#gregory pepper and his problems | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ezlebe · 2 years ago

Note

I’m not sure what but Tom and Greg trying roleplay?

Tom first catches the man only a few steps into the club, beyond the throng of bodies, while still getting his bearings with the low lights and gentle thumping bass. It’s nothing like lightning or a divine sign, not really, but that he is simply tall, even taller than Tom, dressed in a green button down with slim slacks and looming in a corner near the center of the room over a group at a table. He doesn’t seem to draw any inordinate attention, no overly turned heads or peering whisperers, so not in possession of the room, not like how it should be, if you asked Tom.

He drifts around the floor, a bit, checking out the stage and listening to the music, but he finds soon that the path only leads him to the man. It’s easy to get close without him noticing, quietly loitering against a shadow until he hears the man make an order at the bar; a soft, fumbling tenor asking for a…

A Tom Collins. Evidently.

“Let me get that,” Tom interrupts, swallowing a snort and pulling out his card, before the bartender can take any payment.

The man jerks, glancing over his shoulder with a wide blink. “Oh!” He stares at Tom for a beat, as a grin lights up his face, though he seems to be trying to hide it. “Like, u-uh – really?”

“No problem at all,” Tom says, looking away, toward the bartender, before the smile that he can feel at his own lips gets too unwieldy for the occasional. “I’ll get a whisky and Dr Pepper.”

The bartender quirks a brow. “…Sure, Mr Wambsgans. You two opening a tab?”

“Yeah,” Tom says, looking toward the man at his side with a quick flick of his lashes. “Why not?”

The man ducks his head with a brief hunch, but it appears to be largely a nod, and the soft muscle of his arm up into his shoulders is evident through the shimmery emerald of his button up. He is pretty up close, eyes round and stormy blue, mouth soft and heart-shaped, and altogether perfectly put together just a few inches above Tom.

“So,” Tom says, leaning into the bar at the elbow and tilting his head, hoping it conveys some significance. “What’s your name, my stranger in strange land?”

“Oh, Greg, or, uh – actually, Gregory,” Greg says, sweeping his fingers across his ear, as if he once sported longer hair and hasn’t quite forgotten the habit of brushing it from his face. “Is my name.”

“I’m – ” Tom pauses for a beat, then only barely suppresses an urge to roll his eyes. “Tom.”

“Not Thomas?” Greg asks, brow gently furrowing while offering a tilt of his head.

“No, not Thomas,” Tom says, glancing toward the bartender pouring Greg’s drink from shaker to glass. “Thomas is a dirt farmer Okie suffering from brown plague.”

“I like Thomas,” Greg mutters, somewhat markedly arch, as he looks down at his fingers trace a spiderweb of granite on the bar. “Nice, uh – noble? I guess, sort of name.”

“Uh-huh,” Tom intones, sucking at the inside of his cheek to quell a threatening bark of laughter.

The bartender glances between them, quirking a brow, as the drinks are placed on the bar top. “Let me know if you need anything else, you guys.”

“Thanks!” Greg chirps, picking up his glass with a lift to look through at the lemon slices along the inside of it. “Huh.”

“Would you like to sit?” Tom asks, sweeping his empty hand toward a stand of plush furniture and tables up a level just a few yards from the bar. “Maybe we could… get to know each other?”

“Oh, sure-definitely,” Greg says, looking away from his drink, fumbling it between his hands, as he moves to look at the lounge. “VIP?”

Tom doesn’t respond out loud, simply reaching back and sweeping a hand down Greg’s forearm, gently squeezing the arm beneath buttery-soft silk. He takes a chair, once they’ve reached the corner overhanging the dance floor, and leaves Greg to the loveseat, watching him slump and settle into the suede cushions.

Greg looks up at Tom and then to the empty space at his side, but doesn’t question it any further. He switches his glass between his hands, then rubs at his neck, leaving it to shimmer somewhat in the flashing lights after the evident attempt to cool down.

“So, um, what do you do?” He asks, straightening his spine in an odd sort of square of his shoulders. “I – I, uh, work for Waystar Royco, as a junior executive.”

“What a coincidence,” Tom says, leaning forward in his seat with a tap at a slim thigh, and lingering a little, perhaps, with his knuckles along the inside of a knee, but Greg doesn’t seem to mind the attention. “I’m a senior.”

“Oh! Oh, so… Um,” Greg says, as he takes a breath and sweeps his hand across his ear, again, and his eyes shyly settle in some middle distance between them. “It may impress you that like I am part of the family, too, like – like, maybe even really the only member whose still doing actual work in the firm.”

Tom rolls his lips tight to help swallow a reflexive burst of laughter. He does nod, somewhat curious at the abrupt claim, furrowing his brow with a tight lean between them. “But Gregory, you’re… You’ve got to be a foot taller than all of them.”

Greg opens his mouth, then seems to pause to really think about it. “Not my grandpa, though – oh, or Connor? I – I really am actually a Roy.”

“‘Actually a Roy’,” Tom repeats, allowing himself a sharp taunt, raising his brows while taking a drink from his glass, then gesturing outwardly with it. “What a bold pickup line. Is that what you usually use to entice a particular sort of stranger, or just the ones on payroll?”

“Oh, uh… no?” Greg says, dropping his eyes in a way that’s somewhat rolling them, but seems to give up on arguing his bloodline to any further depth. He tips his glass, plucking a piece of square ice from the top. “Like before, uh… I mean, I usually mention I have weed and I’m like very practiced in the art of fellatio.”

Tom does cough at that and nearly spews pricy whisky and cheap soda across the narrow space between their respective knees. “Greg-Gregory, you’re killing me,” he says, briefly lifting a hand across his brow in exasperation. He exhales hard through his nose, shaking his head, “I refuse to… You don’t need to tell anyone how pretty your mouth is. It’s already on your face.”

Greg sounds like he laughs around the piece of ice he’s worrying along his tongue.

…Oh, so maybe he is a little clever.

Tom slowly drops his hand to see that Greg is quietly, steadily staring at him, and feels heat crawl up his jaw. “Have I got something on me?”

“It’s just like – like, this is fun?” Greg says, sweeping his hand behind his head with a glance away, leaning into his palm. “Being here. Tonight.”

“Yeah,” Tom says, as he takes a few seconds to simply take in Greg, too, dropping his voice a little and softening his smile. “It was a good idea.”

Greg turns a grin down at his drink, taking a sip of it, only to plainly, somewhat violently choke on it. He covers his mouth with another wheeze, eyes widening down at his lap.

Tom promptly raises a brow. “You good there, Greg-ory?”

“Yeah, I –” Greg clears his throat with another cough and a nod. “Uh, I just saw my cousin?”

Tom freezes himself, drink halfway to his mouth, then slowly finishes the movement without giving in to the urge to look. “…Anyone I might know?”

Greg blinks widely, then narrows an eye, lifting a hand to gesture with a curved pair of fingers between them. “You want to like keep –?”

“It would be funny,” Tom says, lifting his voice, as he takes another, smoother sip. “Yeah?”

Greg agrees with a huff of a laugh and a twitchy sweep of his eyes over Tom’s shoulder. “Sure, yeah.” His looks back to Tom, as his unoccupied hand clutches in his seat. “Fuck, he’s… ” He hastily puts his drink down, lifting both hands up to fumblingly catch a thrown cushion across Tom’s shoulder. “Roman, come on –”

“Greg,” Roman answers, his voice a grating, weedy tone.

“What are you, like – even doing?” Greg says, shifting sideways in his seat to set the cushion aside, as he squints and blinks up at Roman. “I didn’t really expect you here tonight?”

“Yeah? I never expect you,” Roman sneers, as he glances down, blinking at Tom with a tilt of his head. “And you. Hey, hey – are you fucking ignoring me?”

Greg clears his throat, gesturing between then with an awkward turn of a hand. “This is, uhm – is Tom? He works at Waystar, too? Isn’t that a-a – “ He stutters through an evident croak of laughter. “Like, a serendipitous coincidence. Tom, this is my cousin, Rome-ah, Roman Roy.”

Roman visibly comes up short, pausing his snide posturing to simply frown down at Greg, then makes a production of turning his whole body to better peer down at Tom. “What?”

“Nice to meet you,” Tom says, putting on his brightest smile and nearly choking on a wheeze crawling up his throat. “What brings you out tonight on this fine day, Mister Roy?”

“Are you fucking with me?” Roman puffs his chest out, hands lifting onto his hips.

“Whatever could you mean?” Tom asks, affecting a bit of a taunting Mid-Atlantic accent, setting his drink down, as he turns his head and furrows his brow to express concern. “We’ve only just met.”

“That’s a really rude thing to say,” Greg adds, while badly hiding a truly enormous grin behind his drink. “Like I-I know you’re impolite… but.”

Roman bounces between his feet, not unlike a windup toy. “What the fuck are you even doing here?”

“Meeting someone new?” Greg says, tilting his head toward Tom, then making an odd gesture that might mean pity, or something similar. “Don’t like want to be alone on a holiday like this, you know? Sort of… just sad.”

Roman blinks rapidly while he shakes his head. He puts out a hand, taking a step away, “Whatever. Don’t talk to me; I don’t want anyone here thinking I know you fucks.”

“We’re like in a lot of the same pictures?” Greg says, lifting his voice, and it has to be intentional with the way Roman promptly peeks around the lounge area. “And that Newsweek?”

“And you came over here,” Tom says, taking a sip from the edge of his glass. He picks out his toothpick, eating the luxardo cherry with a slide of his teeth. “Didn’t he, Gregory?”

“Oh yeah,” Greg says, looking up at Roman, scratching at his chin with a following glance behind him, as if looking for people who might watch them. “So are you sure you don’t like want people to think you know me?”

Roman looks back and forth between them, jaw setting and looking like he’s eating out the ass of a lemon. “Fucking Benedict Arnolds.”

Tom lifts a hand up to his mouth, carefully muting a weak, coughing sort of chuckle. He keeps his eyes a few inches to the left of Greg, as he does it, knowing he would just break into hysterics if he looked him in the face while Roman storms off. He takes a deep breath, as his chest loosens, still staring across the lounge. “You were in Newsweek?”

“Yeah!” Greg says, earnest, voice cracking with a laugh. “They let me keep the suit, hah.”

“You know, I was in Forbes this last year,” Tom says, raising his brows with a considering tilt of his head to finally look back at Greg. “We’re a real pair of success stories, aren’t we?”

“Mine was, like – about my family, really?” Greg says, leaning into the arm of the loveseat with a scrunch of his nose. “My cousin ran for president.”

“That cousin?” Tom says, emphasizing a gasp with an exaggerated lean and look back across the floor.

“No, but he, like – ” Greg exhales a wheezing laugh, then promptly rolls his lips together to plainly pretend at a stern face. “He’d have had a better chance at winning?”

