Chapter Text
[Coach Lasso] meet ya at the bus when this is over. it's gonna be a shitshow
Ted? Trent stares at his phone, half wondering if someone else had stolen Ted's phone and texted him.
Three dots pop up before Trent can reply.
[Coach Lasso] yes this is Ted and yes I said shitshow. deal with it 😎
Since when does Ted use language like that? At least the presence of an emoji is strangely comforting. Sorta. Well…
Nope, it's not even remotely comforting.
Frowning, Trent fires back:
[txt] Is everything okay?
Three little dots appear, then disappear. Appear. Disappear.
Then nothing.
Trent's heart leaps into his throat, heart rate only marginally calming when the dots reappear again and remain dancing on the screen for a bit. Four messages soon follow in quick succession.
[Coach Lasso] team's heading out. see you in 45
[Coach Lasso] plus stoppage
[Coach Lasso] dont put this in your novel
[Coach Lasso] kay bye bye bye
Trent doesn't quite know how to respond to any of this, so he just sends a thumbs up back to Ted. He watches the screen for a few more moments but the dots have disappeared for good. With a sigh, he replaces his phone in his jacket pocket, brows knitting together. It's so rare that Ted swears in general, which makes their exchange all the more bizarre. And concerning. He finds himself leaning forward in his seat to catch a glimpse of his… Ted.
Officially unofficially together though they may be now, he's still unable to actually apply a relationship label to upgrade their status from just friends.
He's seated on the south end of the pitch, in the visitor's stand, but close to the front so he can see all of the action easily. About five minutes after Ted's last message, the teams begin to emerge from the tunnel.
Fuck.
From his vantage point — it's easy to see the utter death glares directed toward the home side. No, Trent realises, stomach sinking — they're not pissed at the home team. This animosity is for just one (1) person. Nate. Isaac can sometimes have a resting bitch face, but he's not the only one walking out onto the pitch like he wants to kill Nate. Even mild-mannered Dani Rojas, who he hasn't seen without a smile all season, looks pissed as hell.
Oddly, Jamie is one of the calmer ones walking onto the pitch.
Trent attempts to swallow past the lump that's formed in his throat. Yep, an oncoming shitshow is the correct assessment.
He knows in an instant what happened during the half. Someone showed the Richmond lads the video. His video. Whatever happens next is on Trent's head. If not for his fucking need to be accepted by more than just Ted, he's about to hand them their greatest failure.
Because there's no way this team, feeling this much anger, comes out on top.
None.
Trent has seen teams play with emotion like this before and every single time it ends in an epic failure. Always. Because when training and control go out the window, the team begins to function on adrenaline and bad habits.
Whatever happens next isn't going to be the Lasso Way — but it's Ted who will ultimately take the fall. His first real test against his former assistant gaffer, and he'll fail.
Worst of all, Trent can't control the narrative any longer. Ted will, truly, be at the mercy of an unfriendly press that's been waiting for open season to be declared on the American.
Trent can't bring himself to look at Ted.
Not that he expects to meet his gaze across a crowded pitch.
For Trent's part, he keeps his notebook closed on his lap and doesn't take a single note on the match. In the end, he probably should have — just to keep track of how many violations were committed by the Richmond side. Of course yellows (and the occasional red) are all part of the game — but there's nothing normal about this match.
They're barely five seconds into the second half when Bumbercatch goes in, spikes up, and practically takes out one of the West Ham forwards at the knees. Trent isn't remotely surprised to see a red be flashed in his direction.
Great. Five seconds in and they're down to ten men.
Then there's Zoreaux — er, Van Damme — with a stupid-arse penalty of taking away a goal-scoring opportunity. He's just on the edge of the box so it's plausible he lost track of where he was on the pitch. And if it was any other day, that's what Trent would have argued in his match summary.
Today isn't any other day.
Chaos Reigns, Richmond in Shambles as the Hammer Falls.
It won't see the light of day as an article but it might make a great chapter heading.
No, Ted asked him not to write about the match and he won't.
An Italian Influence in Richmond. Damnit, but that's even better. Fuck.
