Archive of Our Own

Tommy is awake.

He’s awake a lot of the time, really. He doesn’t need to sleep as much as the rest of the group- doesn’t need to sleep at all , actually. But he plays at being human anyway, pretends to be asleep when he isn’t for comforts sake. And sometimes, on rare occasions, he really does slip into unconsciousness. It’s not exactly an unpleasant feeling.

(It’s not like Benrey actually needs sleep either, but he’s not here right now. Out of sight, out of mind.)

He’s not pretending right now, though. No real sense in it when it looked like the entire team was out cold, sleeping strangely peacefully on the hard concrete floor. Propped up against a crate a few feet away, he glances back at them, over their quiet, prone forms. People always look so… vulnerable when they sleep. He wonders if he looks like that too.

That wondering doesn’t last very long, though, when Gordon sits up all of a sudden, stretching his arms above his head with his back turned to Tommy.

...Well. So much for the entire team being asleep.

Aside from a soft, surprised inhale, he stays silent, vibrant eyes fixed on Gordon as he moves. He doesn’t look sluggish the way someone who’d just woken up would, his movements purposeful if a little jerky- had he even been asleep?

Had he been pretending? 

The thought is strange. Gordon’s never seemed like the sort to be anything other than completely honest, blunt and straightforward. They might not have known each other very long, but in the time they have, the man’s been nothing but genuine to a fault. About everything . His thoughts slide from his mouth as naturally as water down a stream, transparent and real and raw . It’s… admirable, really. Sometimes Tommy half wishes he could be the open book Gordon is- speak his mind no matter what, boldly showing everything to the world and daring it to do something about it. But that’s just not how he ticks, not how his brain works, never has been, never will be. Besides, he’s perfectly content to leave that sort of thing to Gordon- he does it so well.

He’s so thoroughly lost in thought that it takes him more than a few seconds to realize Gordon is staring right back at him, gloved hands clutching at the armour of his HEV suit in surprise.

Shit. That… he can’t play that one off.

Instead, he gives a quick wave and a nervous smile, praying that Gordon won’t ask.

And he doesn’t. Tommy knew he liked him for a reason.

Gordon doesn’t say anything, actually- just rises carefully to his feet with a slight grimace as his back straightens out, cocking an eyebrow in his direction. He pads over, footsteps oddly quiet for a man wearing several pounds of high-tech armour. Light on his feet. Tommy supposes that’s how he’s survived so long down here.

When he makes it over to the crate Tommy’s leaning against, Gordon sits down heavily, knees drawn to his chest in a position that can’t be comfortable. His brow is still raised, head tipping to the side and almost touching his legs as he stares up at Tommy. It’s… weird. Yeah, that’s weird. Gordon’s got a heavy gaze, purposeful and studious, like he’s trying to pick apart whatever he’s looking at, desperately trying to understand - always asking questions. Tommy’s not sure how he feels about having that gaze turned on him. He’s never been the kind of person anyone wants to understand.

“Is- is something wrong?” He asks quietly, blinking down at the other man in lieu of voicing any of those thoughts out loud.

Gordon’s silent for a moment longer, like he’s considering something, turning it over in his head. And Gordon’s never silent. Always talking, always making some sort of noise like if he stops he’ll forget how to do it. It’s a change of pace to see him quiet like this. It feels like something precious, something delicate he’s been trusted with that he has to keep safe.

“Your eyes. They're… uh, they glow, huh?”

Tommy blinks, staring incredulously for a moment before he snorts, stifling a laugh behind his hand. Genuine to a fault . “They s-sure do, Mr. Freeman!”

To his surprise, Gordon lets out a laugh of his own in response, something throaty and warm as he shifts to sit cross-legged on the smooth grey floor. “Kind of a dumb thing to point out, huh. I mean- obviously y’knew that already.”

Shaking his head, Tommy shrugs. “I- I mean, not a lot of people’s eyes, um, glow. Mine are just… cool like that. Cooler than, than average.” He pauses, fiddling absently with his bowtie as he mumbles “twenty percent.” under his breath for no real reason.