Tom snorts and briefly lifts his fingers up to press at his forehead. He feels a buzz in his pocket, and glances down, pulling it from his slacks and feeling a tightening in his chest at a familiar name across the screen. It loosens considerably when he actually reads the message; the truce seems to be holding rather fast.

9:59PM Are you messing with Roman to ruin my night?>>

Greg leans forward in the loveseat. “Is there a, uh… a problem?”

“Oh, no… just, you could say, a friend of mine,” Tom says, looking up from the screen with a slow drag of his teeth along a lip. “I’ve offended her brother and he’s making it her problem, because that’s a thing when you share a womb.”

Greg leans over his drink with with a puffy laugh and a glance in a telling direction.

Tom stares at the screen, tapping at the edge of the phone, contemplating how much he really wants to involve in the text. It’s not a hard decision, in the end, and his thumb quickly starts to move across the keyboard.

<<I don’t know what you’re talking about :) I’m having a nice conversation with a nice man I just met at a bar. 10:02PM

10:02 He said it was you and Greg?>>

10:03 Are you doing a threesome with fucking GREG?>>

<< That is the nice man I met at the bar, yes, his name happens to be Gregory 10:04PM

Tom lifts his chin when he doesn’t get a response for a pair of minutes, leaning into his elbow on the loveseat. His brows go up, as the message pops in, exhaling a bark of a laugh.

10:07PM Fuck you almost choked on Perrier all over someone >>

10:08PM Funny >>

“What, like – ” Greg exhales a low, somewhat disgruntled hum. “What did you tell her?”

“Oh, how I’m just having a nice drink out with a man I just met,” Tom says, looking up while slipping the phone inside his jacket. “Called Gregory.”

Greg brightens and breathes out a huff. “Really?”

Tom hums a pitchy note of agreement.

“Oh,” Greg intones, brow furrowing, as he cocks his head to a shyly curious angle. “She didn’t… like mind? Like today?”

“She would never say so,” Tom says, flatly, as he rolls the idea around in his head and comes up bemused that it’s even a question. “But un-fucking-likely.”

“Sure,” Greg says, dropping his head in a nod while his lips press in a line.

Tom picks his drink back up from the table. “She’s no fun like this, either,” he says, then clears his throat, trying to seem breezy, “I’m a lot happier to be out tonight and found you.”

Greg blinks rapidly and ducks his head, a bright grin stretching his face that he seems to be trying to hide, like he had when he first saw Tom at the bar. “Oh, uh, I – uh, wow. Thanks.”

Tom takes a sip from his glass with a glance across his shoulder at the dance floor. He lets the liquor roll across his tongue for a beat, then swallows, and stands to lean over to the loveseat, with more practice than he should probably have, to angle Greg’s chin back up for a brief press of a kiss.

Greg twitches but doesn’t quite startle, leaning up into the attention with an uneven hum. His hand presses against Tom’s wrist, as a chilled glass knocks with a clatter of ice into Tom’s elbow, and he opens his mouth to deepen the kiss with little apparent hesitation.

Tom scratches his fingertips into the hair behind Greg’s ear. He pulls away, sparing a gentle bite against a plush lip, and huffs a laugh between them. “Oh, so you agree, or you’re just easy?”

“Ye-yes,” Greg says, tilting his chin up and plainly angling for another kiss. “Both, could be said.”

Tom breaks into a louder laugh. “That’s right, isn’t it? You said you usually open with how good you could –”

“I meant that – I-I wasn’t that blunt,” Greg insists, voice pitching, leaning out of his seat, then slumping back into it. “But only that I –”

“Oh, how could I forget the blunts,” Tom interrupts, lowering his voice to a taunting lilt, as he leans down again to press a last heavy kiss to Greg’s jaw. He manages to pull himself away, then, with a last tug on Greg’s hair. “Must show off that slutty mouth.”

Greg scrubs at his face, curved hand not quite hiding the flush to his cheeks nor his crooked grin. “What, like – what’s your normal way, then?”

“Oh, normal way?” Tom repeats, widening his eyes somewhat with a slightly overstated turn of his head. “What’s that mean?”

Greg wets his lips, glancing down between them with a wince. “You know, I mean – just –”

“Razzing you, buddy,” Tom says, scoffing under his breath and rattling the fancy bamboo toothpick in his glass. “And I’ll have you know it’s just what happened; I buy the drink, because I know it’s what you like, or I might even for a whole group to show off.”

“What about –?” Greg pauses, rubbing his knuckles into his lower lip. “Is that what happened with your, uh – your friend?”

“…My friend? Oh. No, we started making fun of the same people at a party,” Tom says, glancing down to the phone with an awkward cough of a laugh. “Ken-Her brother and his soon-to-be ex-wife were being blatant about their issues right out in front of god and their dad, plus everyone was dressed so tacky because the theme was an island thing; I didn’t even know who she really was until she told me.”

Greg nods a few times, sticking his nose in his glass and practically speaking to the ice. “So like, not your – uh, your normal way then, either?”

“Firstly, I can’t possibly imagine what you mean by either, Gregory,” Tom says, narrowing an eye in a pointed look. “Secondly… I guess not, no. Maybe normal isn’t what sticks very long.”

Greg raises his brows. “Except this time?”

“That remains to be seen, doesn’t it?” Tom says, spreading an arm across the back of his seat with a tilt of his head, as if he needs to look Greg over. “You seem like a real Subaru-driving u-hauler; I take you home tonight, I risk waking up tomorrow morning and finding out you already live there.”

Greg blinks twice, then scoffs quiet with a sharp upturn of his lips. “Sort of rude, Tom.”

“This real ugly Subaru, too, salt-rusted out and languishing in parking,” Tom continues, sweeping a lifted hand out in front of him, as if slowly revealing something beyond his minds’ eye. “And you open the door, and you’d swear it’s got an air freshener labeled reefer.”

“That’s like really specific,” Greg says, rolling his head back to look at the sparkle-lit ceiling.

“Oh, didn’t I tell you? I’m a bonafide psychic,” Tom says, as he leans forward, affecting an awed, conspiratorial voice that must barely break through the music. “That’s how I know your tiny cousin back there is only out tonight because he’s having some kind of an affair with the Baba Yaga, but she’s about as committed as a turnip.”

Greg outright fumbles his empty glass, hunching into his shoulders while bringing his knees up to curl into and hide his laughter. “Tom, sh-shut up.”

Tom downs the rest of his whiskey to hide his smug smile, then sets the glass onto the table. He leans out and grabs Greg’s drink before it can fall, putting it beside his own, as he reaches out and gently forces those long legs apart to peer down into Greg’s rosy-tinged face. “You know what my psychic powers are saying now?”

Greg raises his brows. “Do I, like – I want to know?”

Tom ignores the cheek, as he leans down to mute a couple of following, hiccuping giggles with his own laugh. He leans back and whispers against Greg’s mouth, rubbing against his throat with a pair of knuckles. “You want a big boy Shirley Temple with extra cherries.”

“You’re like a-a super on-the-ball psychic,” Greg agrees, all but batting his eyelashes while he responds with an earnest look.

Tom slaps at Greg’s thigh with his opposite hand, as he stands up. He regrets leaving him for the bar, crowded as it is with other guests in line, rather than flagging down a server, but the decision pays off when he can wave a familiar, competent bartender over from the other side.

“Mr Wambsgans,” Zoë greets, lifting her chin, a bland smile flickering across her mouth. “Round two?”

Tom leans into the bar with both hands. “A glass of maraschino cherries garnished with a Dirty Shirley and…” His eyes narrow at a small menu board. “A Clover Club?”

“Raspberry, egg white, lemon, and gin,” Zoë says, peeking at the specials, as she reaches for a grenadine pour. “It’s pink.”

Tom grunts a vague assent, then finds his eyes drifting, as a sparkly server passes with what look like goo-filled strawberries for a group above the bar.

“Chocolate-dipped strawberry Jell-O shots – prosecco, not vodka,” Zoë says, leaning forward, as she shakes a drink above a glass. Her eyes dart up, over Tom’s shoulder, then back down. “Someone else was eying them, too.”

Tom glances toward the sofas and catches Greg looking at him, rather than anything on his phone, and turns back to Zoë with a cough and a spin of a finger. “Tray it all up.”

“Yes, sir,” Zoë says, offering a somewhat blatantly mocking salute.

Tom is certain he just got up-sold, but it’s not too big of a deal; he’s in a good mood, feeling the night going well like a warm glow behind his sternum, and the grin that Greg offers him while he slides into the seat beside him, rather than across, distinctly hits the spot. “I was hoping we could share,” he says, feeling a little silly, as he slips his arm across Greg’s back, smoothing his thumb down a wrinkle in the silk along his opposite shoulder. “Now we’ve got ourselves a bit more acquainted?”

“I would agree that it is certainly welcome,” Greg says, lifting a hand and then promptly putting it back down to clutch at his own in his lap. “Nicer to, uh - to be closer.”

Tom dances his fingers across the back of the loveseat, sparing a look down at Greg’s hands; is he acting shy, now? “I got you a surprise.”

Greg markedly glances downward on Tom, brows pinching, then hurriedly lifts his eyes to look around with a suck at the bottom of his lip. “Already?”

“What a dirty mind on you,” Tom says, around some impression of a leer. “No. It’s an actual surprise.”

“What if I’m, uh –” Greg says, peeking toward the bar with a wide turn. “I’m allergic to it?”

Tom frowns for a pair of beats, then clicks his tongue, curving his hand in to tap against Greg’s opposite shoulder. “I’ll remember that for the next person I pick up.”

Greg makes a distinctly froggish face.

The tray arrives a few beats later in a flourish, delivered by a pink-sequined server, who sets out their drinks first, then cream in dollops flanked by berries in wide coup glasses. Tom offers a thankful hum, as the server takes the empties, reaching for his pink, fizzy drink, then turns to Greg in the curve of his arm. “So are you allergic to chocolate, dear Gregory?”

“No, nope,” Greg says, reaching out and plucking one of the cherries from his glass by the stem, then dipping it in the cream.

“Wait, are you…” Tom stares for a beat, feeling his mouth twist and purse in thought. “You’re not allergic to strawberries?”

“What?” Greg asks, reaching forward like he’s thinking about digging out another cherry from between ice cubes.

Tom lifts a brow.

“Oh!” Greg diverts and picks up a strawberry with a shake of his head. He pops it in his mouth, talking around it with a hand against his lips. “I-I just really like the cherries? I could eat maybe a jar of them?” He nods, as he reaches for another berry, quiet until he swallows with a lift of a shoulder. “But this is good, yeah – like, an edge? But not bubbly.”

Tom huffs through his nose and pulls his arm off Greg to reach for a half, dipping it into the cream. He takes a bite from the end and has to admit that maybe he should have asked, as the artificial edge of strawberry lingers, though not too terribly, on his tongue. “Are you to anything?”

