeping, so he does the only logical thing and scoots backwards until his back bumps into Greg's. There's a grunt of confusion and Alex can only mumble out a "'S cold," before everything rustles and jostles, and the back has turned into the soft warm expanse of Greg's stomach, one arm reaching over Alex to pull them impossibly closer together.
Flooding into his mind is the way Greg's voice rumbled the 'little Alex' into his ear earlier on today; once at the Pleasance and again as they entered the hotel room. It's exhilarating actually feeling the weight of the term of endearment, Greg's taller body dwarfing his own as they huddle together in a bed that's too small to fit of their bodies. Greg's voice is rough with sleep when he speaks, "Ridiculous being cold in the middle of August,"
If he was more awake, the words spoken like that would make Alex squirm. Maybe he would have a witty retort. As it is, he's far too exhausted, cosy and warm underneath the duvet with his own personal heater behind him. Grateful for the alcohol still in his blood as it makes his muscles loosen and relax, getting heavier with each fidget as his body falls asleep in Greg's arms.
-
When Alex wakes everything is simultaneously wobbly and sharp, the lingering dregs of intoxication battling with the hangover threatening to overtake. The hotel room is still dark, he can see the window from here, but there's very little light seeping in from the curtains. It must still be very early in the morning. He knows he should get up, chug a glass of water, maybe preemptively take a paracetamol before sleeping again. However, he cannot move his body - well, he doesn't want too, clinging to the threads of sleepiness and enjoying the cosiness of the bed and more importantly, the body of Greg behind him. Warm, soft and trapping Alex's body to the bed, unable to properly wiggle out without likely waking him up.
Every soft snore Greg makes tickles the hairs on the back of his neck, warming up the same spot over and over again with his breath. A small twitch in his sleep makes him flex his fingers tighter around Alex's middle, burying his body into closer contact. It's sending waves of tingles around Alex's body, prickling down his fingers and to his toes and most notably, to his cock beginning to fill out in his joggers.
Alex would be fooling himself to deny to deny himself the attraction he's been feeling towards Greg for the better part of, the past few months. After spending so much time into developing a persona that literally worships Greg at his feet, it's very hard to not have that bleed into his personal life and growing relationship with the real person. Outwith wrap parties, meetings and passing one another in the studio hallways, this is the first time they have truly spent a lengthy amount of time in each others company, solo and without any cameras recording every word they utter. Each interaction they made over the course of the day just deepened Alex's crush, culminating in sharing a bed while his inhibitions are lowered.
He almost can't help himself, the angle is awkward as he's trying to not jostle Greg's arm, but Alex reaches down and grasps himself through the cotton. In his defence, he was only planning on adjusting himself underneath Greg, getting comfortable and maybe trying to dose off again for the remaining few hours before the day starts for real and the sun rises. However, the feel of his own hand down there is nothing short of electric, sending sharp waves of pleasure through his system, enough that he has to slam his gap teeth into his bottom lip and choke down the whimper that threatens to escape into the silent dark room. One simple touch shouldn't evoke such a strong reaction, not at his age, but he's still woozy from the intoxication and keyed up from Greg's words and undivided attention.
It's a dangerous game to play, it could end horribly if Greg was to wake up right now and see Alex trembling with the effort to not groan and thrust into the palm of his hand. The same hand that's grinding its heel into the semi beneath the cotton, a slow and steady movement that only serves to tease and increase the desire swimming through his brain rather than take the edge off. Each press is torture and Alex is struggle with the effort to keep his arm from moving against Greg. He should get up, finish his wank in the bathroom, try to not think about Greg sound asleep in the next room, the fact they're performing together tomorrow, the fact they're spending more time together tomorrow wandering around and getting to really know each other. Trying not to think about Greg's lightly flushed face, sweaty and gentle in the warm orange-yellow glows of the sun setting, back dropped by the beautiful old-fashioned town centre.
A choked gasp escapes.
Every inch of Alex's body goes from heated pleasure to ice cold, the quiet sound echoing loudly in the silence of the room. He can't move, waiting with bated breath for any sign of movement or acknowledgement from the man behind him. The seconds tick by in Alex's head, each one longer than the last. He thinks he's in the clear when the arm wrapped around his waist suddenly tightens and there's a low rumble in his ear, twinged with sleepiness and arousal, "Care to explain what you're doing?"
It's a rhetorical question, signified by the fact Greg suddenly rolls his hips causing his own erection to nudge against Alex's backside; an act that causes Alex eyes to fly open with another pathetic noise filling the void of the room. How he hadn't noticed beforehand is a mystery, it feels impossibly large as it presses into the soft flesh of his bum. His hand that's still at the base of his cock flexes, pushing pressure on Alex's aching dick and creating more friction when his body rocks.
Greg's hand covers his own, centimetres away from the area he's body is crying for touch, and stills the movement. Spooning isn't the right word anymore, Greg is overtaking and overpowering, consuming Alex whole with just a few simple touches. He presses to Alex impossibly closer - anymore and Alex would be falling out the bed - murmuring in his ear, so close the lips are brushing the shell and making Alex melt into the sheets, "I asked you a question, Alex,"
The bed is no longer hot because two overgrown adult men are occupying it in the summertime, it's because Alex's face is on fire, so turned on his dick could cut diamonds. His throat flexes uselessly, trying to muster up words that his vocal chords refuse to utter. Under Greg's scrutiny, his body weakly tries to grind against the cock at his back or against the palm held to his own, any from of friction will do. Greg's grip tightens. There's a handful of pathetic noises stumbled into the air; Alex burning hot with embarrassment as his body continues to fail at making any coherent words.
