Work Text:
Greg opens Instagram on a whim because he can’t sleep. He very rarely goes on it these days, far too much danger of saying the wrong thing or following the wrong person for his liking, however, it reliably makes him smile when he finds the little videos that Alex makes. Greg tells himself that as long as he’s not actively searching for them, then if he happens to come across them, no harm and no foul, right? Just the algorithm doing its thing. Greg is aware that Alex has gone skiing with Rachel and the kids, he had teased him relentlessly about being a posh boy with posh boy hobbies until Alex starts to stammer and redden gloriously, his ears turning so flushed there might as well be steam coming out of them. Greg sees the video Alex has posted about Chesham’s next game, in which he’s clearly lying that it’s where he is, despite the ski resort behind him and the snow and before he can talk himself out of it, Greg messages him.
You look absolutely adorable in that outfit x
Watching the video again just to make himself smile, Greg doesn’t expect Alex to message him back, at least not immediately as it’s 2am in London and god knows what time it is where Alex is. Of course Alex has told him where he was going but Greg had automatically forgotten the moment Alex left his sight, somewhere in Europe is all he remembers.
Greg’s phone beeps and he knows it’s Alex without even looking, navigating into his WhatsApp chat and looking at his response.
You’re adorable, and I miss you, and I wish that you were here with us xxx
Practically able to smell the alcohol coming off the message, Greg allows himself a chuckle and imagines Alex, off his face in his fancy lodge, his cheeks and his ears red from the alcohol, his lips chapped and a fire roaring in the corner of the room. Greg feels a pang of longing and his cock twitches. Greg is very well aware of his feelings for Alex but very rarely lets himself partake in the indulgence of imagination, preferring to masturbate to porn and pretending that it’s not Alex’s tooth gap that pushes him to come all over his hand. After all, Alex is married and Greg loves Rachel, he would never do anything to hurt her however uncomfortably sexually attracted he is to Alex.
You’re drunk and I very much don’t fancy a trip to a foreign A&E when I inevitably injure myself falling over like a sack of spuds, however much I want to be there with you x
Greg sends it before he can delete the last bit, hearing the sentimentality as he reads the message back and worrying that Alex is going to hear what he’s not saying, despite the alcohol he’s obviously partaken in. Greg waits wait 15 minutes, staring down at the phone in his hand, before admitting defeat and putting it facedown on the bedside table.
Shadows flicker on the bedroom wall despite Greg’s relatively expensive curtains, as he tosses and turns for the next few hours, finally falling into a light sleep and dreaming about Alex skiing, the shh-shh of carbon fibre over hardened snow loud in his ears, Alex smiling wide and big at him when he gets to the bottom of the slope, his wind-whipped cheeks flushed with cold and excitement. Greg wakes with an erection for the first time in years and considers whether he should try and masturbate, or let it subside so he can urinate. Eventually Greg’s bladder decides for him and the pain diminishes his hard on until he can piss comfortably.
Greg spends the day writing, interspersed with swearing and walking around his flat throwing things down with way more venom than inanimate objects deserve. Everything he writes is somehow shit, or at least not funny, and he wishes he could talk to Alex about it, let Alex make him feel better. At the point where Greg might actually throw his laptop out of the window, Greg saves the document and closes the screen, cringing at the noise of cracking plastic and hoping he hasn’t done too much damage to it. Greg turns on the television and puts his feet up on the coffee table scrolling through channels until they’re a blur. Suddenly, Greg sees a headline about skiers killed in an avalanche in France and feels the blood freeze in his veins. Taking out his phone, Greg messages Alex, trying to keep it casual, realising that the chances of Alex being involved are minimal but unable to stop the creeping dread jogging through his nervous system.
Hey mate, how’s the hangover? Are you okay?
Alex doesn’t answer and every second feels like an eternity. Greg turns off the television and goes back to writing, getting up every few minutes to wander aimlessly around the kitchen, making so many coffees that he gets heart palpitations from the caffeine.
Alex please just respond and let me know you’re okay.
After another few hours there’s no response and Greg picks up his phone and calls, extra charges be damned. The call goes straight to voicemail and Greg can’t seem to control his breathing, calling five more times in a row and getting the same result every time.
Please let me know you’re okay, please.
Greg doesn’t know what to do but beg for Alex to contact him, pacing around his flat like a caged animal, looking at his phone every few seconds and refreshing the news app repeatedly, trying to find out any details he can to ease his fears. He contemplates calling their agent but worries that the man will think he’s losing it, either that or sense the desperation that’s not borne of pure friendship or professional courtesy, so instead he messages again, aware that he sounds insane and beyond caring. It isn’t like Alex not to answer his phone, the man is permanently glued to it, and even when he absolutely should be taking a break, it’s always within reach.
Alex, call me right now. I’m really worried.