After Zoreaux/Van Damme is sent off, Trent finally hazards a glance at Ted and wishes he hadn't. Ted has his face buried in his palm. There's no way Arlo and company have missed this in their commentary.
I'm so sorry, Ted.
Yellows are given out like confetti and Trent's lost track of how many times they've appeared and who's received them by this point. Strangely, Trent realises Jamie continues to be one of the calmest men on the Richmond side. It's confusing as hell given the state of the team — but he's the only one who's playing like Ted would want him to.
Then there's Zava being... Zava.
By the time Montlaur is sent off for bouncing the football off someone's face — Trent feels like he's going to be sick. Again, he finds himself searching out Ted and the look on his face couldn't say I told you so any clearer.
Of all people, Beard really should have known better.
Somewhere around the seventy-fourth minute, it feels like an all-out brawl is about to break out on the pitch and Trent has had his fill. He pulls out his phone, paying more attention to it than the game going on in front of him. Any message notification gets swiped away like a pesky fly buzzing around his head. He doesn't even look up from his mobile when he hears another groan/cheer come up from the crowd.
In the end, it doesn't matter if it's another goal or another red card.
The match is, in a word, brutal. The team is playing like an uncoordinated mess of untrained hooligans. Or like Manchester City. Trent has seen more organised play from amateur pick-up games in a park than this.
Briefly, he wonders what sort of a fine might be levied on Richmond by the EPL for their performance today. Not to mention those pesky rules Ted probably isn't even aware of since no one has earned a red card at Richmond in his two year tenure: the mandatory match suspensions.
Van Damme/Zoreaux should only get a one match ban, but he's worried about Bumbercatch and Montlaur. The violent play that earned those cards will probably result in three match suspensions. If not more.
Well, that's one way for Colin to be able to play again next week.
Closing his eyes, Trent would like nothing more than to find a time machine, go back a week ago and slap himself before he can edit this fucking thing together. Or thwack Beard/Kent before they can have the bright idea to use it to "motivate" the team.
The worst part of all of this? Trent knows that Ted won't blame any of them.
Arsehole.
The sound of a double whistle at 94 minutes and change (how the referee only added four minutes to stoppage time, Trent will never know — it should have been at least eleven by his count) feels like a merciful end to the slaughter. Somehow the match manages to get even worse thanks to one traitor: Nathan Shelley.
Ted approaches Nate, because of course Ted is the bigger man who cares about things like sportsmanship, but Nate practically rushes onto the pitch as if the fucker's unable to wait to celebrate.
Snub Ted? What a fucking prick.
Trent channels his inner Roy Kent and growls, but the sound doesn't travel far. Not when the home side is busy chanting and cheering at their win.
At last, while waiting for the celebrations to end, Trent hazards a glance at his messages. First order of business, he sends a message to Ted:
[txt] I feel like this one's on me.
After a pause, he adds a second:
[txt] I take full responsibility.
He isn't surprised when there's no response. Not even dots that disappear without ever delivering a message.
Trent swipes through the rest of the notifications he dismissed during the match. A few messages from Rebecca pleading with him to keep the mentions of today's match to a minimum. And, of course, his father.
He deletes that one without even reading it.
It takes a while for the West Ham faithful to file out and then, finally, the visiting fans are allowed to leave as well. Trent moves with the crowd until he's able to peel off and head back towards where the team bus is parked. He pulls his AFC Richmond pass from his pocket, flashing it at one of the security guards and then slips into the back bowels of the stadium.
It's quieter back here, but all that does is leave him alone with his thoughts. Guilt nags.
Mercifully, it isn't much longer before Ted approaches — and fuck he wishes they both weren't closeted when he sees the expression on Ted's face. Trent gives him a half-smile coupled with a half-hearted wave.
"Managed to skip the SkyNews interview," Ted says. "Needed to talk with Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle-Dumb instead."
"They were probably busy with the WunderKid anyways," Trent mutters under his breath but quickly ducks his head in an apology at the look on Ted's face. "Sorry, sorry. I know he's just doing his job."
"It was Roy and Beard."
Oh, Ted and his legendary subject changes.
