Eighteen

GREG

Greg wakes up to hundreds of thousands of notifications from TikTok.

Three days ago, he posted the dancing video from their early St. Patrick's Day shindig—colorful bubbles bursting up with the ingredients for his Midori Shamrock Punch as the group pointed along—but like everything else he's posted since arriving in the Lehigh Valley, he assumed it would perform just okay. Maybe moderately okay if he was lucky.

Right now, his thumbs can hardly keep up with the speed at which new notifications are flooding the screen of his phone. At the peak of his "fame," he had his notifications turned off; he didn't like the relentless chiming in his pocket. But since leaving that and the city behind, he hasn't had reason to silence his phone. Now, he's elated to find he may need to again. (Of course, he'd set up special alerts for Julien and Martin. The latter, for work-related reasons. The former, for personal ones.)

The comments on TikTok roll in:

Where is this place?

This is sooooo cute. I wanna go!

Granted, there are some less kind comments and some sexually forward ones he chooses to ignore, but overall it seems like the reactions are largely positive, which lifts his already optimistic spirits. He sends the link in a text to Julien.

Julien: Oh God. I don't want me dancing to be the first thing I see in the morning.

Greg: You dancing is the ONLY thing I want to see in the morning.

The typing bubble pops on and off the screen for a few seconds. He wonders if Julien is blushing as hard as he hopes he is, fingers too flustered to type back.

Julien: I can't believe we have that many views.

Greg smiles at his phone and types, Me neither but it's incredible!!! We should celebrate before you leave.

He has been thinking a lot about Julien leaving the valley for a few days at the beginning of next week. Okay, maybe dreading is more like it. It's not that he doesn't want Julien to go and follow his passion, learn everything there is to know about wine and all the ways he can make people happy with it, it's just...

He wants Julien to be here...

Making him happy.

Which is beyond selfish, but he can't help it. He's melded to Julien in a way he didn't entirely expect, and he hasn't gotten the opportunity to talk to Julien about his New Year's resolution. The one about making Julien his—in a nonpossessive, sweet, respectful sort of way.

He knows it's been months and there have been moments, but they never felt like the right moment, and with Julien, Greg wants to do things right.

Greg's heart has begun doing the TikTok dance inside his chest; it's giddy with the thought of finally talking to Julien about what their future might look like. What their present might look like, even.

Ever since the holidays, he has been confused about how to refer to Julien when he's talking to Rufus and Jessica. Of course, Rufus and Jessica refer to Julien as his lover, which never ceases to make him cringe. It's both old-timey and untrue. Julien is way more than someone he has sex with. Though the "love" part might be true.

Greg: Want to get dinner tonight? My treat

He finally has a little something extra in his checking account after making his credit card payments this month.

Julien: Can't. I'm on the schedule tonight.

Greg deflates a bit at that. Tries again.

Greg: How about lunch?

There's this cute brunch spot on Main Street he's been dying to try. Their IG feed is filled with mouthwatering pictures, and he has the urge to devour a chicken and waffle right now.

Julien: How about an afternoon delight instead?

Julien: And by afternoon, I do mean now.

Julien: Right now.

Pushy. Greg chuckles to himself at Julien's sauciness. He could devour Julien instead.

Over the last few weeks, Julien has been keen to fuck around whenever the conversation turns more intimate, but that's to be expected when you're still sort of, kind of in a sex pact. It's not like Julien's a mind reader.

Greg has also been chickenshit about bringing up his feelings, worrying that by wanting more with Julien he's doomed to repeat the mistakes of his past. Isn't that what happened in New York? He wanted more and only ended up with more debt and loneliness. He can't go back to that place, not when his negative balances are so close to evening out.

When he hits the bottom of the stairs, shoving on his shoes, Rufus appears from around the corner eating a banana, headphones on, head bobbing to an unheard beat. "Where are you off to this early?"

"I'm heading over to Julien's," Greg says, noticing his facial muscles curving up on their own. Whenever he says Julien's name, it's impossible not to smile.

"To film more TikToks?" Rufus pauses his music.

"Not...exactly." Greg isn't one for lies.

Rufus's right eyebrow pitches upward. "You two seriously need to get together already."

"I don't even know if he wants that," Greg says, bending down to fix his laces. They're mostly fine, but he needs a reason to dodge Rufus's eye contact. He's pretty sure Rufus would see him start to sweat with worry.

"Cuz, you two are obsessed with one another. Why wouldn't he want that?"

Because maybe Julien sees this as temporary. As only sex. As a means to an end. As frivolous and fleeting. But Greg can't say any of those things, so he shrugs and then shrugs again, bigger this time for effect.

"You like him, right?" Rufus asks, sounding a bit like they're schoolboys out on the blacktop at recess.

Greg does feel juvenile. Not that these feelings aren't weighty or meaningful or thought through, but they remind him of first crushes and butterflies in your stomach, and God, he's got it bad.

"I do, but that doesn't mean we'd be good in a relationship." He liked Stryker once, too, and their relationship was a Tilt-A-Whirl, constantly throwing him off his balance, and by the end he couldn't stop throwing up. Literally. Before he packed up his car to hightail it out of New York City, he was sick no fewer than three times. Big life changes always made him queasy, kicked up his anxiety disorder.