Greg blinks in brief confusion while he finishes another berry, then shakes his head, again, as he tilts it to his shoulder in a shrug. “But I’ve maybe, uh – maybe a time or two thought about saying so?”

Tom scoffs out a breath. “Oh, really?”

“Like, yeah?” Greg rolls his lips together, visibly biting into his cheek to keep a straight face. “You know.”

“I do not,” Tom says, primly, taking a sip of a drink that he’s never had before, somewhat to prove a point, and is quietly glad that it isn’t at all terrible – not too gin-y, and even a bit creamy around the tart edges of the raspberry. “That’s just plain unadventurous, I think.”

“Not even with, um…” Greg hums a pointed lilt of a tune. “Something like a melon, maybe – like, a honeydew melon?”

Tom slowly narrows an eye, as he bites decisively down on the next strawberry.

“Because like, you know,” Greg says, taking a shallow breath through his nose, as he tilts his head with downcast eyes, and lifts his shoulders with a noticeably mocking sort of turn. “If someone were allergic to one thing, in like, for example, a fruit salad… they couldn’t eat any of it?”

Tom feels his mouth flatten. “Maybe this hypothetical person… only has a sensitivity.”

“Could be?” Greg says, drawing out the words in a vague, plainly dubious lilt. “Seems like really unlikely.”

Tom inhales shallow and, very sternly, chooses a fork in this path that will lead him down the most enjoyable destination for the night. “Eat your strawberries, I got them special,” he says, urging Greg to slide down a bit with an elbow, then tucking him closer until he’s under Tom’s arm and pressed into his chest. It might be a little too intimate for an acquaintanceship, but there’s no protest for it. “And your cherries. Before I find someone around here that won’t go around debating about the tragic compromises we make in deli food.”

Greg plainly only finds humor in the threat, hiccuping a laugh. He does eat the berries, looking up a time or two at Tom, and maybe trying to be a bit slow and teasing, then scoops at an oversize portion of leftover cream and drops it into his drink. It’ll be no surprise if that’s how he ever asks for one from this moment onward.

…Or so Tom can assume, anyway, since they’re perfect strangers.

He should probably initiate some conversation to that effect, or something, a thin excuse to get to know Greg a little better in their settled corner under music and lights. It’s a difficult plan to get off the ground, though, when it’s so easy to watch the dancefloor below them, leaning on each other while sipping their drinks. It’s a simple sort of complacent; he’s got a hand rather indulgently scratching through Greg’s hair, sometimes brushing the equally soft silk of his shirt collar, while Greg alternates between tapping at his phone and plucking at nonexistent lint on Tom’s slacks.

“Hey, um – so I can do this thing?”

“Hm?” Tom intones, glancing over, away from the dancers and the lights, just to watch Greg eat the last of his cherries, stem and all. He furrows his brows, after Greg doesn’t continue, then raises one high a beat later. “Yes?”

Greg just keeps chewing, face twisting, until he halfway spits out the stem.

…Or, wait.

Tom stares for a solid beat in actual disbelief, then croaks out a laugh. He shakes his head, plucking the stem from between Greg’s teeth with two fingers, feeling a delighted bark burst from the depths of his chest at the knot in the middle. “You are truly the most amazing thing to step in this club.”

Greg laughs through his nose in a huff, color crawling up his neck that’s obvious even in the flashes of the lights. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Tom assures, smoothing his knuckles down the plane of Greg’s cheek, and positive that the look on his own face is drifting toward something soppy. He leans in those few inches for a kiss, tasting chocolate and grenadine, as it quickly deepens, and basks in the solid feeling of Greg’s hands eagerly clambering across his waist.

The angle is a little awkward, the danger of kicking out, upending their table, ever present, but it keeps them tighter together. It gives them no other opportunity than to get closer to each other, and it would be too easy for them to become one tangled mess across the loveseat. It tragically does, too soon, get too much, racing to a point that they have to stop before it becomes a danger of becoming exposed, and that is emphasized by a particularly thick swell in the charcoal slacks under his palms.

“We could do to get out of here,” Tom says, somewhat raspy, as he shifts a spare inch or so to speak between them. “Unless that’s… too forward, or something?”

“What about the, uh –” Greg takes a breath, as his hands drop heavily further southward, while bodily curving in closer to Tom with a tight turn at the waist. “Uhm, the u-hauling?”

Tom curls his hand more solidly against Greg’s nape, squeezing at it with a panting laugh. “That train has left the station.”

Greg leans his head sideways to set it heavily into Tom’s bicep with a pair of wide, plaintive blinks. “Are we taking the train?“

“Couldn’t risk the indecent exposure change,” Tom says, sweeping his unoccupied palm down the impressive length of Greg’s thigh with a lingering at the knee. He’s simultaneously wondering and trying very hard not to about how boldly Greg is groping at the inside of one of his own thighs. “Plus I have this crazy feeling you’re always hitting your head on the door.”

“Mmhmm?” Greg hums, absently, as his hand now crawls distractingly up near Tom’s zipper fly, then along his waistband. He wets his lower lip, looking up under his lashes at Tom with a blink. “Might be… quicker, though.”

“Never would’ve guessed you were an incorrigible sort of exhibitionist,” Tom says, somewhat dry, while pressing his tongue to the insides of his teeth. He feels Greg actually go further, now outright cupping the growing semi under Tom’s slacks, and lets his eyes drop for an instant, then promptly lifts the hand from Greg’s knee to tighten around his wrist. “Uh-uh.”

“But I, um – I could be really anyone, you can’t just take a stranger to your house?”

Tom takes a slow breath, and feels his core tighten, as Greg’s long fingers stretch to reach his zipper. He risks another peek down, swallowing a groan, as a particular epiphany comes over him. “You sneaky little fuck,” he coos, despite himself, endearment at the edge of his voice. “I cannot believe you – it’s just not happening, no matter how well we don’t know each other.”

Greg exhales a throaty whine. “But – ”

“Gregory Hirsch,” Tom says, leaning forward, forcing his voice low and stern into Greg’s ear. “If someone wants to give me a handy in public, it should not be in any club with his grody-ass cousin present.”

Greg near immediately seizes, excepting a harsh inhale. “I-I, like – I f-forgot,” he stutters, tense all the way, it seems, to the very tips of his toes; they’ve never really talked about it, but Greg’s particular pervert streak seems to involve all the thrill at sneaking around in the open, but nothing for really being caught. “Is – uh, is he around?”

“I don’t know, babester,” Tom says, kissing against Greg’s temple with a squeeze against his shoulder. He pulls away, carefully, trying not to exacerbate the arousal strongly urging him to throw caution to the wind. “I’m only looking at you.”

Greg looks up with a deepening pout. “That’s like, uh – like nice, but not really helpful?”

“Come on,” Tom says, reaching down, grabbing Greg by the elbow to pull him up from the loveseat. “Gosh. Gawrsh.”

“Can you like not do Goofy?” Greg says, eyes rolling up, then away, a twitch at the corner of his mouth.

“I cannot be nursing chub to pay the bartender,” Tom says, sternly, then allows himself one final scoff at this farce of a situation. “Zoë suffers enough.”

“Zoë’s here?” Greg says, craning his neck over everyone to scan over the crowd. “Oh.”

“Another reason not to tug me to completion in our very favorite club,” Tom says, patting Greg on the ass, then reluctantly leaving him to shove through and get them squared away. He can feel a flush lingering in his face, and hopes it can be excused by being with a lover on Valentine’s, but not… being with a lover on a Valentine’s.

Greg is still sulking by the time they push their way to the exit, jackets snug over their shoulders and car texted with a quick ETA. His sighs truly speak in the loudest of all volumes; a book could be written on their varied meanings and interpretation.

“You are a…” Tom swallows a somewhat hysterical giggle. “How about we readdress this in some place, like – ” He throws his hands out, palm up, as they take the side exit to the alley. “Like goddamn Berlin, you big goose.”

“I guess,” Greg sighs, again, so cartoonishly disappointed as he is at his foiled scheme.

Tom rolls his eyes and briefly takes a beat to glance at the papered wall, down the alley, then promptly takes advantage of their closeness to take a step sideways that unbalances Greg, then twists and shoves him with some practice into the nearby building. The car can wait an extra minute; it’s not like they don’t pay them for it.

Greg groans in an audible breath, as his back thuds into the wall, hands coming up against Tom’s chest and twisting into his shirt. His head tilts down, meeting the kiss with barely a pause to get any bearing even for balance.

Tom smiles with bite, as he feels a laugh hum across his mouth, pressing Greg firmer against the brick, spreading his hands along the soft surface of the shirt through his jacket. “You know I just love this look,” he says, breaking away just far enough to speak, plucking his fingers along silver buttons down to the tucked waistband. “My fancy pretty boy out cruisin’, huh?”

Greg pants some spare breath of a sentence that surely means more to him than Tom can understand.

“Not sporting anything more sparkly, though,” Tom muses, leaning back further and sweeping his hands along Greg’s arms to the bare, unadorned wrists bent into his chest. “Character choice?”

“You, uh…” Greg stares with lidded eyes down at Tom. “You got all that for me.”

Tom hums a winding note from deep within his chest. He sweeps his thumb flat and wide against Greg’s cheek, then leans up for another kiss, nipping sharp at Greg’s mouth. “Come on. Let’s find the car - you’re not getting my cock out here, either, you goon.”

~~*~~

“Okay, so should – like, I guess it starts now?”

“Why am I the pursuer, Greg?” Tom says, as he steps out of the car with a nod backward at the driver. “What if I want to be pursued?”

Greg goes quiet for a few seconds, and the dull roar of the club behind him grows loud for a brief moment in the receiver. He coughs lightly, causing it to fade back to him. “Because, um… it was my idea, I guess?”

Tom rolls his eyes up at the sign for the club. “Are you going to tell me what you’re wearing?”

“Uh, no? I don’t think that would be like in the spirit of not knowing each other?”

“How the fuck am I supposed to find you?” Tom demands, as he pulls out his wallet for the door.

“I’m like taller than most people here,” Greg says, voice briefly fading, then lifting again into the receiver. “Maybe everyone?”

“Probably not everyone,” Tom says, though it could be true, all things considered, as it certainly has happened before. “Sasquatch might be having a night out – are you making level eye contact across the room with anyone unusually hairy?”

Greg huffs but it sounds a little forced.

“I’d like to reiterate my stipulation for this little outing,” Tom says, pitching his voice stern, for the third or forth time since Greg pitched this idea, of how much this is an absolutely inarguable condition: “If we somehow improv into an argument, like this is fucking therapy, we still fuck.”

“Oh, yeah,” Greg says, tone lowering, “Like… obviously? I mean, eventually.”

“Tonight,” Tom counters, as he taps his card with a wag of fingers at the bouncer. “This is the date night – ”

“You’re so horny, Tom,” Greg mutters, cutting to the cruder heart of the matter.