One moment he's facing the wall and the next he's been forcibly rolled over, staring not at the ceiling but at Greg, staring with an intensity that would crumble a weaker person. Alex lets himself be manhandled, arms hoisted above his head and pinned to the headboard, as Greg kneels over his body. He can read the faux annoyance on Greg's features at Alex's inability to answer the question, if he wasn't so turned on, Alex would laugh at the absurdity of what they're getting into. As it stands, his voice decides to finally cooperate, mumbling out a, "Was just thinking about-,"
He can't finish the sentence. Can't bear to vocalise his thoughts and growing desires for his coworker, sort-of mate, long-time acquaintance, budding comedy partner, anything but a crush. (It's a losing battle in Alex's head.)
If it hadn't been for Greg's prick rubbing against him juts moments ago, Alex would fully believe he's dreaming. Being tossed around in bed and pushed into the sheets is like something out a wet dream. Every minute area of skin that's touching Greg's feels aflame.
Alex can see the moment Greg catches on, the flash of surprise in his eyes, everything too real for a short second. As quickly as it came, the emotion is gone, neither of them willing to linger on what this means, what they're about to do, how it's going to affect the two of them. Right now, all Alex's mind is thinking about is the way Greg angles his body, to rut their clothed cocks against one another.
The friction is delicious after such a teasing buildup. Greg doesn't waste time, grabbing Alex by the hips in a way that the fingers dig in, in a way that he'll likely have 10 small bruises across his hips - one for each of Greg's fingertips. A reminder of now, their hips bumping and grinding, anything for that sweet, sweet pleasure. Chasing it like their lives depend on it.
He can't help the way he bites his lips, indenting them with his wonky teeth. Or the way his fingers scramble and grasp the headboard, finding no purchase and reaching out to Greg instead, likely making matching bruises as his hips onto Greg's shoulders. Or even the way his cock is leaking into his trousers, a wet patch appearing at the front, growing with each thrust.
God, it feels like Alex is dreaming. High and floaty, ecstasy bleeding through him as the image of his recent dreams comes to before his eyes. The imagery of Greg above him is magnificent, beads of sweat along his hairline, eyes screwed shut and mouth agape, little grunts of pleasure escaping. Alex moves his hand up from his shoulder to rest on Greg's jaw, so mesmerised by the visual that he has to touch, print the moment into every sense his body has so he never forgets.
Two eyes to watch Greg's form, sweat-soaked skin, the bulge in his pants, every taunt muscle. Two ears to listen, cataloguing every minuscule noise Greg makes, what movements make louder noises, to the rustle of the duvet and the creak of the bed frame. The smell of sex fills the air, heady and musky, with undertones of sweat. Every point of contact is electrifying, the hands on one another to their pricks lined up and grinding, oh Alex is so desperate to remove the offending layers, to feel Greg's hot hard length kissing his own. Which leaves taste.
Greg's eyes have opened, when Alex caressed his face, now looking down with a raw hunger in his eyes. A lazy smirk passes as Greg thrusts hard, causing Alex's eyes to roll back in his head and a debauched moan to vibrate in the space between them. He's so desperate to taste, for Greg's lips to brush his own, lick the bead of sweat rolling down into Greg's beard. A truly filthy thought of tasting Greg's prick seats itself at the front of his mind, the velvety smooth skin that's rock hard and would probably drool precum onto Alex's tongue.
"Greg, please," Is the only word Alex is able to produce, so much for being a wordsmith. It's gasped into the air and Alex can pinpoint the moment the beg is registered into Greg's brain. He throws Greg the most pleading look he can muster, pathetic eyes begging for everything and more. Curling his hand from Greg's jaw to the back of his neck, pressing into the muscles at the back in an attempt to wordlessly communicate his wants. It's tender, a gentle questioning touch but a firm press that's impossible to ignore.
"You're wonderful, Alex," Greg rumbles, leaning into Alex, whispering the words by his ear, so close and so far from the area he wants Greg's lips to be. Despite the phrase being so simple, so easy, it fills Alex with immense joy, spreading to every corner of his body and a jolt of pleasure up his spine. In the wee hours of the morning it feels like Greg well and truly means it, praising Alex for waking up indescribably horny.
A combination of the proximity and the buildup of the rutting sends Alex close to the edge, whimpering through his gap teeth and shuddering into the sheets with every movement. He spills into his pants when Greg moves his face to collide their lips together, a rough and messy kiss that's right in all the wrong ways, the perfect finishing move to make Alex come. Greg must follow moments later as the lips pull of his own, a string of saliva connecting them as he stutters and freezes above Alex, making filthy noises through choked breathes.