"I worried about that with Jessica, too. I was afraid a label would ruin the spark of us having fun. But I learned that labels could make everything clearer and more comfortable. You know what you're gonna get."

Greg contemplates spirit bottles and how their labels show their brand name, their alcohol content, class, type, and designation. All that information is useful as a mixologist when coming up with a new cocktail. Without labels, he'd have to taste test everything; he'd be constantly drunk. What a nightmare that would be. Labels help him understand, utilize a spirit to its full effect. Maybe a label between him and Julien—even if it's just "dating"—would clarify their places in each other's lives.

"That makes sense," Greg says, mostly to himself. "I'll talk to Julien."

"Today?" Rufus asks. Greg doesn't fully understand why Rufus is pushing, but he likes having someone in his life that cares enough to be invested. "Jessica is dying for a double date with you two."

"Maybe one day," Greg says. "Someday soon." He holds up his crossed fingers.

They stand in silence while Rufus finishes off his banana. As Rufus moves to throw out the empty peel, he says, "Don't you have a man waiting for you right now?"

"Oh, shit. Yeah. See ya. Have a good day!"

Greg bolts out the door, gets in the car, and sings along to his playlist the whole ride to Julien's place, renewed in his mission to be open with Julien about these emotions he's harboring.

He's mid-belt of a Billy Joel song when his phone chimes with a notification. At first, he assumes it's TikTok again, but when he pulls into the parking lot for Julien's place, he notices it's an email from an address he hasn't seen in a while.

The message is an interview offer from one of the bougie bars he used to frequent with his Manhattan friends—the kind with velvet-roped VIP sections and celebrity DJs on rotation. The club cites his recent TikToks as the main reason they're contacting him.

Last year, Greg would've done a bell kick if he got this news. What a perfect way to extend his brand, his reach, his influence. Now, he's conflicted.

He's sitting in his idling car outside of his friends-with-benefits-maybe-soon-boyfriend's apartment in Pennsylvania, a place and a state he's grown accustomed to.

In the back of his mind, a small voice pipes up and whispers how pricey that bar was, how much the clientele tipped on a busy night. He might be moving toward even ground with his debt, but he's barely making the kind of money he wants to be. He probably can't make that kind of money at Martin's Place ever, sadly.

He shuts up that small voice by reminding himself that insightful, diligent Julien is inside. Who better to ask about this than him? Maybe it'll be a good segue into sharing his feelings. Listing his wants for a relationship with Julien as a con for leaving, a strike against taking the interview.

Ignoring his head and leading with his heart (and a member farther south), Greg shuts off the car and heads inside.

When he arrives at Julien's door, he knocks but there's no answer. He tries the knob, and it's unlocked. He lets himself in, takes off his shoes, and follows the sound of running water to the bathroom.

Julien must still be showering, which is odd because Julien is usually sparklingly clean by the time he arrives. Then, he hears Julien's voice, "Come in."

Adjusting to the humidity and peering through the steam, he finds Julien naked and wet in the glass-walled shower.

"Join me," Julien demands.

Greg strips as fast as possible. Opening the door, he's greeted by the sight of Julien facing away, palms splayed on the white tile, a stream of water sluicing down the arch of Julien's back and disappearing between his two perky ass cheeks.

Greg has never been more aroused.

Greg has never been this hard.

Seriously. He looks down and he could hang a damp towel over this thing, and it wouldn't dip a bit. The new medication he's been taking must be working a unique kind of magic. He's enchanted.

Questions, big conversations, and potential interviews fly out of Greg's head. His sole focus is on Julien's eager, pliable, accommodating body as he steps into the spray. Every cell inside him is vibrating on high. Gently, he runs his fingers along Julien's entrance, eliciting a light gasp.

Greg can tell he's already open, already lubed. Julien prepared and is ready for him. Greg feels the same.

They had the discussions. They both went and got tested recently, they are both taking PrEP, and neither of them are sleeping with other people. Their safety is assured, but Greg asks anyway in a throaty, needy whisper, "Do you want me inside you bare?"

He steps closer to Julien so his upward curved cock brushes the cleft of his ass. Julien shudders at this. Gulps loudly. Nods.

"I need to hear you say it." The verbal confirmation will help Greg relax and enjoy this the way he knows they both want to. Screw his jumbled feelings for now. Lust is writhing back into his lap, and he's grabbing it by the hips.

"Yes," Julien says, breathy. "Fuck me bare."

Greg could explode from the amount of desire ticking away inside him right now. After a brief exploration with his fingers and a trail of kisses up Julien's neck, stopping briefly at his earlobe to nibble the way Julien likes, Greg lines his erection up and very slowly enters Julien for the first time. Without a dildo. Without a barrier.

Overexcited, Greg stops once Julien has taken him to the base. Julien must know—of course he does, Julien knows Greg so well—what Greg needs because he doesn't move an inch. He just holds there. And they breathe together. Chest to back. Greg's hands on Julien's pecs.

"Is it everything you imagined?" Julien asks, even though he must know the answer. He has to.

"Everything," Greg replies, sinking almost imperceptibly deeper into Julien. This is such a gift. Getting to do this with him. He wants to do this time and time again. "Absolutely..." Greg rolls his hips back "...everything."

And then—head empty, body alight—he bucks back inside.