“I’m not going to ‘separate bed’ for you.”

“I, uh – ” Greg exhales a breath of a hum. “I can’t like predict anything, so I would like to call dibs on the bedroom,” he says, voice pitching with a legitimate request hidden in a sort of joke. “Mondale’s bed is like just a queen.”

Tom rolls his eyes, as he steps into the club. “Hanging up now.”

#tomgreg

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edupunkn00b · 2 years ago

Text

The Uses of Adversity, Ch. 11: Second Chances

Prev - Second Chances - Next - Masterpost - [ AO3 ]

"If it weren't for second chances, we'd all be alone." - Second Chances, Gregory Alan Isakov

WC: 3152 - Rated: T - CW: divorce, arguing, returning OC, swearing, suggestive (hello, Remus), misuse of a Latin phrase ---

“You’re up early.” Yawning, Janus tightened his robe when he stepped into the kitchen and nearly collided with Roman in front of the refrigerator. Smiling, he took the eggs from his hand and nudged him over to the coffee maker instead.

“I’m helping out a friend today,” Roman said, vaguely, and pulled down the coffee beans and grinder. Janus raised an eyebrow, waiting silently until he elaborated. Roman delayed as long as he could, taking his time grinding the beans and scooping them into the filter. Lawyers didn’t like vagueness and they knew exactly how to fix that. Janus remained quiet and let Roman’s building need to fill the silence hunker down between them.

Not that Logan ever pulled this little trick with him. Not that there was anything Roman didn’t want to tell him. His problem was in wanting to tell him… everything. “Well… he’s your friend, too,” Roman finally admitted, dragging a hand through his hair. “Logan.”

“Queerbait Croft?”

“Oi!” Roman snapped, glaring at his brother-in-law. “Jannie,” Remus purred from the doorway at the same time. “Now, now,” he said, drawing closer and nuzzling against his temple with a little frown. “That doesn’t sound like you.”

“I'm simply… “ Janus huffed and hung his head for a few breaths, his face a cross between annoyed and chagrined. Finally, he looked up and nodded. “You’re both right. I was out of line. I apologize. I simply meant…" He frowned, eyes faraway for a moment before he met Roman's eyes. "Don't put your heart on the line with him, Roman. He’s straight.”

Remus snorted. “Sure, Jan,” he shook his head and impatiently tapped the brewing coffee. “Nobody’s that good of an ally. Maybe ‘Straightbait Sanders’ is a better name for him.”

“Muse, of course he’s straight!” Janus rolled his eyes and continued slicing a bell pepper. “What, you think his children were delivered by the stork?”

“What, you think a bi guy can’t fuck his wife and still appreciate his hot boss’ ass?”

“Muse, my dear…” Blushing, Janus kissed Remus’ cheek. “You’re projecting.”

“Well, yes, I know I love to stare at your ass, too.” He grinned and made a squeezing motion with both hands, making clear his intention to do more than stare. “But his wife—”

“Ex,” Roman interrupted.

Remus tipped an imaginary hat at his brother before returning his attention to Janus. “His ex-wife sure seemed to think there was something going on between you two. Or did you think it was a coincidence she’d interrupt every fucking time you two talked at Q-Law parties?”

“Really?” Roman asked and Remus nodded.

“Really, really.” Coffee brewed, he poured large cups for each of them and moved to the sink to refill the empty carafe with water.

“Rinse it, at least, Muse,” Janus said without looking up.

Laughing, Remus made a show of splashing the pot with an inch of water before taking the task seriously. “You seem to be awfully invested in this, Ro Bro.” He filled the pot before turning around, eyebrows dancing. There was mischief in his eyes. “You wouldn’t happen to be catching some not-straight feelings for our sweet Nerdy Wolverine, would you?”

Eyes wide, Roman stared at Remus, shouting silently, You know very well I have feelings for him! Remus merely held his gaze before looking pointedly at Janus.

Roman opened his mouth to protest, but sat back instead, and sipped his coffee. He could feel Janus and Remus exchanging a look. “I… might be,” he muttered. He knew his brother and his brother knew Janus. Roman would play along with the madness to his method.

The taste of the coffee brought him back to last Saturday, the glimmer in Logan's eyes, that shy little smile that finally broke through his mask. “Logan’s not like anyone I’ve known before," he said quietly, addressing his cup. "And it's not just the way he handled that dickhead Devin. He’s smart but…not a jackass about it.” Roman ignored Janus’ quiet huff. “He laughs at my stupid jokes. And you should see him with his kids. The other day he—” Roman glanced up, bracing himself for a comment about his effusiveness, but he saw nothing but compassion. From both of them. “He’s a good guy. I’ve always thought so.”

Remus stared back at him, head tilted in confusion, but then his jaw fell open. “Oh fuck, Ro…” Tone changed, Remus flipped a chair around and straddled it, facing his brother. “Logan’s the guy.” Roman stopped breathing and just stared back at him. “The guy." When he didn't acknowledge his assertion, Remus continued as though there was some way Roman had forgotten his embarassing dual crushes. "The cute guy you had that crush on back in school. The one you said was out of reach. I always thought…” Remus’ eyes flicked over to the back of Janus’ head before he let the sentence finish itself.

Roman shrugged and looked away.

“I still think you should go for it,” Remus said after a moment, getting up and punching Roman’s shoulder as he returned to the stove. “Carpe dickem. Seize the day. Shoot your shot.”

“I can’t fuck up everything between us on a whim, Re, he’s…”

“Twitchy?” Remus asked.

“Special,” Roman snapped and his brother turned around.

“Fuck, Ro, I’m sorry,” he said, passing the spatula to Janus and crouching next to his brother’s chair. “I didn’t mean anything by it.” Remus stared up at him, head tilted. “This isn’t just… a crush… is it?”

Roman was quiet for a long time, and listened to the spatula scraping the pan. Finally, he met his brother’s eyes. “No,’ he breathed. “No, it’s not.”

“Just…” Janus had been listening as he cooked and Roman’s head jerked up at his low voice. He fell quiet again and plated an omelette before placing it in front of Roman. “Just don’t get your hopes up too much, okay? I don’t want you to lay it all out there and… have him break your heart.” Roman stabbed his eggs with a fork and steam escaped from the tiny holes. “I’ve known this guy for… fuck, twenty years and…” He rolled his eyes fondly at Remus. “And despite your brother's obvious projections, I’ve never seen him show any sort of actual interest in men.”

“Known him for twenty years and yet you still call him by his ex wife's last name?” Roman glared at him, one eyebrow raised before shrugging. “Maybe you don’t actually know him as well as you think you do.”