As he's been fulfilled, every sense overwhelmed and occupied by Greg, and orgasm settling like a weighted blanket over his body, his eyes are suddenly heavy. It's a struggle to keep them open especially when there's a warm kiss to the side of Alex's lips, a hushed, "Thank you," and an enveloping body resting atop his, making his bones and body melt into a puddle, sinking into the mattress and filling the air with soft sighs. He's been so well cared for, his vision blurring as he attempts to trace Greg's movements. It's a losing battles as sleep overtakes, dragging Alex's body into dreamland.
-
Waking up with a hangover and to a blaring alarm is never fun. Alex feels like he's been taken apart and rearranged like one of his children's potato head toys - every limb is in the wrong place and twisted at odd angles. His mouth is dried shut, throat screaming for hydration while every muscle in Alex's body protests at each little shuffle and twitch. The sunlight peaking through the windows is razor sharp, beaming its way directly onto his face, making it difficult to ignore even when he scrunches his eyes shut. It's not until Alex twists his head away from the light that he really becomes aware of the situation.
Last nights events come rushing back to his head like a train wreck, the sight of Greg laid next to him, half strewn across Alex's limbs - he is suddenly aware of half his body being coated in pins and needles, spread over the areas Greg is laid atop - sends waves of heat and ice through his veins. All the erotic images of Greg above him, the two of them coming into their sleepwear, sharply followed by the chill, the shame of trying to have a wank in a shared bed, with a co-host, a friend. Alex has a wife for God's sake - with an admittedly open relationship, but as far as Alex knows, Greg is unaware of this. He feels awful, terrible even.
It's as this feeling grows, Alex realises that part of that terrible feeling is him actually going to throw up. Fight-or-flight response is the only reason Alex is able to pull himself out from underneath Greg fast enough, throwing his body into the bathroom just in time for his stomach to empty. It's not pleasant, kneeling on the floor and trembling, pale clammy fingers fisted into his sleep shirt while he coughs, spluttering the remaining bits of bile into the toilet.
The whole room is spinning, eyes unfocused and staring holes into the toilet lid. He's futilely picking up the pieces of himself, trying to fix the jumbled mess that is Alex Horne - hungover and sat in a hotel bathroom after vomiting, while the clock ticks down until they have to present Taskmaster to an important audience.
A hand on his back startles Alex back into the room. "C'mon, let's get you sorted,"
Somehow, that's all he needs. Greg taking care of him, sorting Alex back into the neat little box he fell out of. An encouragement to rinse his mouth out, brush his teeth and a nudge towards the shower. This is the first time they've made eye contact all morning, Alex looking up softly to Greg with a hushed, "Thank you,"
Greg sends Alex a smile, wistful and not quite reaching his eyes - tired in a way that's more than the poor nights sleep. Alex wishes he was more put together, in a better frame of mind to decipher the look, instead it's over too fast. As he exits the bathroom, Greg lingers in the doorway before, "Should be thanking you for the company yesterday. I feel a bit more excited for today,"
Alex preens in delight, unable to hide the wide eyes and matching smile decorating his face. Any part of his mood dampened by his hangover and rough awakening is instantly overwritten by Greg's words. He really must look ridiculous as Greg scrunches his nose and gives a less desolate smile, chuckling at the expression on Alex's face, "Go shower! Before we're late,"
And oh god, before they're late. In the tension of this morning Alex had completely forgotten what was happening today, the whole reason they're in Edinburgh in the first place. Removing his clothes to jump in the shower Alex grimaces at the dried stickiness in his sleep trousers, a very unavoidable reminder of last nights events and one that Greg is likely still - Alex has to slam the breaks on the line of thoughts. He cannot be think about Greg's dick before this event. Or Greg above him rutting them into the mattress, or even the way that Greg's still in the underwear he wore last night!
The freezing cold shower is once again a welcome distraction.
-
They're late anyway.
Not terribly so, or so much that it delays the event. It was agreed that they would arrive at the Conference Centre for half-past ten, if they were ten minutes late due to fact they both required a good amount of caffeine to appear awake and presentable to a host of production teams. Alex pointedly ignored and politely smiled around any eye-twitches and grumbles under the breath from others - he's a punctual man himself, he just happened to have the most insane night he's had in around twenty years.
Last night's events have become an oversized elephant in the room between them, an uncomfortable chat hanging over them like an impending doom. As they're dismissed from a debrief and are sent down the backstage hallways to get themselves changed and organised for their show, the producer side to Alex rears it's ugly head. Maybe it's selfishness but he absolutely cannot let the show under-perform, Alex has put in so many hours and sleepless nights over the concept and this event.
Greg hasn't made any indication of acknowledgement of last night, a part of Alex wonder if he had forgotten - if it had all been a half drunken romp in Greg's case. But every detail is stuck to Alex's head like glue, he knows he won't be able to perform without saying something. A part of him worries about being able to perform with Greg full stop, how their dynamic may change, will an audience be perceptive enough to know? These thought boil in Alex's brain as they wordlessly step down an empty hallway, illuminated by cheap LED and their footsteps sending echos both ways.
A swift step into Greg's pathway as they approach the dressing rooms receives him a glare. Alex stares him down, mustering up the script in his head, he can't fuck this up, "I recall. What happened last night I mean,"
"I'd hope so, otherwise the jizz in your pants was probably a shock this morning," Greg jokes, throwing Alex off slightly. Alex can't tell if he's genuinely miffed or is trying to make light of the situation, he doesn't know if he's to frown or laugh at the remark. There's waves of discomfort coming off Greg like a tsunami, he absolutely doesn't want to talk about this. An unsure smile passes but the apprehension between them is rising rapidly.
