Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It is the same pink, Ted's cock and Trent's tongue. "Oh geeze," the breathless, panicked drawl stretches the length of the flat of Trent's tongue following the line of salted skin. Trent slips the tip of his tongue under the bellend of sensitive nerves and Ted repeats, so thoroughly overwhelmed, "Oh geeze." Trent worries the deepening pink flesh, relishing in scooping the bead of moisture from the slit there and that is when Ted loses himself and curses sharply. Trent raises his mouth, drawing away from Ted's cock to capture Ted's mouth with his and Ted's mouth is hungry, biting and muttering between kisses. Trent doesn't quite understand what he's saying or asking, but then Ted dives in, his tongue so powerful, it draws a murmured, pleased sound from Trent's throat.

Ted has never been with a man before. He's thought about it. But in the end, never really wanted to be. Thought it might be something of a chore to work himself up over a grizzled chest or a flaccid weiner, but Trent's limber tongue and ability to speak so plainly that it flushes Ted's skin right ruddy, Ted is so thoroughly turned on before they leave the hotel bar to go up to Trent's room that he genuinely can't think of any reason to say no.

"You're telling me you have never located your own prostate?"

"Nosiree Trent. Closest I've come is my annual prostate exam, and that hasn't exactly inspired confidence that pleasure is to be had there. Only tiny old men wearing bifocals as thick as my thumbs have ever breached the borders. And it's only ever been a cold and lonely feeling."

"Coach Lasso, I want to say something to you that if you can promise to forget I ever breathed a word of it in two hours, I promise to never repeat to a single soul in my entire life."

Ted doesn't believe he can stir up an international shit storm in two hours, but he can admit to himself he is enjoying this frank discussion about pleasure in this dark, abandoned hotel bar. So he nods. "You've promised this night is off record, so I say, that can go two ways. Say what you're gonna say. And com'mon now, say it with your chest." Ted reaches out to tap the journalist in the center of his tie and watches as Trent's demeanor darkens in the most delightful way. Conspiratorial almost.

"If you let me, I would take you upstairs right now and teach you how to fuck yourself. I have everything you need to do it comfortably. Though I would also be honored to make you come so hard you blacked out. By flick or by prick. If you wanted."

Ted's mind goes blank. He blinks real hard, and nothing. But maybe a cloud of something. Feeling. Shock and positive and pressing? And has he always thought Trent Crimm was sexy? Well, this particular kind of sexy?

Trent tries to pull him back to the surface by leaning into his space, coming so close to Ted to whisper something even more scandalous in his ear, but Ted shoots upright so fast that his chair falls over. Trent winces, absolutely sure he's crossed every boundary that exists between a straight man and a gay man. A manager and the journalist meant to cover him. But they've been having a naughty amount of fun simply talking. And Trent knows if need be, he can shake this proposition off as his own particular brand of dry, British humor.

Ted realizes Trent's really only meant it to make Ted blush, but Ted leans over and mechanically sets his chair upright before pulling a note from his wallet, tossing it on the table, and hauling Trent out of his own chair.

Trent makes humming wet kisses the length of Ted until he can draw the skin of Ted's bollocks in his mouth. Before he makes the move, he speaks against Ted's taut skin. "Shall I continue down?" Ted lets out a breathy grunt that ends in an "Mm-hmm," so Trent nods and opens his maw against them. The skin there is salt and musk and the hairs that bristle across his forehead from Ted's thighs are wiry and fuck if Ted's thighs aren't walls of solid muscle and tense sinew. Trent lets his jaw loose to make a loud sucking sound as he lets the flat of his tongue work the bulk there and he can feel Ted's stomach contract.

Ted struggles and strains against the feel of Trent's tongue, the feel of Trent's laughter, his balls so close to the source of sound. The vibration of Trent feels so unbelievable he hardly has anything but God's name on his tongue. Even, "I'm glad you find my imminent death so amusing, Trent," is too much. Only Trent's name escapes as Ted tents a hand over his face and he forces himself to breathe through the pleasure. Christ. Was Michelle ever this enthusiastic? Did any of the women he'd ever had the privilege to have blow him ever make him sweat full bodied like this? Did any of them ever make him feel like he was losing control?

"Do you want me to continue?"

Ted nods, but their labored breathing is the only sound that fills the room.

"For a man never short of words, that was awful quiet. I'm afraid I'm going to need you to voice your consent."

Ted watches Trent rise to his knees and shift to place himself bodily between Ted's ankles. Ted peeks through his fingers and he could come just watching Trent's face, beet red and wanting, seeing the rise of his chest in heavy breaths, and his silvered hair tousled in his face. Trent moves to loosen his tie and shove his sleeves to his elbows and Ted suddenly wonders if it might be too much to…

"I. I just think…"

Trent's head quirks in question as he repeats Ted's words, right up to his hesitation, "You just think…what?"

There is no fooling Trent. Ted's large brown eyes show through the gaps of his fingers like he is seeing something maybe he shouldn't. Or maybe he isn't supposed to. And maybe Trent's skin grows a little warm as Ted's eyes follow his hand at the button at his throat. Trent tears the tie from his neck undone in one smooth move and lets it fall to the floor. He can hear Ted take a sharp breath as he watches, wide-eyed. Trent reaches down for one of Ted's nipples between his knuckles and tugs and Ted's chest follows the movement of his hand, Ted's breath catching in his throat.

It takes him a moment to gather all the sense that sensation has spilled in an arc above them, but Ted moves the hand from his face and sits up on an elbow. He reaches to Trent's throat and flips one button open, licks his lips and reaches for the next button. Trent is quick to help him along, pulling his shirt untucked and unbuckling his belt, all the while letting Ted unbutton him one-handed. Trent does step off the bed for a moment to remove his trousers and his shoes and his pants. There is a simple silver chain around his neck with a pendant made of turquoise and sterling silver hanging from it, and as hangs swinging away Trent's chest, Ted is mesmerized. That is, until Trent reaches down a large hand to stroke himself once, twice.

"Oh geeze."

Trent looks up to meet Ted's open gaze, his handsome face, mouth agape, and he doesn't have words for it. He just, he leans over Ted and takes his mouth again. Oh geeze. Oh geeze? Oh please. Trent is half out of his mind thinking about all the filthy things he'd love to pour out of Ted's mouth. Shockingly hard for being surprisingly intimate with not only a stranger, but someone he knows could turn his life upside down in every way if this ends remotely wrong. But Trent meant it. Ted Lasso doesn't know his head from his ass and Trent is about to turn Ted's little world to color. The chances they are taking, the risk, is exactly as stupid as it is raging hot, and so he sucks on the tip of Ted's tongue until he has the wherewithal to continue.

"I would like to continue where I left off if you are good with that?" Trent rises back to his knees and Ted doesn't know where his voice is. He can only think of Trent's turquoise pendant, falling to stick to his chest.

"I? Please." Trent smiles and dives back to Ted's thighs and Ted can't help the surprised yowl he lets out when he feels teeth bite into his thighs before Trent's arms slide under his legs and his hands fall heavy to open Ted's knees. "Hey now!" But then Trent's lips begin to press into that flesh between and Ted isn't nearly ready for how good that feels. "Oh? Oh. Okay then." And then he can't stop talking. "Oh geeze. Oh my. I didn't think. Oh, mm-hmm." Trent moves in with a heavy tongue and Ted feels it, the cool pendant, tapping closer and closer to his goodie hole.

Reaching first across the bed for his bottle of lube and the condoms, Trent pulls away to slide off the end of the bed settling onto his knees. Then he slides Ted closer to him, holding Ted's legs in place. He blows a cold breath across Ted's asshole and looks up.

"I won't lie to you Trent, I'm real nervous," Trent goes to assure Ted he is willing to stop right here if it's too much, but Ted continues, "but I think in the short time we've come to know one another, I trust you. And I know it all might be foolish and admitting this might sound real silly, but in case we never address this again, I want you to know I think you might just be the prettiest fella I've ever met. If I were ever gonna do this, I'm real glad it's you and not Dr. Rechter."

Trent's entire world freezes. But then Ted smiles like everything is going to be okay and Trent lets his head fall into Ted's thigh. He cannot shake his head enough to show his dismay, so instead he smiles, kissing that spot. Cranes his neck up to lick a hot trail up Ted's cock and slowly trails down to drag his nose softly across Ted's hole. Kisses the warm flower there. Lays a hand flat across Ted's stomach and slowly works open the lube with his other hand.

Trent takes an age to open Ted up, and when Trent has moved from gently fucking into him with his tongue to his finger to two fingers, Ted can feel the sheets beneath him soaking with sweat, his body on fire and his breathing erratic. It is oddly intimate and impersonal together, that Trent doesn't speak much, doesn't offer any sounds of affirmation, simply takes the time to open him, gently. Until Trent touches something in him that sends fireworks shooting from the tips of his fingers and the tips of his toes.

"Ohhhhh. Yes, Ted. That is your prostate."

The sound that comes from Ted is strangled, "I. Can you? I know you're. Can you keep doing that?"

"What," Trent stops a moment and Ted hisses before Trent begins moving slowly again, "This?"

"Fuck. Please."

The earnest beg in Ted's voice and his brushing against the duvet pooled at the foot of the hotel bed is what brings Trent to full erection. Ted is unbelievably sexy, squirming and writhing under his hands. Trent moves his mouth over Ted's cock and pops his lips off the end of it. Does this a few times until Ted starts speaking his name, breathlessly, over and over.

"Trent. Trent, please. Please, Trent."

"Yes, Ted?"

"I. Trent. I need you to fuck me."

Trent rolls on a rubber in record time and the relief as he slides the head of his cock across the sensitive skin there has them both moaning.

It is only now, as the burn of Trent entering him eases into friction, frisson, that Ted is realizing he has been living with an emptiness in his life. And it is something different than a father could fill or a wife or a son or football…or that other football. And maybe it's not Trent, but as Ted pulls him down to press their lips together like lava torching new ground, Trent's hair fisted in his hands, that cool, turquoise pendant hangs like a divining pendulum to touch right over that emptiness

This isn't meant to be transactional. Not in the least. Aside from possible mutual orgasms, anyway. But in its discovery, Ted is suddenly aware that this emptiness has to be able to contain something. And the more Trent Crimm fills him with electricity and emotion, the clearer Trent's face appears when he closes his eyes, too.

Trent, looking at Ted Lasso coming apart under him, might just be holding the most precious thing he has ever let his hands touch. When Ted opens his eyes, clear and needful in the lamp light, reaching up to brush Trent's hair from his face, Trent might be imagining it. Ted is the most gentle to ever have held him like Trent might be something to be admired. Ted doesn't look afraid or resentful. Trent lets himself hold onto the thought for a moment. Ted looks like the future. A future. Someone's future, surely. Maybe even his in another universe. Trent moves his chin to give himself access to put Ted's thumb into his mouth and Ted's smile is so warm Trent feels every muscle in his body constrain to come.

"Ted. I'm close. I'm so close. Have you? I don't want to if–"

Ted's eyes fall back and his face falls into something frustrated and dark until Ted's release takes him over and Trent can feel Ted's hot response spay across his stomach. The muscles in Ted's face go slowly loose and ethereal and Trent allows himself to lower himself to his elbows. He kisses Ted's chin. Ted's nose. Brushes his lips across Ted's lips and tucks his face into Ted's neck.

When Trent comes, the sound of his release is filth and relief at the same time. It is a strange sound that comes from Trent's chest and ends in Trent laying across his chest. And it's strange, but for a moment, that emptiness that Ted is so fully and suddenly aware of quiets away when he wraps his arms around the body laying across him.

When the body rush has slowed, Trent slowly pulls himself from Ted and almost instantly regrets the sudden displacement of heat. He doesn't try to get up. Not right away. He does reach a hand into Ted's hair to gently scratch his hair, and nuzzles into Ted's neck.

"I don't want you to if it's going to be strange or uncomfortable for you, but I'd welcome you to, if you'd stay."

Ted pulls his head away from Trent to look him in the eyes.

They shouldn't. Nothing good can come from this when the sun comes up. Nothing good can come from this when they both sober. The right move is to move on. As completely as their imaginations will ever allow. Become ghosts in one another's sheets. Admit this was lovely. It can never happen again. Shake hands. Make pretend it never happened in the first place. But as they lay here, neither of them can quite bring themselves to make that first step to part.

Ted shifts and Trent rolls off him, the pendant now warm, trailing across his chest. "Trent, I don't know that it's a great idea."

"Right." Trent sits up, pulls a sock off, and unsheathes himself with it, tossing the sock to the floor.

Ted winces as he sits up, sore in more than one place. "But maybe once we sleep on it. Have a shower and have some time to give it a think."

Trent sighs, the sight of his shoulders, pointed, lithe and symmetric, rising and falling in defeat, makes Ted's heart twinge. Causes Ted's brows to furrow in dissatisfaction. "It still won't be a great idea."

"Right." Ted blows a breath of his own in defeat. It's the truth. Ted leans over and reaches for his boxers, and stands to slip them on. His body is still wired for sound and putting on his clothes feel entirely dissonant to what he'd really like to do, which is take Trent up on his offer.

When Ted is fully dressed, though a bit askew, Trent cannot help it. Remembering what everything tastes like under this jumper.

Ted frowns. "You can't look at me like that in the press room."

Trent gives him a wry smile. "How am I supposed to look at you in the press room?"

"I don't know," Ted says, his face falling, pained. "Like you usually do. Not like that though, that's for sure."

Trent cannot help but laugh as he leans over to reach for his briefs. "I think I've always looked at you like this. You're just seeing it now."

This is the first proper look that Ted is getting of Trent. He doesn't have any basis for this, based on the curves of his ex-wife or the bricks that he's coached over his adult lifetime. But he thinks Trent might be beautiful. The pendant falls just so, taking Ted's resolve with it and Ted crosses the room to pull Trent into his body and to kiss him. Reaches across the plane of Trent's back and down the flanks of his ass.

Ted's tongue is kindling and Trent's body is aflame, his cock oddly quick to rouse so soon. He has to pry himself from Ted, soft, strange, timeless though there seems to be a window closing around them.

Ted swallows. "What are we doing?"

Trent snorts and raises an eyebrow, says defiantly, "I showed you where your prostate was."

Ted nods sheepishly, "You sure did."

They stand there, Trent content to leave Ted's hand on his ass for as long as it will stay. Ted, tangled in a mix of need, desire, and responsibility. The aircon kicks on and Ted can feel Trent's skin raise goosebumps. Ted bends over and pulls Trent's shirt over his shoulders. Reaches for the pendant and holds it closer to examine it a moment. Replaces it and steals a long stroke of his fingers over Trent's soft skin. And then he steps backward.

"Goodnight Trent."

"Don't go." Trent can hear the horrifying pleading in his own voice and curses himself internally.

"Goodnight, Trent."

"If you change your mind…"

Ted leans in for one last soft press of lips before he turns, "Right."

"If you forget about your prostate." Ted opens the door and pauses. Gets one last clear look of Trent, his shirt hanging over his shoulders, an obvious erection in his underwear. Curses himself for being so mighty stubborn in his decisiveness.

"Goodnight, Trent."

There is an audible growl before he sighs so deeply, Ted thinks Trent might disintegrate right into the carpet, "Good bye, Ted."

Ted wakes up with fire in his pjs, cursed with heartsickness and visions of a man who is one long, beautiful line. They pass in the hotel lobby and Beard has to ask if they ever plan on murdering one another or fucking.

Beard always knows, even if he doesn't know, doesn't he?

Chapter Text

Trent is silent as he hears the door's monitor sound and listens to the faint hitch of the lock unlatching. The door makes no sound, but there is movement in the hall as Ted enters the room. Lasso is plastic loud, still wearing the aggressively Richmond-themed trackkies. Ted steps out of his sneakers and removes his whistle and hat and places them with his wallet and the room key on the dresser. He unzips the track jacket and Trent can see water jump from it as Ted drops it next to his things.

"Well. That was. Presumptuous." The dark, lazy timbre of Trent's accent ignites something twirly in Ted's skirts. He's here. It worked. Although, Trent is clearly irritated. Ted sees a belt and tie on the dresser and a sports coat hanging from the desk chair before he catches the reflection of Trent in the dresser mirror. Trent is barefoot, sleeves rolled and shirt unbuttoned to reveal a soft cotton undershirt. He isn't wearing the necklace this time, but his wrist is covered in knotted thread bands. When Trent notices him looking, he reaches a hand to cover them, or adjust them, and then he reaches his hands into his hair to tie it back. Ted turns and stares, unable to look away from the action. Trent revealing his one long line of a body to be even longer than Ted remembers.

"The game?" It isn't just the jacket. Ted is soaked through. His trakkies are covered in grass, his socks are green, even his mustache is damp. He is a vision. Trent stands to help Ted begin to remove the squelchy layers to hang them over the bath to drip dry.

"The match." Trent cooly corrects. "Hands up." Ted raises his arms as Trent pulls him to the toilet by the hem at his waist and removes a first layer of shirt. "And no. That was brutal."