"Really?" He asks and Ted nods. Trent groans, half spinning away from Ted in annoyance. "Goddamnit. Ted, I'm sorry—"
"They lost their damn minds." He scratches his temple with a sigh. "Come by?" Ted asks after a beat. It takes Trent a moment to switch gears yet again, realizing through the staccato question that Ted is asking him over. For… Date night?
No thanks, he'd rather self-flagellation night.
Or, maybe, they can do a bit of column A and B.
"You sure—"
"Yes."
"Eight," Trent says quietly, making sure they're not overheard.
Ted nods once and they part, no one — other than Nathan who saw them chatting — the wiser.
* * *
When Trent arrives at Ted's just a few minutes before eight, he's not surprised to find the outer door left slightly ajar. Trent slips inside and goes right to Ted's door. He's just about to lift his hand to knock when the door opens, lithe fingers wrap around his wrist and all but yank him into the flat.
"Well hi, your—"
Ted cuts Trent off by pushing him up against the door, Ted's lips crushing against his in a desperate kiss. A guy could definitely have worse greetings. Trent's surprise quickly melts into something midway between desire and the relief that Ted's not completely pissed at him. His hands come to rest on Ted's hips, almost resting on his ass, while Ted's own are braced on either side of Trent's head as he pins him in place. Trent is in no hurry to end the kiss. Neither is Ted, it seems.
It's the most forward Ted's ever been and it makes Trent's toes curl in his Converse.
His tongue fights with Ted's for dominance and he can taste the barest hint of whisky on his breath.
After what feels like an hour, Ted finally pulls back with one last nip to Trent's lower lip. Trent has to fight to catch his breath, half tempted to tug Ted back in for another kiss. A hint of a blush colours Ted's cheeks and fuck if that isn't even hotter.
"Did ya wanna come in?" Ted asks, chuckling softly at his very belated greeting.
"If that's the way you welcome all your visitors, I might have to insist on asking for a guest list once a week. I'd like to know who else is getting the royal treatment from my Yank."
"Nothing to fear, Shakespeare," Ted replies with a grin. Either he didn't hear that possessive 'my' or he's ignoring it. "That sorta hospitality is reserved only for former journalists of The Independent who once used articles to flirt with me."
Trent can't help but grin, leaning in to steal one last kiss before he ducks out from under Ted's arms. He slips his blazer off, laying it over one of Ted's couches, making himself at home. The telly's on, volume fairly low, as the talking heads jabber on about the matches around the EPL this week — ManUnited is the current victim. Without even asking, a second glass of whisky appears before him and Trent takes it with a half-salute.
"I told you the match was going to be a shitshow," Ted says.
"I still can't believe shitshow is in your vocabulary," Trent replies.
"Then you're really gonna love it the first time I say fuck." He pauses. "Oh, shoot. I was savin' that for the perfect time and I blew it."
Trent eyes his whisky and debates swallowing the whole glass with one gulp then herding Ted back to the bedroom. He knows they're still on 'the slow-down plan' but Ted Lasso saying the word fuck in that midwestern drawl has absolutely no reason to be as hot as it is.
"I'll pretend to be surprised when you use it on purpose," Trent says, his voice tight, glancing one last time at the bedroom.
Ted flashes him a grin, apparently oblivious to Trent's sudden spike of arousal. "This is why I like ya, Trent. Always willing to take one for the team."
Fuck the bedroom, they could do it right here. With great difficulty, Trent pushes thoughts of bending Ted over the nearest surface and, instead, leans in to kiss the corner of his mouth. He then slips by him to settle on one of the couches, nursing the glass Ted poured him. Ted immediately takes up the seat beside Trent to his left, damn near curling up against him. It's so fucking domestic but also so damn perfect all at once.
He's not sure why he's surprised that Ted's basically flipped a switch on their relationship. Ted doesn't do anything by halves though it's breaking Trent's brain a bit to go from being so reserved around each other — to being able to rest a hand possessively on Ted's thigh. To be able to share touches like this when they're in private. Kisses, too (even if that's as far as they've gone). Nice, mind, but brain-breaking all the same.
"You didn't reply to my text," Trent says, his thumb rubbing circles on Ted's khakis.
"I know. Because you ain't got a thing to feel bad for, Trent. Water's flowin' just fine under that bridge."