Janus frowned but nodded. "Perhaps I don't."

~~~

“Hey, Dad?” Virgil’s words came out in a grunt as he slung a giant purple duffel bag over his shoulder, “Next year, do y’think I can stay up in Bellingham for spring break?”

Logan’s feet stuttered and the gig box he carried bumped against his thighs. “What? Well I… I suppose if you would prefer…”

“I’m just thinking it’s less stress, y’know?” Virgil shrugged and looked out at the driveway. Logan’s SUV stood alone, hatch open as they loaded it up with Virgil’s DJ gear and clothes. After the second year in a row of Remy making it clear she was not welcome on his trips between campus and home, Kelly had insisted she help bring Virgil back up.

“I don’t see why you insist on driving,” she’d hissed over the phone. “Is this some sort of masculinity thing?”

Logan had suppressed a sigh and counted to five before responding. “Of course not, Kelly. Your new car is a two-door coupe. Virgil’s equipment simply won’t fit.”

“So I’ll drive your Pilot, what’s the big deal?”

His grip tightened on the handset until, ache radiating through his fingers and wrist, he forced his hand to relax. “It’s a manual transmission, Kelly.”

“I swear to God, Logan, you bought that damn thing just so I couldn’t drive it!”

“I bought the damn thing—” He sucked in a breath, cutting off his too-quick response. “I bought the Pilot because it has 21 centimeters of chassis clearance, four wheel drive, low rollover risk, maximized cargo and passenger space—”

“I meant the fucking stick shift and you know it. Don’t lecture me about safety features, Logan.”

He bit the inside of his cheek and counted to five again. “Automatic transmission added two thousand dollars to the sticker price and another fifteen grand to the total cost of ownership over twenty ye—.”

“You have an answer for everything, don’t you? A fucking Car & Driver expert all of a sudden. Fine. I’ll be there at 10.” She’d hung up without saying goodbye.

It was now past 10:30 and Kelly still hadn’t arrived.

“If you truly would prefer to stay in Bellingham, Virgil, I won’t stop you,” Logan turned and peered at his son over the top of the gig box. “We would miss you. I…” He smiled and, seeing Virgil’s anxious gaze at the car, stepped backwards, closer to the steps to allow him to pass. “I would miss you, but I understand it could be—”

His heel skidded against the top step and he stumbled backwards. ��Dad!” Virgil cried and dropped his bag. His fingers grazed the top handle of the gig box. But he missed it.

“Lo!” Roman’s panicked voice suddenly boomed a few feet behind him and he fell hard against something—some one—firm and steady, the weight of the gig box pressing him back. “Got you,” he whispered near Logan's ear, strong arms curled around him. Roman carefully pushed him forward until Logan was standing on the top porch step.

“You okay?” Virgil asked, taking the box from him and setting it down.

“Y-yeah,” Logan nodded breathlessly. The near fall had pushed his heart up in his throat, pounding so hard he was certain they could all hear it. He looked up and smiled into Virgil’s worried eyes. Patton had come running at the commotion and now stood in the doorway, grinning. “I am—I am fine,” he said, nodding again. Roman had moved one hand to his back and now stood next to him, peering closely into his eyes.

“Are you sure you’re not hurt?” he asked, gaze trailing up and down his body.

Logan blushed. “Yes, I—I—I am uninjured…” He looked down and flexed both feet, bouncing twice. “Thanks to you. I—” His mouth went dry when Roman grinned at him.

“Just lucky timing,” he said. Roman’s hand was still at his back, a welcome warmth despite his sweat-dampened shirt.

Logan only blushed harder when he realized Roman could feel how disgustingly sweaty he was just from moving a few crates. He nodded and bent to pick up the gig box. “Thank you, Roman, I—”

“Let me help you,” he said, reaching for the other end of the box. “We can work together.” Virgil and Patton exchanged a look that Logan couldn’t quite decipher but he didn’t have long to think about it. “Please?” Roman asked again, a hopeful smile curling his lips. Had he always had that dimple?

“That… that would be most welcome,” he finally said, cheeks warming again at the way Roman’s eyes lit up like he’d given him a gift. “Thank you,” he murmured, dragging his eyes away from Roman’s as they lifted the gig box together. It was significantly easier to manage with a partner.

“This is heavy,” Roman said. “What do you keep in here, Virge?” he asked once they’d slid the box into the trunk. With the third row down, they’d managed to fit all of Virgil’s equipment, plus his clothes and bedding—he was attached to his favorite comforter and brought it down for even short weekend visits.

“That crate holds my records,” he said, stroking the case. “And this one has the amps,” he patted another box. “The actual turntables and mixing board are in the back.”

“Old school,” Roman nodded, grinning again.

Virgil blushed and ducked his head. “Yeah, I do a mix.”

“Virgil’s fantastic.” Logan closed the hatch and just barely resisted ruffling his son's hair.

“Yeah, and Dad’s not just bragging,” Patton piped up as they returned to the porch. “Virge is really good! He DJ'd Jax's birthday party last year.” He grinned at his older brother like he was a rock star. "He was awesome!"

“Pat,” Virgil mumbled, hands shoved in his pockets. “Don’t oversell me.”

“I’d love to hear your work. Do you have a demo?” Roman asked, still smiling, but eyes serious.

“Uh, yeah,” Virgil’s eyes widened and he ran back to the car. He opened the hatch and fumbled with his backpack, then came back with a CD and a small flash drive. “There’s a QR code for my Soundcloud on the cover. I know, 'old school,'” he said in a rush, pressing it all into Roman’s hands. A soft, shy smile replaced his usual smirk.

“Thank you, Virge,” Roman grinned as he slipped the case and the thumb drive in his pocket. “I look forward to hearing your work.”

Patton danced next to him and linked his arm through Virgil’s. Cheeks still pink, Virgil cleared his throat and tugged him along as Roman and Logan followed. “C’mon, Pat, didn’t you say there was lemonade?”

“I think you made his week,” Logan whispered once they’d stepped inside.

They watched the brothers kick off their shoes and laughingly jostle each other in a race to the kitchen. “It’s nice to see him smile,” he murmured. “His school’s in Bellingham?” Logan nodded and watched some calculation behind Roman’s eyes. He nodded slowly. “There’s an all-ages club up there an old friend of mine owns. Is Virgil looking for a steady gig?"

“A—actually, yes. We have a deal, if he can cover half his rent, I’ll cover the other and he can move out of the dorms…” His voice trailed off, watching Roman’s expression. “You’re serious.”

“Of course I am,” he grinned. “Anyone whose music pleases both ends of that demographic is worth considering.”

Logan stopped just outside the kitchen and looked up at Roman’s face. He was smiling that signature charming smile, but his eyes were sincere. “You’re incredible, you know that, right?”

He winked and Logan felt his face warm. “I was going for ‘outstanding,’” he laughed, “But I’ll take ‘incredible.’”

A loud laugh slipped past the hand Logan slapped over his mouth and the boys turned around, again exchanging a cryptic look before offering them each a sweaty glass. “Lemonade?” Patton grinned, wiggling between them and leading them over to the counter.

Logan took a slow, grateful sip, the cold drink easing a bit of his blush. “Thank you, again, for staying with Patton today,” he said when he felt his control return.

“Yeah, that long of a car ride and I’ll just—” he doubled over and made a gagging sound.

Virgil winced but still laughed. “Nice, Pat.”

“Thank you,” he said proudly, either not catching his brother’s sarcasm or choosing to ignore it.

Ruffling his youngest son’s hair and pulling him close, Logan kissed the top of his head and smiled. Patton hugged back, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “It’s nice to get to avoid the Dramamine, isn’t it?”

“And the drama,” Virgil muttered under his breath from in front of the refrigerator. Logan’s eyes snapped up to Roman’s to see if he’d heard. Fuck. He had.

“Hey, why don’t you two do one more sweep of your room?” Logan suggested. He gave Patton another one-armed hug then gripped Virgil’s arm, hoping to make it clear neither were in trouble despite the not-so-subtle dismissal.

Virgil looked between him and Roman, then nodded. “Sure, Dad. C’mon, Pat, I’ll show you which CDs you can’t touch while I’m gone.”

Logan sipped his lemonade and listened for the sound of Virgil’s door opening upstairs before he faced Roman and the questions bubbling behind his eyes. If he was being honest with himself, he had hoped to have a moment or two alone with Roman today. Those interrupted words had played on a constant loop in his mind since their Saturday at the theatre.

Was Logan delusional to think Roman had still been quoting Shakespeare? By now, his mind had filled in the rest, his imagination embellishing the faulty memory with each loop.

‘I would not wish any companion in the world but you.’

How had Roman actually intended to end that sentence? How had he wanted it to end? How did he want it to end?

But each missed opportunity to ask left Logan increasingly certain it had become too late say anything. His stomach churned and a flash of irrational anger sizzled through his veins at the way she still had such a hold on his life. Even now, in private, instead of quenching the curiosity burning through his brain, instead of enjoying a quiet moment with his friend, he was stuck explaining Kelly.

“My divorce was… less than amicable.” He gripped his drink with both hands, fingers tapping against the cold glass. “I worked hard to keep as much of the animosity from boys as possible, but…”

“But someone else didn’t get the memo?” Roman finished after a moment, gently bumping their shoulders together. Logan could only nod.

“Do you think some of whatever seeps through is part of Patton’s, uh…” He quietly mimicked the boy's earlier demonstration, pulling a small, huffed laugh from Logan. Roman’s tiny pleased smile at his reaction made Logan feel better than he deserved.

“It’s likely.” Logan swallowed back his surprise at how much Roman had picked up with just a few words. “He’d been excited to drive up with Virgil… at least until he heard she was coming.”

The sound of a car slowing just outside the kitchen window was followed by Virgil’s call as he ran downstairs, “Mom’s here!” After shoving his feet into his sneakers, he clasped Roman’s hand and they gave each other a sort of half hug. “See you next time?” he asked, hopeful.

“I’ll text you after I listen to your demo tonight,” he nodded, smiling brighter when Virgil’s tough guy smirk again melted into a true grin.

“Cool,” he said, nodding. “See ya, Pat,” he turned to his brother. “Stay outta my room.”

“I always stay out of your room!” Unable to keep up his feigned offense, Patton ended up laughing. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. Bye, Dad,” he grinned, quickly hugging Logan before grabbing Roman’s hand, headed toward the game room downstairs. “Hey, wanna play Mario Kart?”

“Homework first, please!” Logan reminded him, pointing to the chore chart on the wall. He decided he did not catch Patton’s partially hidden eye roll.

Roman gave him a little salute. “He’s in good hands, Mr. Sanders,” he assured.

“I know,” Logan smiled. Body moving without his full control, he stepped closer, arms open. The sudden car horn blaring outside froze him.

“Let’s go, Dad,” Virgil muttered, pulling him away.

Waving weakly, Logan nodded, face aflame over what he’d been about to do. “We’ll be back before six.”

---

Taglist: @crossiantgay

reviving the old tag list, ask to be added B-)

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drewschermickblindone · 1 year ago

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My top 50 albums of 2023:

G's Us- WHAT THEM DOGS DONT KNOW THEY KNOW

Andrew Mbaruk- Foam Collar

Bufus Wood and Derill Pounds- derekhalfdead

Darko the Super featuring Homeboy Sandman- Now!

Video Dave + Controller 7-

ArticulatedTexTiles

Factor Chandelier- Moving Like a Planet

Gregory Pepper & His Problems- No Thanks

AJ Suede and Televangel- Parthian Shots

Rove- Poke The Bear

Dillon & Diamond D- Uncut Gems

Foule Monk- CRISIS

NOOB SAIBOT- 1

MC Roughneck Jihad & DJ Awkward- RAWK 2

Elzhi and Oh No- Heavy Vibrato

The Cloaks- A Cloak ReWork Orange (Remixes)

Buck 65, Doseone, and Jel- North American Adonis

KILLVONGARD- Life Is a Masterpiece

