18. George
George
Adrian opens the door before Lance finishes knocking. He pulls Lance inside by the shoulder, then reaches past him and grips my arm. “Finally. Come in. Good to see you, rascals.”
We drove up to San Francisco late this Friday morning.
That’s six hours on the road with Lance talking almost nonstop about his latest ER shifts.
I stayed silent most of the way, window down, letting the wind hit my face.
The splint came off two days ago. My wrist moves easy now. I feel lighter than I have in weeks.
From the outside, Vince’s place in Pacific Heights looks exactly like I remember from my visit last year.
Hardwood floors under my boots, warm lamps throwing low light, the bay visible through the big windows with city lights scattered across the dark water.
Same tall ceilings, same dark timber, same sharp echo when you move.
But the inside feels different now. Adrian’s touch is all over it.
Color on the walls, paintings stacked and hung wherever they fit, plants spilling out of corners like they’re trying to take over.
The furniture has been shifted, warmed up, lived in.
His mess and taste turned the old Victorian into something that actually feels like a home.
Adrian brings three beers from the kitchen and drops into the armchair. Lance takes the dark-grey four-seater couch. I sit down beside him, leave a bit of space between us, keeping it neutral.
Along the far wall, a built-in shelf runs the full length of the room. Vince’s trophies take up most of it. MVP plaques, signed game balls, championship rings, all lined up. He’s stacked more wins than he has space for. The man clearly never did anything halfway. We never knew him to.
“How’s the house holding up?” Lance asks, eyes flicking around the place before settling back on Adrian. “Living with Holloway. Don’t be afraid, be honest and say what you needed to say while he’s not here.”
Adrian laughs once. “My boyfriend’s not too bad.” He takes a pull from his beer. “I moved my whole studio up here a few months back. More commission work, bigger clients. My work finally pays the bills.”
I’ve known Adrian was some sort of child prodigy. Vince sent us a news link the other day about his latest exhibit that got positive art critic reviews.
“It’s great,” Adrian says. “I’m still getting used to his early mornings. I’m a night person, he’s up at five making protein shakes, then watching game film loud enough to wake the dead. At least it doesn’t happen as often now. Most nights we actually go to bed at the same time.”
Lance laughs. “Brutal.”
“He’s considerate about it,” Adrian adds. “Wears headphones most mornings. That’s progress.”
I take a sip of my beer. “That sounds fine. Someone here blasts pop music at all hours.”
Lance side-eyes me. “You leave your boots right inside the door every single time you crash at my place. I’ve tripped over them more times than I can count.”
“They’re work boots,” I say. “They stay by the door.”
“Doesn’t mean they need to be a death trap,” Lance counters. He then turns to Adrian. “You see what I have to deal with?”
“I see it,” Adrian laughs.
I grunt, shifting in my seat.
“A man who communicates in single syllables and occasional grunts and somehow everyone thinks he’s deep.”
“I don’t grunt,” I say.
“You grunt constantly. You’ve got a whole damn vocabulary. That one right there?” Lance points at me. “Dismissive grunt. Different from your ‘considering’ grunt. Different again from your ‘you’re annoying me but you’re also right’ grunt.”
Adrian looks at me, mouth slightly open. “Is that accurate?”
“Partially,” I say.
“Which part is wrong?” Lance snorts.
Adrian’s eyes move between us. He picks up his beer and settles back.
“You know…you two have it easy in a way,” he says after a moment, not bitter. “You’ve had each other all this time. Didn’t have to start from nothing and hope it holds.”
Lance shifts. “You do realize we’re not…together like that, right?” He avoids looking at me.
I try to ignore the sting when he says that.
Adrian studies him for a second, then smiles faintly. “Sometimes I forget that, with how you two act together.” Under his breath he adds, “At least…not yet.”
Lance and I both pretend we didn’t hear it.
Adrian rolls the bottle between his palms. “With Vince and me, so much time has passed before we got to see each other again. It then became about trusting that this was actually ours now. That we get to finally keep it.” He pauses.
“I missed a lot of his life. Even when I followed him from a distance, I wasn’t there. You don’t get those years back.”
The room falls silent. For the first time, I see the weight Adrian carries. We joke around like we’ve known him forever, but we only really met him during Trevor’s wedding week. We had no idea what it took for him and Vince to get here.
Lance leans forward, elbows on his knees. “Yeah, but if it went any other way, you wouldn’t be who you are now. Same for him. Sometimes you still end up exactly where you’re supposed to be, and it’s the best versions of yourselves.”
I grunt.
Lance turns to me, already reading it for what it is—my ‘I’ve got nothing to say’ grunt.