Ted stands like a child with his arms in the air, patiently allowing Trent to peel him free. "I thought it went pretty well, considering."

Trent stands upright from leaning over the bath, warily eyeing Ted, who appears to still be donning his Coach persona. "I suppose it did then. Do you want to talk about it?" Trent does not want to talk about it. Not if they're going to fuck again. And they're certainly going to fuck again. When he finally pulls Ted's last layer over his head, Trent lets a hand trail down the damp soft skin of Ted's side. It is sticky, but it is a kind of sticky Trent doesn't mind.

"No. You're right. What was presumptuous then?" Ted watches Trent turn heel and puts his arms down. The bathroom is cold and every inch of his exposed skin is raised. He would cover his chest, but that seems pointless here. Well. No. It seems pointed. Pointy. He steps into the doorway to watch Trent remove his rings.

"Your assumption that I would meet you here." Trent removes his collared shirt and floats it on top of the suit coat hanging over the desk chair. Ted steps up behind him and Trent feels the bristly hairs of Ted's mustache tickle over the bend of his shoulder. He should have more resolve here, he knows, but it doesn't stop Trent from leaning his head to free more skin in hopes that Ted will initiate…more. Instead, Ted continues to hover, his breathing affected. Ted's shivering.

"It ain't gamblin' if you don't make a few bets." Trent's shoulders drop and although he can't see it, Ted can feel him grousing.

"The hotel's card with the room number stapled to the press packet wasn't a tad reckless?"

Ted laughs. "I like to think it was very reckless." He kisses into the bend of Trent's neck and lingers, smiling into the heated skin there. Trent is not laughing though. Maybe if Ted keeps kissing his neck.

"I do want to tell you before we get on with it. I won't be a kept man."

It is an unfair play, the way Ted starts using his tongue. Trent should step away. Look this man in the eyes and lay down the law, but instead, he gets an "okie dokie" and feels Ted begin to press a sucking kiss into the back of his neck, and Trent, in impotent outrage, continues.

"You don't pay for rooms. I am not a secret."

Ted begins laughing in earnest and backs off Trent, shaking his head. "Well, I think we both know that's not true. For either of us."

"Yes. I mean," Trent takes Ted by the hand and leads him back to the toilet. "I am an active participant." Pushes him down on the toilet. "If this ever goes to shit, I am an equal partner in this cock-up."

Ted beams, watching Trent drop to a knee to peel one of his wet socks off. "I see what you did there."

The smile Trent tries to bite back loses. "Thank you."

Ted leans over to kiss him like a reward. It is as sweet as a bouquet of roses and just as marked with thorns. Trent could kiss him like this forever. Closed mouth, lingering and soft. He would hold Ted's face in his hands and they could bleed together. It is so tempting, but Trent backs away.

Ted's eyes are closed and his face is dreamy, slack. "Do that again?"

Trent has to look away from Ted's cherubic face, so he makes quick work of peeling the sock from Ted's other foot.

"Do you think we should?"

Ted frowns, opening his eyes, confused. "Kissing?"

"Snogging like it might mean something."

Visions of Pretty Woman conjure out of thin air and Ted finds himself surprised. Shouldn't all sex have kissing? Snogging? Isn't that part of the buildup? Are there people in the world who don't? Is Trent someone who doesn't? The floor is just as cold as the rest of the room, but Ted doesn't feel it at all when he's kissing Trent. "I don't know. I don't know that I couldn't. I like kissing. I like kissing you alright. You're…"

Trent rolls his eyes. Just alright? "Good lord."

Ted knows he's digging himself into a hole, but then Julia Roberts' big mouth turns into Sassy's big mouth and he realizes he's not a super fan of how much tongue or how silly and untethered it always seems to be. Like. It's just sex for sex's sake. Though, that's what he's here for, right? "No. It's just. I'm sorta. I've got. A thing. With someone else. And she's a lot of fun, but." Trent's eyes go wide and horrified and Ted knows he's put his foot in his mouth, but he can't seem to stop himself.

"I think you shouldn't tell me–"

"She isn't very warm." It comes out on top of what Trent's said and now Ted can't take it back.

"And I am?" Trent sighs. Unbelievable. He shuffles a leg to sit on his feet. He is on his knees in a hotel toilet. He is undressing a green, wet Coach Lasso like a child. He is aware on some level that this should also probably be fun, but now there is a third party and Ted likes kissing him? What the fuck is going on here?

"Against all odds, right?" Ted's smile is bright and his earnest truth is simultaneously the meanest and the nicest thing Trent has heard since every other nice thing Ted has told him. "It's nice. Kissing you like that. Being kissed by you like that." Bollocks. Trent lets his face fall into his hands, and then he smells it. Rancid unclean.

Trent sniffs at the air and looks at Ted with something like pity. "Is that you?"

"Hm?"

"I smell something. It's definitely you."

Ted sucks in a sharp breath and finally feels it. The tacky skin. The almost raw skin under all the plastic-trapped moisture. His resting heart rate jumps with panic. "Oh, yeah. Well. It's the last stop before home and we've spent a couple days on the road. The shower was out in my first room and we got back to the hotel so late last night that I slept right up until we boarded the bus this morning. I just dropped my bags off and came calling as quickly as I could, before you ran off or in case you decided this wasn't for you."

Trent's face falls into something horrified and his voice grows sharp as a pistol whip. "Are you telling me you've come to me with an unwashed arse?"

"I promise, I didn't mean to wear the track pants that don't breathe on the trip. But I got beer all over my khakis and they smell yeasty."

"Ted, you smell yeasty anyway."

"That's easily remedied." Ted points to the bath, his shirts audibly dripping. Trent could wring the mud out of these socks in the sink, they're so disgusting. They should be left to drip dry. And also, it might be a bit selfish, but Trent came ready to fuck this man. They're going to have to clean up after anyway. And is he going to send Ted away? Ted has just admitted to thinking Trent is warm for Christ's sake. No one in the world thinks Trent Crimm is warm. Not the whole of London, not the woman who once married him, fuck, not even Trent Crimm thinks Trent Crimm is warm. But Ted Lasso does. FuckShitBuggerGoddamn Ted Lasso does. And if that doesn't just set his prick stiff. Trent rolls his eyes and grabs onto the sink bowl to pull himself up. As he drops his trousers, he looks at the smirk on Ted's face and wants to die.

"It is." Ted watches Trent lift his undershirt over his head and toss it out into the room. Feels his entire body flush with excitement as Trent removes his briefs. Ted has seen hundreds of bare butts and weiners of all shapes and si– "Strip." The sight of Trent's cock standing upright sends blood rushing away from his brain and this is all very new, so Ted will go ahead and let himself overthink it later. Instead he jumps up and pulls everything down in one swift movement.

The skin at Ted's waist and his ankles is red and irritated. He is growing half hard and even at this stage, Trent wonders how their third party walks away from that. Maybe he'll learn someday. In the meantime, Trent kicks away the rest of their clothes and pulls a flannel from the neat pile of complementary towels on the shelf above the bath. He runs the water in the sink and waits until it's hot, but not too hot. He doesn't want to scorch Ted. He unwraps the small, single use bar of soap and lathers the wet flannel with suds. It smells however soap should probably smell if it's meant to clean anyone's skin, and it will do. Trent leaves the water running and reaches out for Ted's hip.

"You know, I can do this myself." Surprised that Trent wouldn't leave him to be an adult about it, Ted tries wiggling out of Trent's grip, but all it's doing is exciting him more. And the nonplussed look on Trent's face reminds him that a minute ago, Trent said he probably shouldn't lean in to kiss it. So Ted reaches to take the washcloth from Trent. Which makes Trent visibly pissed off. Ted can tell. Trent's voice becomes deadly. Dark. Like he is having to tell a child what to do. And gosh darnit if that doesn't tickle Ted all over. And like a traitor, Ted's so hard he's wondering what he can do so Trent won't just throw in the towel and leave.

"No. Stop moving. Let me. I'll clean my own dinner, thank you very much." Trent turns Ted away from him and bends him over the sink, and it is a mistake, because in the sink mirror, Ted's eyes go needy like someone who just has to make it right and then registers what he's actually heard.

Ted turns his head, "What did you just call me?" Trent pushes his head away and down. Follows the line of Ted's spine with his eyes, down to his ass and begins to lather, gently. He places his toes inside the arch of Ted's foot to move them further apart and presses his knee into the back of Ted's leg to help press Ted open and reaches down further with the flannel.

"I'd like to assure myself that I won't be getting conjunctivitis." With one last move, Trent presses his thigh into the back of Ted's and Ted takes a sharp breath.

"Say, uh, Trent. This sink is real cold."

Trent teases a finger over Ted's hole and smiles into Ted's skin, "Oh, do be quiet."

At some point, Trent realizes the flannel is too soapy, so he drops it in the sink to rinse while he continues to lather Ted up with his hands. When Ted begins to feel pliant under him, Trent begins to plant firm kisses down his back. Then Trent gathers the flannel back up and wrings it out before cleaning up the soapy mess he's made, all the way down to Ted's ankle.

Everywhere Trent moves to clean up the suds, he kisses. Climbing once again down to his knees, Ted's ankle is sensitive and bristly like his mustache and Trent is able to draw an "Oh" from him. Trent moves up to rinse off Ted's now trembling, taut thighs and draws an "Oh" as Trent sucks into the clean flesh there. He turns Ted back around to clean his knob and may he forgive himself, he cannot help but put his mouth on Ted Lasso until they are both breathless and Ted is begging with his fingers grinding into the sink bowl under him. Trent reaches between Ted's legs to rinse away the suds from his ass as Trent gives careful attention to Ted's balls and Ted is doing exactly what he's told. Trent can hear Ted's every breath, every hitch and sigh bounce around the room, a concert for him.

Trent makes one last demand to turn Ted over and Ted wants to call out, to cry when Trent's tongue finally touches him, firm and soft at the same time. He lays his cheek into the cool mirror, his skin on fire and singing loud as cicadas after seventeen summers underground. It still burns, the pain, but he can feel the beginning of pleasure as sure as those cicadas know just when to wake. When Trent moves to stand behind him, Ted is ready to move to the bed maybe? Somewhere softer, with fewer corners, less clear and present danger for sure.

"Hand me that bag." Ted reaches to the toilet to hand Trent his travel pack, but Trent puts it on the sink and leaves it while he pulls out the lube and a condom.

"Are we going for it right here over the sink?" Ted searches Trent's face in the mirror. Trent isn't looking him in the eye, but Ted can hear the foil breaking.

Trent is thankful for the distraction of carefully rolling on the condom, as he knows he's being petty when he says it, "You didn't seem very interested in sticking around last time. I thought I'd make it quick for you. Get you off. Let you be on your way."

"Hey now. That's not fair." Somehow Ted manages to sound affronted and gentle. Trent tries to maintain his tone so Ted is not let in on the fact that this only infuriates him.

"Fair?"

"We both agreed this wouldn't be a good idea."

Trent walks out of the bathroom and Ted doesn't know if he's ever seen that much skin. He has, but. Trent is all one color. Not one tan line. No farmer's tan. No bright white behind. Not even a foundation delineation. Just, clear, supple, soft skin the color of maple syrup on a styrofoam plate. And it's all walking away from him. "And it still isn't, so why wouldn't we try to maximize on minimizing the experience?"

"Trent." Ted makes slow, purposeful steps to follow. He doesn't mean to sound so anguished. This isn't supposed to be so involved, is it? It isn't with Sass–

"What do you want, Ted? A warm fuck with no strings? Cheap sex while you slap a dollar sign on my arse? A quick shag so you can get back to your real life?"

"Look," Ted holds his hands out and Trent is tempted to walk right into them to see if Ted would actually let them make contact. "I'm sorry. I know. I really messed this up."

"Yes." Trent crosses his arms. He doesn't know if he deserves to feel so hurt, but he does.

"What happened last time. It was sexy. It was spontaneous. It surprised me. I really–it really…" Ted trails off, not entirely sure how to explain why he was so compelled to bring Trent here, or why he thought this was a good idea. Ted walks over to the desk and brushes a tiny white feather from Trent's shirt. "I don't know what I want. I just know I liked kissing you and the sex was nice." He can hear Trent scoff somewhere behind him, and Ted knows this is probably a step over any lines he has created for himself, but he wants Trent to know. "No. The sex was good. Real good. And I didn't know how to go about telling you I'd like to repeat the experience, so instead of coming to you directly, I did…all this."

Ted turns his chin to try to catch Trent in his periphery. He is met with a quiet "click" and Trent padding softly across the room. Ted can feel Trent's breath on his neck, Trent nuzzling his ear, kissing the sensitive skin behind it, can feel the excitement rush through his body as Trent brushes a hand across his waist. Feels a slick, warm finger touch him as Trent speaks sternly into his ear.

"You stole the opportunity from me to make you blush in public." Trent holds Ted to him as he places gentle pressure and Ted bends over the desk chair to give himself room to be penetrated. He can feel Ted shiver under him.

"Well. Yes. Yeah, I suppose I did." Trent changes the angle of his hand on Ted's stomach so Ted has to move forward on his feet and drop the arch in his back. His voice is quiet and assured and Ted's American drawl drips from his mouth, zipping arousal through Trent's body like a circut. Trent bites into Ted's earlobe and begins moving his finger at the slowest rhythm, relishing in the warmth of Ted in his hands.

"Nothing brings me more joy than getting you a little bothered." Ted feels wriggly with rocket fuel filling his veins, sensation, overwhelmed nerves, Trent moving patiently inside him as he tries to relax into it. That Trent's voice is so delicious he wants to thrust into it makes him feel like a loose cannon.

"I've picked up on that."

"You're surprisingly handsome when you're discombobulated."

"Oh, am I?" Trent very slowly increases the pressure, inviting a second finger into his rhythm and blows into Ted's ear. Ted hums a strangled thing, but ever so slowly it evens, so Trent leisurely picks up the pace. As he does, Trent lets his words wander over Ted's skin. Over his neck, in his hair, across his shoulders and down his back.

"You flush bright pink while you think you're in control, and then I…turn you on your head. I can see it across the room. You look like you're swallowing a boulder and you go white and damp. And you laugh, even though I can see your breathing's gone erratic. You put your hand through your hair and you mess it all up. And then you find your feet and your color comes back. And it's nice to think I have a little power over you. Even if it's limited. And then I remember I know exactly how large your cock is because I've had it in my mouth. You've seen me look at you when I'm thinking it."

"I told you, you can't look at me like that." Ted's voice makes that transition from pained to pleasured and Trent wraps his arm further across Trent's chest, letting his cock draw across Ted's ass.

"You'll never stop me."

"No. No. Why would I." Trent slows his rhythm and Ted, Ted wants to laugh, it makes him feel drugged. And then he feels the heated tip of Trent's cock move across his asshole and Ted takes a sharp breath, anticipating a bright burst of pain behind his eyelids.

"You're being so good for me. I just need you to take a breath and relax. Follow me. In through the nose. Good. Relax and breathe through it." Trent breathes with him through the relief of it and slowly begins to press in. They take one breath together and then another. And as Trent ignites that spark of pleasure, begins to slowly rock deeper into him, Ted feels that chasm, that emptiness in his chest go silent. Trent moves deeper, finds his rhythm, moans his own pleasure and Ted's ears grow very, very hot with the sound. He lets the grip he has into Trent's clothes under his hands go slack and relishes the feeling of Trent propelling their bodies forward together.

"Why so quiet?"

"I, uh. Want to, uh. Feel."

Trent's mind stutters and he falls out of rhythm a moment, though he digs his free hand into the meat of Ted's hip and quickly reorients himself. He can feel Ted's breathing as heavy as his own and begins to drive into Ted's body. Trent slowly brings his mouth back to Ted's ear and must lose his mind.

"Does this feel good, Ted? Does it feel good to be a clean lad?"

Ted's breath hitches and when Ted groans, "Mm-hmmm," Trent begins to drive deeper, pressing himself harder into Ted. Digs his fingers into the soft wall of Ted's belly.

"Because you're going to do that for me from now on, yes? Come to me a clean lad?"

Ted whines into the air, digging his head into his chest, "Unh, yeah." He is so close to coming that he can't register exactly how he sounds. All he feels is, Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes, as his body implodes with orgasm. Feels Trent let himself come, as if on a five-second delay, wrapping both arms around Ted and sinking full-bodied into him. Ted feels like his heart's burst free from his body and now all he can do is wait for everything to tether back in place.

Trent peels himself away and lets his dick slide cleanly out of Ted. Slaps Ted in the arse and moves toward the toilet to grab the soaked flannel to clean Ted up. "Good."

Ted steps out of the toilet in his undershirt and track pants, still damp, and a bundle of dripping clothes in hand.

Trent is spread out on top of the bed, still naked, clearly tracing the hang of Ted's cock as he steps into the room. "You should burn those trackkies."

"Yeah, but then what would I wear in the rain?" Ted places his things on the dresser and squelches one foot into one shoe followed by the other.

"Do you not have an umbrella?"