Trent frowns, so Ted keeps right on talking.
"Just like Cher, even you can't turn back time." Trent fights a groan at the awful reference, and Ted rewards him with a kiss on his cheek. He shivers a touch, the moustache tickling his skin. "You're also the third person today to try and take responsibility for the match. Let's see. Beard said something like 'we overcorrected and played with hate' which they did and he shoulda known better because this same dang thing happened back in Kansas. And Roy asked to be yelled at, wanted me to call him all sorts of names."
"You didn't yell at them, did you?"
"Don't ask questions ya already know the answer to, Trent." Ted shrugs and takes a sip from his own glass, then uses Trent's knee as a coaster. "I told them to shake it off and there was a lot of football left this season. Oh, and got your thumb drive back. I'd be mighty appreciative if you destroyed the thing later."
Trent leans forward a bit to look at Ted then just shakes his head incredulously. "You are something else, Ted."
"Hopin' that's a good thing." Trent considers this for a moment, then finally nods. "What's that look for, Mr Independent?" Ted asks, wrinkling his nose. "That pause sure as heck didn't seem like a good one."
Well, shit.
"Only that… most people would have been upset over today. At me for putting that video together and showing it to your assistant gaffers. At Beard and Roy for showing it to the team. At the team for losing the plot..."
Ted shrugs. "Except what's me being angry gonna do?" He asks, picking up his highball tumbler from where he balanced it. Ted swirls the amber liquid around in the glass, but he doesn't take a drink. Just stares into it as if the answers to the universe lurk in its depths. Trent, for his part, keeps gently rubbing Ted's thigh, hoping the touch is as grounding for Ted as it is for him.
"Make you human?" Trent supplies after the silence stretches for a bit. "It's a normal reaction to be angry when people disappoint you."
Ted shrugs. "If I didn't get angry at Michelle for gettin' together with our couple's therapist, I don't see how gettin' angry here solves anything."
It's meant to brush off concern, but all it does is get Trent's hackles up.
"…what."
Ted freezes and lets out a tiny half-laugh. "Don't suppose we can skip this line of questioning, eh? Might I suggest making out on the couch like two horny teenagers instead? Can promise it's infinitely more fun."
"Hardly."
"Fiddlesticks."
But he doesn't start talking either.
With a sigh of his own, Trent sets both of their glasses aside, then he shifts back so he's leaning against the arm of the sofa. He lifts his arm in an invitation and Ted accepts, tucking his body tightly against Trent's. It's not hard to see just how touch-starved Ted is. Trent begins threading his fingers through Ted's hair, mussing up the soft strands as Ted traces his finger over the pattern of Trent's faded band shirt.
When it seems like Ted isn't going to start spilling the proverbial beans, Trent clears his throat to try and prompt him.
"Ugh, fine, fine. But I don't see how this does any good," Ted mutters. "So the week we played Wolverhampton Wandering Wolves —"
"Wolverhampton or Wolves, not both," Trent automatically corrects.
"—I called Henry to wish him luck on his match and…" Ted exhales. "And a fella answered. Dr Jacob. Jake. Dr Jake. Our marriage counsellor."
Trent just stares down at Ted but doesn't stop lightly massaging his scalp. "I thought things like that only happened in musicals."
Ted presses a kiss to Trent's jaw. "So she's with him and he's around Henry—" He breaks off, squeezing his eyes shut. Trent gives Ted all the space he needs. "Alright, fine. Yes, I'm so gosh darn angry with her. Sure she doesn't have to tell me if she's datin' a fella. But I'm angry she didn't tell me before she started bringing him around Henry."
"You have every right to be, Ted."
"Do I?" Ted asks. "You don't see me runnin' to tell her about us."
"But I'm not around Henry," Trent replies. "Just as you're not around Amaya right now. Two people have the right to figure out if they're compatible together before children are brought into the mix. If, say, it didn't work out between us, I wouldn't want to confuse Amaya about yet another father figure leaving her."
Ted seems to accept this, but he's still frowning and Trent's beginning to wonder if those grooves are going to permanently crease his skin. So Trent bends down a hint to press a kiss to Ted's forehead, trying to get him to relax.
