#obvs cred to neglectedtuesday and tinyufoboss transfem / nb greg content

[ezlebe]

prompt: rule 63 tomgreg?

Greg watches Tommy bully around the designer, or owner, or whatever he is, with a dubious slant to her mouth. She had sort of awkwardly mumbled a question to Shiv about Kendall’s birthday – what should I wear? – not expecting a lot, maybe to be coldly told not to try too hard, after everything else she’s paid for in the appearances sense, recently, but… instead, Shiv had called Tommy, for sure just because she’s tall, who Greg hasn’t really been alone with a lot in any capacity.

She’s been around her, for sure – Tommy is around in general. She had sort of been from the beginning when Logan died, because she is some… quote unquote friend of Shiv’s, and had sort of been when Kendall accepted money for a bad bank thing, because she also works as some corporate mercenary for Stewy Hosseini, and is sometimes around at like galas and parties, but other than that…

Like. Mostly, the first impression hadn’t been… It was a bit divisive, one might say, if they were Greg.

Tommy had made a joke that had seemed like pretty badly off-color, involving kissing and kinky boots, something like that, which had made Greg feel seen through and about half a meter tall, but… by the third time they saw each other, she realized that Tommy had no idea what she had said to her and probably didn't to anyone a lot of the time. It didn't exactly excuse it, but how she wasn’t pointedly nasty, really, not in that way sort of did; she always wandered over whenever they were at the same place to try to get Greg involved in whatever her cousins had dragged them both into, or to just gossip with her, or now she’s started to jokingly, like probably, ask Greg if she’s tired of being the assistant to Kendall’s assistant yet.

Greg hasn’t ever asked about what Tommy might’ve really meant that first misunderstood conversation; she has somewhat put it down between Tommy just being generally cringy, most likely, or honestly hitting on her in the worst way, because it is kind of like what she wants to imagine, nowadays? Tommy is like a real life mythical Amazon – really pretty, and really big, and really touchy, so Greg is like really comfortable in making it not really her own fault and just like a natural progression. She can even point to Shiv as a fellow victim of the influence.

She mostly has been able to keep that packed in behind her imagination, before now; she hasn’t even seen Tommy in a while, not in the social sense, and not counting since Stewy brought her with Sandi Furness to sneer at the shareholder meeting and they’d barely been in the same room.

“Are you like, um…” Greg says, lifting her hand and sweeping a piece of loose hair from her braid back behind her ear. “Going with Shiv… to Kendall’s thing?”

“If I were, it would be in a purely platonic capacity,” Tommy says, yanking a shirt off of a rack with a narrow look and a shake out of non-existent wrinkles. “I don’t out people.”

Greg wets her lips with a bob of her head.

“But also actually very platonic,” Tommy says, voice flattening, reaching out and considering a dress, low cut and strappy, so hopefully not something she’s actually thinking to put on Greg. “I believe she is in some throuple situation with that… reincarnated spirit of a used car salesman, Sofrelli.”

Greg lifts a hand and lightly scratches at her upper lip with her thumb. “That’s sort of outing her.”

Tommy rolls her eyes over her shoulder, mouth flattening, “You don’t know who the third is.”

“Probably his wife,” Greg says, raising her brows with a slight tilt to her head. “Yeah?”

Tommy doesn’t answer beyond looking back down with a couple of low tuts.

Greg steps a little closer, as she takes off her jacket and folds it over her arm. She reaches out and touches at one of the shinier dresses, feeling it give cool against her fingers, and wonders if she could be a woman who wears silver silk, glimmering under club lights, or if… she should stick to a neutral. Or a pattern? She does enjoy a good pattern, but there aren’t any she can see in the selection.

“They look great, by the way,” Tommy says, voice thinning and pitching, while drawing out another dress and gesturing for the stylist to bring out the next rack with a wag of it. “In case anyone hasn’t said.”

Greg blinks wide, brow knitting above her eyes. “Um, what?”