"Trent." Ted turns, raising a knowing brow and reads just from his posture that this is another invite from Trent to stay. Maybe have another go. But Ted is bone tired and just wants to shower and go to sleep.

"Give them to me."

Ted stands, confused. "Give you my swishy pants?"

"Is that what you call them?"

"It is."

"Yes. Give them to me. It's an even trade for the mess you've made of my shirt."

"What would I wear back to my room?"

"That is none of my concern."

"Why on earth would you want them?"

Trent gives Ted a devilish smile. He's being a tosser. He can feel himself going hard again. "So I can smell them while I get myself off. Between whatever this is."

Ted shakes his head, smiling to himself. At least he knows he's welcome to try again. "Oh, I don't know if that's a great idea."

"None of this is a good idea, but it feels good, doesn't it? Warm, I think you said?"

Ted flushes bright pink and Trent thinks it suits him. "Trent."

"Theodore."

"I just don't think we should do anything that might allow either of us to get attached."

"No. I suppose not." Trent makes a show of turning to face the wall, doesn't let Ted see the actual bloody disappointment on his face. Says cooly instead, "You should go, lest I get the wrong idea."

"Trent." Ted knows Trent is being a spoiled sport about it, but it still doesn't change the fact that Ted is, by nature, a people pleaser. And he might not want to get more involved than whatever they're doing, but he also doesn't want Trent to feel slighted.

"No. I cannot be talked out of it. I am going to order a pizza and charge it to the room, have a nap, maybe have a tug in the sheets before I leave."

"That's fair."

"You could leave me your…swishy pants."

Ted huffs a laugh and backs his way to the door, "Goodnight, Trent."

"Suit yourself."

Chapter Text

Trent's hot tongue slides down the length of his ambling penis and sends Ted's entire body into shock. Ted feels the fleshly rush rise from his core to his chest, everything clawing, scratching, stopping up his lungs until he can't help but release a painful, broken yawp. The sudden rain falls heavy and oppressive, deafening, and streaks across Trent's windshield turning Richmond park oily and impressionistic. The black-green blur of the brook blinks out of view as the flood of pleasure that drowns the chasm in his chest also floods his prick stiff.

It is still so new. The feeling of a cock growing firm on his tongue. There is an astonishingly small amount of miracles that Trent knows he has the power to perform at will, and even fewer that a man will allow him the privilege to perform willingly. Drawing strangled sounds of relief from somewhere deep inside Ted Lasso has unwittingly become a favorite. He will never admit it, but the sounds of labored breathing and neigh panting, the stalled breaths and the surprised hitches, Trent relishes them in symphony with the sounds of wet sucking and squelching and occasional gagging. In dissonance with the shattering rain on the roof of his car, Trent is almost certain he is going to ruin his favorite trousers, here in the dark.

Trent pulls off for a breath and asks, "Be a dove and put the seat back, yes?"

The sweet pain of Trent's mouth latching over him, worrying his oversensitized skin, Ted doesn't remember quite how to do with his hands. It has legitimately been so long since anyone has touched him that he instantly lost his ability to rationalize or perform simple tasks the moment Trent reached for his thigh. So he reaches an arm down between the car seat and the car door and feels around without actually being able to process what he's touching. It takes him an entire excruciating lifetime to find the bar, and when he does, the car seat falls all the way out from under him, causing his pelvis to jolt forward, gagging Trent.

"Oh goodness! Sorry there."

Trent pulls off him, coughing. "No. I'm sorry. I haven't sat in the passenger seat to know it would do that."

Horrified, Ted watches Trent's hand soothe up the long line of his throat and begs, "I didn't hurt you, did I?"

The utter shyness Trent feels, finally looking into Ted's eyes after months apart. Trent could almost interpret Ted's searching eyes as coming from someone who genuinely cares for him instead of for the physical comfort of a casual hook-up. 

"No. I was just surprised is all. Usually I choose when I gag on it."

They are both silent. Ted, stunned because it is so frank, and frankly, much more sexy than he's expecting; Trent, because he is assuming Ted has misunderstood he's made a joke and is waiting for Ted to catch up.

When Ted doesn't laugh, doesn't move, Trent has Ted move back on the seat so he can crawl over him. Then Ted drops, "Nothing like scootching with your wiener out," and Trent laughs his blithe, villainous, throaty laugh and climbs over the center console to put a knee between Ted's legs.

Ted wants to melt under the action, it's so intimate and so dangerous together. Then Trent reaches under the passenger seat and moves the seat back. Ted doesn't understand why he'd do it, but when Trent leans up to hover over and kiss him, Ted doesn't understand anything but the weight of Trent's chest against his, the feel of Trent's hands, tangling in his hair, and the nip of Trent's teeth at his bottom lip.

Either of them might moan, or maybe it is both of them. Ted is clutching at the door and the back of his seat, but his heart is racing under Trent's mouth on his neck and fuck if that doesn't send Trent into a tailspin. Removing his leg from the driver's side, he lowers himself down into the passenger side floor, one foot at a time, until he is able to almost comfortably lower himself to his knees. Scratching his nails down the soft wool of Ted's jumper, he lingers, hoping to find it threadbare enough to locate Ted's nipples. Alas.

"You know, you really don't have to do that, right? Get down there. I still have room to move back."

"I am fine. Maybe you've seen me naked before." Trent smiles, with poison, "All torso." Reaching for the waist of Ted's khakis, Trent frees more skin, to kiss and nip at one hip bone, to trace his tongue along the delicate seam of Ted's thigh, to suck a small red blush into the skin above Ted's pubic hair. Then he reaches to move Ted's erect cock out of the way so he can reacquaint himself with Ted's wobbly bits. He blows a hot breath over the skin there before lapping a slow line around Ted's balls with the flat of his tongue. Ted's breath goes sharp and it's like the orchestra tuning. Trent nuzzles into Ted's scrotum and licks again, this time tracing the full length of Ted.

"Oh geeze."

When Trent pulls his cock to his bottom lip, the tease causes Ted’s vision to go white. "I know we've done this before, but it's been a while. If anything makes you uncomfortable, tell me. If I'm doing something right, tell me. I don't plan on saying anything until I could grow another you in my stomach, like a lemon tree."

Ted would fall right out of his seat if he weren’t pinned to it. "Trent."

"I'm not just a cunt, you know. I am fully capable of making you laugh. I am." Trent touches his tongue over the bellend of Ted's erect cock and lets the saliva in his mouth slide down it. 

Ted moves to answer that thought, but every circuit in his brain shorts as Trent's hand grips him, moving slow and growing slicker before Trent's mouth closes over him and all Ted can hear is Trent sigh in relief as Ted watches his shoulders relax. And then the entire world is drowned in rain and darkness and the brook might overflow and they might be carried over to the ponds or to the River Thames or maybe Trent's mouth is just so capable that Ted's entire body shudders like a man lost at sea, so overwhelmed at his touch.

Ted is fighting it. Trent can hear him gasping to breathe. So he reaches a hand to brush over Ted's, white-knuckled into the car seat. Meticulously he peels each finger away until Trent can slip his hand into Ted's and hold onto him for dear life. Ted's teeth dig into his bottom lip, and maybe he tries to look at the man who is actively trying to swallow him whole, but whenever Trent looks up, Ted's eyes are squeezed shut. So Trent removes his hand from Ted's cock and thumps him in the hip. Once. Twice.

The third time Trent thumps him, it registers. Ted can feel Trent swallow around him and the strangled, wet sound that comes from him feels too telling. Vulnerable. For generally being present and accounted for each time he has sex with a woman, admitting when anything from Trent feels good feels like losing and winning a war at the same time. But Trent does. He feels like the moment someone realizes the pain is gone. He feels like that moment someone forgets for a minute. Trent might well be morphine, and he deserves to know it, right? So why is it so hard to say it? "Goodness."

Trent reaches his free hand under Ted's many layers of shirt to brush his fingers through the furry skin there and remembers. Remembers planting his hand there. Remembers holding Ted to his body. Remembers there isn't much of this body that he hasn't traced the shadows of in dreams. He moves himself up the length of Ted to catch his breath a moment before really diving in and takes a heavy sniff to make a new memory. The smell of his mouth on Ted, paired with the heavy scent of wet earth and petrol. Trent dares to look up once more and although Ted is covering his eyes now, Trent swears he can see Ted smiling.

When Trent redoubles his efforts, Ted is helpless to do anything but hold his core so tight, to take purposeful breath after shaky breath. Until he is coiled so tight that, "I'm gonna come," comes out on top of his release instead of actually warning Trent about anything. And then every clenched cell of Ted's body is floating, carried on waves of release, Trent's mouth still fused to him, tongue working.

When he can see again, hear again, respond in the present, when Trent's mouth makes one last wet, hard suck off him, Ted sits up and uses Trent's hand in his to pull Trent off the car floor. Trent awkwardly sits back on the dashboard, breathing heavy and looking Ted, heavy-lidded from head to toe and pulls Ted's hand to his mouth, brings Ted's fingers to his tongue and digs an arm into his trousers.

When Ted sees just how hard Trent is, his breathing grows erratic. Trent has not come in front of him like this. Desperate, greedy, and emotionally naked. The sensation of his hand in Trent's mouth is good, but watching Trent take himself in hand, without actually seeing Trent take himself in hand. It's electric. It's the knowing. It's so intense it sets his heart racing. And Trent's eyes don't leave his. There are tears there. They might be from the strain of sucking Ted off, but they also might be tears of frustration or tears of relief. Ted cannot look away. He doesn't remember the last time he's felt something so radical and intimate. Trent falls forward, his eyes closing, bracing himself with a hand on the door, and Ted catches him with one hand to Trent's shoulder. Ted removes his hand from Trent's mouth to fist into his jacket so can hold Trent up with both hands. And then the turquoise pendant falls out of Trent's shirt and Ted–Ted doesn't know what he feels. There are so many things to process, but it might be more than even sexual gratification can define.

It doesn't take Trent much to come from there. He comes inside the front of his trousers with a grunt and a sigh before matter-of-factly wiping himself clean on the inside of his jacket like nothing has even happened. He tactfully tucks Ted back into his khakis and when he meets Ted's eyes, he can't tell if he's fucked up or if he's being met with hunger? So Trent shifts to hold himself over Ted to kiss him again, but then Ted says, "I–" and doesn't finish the thought, so Trent crawls back into the driver's seat trying desperately not to feel dejected.

The problem is that Ted can't make himself form any other half of those words.

I think maybe you should come home with me.
I would really like to be held.
I don't know what's going on, but that was probably the sexiest thing that has ever happened to me, and I didn't even need to see your wiener, though, now I'd kinda like to see your wiener.
I fucked up. This is an awful idea.
I needed this so badly.
I feel so lonely right now and I'm an idiot.
I think you were right about kissing.
I know that isn't going to stop me from kissing you.
I wish I were anyone else who could do this right for you.

Instead, Ted pulls himself up and then sets the seat upright. He reaches to comb his hair back. Tucks his shirt into his khakis. When they are both sitting in the dark, watching the rain melt the brook through the windshield like they're goofy on LSD, the tension is as palpable as the humidity in the car. Ted turns and rests his temple against the head rest, lets his eyes search Trent's face for direction.

"I'm really sorry. I wouldn't usually be so reckless, but you just looked…" Trent lets his words trail off, because how does he finish them without reliving their horrible day. Ted had looked numb, and yet every word out of his mouth was honey. It sat like a stone in the pit of Trent's stomach. So he sat low in his car and waited in the car park.

Ted does lean in then, and their kiss is so tender it feels like a mistake when it ends. But Ted sits back in his seat and sighs, defeated. "Yeah.

Trent starts the engine and pulls out of the park into the night. He hands Ted his umbrella before he drops Ted off in front of the Green. Before he steps out into the rain, Ted does make a point to say, "I know you're funny, Trent. I promise." 

Trent smiles then, ornery, and he nods. "Do you want my trousers? As a memento?"

Ted rolls his eyes and places his hand on the door, "I'm sure the hickey you left will serve well as a reminder, Trent." He pushes the door open and Trent has to bite back the desire to lean over and take a bite.

"Welcome back, Ted."

Chapter Text

There isn't a thought in his mind as he follows Trent to his room. There is just quiet. Where there hasn't been quiet lately.

Ted knows he should be more careful. But the team is checked in and as everyone is heading down for a nap. Ted mumbles he's going on a walk. He doesn't mention spotting the familiar salt and pepper mane turn down his hall, look at the room numbers, and immediately about face.

As Ted steps around the corner, he watches Trent disappear into a room down the hall. He moves toward that door in even, measured steps. Stops to knock quietly and very specifically ignores that he can hear familiar voices singing and thumping rhythmically on an ice box, getting clearer, closer.

When Trent opens the door, Ted doesn't even give him time to nod or say hello. He just steps inside, closes the door behind them and asks, "You got anywhere important to be right now?" Trent can barely say no before Ted's mouth is on him, stepping forward into him until they are braced against the wall, Ted's hands braced on either side of his head.

Trent can't put his fingers on it, but he will. Ted looks worn, overwhelmed, and when his kisses aren't harried and desperate, he's stalling like he isn't certain what he's doing, or where he is, until Ted finally locks in. At first Trent doesn't let himself touch Ted, holding his hands and arms to the walls, but when he hears a muffled whine come from somewhere high in Ted's throat, it's automatic that Trent's body betrays him.

Ted is so hard under his hands. Tight everywhere he touches. His straining arms and mangled fists. His sides. Even when Trent slips a hand under Ted's jumper, over his undershirt, he can feel Ted's heart clanging like a loose bolt in a high-powered engine. But it's not like when they're fucking. When he reaches a hand down Ted's outer thigh, even there, Ted is impermeable. It has to be painful.

"Ted."

Trent places a hand on Ted's jaw, the only part of him that is slack, and when Trent moves him away, "Ted. Dove." Ted fights him, tongue strong and insistent, until Trent physically has to crawl out from under him. Trent moves quickly to press Ted into the wall and watches Ted's face fall, his breaths growing wild and heavy, like he is about to hyperventilate.

"Ted. Dove. Can you hear me?"

The damn breaks–all of the voices, the darkest thoughts, demanding, debilitating and cacophonous as a gunshot. The only thing keeping him from crumpling, crumbling apart, is whatever is pressing Ted to this wall. He doesn't wail, but screws his face up, his hands painfully numb, and begins to tap his head into the wall.

Trent brushes a steady hand through Ted's soft hair before pushing his cheek into the wall so Ted doesn't have the torque left to really hurt himself. He doesn't know if its right, but for whatever reason, Ted has come to him, in obvious pain, and considered him a safe place to let whatever this is happen. So Trent is going to do whatever he can to protect Ted. He speaks low and gentle into Ted's temple, attempting to coddle Ted into coming down, into accepting that he's safe, into recognizing that though Ted might not know where he is, or what he's doing, he can know that he is with someone he can trust.

It takes long minutes for the crowd to quiet, for Ted to come back. He doesn't immediately understand what is happening, but then he is walking and then falling and then lying down on something soft and then pressed up against something–someone warm and then sleep ascends.

One text comes and then another. Trent grabs the phone from the side table and tries to quiet it, the ringer so loud and singular to Ted. The song Rock Lobster.

Bill! Is! Weird!: Coach. The team vetoed the Pillow Fight, so Movie Night it is.
You okay?

Trent curses the fact that iPhones don't come with fingerprint recognition anymore and makes a rough guess at Ted's password, trying first his birthday. No. Then after a deep, fast google on his own phone, he tries Ted's son's birthday, and the phone opens up with the quietest click. Trent reads back a few conversations, wide-eyed and utterly lost in all the American vernacular slang. Not to mention he gapes at how Beard refers to him. Apparently they just talk like that to one another all the time. So Trent girds his loins and puts his university education to good use.

Ted: All good in the hood. Ran into our Fee Fi Foe Friendt Crimm and lost track of time. Y'all start without me. I might tuck in early. I coulda used that nap after all.

Bill! Is! Weird!: Heard. Be careful with that one. Good night, Coach.

Trent texts his number from Ted's phone, leaving out his contact information so no one is accidentally ever notified that they're in communication, places the phone back down on the side table, and lays back into Ted, who doesn't stir.

When Ted jolts awake, the last sliver of sun is gone. He is in a strange bed, wrapped around a strange body. No. A familiar body?

"Ted! Ted. Dove. You've had a panic attack. You're safe. We're in my hotel room."

Ted's tongue is thick and doesn't immediately work. He makes a quick inventory. He's fully clothed, but his shoes are gone. He doesn't have his phone or his wallet on him. Trent flips on a small lamp and he is momentarily discombobulated by the bright light. He sits upright in the bed as Trent joins him, knees curled into his.

"I'm–I'm sorry." The sensation of feeling so out of control is overwhelming to the point of Ted placing his head in his hands. Trent strokes a gentle hand down his back and up into his hair. It is a comfort, but the uneasy questions come faster than he can ask them.

"Slow down, love. Here, it's just paracetamol. I imagine you hurt everywhere. I'd give you something to relax you if I had one, but I haven't needed Xanax since the divorce."