"We need to have a proper conversation about this, not now. But I just," Alex looks down, worrying his lips between his teeth, an embarrassment bubbling inside him, words that could really hurt him but need to be said. A swallow of determination and an intense glance back up to Greg who's face is unreadable. "I don't regret last night and I don't want it to ruin our show today. I'm so sorry if you do, but please continue today's show like we've rehearsed, please,"
As soon as the words have left his mouth he's so relieved and anxious that Alex has to flee, power walking to his labelled dressing room without a glance back to Greg. He wouldn't be able to take a rejection right now, and doing this right before Edinburgh Does Taskmaster is quite literally insane. But he is unable to do the show without saying something. It's likely he'll pay the price for this in around twenty minutes when the pre-show anxieties settle in.
Slipping into the dressing room and seeing his ill-fitting suit laid out for him is a wash of relief. Pulling on the suit is like flicking an internal light switch, turning from Alex Horne, dad of three, awkward comedian and dorky wordsmith; he's Alex Horne… Little Alex Horne, assistant to the Taskmaster, part-time cheeky git and mastermind behind the whole operation. It's too long on the limbs and the polyester material is a disgusting comfort, unwelcome in all the right ways and perfect for getting into the role.
Alex is both grateful and vexed by the fact him and Greg were able to have separate changing rooms for this event, and not at the hotel where they'll be spending more time in, including literally sleeping in. If he lingers in there for far loner than necessary, then that's between him and the moment he's savouring, a calm before the storm. Letting his mind clear and focusing on the recollection of memories from the tasking, the little bits they had planned prior to the event in meetings and rehearsals. His iPad feels heavy in his hands, keeping his fingers occupied from twisting into every crevice of his suit and tapping away at controls and buttons on the screen instead.
He can only close his eyes, inhale and exhale. It's soon to be showtime and they cannot fuck this up. There's an additional meeting to go prior to them setting foot on stage, but Alex pointedly does not look Greg's way, unable to bear whatever expressions will be sent back to him. Nauseatingly, Alex still hopes that it doesn't affect the chemistry they display on stage - which it should and Alex knows he's in the wrong for hoping that the metaphorical plaster the audience and cameras have a hold over them will hold out long enough for them to do the show.
They meet up behind the set, unable to avoid each other for any longer. Distant sounds of audience chatter fill Alex's senses and sends another wave of nervous energy through him, he's becoming a twitch of a man right now and is hopeful it doesn't come across. Greg's voice fills the void between them, "Sort of reminds me of when I did the Fringe a few years ago. 'Cept last time I had a strange wonky man on stage before me,"
Alex looks over, wide-eyed. Baby blues meet grey blues. Greg looks away the second the eye contact has registered. Fuck, Alex feels absolutely useless right now, tongue heavy and limp in his mouth, unable to vibrate his vocal chords and articulate his thoughts. He just stands there floundering for a few moments, struggling to scrounge up what's right and what's wrong to say. He really misses the autocue right now - a perfect script of words that have been carefully chosen for him to use when communicating with Greg.
Producer-Alex does not want to fuck this conversation up, trying and failing to find the best words to use that wound keep their professional relationship alive, whereas Alex-Alex wants to keep his new-found friend, the person who drunk with Alex until they were loopy last night, full of big grins and bellyful laughs, looking at Alex like he had reignited a passion for living.
It's a tense few beats, before Alex is finally able to stumble out a coherent sentence, "Hopefully you're able to perform with me onstage rather then after me,"
Greg hums in acknowledgement. The sound neither registering as positive or negative to Alex's ears. There's a few more seconds of silence, where Alex is entirely unaware if he's completely fucked everything up or if Greg is furiously ignoring the awkwardness and choosing to side-step around the mess they've gotten themselves into. That is until Alex can see the cue cards in his peripheral vision accompanied by a heavy hand on his shoulder and a voice in his ear, heavy and annoyance dripping from every word, "Stop messing with my head, Alex. All of yesterday you were staring at me with stars in your eyes, then you're having a wank in a shared bed whimpering for me like a slut. However, today you're all hot and cold with me, one minute you're looking at me like I'm the best thing since sliced bread, then you're running away from whatever problems you're having internally. I believe that you don't regret last night, I don't either, but you need to sort the little Alex in your head that's convinced I do. We can discuss this in a less public settling, please. You have five minutes before we go on stage,"
With this, Greg steps away to do who knows what leaving Alex behind, stunned into silence and a weight on his shoulders. His eyes squeeze shut and Alex replays every little interaction from the morning back finding out that, yeah, it was all him. Alex brought up last night in a public hallway, has been twitchy and anxious since, worried to death about the potential implications without actually talking them out. Nothing ever spoken aloud, rather all his worries were created in his own mind and made-up scenarios. Unlike this morning where Greg there to puzzle him back together, he's on his own now - a big boy who has to sort his own disjointed feelings and thoughts out, nobody is here to hold his hand through it and Alex has to make that final call of decision on what he really wants.