“Your tits, to be a totally crass fuck,” Tommy says, turning and framing her own bosom with a pair of lifted palms, then pointing at Greg’s chest. “I assume two of the reasons you asked Shiv about designer dresses for this shindig, rather than your usual modest schoolteacher getup?”

“Oh… oh,” Greg intones, only barely managing to ignore an urge to look down, as heat flares across her cheeks; no, no one really has said so, and seem mostly to pretend nothing changed. She’s part of the problem, though – it’s been months, but she’s still not quite used to them being much more than just impression and a good bra. “Yeah, uh… Thanks. Roman was, um – was the only one who really like addressed it? He said I should’ve done more of a porn star thing.”

Tommy makes a pinched face, shaking her head with a suck at her teeth. “That is... actually really unsurprising.”

“I’m really happy with, like… what I chose, though,” Greg says, swallowing thickly and trying not to let herself feel too affirmed… by Tommy, of all people. It had just been something she had agonized back and forth on for as long as she can remember; if it was worth doing at all, or just stick with what she had, while imagining what would look right – what would look great.

She rubs her palms together, then shoves them under her arms, trying to instead distract herself with the dresses that Tommy’s got piling on the bench. It’s a lot more color than the prior racks – she kind of actually really likes the darker orange. And the green. She probably shouldn’t try both at once, or like she might just look like a… a pumpkin, or something.

“Less back problems, trust me,” Tommy says, belatedly around a cough. A hand lifts to cup against her chin, as she rounds a rack of markedly fancier dresses with a tilted head. “How short are you willing to go with your skirt?”

“Uh,” Greg says, dragging her teeth along her lower lip with another glance down at herself. “I don’t usually go very – ”

“Like an Old Believer, I know,” Tommy says, eyes rolling, as she looks up with a quirk of a brow. “I’ve seen. It’s very cute, very flowy, but are you attached to that?”

“Kind of?” Greg says, rubbing at the back of her neck with a slight hunch.

“Oh, fine,” Tommy says, throwing her hands up, then out, sweeping her palms away from each other. “And up top, then – low cut, allowed, but is the public permitted to see your shoulders?”

“I guess… if it’s lacy, or something,” Greg says, drawing her hand back to rub now at one of her button-up-covered shoulders. “Maybe?”

Tommy claps her hands onto her hips. “Stu!”

“Yes, ma’am,” Stu says, stepping forward from just near the door.

“How long would it take to tailor a six and a half foot wedding dress for Miss Hirsch?”

Greg makes a noise of protest. “A wedding – ?”

Tommy rounds on Greg with those open arms. “That is what you just described!”

“Is it – um?” Greg says, rolling her lips together, then tilting her head with a weak shrug. “Not if it’s a color? I like that orange.”

“Oh, she likes that orange,” Tommy repeats in a taunt, reaching out and picking the dress up with a tut. She looks at Greg, then down at the dress, shaking it out to hold up to her front; she seems to notice it is lacking other qualifications, but her brow furrows in thought. “It does suit you…” She looks toward Stu, shooing him, “Get us everything close to this color.”

~

Greg lingers at the entrance of the venue, checking her phone, and looks up at familiar voices to see Shiv and Roman, then more importantly Tommy, who’s peering dubiously up at the pink tunnel that touches her head. She’s in the navy mermaid dress that Greg had seen her put aside a week ago, but hadn’t given any hint how it would make her look so comely, and her short hair neatly swept close to the side of her head with an elaborate pin. Greg is vaguely aware of some comment from Roman to the nurse-hostess, but barely hears it, instead focusing on the way Tommy immediately marches toward her when they make eye contact.

“Holy moly, look at those eyes,” Tommy greets, peering up at Greg over one of the hospital bassinets, then rounding it with her hands drifting up in a way that is probably not supposed to be sort of threatening. “Who did your makeup?”

Greg feels heat crawl up to her ears. “I-I did?”

“You did?” Tommy says, eyes glancing twice more across Greg’s face with a different sort of assessment. She reaches out further, clapping her hands on Greg’s biceps. “You look like an autumn princess – take my arm, tonight I am your winter knight.”

