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Tom is very popular. There's no denying that. He's always been, even when they were both young and stupid (not that they're any less stupid now). Birds and blokes alike flock to Tom like moths to a fucking flame. If moths constantly buzz admiration and shameless lust, that is.
And who could blame them? Tom could charm the pants off the bloody Queen if he wanted, let alone devoted fans. For Tom, bringing thousands of people in Glasto down to their knees is as easy as flicking a smile. A feat that makes him the perfect frontman. Slightly less the perfect lover, perhaps.
It's an entertaining watch for Serge most of the time. Seeing Tom all grins and smiles and pheromones is always a thrill. Serge is helplessly addicted to those smiles. He's even written a song about Tom's smiles, for fuck's sake. If that's not love, Serge doesn't know what is. (Creepy stalkerish behaviour, perhaps?) And Serge has never been bothered by Tom's extracurricular carnal activities. He, Serge, knows that no matter who and how many he, Tom, fucks, he will always come back to Serge. And thus, Serge remains number one in Tom Meighan's universe. Undefeated.
However, recently Serge has been bothered. Like tonight, during their acoustic gig at Mode, a guy shouted "I love you" at Tom. A big macho alpha-male sort. The sort that preys on pretty boys and shuns the weird skinny mates. Who makes a declaration of love that aggressively anyway? Serge grumbled to himself. After, of course, relishing the charming smile that inevitably appeared on Tom's face.
It's ridiculous. Maybe it's to do with age. Perhaps somewhere along the way to getting old, he also picked up some grumpy pettiness.
"Serge, you alright?" Tom's voice jerks him out of his juvenile reverie.
"Hm? Yeah," is his mumbling reply.
"You look like you're...sulking."
And so he does. Without realising it, he's assumed the pose of a petulant child; arms crossed, lips pouty, eyebrows frowned, sat in front of the telly without actually watching it. Pathetic.
"'m fine," he answers curtly. Exposing petty jealousies isn't exactly his natural tendency, so he keeps his eyes to the screen.
But Tom is nothing if not persistent. He shuffles a bit so that he is now sitting crosslegged on the sofa and fully facing Serge. Serge has decided to keep his feelings to himself and wish it will eventually evaporate, but he makes the mistake of throwing a glance at Tom. A one-second glance that is more than enough to see the subtle worry lines that are starting to etch themselves on his friend's too-lovely face.
It's wrong for Tom's face to host expressions other than happy ones. It's just wrong. Far too quickly, Serge's resolve goes away in a big sigh.
Serge opens his mouth slowly, trying to find the right words that will keep his dignity with as little damage as possible. "That bloke earlier...from the show..."
"Yeah?" Tom's looking expectant. Unfairly adorable.
"Nothing." Serge closes his mouth. He can't. It's too embarrassing. Ridiculous.
"Seeerge, whaaat?" Tom is pleading now. And obviously confused and completely clueless as to where this is going.
Serge tries again, and manages to mumble out, "I didn't like him."
"Uh, okay." Tom's still looking confused, not getting it.
"I didn't like him." Serge grits out, hoping that he won't have to spell it out like some sappy teenager.
The confused expression stays on for a moment until, oh. OH. The realisation hits Tom and without even seeing it, Serge can feel a wide grin is now replacing Tom's previous bafflement.
Serge expects a laughter to break out of Tom any second now. But instead, his line of vision is now blocked by the body of his friend, who is now straddling him and sitting on his lap. The same wide grin still plastered on his face.
"Aww, Serge. Jealous, are we?" Serge could go mental if ever he tried to explain how Tom Meighan's grin can both annoy and delight him at the same time.
"Shutup." If this has gone this far, Serge thinks he might as well go for the full-on sulk and pouts even more.
"You are absolutely adorable, you know that?"
Silence. More pouting. And more grinning.
"And utterly ridiculous." At the end of that sentence Tom surges forward and starts kissing Serge senseless. It's so intense and dizzying that Serge eventually unfolds his arms and holds on to Tom's hips for balance.
When they part, breathless and faces barely an inch away from each other, Tom whispers, "Like he's ever gonna remotely compare to you."
"Yeah?" It's Serge's turn to grin now. He doesn't know it, but Tom thinks Serge's smiles are the sweetest and never failing to make his heart does a little somersault.
"Fuck yeah." And he dives in for more.