Ted takes the two small pills and water and doesn't stop drinking until he's cleared the full glass. At least it feels like Ted is not a rock anymore. Trent keeps scritching into the back of Ted's hair hoping for more signs of life.

"The match is still tomorrow. It isn't very late. You could probably still make the end of Movie Night if you choose, though I don't think you should in this state. Beard texted you, and I won't tell you how harrowing that experience was, but I think I faked you well enough."

It takes Ted a long moment to digest all of that, stuck on the feeling of Trent's light nails tickling his scalp. His breathing slowly returns to normal and he bends his neck back, pushing into Trent's fingers. The pressure increases and Ted lets out a broken sigh. "I'm seeing someone."

Ted isn't sure he means to say it. But now that he has, it feels better, sort of. To say it out loud to someone.

Trent's heart trips. They're casual. They're casual and casual things tend to end more than they don't. He should be prepared for this, but the utter disappointment leaves him stricken. Gutted. Hollow. And given first impressions, Ted doesn't seem better off for leaving it behind? Not as he's wan and worn here in Trent's arms. Surely it shouldn't feel like this. It is casual. Was casual? Casual. Casual? Trent thinks the word until it doesn't mean anything anymore, puts a hand on Ted's forearm, stroking his thumb over the soft hair there. Begs to know why telling him has turned Ted inside out like this, but all that comes out is, "Is she lovely?"

"Well. I think maybe? It's still early." Ted tries to collect himself. Really look at his surroundings. The sheets are starched and the comforter is scratchy. The air conditioner is ruckus. His wallet and phone are on the side table, so his shoes must be on the floor. Trent's hand in his hair slows, falls down his back, falls away, though Trent's hand remains stroking his arm.

"Maybe? Is she kind?" Trent is horrified. What kind of answer is 'maybe,' and why is his response to lower the bar? Surely, Ted must know he deserves someone who is equally as lovely and kind, who won't send him into panic…not like this, but the light kind of panic that comes with self-reflection and a tidying of the wardrobe.

Trent's response to be so gentle feels unexpected, but Ted understands. No one really expects to open the door to someone half out of their body in the middle of a panic attack. Trent's kid gloves are real sweet though. "She's actually kinda grumpy, like you are. But I've got the corner on tough cookies." Ted would wink, but he never could, so he hopes his tone isn't still groggy like the rest of him. Then he turns to watch Trent's face as he processes the information and Trent is crestfallen? Confused? Ted repeats to himself everything he's said and his jaw falls open. Oh boy. Ted has really biffed it.

Trent fights to say it with some couth, letting a snide smile slip across his face, "Does she know about me and our third party?"

Ted would like to laugh, but it seems like a real asshole move, given the way Trent is actively avoiding looking Ted in the eye. Ted tries bonking Trent gently on the head with his forehead. "Oh. Trent. No. She's my new therapist. I'm seeing a therapist."

The air is let out of the man like a popped balloon, "Bloody hell, Ted." Trent's head falls into his shoulder and Ted does let himself chuckle then. Small. He feels Trent's hand slowly trail up his back, so he must not have messed up entirely.

"I mean, she does, but not specifics."

That gets Trent's attention as he raises his head and his brows disappear beneath a charming case of bedhead. "What does she say about that?" He must think better of it pretty quickly, "No. Don't tell me," but Ted, as usual, already has his big mouth open.

"She says to have fun, to mind my sexual health, and to take care with my heart."

Trent instantly feels relief and guilt. He has heeded the first two, but the last bit is clearly beyond him. Nevertheless, "Wise words."

"I thought so." Ted wants to smooth away the worry lines between Trent's brows, around his eyes, but he isn't sure how. So he leans over and presses his mouth into the fragile skin above Trent's cheek. When he feels Trent turn his head and raise his chin, Ted redirects to press a kiss into the center of Trent's worried brows, and Trent relaxes into it without protest. Ted speaks into their contact, "I'm real sorry about bringing my baggage in with me."

Trent reaches around Ted's back to hold him. More to reassure Ted–though, no. Trent needs to hold Ted. He won't take advantage, but it was unnerving, to watch Ted be taken over by his anxiety. "I won't lie about being frightened, but I had a great number of panic attacks in my previous life. So. I do appreciate that you trusted me." He digs his hand into Ted's arm and wills Ted to give him that last flint of connection, but Ted moves away.

"I guess I figured if we're keeping one big secret, what's another little one." Ted sounds so dismissive so quickly Trent is struck with whiplash.

"You certainly are taking 'off-record' for granted."

Ted hears the frustration in Trent's voice and averts his eyes, pretends to look for his shoes like it is nothing. The line between casual sex and an affair feels as thin as that fancy edible paper on Chinese candy. He can't. He just can't. So he'll be flippant and Trent will see his line and they will maintain this thing or they won't, but it is true now. Trent is too close to the line and Ted has been begging him to cross it and to stay away all at once. He has to stop, so Ted plants a foot on his side of the line. "Look. I don't have a lot of vices. Just scotch and gambling with my ding-a-lling."

Ted slips into his shoes and grabs his things from the night stands and pockets them. Stands declaratively, looking into the wall behind Trent, "I should go," and then makes the mistake of looking into the razor-sharp concern in Trent's eyes, and if that doesn't just make his entire body feel like jello.

"I don't want you to, but I understand."

"I'm sorry, Trent."

Ted leans down and kisses him once like it doesn't matter. Again like it does. And a third time like God is coming for them all, waiting just behind the hotel room door. Like good-bye. Ted's tongue tastes like sleep and Trent reaches a gentle hand to brush his thumb along Ted's bottom lip. When Ted moves away, Trent is certain this was too much. That this will likely be the last of their meetings. So he tries to say good bye the best he can without sounding like it's the end.

"There's nothing to be sorry about, Ted."

It strikes Ted then, looking at Trent sleep disheveled and moon-eyed, his sleeves cock-eyed and one leg of his trousers hiked up around his soft calf. This is how Trent might look if they ever woke up together. "You are real pretty when you wake up." It slips out, Ted still too tired to keep everything in, and the flush that takes Trent over, well, that's just as pretty a follow up. He has to get out of here.

"You don't have to say that."

They hold one another's stare like it will stop their worlds from spinning, but the night is set in motion and Ted needs rest and Trent needs to touch himself and call his ex-wife to remind him that he is an arsehole and not a kitten.

"Doesn't make it any less true." Ted passes his lips briefly over Trent's one last time and moves to look out the door's peep hole. When the coast is clear, he turns back, nods, and says, "Good night, Trent."

Trent's voice is strangled as he says it, "Good bye, Ted," and then he turns off the lamp light, lays back still in his clothes, and spends the night staring at the various sources of light flutter across his hotel room ceiling, aware he is maybe more worried and heartbroken than he is a selfish cunt?

Chapter Text

Locked in a stare-off, Trent holds his hotel door closed and tries to control his reaction as Ted is standing in front of him, bare foot, hair disheveled, and the thinnest pair of gray joggers he's ever seen in his life. He knows the lore, but to see it face to face, Trent has to fight every urge to whisper, "Slag."

Trent is a feathered cuff away from cruise wear. Give him a large straw hat and a glass with a sugared rim, and Trent's silk pajamas would look right at home flirting with the captain of a very, very large boat. And then the precarious shoulder and odd button fall away and reveal a significant swath of honey-golden clavicle and Ted wonders if Trent's skin is as warm as it looks.

Neither of them quite know what to say.

Ted reaches up to paw at his mustache, and Trent wonders what it would feel like, to have that dusted across his skin. His experience with that bristly bit of Ted limited to the long lines of his face. "I. I don't have long."

"Don't have long?"

Ted huffs out a chuckle. "One of the penalties of relegation has been roommates."

Concerned, Trent's voice changes. "So someone knows you've gone missing?" Ted knows he's taken a real foolish chance here, but…well. It seemed possible.

"No. He's got a deviated septum. He's sawing logs like he's gotta build a cabin before winter comes. I waited until I was sure he was out."

"Beard?"

"No."

"Ted." Trent tips his head to the side and lets his expression fall dark. "Someone who is not your best friend and thus not likely your secret keeper slept through you leaving your hotel room to come here to what exactly?"

"I don't know. I can't sleep. I saw you in the press box and was plagued with two problems."

"Two problems?"

"The need to apologize for last time and the desire for this to be resolved." Ted motions down to the vivid outline of his prick, half stiff and growing, and Trent's eyes go wide. "Turns out I see you across a room now and I have to linger until I can reason my way out of embarrassment anymore. Heck, I don't think you should know what happens when I hear your voice at random. And, y'know." Ted drops his head in what looks to be shame as he motions to Trent's whole person.

"I'm warm." Trent crosses his arms and his own cock reacts, as smug as he feels. The smirk isn't so much a smirk as it is Trent biting back the smile of relief. "And I told you, you don't have to apologize for anything. I was happy to be there when you needed me."

The tension stretches in their continued silence; Ted waiting for Trent to come to him, Trent waiting for Ted to do anything that would indicate this was more than talk.

"Anyway, I don't have long."

"I can think of a number of things that don't take long." Ted is so painfully undone by the curl in Trent's voice, but Trent isn't moving from his spot, holding up the door. Ted sticks a toe in the carpet and rolls a knuckle around, deep in thought. He isn't quite certain what to do for a moment.

When he turns on the ball of his foot and pulls off his shirt, walking toward the bed, Trent digs a fingernail into his arm to keep from moving. And then Ted makes a brief tugging motion and peels out of those thin joggers without missing a step, like they were never an obstruction, and Trent is suddenly aching everywhere. Then he hears the snap of the lid of lube from across the room and he cannot believe how his body betrays him. "Shit," he whispers to himself, defeated, and pushes himself off the door with his backside.

Ted has a warm, liquid hand on himself when Trent steps into the room, "Are you joining me?"

"Am I?" Trent steps backward to hold up the wall, his arms still crossed, still pinching himself, his cock not having wavered an nth. Ted Lasso is naked, posed with himself in hand, and just beyond his grip, Trent notices a small hickey on Ted's hip.

"Double-dipping, I see. How long ago did she give you that?"

Ted circles his head and sighs from the relief of touching himself. "Gimme what?"

Trent fights a grin and points in some vague direction that he knows is well beyond Ted's attention now. "Well, there on your hip. It's purple. It's mouth-shaped. So one, two days?"

Ted smiles. He isn't a fan of comparisons, but he does find himself a little tickled by this show of jealousy. "Do you really wanna know?"

Trent sticks his chin out and adjusts his hips on the wall. "Maybe you've had your fill."

"Trent, I don't know if it has occurred to you that I might be here because maybe I haven't." It's a startling statement that spreads yearning like fire to Trent's every limb. Still. Ted makes no move to cross the room. Trent is looking him in the eye, begging the man to close the space between them, and Ted is slowly killing him from all the way over there. He refuses to let Ted get away with it this time. There either has to be compromise or consequence.

Trent's eyes grow defiant and Ted's touch grows confident, ready, for whatever Trent is about to do.

"Do you ever think about touching me?" Trent's voice is dark, quiet, sharp. He almost sounds resigned, but Ted doesn't have space to think of the right word alongside processing everything else. The cold of the room. The slick of his hand. The strain of his stomach. Trent, so far away.

Ted protests, "I touch y–"

"You don't. You kiss me. You think I'm warm. You don't touch me." All of the outer distractions come to an abrupt halt as Ted's ears burn, instantly hot and his heart bolts like at the crack of a starter pistol, racing.

Ted grunts, in frustration, though more at being caught. He moves to take his hand away and Trent shakes his head no. "Trent, of course I do."

"Do you touch our third party?" Trent's voice is dipped in ink, and this feels dangerous, to spell it out. There is a longing to his skin. A yearning to be touched. Anywhere. Everywhere. Wanting aside because it has to be, there is no reason that Trent shouldn't say as much. So let Ted touch himself. Trent will sit on his hands and he can hear this.

"Now let's not bring her into–"

"Do you caress her skin?" Trent asks each question slowly, purposefully. "Do you brush her hair out of her face?" Trent watches as Ted's jaw falls, as his cock hardens, as Ted wraps his palm around himself again and once more to get the correct torsion as his fist moves with more intention. "Do you hold her hips close to you as you rock into her?" There is a flicker across Ted's face that asks a hundred questions at once and Trent tries for the acknowledgement once more, "Do you suckle her breasts?"

Ted flinches, but it is quickly gone slack again. "Oh. That word–"

"Do you use a slow and steady pressure when you touch her clitoris?" Trent wonders as the tension on Ted's brow returns, the rhythm of Ted's hips and his hand syncing, the head of Ted's turgid prick growing red and worried. "Do you let your tongue linger in her cunt when she's coming?" The gruff sound Ted makes. Fuck. Trent refuses to touch himself. No matter how hard he's grown. He lets the sound of Ted's skin slapping his own skin linger in the air. "When you come on her, do you clean her?"

Ted closes his eyes and smiles, so frustratingly close, and answers, his voice sweet and broken, "Well, it's only gentlemanly–"

And just when Trent thinks Ted's face is flushed and his skin hot and fevered, Ted's face screwing up in that glorious way that means he can only process touch and Trent, he purrs, "Do you ever think about touching me?"

"I–" Ted's hand flies off his cock as he starts, coming in an arc into the center of the room. By his own hand. With only the touch of Trent's voice to the hairs in his ears.

Trent watches as Ted tries to collect himself. One hand fumbling, the other holding him upright against the desk, realizing he's made a mess of the floor, still cold and naked and standing across the room unkissed, untouched.

Ted's breathing eases as he looks Trent in the eye. Trent is still sitting on his hands. His pjs are tented. His skin is still exposed at the neck. He looks. Well. Still a little like a diva, but thin-lipped and resolute, and ready to pitch a fit for someone so seemingly in control.

The truth is that Ted thinks about touching Trent a lot. It does gnaw somewhere deep in his craw that he hasn't been reciprocal…that he would like to be reciprocal–he's a reciprocal fella by nature. But he isn't sure what that means. If Trent is just fucking him, it means Ted is having casual, no strings sex. But if Ted uses his hands, it means he has intentions, even if that isn't really what that means, it is actually really what that means. It means, even if it's unintentional, there are strings, because Ted does not exist without strings. And if they get strung up, what then? Ted just needs a moment to think.

Standing up and stepping over the mess he's made, Ted moves to kiss Trent, but Trent avoids his mouth, not letting Ted kiss him.

"Good game today, Coach. You'd better get back to your room before you're found out."

"Trent," Ted pleads, knowing it's useless. Trent's voice has gone cold.

"Good bye, Ted."

Ted leans over and steps right back into his pjs where they're crumpled on the floor. Pulls his tee-shirt up and over his head. Feels for his key. Stops in the bathroom to wash his hands and pass a wet towel over himself.

When he tips his chin up to look himself in the mirror, Ted can see Trent cursing and fisting himself in a sliver of mirror. The concoction of guilt and arousal is dizzying. Trent does look up once, his eyes black and stormy, frustrated and wet at the corners, and he quickly turns away.

Trent is nowhere near finishing when he hears the hotel room door click behind him, and it removes him from the finish line just that much further. He's so bloody jealous and embarrassed he couldn't keep his fucking mouth shut.

Chapter Text

When Ted steps out of the pub, they catch eyes. They do not exchange words. Ted's pause is almost imperceptible, and Trent would not fault him for it if he just moved on or shook his head no.

Ted turns his head in question before he makes the slightest nod to have Trent follow him. The exchange is wordless and sets his heart skittering, but it is a swift upswing from the end of their brief exchange inside.

Trent lets Ted turn the corner before he steps off the wall of the Crown & Anchor. He keeps his hands in his back pockets. Ted is brushing his hair out of his face and Trent stumbles over a cobble and catches himself, taking a number of quick half-steps to reset his balance.

Trent catches up to him just as Ted unlocks his front door and looks up to Beard's. There is no sign of anyone on the street. No lights flickering from any windows. So Ted scoops Trent up by his elbow and hauls him into the building.

Ted's hand is covering his mouth before Trent touches the wall. As he closes and locks the door, Ted leans in to whisper hot into his ear, "Shhh." His breath smells like something dark and sweet in that burning way hard alcohol is cloying. Every sense in Trent's body vacillates from a broad sense of everything that is him to a thin, buzzing membrane of Ted, over him. Looming tall. Hand warm and decided. And Trent comes singularly online, overwhelmed with the weight of Ted's skin, touching his.

Ted motions to Mrs. Shipley's upstairs and puts a finger to his lips. Even in the mottled light through the door window, he can see Trent's lashes fall heavy as he nods in some kind of understanding. Ted can feel Trent's breathing begin to labor against his palm, feels Trent's jaw go slack. Trent is letting himself be so vulnerable here and Ted knows it is dangerous to reward, but it seems such a small action, in exchange for a small pleasure. He can do this. So Ted slowly lets his hand fall from Trent's mouth to rest on his neck, Ted's hand holding Trent's jaw still.

