Chapter Text
Greg wore his best green sweater on Saturday and showed up at the shop half an hour early, because his shift didn’t start until one, and did Tom really expect him to wait until one to eat? He’d had, like, some toast at home, but he wasn’t really the type for a heavy breakfast.
But Tom showed up right on time, as usual. He couldn’t give Greg’s stomach the mercy of being early. Greg was behind the counter with Jack, and Tom waved at him through the window, a big paper bag in one hand and a leash in the other, with Mondale (or a dog, presumably Mondale) attached to the other end.
Jack grinned at him when Greg turned to beg an early break. The shop was always quiet on Saturday afternoons anyway. But Jack caught his elbow after he got his apron off.
“Hey,” Jack said. “Get a smooch in on your DILF and I’ll let you have the tips today.”
“Dude. All of them?”
Jack nodded somberly and gave him a shove. “Get after it, man.”
Greg gave himself a little pep talk on the brief walk through the shop, and he was still blushing when he got outside to greet Tom and introduce himself to Mondale. Tom let him take the leash while they walked a few hundred yards down to a bench to eat the fancy sandwiches Tom had brought. It was hard to hold onto Mondale’s leash and eat a sandwich at the same time, but Greg was so excited about getting to chill with a dog that he insisted, even though Tom offered to take it back multiple times so Mondale would stop begging Greg for bits of turkey from his sandwich.
“Dude, this is so good? I’m, like, effusive right now.”
“Well, you’re welcome. It’s really nothing.” Tom touched his arm briefly and then fidgeted with his hands in his lap. “Just, ah, you feed me all the time, effectively, and so I thought it’d be nice to return the favor. Especially after you babysat my drunken sad-sack crying jag a while back.”
“No worries, man. You’ve been really, uh, going through it lately.” Greg caught Tom’s eye and smiled encouragingly, he hoped.
“Anyway, we should probably get you back to work, yeah?” Tom said, standing up. Greg stayed close on the short walk back to the shop, keeping Mondale in his hand farther from Tom. Their hands bumped a few times, but neither of them acknowledged it.
In front of the shop, Tom turned to Greg and held out his hand for Mondale’s leash, but when Greg handed it over he didn’t let go right away, catching Tom’s fingers. Greg bent to kiss him but couldn’t decide whether to go for his cheek or for his mouth, and Tom froze, surprised, and turned his face toward Greg’s at the last second so that Greg’s kiss caught just the corner of his mouth.
Greg let go of Mondale’s leash and stepped back, heart racing. “Um. Thank you. Again? For, uh, lunch, and stuff. Maybe—I mean, I’m closing? Today? Tonight, that is. Like, if you happened to be in the neighborhood and had, like, a hankering, or whatever. Like, for coffee, I mean?”
Tom smirked, and Greg cursed his nervous babbling. “Alright, buddy. I’ll, ah, see you later, maybe.”
Jack clapped him on the back as soon as he got his apron back on. Jack had a date with study girl and left early, but Greg insisted he take his fair share of the tips.
“You’re good, dude,” Greg said. “I got a smooch out of the deal and I didn’t get punched in the face, so, that’s, like, satisfactory on my end. Thanks for the, uh, encouragement, anyway.”
And then he was waiting, for Tom, again, and anxious cleaning the shop as usual. But for once Tom showed up early, an hour before he was supposed to close, striding into the shop with a grin and a paper bag from a wine shop.
Tom got up to the counter and then he frowned. “Fuck. You wouldn’t have a corkscrew back there, would you?”
“Like, the wine kind of corkscrew?”
Tom rolled his eyes. “Yes, Gregory, the wine kind.”
“I mean, we have, like, milk thermometers? That have a pointy end? I could probably dig a cork out with one of those.”
Tom didn’t even honor that with a response—he just scoffed and set the bag on the counter with a little clink and hurried out. By the time he got back, Greg had finished his closing tasks and turned the Open sign off, deciding it wouldn’t hurt to close up a little early today, officially speaking. Nobody had been in for hours anyway. Tom came in brandishing a corkscrew and tossed the balled-up receipt at Greg as Greg locked the door behind him.
Greg sat on his stool in the backroom while Tom opened the wine and poured it, reluctantly, into mugs.
“Good sir,” Tom said, handing Greg his mug, “your libation for the evening. Albeit unfortunately housed in an inferior vessel.”
“Like, it tastes the same either way, man. So whatever, you know?” Greg said.
Tom rolled his eyes and held his mug out as if for a toast, but then he just looked at Greg, mouth open but silent.