“You look really nice, too,” Greg says, hesitantly grabbing at Tommy’s elbow, slipping her fingers around the offered crook; her arms are bare, skin soft and warm.

“Thank you, girlie, I couldn’t let you show me up,” Tommy says, as she gestures down at her dress with a sweep of her other hand and a sidelong wink. “I like that it looks like a stripper version of a power suit – I mean, look at my girls, they look perky as they did in college! You would almost think I’ve got a rack better than Shiv’s.”

Greg slowly furrows her brow, taking advantage of the permission to look down and admire. “You like do?”

Tommy looks shocked for a beat, making Greg hurriedly look away, but then bursts into a huffy snort. “Thank you for that ego boost, but methinks you don’t notice because she’s your cousin.”

Greg offers a shrug, but she doubts it.

Tommy leans into Greg’s arm, fingers sweeping up against her curved knuckles, as they walk deeper into the party. “I didn’t know you knew how to do more makeup than that faux au naturale you always have on.”

“I, uh – I used to practice a lot,” Greg admits, hearing her voice briefly weaken, looking down at the shiny floor passing under their feet. “Like, when I was younger. It was easy to take off, you know, an-and my mom never noticed.”

“Ah, and now you’re an expert,” Tom says, patting at her fingers, leaning briefly even heavier into her side with a pitchy bark. “I’m terrible with it; I always go to a professional for these things.”

Greg glances over, sweeping her eyes from Tom’s vague smoky eye to barely-lined lips. “You do?”

“I used to,” Tommy says, brightly, winking with a taunting sort of smile. “Now I know I can make you do – ” She comes to an abrupt stop, gawking through an open doorway on the other side of Greg. “Oh, Jesus… Is that a fucking crib?”

Greg looks over her shoulder in the same direction. The room is… set up like a nursery, but if it had inside a crib that was… bigger than adult size, even bigger than like Greg-adult size, with a bottle and stuffed animals to match. “Uh, um… y-yeah?”

“You’re related to this man,” Tommy says, flattening her voice into a stern, quiet seriousness, as if this is now an interview for like maybe Dateline. “How does that make you feel, Ms Hirsch?”

“Like, um…” Greg takes a breath. “He isn’t over the death of his father?”

Tommy is silent a beat, then sucks at her teeth. “That is way too far down the rabbit hole for me. You were supposed to say he’s too bizarre to function.”

“He’s always been nice to me.”

Tommy scoffs against the back of her throat. “I’m not sure that’s a good metric.”

Greg offers a thin hum, looking over to Tommy, who is arguably in the same category of a bit weird, for sure, but generally good. “It’s been okay, so far?”

“Oh, come on,” Tommy says, rolling her eyes, but somewhat abashed about it, so likely catching onto the implication. “Let’s try to find the exit to this Freudian nightmare and find a drink… that I hope isn’t dressed up in fucking juice boxes and milk cartons.”

Greg wonders if Tommy missed the swaddled champagne bottles at the entrance.

It takes far too long for Greg, between mocking Kendall’s choices and picking up party favors, to realize that Tommy is sort of acting like this is a date; she thinks, anyway, she hasn’t been on a date in a really long time, but it feels like it. She swallows her nerves and risks a grab for Tommy’s hand, at her next chance, as they turn a bend within the aptly named compliment tunnel. The whole setup visibly puts Tommy on edge, looking at every cheerful deliverer of a compliment through the decorated trestles with sneering suspicion, but Greg sort of likes getting told that she’s great – even if it’s just a weird party game.

Tommy doesn’t shake her hand off, though, which is even better. She actually tightens her grip, shifting her fingers to thread them through Greg’s clammy ones, as they slowly approach a roar and thump of music at the center of the party. She does let her go, as they pick up drinks at a bar along the length of the wall, head bobbing to the beat of the music, but she heavily leans into Greg’s side.

“Do you dance, Greg?” Tommy asks, her drink half gone, looking over with a slight cock of her chin.

Greg feels her expression twist and fold, glancing away from the bar toward the dance floor. “Not, like… really?”