Tomcantsleep- The Sun is Yellow

epic/robcrooks- Lawson/Time is Not a Circle, It's a Fire Burning

Mycelium Culture- Microdose

calQtek- HANGOUT GALAXY

Aesop Rock- Integrated Tech Solutions

AJ Suede and Steel Tipped Dove- Reoccurring Characters

phiik & Lungs- Another Planet 4

Fatboi Sharif and Steel Tipped Dove- Decay

Mestizo- IWWIW--IIWII

Kenny Segal and Pink Navel- How To Capture Playful

Thoel Simerville- Birds Of A Feather

Roper Williams- Infinite Victory Loop

Noah23- Tank Girl

Brian Ennals and Infinity Knives- Rhino XXL

Onry Ozzborn- BlvckBeachBoi

Blockhead- The Aux

Park-Like Setting- This, That and the Third

Groundislava- Worldware

Armand Hammer- We Buy Diabetic Test Strips

Milc & Televangel- The Fish That Saved Portland

Capaciti & Noblonski- Learning to Walk in the Dark

Open Mike Eagle' Another Triumph of Ghetto Engineering

Ten-Headed Skeleton- A Thirst for Blood

George Clanton- Ooh Rap I Ya

UNSUNG- Hand Painted Model Trains

Jason Griff and Zilla Rocca- Stacking Chips

OLD SELF- DJ Mo Niklz presents "sorry"

Lt Headtrip, Dos4gw- Tap on the Glass

Child Actor and Serengeti- AJAI II

Young Fathers- Heavy Heavy

Marrow- Hail Telemetry

Jeff Markey and Skech185z He Left Nothing for the Swim Back

Kitz Willman- Grim Errands

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atlanticcanada · 2 years ago

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Man acquitted of assaulting officer with water bottle at Halifax housing protest

A judge has acquitted a man accused of throwing a bottle at police during a Halifax housing protest in one of the first decisions from a series of trials related to the 2021 demonstration.

Judge Gregory Lenehan found Robert John Newell not guilty on Monday of assaulting a police officer and resisting arrest, in connection with the protest during which several hundred people tried to stop the demolition of homeless shelters.

Police arrested about two dozen demonstrators and pepper-sprayed multiple people as a chaotic scene erupted on Aug. 18, 2021,when municipal workers attempted to take away the shelters that had been erected in front of the former Halifax public library.

Lenehan said in Halifax provincial court he wasn't "certain of the identification" of Newell as the person seen in a video recording throwing a water bottle at a police sergeant, or as the person struggling with a constable during an attempted arrest.

The judge noted a number of problems with the police identification of Newell, saying the arresting officer's procedure of looking at a single photo of Newell from a police database to identify him as the bottle thrower wasn't sufficient. Lenehan said the officer had received pepper spray in his eyes as he had arrested Newell, adding that the officer couldn't properly see who he had detained and transferred to a colleague.

The arresting officer never asked the detainee his name as he took him into custody, relying on a colleague's account and then looking up the man on the police database, the judge said.

Lenehan said it's "not acceptable" for a police officer to use a single image from a police database to identify someone; the arresting officer, the judge added, should have looked at "an array of photos" to pick out the suspect.

"That identification is flawed," Lenehan said. "It is no more acceptable for a police officer to look at a single suggested photo identifying a subject than it is to provide a civilian witness with a single photo for the same purpose."

Lenehan added that the police witness had said Newell had a black service dog with him when the bottle throwing occurred, but the judge said the video shows that the person with a black dog "wasn't the one who hurled the bottle."

"I'm concerned that some of the officer's testimony may have been influenced by his review of the video recordings and perhaps discussions with other officers, and details may have been added that his own memory ΓÇª could not provide," he said.

The judge said he couldn't be certain from the video images that the person sitting before him in the courtroom was the bottle thrower.

Joshua Nodelman, a legal aid lawyer who represented Newell, said in an interview that for a criminal offence to be proved in court, "it must be done on the basis of evidence that is reliable, that is receivable and that is not hearsay."

"I think the judge conducted the correct analysis of the evidence that was before him and delivered an appropriate and reasonable decision."

Another defence lawyer, Asaf Rashid, is representing four people facing various charges in relation to the demonstration, with two cases now underway. One of his clients is disputing the police interpretation of video evidence that she deliberately kicked constables during her arrest.

Halifax's board of police commissioners has mandated a Toronto law firm to conduct an independent civilian review of the police response to the 2021 protest; that review is expected by May 31, 2024.

This report by The Canadian Press was first published June 8, 2023.

For more Nova Scotia news, visit our dedicated provincial page.

from CTV News - Atlantic https://ift.tt/t8BIqx3

#new brunswick #prince edward island #nova scotia #news #politics #canada #CTVAtlantic

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julio-viernes · 4 years ago

Video

youtube

Giro rápido y somero hacia unas cuantas buenas canciones y discos del año pasado, 2020. Vi hace poco una interesante lista de la página Pop Record - songs with a hook presidida por Gregory Pepper & His Problems con al menos media docena de melodías destacables, incluso memorables. La ultra pop teñida de leve country "Sublime Sun Tattoo" está en el sexto álbum de Pepper, “I Know Why You Cry”.

#gregory pepper and his problems #pop record

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fakefourinc · 5 years ago

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The new Gregory Pepper and His Problems album will be released in 9 days.

Gregory's favorite "intro" on the whole record. In his words: "A few tempo / meter changes, gratuitous vocal harmonies, and some SMiLE-ish toy percussion."

Preorders ship soon. Order now: https://fakefour.bandcamp.com/album/i-know-now-why-you-cry

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themechcnicaa · 3 years ago

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Non-Normal Iron Man Tonys

(if you want the mcu kinda version, please tell me that’s what you want. some will get full bios at a later date. i just figured they deserved something for now.)

Anthony

Depends on Timeline

6’1” /

PA for Potts Industries

His own place i assume.

He grew up with mostly simple things, his father seemed to blame him for the loss of the company but whatever it seemed to be better this way, he left as soon as he could. Meeting Rhodey and despite being a mechanic, he went up until he was Potts PA. This was fine, he handled it well enough and then there was the whole missing. He worried; he didn’t know what to do. He ended up making an Iron Man suit to save her, now he’s apparently the bodyguard of one Pepper Potts. How did this become his life?

As to how he got to joining the avengers and him being part of something he didn’t mean to, he was just trying to help? What the hell is his life?

Anthony Stark

Depends on Timeline

6’1” /

Stark Bucks

Where ever the hell he wants to live.

Not much can be said, he didn’t really end up making weapons and well getting kidnapped. That’s enough of a problem as it is when there’s a bunch crazed lunatics.

Anthony Jarvis. (Tony)

Depends on timeline

6’1” / Loves wearing his acdc shirt

Mechanic. (earth 8)

He didn’t really grow up as Howards son, something changed because he ended up being the son of the Jarvis’s, adopted but that’s not here or there. That’s what happened and well, he may not have a company, but he can do something better. Make his own from scratch if he wanted to.

Antonio Stark

Depends on timeline.

6’1” / Presumably gay (where the noir bit comes in), finds wearing loose shirts the best, especially the hoodie.

Mechanic / Winter Soldier

A flat. He doesn’t mind it.

Scene 1; Time swap, Steve and Bucky born in the 70s/80s. Rhodey is alive. (a bit of noir in it); Tony grew up as Howards kid, and he did amazing things. But somewhere along the lines he was caught and changed. He was found some many years later and is getting better in the world now.

Scene 2; kidnapped, whether this was early from childhood, from Afghanistan instead of the ten rings, you get the drift. He was born 1970s and soon disappeared depending on the timeline.

(Tony can still be iron man, steve can still technically be captain America if you want or just discuss if you want to work something out.)

Anthony

Depends on timeline

6’1” /

Rhodes Lab, Scientist.

Tony works with his best friend, with Rhodey.

Tony Stark

Depends on Timeline

6’1” /

CEO of Stark Enterprises (earth 1601)

His own home.

After SI was turned to something else, essentially throwing him to the side and having to redo he started Stark Enterprises. Along with him the bots, his ai and the clean energy he could use

Anthony Stark

Depends on Timeline

6’1” /

Star Wars/Marvel

A little mechanic place

He’s not sure made his father change from jedi to sith, or maybe it was Obidiah that made it happen. Who knows but he isn’t part of them anymore and he for once isn’t a fan of being part of either. But if you need help, he’s willing he guesses.

Anthony Stark

Ant-Man

Earth-818

Somewhere

Tony Stark was the founder of the War Machines. He eventually split from the law enforcement group and joined other heroes fighting the Wastelord, becoming the hero Ant-Man.

Antonio Stark

Depends on Timeline

6’1” / ??

Co-CEO (with Pepper)

Twin Brother - Gregory

His own home

Soulmates (Soul guides)

Tony didn’t technically get kidnapped, then he had the iron man armour already and as he’s sort of dying, (thankfully not the whole 1610 completely), he knows he got his soul guide at some point, he might have been drunk at the time which could explain that. But thankfully he’s also part time hero, Pepper would have him if he didn’t at least do his part with the company.

His soul is a Savannah cat.

#bios #「 questionable choices ─ au 」#and here's this list #non iron man tonys #and some non conventional iron man tonys #yeah

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rabbit-trolls · 4 years ago

Photo

>Aeres Bunnie - The Mechanic

>Playlist under the cut

> Dreams and Disasters - Owl City > Learn to Fly - Foo Fighters > Easy Breezy - chelmico > Drop the Plot - Gregory Pepper & His Problems > American Idiot - Green Day

#art #aesthetic board #Aeres Bunnie #fantroll #fantrolls #homestuck #hiveswap #friendsim

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tabloidtoc · 4 years ago

Text

Globe, December 28

You can buy a copy of this issue for your very own at my eBay store: https://www.ebay.com/str/bradentonbooks

Cover: Farewell to 93 legends we loved and lost in 2020

Page 2: Up Front & Personal -- Steve Martin holds a green pepper on the NYC set of Only Murders in the Building, Derek Hough is light on his feet at the MTV Movie & TV Awards

Page 3: Julia Roberts looks scary skinny during a solo stroll in Hawaii, Chris Pratt hoists a hoverboard during an L.A. workout

Page 4: Troubled twosome Ellen DeGeneres and Portia de Rossi are hoping to put their year from hell behind them by renewing their vows over the holidays in a desperate big to keep their love alive -- Ellen wants to prove her long-suffering wife comes first ahead of Ellen’s daytime talk show and her many celebrity friends and is going all out to show it -- penny-pincher Ellen opened her wallet as wide as her heart telling Portia she could spend whatever she wants on clothes, food, drinks, music and invite whoever she wants at the New Year’s vow ceremony on a Santa Barbara beach

Page 5: Obsessive Blake Shelton is so stressed over his upcoming wedding to Gwen Stefani he’s turning into the Groomzilla from hell -- he is sparing no expense and shelling out millions to redo his Oklahoma ranch to impress the couple’s Tinseltown friends but the mountain of stuff still to be done is driving him around the bend even though no one’s putting pressure on him but he’s obsessed with the wedding details and driving his staff crazy with his constant orders and revisions -- he’s building a chapel on the ranch and a lighted boat for a romantic wedding cruise on the lake and picking the style of the canopy for the banquet floor and re-landscaping the grounds and adding a color-themed garden

