Epilogue
Three Weeks Later
It was a Tuesday.
Dustin had gone out for a run, and Greg was alone in the apartment with his new phone, a cup of coffee, and Valerie’s relentless curiosity.
The phone had appeared on his nightstand the first night he and Dustin had returned to the apartment. A gift from his new boss, apparently. The contacts list contained exactly three entries.
Dustin.
Noah.
Valerie, who had immediately begun abusing the privilege.
Valerie: So how does living together work?
Greg: We tend to occupy the same space a lot.
Valerie: I know that. Is it DOMESTIC? Do you cook? Does he cook? Who does the dishes?
Greg: A lot of meals only need heating. I’m learning to use the oven. We do the dishes together.
Valerie: Adorable. Disgusting. I love it.
Greg frowned at the message, then looked around the apartment.
It was much cleaner than it had been when they arrived. Dustin had objected to the word system, but Greg had created one anyway. Mail in the tray by the door. Keys in the bowl. Shoes lined up neatly beneath the coat hooks. Energy drink cans no longer reproducing on the coffee table.
On the windowsill, the nearly dead houseplant had been repotted, watered, and placed in what Dustin called “plant hospice.”
Beside it sat Greg’s Xtreme Doug keychain.
The duck wore black sunglasses and a tiny backwards cap. It was cheap, plastic, and badly painted.
And Greg loved it.
Dustin did not.
Greg picked it up now, rubbing his thumb over the little duck’s head.
“Traitor,” Dustin had said when Greg first rescued it from one of the Apex Energy merch boxes. “That duck tried to kill me.”
“This duck brought us together,” Greg had replied.
“That duck flattened me.”
“But it didn't kill you. That seems meaningful.”
Dustin had stared at him for a long time, then said, “You’re lucky you’re cute.”
Greg still wasn’t certain whether that meant he could keep the duck, but Dustin had not taken it away.
His phone buzzed again.
Valerie: Have you named the duck yet?
Greg looked at the keychain.
Greg: It already has a name. Xtreme Doug.
Valerie: Absolutely not. That’s a corporate name. You need a PERSONAL name.
Greg considered this seriously.
Greg: Norbert.
Valerie: After the records disaster Norbert?
Greg: Yes.
Valerie: Hilarious. I’m proud of you.
Greg smiled faintly and set Norbert the duck back on the windowsill.
Then the phone buzzed again.
Valerie: So who tops?
Greg frowned.
Greg: What do you mean?
Valerie: In bed, Greg.
Greg: I don’t understand.
Valerie:
Greg: What does that symbol mean?
Valerie did not explain.
Fine.
He would figure it out himself.
His phone had Google on it.
He typed who tops meaning into the search box.
The results were immediate.
His ears went hot.
He read an article about preparation. Then one about lube. Then a comment section in which a user called DominantBottom86 explained several things in such confident detail that Greg briefly considered throwing the phone across the room.
He did not.
He kept reading.
He had to fill the gaps in his knowledge.
He should probably be taking notes.
His phone buzzed.
Valerie: Greg?
Valerie: Hello?
Valerie: Did you just google it
Valerie: You did, didn't you?
Greg was halfway through typing a response when the front door opened.
“Hey.” Dustin came in flushed and slightly out of breath, his hair damp with sweat, wearing a t-shirt with the sleeves cut off that showed the full spread of tattoos down both arms. He tossed his keys on the counter. “I need to grab a shower.”
He walked past the couch toward the bathroom, pulling his shirt off as he went.
Greg's eyes were glued to the expanse of Dustin's back, the muscles moving under tattooed skin, the sweatpants sitting low on his hips.
His phone slipped out of his hands.
It landed on the cushion, screen up, displaying an article titled The Complete Beginner's Guide to Bottoming in a font size that could be read from space.
Greg grabbed it and flipped it over so fast he nearly launched it across the room.
Dustin hadn't noticed. He was already in the bathroom. The shower started.
Greg sat on the couch and pressed the phone against his chest with both hands.
It buzzed again.
Valerie: You still there?
Greg: Google knows too much! And I don't know enough!
Valerie: Time to learn!
She sent a peach emoji followed by an aubergine and Greg wasn't sure he wanted to know what that meant.
He turned the phone off.
The shower ran.
Greg sat on the couch and tried to arrange his features into something that communicated I have been sitting here peacefully and not learning anything.
He was not confident in the result.
The shower stopped. The bathroom door opened and Dustin came out in clean sweatpants with a towel around his shoulders, his hair dark and damp. He walked into the living room, took one look at Greg, and stopped.
“What happened?” Dustin asked.
“Nothing happened.”