Gordon hums with a soft smile that makes something flip in Tommy’s chest, curling and uncurling his fingers on the ground beneath them. “Yeah- cool as hell, man.” He glances away, staring out at the dim space ahead from behind his thick rimmed glasses. “Kinda pretty, actually. Lights up the room- literally. Haha.”

Despite himself, Tommy chuckles at that, ignoring the warm puddle of something that pools behind his ribs at the word ‘pretty’. It sounds unfairly nice coming from Gordon’s lips. Most things do.

The two of them slip into comfortable silence, even the constant background hum of Black Mesa and all it’s horrible machinery seeming to fade into the warm, unfamiliar quiet. It feels… nice. It’s nice to rest. Everything is always so loud , a constant barrage of noise and information and chatter that his own voice only adds to- and this small, hushed moment, with nothing to fight, nothing to fear, is long overdue.

He’s shaken from his thoughts by Gordon rising to his feet, extending a hand down to Tommy with a warm, honest smile. Not one of the tight ones he makes out of anxiety sometimes, not something forced and angry and tired- a real smile. It makes his chest go all melty again, dripping down through him like warm honey.

“Hey.” Gordon says softly from above. “Wanna get out of here?”

Tommy nods with a smile of his own, trying not to think too hard about how Gordon’s hand feels in his- broad and warm and solid as it pulls him up to standing. It’s over far too soon.

---

Turns out ‘get out of here’ just meant ‘head three rooms down the hall and snag a soda or two on our way over’, but Tommy isn’t complaining. All things considered, it’s not half bad for Black Mesa. They only had to walk past two headcrab corpses on the way over! That’s gotta be some kind of achievement.

He slides to the floor of what looks like it used to be a break room, blatantly ignoring the couch a few feet away. He’s just not in the mood for a couch right now- the floor is much more appealing. Also he’s pretty sure someone died on that thing. Gross.

Fortunately, Gordon seems to be feeling the same. Or at least he doesn’t ask. Regardless, he takes a seat next to Tommy, his armour clanking dully against the ground as he winces. He doesn’t envy the guy his HEV suit. It always seems to be more trouble than it’s worth.

...Oh. Gordon’s sitting next to him. Like, next -next to him, so close their knees are almost touching with the way they’re both sitting semi-cross legged and propped against the wall. He flushes, praying the relative darkness of the room obscures it somewhat. His heart will go haywire over the most mundane things when it comes to this guy, apparently.

“Couldn’t sleep, huh?” Gordon blurts out of nowhere, cracking open his can of soda that seems to have had its label rubbed off somehow.

That’s… not true, but he doesn’t want to think about that right now, so instead Tommy just nods. “Y-yeah. Seems like, uhm, you couldn’t e-either, Mr. Freeman.”

That earns him a soft laugh from Gordon, his eyes crinkling at the corners and oh, Tommy can see him so well from here- sitting so close he could just reach over, cup that pretty face in his hands and lean in and-

Woah, woah, woah- no. No, not going there. Jesus Christ.

Gordon doesn’t seem to notice the steadily deepening red dusting over his ears and face, swirling his soda can around like it’s a wine glass or something. Silly. Silly and strange and oh so endearing that it’s no wonder Tommy likes him so much.

“Been meaning to ask, actually- what’s with the whole, uh… calling me ‘Mr. Freeman’ thing?” He shifts his gaze back to Tommy, one eyebrow raised in mild confusion- but there’s still a smile on his face. “I mean- you’re older than me, dude. And definitely smarter. We’re on, y’know, equal footing here. But, um, I’m not gonna stop you if y’wanna call me that.” He shrugs, taking a sip from his soda before setting it down. “All I’m saying is- you can just call me Gordon. No, uh, formalities necessary.”

“...Gordon.” He says in response, reeling more than a little with wide, bright eyes- and doesn’t that feel just lovely to say, warm in his mouth and feeling so much more intimate than it ought to. Really, he should say it a few more times. “G-Gordon. Gor-don. G-O-R-D-O-N.”