* Kenya Moore of Real Housewives of Atlanta reveals she went on a date with Kanye West but bolted when she caught him watching inappropriate flicks -- she described the outing with Kanye as a disaster date and they ended up going to his house where he left her alone, wandering around and when she followed the noises he was watching something on TV that he probably shouldn’t have been and that was her exit

Page 6: Matthew Perry was such a slave to his addiction his former galpal Kayti Edwards says he’d send her to score drugs while she was pregnant and Matthew insisted she was the perfect drug mule because he believed cops wouldn’t stop a gal in her condition Kayti claims in a shocking tell-all about her 2011 romance with Matthew -- she says his ravenous cravings for cocaine and heroin were so out of control that he once superglued his hands to his legs and he took up to 80 Vicodin pills daily -- Kayti claims she was trying to protect Matthew because she feared he’d end up wandering around the streets and being nabbed by cops or snapped by photogs but she was also getting paid big bucks like $3000 to $4000 a day

Page 7: Duchess Camilla’s taste for an early morning tipple has rubbed off on husband Prince Charles who is now so hooked on the sauce he starts the day guzzling a powerful gin martini with breakfast and now Charles’ alarmed staffers and pals are talking about an intervention to remind him not to go down the path that put his second wife in rehab -- Charles’ booze consumption has been off the charts for years but drinking first thing in the morning with his breakfast is a new low -- Charles laughs off suggestions he has a booze issue but one look at his bloodshot face tells the story

* Now that a COVID-19 vaccine’s been approved in Britain Queen Elizabeth says she’s going to get the shot but wait her turn instead of pulling royal rank but she and husband Prince Philip won’t wait long because at their ages they’re in the second group to get the vaccine which is health care workers and people over 80

Page 8: Helena Bonham Carter has a world-shakin’ suggestion for gals frustrated by the COVID-19 lockdown: get a vibrator -- she says women shouldn’t worry about snaring a beau during the pandemic but that’s easy for her to say because she’s currently cuddling with toyboy writer Rye Dag Holmboe

* George Clooney confesses wife Amal Clooney had him shaking in his boots when he popped the question and she didn’t answer -- he asked her out of the blue but instead of squealing yes immediately the brainy lawyer just stood there -- George says he was on his knee for like 20 minutes and finally said he was going to throw his hip out -- Amal finally agreed and the couple have three-year-old twins

* The nip/tuck freak daughter of Olivia Newton-John is being blasted as a hypocrite for coming out against the new COVID-19 vaccines -- Chloe Lattanzi claims she doesn’t trust doctors or the vaccine but critics note she had no problem shelling out an estimated $550,000 to plastic surgeons for nose jobs, super-sized boobs and ballooned lips

Page 9: Since his life-threatening health scare game show icon Pat Sajak’s been testy and snapping at contestants and crew members leaving insiders fearing he’s heading for a breakdown -- the once-cheery Wheel of Fortune host is a different man since recovering from emergency surgery for a blocked intestine and is having difficulty coping with the workload -- he just can’t keep up with the pace and he’s pushed to the very limit and can’t seem to function doing this job and it’s all spilling over and manifesting into these ugly outbursts which are shocking viewers -- he even glares at long-time help-mate Vanna White when he gets frustrated or forgetful and she is really too nice to complain about it but she’s definitely been taken aback by his behavior

Page 10: Proof UFOs are real -- new photos taken by Navy jets reveal we are not alone

Page 12: Celebrity Buzz -- WWE legend Ric Flair (picture), Real Housewives of Orange County’s Braunwyn Windham-Burke maintains she’s not attracted to men despite renewing her wedding vows with her husband of over two decades -- she says she is gay but she loves husband Sean Burke and they plan on staying married although they don’t sleep in the same bedroom and they are raising their kids together but he knows the girl she’s dating and he’s been given the thumbs-up to date too, Liam Payne believes he’s being haunted by spooks -- convinced spooky spirits were inhabiting his West London digs Liam moved but spooks popped up at the new pad and he thinks the new house is even more haunted than the old one, George Clooney handpicked an even better looking doppelganger to play his younger self in his new flick The Midnight Sky who is screen legend Gregory Peck’s grandson Ethan Peck -- George said it was tricky because people know what he looked like when he was 35 years old but he rejected the high-tech gizmos used to weirdly reverse Robert De Niro’s age in The Irishman but he did mix his voice with Ethan’s since his voice is pretty recognizable, Matthew McConaughey’s kids Levi and Vida used their phones to photograph him for his latest magazine covers because of quarantine they couldn’t do normal photoshoots so the kids became the photographers

Page 13: Tom Arnold dines out in Rome (picture), Aubrey O’Day (picture), Brooke Burke in Mexico (picture), pregnant Meghan Trainor was diagnosed with gestational diabetes and she’s healthy and her baby boy is healthy but she has to really pay attention to everything she eats

Page 14: Luke Evans denies hiding in the closet to advance his Hollywood career saying it was the last thing he had because everything else he’d given to the world and adding that he left home at 16 because he was gay and went into the world as a kid because he had to, Mindy Kaling managed to keep two pregnancies under cover and kept the kids’ middle names under wraps until now -- a fan wondered why Mindy who is of a Indian heritage gave her kids Caucasian names but their names are Katherine Swati and Spencer Avu

* Fashion Verdict -- Blanca Suarez 3/10, Olivia Palermo 1/10, Nicky Hilton 9/10, Bella Heathcote 2/10, Catt Sadler 8/10

Page 16: True Crime

Page 17: Martha Stewart confesses her painful divorce in 1990 was a terrible thing and she hasn’t talked to ex-husband Andrew Stewart since but she bounced back from the pain and her infamous prison stint because she’s very strong and motivated to get on with life -- still Martha admits being dumped by her husband for another woman after 29 years of marriage nearly did her in -- Martha also reveals serving five months in West Virginia in 2004 on a federal insider stock trading rap was a struggle but she got through it by working on her arts and crafts

Page 19: 10 Things You Don’t Know About Don Lemon

* Dolly Parton pulled no punches when discussing her longtime romance with Carl Dean dishing she and her husband have been together for 57 years and married for 54 and she’s sick of him and she’s sure he’s sick of her -- the couple have rarely been seen in public together and she says their marriage succeeds because she stays gone and they’re not in each other’s faces all the time

* Miley Cyrus says she’s mastered the art of staying safe during lockdown love and it’s by having online sex -- she said the safest sex in these COVID-crazy times is the virtual kind and that’s where Miley has been hooking up

Page 21: Cover Story -- Thanks for the Memories -- tribute to the stars we loved and lost in 2020

Page 22: Alex Trebek

Page 23: Kobe Bryant and daughter Gianna, Kelly Preston

Page 24: Kirk Douglas, Sean Connery

Page 25: Olivia de Havilland, Chadwick Boseman

Page 26: Robert Conrad, Naya Rivera

Page 27: Regis Philbin

Page 28: Kenny Rogers, Roy Horn

Page 29: Eddie Van Halen, Little Richard

Page 36: Health Report -- eating bread can toast your brain

Page 38: Ghostbusters icon Dan Aykroyd has turned into a ghoulish recluse who rarely leaves his $25 million Martha’s Vineyard estate where he’s now eerily planning his own funeral -- the bizarre 68-year-old appears perfectly healthy yet he spooks around in his bed clothes muttering about who he wants to officiate at his memorial service and the goodies the chef should serve at the wake -- the curious thing is he appears to be in no danger of dropping dead anytime soon and he’s sturdy as a horse which is surprising given the cigars and the vodka and the big meals he enjoys -- Dan’s wife of 37 years Donna Dixon has gotten used to her husband’s ghoulish monologues

* Bob Dylan sold his extensive back catalog of more than 600 songs including Blowin’ in the Wind and Knockin’ on Heaven’s Door to Universal Music in a blockbuster deal topping $300 million

Page 40: Patrick Stewart confesses he’s been furious all his life and he’s still seeing a shrink to control his rage -- he reveals he’s burned with rage inside since childhood when he witnessed his dad’s violence against his mom and he had to suppress all that anger -- at age 14 he feared he’d explode and kill his headmaster when he caned him and later he worried he’d hurt his two children with first wife Sheila Falconer in a fit of fury and now at age 80 it’s still there so he sees a therapist every week

Page 44: Straight Talk -- The Weeknd has his nose out of joint because he wasn’t nominated for any Grammys this year and he claims he’s being snubbed because he’ll be starring on the February 7 Super Bowl halftime show a week after the Grammys

Page 45: Jeffrey Epstein’s accused madam Ghislaine Maxwell is a paranoid mess losing her hair and wasting away in federal prison where she’s terrified shadowy forces have marked her for death -- the shrinking British socialite who denies recruiting and grooming underage girls for Epstein’s twisted lust is charged with sex trafficking minors as she rots in Brooklyn’s Metropolitan Detention Center awaiting trial next year

Page 47: Bizarre But True

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ilovereadingandilovebreathing · 5 years ago

Text

Febufluff(whump) Day 9: Sick Day (& Creators Choice)

A/N: I’m always a slut for the Terror Twins, a.k.a. Harley & Peter, being best friends (sorry, Ned.) A universe in which Harley bugged the absolute hell out of Tony until he let Harley live with him and go to Midtown. Definitely softened by Peter.

Summary: Harley gets sick. Tony & Pepper are away, so naturally, Peter has to come help.

WARNINGS for food poisoning, talk and some descriptions of vomiting/gagging, etc.

Peter is busily scribbling away at his latest AP Language assignment when his phone buzzes multiple times in quick succession, “Hardly Queener” lighting up his phone screen.

Peter

Peter help me

SAVE ME

FACETIME ME NOW

Hardly Queener would like to FaceTime...

Peter rolls his eyes and answers; Harley’s forehead fills the screen, a muffled groan filling Peter’s ears instantly.

Peter chuckles humorlessly. “What’s up?”

“I’m d y i n g.” Harley groans loudly and looks up just enough for his eyes to be visible.

“You’re dramatic.”

“You’re homophobic.”

“You’re bisexual, Harley.”

“Shut up.” Harley buries his face in his covers.

“Sure, I’ll hang up-”

“NO.”

Peter sighs. “Why did you text bomb me and insist on FaceTiming?”

Harley barks out a few rough coughs. “Can you not HEAR the phlegmy evil that plagues my lungs?”

“So you’re sick. You weren’t sick at school today.”

“Not showing it, anyway.”

“Why didn’t you stay home if you felt bad?”

“Didn’t hit me until 6th period.”

“Sounds like a you problem.”

Harley groans again and lets his phone fall on the bed. “You’re no fun.”

“Yeah, I’m a real stickler.”

“Oh my god. Maybe it’d be better to be alone than to deal with your rancid cheese.”

“Oh yeah, Tony and Pepper are gone this weekend, huh?”

“Yeah.” Harley rolls onto his side and props the phone up against a pillow.

“But, like, you’re not alone at the Tower, right?”

“I mean, security is here, but hell if I’m getting any of them to go get me food.”

“Door Dash and Grub Hub exist.”

“Yeah, but they’re overpriced.”

“You live with a billionaire, Harley.”

“Mama raised a Frugal Hoosier.”

Peter sighs.

“So I’m guessing all of this is because you want me to come over?”

“Maybe.”

Peter looks at his phone. “I’m leaving for patrol soon. I’ll come over after?”

“Fine. Leave me to wither alone.” Harley grumbles into his comforter.

“You’re fine. It’ll pass soon. Time to go help the helpless. Adios!”

“Bye.”

Peter clicks off of the call and clicks open his Spider suit unit. He does feel a little guilty for leaving Harley all alone when he’s not feeling well, but he seems fine enough to Peter, if not a little glassy-eyed and flushed. He supposes he can make it up to his friend by bringing something by that night, and resolves to do so as he swings out his window and into the night.