“Your face is the color of a fire truck.”
“The apartment is warm.”
“The windows are open.” Dustin's eyes narrowed. “What did you do?”
“I didn't do anything.”
“You look like you committed a crime.”
“I was just sitting here!”
“Uh huh.” Dustin tossed the towel over a chair and dropped onto the couch beside Greg, close, his thigh against Greg's, his arm along the back of the cushions behind Greg's head.
He smelled like soap and warm skin and Greg's brain supplied a vivid and unhelpful series of images involving Dustin and the specific things he'd been reading about.
“What's going on?” Dustin asked.
“Nothing. Valerie was… We were texting. She asked me something and I looked it up and the results were… I mean, I wasn't expecting…” Greg was overheating. “She asked who tops.”
Dustin blinked.
“I didn't know what that meant,” Greg continued, because the words were spilling now and he couldn't stop them anymore.
“I wondered if maybe it's about sleeping positions, and I guess in a way it is, but not how I was thinking at all.
And there's articles, and I read them, and I learned about lubrications and the importance of preparation and I keep thinking—”
“You keep thinking what?” Dustin looked very curious now. Amused too, but mostly curious. And interested.
Some of the heat left Greg's face and pooled in his lower body instead. “I keep thinking that I… that we…”
Dustin's mouth twitched. He leaned closer. “Do you want me to fuck you, Greg?” he asked. “Or do you want to fuck me?” He posed the question in a casual way, but his gaze darkened as he added, “I'm good with either.”
Greg's entire body went hot.
“I—” Greg started. “The — in the articles—”
“Forget the articles.” Dustin shifted so his mouth was near Greg's ear and his hand was on Greg's thigh and the soap-and-skin smell of him was everywhere. “What do you want?”
“You.” Greg's voice came out rough. “Over me. I want — I want to feel—” He didn't know how to articulate his desire. He settled on, “Everything.”
He didn't think that was a useful response, but Dustin seemed to disagree. His hand tightened on Greg's thigh.
“That can be arranged,” he said.
“I've never—”
“I know.”
“The articles said it's important to—”
“Greg.” Dustin pulled back enough to look at him. “Trust me?”
“Yes,” Greg said immediately.
Dustin rose and held out his hand. “Let's move this to the bedroom, then.”
Greg looked at Dustin — standing there in sweatpants and nothing else, damp hair, the tattoos and the piercings and the easy confidence of a man who had never been unsure about what his body could do.
Greg took his hand. “All right.”
The bedroom window was open too, letting in the cool evening air.
Dustin closed the door, leaving the overhead light off, the room lit only by the lamp on the bedside table. He turned toward Greg, who was standing awkwardly in the middle of the room.
“Relax,” Dustin said. “This isn't a test.”
“I know.” Greg made himself relax his shoulders. He wanted this. He wanted it so much he could barely think.
Dustin smiled, soft and amused. He approached and ran his hand through Greg's hair, tilting his face up for a kiss.
It started gentle, a slide of lips, a tease of tongue. Dustin's mouth was warm, and his body was solid against Greg's, and the kiss turned deeper, Dustin's tongue claiming his, his hand sliding down Greg's back, over his hips, drawing them together.
This was good. This, Greg could lose himself in, let go of everything but the sensation of Dustin's tongue and the metal of that piercing touching the roof of his mouth. Dustin's hands were on his ass, pulling their bodies flush, and Greg could feel Dustin hardening against his thigh.
This was familiar territory.
Before long, they were falling onto the mattress together, the way they often did, Dustin on top of Greg, kissing Greg's jaw, his neck, his collarbone, their groins pressed together.
Greg's hips made that small helpless motion that usually made Dustin grind against him in response, but instead Dustin paused to look at Greg, his hair falling over his forehead, his eyes bright with desire. His breath came fast.
“We don't have to do anything you're not ready for,” he said. “We can keep doing this if you want.” His hips rolled in a slow circle, sending sparks of pleasure through Greg's body. “This is good too.”
It was good. But it wasn't everything, and Greg wanted everything.
“I want you,” he said. “In me. I want to feel it.”
Dustin made a low sound. His eyes closed briefly, his jaw tightening. “Fuck,” he said, with feeling. “Get your clothes off.”
He rolled off the bed to stand and strip, while Greg pulled his shirt over his head, his fingers clumsy with urgency. They tossed their clothes on the floor, then they were back on the mattress, skin to skin, the slide of Dustin's body over his making Greg gasp.
Dustin's mouth was at his ear. “We're going to take it slow,” he said. “I'll make it good for you. I promise.”
He reached into the drawer of the bedside table and pulled out a bottle of lube.
Greg's stomach flipped.