He gets a snort for that one, Gordon punching him in the shoulder with no real force and leaning ever so slightly closer. “Y’don’t have to say it so many times!” He laughs, shaking his head and letting a few loose curls fall into his face, delicate and messy all at once. “It, uh, sounds nice when you do, though. Maybe… maybe we can stick with that, yeah?”

Tommy nods with barely parted lips, utterly starstruck all over again. Something in him hones in on the strands of hair hanging over Gordon’s face, dangling just over the edge of his glasses as he rubs the back of his neck slightly awkwardly. It’s… cute. Maybe it’s stupid of him to think that, but he does, and it’s driving him a little insane. Gordon’s always so cute and it’s just plain unfair- how is he meant to function around him, anyway? How is he meant to keep himself from going all soft every time he looks at Gordon- every time Gordon looks at him?

Without really thinking about it, he stretches out a hand. Gordon might have been speaking, he isn’t sure- but no matter what might have been happening, what does happen is the way he brushes a curl of dark auburn hair from Gordon’s face, fingers skimming tenderly across his cheek as he tucks it behind the other man’s ear. His hand is careful, softer than anything, brushing across his jaw as if to say don’t worry. I’ve got you.

It hits him what he’s doing a second later, his fingertips still resting gently against Gordon’s face. He blinks, mind hurling itself off in so many different directions of panic that he doesn’t manage to pull his hand away- instead feeling Gordon’s hand close over his own, pressing it against his cheek and leaning into the contact ever so slightly. His eyes slide shut for a moment- and god, he just looks so small .

Gordon isn’t exactly little. He’s a big guy, at least six feet even and taller in his boots, broad in the shoulders with an undeniable strength in the way he holds himself. He’s loud, large in his gestures and tone, a presence in the room that can’t be overlooked. But he’s human, so painfully human when Tommy is so very not and he can’t help but see how small Gordon is like this, how fragile. How precious.

How beautiful.

When he opens his eyes again, there’s an expression on Gordon’s face that Tommy can’t quiet decipher- and it’s strange, really. He’s used to breaking everything down into categories, facts and scripts that he can file away in his head, but this… this is different. This is messy and warm and his heart feels like it’s about to beat out of his chest and all his nerves are singing and he feels so alive . And through it all Gordon just keeps looking at him, intense and steadfast and with an undertone of something he can’t put a name to as they sit in weighted silence, something electric hanging in the air between them that makes every little movement feel so very important.

He leans a little closer, unconsciously, committing all of this to memory as best he can as if he’ll never get another chance to. Memory is a shitty camera, but he’ll burn every line and curve of Gordon’s soft, vulnerable expression into his mind if he has to- the slight part of his lips, the way the low light makes his dark eyes almost shimmer, tinted gold, the tentative movement of his chest when he exhales and leans a little closer himself and-

“Tommy,” Gordon whispers, like he’s almost afraid to be heard, knocking him from his reverie. “Can- can I kiss you?”

Oh. The look on his face- that’s adoration, isn’t it? Unbridled care and admiration that almost burns to have turned on you- and he nods, helplessly, because he could never say no. Not when Gordon keeps his eyes fixed so tenderly on him, not when his voice is so, so soft in the thick silence that blankets the room.

He wants Gordon to keep looking at him like that forever- like he’s the most important thing in the world, like he hung the fucking moon in the sky and then the stars for good measure. In that moment, there’s nothing he wants more than to keep those deep, lovely eyes on him and only him for the rest of time.

All those silly, sappy thoughts vanish from his mind as Gordon leans in, everything in his brain suddenly overwritten with the feeling of soft, slightly chapped lips pressed against his own so carefully- like if he pressed any harder, Tommy might break apart under his hands and leave him all alone.

And, well- they can’t have that, now can they?

