(Untitled)

[since_1997]

During the night, they tend to drift apart and, when he wakes, Paul rolls back towards Tom, one hand reaching out to grip him by the hip and pull him closer. Paul's never been good at being naked without a purpose, so he went to bed in boxers and a t-shirt like he usually does, but Tom's back is bare and warm and he presses himself against it,

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[makethem_notice]

"So don't," Tom muttered, half asleep as he arched back against the body behind him, groping blindly for Paul's hip... Paul, who was all sharp angles and wiry muscle and bone, so the soft curves under his hand, the unmistakable swell of breasts against his back, weren't really what he was expecting.

His eyes flew open and he popped upright, hair sticking up every which way and the dumb, sleepy look of surprise on his face creeping toward something more frantic.

"Uh..."

[since_1997]

Startled awake, Paul blinks up at him, lying on his back. He frowns at the look on Tom's face and pushes himself up onto his elbows, hair slipping forward around his face.

"What?"

[makethem_notice]

So, he staring. Nobody in the world could blame him for it. There was this gorgeous woman lying in his bed, wearing an unmistakably Paul Helinski expression on her face, and Tom's mouth flapped open and closed, but all he could manage was a vaguely shrill, "Dude, what the hell?"

[since_1997]

For a moment, Paul can't figure out what the fuck is going on, and then he follows Tom's eyeline, looks down at himself. Shit. Shit. There's a definite rack going on there. He touches his own chest with one hand and his eyes widen.

"What the fuck."