"As angry as I am…" Ted takes a deep breath. "It makes me wonder… Just… I always felt like Dr Jake was on her side and not mine. This whole thing is a crock of horse manure." Ted's expression turns sad and Trent wonders, for all Ted's belief in his ex-wife, does he question her fidelity. "Makes just a fella wonder if…" Ted breaks off before he can amble down Trent's own line of thought. "No, I'm not gonna accuse her of anything like that."
By this point, Trent's done quite a number on Ted's hair. But he doesn't stop, not when Ted is leaning against him like this and damn near purrs.
"You have every right to be angry, Ted. Anger isn't a bad thing, either. It's not a character defect. He was someone who was supposed to help save your marriage not clear the road for himself." He pauses. "You should talk to her. Be honest about your feelings."
"Oh heck no."
Trent clears his throat. "If Beard was having relationship woes—" Trent pauses. "Bad example. How about, let's say Roy was still with Keeley and they were having problems. Would you tell him to ignore it or would you basically force them onto a room to either fight it out or fuck it out?"
"Not in so many words, but yes." Ted lifts his head to look at Trent. "So you might be like a pyramid and have a good point. But I really don't like you outsmartin' me like this."
Trent grins. "Call her. I'll even stay nearby just in case you need me." A pause as the smile fades from his lips. That was presumptuous of him. "Unless you'd rather I give you privacy. I can take a walk—"
"Absolutely not," Ted cuts Trent off. "Your idea, you stay here."
With a nod, Trent downs the last of his drink and then bends down to brush his lips against Ted's again. He hopes he never gets tired of stealing these light little kisses from Ted. Except this kiss doesn't stay chaste for very long. One moment later, Ted's damn near straddling Trent's hips, hands cupping his cheeks as he tries to go back to the horny teenagers making out idea. Trent's only human and can't bring himself to push Ted away.
The taste of whisky is stronger now, and Ted is moving toward his belt —
With great effort, Trent finally wheedles a hand between their bodies to still Ted's progress.
"Michelle first. Then a reward."
Ted wrinkles his nose. "Also not a fan of this reward-based system, Mr Independent."
"I'll be right in the bedroom, okay?" He murmurs, lifting a hand to cup Ted's cheek. Trent tries to tame Ted's hair — he certainly did a number on it while they talked. He awkwardly pats it back into place, hoping it looks like drunk hair and not I've-been-snogging-another-middle-aged-man. Hoping Ted's lips aren't kiss-bruised. Hoping to avoid anything that could clue Michelle into the fact that Ted's concealing a relationship of his own — at the same time he's about to lambaste her for doing the same to him.
But, Trent will forever maintain their hidden relationship is different because kids aren't involved. If and when it's time for Ted to meet Amaya, he'll have that conversation with his ex — just as he knows Ted will do the same for Henry. Until then, it doesn't matter and their relationship doesn't need to exist outside of this room.
That, really, it can't exist outside the room until Ted's ready to be an openly queer gaffer.
…and Trent's ready to be an openly gay ex-journalist.
"Thanks, Trent," he says, exhaling. His moustache wobbles a bit, and Trent fights the urge to give him one last kiss for good luck.
In the end, Trent just squeezes Ted's hand a final time as he gathers up his empty glass and his blazer to take with him to the bedroom. The last thing Michelle needs is to catch sight of Ted having company. He'll lose any of the high ground he's currently standing on.
Trent turns his attention to the television as he heads toward the bedroom. The heads have moved on from ManUnited and Richmond is now the topic of discussion. Out of the corner of his eye he can see Ted pacing and, well, Trent wonders if he pushed him too far and too fast to confront Michelle.
Deep down, though, Trent has an inkling this is about ten years overdue. He knows Ted has to get this off his chest and start learning to tell people when they've disappointed him. When they've hurt him. Despite Ted's near toxic positivity, the gaffer needs to learn how to tell people he does feel emotions other than happiness or one day he'll combust and no one will be able to put him back together again.
This repression has to be the root of Ted's mess.
Not that Trent has room to talk. He's British after all. If there's anyone who understands how to repress, it's Trent — which means he's utterly immune to Ted's attempts.
