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Summary
Greg often found himself studying Tom’s features. Those deceptively heavy lashes cascading over earnest eyes, thick brows often knit together with concern, pensiveness, anger… The way his forehead wrinkled whenever those brows furrowed, face often a mask of petulance but his eyes betraying the deep sincerity he pretended he didn’t have. The man was utterly deranged, repressed beyond belief, a slave to his temper and emotional volatility.
Greg wanted to swallow him whole, melt into those creased, distinct features and watch them utterly dissolve.
He was sort of sick, he knew. The man was his cousin’s husband for Christ’s sakes. Not to mention that he was… well, Greg wasn’t exactly sure what Tom’s age was, but he knew he was likely around Shiv’s age, making him his senior by no small amount. But… what harm could come from admiring from a distance, really?
He was about to find out.
OR
Roman and Greg learn that, despite their differences, they share one similar... proclivity, and make a competitive pact to help each other get what they want.