“Too bad!” Tommy crows, as she puts her drink down, then reaches out with the same hand to wrap tight around Greg’s wrist in a tug. “Just think: you can’t embarrass yourself more tonight than the birthday boy.”

Greg bites at her lip and manages a weak shrug, as she’s yanked along into the shifting throng of other guests. She thinks she sees Shiv going a little nuts, a few meters off, but is promptly distracted from that when Tommy grabs at her waist and drags her into a sort of dance that… kind of lacks any rhythm. It definitely seems like Tommy doesn’t really dance, either, though it looks really good on her, but really, by this point in the night, Greg can admit that she might be biased.

The song shifts from on the stage to one at a slower pace, making Greg’s ears burn, as Tommy looks up at her with a slow blink and a smirk. It’s definitely a, like – yeah, she has stumbled into a date.

Tommy shifts forward, groping along Greg’s lower back, then sliding her hands up, and she’s nearly as tall as her with tonight’s choice of heels.

Greg does her best to answer the broadcasted kiss in earnest, worrying a little that it’s too dry, nose bumping in the wrong places, but Tommy doesn’t seem to realize it. She’s actually just grabbing at Greg more, tugging her in so she’s pressed all the way up along her body while they move with the music.

“I’m really glad Shiv called me,” Tommy says, grinning up into Greg’s face, fingers sweeping over her ears and down into her hair. “You look so hot on this dress I chose, you really do, but I’m fucking ecstatic I could get to take it off.”

Greg chokes a little on an agreeable hum, nodding with a hard drop of her head.

Tommy leans in for another kiss, a hand still wrapped at Greg’s jaw while the other roves down her body, then around to grip at her ass. The music drops into a heavier beat, surrounding them with heady, throbbing bass, and she grinds against Greg, thighs strong and thick, foot slotting against Greg’s instep, using a moment of shock to slip her tongue into her mouth.

It a little difficult for Greg to keep up with, mostly because she is so unfamiliar with this sort of club-esque writhing to the music. She lets a bit loose to grope her hands against Tommy’s ribs, holding her close and copping her own feel with a curve of a palm around a rounded breast and brushing a thumb down exposed cleavage. She flushes worse when Tommy moans approval against her lips, head tilting and tongue sweeping along the inside of Greg’s lip. It’s lewd and insinuating, making Greg burn with a startling want, arousal bolting to her groin, and she can’t help her own moan, loud enough, it seems, to earn an evident laugh against her lips.

The song jerks abruptly to a stop, and Greg is near panting, one hand having found it’s way to curl into Tommy’s palm and feel the soft thud of her pulse. She thinks Tommy looks breathless, too, but not in anyway that seems as embarrassing, but actually more attractive; her brow sweaty and her hair threatening to loosen over an ear.

A mumble comes from the stage that Greg only half hears, followed by a click and whine of speakers. The voice that replaces it is nothing like the previous performer, instead it is low, masculine, and horribly familiar.

“Oh my god,” Tommy says, voice pitching, turning tragically away from Greg to stare up at the stage.

Greg watches as Kendall begins to move up and down, attached to some apparatus, and between this and kissing Tommy, she’s no longer sure she’s awake. “Where… where do I know this song?”

“It’s Billy Joel,” Tommy says, lifting a hand to cover her mouth, theatrically aghast, wobbling backward on her heels into Greg’s arms. “He’s singing Billy Joel to himself for his birthday.”

“He, um – ” Greg manages, watching Kendall’s performance on stage; his voice isn’t bad, but the whole thing… is definitely still the CEO of Waystar Royco suffering some weird breakdown about having no closure with his dead dad. “He is sort of too bizarre to function…”

“Thank you, girlie,” Tommy says, glancing over with a quick bark of laughter, though the humor fades again into disbelief when she looks back at Kendall on stage. “I feel like I’m some lobster stuck in a pot while the cook croons above me.”

Greg huffs and shifts her palm to fully fold her fingers in Tommy’s against her hip. She hasn’t managed to say it, but she’s really glad she asked Shiv about dresses, too.