There's no more time to think, the Taskmaster theme song is blaring over the speakers and suddenly there are bodies on him, turning on his mic pack and ushering him on stage alongside Greg. Conscious of the fact their mics are now on, Alex tugs the back of Greg's suit, tossing him a meaningful hard stare that blends into an earnest smile when Greg's eyebrows raise. A short curt nod and a hand that slips its way into Alex's, tugging them up the steps so they can make it on time for the intro music to finish.
-
Coming off the stage knowing you've done a great performance is ecstatic feeling, Alex can feel his jaw hurt from smiling as the cheers of the audience ring in his ears. Each of the contestants slash TV producers come up to Alex backstage singing praises and congratulating him on the show, today's one and Taskmaster as a whole. None of it registers, too stuck on the high and eyes glued to the only person in the room taller than him - who is too focused on chatting away with Avalon executives than speaking to Alex. There's a deep itch under his skin to drag the two of them away, to hide away in their dressing room while they kiss and make up.
It's not as easy as that.
There's a meeting they get filed into shortly after coming off stage, one that drags on far too long for Alex's comfort. It numbs Alex's brain a little, usually he's so tuned in and overly involved in these meetings, this show is his baby after all. However his thoughts are swarmed with the words he's going to say to Greg, words that fly out of his head the second they're dismissed from the meeting.
As they walk down the back hallways towards their dressing rooms, no words are shared between them and Alex knows better than to try and figure out the mood resting amongst without actually talking to Greg first. The first step is the fact they bypass Alex's room and go straight to Greg's. A hand is laid and pushed against the small of his back when he stopped outside it and he would be a fool - or even more of a fool that he has been these past few hours - to ignore it.
The door is locked behind them after they enter, making Alex's eyebrows fly up and the tips of his ears turn red. Surely not.
"Settle, Horne-y," Greg jokes, clocking Alex's expression as he settles his body on the centre of the couch, sprawling his body across in a manor that would make it very awkward to find a place to sit. Alex can only stare and twitches slightly trying to decided where's best to sit, promptly stopped by, "A-buh-buh. I want you to stand there while we talk this out,"
"Oh," Is the only response Alex gives. His tongue runs along the back of his teeth, tracing all the crooked ones and eyes darting around the place. "How long d'you suppose we have before, someone else needs to use this room,"
Greg simply shrugs. Then diverts and places the conversation back on track, "You said this morning that you don't regret last night, but what does that mean to you?"
That's certainly a loaded question. Alex thinks, what does that mean to him. Does this have to be a one-off thing, a heat of the moment and they never speak of it again? Something about that doesn't sit right in Alex's stomach, making him twist anxiously. He entertains the though of, more happening. Of this happening on a more regular basis. It would take a lot of work, conversations with his wife and figuring out their out-of-work dynamic and on-stage dynamic to ensure nothing bleeds through, however today was a great example of how it could be done. And Alex wants that more than anything.
Voicing his wants is more nerve-wracking than doing Edinburgh Does Taskmaster, than any Fringe show he's ever done. "Last night marks the beginning of a new relationship, to me. If you'll have me of course. Oh, Greg, you've changed my life. I never had these, intentions, when I choose you to be the Taskmaster, but something about being on stage together, I want to be the best version of myself - I want to be your friend, your assistant, and… Whatever else you'll have me as,"
Alex has to look away towards the end, eyes misty and overcome with emotions. Everything he said to Greg was raw and real, straight from the heart. Across the room there's a heavy sigh from Greg.
"Christ, Alex. You, you have a wife, no?"
The question unsettles Alex, however it's not an outright no or rejection.
"Ah, yes. But we're.. open. Never taken advantage of it personally but uh, I can call her if you want confirmation?"
Greg shakes his head, then pats one of his thighs, a signal for Alex to come sit. He shuffles over, mousey and unsure, but melts when Greg manhandles him onto the space and pulls Alex into an embrace, muttering in his ear, "I believe you. We'll need to have a conversation when we return home though, I want to do this properly."
He cannot believe his ears, heart swelling and fit to burst, all his anxieties melting away into excited anticipation; he suddenly can't wait to go home. Alex smiles softly to Greg, feeling absolutely surreal, "Yeah, we should do that,"
"Can't believe this happened because someone fucked up and you're apparently a horny drunk?" Greg huffs a gentle laugh which tickles Alex's ear.
"Mm, apparently so. Imagine what would have happened if we hadn't shared a bed? Ten-or-so years of sexual tension in our future,"
The gentle laugh turns into a full on one, straight from Greg's belly, which jostles Alex around on his knee. "Can you imagine that? Also, ten years? That's optimistic,"
Alex gives Greg a shy grin, "Better to be optimistic than pessimistic,"
Greg opens his mouth to respond when there's a sharp knock at the door, snapping the two of them out of their trance. Some poor member of staff is politely reminding them that they need to vacate the dressing rooms sooner than later, please. Alex is sent scurrying back to own room to redress himself in a soft jumper and jeans, an outfit choice that made Greg turn up his nose this morning, too obnoxious in the early hangover but a welcome sight as they wander out of the conference building.