Greg cleared his throat, trying to think of a toast. “Um. To exposing corporate malfeasance?” Greg said. “And to . . . Mondale?” And they drank.
“So, Greg,” Tom said, back set somewhat alarmingly straight on his barstool. “Tell me something.”
“Uh huh. Okay? Did you, um, have something particular in mind?”
“Ah, do you often kiss older men on sidewalks?”
Greg had his mug at his mouth already and decided to go ahead and take a longer draught. “I wouldn’t say ‘often,’ perchance.”
“Only when they bring you lunch first? Or only when they’re former cousins-in-law?”
“Um. I guess—I mean, if the combination of those things were to present itself, as it, like, as it lately has? Then I might, under those circumstances.”
“I’d venture to say you have, under those circumstances.”
Greg shrank down a little, feeling accused. “Well, yes, yeah. I guess so?”
Tom stared at him, and his mouth twitched, and then he laughed hard, holding his mug out steady in front of him. Greg half-smiled along, not quite getting the joke.
“God, Greg. You’re so easy. The most gullible gal in the family. I wouldn’t want to work at the family company either, if I were you. You’d get fucking roasted, buddy.”
“Ha, yeah, maybe.” Greg took a sip of his wine, peering around the little room, anywhere but at Tom.
“Good thing I got fucking canned, or I might have tried to hire you,” Tom said.
“Really?”
“Yeah. I mean, I got Comfry after a while, and she got the job done, sure. But it was touch-and-go there for a time, you know? And I feel like you’d have the head for it, being an assistant. Seems transferable enough from this kind of gig.”
“Yeah, I mean, like—I’ve thought that, actually? Would’ve been pretty cool, working up in the big building with all the cousins. And you.”
“Total pipe dream, though, Greg. Sounds nice, all puppies and fucking extended family birthday parties with confetti balloons, but like I said, any of them would fucking guillotine you at the first chance if it meant they had a better chance at the throne.”
“Yeah. Sounds about right. Might’ve been better than you being unemployed and me serving a life sentence as a wage slave, though.”
“Oh, Greg. Don’t worry about all that, buddy. We’ll find something else.”
“We will?”
Tom flustered a little at that we. “I mean, yeah. You know? I can, ah—I’ll help you. I’ve got plenty of connections still, and I’ll—we’ll find you something, if you want that. Get you out of the coffee-slinging world. We’ll find both of us something. Yeah?”
“Like . . . for real, though?”
Tom laughed and leaned forward to pat Greg’s knee. “Yes, Greg, for real.” His smile fell a little, and he said, “You like that?”
“Yeah. Yeah, I like that,” Greg said, and held out his mug for another toast. This time neither of them said anything; they just looked at each other and drank when the other did. Greg finished his glass and stood up to refill it. He picked up the bottle from the shelf where Tom had set it and turned to offer some to Tom—and found him standing too, close enough that Greg nearly bumped him and dropped the bottle.
“Do you—um,” Greg said, a little unnerved by Tom staring straight up into his face.
“I was just joshing you, about the kissing older men thing,” Tom said quietly.
Greg nodded. “Um. Mmhmm.”
Tom took the bottle from him, took a long drink straight from it, and held it out to Greg, raising his eyebrows to offer him some. Greg shook his head, and Tom set the bottle back on the shelf, then took Greg’s mug and set it down too.
“Sit. Please,” Tom said, gesturing toward Greg’s barstool, and Greg sat. He had a long torso, and Tom was just enough shorter than him that their faces were nearly level this way.
“I just wanted you to know, you know, that I was joking,” Tom said, and he took a deep breath and set a hand on Greg’s shoulder and leaned in and kissed him.
Tom leaned back after, and Greg said, “Mmhmm. I can—I can tell. Just a joke. A good old—good old ribbin’.” Tom smiled and Greg pulled him back in for another kiss.
There were definitely rules about using the backroom for extracurricular activities. Drinking with one or two coworkers, maybe a friend? Not technically allowed, but generally ignored. Making out for extended periods? Probably also frowned upon. And progressing much farther past that: definitely disallowed. Still, Greg figured nobody would know if he made out with a star patron for, like, a little while.
Then Tom slid his hands up under the hem of Greg’s sweater.
“Maybe, um—would you want to go back to, like, my place?” Greg asked.
Tom grinned. “I actually need to go check on Mondale pretty soon here,” he said.
“Oh.”
“By which I mean, what about my place? It’s closer anyway, I’m guessing. And probably rather more spacious, no offense to your proletarian sensibilities.”