— "That was hard to watch."
— "Thierry, West Ham's domination today saw Ted Lasso being totally exposed by his former assistant Nate Shelley."
— "Gary, I love this quote from a Chinese philosopher, Laozi, 'When the student is ready, the teacher will appear. When the student is truly ready, the teacher will disappear.'"
Oh shut up and fuck off.
Only, well, Trent hates that, if it had been anyone else, he'd have probably stolen the quote and used it to eviscerate the gaffer who let his team completely implode. Trent tries to toss back another sip of whisky but all that trickles out is a lingering drop.
Trent doesn't hear anything beyond that and he figures Ted, mercifully, shut the telly off.
He tosses his blazer on the bed, pacing while he waits to hear the sound of FaceTime connecting. The way Ted exhales, though, fuck — it's going to take all his self-control not to just go and sit with him.
Fuck this closeted bullshite for the both of them.
"Hey."
Michelle's voice is muffled, but he does hear something that sounds a bit like 'sorry about the match.' Trent leans against the doorframe, giving Ted his privacy, but also ready to be there if this should go downhill.
"No. That's all right. It was a tough one." Trent hates that forced-sounding chuckle.
More muffled chatter.
"No, that's okay. I was actually hoping just to chat with you. You got a minute?" Ted stutters his way through the sentence, and Trent's trying to, once again, get more whisky out of his very empty glass.
A pause and Trent assumes Michelle says it's fine to talk.
"Yeah. Well — No. You know, I just… um."
Ted keeps on stuttering through this, and the longer he struggles, the more Trent's getting annoyed with Michelle. Sure, it's nice that she's giving him space to get all these words out — but at the same time. How is she not interrupting? Making sure he's okay?
It's no wonder Ted's turned into this much of a mess.
"I wanted to say something real quick," Ted continues, and it sounds like he's found his voice. "Look, I… I know that you and I aren't, you know, together anymore. And I respect that. Okay? I do." He hears Ted draw in a breath. You can do this, Ted. I'm right here. "But, um, well, you know, this whole thing with you and Dr Jacob really ticks me off. And I'm upset that we didn't ever really get to talk about it before it all started." He murmurs something and it sounds to Trent like he's trying to reach down for more courage to get through this. "And look, I understand that me saying all this, ah, might be the wrong thing to do, but… I just feel like… not saying it… isn't the, um… Well, it wouldn't be the right thing either."
Even if he's hidden away just inside the door jam, the smile on Trent's face is brilliant. He knows just how hard it was for Ted to finally tell someone that he's disappointed in them. That he's hurt by their actions.
It's high time Ted starts admitting when he isn't okay.
And that it's okay he isn't okay.
That he's a mess.
But here's Trent — willing to help him untangle it.
Because Ted is worth it.
"'Cause we gotta raise this little boy together, you know? We're stuck with each other. We're gonna share grandkids." Another little laugh, though this one doesn't sound forced. Just… sad. "I love you, Michelle. And I love Henry. And I love our family." Another breath. "No matter what it looks like," Ted finally finishes and Trent could kiss him. He can hear just how emotional Ted is, but fuck is he proud of him.
Trent strains to hear Michelle's voice, needing to know what she says. Silence, however, seems to be her only response. In the end, it's Ted who prompts an, "Okay?" to get her to speak.
"Of course."
Good answer, Michelle.
Trent stops trying to eavesdrop on the rest of their conversation, but there isn't much more for either of them to say. The call disconnects shortly after and Trent counts to thirty before he heads back into the kitchen.
Ted's still in front of the now-closed computer and Trent goes to him, bending down to put his chin on Ted's shoulder and wraps his arms around his middle. Ted does nothing more than tilt his head, temple resting against Trent's cheek.
He isn't sure how long he stands like this, the chair digging into his chest and back protesting the awkward position.
But it's Ted's reward for a job well done.
"Couldn't've done it without you," Ted murmurs, turning his head for a kiss that Trent immediately returns.
"Yes you could have," Trent replies. "I just gave you a little push."
With one last kiss, he straightens with a groan, feeling every vertebra in his back snap crackle and pop as he does. owfuckow.