-------

It’s 9:03PM when Peter latches onto the outside of the Tower, feeling a little guilty for leaving his patrol early but proud at how much he got done in a few hours.

Peter crawls up to Harley’s window and taps on the glass, frowning when a few moments pass without movement or a reply. “Harley?” Peter knocks again. “Hey, Karen? Can you patch me through to FRIDAY?”

“Sure. Connecting Peter Parker to Female Replacement Intelligent Digital Assistant Youth.”

“Hello, Peter.”

“Hey, FRI. Where’s Harley?”

“Just a moment. Harley Keener is in the west lavatory on the top floor. He seems to be in distress.”

“Does Tony know?”

“He insisted that I did not tell Boss, and the request does not violate known protocols.”

“That’s hard to believe.” Peter has crawled to Harley’s bathroom window by now and knocks lightly on the window pane. “Hey, Harls?”

There’s a muffled grunt and shuffling like socked feet on tile before the window slides open. “Don’t call me that. Too close to what I just did.”

Harley moves aside for Peter to climb through the window. The healthy teen looks his friend up and down. “Aw, man.”

“I know. I look incredible for a guy who just puked his guts out, right?”

“Not exactly.” Peter cringes at how pale Harley’s face is, sweat beading on his forehead and eyes red-rimmed and glassy. “How long you been at it?”

“On and off for the last 3 hours or so. It’s really just been dry heaving lately. Sucks ass.”

“I can imagine. Do you know if anyone else is sick?”

“Ned and MJ are fine. I’m thinking food poisoning, honestly.”

“For real?” Peter quirks a brow and lays a hand over Harley’s forehead; it’s sweaty but not warm. “Tony buys pretty high quality food.”

“I brought some leftover Panda Express from like...”

Peter swallows. “I don’t wanna know.”

“I don’t want to think about it, honestly.” Harley swallows thickly.

“You good?”

“I dunno. It’s always a surpri-” Harley coughs and trips back to the toilet.

Peter grimaces in sympathy before following carefully behind him; he comes up behind Harley. “I’m here. Whatever you need.” He sits behind Harley and places a hand on his back.

Harley finishes dry heaving and leans heavily against the toilet as Peter lightly rubs his back.

“You wanna get out of here?”

“Hasn’t been long enough yet.”

“I’m gonna go change out of this. Be right back.” Peter slips out of the bathroom and quickly heads toward the guest room reserved for him. “Hey, FRI?”

“Yes, Peter?”

“Can you order some stuff for me?”

“Sure.”

Peter pulls out a t-shirt and sweatpants, quickly slipping into the clothes. “Does Target deliver around here?”

“With the SmartPhone Application.”

“That works. Let security know?”

“Alerting Harold Hogan, as well as Gregory Stevens, presently at the security desk.”

“Thanks, FRI.”

“Of course, Peter. What would you like to order?”

Peter leaves his room and crosses to Harley’s.

“Saltines if we don’t have them.” Peter rummages around in Harley’s drawers for something more comfortable than his sweat-soaked jeans and hoodie while listing off the sick day (or night, now) necessities. “Schweppes Ginger Ale. Plain wheat bread, none of the ones with flakes or nuts or anything. Applesauce. Tums. PeptoBismol, tablets and liquid stuff. And a whole case of water bottles.”

“Got it.”

“Thanks, FRI. Let me know when it’ll be here.”

“Absolutely.”

Peter is back at the bathroom now and taps lightly on the door before entering. Any other day, he would have laughed at the now-stripped Harley, sitting in only a white t-shirt and his boxers, but his friend looks miserable as he sits propped against the bathtub, breathing hard with his eyes scrunched closed and a hand around his abdomen.

“Almost empty?” Peter mutters and taps Harley’s foot with his.

Harley cracks an eye and scrunches up his nose. “Maybe. Can’t tell if my stomach actually hurts or if being doubled over like this is habit now.”

“You wanna change clothes?”

“Why not.”

Peter turns around as Harley pushes himself up and struggles to change into fresh boxers.

“I’m covered.”

Peter turns back around and clenches his jaw at how exhausted Harley looks. “Here.” Peter unfolds the new t-shirt and kneels, laying it beside him before reaching out to pull up the sides of Harley’s soaked shirt. Normally, Harley would protest and bat Peter’s hands away or make a joke about Peter seducing him, but now Harley is pliable as he slowly raises his arms, allowing Peter to gently dress him. Peter cradles his feet as he slides the sweats on but allows Harley to finish the job.

“Feel better?”

“A little.” Harley mumbles. “Damn jeans were chafing me from all the damn sweat.”

“I’m sorry, but at least you’re comfy now.”

“This sucks ass.”

Peter sits next to Harley, and the blond drops his head onto Peter’s shoulder. Peter wraps an arm around Harley’s shoulder, and the boy slumps heavily against him at the confirmed invitation. Harley lets out a deep sigh.

They sit like that for a little while, until Peter’s butt and legs start to tingle, and he’s wondering if Harley has dozed off.

“Peter?”

“Yes, FRI?”

“Your delivery items have arrived.”

“Your what?” Harley mutters, hardly audible through his heavy lips.

“Thanks, FRI.”

“Mr. Stevens is bringing the items up.”

“Have him leave them in the kitchen, please.”

“Got it.”

“What’d you order?”

“Everything to make you feel better. You feel up to finding out?”

Harley considers for a moment before lifting his head slowly. He stares across the room for a moment before closing his eyes and nodding.

Peter rises and holds his hands out for Harley to take; he easily pulls the boy to his feet but moves slowly to be conscientious of Harley’s state.

The boy stands unsteadily for a moment before grabbing on to the vanity counter. “Guess I don’t quite have my sea legs yet.” Harley jokes dryly.

“Here.” Peter turns around and gestures. “I can carry you.”

“Geez, Parker, I’m not totally out of commission. What if I get motion sick or something?”

“I’ll be careful. Better to get it over with.”

Harley huffs before wrapping his arms around Peter’s neck; he lifts one leg which Peter easily takes and hoists up the other, settling against Peter’s back with a grunt.

“Where to?”

“Bedroom is closest.”

It’s a little awkward logistically because of the inches Harley has on Peter, but Peter manages his weight easily. Peter walks steadily into the living room, Harley’s hot, stale breath on his neck making him a little queasy, and stops before carefully depositing the boy on the bed.

“FRIDAY?” Harley croaks out pitifully. “Fan.”

“Of course.”

Harley groans in relief and curls up on top of his covers.

“I’ll be right back.”

Harley grunts in reply as Peter heads out into the kitchen and quickly returns with his spoils and a small stack of bowls and a cup.

“Feel like eating anything?”

“Maybe in a little bit.” Harley’s voice is a whisper as he pries open an eye. “What you have?”

“Crackers, of course, Ginger Ale. Applesauce. Pepto and Tums if you need them. And lots of water.”

“You really are a mother hen, Parker.”

“Only for you, Keener.”

“Don’t tell Ned.”

“He knows nothing can outdo our sacred bromance.”

“We’re cutting it pretty close here.”

“What sounds edible?”

“Water and Tums for now. I’ll let you know about the other stuff.”

Peter helps Harley sit up to chew on a few of the antacid tablets and sip some water before he collapses again.

“Scoot.” Peter nudges Harley, and the latter raises a brow. “I’m not going back home. I already texted May; I’m staying with you until Tony and Pepper get back tomorrow.”

“Oh.” Harley pulls himself over and Peter settles against the bed’s headboard with his ankles crossed. Harley’s head is against his thigh, and he carefully rests his hand there. Harley doesn’t protest, so Peter slowly moves his fingers through Harley’s hair, like May does for him when he doesn’t feel well.

They sit in silence for a moment. “Did you tell him?”

“Not yet.”

Harley groans. “Don’t.”

“Why’d you tell FRIDAY not to?”

“Didn’t want him to worry. You know he’s a worrier. Worse than you.” Harley sighs and looks up between Peter and his stomach. Peter nods and Harley scoots up, resting his head on Peter’s stomach, the latter’s hand still running ministrations through his hair.

“Wanna watch anything?” Peter whispers.

“Mmmm nothing I actually have to watch.” Harley replies, eyes closed lightly for sleep instead of clenched in pain. Finally, progress.

“Hmm....Disney?”

“Whatever.”

“Finding Nemo?”

“Depressing, but sure. Sadie loves it, so I’ve seen it 12,000 times.” Harley yawns through the hyperbolic estimation, and Peter gives a breathy snort.

“Perfect. We love an orphan story.”

“His dad’s alive.”

“I meant me.”

Harley lightly nudges Peter’s leg.

“FRIDAY? TV on...My movies...Finding Nemo.”

They make soft banter throughout the beginning of the movie, Harley’s voice getting quieter as his breaths get heavier, and soon he is dead weight against Peter, his arm having snaked around Peter’s waist to hold him like a beloved stuffed animal.

Peter looks down at Harley’s face, now snuggled into his abdomen, and can’t help the grin on his lips. Harley finally looks at peace, if not hilarious, and Peter can’t resist reaching down for his phone. He jumps when Tony Stark’s contact jumps out at him in a FaceTime request, and quickly gropes around for Harley’s AirPods before popping them in, answering the call, and swiping to his settings.

“Hey-hold on-okay.” Peter settles back in again, one hand holding his phone and the other on Harley’s back, and whispers, “Hey, Mr. Stark.”

“Hey, Squirt.”

“You don’t seem surprised to find me here.”

“We have Find My Friends or whatever set up, remember, kid? Part of the phone upgrade deal.”

“That whole thing was your idea. I told you I didn’t need a new phone.”

“Besides the point. What’s got you all whispery in the Tower?”

“Harley’s asleep.”

“Really? It’s barely past 10.”

“He’s sick.”

“Sick how? How sick? Why didn’t I know?”

“Food poisoning doesn’t align with any of the alert protocols. It’s technically not biologically sick, and it’s not true poisoning.”

“Shocking. No wonder FRIDAY’s been so quiet. That little shit would find a loophole unintentionally.”

Peter rolls his eyes.

“So, how is he?”

“Asleep. Hurled his guts out earlier.”

Tony cringes in sympathy. “Nasty stuff. How’d he get it?”

“Leftover Panda, probably.”

“Dammit, kid. I told him that junk had gone off.”

“Yeah, well, it is Harley.” Peter angles the camera down, and Tony’s eyes turn down at the sides as he studies the slumbering Harley.

“He holding anything down?”

“He’s only had water and Tums. We’ll find out in the morning.”

“If you say so. Let me know if you need anything, okay? Pep and I will be back ASAP tomorrow.”

“Take your time. We’re all good here.”

Tony smiles. “I know. He’s in good hands.” Tony looks past his phone. “Gotta go, Spider-Kid. See you tomorrow.”

“See you. Bye, Mr. Stark.”

Peter sets the phone on the nightstand and slowly reaches down to grab a throw Harley had brought from Rose Hill, a Granny Square pattern his mom had crocheted for him as a gift. A small piece of Tennessee in the middle of the big city. Harley makes a low noise in his throat in protest of the movement, but sighs and holds tighter onto Peter when they settle in again, his nose buried in the front of Peter’s shirt.

“Lights, please, FRIDAY.” The lights dim to a very dim glow, and Peter sighs. “Night, Harls.” Peter whispers with one last ministration over the boy’s back.

“Night...” Harley’s words carry along the air, light and barely there. “Love you, Pete.”

Peter blinks. Harley’s a great friend, loyal, hardworking, and will punch anyone’s teeth in with little need for reason, but affection is low on the list of Harley Keener characteristics. He’s not sure he heard correctly, so he carefully replies, “Love you, too, Harls.”

A ghost of a smile tugs on Harley’s lips and vanishes before Peter can blink, and Peter melts into a grin. Sick Harley is whiny, needy Harley, but also a loving Harley that Peter could get used to.

Peter closes his eyes and starts to doze, his hand still one Harley’s back when the pair wakes in the morning, stiff and sleepy but satisfied at making it through the night.

Harley would chomp down the scrambled eggs Peter makes and poke at him for the weird looks he keeps giving Harley, throwing snowballed napkins when Peter refuses to tell him why.

#febufluff #febufluff 2020 #febuwhump #febuwhump 2020 #irondad #spiderson #mine #spiderbabyfic #harley keener #peter parker #really platonic but if you want to read romantic you probably could but not my thing

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