When Ted leans in to trace one lip with his tongue, even his breath tastes sweet. And it does burn. Everywhere Ted touches. His hand on Trent's neck. His tongue on Trent's lips. Trent can give himself over to become a coal. Let him burn. Trent would reach up to capture Ted's mouth with his, but Ted's hand remains heavy on his neck, though his thumb slides from Trent's jaw to touch at his jugular.

He should know. If this is the only time Ted is ever going to touch him. He should know how Trent's heart burns, stutters, trips and makes half-steps, trying to catch up.

Ted's hand gets greedy then. The pads of his fingers tuck into the pliant skin of Trent's neck as he slides his tongue over Trent's tongue and kisses the man like lightning licking across the sky. And it's not enough. Ted's free hand is equally rapacious, finding his way through the folds of Trent's blazer to the thin cotton of Trent's tee-shirt. And the gasp Trent lets out against his mouth is just loud enough that Mrs. Shipley's light comes on.

When Ted's hand closes over his mouth again and his arm circles Trent's waist, Trent lets his ankles go loose and moves to the balls of his feet. He will follow Ted, walk in front of Ted, let Ted toss him out a window, fuck, he will dance with Ted if that's what's happening. Trent will never make another sound so long as Ted's hands are on him. If Trent drank anything at the pub, he is only drunk on the weightlessness as Ted bodily moves him down a long hall, and pauses only long enough to close and lock another door, then move on.

Halfway down the stairs, Ted presses Trent against the wall with his body, placing a knee between Trent's legs to keep him off his feet, and finally lets himself feel Trent's hands roving his body, feel the way both of them are shockingly hard, feel how desperately they both want this. When his hand on Trent's mouth goes slack, Trent bites into the flesh between Ted's thumb and forefinger and scrapes his teeth there before tracing a wet tongue over the worried skin. Trent's hands along his sides are insistent as they raise his shirts. He has to remove his hand to undress.

The movement is quick as Trent throws Ted's shirts wherever, shirks his blazer off. And for the first time, Ted's fingers brush the plush line of his slim waist, pulling Trent's tee-shirt free. Trent raises his arms and closes his eyes. He cannot make a sound. Refuses to make a sound as he feels Ted's knuckles, his fingertips trace lines of fire up and up and up his arms, rocking his hips once, twice along Ted's thigh, the pleasure of it all-consuming. When his hands are free, he quickly returns to his belt to find Ted's hands already there, sliding the leather and buckle aside. And then they stop. Observe their precarious surroundings.

Trent's snort is cut short as Ted tosses him over his shoulder, runs down the stairs, and throws him on the bed. Ted is stumbling out of his khakis as he makes his way to his dresser. When he makes it into the top drawer, he only means to grab one condom, but a spray of them fly across the room in his hurry, so he grabs his bottle of lube and turns around. Trent is lying naked, leg frozen in the air with his trousers hanging from his foot, with both of his hands clamped across his face.

Trent will not make a sound. Not even to laugh. Not once to laugh. Not even when Ted trips over his own pants and ends up ass in the air, sprawled across the carpet. Until Ted laughs. Trent turns himself over and crawls to the foot of the bed, not only to see Ted sprawled across the floor, but to see the small foil packets scattered here and there. There are two kinds. One must be Ted's preferred brand and size. But the other rockets Trent into another orbit entirely.

Surely Ted must think of him outside of their rendezvous. Must think of the weight of his hands. The strength of his mouth. The rhythm of his hips. And this must be evidence of it. Otherwise, why would the tried and true rubbers he has come to carry on every away excursion be assembled here on Ted's carpet. Trent cannot tell if he wants to shake the truth from Ted like a rattle or if he wants to let himself build a library of stories to tell himself on the dark, lonely nights that are not right now.

Two pillows fall on Ted with a thump and a cool brush of air over his bare skin before Trent ambles off the bed and prowls across the floor. Ted feels fairly sober, but the way Trent moves toward him makes him wonder if Trent is actually moving that slow or if Ted is stuck somewhere in slow motion, if he's jolted himself out of time in his fall. And then the turquoise pendant falls from Trent's shoulder to hang loose around his neck, glinting in the combination of street light and moonlight that keeps Ted awake at night if he doesn't draw his black out curtains.

If he could, he would take that pendant and rip it from Trent's neck and throw it into something holy to burn it. Ted is always looking for a peek of the chain in the press room. Only lets his eyes wander from Trent's knowing glare to look for its outline under Trent's thin shirts. When Trent crawls alongside him, Ted reaches for the man and tumbles their bodies together until Ted is straddling Trent underneath.

The weight of Trent under his thighs feels startling in how no different he feels than any other body he has made himself a fortress over. Only, when Trent's hands reach up the back of his thighs, they are strong the right amount and reach further to secret a fingertip across the one spot no one else ever dares, and that's different. Ted doesn't know if it's better. Won't let himself think too hard about that.

Ted sits back into his hands before tucking himself down into Trent's neck. When Ted's fingers curl into his hair, Trent lets his eyes fall closed. Then Ted's mouth finds his neck and every touch of his hands, of the tip of Ted's nose in his ear, sends a siren running through his veins. Ted sweeps the chain across his neck into his mouth with his tongue and Trent curses. Maybe he's fucked up. Unleashed the devil. Maybe Ted hit his head. It's overwhelming and Trent doesn't want to become emotional about it, but Ted backs into his fingertip and gasps so filthy that nothing is wrong and everything is wrong the same.

Nothing is wrong and everything is wrong the same. Because it has to be. The weight of Ted over him is delicious. Ted's hard cock finding purchase over the plane of his belly. Ted's teeth scraping along his jaw. The fingers that find one of his nipples and causes him to shiver from head to toe. It has to be wrong because why hasn't Ted been touching him like this the entire time?

Ted stretches an absent hand around them for the bottle of lube and sits up, reaching behind him for Trent's hand. He pours lube in Trent's hand and massages the liquid into Trent's fingers. He lifts Trent's wrist to his mouth and presses an open-mouthed kiss to the knob on Trent's wrist and watches as the hairs on Trent's arms rise, blue in the low light. He wants to tell Trent about how good and reactive he is. How every shuddered breath, every suppressed mewl makes everything below his waist throb with wanting. But this is where he draws the line in this stretching of their boundaries.

Instead, Ted releases Trent's hand, bends back over him, and fuses their mouths together. Asks Trent, "Please," over his tongue. When Trent's hand finds him, Ted slowly rocks backward on his knees, and then he feels Trent's dick, hot and straining, their flesh finding a mutual friction.

Trent clears his throat and reaches into the hair at Ted's belly. Pinches whatever he can between knuckles. Allows Ted to ride him until his wrist hurts, because he is so lovely–red and strained in the neck, breathing in sync with the movement of his body, until Trent is half lost in whatever glitter is painted into the ceiling here, trying to keep himself from letting go.

Trent reaches to Ted's hand beside his head, "Dove?" and Ted startles out of his rhythm, closes his eyes, and lifts himself up and away. Trent reaches for a foil packet and rolls the rubber on. When Ted drizzles the lube along him, the cold of it barely registers. When Ted reaches down to smooth it over him though, the sound that rips from Trent's chest and spreads a rainbow of color across his vision is raw and ragged and draws Ted's eyes to his, black in this light. Only confirming that Trent has, in fact, summoned the devil from Ted Lasso.

When he is ready, Trent holds himself up with one hand and guides Ted's hips with the other. The contact is slow and tentative and as he lowers himself, Ted blows one long, deep breath from his lungs. He lets his head fall back as he relaxes onto Trent's hard length.

As he moves up and down, everything is London fog on a strange, new morning. Ted holds onto Trent's hand on his hip and rocks, circles, trying to draw another lovely sound from Trent. But then he leans over and immediately loses contact. They curse sharply in dissonance.

Trent is quick to move himself back into place, trying to move his hips so he doesn't lose Ted when Ted moves to lean over him again. But to no avail. So Trent reaches up, strokes his knuckles along Ted's cheek, and sits up, off the carpet. He makes certain to be gentle as he lays Ted beneath him, on his stomach. Places both pillows under Ted's hips. Reaches down to the crook behind Ted's knees and spiders his fingertips up along the sensitive skin there. Leans over to nip at the small of Ted's back. Scrapes gentle fingernails across the soft skin of Ted's ass. Asks again, "Dove?"

"Please."

The deeper he moves, the stronger he strokes, the tighter Ted's ankles grow around his knees. When Trent finds his rhythm, he reaches his hands across the taught, broad line of Ted's shoulders and says quietly, "Relax for me, love."

It takes him a moment to consciously let loose, but Ted starts with everything touching the carpet, his toes, his cheek, and moves consciously upward until he feels his hips relinquish their tightness and Trent slides deeper still. Then pleasure rushes his joints, his ear drums, flooding Ted's entire body with an undulating heat like a tidal wave. "There we go." Trent's gravel voice floats between his ears as his climax begins to stir like an underwater volcano.

Trent tries very hard to linger, to let his breaths, his strokes grow long and deep and not lazy, but lingering. Here, tucked into Ted's body, warm and welcoming, it might as well be sunlight surrounding them. Trent tucks his hands into the crook of Ted's hips. Lets his hands reach down between Ted's legs to stroke his cock, turgid and catching friction from the pillows there. Reaches down to stroke along the bottoms of Ted's feet. Hears Ted grunt in that way that Trent has come to associate with Ted trying to hold himself back. Hears Ted grunt in that way that causes Trent to stumble out of rhythm a moment before collecting himself. Hears Ted grunt in that way that makes the world start to spin. And then Ted starts pulsing around him, coming around him. And Trent's breaths grow quickly out of sync with the rest of his body as the heat rises from his toes until he is spilling hot and tidy into Ted. "Yes, Dove," he hisses, coming, the pressure around his ears uncoiling.

When they've both come, Trent slides out excruciatingly slow, and holds Ted's hips to his as he removes the pillows there. He places one on the floor and lays down, pulling Ted's body onto his. Ted comes willingly and takes the second pillow. He doesn't move away from Trent immediately, but he does not let himself look at Trent right away. There's no way he can look at Trent right now and not feel utterly in love. That's how the chemicals work, right? Ted shuts his eyes as tight as he can, still leaning back into Trent's heat. When Trent puts an arm across his stomach, Ted reaches down and pulls the condom off and throws it across the floor into the small trash can beside his vanity. He feels Trent's nose dig into the back of his ear and Ted squeezes his eyes shut tighter still.

Still. Still. Reciprocation. In its simplest form. "Thank you," Ted reaches his hand over Trent's arm and squeezes.

"Don't be so quick to thank me. I gave you the pillow you came on."

Ted plucks a few hairs mightily from Trent's arm. "I liked it better when we weren't talking. We couldn't mess it up then."

Trent kisses the back of his neck so softly Ted can't hold back the way he sighs. Saying into his skin, "You couldn't. But I will take that as my signal to leave," Trent reaches up to squeeze at a peck.

Ted wants to argue. Wants to cry. Wants to pitch a tent for them right here on the floor. If he can't have Trent in this room, his room, as long and loud and freely as he wants him, what is the point of all this? But Trent is right. It is for the best. And they haven't ripped one another to shreds yet. It might be the only way they get out of this night alive. Ted doesn't say anything. He just takes Trent's hand from his chest and kisses his knuckles before letting him get up.

"Thank you for inviting me into your lovely home. I'll make certain no one sees me on my way out."

Ted throws the pillow under his head at Trent's bare ass and laughs, in spite of the loneliness suddenly overwhelming him.

Chapter Text

"I was wondering how you'd survived. I woke up the next morning rough as toast. You appeared collected at the Man. City…Game. Nathan Shelley. Hello."

Standing in front of the open door of this random hotel room where no one in their right mind should be staying, ever, is one of Richmond's Assistant Coaches, Nathan Shelley. When he'd received another hotel card with another room number in another press packet, he'd assumed he'd just have to talk Ted down again, but as it turns out, Trent is going to have to set himself on fire.

Chapter Text

It's animal, this undercurrent of rage and pain and fear and hunger and betrayal and need and greed and...well, maybe not animal. Or at least the biggest animal that is also the most destructive. Ted is cracked in the ribs, the world gnawing away at him like a chewing toy. And he's been working to address it a little at a time. But he's standing here with Trent begging under him for forgiveness Ted doesn't think he needs. His plan was to deny them both, to wash his hands and walk away, but Ted's generosity betrays him and allows him to shove Trent into the wall and spit down into Trent's open mouth before he can get out, "Don't even think about it."

The weeks have been a hell. Henry is due on a plane any day now and the press are parked outside of his flat when they're not hounding him at work. And Ted is angry. Angry for both of them. Angry at all three of them. Angry that he's allowed things to get this far. Angry that his pleasure was so selfish. Angry that when he doesn't see Trent in the Press Room, when he sees Trent in the car park, doesn't see Trent's picture in The Independent anymore–no. Ted is angry that this man was kind enough to do whatever he could to protect them both and also angry that couldn't be enough.

Dr. Sharon would be proud. Sort of.

Ted's mouth on his is animal. Mindless. Angered. Desperate. Trent hears him take a harsh breath and feels Ted's saliva spray hot over his cheeks. Trent lets his head be knocked back into the wall as Ted follows the jarring action, licking deep into his mouth. The desperation is familiar. The desperation is driving his hands fisted in Ted's shirt, driving the swelling of his cock, driving him to tear the metal buckle of Ted's khakis apart, the sharp clanging the only sound that isn't them.

Trent was certain Ted was going to hoist him out the front door of his own home, or worse, force him to beg. He would beg. He will beg. From now until eternity. In the end, Ted said nothing. Just listened to Trent say all the things he needed to say in that open car park but couldn't, because Coach bloody Beard was standing behind them the entire bloody time and fuck only knew what he was and was not aware of.

This is an answer. The mustache burn. The teeth, biting sharp into his bottom lip. Letting Trent paw at his trousers until they fall. Letting Trent sink his fingernails into Ted's ass to bring their hardness into a painful press between them.

Trent rips his mouth away, sinking along the wall and Ted needs to gnaw on the wallpaper. On the plaster. On something. With his back teeth. So he grinds down on them and locks his jaw,  putting his hands over his head and letting his forehead rest against the wall.

Everything is white hot. The bubbling emotions stirring low in his body. Trent, looking plaintive, pleading up to him under a wisp of black lashes. The feel of Trent's hands, soothing his boxers down his body. The catch of the elastic on his dick. And then Trent's hands and then Trent's mouth and then Trent's nose in his public hair and Trent's skin and Trent's tongue and especially Trent swallowing around him. White hot, until Ted cannot lid the emotions bubbling low in his body. His hips hitch back involuntarily and Trent is touching him somewhere just right that he bucks into Trent's mouth.

Ted's gasp. Ted's gasp is afraid like it might be too much, like he might be hurting someone. Hurting Trent. Ted pulls out and Trent wants to follow it.

"Fuck me." Trent breathes out a two-pitched sound like a ghost.

"Oh god, Trent. I'm so sorry." Ted begs, ashamed of his body's pertinence.

Trent clears his throat and it is clear as crystal. "No, Ted. Fuck me."

And that permission is all it takes to break Ted clean in half. Trent's hands settle on the swell of his calves and stroke up and Ted reaches down to hold the base of his dick still and enters Trent's mouth timidly. Until Trent slaps his hand away and makes a pulling motion to the backs of Ted's knees. Fuck me. Ted feels the words burn through him from white hot to blue. No, Ted. Fuck me. And his reluctant hips, his clenched core, his burning lungs give way to the hot, slick pleasure swallowing him whole.

It is agonizing, the way Ted is breathing above him, holding and spitting. The sound of birthing something into creation. But every thrust of Ted's cock into his mouth, the burn into his throat, the bruising into the roof of his mouth, the sharp stretch of his lips, Trent is begging Please and More and Yes and Everything. Saliva foams up into his nose and tears form and fall from his eyes and Trent is begging Please and More and Yes and Never Stop. Ted comes and there is too much happening at once and Trent is choking and spattering around him, but Trent is begging Please and More and Yes and Don't Go.

When the bubbling in him stills, when it has boiled over, Ted rests his hips away and catches the shining wetness streaking from Trent's cheeks in the hall light.

It is fortunate that Ted's knees have given away. He falls quietly to them and brings his hands to Trent's cheeks, turning Trent faceward. Ted is angry that this extraordinary man was kind enough to do whatever he could to protect them both and also angry that couldn't be enough.

His salt and pepper hair in disarray, a mess of tears and seed and saliva and something resembling sadness, Ted thinks he might very well be looking into the dark, plaintive eyes of an angel.

Trent lets Ted brush the hair sticking to his face, touch away the tears from his cheeks. Closes his eyes when Ted brushes their lips together sweetly. Feels Ted linger a thumb at the corners of his mouth. He is worn and Ted is so gentle, he's so hard and Ted is so gentle. He's so foolishly fond and Ted is so gentle. Trent falls forward into Ted's neck and doesn't really register what's going on until Ted's hand is hot and slick on his cock.