Imagining Alex crushed under tonnes of snow and ice, Greg starts to hyperventilate and has to put his head between his knees, praying quietly to himself to a god he hasn’t believed in for a long time. Just as his vision starts to tunnel and his breathing becomes frantic his mobile rings. Greg scrabbles to pick it up, fingers shaking as he presses the button to accept the call, too worked up to read who it is.
“Hello.”
“Greg, what’s going on?”
Alex sounds kind and worried and Greg lets out a breath that could be a sob.
“Oh thank god…”
“You’re really scaring me, Greg. Are you okay?”
Greg takes a few shaky breaths, a bark of laughter completely devoid of mirth bubbling out of him.
“There’s been some people who were killed in avalanches in France on the news and I couldn’t get hold of you and I was so afraid that something had happened to you.”
“I’m not even in France. I told you, we’re in Switzerland. You’re alright, just breathe.”
Greg realises that he’s panting over the phone and tries to calm down.
“I’m sorry,” Greg says, sounding shaken even to his own ears.
“I didn’t realise my phone hadn’t charged until we got back from the slopes and I plugged it into the charger and got an avalanche of calls and messages.”
Greg barked out a calmer laugh, “too soon, Alex.”
“Sorry,” Alex apologises, contrite and careful. “It’s nice to know how much you care though.”
Greg pauses, not knowing how much to say, how much Alex will pick up on from what he does say and what he doesn’t.
“Of course I care, I’ve been going insane.”
“You could get another assistant,” Alex says, faux-nonchalantly.
“It’s not about fucking Taskmaster,” Greg snaps, putting a hand to his face and rubbing until his eyes water, his vision blurring.
Alex breathes softly over the phone as the background noise gets increasingly loud. “Look, I’ve got to go but I’m okay, Greg, we’re all okay and I’ll come and see you when I get back, have a chat,” Alex pauses and then adds in a softer tone, the background noise becoming suddenly fainter, “love you.”
“Love you too, baby boy,” Greg says instinctively, feeling the weight lift off him as the relief takes its place.
Greg remains looking at the silent phone in his hand long after Alex has hung up, feeling a tear slide down his cheek and admonishing himself for getting so worked up when Alex was just enjoying himself on the slopes with his family. Opening his laptop, Greg stares at the screen and then goes to make himself another cup of coffee, knowing he’s not going to sleep that night anyway.
A few days later Alex is on his doorstep, looking like a reverse panda with a red face and a strip of white over his eyes. Greg opens the door wide and ushers him inside, having to physically restrain himself from wrapping Alex up in a tight hug and never letting go.
“Greg, you look knackered,” Alex says, concern all over his face, a hand raised to Greg’s arm, stroking softly.
“I haven’t been sleeping again.”
“Because of me?” Alex asks, shy concern and guilt lacing his voice.
“Not really,” Greg lies, trying not to look at Alex’s face.
Alex steps close to him and wraps his arms tightly around Greg, standing on tiptoes and pulling him as close as possible, close enough that Greg imagines he can feel Alex’s heartbeat against his chest. Greg doesn’t realise he’s shaking until Alex makes him sit down, big blue eyes filled with worry.
“Rachel says next time just tell me you love me and save all this hassle.”
Greg looks sharply at Alex who is smiling benignly at him, gently brushing his fingers over Greg’s arm as they sit side by side on the sofa.
“I’m sorry,” Greg says, “I didn’t mean to…”
“I love you too, you know I do,” Alex declares, an edge of frustration creeping in.
“I don’t think you realise…”
Alex cuts him off by sealing his lips over Greg’s own, tentative and sweet but determined. Greg makes a startled sound, an mmpphh of surprise that quickly translates to a breathy moan of pleasure as Alex slides his lips against Greg’s, encouraging him to open his mouth and then pressing his tongue against Greg’s, fleetingly at first and then insistently as the kiss intensifies. Alex pushes him down on to his back, head resting on the arm of the sofa as Alex settles on top of him.
“Is this okay?” Alex asks, one hand cradling the side of Greg’s face, eyes locked on his own.
“Yes,” Greg replies, simply, tasting Alex on his tongue and feeling his hard cock pressing down against him.
“Just to clarify, Rachel is fine with this, as much as I love you, I wouldn’t be doing it if she wasn’t.”
Greg feels himself relax further into the cushions, not realising that he is worried until Alex takes those worries away.
“It’s been a long time since I got off with someone on a sofa,” Greg says with a smirk, kissing Alex before he can say anything.
They kiss until Greg’s face is burning, rutting against each other like teenagers, the soft sounds of their mouths meeting loud in the otherwise quiet room.
“Come to bed with me,” Greg urges, chuckling as Alex rolls off him and lands in a heap on the floor, scurrying to get up and then holding a hand out to Greg, helping him to stand and leading him through to the bedroom by the hand like he owns the place.
The sex is quiet and calm and Greg can’t imagine how he ever lived without this in his life.
When they’re finished, Greg looks at Alex snoring beside him, his arm thrown off the edge of the bed and his legs twisted up with Greg’s, safe and warm and loved. Greg drops a gentle kiss on his cheek and closes his eyes.