There will surly be many a meetings surrounding the event back in London, but for the moment they've been blessedly released back into the wild. Thankfully, it's a lot milder in comparison to yesterday, a part of Alex mourns the sweaty beast beside him but seeing Greg in higher spirits due to not being drenched in sweat is equally pleasing.
"Did you make any plans for us today as well, then?" Greg asks, there's an edge to something in his voice that Alex can't place - it's more than an inquiry.
"Yes, but not until this evening. We can go for a wander or something to eat or?" Alex trails off, there's a look of hunger washed across Greg's face that would make his knees buckle if they weren't stood in the middle of an occupied street. "Do- Do you have another idea?"
-
Where last night they stumbled into the hotel room without purpose, unknowing of the events that were to come, today is different. They're visibly far more clam and collected than previously, however the anticipation of where things are headed boils low in Alex's gut. The contents of the bag in Greg's hand isn't incriminating at all, a simple five packet of doughnuts, it's the context of it all that makes something so simple, feel so dirty.
One small throwaway joking question he'd thrown to Alan during their performance earlier, when his fingers had been coated in the sticky icing sugar of the doughnut, Alex had offered to lick his fingers. Alan had declined, obviously, but the bit had planted ideas into Greg's head. Whispered plans into Alex's ear, in the middle of the daylight and completely sober, filth that made Alex's ears turn red and him twitch uncomfortably in the public setting of the street. The walk back to the hotel had been torturous.
Normal relationship rules dictate that they maybe should wait until they got back into England, once they've had the discussion that they promised to have. Greg had just spoken about wanting to do things properly, but the ideas he had were too tantalising for Alex to wait on. Not exactly like Greg had protested much either.
Greg doesn't even bother removing his shoes, plonking himself down on the bed and pulling the treats out of the bag. Alex follows a moment later, actually having the decency to take his trainers off, and moves to sit beside Greg, before he's stopped by a large arm blocking his way.
"Where do you think you're going?"
Alex blinks and his mouth falls open, pointing uselessly to the empty spot besides Greg on the bed, "To, ah, to sit beside you on the bed,"
His face scrunches up and he looks at Alex like he's said something particularly stupid, "No, there's not enough space. You should sit on the floor, lots of space for you down there,"
There's more than enough space. They both know this. But watching Greg's expressions as Alex sinks to the floor - kneeling on the rough scratchy hotel carpet, grateful that he's not wearing shorts today - is fascinating, the slightest eyebrow raise at Alex following an order so implicitly, the the flare of his nostrils when he makes eye contact, gazing upwards at Greg and awaiting the next step forward. Greg swallows thickly and opens up the box without losing eye contact.
The imagery of Greg shoving the doughnut in his mouth is almost gluttonous, a sin almost as deadly as the lust filling the air. He makes a show of it of course, closing his eyes and moaning around the sugary sweetness, really rubbing his fingers into the iced coating it. A part of Alex feels depraved enough to catch the little crumbs falling down Greg's t-shirt and landing around his belly or on the small floor space between them - he doesn't but the thought sends a heat through him.
"My fingers are covered in sugary slop. Make yourself useful and clean them for me, Alex," The sticky fingers are thrust into Alex's line of sight, and he does as he's asked, leaning forward and sucking the digits into his mouth, all the way down to the base knuckle.
He doesn't really account for the fact Greg has far thicker fingers than his own, the action causes his mouth to suddenly be stuffed with a mixture of salty sweetness, pressing against his tongue and each wonky tooth at the front of his mouth. There's a hissed out, "Fuck," from above and the fingers inside flex against his tongue. It makes his eyes and mouth water, drool lubricating the sugar granules off as Alex sets himself to work, suckling the fingers softly as his tongue lavishes them, root to tip.
As he swirls his tongue across the pad of a fingertip, Alex can't help but look up, wide-eyed and innocent that twitches into a smirk as he watches Greg, who is biting his lip and watching Alex in amazement. There's a certain thrill about the slight switch in control, Alex doesn't want the full control, oh no, but having the ability to wreak Greg with a handful of talented laps and sucks - and on his fingers no less - is empowering.
He has to let up eventually, to catch a full breath, but the string of saliva connecting his lips and Greg's fingers is obscene. Pulling apart from one another till it snaps, Alex going cross-eyed in the process. Greg huffs out a breath then seemingly makes a decision, smearing the spit soaked fingers into Alex's beard and wiping the moisture off. "Disgusting, slobbering all over my fingers like a puppy,"
Despite his rough hands and annoyed words, Greg has a tender look in his eyes, silently checking in with Alex. God, they really should have waited and properly negotiated this, both of them too horny and desperate for one another to care. Alex nods quickly, flashing Greg a smile that's reciprocated.
"Let's see if we can do that again, without slavering all over me this time," says Greg as he reaches for another doughnuts and crams it in his gob. This time he rolls the fingers, still slightly damp, in the fallen sugary bits inside the box, making them even stickier and coated with icing.
Before Alex can swallow down the fingers, Greg grabs his chin this time, and coaxes the digits in slowly, smearing the sugary bits across his lips and spreading slowly across his tongue. This time, Greg is in charge and Alex full allows him to take control. The fingers start slowly thrusting in and out his mouth, nudging and prodding against every corner. It's far sloppier than before, wet noises filling the near-emptiness of the room, simply accompanying the harsh breaths through his nose that Greg is making.