Trent cries into him, "Ted," startled, but he doesn't move from the crook of his neck. So Ted digs one hand into Trent's curls to support his neck and uses the other to thumb into the slit at the head of Trent's cock. It's not so difficult, it turns out. Trent's body feels as familiar as his own, but downright lush. Trent's breathing quickens and he makes a soft sound like a whimper is trapped in his throat and Ted slides his hand down, turns his head to kiss into Trent's ear. Trent is hot and hard in his hand. Ted can do this. Trent's entire body shivers and Ted lets his hand fully encircle Trent. 

It's natural, to touch him. To listen to the sounds of his surprise and his pleasure. And it forces Ted out of his head, to follow the encouragement, the sweetness of Trent until his body rewards Ted with a sharp gasp and a sigh, into a full-bodied release, hot, liquid and warm on his skin. Ted is reluctant to let it go. Then, Trent is kissing him.

When Ted returns his kisses now, they are transformed. Loose. Tender. Like a pool of cool water in the middle of a desert.

Ted moves to join Trent on the wall, pulling his pants up as not to track his ass over Trent's clean floor, and they melt sideways into one another, wordless, catching their breath.

Staring into the hall light, his head heavy with thought, Ted lets the filament burn his vision. "I want you to know I heard how silly this sounds in my head, but I still gotta say it. I don't understand why anyone would want to turn anything we've done together into something that would hurt either of us."

Trent holds his breath a while and tries to let his mind clear. He's already spent a lifetime thinking about this in one form or another. He should break the tension. Keep this back and forth as light as possible. "It doesn't sound silly at all, love. Say I make random offers to help folks stimulate their prostates more? I think it could do a world of good."

Ted pauses, almost affronted that Trent would offer himself to anyone else, and then closes that thought up in a box with a neat bow to unpack with Dr. Sharon some time. "Naw. I think they've just gotta figure it out for themselves."

Trent digs a knuckle into Ted's side and says with a smirk, "Shame. It worked so well the first time." Ted wiggles under his touch and then turns to him, a literal cherub. Sweetheart face. Dimples. Pink-cheeked. Trent hooks his arm through Ted's and steals a snog before resting his head back on the wall. "I know we can't, but I wish you'd stay."

Ted is quiet so long, Trent almost wonders if he's fallen asleep. He busies himself with brushing all the hair on Ted's arms in the same direction and listens to Ted's even breathing.

It is dangerous. Letting himself feel things. All this parsing emotions and processing trauma has left Ted raw and suggestible. Naturally, only suggestible to things that Ted maybe actually wants, but leaves him more willing to say yes, and?

But there are the press outside his flat. Henry is on his way to spend the summer. Ted is in too fragile a head space to make real life-changing decisions. And then there is the fact that they could never just be together without the entire world imploding.

"Y'know? I wish I could, too. But if wishes were fishes, we'd all swim in riches."

Trent rolls his eyes, but cups Ted's cheek in his hand and says as true as anything, "I don't think I'll ever grow tired of you, Ted Lasso."

A small light between them flickers.

Ted doesn't mean for it to sound so defeated when it comes out, but it does just the same. "Aw. You're wrong though. And the alternate isn't possible."

"What's that?"

Ted smiles a half-hearted thing, reaches to gently remove Trent's hand from his face, and oafishly rises to his feet. "I'll let you figure it out for yourself. Do you mind if I use your bathroom to wash up?" He really does speak in riddles. Trent watches as Ted tucks himself back in his pants and is immediately scrambling for any excuse to keep him here.

"If you give me about fifteen more minutes, we could shower together."

Ted laughs a small huff to himself. "I think that might be a little telling, don't you?"

Trent's good mood falters then. His already loose shoulders fall and he taps a knuckle sharply into the wall. His honeyed bedside voice is replaced with the same crystal clear tone he'd used to use the same words as before, "Fuck everyone Ted. Fuck everyone but you and me."

"I don't have that kind of stamina." Ted uses his finger guns against him and Trent withers at the reminder.

"The toilet is that door to the left."

Trent listens intently to the sound of Ted and his ablutions. Grants Ted the use of his toothbrush. Pulls his knees into his chin and hugs his legs. He's not as flexible as he used to be, but good lord is he ever as broody.

When all's as clean as it can get to participate in public transportation, Ted turns the light off, collects a small kiss from Trent, and heads out into the night. It's cool enough out that Ted doesn't realize he has tears on his face until he's seated in front of a heating vent on the train.

Chapter Text

"Ground rules?" Ted offers, breathless between hungry kisses, Trent's finger roving softly under the cuff of his sleeve.

"Ground rules, yes." It takes Trent a moment to begin to process how to pump the breaks. He has spent too much time in the halls of Nelson Road imagining Ted saying everything naked, which makes all of this absolutely dire for them to discuss.

"Are you sure we shouldn't just stop?" There are those breaks. The entire world skids the pavement screeching to a halt. Ted feels Trent freeze under his hands and slump backward, Trent's hands falling to his sides. It has to be said though. Beard didn't have to say a word to raise a question when Trent walked in. It's the first time anyone has thought to try to knock any sense into him.

"Do you want that?" Trent's voice is skeptical. He doesn't feel panic. He's not particularly in the position to. Ted's body is still dangerously close to his. Trent doesn't feel anything he thinks he should. Rather, he feels like fighting. Playfully. Wanton. So he squints and crosses his arms, hooking a finger into a loop of Ted's most delightfully ill-fitting trousers, looking slyly at Ted like no one is actually buying his malarkey? Is that the word? Whatever it is, Trent is ready to volley that ball right back into Ted's court. No one shows up to break up in khakis that tight.

"We should." Ted watches Trent set the line of his crooked smile and knows this is only going to be a losing battle, but it's going to be fun at least. It's true, they should stop. None of this should have ever started, but the moment Ted realized he could have cake and then realized he wanted this cake in particular, and then dug his hands into the cake and licked it off his fingers, and oh boy. He's in some real trouble. Because it turns out Ted really, really likes his cake.

"Of course we should. Of course we should. But do you want to, Dove?" Ted's breath stalls as Trent pulls him in by the belt loop. He feels Trent's hand wander slowly down the front of his khakis. Trent's voice is just so…Ted would like access to a big scoop of it any time he wanted. Would like to keep it in an open jar on his kitchen counter. "Think long and hard about that."

Ted struggles, but his voice is insistent on having this bloody conversation. "Trent."

Ted picks Trent's hands off him and traps them together, holding them in a prayer. It is a mistake. Trent's brows raise to points and his smile grows satisfied, and his voice. Gosh dangit. Trent's voice is all too inviting. "Ted." Ted places Trent's hands back to his sides and pushes Trent away with gentle fingers on his stomach until Trent is seated on Ted's arm chair.

"Ground rules then." Ted moves backward to sit in the corner of the couch and has to adjust until his erection is out of the way. They stare at one another in silence until Ted realizes Trent is not going to lead this conversation. And in fact, Ted is going to have to say…the thing. "This is still casual."

Logically, this was always likely, explaining Ted's aloofness. Otherwise, what would stop them from exploring this further. Ted's hands the last time they were together. It's all Trent has thought about for a week. The way he didn't need any prompting. The way Ted was so fearless. And not at all gentle or timid, like maybe he'd spent a long time thinking about touching him.

Somehow, this is the greatest affair of Trent's entire life and it is still entirely one-sided. Fucking hell.

"Oh goody. Are you still seeing our third?"

Trent's body opens up, his arms encompassing the width of the chair. He crosses his legs, sitting back, and goodness. Didn't Trent call himself long-torsoed? That can't be right. "I'm not, not seeing her."

"Tease." It's meant to be poison, Ted's sure of it, but it doesn't do anything to calm him. Instead he sits forward with his elbows on his knees and dives in.

"Nothing can happen at Nelson Road. There are surveillance cameras everywhere."

"Are there?" Trent's eyes come alive with mischief, and Ted's heart gives a little start.

"There are."

Trent sits upright and looks like he's six feet tall. "We could scandalize the entire world."

It doesn't mean he hasn't thought about it. Ted has thought about it a lot lately. It has been a hot minute since Ted has worked with another man who was openly queer in any way. Even Beard's predilections have skewed visibly less…something. Since setting foot in Nelson Road. The pressure to be a straight shooter keeping this particular secret has felt almost unbearable. It's the first time in a long time that his locker room has been so openly misogynistic, and not, well, woman-hating. But the fellas walk with a certain bug up their butts about not having any bugs up their butts, and there's no denying the monster they'd be up against. It would be a scandal. Ted is fully aware it would be less of a deal if he were having an affair with the boss. Though, parish that thought.

"I'd rather you didn't joke about that. We both have families and responsibilities and–"

Trent hisses. He doesn't need to be told twice. He's not a git, nor a child. "Coach."

"Oooh. And don't call me that here. I feel real itchy about it."

Trent closes his eyes to keep from rolling them, it's an untoward practice, and sighs. "I don't have any designs on exposing either one of us. That is why ground rules. So, nothing at Nelson. No calling you 'Coach' outside office hours." When he opens his eyes again, Ted is a little flushed. Apparently he does like being called 'Coach' outside office hours. Maybe he'll start following these ground rules by breaking one.

Trent is not letting up on this little game he's playing. Ted feels like his skin is melting under Trent's insistent gaze. "No dirty looks or double entendres in the office."

This does the trick. Trent throws his hands up in the air and throws a bit of a fit. "Oh come on. This is rich coming from the Pun King of the Prairie?!" Ted can play with this.

"Okay. You can call me that." Ted's eyes are bright and ornery and he's such a cowboy Trent thinks he might die of embarrassment that this works for him.

"Never again. I don't even remember what I said."

"No dirty looks or double entendres in the office." Trent wants to paw the satisfied smile off Ted's face. Instead, he slithers from the arm chair to Ted's couch, daring Ted to play back a little.

"Say 'entendres' for me once more." 

Trent scoots across the couch cushions, and Ted can swear it feels like a ball of fire moving closer. Is he sweating? "No, sir. I don't speak French as a rule."

"Shame. You're crap at it. It's charming." Trent reaches out to touch the corner of Ted's mouth. It follows the movement of Trent's thumb until he can see it register on Ted's face, what he's doing. Ted swats at his hand.

"No touching."

"No!" Trent reaches up again and Ted traps his hand to the cushion between them.

"No touching, Trent."

Trent reaches his other hand for Ted's thigh and it is a diabolical move. "Only yearning for your body to return home from the war?"

Ted's voice turns flat and almost a bit disgusted. Like the thought has never occurred to him. "Yearning?"

"No. Of course not," Trent deflects sarcastically, moving his hand deeper into the meat of Ted's thigh. "This is casual."

Ted squirrels back further into the corner of the couch, holding Trent's other hand away to the couch. "This is casual. No touching. No sitting on the same side of the room."

"Oh, you are cruel." Trent leans in so close, but Ted is sitting so far back. His hands itch to turn over, to be holding Ted's hands instead of being held down. But this is also something they haven't tried yet. If only Ted was actually interested in fucking him.

Ted smiles a smug, matter-of-fact thing. "You liked watching me touch myself. You'll like watching me be professional across a room."

Trent swallows a gasp, exchanging the barb at a breakneck pace. "I always have."

Ted frowns. "Stop that."

"What?"

"That sounds an awful lot like yearning."

It's not that Trent isn't allowed to yearn. It's that among all the other ills Ted has been plagued with exploring, yearning has been creeping in dark shadows. He doesn't have the room for it. Ted has been emotionally overwhelmed and this has been a respite from all of it. When he isn't processing his father or his divorce or his son an ocean away, when he lets himself find a little space from the enduring trouble of thinking about winning, this feels good more than it doesn't. And he wants it, more than anything, to continue to feel good. He wants it to continue to feel good when he looks up to see Trent smiling at him like he does. He wants it to continue to feel good when he thinks about Trent smiling at him while he's opening a can of tasteless beans. He does not want to self-prescribe any yearning to his life.

Trent looks at Ted with daggers in his eyes then. "That is not a ground rule that anyone is remotely capable of enacting. I am allowed to yearn as I please. You'll never even know it's happening."

Of course Trent would dismiss it. It's a pie in the sky suggestion. Ted can practically see Trent is comprised of yearning. As if it holds his body together. As if it perpetually keeps a pen glued to Trent's hand.

"I might be wrong, but I don't think you hide it well."

Ted's read is like a slap in the face. Of course he doesn't hide it well. He's not trying to. Ted draws the most caveman feelings from him. Trent would carry a large club and drag Ted's powerless body into his life if he could, and Ted would simply wake up right in front of the door and walk away like he'd just taken a lovely kip. "And you, of course, are a brick wall."

"I really like you, Trent. I trust you. We have fun. You're a handsome fella and you get my jokes. The fact that you taught me a little somethin' nice about my body is a bonus."

They both look away from one another. Trent, afraid that Ted knowing how much pleasure this brings him will give Ted more currency to hurt him. Ted, afraid Trent will see how much he means it, in spite of the obvious lie, "Anyway, I do not yearn. I don't know that I've ever put myself in a position to."

"How dreadful." Trent's voice sounds so far away. So quiet. So sad that Ted can't help himself but to try to turn it around.

"Yearning seems pretty miserable."

"Oh. It is. Dreadful. Inescapable. You should try it." Trent's smile is small, but it's something.

"No looks. No touching. Nothing at the offices. We stand on opposite sides of the room. What else?" Ted thinks real hard for a moment and then releases Trent's hands when he realizes, "Oh. That's right."

"What?" Trent's voice is more annoyed than reserved, and Ted doesn't see Trent handling this with humor or grace, but it has to be said.

"Our third."

"What of her?"

"If you meet her." Ted clears his throat. "When you meet her." Trent furrows his brows and he's downright sexy when he's annoyed. "You will probably, definitely meet her."

Trent explodes, throwing his hands in the air before crossing his arms to gain some modicum of control. "Good Lord, Ted. Does she also work at Nelson Road?"

He looks so hesitant to say it, but Trent braces himself. "No. But she is…Rebecca's friend." Ted cannot be this self-destructive. He simply cannot. Stupid, yes. But self-destructive? He has everything going for him. Why would he be having two affairs so close to his office? "See. You're thinking so loud I can hear every single thought like you're talking directly to me."

"Well." There is only one other possibility.

"It's not a joke." Ted sits up, surprised. This does feel too soon to be able to read one another's thoughts. "It's something that happened the same as we did, only she just showed up at my door. At least you got the benefit of me inviting you up."

Trent sets to rubbing his face with his hands and groaning. Ted thought that last bit might soften the blow, but it appears to have backfired.

"She didn't even have to fake pretense?"

"She did not. But I'd had that kind of sex before."

Trent's hands fall into his lap. He is staring off into the middle distance, processing, and Ted sits back, ready for anything. "Are you implying that you liked me?"

Ted lets the smile into his voice. It's okay because he's already said as much. "We wouldn't still be doing this if we were indifferent toward one another, would we?"

Trent's eyes look at him, black-brown slits. "We might if we hated one another."

Ted reaches out and brushes a lock of Trent's hair behind his ear. "Do you hate me, Trent?"

It's overwhelming how easily Ted steps right through any facade. Trent adores Ted's soft, eager brown eyes, his friendly hands. "Only if she's not prettier than me."

The relief when Ted feels Trent spark to life again, he can only encourage their play. These conversations are easier when they're both in the spirit to spar, and Trent is a sparring partner unlike any he's had before. "Well. I don't know about that. She does wear red lipstick better."

"How would you know?"

"I guess I wouldn't."

"Do you want me to? We could have a little fun." Ted can't help but picture the difference. Not in a sexy clown way. Which, no. Never in a clown way. But in the way that he would be able to walk right out of a hotel room and jump into the pool, Trent's mouth on him would dress him in red like a speedo. The thought, in spite of being absurd, tickles him.

"Nah. It would compromise the sampling pool."

"I didn't hear she was prettier than me in all that."

Ted sighs. "Anyway. If I go to leave with her, you have to let me. You don't have to like it. It's just. Y'know. We can't have anyone else knowing anything."

Trent can feel the disappointment curdle his stomach. "She doesn't know about me."

"No."

They have both left clear marks of their conquests on Ted's body. Surely she's seen them and realized she wasn't alone in leaving them. "Is she stupid?"

Ted sits upright, shocked that Trent would imply such a thing. "Certainly not."

"You just felt the need to draw boundaries with me early and reiterate them often." Oh.

"I mean, that was for me as much as it was for you. I've never had casual sex with a man before, let alone casual sex with more than one person. And she was the first to push me off that ledge. I wasn't divorced more'n ten minutes."

The wild look that comes over Trent's face as he holds his hand over his mouth. Ted doesn't want to know what that's about. And then Trent's face grows sad. Ted doesn't want to know what that's about either.

"Is she ever going to know about me?" Oh.

"Probably not. No. Unless we exchange STIs."

Trent's face grows dejected. "Oh goody."

Ted doesn't want to say it, but it needs to be said. "Are you sure we shouldn't just end it?"