I narrow my eyes at him for a second before clearing my throat. “Yeah,” I add. “Known Vince a long time. Something always felt…missing.” I take another sip. “Not anymore.”
Adrian meets my eyes and gives a small, grateful smile.
Lance claps his hands together, breaking the moment. “But more importantly, and this is what I actually wanted to know,” He points at Adrian. “You still doing any stripping gigs or what?”
Adrian barks out a laugh. “Not professionally.”
“Tragic. You had talent.” Lance responds, trying to look bored.
“Private bookings only,” Adrian shoots back, deadpan.
Lance’s eyes light up. “Holloway’s having a fucking field day with that, isn’t he?”
Adrian’s eyes fucking twinkle, almost proud of the reaction he’s getting. “Yeah. Very much. And as you implied, can’t exactly waste all this talent. I might even want a disciple to pass the skills on. Haven’t worked out how yet.”
Lance grins, that cocky flash in his eyes. “Pfft. I could probably pick it up in my sleep.”
Adrian’s eyebrows lift, mildly entertained. “Of course you could.”
“I’m a quick study,” Lance shrugs like it’s obvious.
I mutter, “You trip over your own feet sober.”
“Bullshit,” Lance fires back. “I’ve got better rhythm than you.”
“You have exactly as much rhythm as a drunk seagull.”
Adrian watches us for a long second, then shakes his head. “Alright. I’ve had enough. This is getting too painful to watch.”
We both turn to him.
“What?” Lance asks.
Adrian gestures between us. “This. The talking-around-it. You keep throwing words out there, watching how they hit.” He says it lightly, but his eyes are sharp. “If you want to keep pretending there’s nothing there, that’s your business. But I’m not gonna sit here and watch you do this all night.”
Everything settles off-beat. I keep my eyes off Lance. He does the same. The easy back-and-forth from a minute ago is gone, replaced by something tighter that’s been sitting under the surface for months.
I can usually read him without trying. Always have. Since we got back from Azure Tides, I’ve been struggling to do that.
Maybe he’s just curious. Maybe this is new ground and I’m making it bigger than it is. Either way, I’m not making the call for him. I’m not assuming shit.
Lance looks at Adrian, wide eyed, then shifts on the couch. “And…what are you trying to say again?”
Adrian’s voice stays easy. “You said you could do it in your sleep, right?” His eyes lock on Lance. “Show me. Or better yet… show him.”
Lance lets out a short laugh, rolls his shoulders like he’s loosening up for something physical. “Oh, I’ll show you both.” He glances between us, grin back in place. “You really think I can’t back that up?”
Adrian’s smile drags out slower this time. “I don’t know.”
“Damn right I can,” Lance says, voice lower and rougher, like he’s steeling himself for it. That familiar mix of cocky and cornered showing through.
My pulse kicks hard. Heat slams through my chest and drops straight down.
My fingers clamp around the beer bottle like it’s the only solid thing left in the room.
Lance talks a big game and never backs out once he’s committed.
That’s always been one of his many flaws that sometimes gets him into trouble.
Right now it’s my problem too. The thought of Lance stripping for me, even in the privacy of this room, makes my cock swell and throb against my jeans.
Fuck. I wasn’t expecting this tonight. I thought I had it under control, that I could keep it down until we got home.
Adrian leans back, watching him. “Go on,” he says, tone light but pushing. “Or are you just running your mouth?”
The air turns close. Not much space left to breathe.
Lance leans forward beside me, like he’s about to get up, then checks himself for a second too long. Most people wouldn’t catch it. Adrian doesn’t.
I do.
There’s a hitch there, brief, but gone fast.
I don’t say anything. I just watch what he does next.
Adrian pulls out his phone. “Give me a second.” He pulls out his phone from his back pocket, then dials Vince.
“Hey, Baby. These two just got here… How far are you?” Vince’s low voice rumbles through the line. Adrian’s smile widens. “Perfect. He’s just a few minutes out,” he tells us, then speaks back into the phone. “Babe? Do you mind if…I play with them a little while I wait for you?”
Vince says something that makes Adrian laugh softly. “Got it. I’ll set the camera up so you can see everything.”
Adrian ends the call and grabs the small tripod from the shelf. He mounts his phone and adjusts the angle until the couch and open floor are framed.
“So,” Adrian says, glancing between us, “Vince said I can play. He’ll be watching live.” He taps the screen. “Just a stream. He’s in the car, not driving, so he won’t miss anything.” A quick, soft exhale of laughter. “You know how he gets. Hope that’s alright.”