Suddenly, the fingers are shoved in as deep as they'll go and stuffing Alex's cheeks. "Hold them," Greg orders and he does as he's told. His throat flexes weakly and eyes begin to water as his gag reflex is tested by the thick intrusions, whimpering lowly into the room.
Greg's eyes are wide but the pupils are dilated, watching Alex with utter fascination and arousal. It's almost pathetic how some simple words and a handful of touches can make Alex fall apart at the seams, kneeling on a hotel carpet at Greg's mercy, making debauched noises and prick filling out in his underwear solely from having some fingers rammed in his mouth.
There's only so long he can hold them, before Alex has to wrench his head back and suck in a breath, breathing in deeply as gag reflex calms, his mouth suddenly feeling hollow and useless. Greg's hand, the one not damp and pruney, reaches out to ruffle Alex's hair, digging fingers into the short strands and almost massaging his scalp, "Good boy, so good for me, Alex,"
The moan he lets out is filthy, looking up to Greg shyly in embarrassment, but only seeing lust thrown back at him. From this angle, the bulge in Greg's shorts is accented, looking like a treat far sweeter than the sugar coating his tongue and teeth - a thought that should be ridiculous, but Alex is too horny to care. He can't help his hands from reaching down to press the heel of his palm firmly against the strain in his own jeans, a breathy gasp filling the air and drawing Greg's attention downwards.
"Fuck, Greg, I need-," He doesn't know what he needs and yet he knows deep in his bones exactly what he needs. Alex needs Greg, to be loved and cared for, to reciprocate that love and care. A desire so soul consuming that it's overwhelming.
"Hands off," Greg growls above him, the command inflicting more noises from Alex as wrenches his hand away without question, fisting them into denim clad thighs and hips rutting upwards into the air seeking the missing friction. The hand still resting on his head moves down, cupping Alex's chin and rubbing his bruised and spit soaked lips tenderly, "So good for me, Alex. Use your words, tell me, what do you need?"
"You," Alex moans.
Greg shakes Alex's head, the grip tightening as he jostles him back and forth, "Be more specific,"
"Your- your," Alex eyes fly down and he stares at the swell in-between Greg's thighs meaningfully for a few seconds before looking upwards again. Greg simply cocks an eyebrow back, he was told to use his words after all. Alex tongue runs across his lips, kissing Greg's thumb as it swipes past. "Your cock, in my mouth. Please,"
"Christ," Greg groans, visibly shuddering. There's a heady feeling to making Greg react like that, becoming a weaker man and desperate for Alex. His eyes are closed and he's breathing in deeply, likely to control himself, Alex wonders idly how close he is already. Before Alex has the chance to beg again, Greg lifting himself off the bed to pull his shorts and boxers down in one swift movement.
Prior to now, Alex would have never described a cock as beautiful, but there's really no other word for it - smacking against the soft swell of Greg's belly, it's flushed rosy red and slightly curved, leaking from the tip and fuck, Alex wants that inside of him and not just his mouth. Neither of them have lube or have appropriately prepared for that, so it'll have to wait for another day, but the concept of eventually having Greg deep inside of him sounds heavenly.
For now, Alex opens up his mouth as wide it'll go, sticking out his tongue just enough to cover his crooked lower teeth. Greg's hand reaches down to stroke his prick, root to tip, twice and then grasps the base and slowly starts feeding into Alex's mouth, resting it on his tongue for just a moment.
"What a sight," Greg hums and Alex absolutely preens, squirming in delight and flexing his tongue against the velvety cock laid atop it. "Gonna let go of your chin now, go at your own pace,"
Go at his own pace Alex does. The second the hand leaves his face, Alex wraps his lips around Greg's cock and sucks down, as deep as he can go. He can't manage all of it, eventually bumping it against the back of his throat and nose brushing against Greg's fingers still wrapped around but it's the best he can do.
Alex throws the most erotic look he can muster up towards Greg. He can only imagine what a sight he makes - face full of cock, eyes watering as he hold it deep in his mouth while his tongue strokes what it can. This, combined with his own aching prick trapped inside his jeans, hips jerking every so often seeking friction and making a wet patch appear where his own prick is drooling for attention.
The sight greeting him back is one of bliss, Greg's mouth agape and muttering curses and praise, "Shit, so fucking good at that, Alex," Hands white knuckled on the bed sheets and pupils blown out. A perfect image, all of Alex's own doing.
Eventually, Alex has to pull back, unable to hold it for longer. Deep breath, a shuffle forward and wrapping his arms around Greg's thighs, there's a noise of confusion from above that he ignores, and swallows Greg's prick down again. He doesn't have much experience, but hopefully he can make up in enthusiasm, bopping his head up and down in an uncoordinated rhythm.
"So good, dear, keep going," Greg encourages, resting a hand down on top of Alex's head, nudging him into going a little faster, a more steady pace. Catching a bead of precome leaking from the head, swiping his tongue over the area and revealing in the moans Greg makes in response.
When Alex yet again fills his mouth with cock and whimpers, that gets the best reaction. A full body groan and Greg's eyes rolling back in his head, an unconscious roll of the hips, bumping the prick against the back of his throat. It's so fucking delicious, taking Greg apart with one simple act, generating primal responses.