Trent's entire countenance grows blue, the room growing black around them. If it weren't so incredibly sexy, Ted would walk him right to the door. But Trent is sexy. Trent is fun. He does like Trent. He likes how Trent feels. How Trent makes him feel. He likes when they have fun. He sorta likes when they get mean. Trent is the most thrilling thing that has ever happened to Ted in his entire life, and he doesn't begin to know how to let go.

Trent kicks off one shoe, letting it fly across the room. Kicks the other shoe and hears it bang against a window. He crawls across the couch and closes the distance between them. Trent grips Ted's collar and climbs over his legs to mount him. Sitting over Ted is a new sensation. Wrenching his head backward to suck at Ted's adam's apple, licking up to the point of his chin. As much power as Trent wields over him, he can feel it the most strongly now, as he slides along Ted's lap.

"Do you want to end this, Ted?" Trent's voice is otherworldly as he speaks darkly, directly into Ted's skin. "Do you want to end this?" Trent's hands grip the lapels of his shirt and rips at it, the buttons flying like shrapnel across the room. Ted can feel his entire circulatory system is thrown in disarray. There is nothing like this he has ever felt in the world. Trent's thighs are strong as they squeeze his and Ted reaches to hold onto Trent's hips like they'll stop the world from spinning around them. Trent's thumbs circle his nipples and Ted's breathing grows harsh and uneven. "Do you want me to stop this?" Trent's mouth moves to trace the tip of his tongue into the sensitive skin of Ted's ear and Ted couldn't stop his body from growing hard if his mother walked in the room. Trent unbuckles Ted's belt and unbuttons his khakis with one hand, the other moving to pin Ted to the couch. "Do you never want to feel this again?" Trent spits into his hand and Ted groans, gruff and wanting. Trent's hand is warm and wet and Ted would like to think he knew what it was to feel alive five minutes ago, but as he ruts into Trent's hand, Trent continues. "I know you like this, Coach." Trent hisses and Ted's body goes so tight it's set to burst. "Do you want me to stop and never do this again?" And then, as Trent is pumping with his entire body, his own dick rutting against Ted's thigh, Trent leans over Ted to kiss him as sweet and easy as if their hearts could touch at the tips of their tongues. Ted reaches up to draw his hands into Trent's hair, his nails scratching there.

Trent's hand, strong and stroking without changing his rhythm, is hot. Trent, bucking across his thigh, their two fabrics rubbing a fierce friction there, is hot. Ted is on fire that it isn't nearly close enough. Ted reaches to rip Trent’s hands away. Physically pulls Trent off him and onto the couch. They both sit next to one another, breathing erratically. Hard and aroused and aching.

"You think I'm warm. You think I'm handsome. You like me. You're certainly wrong about all of it, but do you want to end this?"

Ted is going to eat this man alive, he's so hungry. "No, ma'am."

Ted stands up from the couch and walks right out of his trousers. He heads toward the stairs and looks back to see Trent unmoved on the couch, holding on for dear life. "Trent," he summons, "I have a bed downstairs."

Trent can't feel his legs to stand, it's like granite in his pants, so he stalls a moment. "I'll follow your ground rules. You're welcome to touch me though. I like to be touched, Ted. Even casually."

"I'm aware."

Chapter Text

He wishes he could help the struggling at the door. Ted almost assumes the very sweet little girl who lives here will answer and he can feel himself become sick at the idea. He won't invite himself in. He'll just ask for Trent and say his piece here on the porch and leave. But then, in fact, Trent, handsome and dark, in the deep entryway, opens the door in head to toe denim, barefoot, covered in flour, cursing and trying to flop his hair out of his face. Ted says a quiet, "Here. Let me," and reaches out a finger to pry an errant curl gently from his pretty, powdered cheek. Trent allows the help, his movement pliant, open and welcoming, but once Ted utters, "There you go," he watches a wall go up as Trent blocks the entry to his home.

"What'cha up ter, Jamie Oliver?" It's absolutely the wrong thing to say, because Trent slumps into his doorway and scowls.

"I am only inviting you in because I don't want to project this conversation into the neighborhood. Mrs. Danforth is nosy and a gossip and if you look over now, you'll see her staring from her bedroom upstairs, and I don't need the trouble."

Ted looks up and cowers at the pointed woman in some kind of green face mask before waving.

"Don't look her in the eye, Ted. She absolutely knows who you are."

"I think everyone in the world knows who I am, Trent." Ted points to his mustache and shrugs.

Trent sighs and goes to plant his face in his palm, but then remembers the dough. There is the faintest splashing sound behind him. The eggs! "Fuck! Come in and close the doors behind you."

Ted watches Trent run into his kitchen and realizes quickly he's interrupted Trent in the middle of making pasta. There are two raw eggs spattered on the floor and there is flour everywhere. His heart falls, knowing the disaster his showing up unannounced must have caused, and starts, because Trent is making pasta? From scratch? He didn't know Trent could do that.

Trent bends over the floor with a tea towel, his hands covered in small crusts of barely bound dough as he curses and crowds the eggs into the fabric. It is maybe the first time Ted has seen him bent over and he feels the urge rise in him to crowd Trent. He has always been overly affectionate in the kitchen, and maybe Trent won't like that. Ted certainly hasn't earned that right. But it doesn't stop him from holding Trent by the hips as he moves through Trent into the kitchen.

Trent cannot help but flinch at the movement, familiar except for the hands, the body. The eager brush of Ted's hips across his ass, trying to move past him. He hears the tap run behind him and finishes scraping the last runny bits into the cloth and rises. Ted carefully takes the tea towel from his hands and hands him a soapy sponge. Trent returns to the mess until it is clean. Ted moves out of his way as he moves to the sink.

"Sure smells good in here."

"Short rib. Oh fuck. The short rib." Trent scratches at his hands.

"Do you mind if I? I can." Ted lifts the lid to the dutch oven and looks inside. "What do you need me to check?"

"Is it released easily?"

Ted grabs a wood spoon and pokes at the sides. It is a beautifully caramelized short rib on now three of four sides. "It sure is. These are gorgeous, Trent."

"Please turn them onto the last side," Trent says from the sink. "Then place the lid back on, crooked, leaving room for steam to escape."

Ted does as he's asked, and crises averted, he looks around the kitchen. There is a plate with paper towels on it. A bowl of chopped onions and carrots and celery. A tube of tomato paste. A fistful of herbs tied up with string. There is an open bottle of red wine and a glass with a lip mark that is nearly empty. Ted would recognize the dark strains of Depeche Mode anywhere, coming from a room beyond. He has never made it past the toilet before. It turns out Trent is an actual person after all. Not just a pretty face, holding up a wall. Or a stone menace, lobbing fire at him from across a room. Or another handsome, responsible, single dad. Or a long line with a body that makes Ted ache so sweetly when it's close and ache so desolately when it isn't.

Trent is just a fella, who happens to have strong hands and a strong mind, folding pasta dough, enjoying cooking a meal while drinking and listening to music, like anyone else might. Like he might.

The look on Ted's face is a bit dazed and the look in his eyes is sweeter than the full bodied glass of wine on his counter. Trent is instantly suspicious. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

Ted shakes himself out of his thoughts.

Trent's brows furrow. "Are you just realizing I am a person? No. I wouldn't answer that. If you answer it wrong, I will send you away. I have had just enough to drink that I am going to invite you to stay for dinner."

Ted continues to stare at him fondly until Trent feels thick in the head. "Good lord, Ted. Fine. Do you want to stay for dinner?"

Ted's broad smile should boil his blood, but instead, it renders him defenseless. Trent turns and reaches into a cabinet for another wine glass, "Wine?"

"Yes, please."

"I'm going to need you to pretend you belong here instead of being just a guest."

"That's all I've ever wanted."

It is the wrong thing to say. Trent left Ola's, knowing he'd lost the war with a woman who didn't even know she was fighting one, and walked the entire way home vacillating between visions of being young and stuck in a hundred secrets he could never share and being free of secrets just long enough to find him entrenched deeply in another. "Is it though?"

Ted hears the black tone of Trent's voice and swallows. Reaches for the glass in Trent's hand and turns away to pour himself a glass and top Trent off. He hands Trent his glass and he tips their cups together. "To the excising of our third."

And, of course, that is the wrong thing to say, because it isn't true. Not exactly. The way Trent's face falls soft and empathetic and hopeful still is like an angel revealing himself.

"Oh, Dove. I'm so sorry. There will always be other fish." Trent takes a long pull from his glass before saying snidely into his glass, "Or short rib ragu." He returns to the fridge to grab two more eggs. "What happened?" Trent passes the eggs to Ted's open hand before returning to the short ribs to place them on the paper towels. He pours the mirepoix into the dutch oven and salts it heavily before tumbling it with the wood spoon and scraping the caramelized bits left at the bottom of the pot. His actions slowly gain a lightness. Though he knows it might mean nothing, because Ted has let him rise like a balloon before smacking him to the ground more than once before, he waits.

"I asked her if she wanted to take things from the bedroom to the light of day and she told me I was a mess and waltzed right out into the sunshine." Ted shrugs and takes a heavy pull from his glass. It is mighty tasty. Sucks every bit of moisture out of his mouth. Smells like a fruit tree on the inside of his face. "But I sorta figured that might be her response. Still stung. But more in a 'lemme think real hard about what I'm doing with my life' kinda way than in an 'ow, my pride, gotta win her over' kinda way." Ted finishes it and reaches for the bottle to pour himself another.

Trent turns around to put his glass on the counter. Reaches to take the eggs from Ted's hand and turns to his broken ring of flour. "That's not what 'excised' means at all." Trent moves to build up the sides and feels his hands begin to shake, his lightness so quickly transformed into something fragile. "Sorry. Dove. I'm beginning to think I might not actually be the only cunt standing among us. Which is both a relief and incredibly galling. Why would you think I would want you to come into my house to tell me that you were left alone in your bed, dejected by the woman you told me I wasn't allowed to fight?"

Ted shifts uncomfortably. "Well now," the sound of one egg shell smacking violently against the counter startles him. "I'm not trying to rub anyone's face in anything. And I don't appreciate you using that word. Certainly not in regards to you. Or me." The second egg shell slams against the counter and Ted watches the room grow dark, the evening light darker than the canned light haloing above Trent. And then Trent begins laughing darkly. He hands the eggshells back without moving and digs his other hand into the flour. Ted reaches out to grab the goopy mess. His intuition tells him he's about to get an earful. He places his glass beside Trent's on the counter and runs the shells to the trash.

"We're casual then. Still. I wouldn't have assumed otherwise, naturally. Then again, you haven't told me how you have excised the good Doctor Florence Collins from your life. So I would like to hear the part where that is a closed ending to your story." Trent makes quick work of combining the eggs and flour and Ted already feels so shitty all the time. He doesn't mean it to be catching.

"I just. I don't want to continue to be with anyone who thought my process meant I wasn't worth seeing through. I would have been with Michelle through anything. I did everything she asked. I went above and beyond. It's how I ended up here. I would have seen her through every step until we both came through the other side these new, shiny versions of ourselves. That's what for better or for worse means, right? I mean, I don't have any designs on marrying anyone right now, but if the start of something doesn't seem promising, it's better to walk away before I invest myself, right?"

Trent kneads through the dough with the heel of his palm and is so glad his back is to Ted so Ted doesn't know he's ready to put the heel of his hand through the wall. "Did you want to be with her, Ted?"

"I don't really think I did. I think maybe I thought I was supposed to want to. Like maybe she found me and I assumed it was another instance of fate? Because I think I'm still stuck to this idea that being intimate with someone…" Ted tapers off, abandoning his thoughts for Trent to internally steam about.

"Ted. Do you feel the same way about me?"

"Well, I don't begin to know how to answer that. Everything feels different with you."

Ted can hear the veggies in the pot change sound over the screaming heat. He moves to the stove, opening the dutch oven and letting the steam rise. He grabs the wood spoon and gives everything a toss until the steam clears. He turns his head and moves to accommodate as Trent leans to peer into the pot. The hair has fallen in his face against his cheek again. Ted puts the spoon down and reaches up to move the length of the curl, tuck it behind Trent's ear. Trent's eyes are just so concerned. Maybe its hurt. Maybe anger. Maybe confusion. But there is an entire discourse that he is keeping locked inside his mouth.

Trent motions to him to trade places and he quickly shows Ted how to knead the pasta dough. He runs to the sink to clean his hands and then grabs the bottle of wine. There is maybe a sip of it. He holds it out to Ted who accepts the last dredges directly from the bottle. Trent sees the shadow of a dimple flicker across Ted's cheek as he places his mouth to the glass lip. Watches Ted's adam's apple bob as he swallows. Of course Ted doesn't know how to process any of this. But far be it from Trent to bully Ted into understanding his Queerness. Ted's got his therapist. Who knows. Probably much more than he ever will. And isn't that just the dog's bollocks.

Binning the bottle and reaching for another, Trent busies himself with the foil, but really watches the broad lines of Ted's shoulders working. The cork pops under the wine key and he fills their glasses before pouring a good glug into the pot. Nestles the herbs into the veg and replaces the short rib. Lowers the flame, closes the lid, and turns to Ted. It's unusual to see Ted so casually dressed. He's wearing a soft orange jumper layered over a white undershirt. He doesn't look so colorless in it.

Ted looks Trent up and down and smiles tentatively. It's the first time the cynicism has left Trent's face since he's opened the door. Trent's body comes in close and Ted can feel Trent's hands circle his waist. Ted searches his eyes and only sees sweetness there. "You don't have to know. I'm not asking you to." Ted can see that it's not a trap, but it still feels a little like he should know. When Trent stands up on his toes, Ted moves an arm to take Trent in the crook of his elbow and their soft, sad kisses are as jammy sweet as the wine.

"I've covered you in flour." Trent reaches over to tap the flour free from Ted's jumper and moves to replace him. The pasta dough has come together beautifully and is ready for a little nap before freezing. "Can you hand me the cling wrap in the drawer to the left of the sink? And there's a ball of pasta dough in the fridge already in plastic wrap. Can you pass that to me?" Trent wraps the new dough and passes it to Ted in exchange for the thawed dough. Ted looks curiously at the action. "So I always have fresh pasta. Grab that pot and start the water boiling for me? Please?"

Ted reaches for a large pot hanging from a rack over the kitchen table.  "You sure are something, Trent." 

Trent's dry, American impression is something he hasn't seen or heard either. "Romance a fella like that and you're likely to see god later."

"Oh boy." Ted clicks his tongue rhythmically a moment, and waggles his brows mischievously, "I hope she's excited to see me."

Trent lets his head fall to the side and looks at Ted like he's a screw loose. " Try to romance a fella."

Ted notices the room has gone silent around them aside from the flame and simmering pot. Ted fills the large pot with water, tosses in a handful of salt, and nestles the strainer in it before placing it on a second flame. He turns around and hunts for a radio. When he doesn't see one, he asks with some hope, "Do you want to listen to the same side of this record over, do you want me to change sides, or do you want me to pick something else."

Trent reaches over his fridge and pulls down what must be a family heirloom of a rolling pin. It is almost as long as Trent's arm. Trent swipes Ted across the bottom and smiles a crooked smile. "Romance. That's more like it. Surprise me."

So Ted goes on the hunt for a record player, but leans in the doorway, "Don't shape the pasta without me. I wanna know how."

In spite of nearly every line crossed, dinner is lovely. Trent spends the length of their meal trying to hold every inclination to fall in love at bay, though he knows he certainly is. Has been for ages. But this is not fair. Ted has found his only Willie Nelson album. Stardust . It's so romantic he wants to propose on the spot, or at least to crawl over the table and sit on Ted's face. He'll settle for the single candle they've lit and a vigorous hand job if that's all Ted is here to offer.

The delicious weight of Trent over him, the dizzying pleasure of Trent filling him, the mind boggling sensations of hands and teeth and tongues and Trent's rhythm and Ted's fists full of Trent's hair and the sounds of their skin. When Ted has been drinking wine like this. He comes too quickly, he knows. But he knows how to make pasta now. He knows that Trent grows terribly sweaty under the pressure of True Midwestern Romancin.' Even if it is play. But he also knows how soft Trent's bedding is and which brand of olive oil Trent prefers. Ted knows that he likes when Trent. He likes when Trent. He likes Trent. So much. So much that when he comes and Trent doesn't, that can't be that.

When Trent pulls out he tears the condom from his cock and reaches down to pull himself off.

"Woah. Hey. Slow down there, Trent." Trent looks up into Ted's eyes, shining in the soft lamp light, large and dark as pools of water in the moonlight. Ted's hands move to take his from him. It's unlike Ted not to let him get himself off if they don't come together in a timely manner. So when Ted moves to sit up under him, the kisses that come with it are unexpected. Tender. "I ain't done romancing you."

Trent rears his head and his body is aching at a fevered pulse. Ted releases his hands and trails his fingers up Trent's back until Ted has a hold of him. "Is that okay? I feel like I'd like to keep going. Try a little something." And the fact that Trent doesn't come from Ted's words alone feels like a miracle. Trent nods and lets himself be led back into his pillows.