Trent extends a hand and Ted accepts it. He pulls them both away from exes and responsibilities and everything else to head back towards the bedroom. Sex isn't on the menu tonight, not when Ted looks as fragile as he does. As much as he'd like nothing more for them to lose themselves in each other, it'd be yet another tool Ted could use to hide from his negative emotions. Trent doesn't want to start this relationship out by using crutches and unhealthy coping mechanisms.
Not when he has a sense that Ted's it for him.
They'll have their whole lives for sex and everything else.
However, sleeping together — actually sleeping together without much clothing seems more intimate than sex somehow. It gives Ted his 'reward' without tying their first time together to 'hey, remember when you told your ex-wife you were angry that she was sleeping with another man, brought him around your son and didn't tell you?'
Good times.
He stops when they reach the edge of the bed, and Trent turns them both so Ted's knees are against the mattress. His fingers curl at the hem of Ted's sweater, starting to tug it up and over Ted's head when Ted stops him.
"Y'don't have to do that," he says, looking uncomfortable again.
Trent frowns. "Just because we're going to bed but not having sex tonight doesn't… mean I want to hold you fully clothed." They've done that a few times when they both wound up passing out together after a long day. Trent's tired of waking up to odd imprints from buttons and belts on his skin.
Ted lifts both his eyebrows at Trent. "Bold of you to assume just how naked I'd be getting then, too."
Trent files that little bit of information away for another day. They've scaled enough mountains for one night. Another work in progmess to sort out some other day. That, however, feels like one of those things that Trent will very much enjoy teaching Ted that he is enamoured with every inch of his body.
"How about a compromise? No shirts, just pyjama bottoms, and you get one chuckle when I steal a pair of yours and they wind up being huge on me."
Tilting his head to the side, Ted considers the offer and then nods. "I think you've got yourself a deal, Danielle Steele."
Somehow hearing one of his quips for the first time in a while sets Trent's heart at ease.
They bustle around each other, getting ready for bed — Ted manages to produce an unopened toothbrush from somewhere and Trent's wondering just how long he's had one stocked away, waiting for him. When he drops his into the cup by Ted's, something warm settles in the pit of his stomach.
Trent emerges from the bathroom, practically tripping over the pyjama bottoms, earning a snicker from Ted.
"That's your one," he says, though there's barely any heat behind his words or his half-hearted glare.
The glare, mind, turns heated for a whole other reason when he catches his first glimpse of Ted without his trademarked button-down paired with a Richmond jumper. Fuck. Ted is soft in all the right places (Trent, for all the time he spends around well-built and trim athletes has never quite been turned on by a physique with too-little body fat) and a dusting of hair across his pecs and belly matches his own.
It may have been for purely selfish reasons but Trent is definitely glad he insisted on less clothing at bedtime.
Ted looks self-conscious as hell (yes, Trent is going to enjoy showing Ted just how much his 'dad bod' turns him on as the months and years march on) but after Trent flips off the light, he seems to relax in the darkened room.
"Am I still a mess?" Ted asks once they're snuggled in bed together. They're wrapped up so tightly that Trent's not sure where Ted ends and he begins.
"Yes, but you're a hot one, so I'll deal. Somehow."
"So does that makes me a hot mess?" He asks, tilting his face up toward Trent.
Cupping his jaw, Trent lowers his lips to Ted's and rewards him with a kiss. It starts slow, Trent's fingers slowly working their way into Ted's hair — mussing it further. A groan from Ted is the only approval he gets, as Ted's hips push against his…
Oh.
Oh.
A smirk twists Ted's moustache a bit as Trent quickly puts his back toward Ted to hide the way his cheeks have stained bright red. There were rumours around Richmond about Ted. Trent assumed they were that. Rumours.
As Ted spoons behind him, only two thin layers of fabric between them — he's all too aware that nothing about Ted's size has been exaggerated.
"You regrettin' your choice to wait?" Ted asks, and Trent knows he's smirking by the tone of his voice.
Trent throws a glance over his shoulder that he hopes is full of promises and a whole host of things he doesn't quite know how to put into words just yet.
"I didn't say how far past tonight I was going to wait. Tomorrow morning, I feel, is a perfectly acceptable."