His jaw is starting to ache in an unpleasurable way when Greg's hand in his hair tightens, forcing Alex to slow, "Ah- Alex, 'm close,". Words that only serve to encourage Alex to move faster, redoubling his efforts and work through the aches, desperate to watch Greg come, to achieve that for him.
It's only a brief couple of moments before Greg comes, filling Alex's mouth and coating his tongue. Alex tries to swallow, he really does, but has to pull away, coughing lightly and jumping as the last spurt of come lands across his lips, painting them white and dribbling into his beard.
There's a muttered "Fuck," - Alex doesn't know who it comes from, it doesn't matter - and suddenly, he's being hoisted off the floor, pulled into Greg's lap and being kissed within every inch of his life. It should be disgusting, Alex undoubtedly tastes of cum - it's literally dripping down his chin - but it's so arousing, Greg's tongue intertwining with his own and rearranging the flavour into the kind of Greg he prefers. Alex can't help but rut himself against the meaty thigh he's perched on, whimpering pitifully into the kiss as he finally has something to grind against, chasing the pleasure that he's so close too.
"You're not going to come in your pants again, are you, Alex?" Greg asks tauntingly as he breaks the kiss, pressing his thigh upwards into Alex's crotch. He's so horny he can't think straight, he absolutely could come clothed again, body taut and craving every fraction of pleasure. Alex can't help but nod jerkily, tight little nods as his form trembles with need. It wouldn't take long at all honestly.
"I'm close, please Greg," Alex whines, trying to continue to his journey to orgasm when Greg stops him. Ten fingers pressing into his hipbones in a repeat of last night's events, reestablishing themselves with Alex's body, are suddenly there, pushing and hoisting Alex off and standing. He tries to question it, making a garbled "Huh?" as he tries to stand on trembling legs that feel like jelly.
"Not going to have you come in your underwear again, love, that's just depraved," admonishes Greg, hands swiftly moving to unbutton Alex's shorts and dig into the waistband of his boxers. While this is happening, Alex catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror, the reflection of himself a sight of pure pornography - eyes heavy and lidded, swollen lips that are plump and shiny, a deep flush that spreads from his cheekbones to below the collar, his prick freed from it's confines and shorts tugged down to his knees.
Greg suddenly rises and manoeuvres himself behind Alex, angling them both towards the mirror and whispering low in his ear, "Watch yourself. Don't look away. See how pretty you are when you come,"
As a hand reaches down to cup his balls whilst the other wraps around his cock, Alex can only whimper in response. Being forced to watch himself be jerked off, it's humiliating yet scratches an itch, white hot pleasure melting into his bloodstream as Greg starts stroking his cock.
"Ah, Greg, fuck," Greg's hands are expertly working him, a twist on each stroke that's the perfect amount of pressure. Balls rolled in-between fingers steadily tightening as Alex draws closer. He doesn't know where to look, himself being manhandled or watch Greg's face and expressions which means catching a glimpse of his own. Greg's tossing him a little smirk and nibbling his shoulder, and his eyes are drawn to the way his face contorts uncontrollably, a face of pure ecstasy that's punching out high-pitched gasps.
His whole body is trembling, he's so close. He's right there.
Greg's hand focuses on the head, "That's it, come for me, little Alex,"
Which is all it takes. Alex is forced to watch his face as he comes, mouth agape in a perfect little 'o', painting Greg's fist white as his bones liquefy, melting into the body behind him. Probably the best orgasm he's had in his life. With the little strength in left in him, Alex turns his head to press a kiss into Greg's jaw.
"Thank you,"
It's earnest. Greg laughs softly in response.
-
They're not as drunk as last night.
Alex is still pleasantly flushed, they've had another great evening. One that leaves your cheeks hurting from laughter, a laughter that gets louder with each drink they consume. Eventually they're kicked out the Pleasance as the hour ticks into midnight, sent back down the cobbled streets and to their hotel once more.
He can't stop giggling, unable to come down from the highs of today. There are still conversations to be had of course, but they've taken a step in the right direction, and if today and last nights events are to be considered, they're more than compatible even off-stage.
"What's got you so giddy?" There's a smile to Greg's voice, he's been delighted this whole evening as well. Doting on Alex throughout their meal and at every spare second they don't have potentially one-hundred eyes on them. He knows exactly why Alex is so delighted, but hearing it again is addicting. The honeymoon phase between them is strong.
"Mm, don't know," Alex says cheekily, a smidgen of a grin poking at the side of his lips. "Maybe something good happened to me,"
"Well 'something good' is bloody knackered and is dreading an early train tomorrow morning," Which just serves to make Alex laugh lightly, good natured as he purposely bumps into Greg. A hand is slung around his shoulders as Greg pulls Alex into his side. It's extremely awkward to walk like this, but the touch is electric and serves to make Alex even more delighted. "Come on you, the quicker we get back to the hotel, the quicker we can cuddle,"
And oh, that sounds delightful to Alex. He blinks as a wet kiss is planted on his forehead, a gentle smile sent his way. Alex looks around them briefly, it's late and the streets are devoid of people now, so Alex jumps up on his tiptoes and presses a small kiss on the side of Greg's lips back.