He lifts his other hand, cupping it gently against Gordon’s stubbly jaw and pulling him closer, practically flush against his chest. The HEV suit pokes him slightly, hard and unyielding- but he doesn’t care, can’t care when this is real and happening and Gordon is so, so warm. It’s like he’s seeping into Tommy, filling his chest with that heat until he forgets what it was ever like to be cold.

When Gordon slides a hand up into his hair, shifting so he’s practically in Tommy’s lap, his breath hitches so sharply he’s afraid Gordon might pull away. But he doesn’t, thankfully, just inhales softly against his lips, moving gently, so gently against him. All that power, all the strength Tommy knows he carries with him, is channeled right here, into the softest gestures and touches that make him feel like he might melt under Gordon’s hands. Like he could just slip through his fingers into a puddle on the floor and never stop blushing that deep, vibrant red that he’s sure must cover his entire face by now, the tips of his ears burning.

He wonders what they must look like right now, tangled up in each other on the floor of an abandoned break room, his own hands sliding tenderly through Gordon’s slightly greying curls. His hair is just so soft. 

Gordon’s tongue pokes at the seam of his lips, asking wordless permission- and Tommy grants it, opening his mouth just slightly. God, he can feel his face flush again, leaving him dizzy with the giddy knowledge that holy shit, this is happening. The way Gordon’s tongue slides against his, tentatively exploring his mouth before Tommy can get himself in order enough to reciprocate is so real , so startlingly lovely, that he could never have dreamed it up even if he tried.

It has to end eventually, though, Gordon pulling back just enough to breathe and leaving Tommy without those wonderful lips on his. Stupid human lungs and their need for air. He’s breathing heavily in Tommy’s lap, though, eyes shining with something he’s never seen before and face flushed a deep shade of crimson as an awkward smile creeps onto his face, so cute it has to be criminal as he lets out a raspy laugh.

Tommy decides right there that Gordon is the prettiest thing he’s ever seen.

“...Wow.” Gordon manages to stammer out, reaching up to wipe his mouth before blessedly moving his hand back to stroke a thumb over Tommy’s cheekbone. He almost wants to purr at the attention. “You sure know how to kiss a guy, huh?”

He can’t keep a stuttering laugh from bubbling up in his throat at that, grinning so wide he feels like his face might split. “I- I like you a lot, you know that?” Shaking his head almost imperceptibly, he pecks the other man softly on the cheek, somehow managing to make him blush deeper. Lovely. 

Gordon lets out a laugh of his own in response, half nerves but still honey sweet as it leaves him breathless. “Same… same here, man. You’re easily the best part of this whole fiasco.” He feels Gordon’s hand stroke through his hair, gentle and reverent, like he’s something worth protecting- and fuck, his poor heart can’t take much more of this, skipping a beat for not the first time tonight. “... Real pretty, too. You’re- god, it’s kinda distracting sometimes.”

Tommy might die. He might actually die here. Here lies Tommy Coolatta, tragically killed because a wonderful, handsome, caring to a fault man is sitting in his lap and called him pretty. Holy shit.

Instead, he wraps his arms around Gordon’s waist, thumbing carefully over the small of his back and stares at him like he’s the most important thing in the universe- and right now, he really is. 

“Gordon.” He whispers, leaning a little closer in anticipation- and he gets what he wants, lips captured in another kiss that makes his mind short circuit until all that he can think about is the weight of Gordon against him, the way they fit together like this was always meant to happen, the movements of those strong, gloved hands against his face, warm even through the strange fabric.

Maybe tomorrow it’ll all go wrong again. Maybe tomorrow they’ll be hurled back into loud, overwhelming combat and lose their minds and everything will hurt. Maybe the world will come crashing down around their ears the way they always worry it might.

But sitting here in the dim, yellow light of the break room- with Gordon pressed so close against him like he never wants to let go, his body pliant and soft under Tommy’s hands as they intertwine with each other so tightly that he wonders if they’ll ever really be apart again, lips locked together as he lets himself breathe for the first time in ages- he can’t find it in himself to care.

Those are problems for tomorrow. For now, they have each other- they have this- and that’s all he needs.