“Oh. I mean, yeah, dude, for sure. Let’s, um—let me just lock up and stuff.”
So they left for Tom’s place, which was, in fact, much closer than Greg’s—just around the corner.
“This place is—wow,” Greg said as Tom let them up. “And you weren’t kidding about, like, the proximity. You’ve been this close all the time?”
Tom stuttered a little and turned closer toward the door while he worked the lock. “Yeah, just—it was convenient, you know, after the breakup.”
“Mmhmm. No, sure. Makes sense.”
Tom told Greg he could sit for a minute while he took Mondale out, but Greg went with them, not wanting to be stuck waiting, awkward and alone, in Tom’s apartment. He could tell Tom was starting to feel antsy on the way back up, and when they got in Tom made a show of letting Mondale off his leash and cooing at him and telling Greg about his favorite toys.
When things fell quiet, Tom asked if Greg wanted a drink, and he didn’t really—he just wanted to be kissing Tom again, but it didn’t seem like Tom was ready for that. So he said yes, just for something to do, an excuse to stick around a little longer, an excuse to stand in Tom’s space when Tom asked him what kind of liquor he preferred.
They sat on the couch, side by side but not touching, with their drinks, and when Greg set his down on the coffee table, Tom picked it up straight away and set it back down on a coaster.
“Sorry,” Greg said. “We don’t have to—I mean, I can go, if you want?”
Tom set his own glass down quickly, forgoing the coaster, and grasped Greg’s forearm, his face earnest. “No, I don’t—that’s not what I want. I know I’m being—” Tom stopped and took a deep breath. “It’s been ages since I did all this, the whole courting thing. Bringing somebody back to my place. So I just feel . . . you know?” he said, his hand still tight on Greg’s arm.
Greg nodded, said, “Mmhmm. Um, so—we can just . . .” And he leaned in and kissed Tom, soft and slow, and it turned out that that was really all it took to cross the no-man’s-land of awkwardness and uncertainty—just to lean in and do it.
Tom’s bed was the nicest one Greg had ever woken up in, except for maybe in a hotel on the odd family vacation when he was a kid. It was also significantly bigger than Greg’s, although that didn’t matter so much when they were tangled up right in the middle of it anyway.
Tom woke him up with a cup of coffee.
“Wow, is this Nespresso?” Greg asked, smirking. “I gotta say, the depth of flavor—”
“Shut up, Greg.” Tom pretended to sulk, and so Greg leaned over and kissed him, pretending it was only to make him feel better, as if he hadn’t been looking for an excuse all morning anyway.
“What’s your favorite holiday?” Greg asked, thinking of the holidays Tom hadn’t gotten to spend with his own family.
“Fourth of July, probably.”
Greg snorted. “This isn’t an ATN interview, Tom. You don’t have to give, like, the most nationalist answer you can think of.”
“Oh, fuck off. It’s the best one. It’s in the summer, so you don’t have to get all bundled up, and you don’t have to sit around pretending to like things people spent exorbitant amounts of money on just so you’ll feel obligated to pretend to like them.”
“Wow. That is a very cynical view of Christmas, dude.”
“Also, in Saint Paul, my parents always had this great big neighborhood bash for the Fourth of July, and all the little kids would be running around through the sprinklers in their little stars-and-stripes outfits, and everybody would be eating the most god-awful food and drinking the most god-awful beer, and loving every minute of it. It’s a delightfully unpretentious holiday, Greg.”
“When was the last time you went?”
“Oh, Lord. Must’ve been half a decade now.”
“Half a decade’s only five years, Tom. Using the word ‘decade’ makes it sound like forever. We should, like—we should go, though.”
“What, to Saint Paul?”
“Yeah, for the Fourth of July? We should go.”
“Awfully bold of you to invite me to a party happening literal months from now, when we just had our first kiss less than twenty-four hours ago.”
Greg set down his coffee and pulled Tom to lie back down with him in bed. “Well, we can play it by ear. I don’t think I’ll get tired of you by then. But if you get tired of me, then, like, you can still go. You know? It’s your family, or whatever.”
“You don’t think you’ll get tired of me?” Tom said, poking Greg’s chest. “Don’t get ahead of yourself, Greg.”
Greg pulled Tom’s head to his chest. “I’m just saying. I don’t want to, like, get too far out. Scare you off.” Tom laughed softly and wrapped his arms around his waist, and it was so cozy that Greg thought maybe he could just fall back asleep like that. But then Tom brushed a hand up his chest, and kissed his neck, and—maybe there’d be time for a nap later.