When he comes, Trent doesn't cry, but he does cry out. There isn't an inch of his skin that doesn't buzz. Ted's mouth leaves the head of his cock with a clean 'pop' and Ted raises to his knees, long and shockingly hard, pulling them off together. And it's a mess all over Trent's stomach, but all Trent can see is a vision of the Pearly Gates and all Trent knows is heaven.

Ted still doesn't stay, but at least he sticks around until they can both walk again. He's thoughtful enough to clean Trent up with a wet, warm flannel, and equally warm kisses.

Trent tucks a container of leftovers in his arms and pulls Ted in for a lingering kiss before seeing him out the door. Ted feels a little shell shocked over the whole affair, walking home. It's absolutely an affair now. If he lets his mind wander just a little longer, he's going to admit he knows something new about himself, too.

Chapter Text

Ted is standing quietly in his doorway, waiting. Trent is in Colin and Isaac's room with just Colin. He knows this because he heard the two of them break into uncontrollable laughter with a lot of shushing and the sound of Trent's voice, clear as a bell, "Let's be serious now. You do have your key, right? You haven't had so much vanilla vodka that you can sing Drake at me incessantly but you can't get into your room."

They do have to go down to the counter to get a replacement key. Ted is sitting on top of his blankets, his bare feet crossed at the ankles. The tea has worn off and been replaced by opposing epiphanies of misery and revelation. All he wants to do is turn this infernal negative side effect of the tea off. Ted hears Trent say his final goodnight to Colin and he stands, steps to the desk to grab his phone and his key, and he opens the door, waiting.

Trent is barely on two feet when he finally seals Colin into his room, slowly closing the door. It took an excruciating back and forth to finally get him in his room. Oh, to be so young again. Oh, the follies of youth. Colin will likely be fine. Trent is more concerned with the fact that his brain feels like liberated soup, his clothes are clinging to him with salt and sweat, and his mouth is still coated in burning sugar. Finally, the door makes the tiniest click and the lock blinks red and Trent breathes, standing up from his haunched position.

Ted relaxes into the doorway, the fluorescent lights above still slightly filtered through with smoke and rainbows, and there it is again, that desire to crowd into Trent. But this time, he is too emotionally taxed to reach out and take Trent by the hips. See what he feels like filtered through smoke and rainbows. He simply wants Trent's warmth. Looking at Trent haunched over, he says, solemn and curious, "What'cha doin?"

"Ted! Hello." Trent scream-whispers, his entire body whipping upright like an elastic band has shot him in the scrotum. He knows if he were sober, Ted's voice would still have scared him stiff, but moving so awkwardly and quick wouldn't likely have hurt nearly as much. "Ehm," his voice scratches out in pain, until he realizes Ted looks worn, exhausted.

"Hey there, Trent." Ted whispers, a weary, hopeful smile plays on his lips. It takes Trent a moment to register whatever is off, but he can see Ted's pupils are blown wide. Trent steps over to him and leans into the wall beside him. "That's Colin's room, yeah?"

"We went dancing. He drank a bit. I was just making sure he got to his room safe."

"Hm." Ted pauses, nodding. "You need me to make sure you get to your room safe?" He leans in and says real quiet into Trent's hair, "I really don't wanna be alone right now."

Ted's admission is sobering and suddenly Trent is aching standing here. He understands implicitly that this is not going to be their usual tête-à-tête Trent stands back and looks into Ted's moon-eyed face. He looks tremendously sad. He wants to reach out, but he can't in this hallway, so he reaches into his pocket for his room key and motions for Ted to follow him. 

When they are in his room, Ted doesn't even wait for Trent to remove his coat or his sweet little neck scarf. He simply walks into Trent's arms, tucks his hands into Trent's coat and his face into Trent's neck, and is relieved when Trent simply holds him.

"What's this then?" The question is toothless. More an expression than expectation. The action is merely a surprise. Trent knows he cannot believe for a second this has anything to do with him, but oh, how he selfishly wishes. Ted is broad and bulky under his long coat, but his arms are locked and Trent feels. Well. He feels needed. He scratches softly into Ted's back and presses his lips to Ted's temple, hoping it isn't too much. It must not be though, because Ted's tense body melts.

After a time, Ted mumbles into his neck scarf, "You're real sweaty," and Trent smiles.

"I desperately need to shower. Give me a sec?" Ted nods, but doesn't give up their embrace quickly.

While Trent is shucking his coat onto the back of the desk chair and gathering things for a shower, Ted wanders the room a bit. Sets the alarm on his phone for the morning and places it on a side table. Moves to the desk. It is maybe the first time that Ted can openly see Trent's inner workings, splayed in a way that if he were in any other state of mind, he might be able to read. There is Trent's open laptop, though it is blacked out with time. There are post-its everywhere. A magazine roughly folded open to an article of Rebecca. And a notebook lying open with Trent's favorite kind of pen wedged into the binding. He doesn't really read it. He just sees his name randomly on the pages with a tiny ink heart next to it, no bigger than a pin head. A splotch. And boy, does that just make everything worse.

It's unexpected, to think that this fella is the kind who would doodle a heart next to anyone's name. It's nothing Ted has ever done himself. He did try writing his with Michelle's last name a few times before they were married, but he's never been much of a doodler outside of game book plays and his silly mustache signature.

Ted wanders into the bathroom like a zombie and sits on the toilet lid, resting his chin on a knee. His heel teeters precariously on the edge of the seat as he watches the long, lovely shadow of Trent, scrubbing himself clean, systematically. Head to toe. This shower is, as is every other hotel shower, barely pointed into the bath, and water is falling everywhere. The occasional spray of water against his nose or his toes register like tickles. Looking over to the counter, he wants to ask so many questions about Trent's tiny rituals, but also, he is too tired to ask any questions. And then Trent makes a move to shampoo his hair and knocks the shower curtain loose just enough that Ted isn't watching a shadow anymore.

Trent is dark against the too-white tile of the shower. Ted knows he is smaller in stature, but the illusion of broad shoulders or wide hips is most apparent here. Trent is slight. Long-limbed, though he is more proportional than he would lead Ted to believe. His skin is untouched. Not a pock or a scar to be seen. But there is a tiny mole on the small of his back when Trent faces away to wet his hair. There is a part of Ted that is beginning to understand that he isn't going to last in Richmond much longer. So when he sees the small mole, he makes an internal note to remember to appreciate it before the chance evaporates in front of him. To appreciate this small respite of intimacy before he leaves it here in Richmond, where he will not have access to it anymore.

When Trent turns around to rinse the shampoo from his hair, he spots the small window in the curtain and winks at Ted. He's wearing the turquoise pendant.

"Did you mean to get that wet?" Ted asks, barely audible above the torrential shower.

Trent has soap in his eyes, so he can't open them right away to see what Ted is talking about. The falling suds and incredible water pressure have him caught in a limbo of feeling like he's floating and he's drowning in his marginally tipsy state. It has been an age and he is in a state. It is incredible. Perhaps he should drink and shower more often.

"Hm?"

"The turquoise. And you're still wearing rings? Do you usually shower with all that?" Trent holds his face out from under the steady stream as the soap clears and he can see Ted's concern.

"Oh. Thank you." Trent paws the rings off his fingers and removes the chain from his neck, passing them through the hole Ted is watching him shower.

Ted holds the pendant and chain, heavy in his hand. It is soaked and sudsy. He can swear there is another weight to it though. Like it might be holding him still. In this spot. Tethered to Trent. He knows he must still be a little high, but he closes his fist tight around it, tucks his thumb under the chain and lets it fall, hanging in front of him.

"Are you quite all right, Dove?" Ted is fixated. Trent, scrubbed clean, reluctantly turns the water off and reaches for a towel. Ted puts the necklace down and passes him a towel. Trent dries off in the shower and binds his hair up in the towel. He steps out onto the cool tile floor and leans over the sink to brush his teeth.

Ted's eyes are intent, following his every move, and Trent wants to ask him so badly what he's thinking. Surely this isn't foreign. Sharing a toilet with a naked partner. Observing their routines and rituals. But it feels so divinely intimate, Ted being here at his side, not shying away. Trent looks down a moment and brushes his thumb across Ted's cheek, and his smile is small, but a wild dimple appears and Trent takes the opportunity while he has it. He dips his fingertip into Ted's cheek and they both have a quiet laugh about it. Ted reaches out and brushes a hand down the small of his back to rest on his hip a moment, and it's possible Ted might be a bit feverish. So Trent leans over to press his lips into Ted's forehead.

He doesn't mean it to, but the gesture is so kind and Ted has needed this kind of warmth for so, so long, that he isn't embarrassed when a sigh escapes him. Trent reaches up to put a hand on his forehead, and then his cheeks. Trent smiles and tips his finger on the end of Ted's nose and Ted knows they could, but he just wants this. This sweet, relaxed, wordless tension. This warmth. He watches Trent floss and brush his teeth. Use his deodorant. Slather his face and neck in two kinds of something–one in a small, expensive-looking metal tube that Trent squeezes a dot out on a fingertip to press into the bags under his eyes, and the other in a pot he dips two fingers into. Unbind his hair and fluff the heck out of it with the towel, not bothering to comb or brush it through.

When he steps out of the bathroom, Ted follows him. Watches him choose white briefs and change into them. Watches him dress into soft cotton pajama pants, white with blue pinstripes. Watches him choose a simple white tee-shirt and pull it over his head. Then Trent pulls out long, white socks.

Trent reaches to turn down the bed and Ted rushes to the other side to join him. Trent slides on each sock, one by one, and he watches Ted tuck under the sheets next to him to his chin. It feels unreal, that they have fucked in a number of beds, strange and familiar, but never slept together in one. That forever he has begged Ted to stay and that this time, Ted is here of his own volition.

Trent slides under the sheets and duvet and reaches for Ted to come in for a cuddle. It takes them a moment. Ted is a back sleeper. Trent is a side sleeper. They do manage to slot in just right. Pretzel just so. And when they've figured out where every limb goes, Ted finally says, his voice tight with emotion, "Trent, I really miss my boy and my old life. I don't feel alone, y'know? I don't mean to say–It feels nice being with you here. But in general, y'know? I feel really, really lonely."

Trent slips a knee under his and scoots in just a bit closer, and tucks his nose into Ted's temple. Ted can feel Trent's breathing on his cheek. His voice is soft, tender when he speaks. "It's awful not to be near the things that have your heart." Ted can feel Trent hold his breath then. Feel the tightness of Trent's chest, burdened with holding his lungs still. Ted wonders if they might both be a little broken-hearted together. Wonders if it might be okay to cry here. He squeezes Trent closer to himself.

Ted runs his fingertips along the smooth skin of Trent's long arm, rested across his chest. "Thank you for understanding me."

"Good night, Dove." Trent presses his lips into the softness of Ted's cheek to stop himself from saying anything else. Stop himself from ruining this bittersweet moment for his own catharsis. To taste the salt of Ted's skin on his lips as he sleeps. He can feel the skin at the corners of Ted's eyes contract above his lips as Ted squeezes his eyes shut. Can feel the wet of a tear slipping across Ted's cheek. Lets his own fall.

His two lives. His two sodding lives.

Ted reaches an arm over to quiet his alarm. Neither of them have moved in the night. He didn't give himself much lingering time, but he does turn over and lean selfishly into Trent to kiss him good morning and goodbye. Which, ends up being a mistake because then they are both restored and quickly wound up and this was never about that.

"I have to go." Trent's tongue is lazy over his bottom lip and Ted wishes he could stay so they could snog like this for hours. "No, really, Trent." And it's still another kiss turning his body to jelly before he can get the gumption to move away.

"No." Trent whines and slots his fingers between Ted's. Ted sits up and kisses Trent's knuckles.

"You still have two hours before you need to head down to the bus. Go back to sleep."

He doesn't need to be told twice. If he can't have Ted right now in the waking world, he can have Ted in his sleep. "Okay, but in protest, we're going to have wicked, vivid, very acrobatic morning sex in my dreams." 

Ted leans over once more to place a kiss on Trent's forehead. "I look forward to it. Make sure we stretch first."

Before stepping out of Trent's room and back into his own, he stops into the bathroom to use the toilet. Looking down at Trent spread across the sink, he reaches down to pocket the still-wet pendant and goes back to his own room.

Chapter Text

Ted doesn't get to knock a second time before Trent is hauling him inside, kissing him blindly, removing whatever layers he can get his hands on. Trent kicks the door behind them closed and hurriedly pulls Ted toward the bedroom. Ted hardly has a moment to realize Trent has answered the door naked, but he isn't about to stop their forward momentum. He can't get undressed fast enough. There is something wild and silly about all this. Like, he is having sex with someone entirely new, and yet, the hands on him are Trent's hands. The mouth on his is Trent's mouth. It's just, it feels like, sloppy. Good sloppy. Sloppy joes. Sloppy fingers. Sloppy toes.

"That was awful close, you barging in that door like that," Ted says into Trent's mouth with a broad smile, Trent kissing his teeth, and then suddenly backing away, horrified, but not horrified. Silly horrified.

Trent's hands are tangled in belt loops and button holes as he tries desperately to separate Ted from his infernal khakis. "Oh god, Ted. I am so sorry. I am thoroughly embarrassed at my behavior."

"Nah." Ted sniffs into Trent's neck until Trent giggles from the tickle of it, "You weren't alone. I almost let you. Heck, I'm half convinced I would have snonked–snocked?" Ted stops to look Trent in the eyes. "That's not right, is it?"

Trent quirks his head, his neck and his ear tingling like he's been sniffled by a curious puppy. "Snogged?"

"Snogged you right back."

Trent's entire face comes alive with realization before his brow line drops in disbelief. "Wait. Did that actually work for you?"

Ted is so thoroughly delighted that he kisses Trent on the tip of his nose. Surely he'd noticed how excited they both were at the team's success. "I was as excited as you were. Well. Once you busted that door down."

Trent reaches into Ted's perfectly coiffed hair and bends him forward, stepping back to make room. He brushes his fingers down through Ted's hair. Ted brushes his hands up Trent's thighs and he doesn't mean to go so pitchy, but he squawks out, "I didn't bust anything down."

Ted reaches up to Trent's hips and leans in to place a kiss at the joint where Trent's cock meets his pubic hair. Thinks about brushing his fingers through the waxy curls there. "Well, you almost plowed down ground rules one through all of them."

Trent reaches over to slap Ted in the arse before releasing him and when they look at one another again, Ted's hair is so floppy from his handiwork. He automatically hates anyone who has also seen Ted this disheveled. He is an idiot in love and he is going to write a perfect book with a storybook ending, and it is going to sell enough copies that it jumps an ocean to plant a flag in the New York Times Best Seller's List, but first, he is going to fuck this man senseless. Because although Ted Lasso sounds like some country bumpkin yankee doodle hooligan, he is brave and clever and kind and all the good things Trent can think of. And Ted is here. To have silly, unbridled sex. With him. "Can you blame me?"

"I'm here now, ain't I?" Ted reaches an arm around to Trent's warm, bare back and pulls them together, body to body. It feels undeniably romcom hero of him. Silly. Exactly how he wants. Until Trent puts a hand to his chest.

"Seriously. That worked for you?" Trent's eyes go soft and for a moment, Ted thinks he might just be ready to be the romcom hero of this moment. Until he feels Trent's other hand slip gentle and strong down the curve of his ass. Then Ted feels like putty and who needs to be a hero?

"I couldn't help but think, 'Man, that fine fella must be a fun fuck.' And well, here we are to find out."

Trent's entire face goes soft at that. His voice comes out silk satin, "Blimey," and Ted might as well be knocked over with a feather.

Trent watches Ted's face as it becomes dark and mischievous and he can feel his stomach go tight with excited nerves. "Oooh. I like that. How do I get that outta you again?"

There is a moment with Trent on top, pressing into him in a steady rhythm, the two of them wading chin-deep in smile lines, that he's almost certain Trent is weaving a spell into his mouth as they kiss. His breathing slows, and he can feel his lungs take on yearning like water. He gasps for air and tucks his fingertips into Trent's skin, desperate to hold on. Something inside of him is saying that this is the only chance he'll ever get to truly lose himself in the joy of getting it right. The right idea. The right play. The right game. The right person. The right moment. Right now. It feels so good, so right, he comes, revived with laughter.

They don't really linger. Lingering is the enemy of anything casual. But Ted is thoroughly relaxed and still a bit woozy from orgasm. He is leaned back, feeling the rise and fall of Trent's chest as he breathes underneath him. Almost sleepy. Trent is combing soft fingers through his hair and everything about this has been so fun and so nice, and yet. He should. He should go.

" Was a straight man?" Trent asks into the air, scowling at the ceiling, rolling his eyes where Ted can't see him do it. Maybe it's not the right time for this conversation, but also, Ted lying in his arms has his whole body alive with hope. Ted's laughter and their mutual fun has him feeling invigorated. Ready for more, if he can just tease Ted into the right mood.

Ted should probably run, actually. "What? You didn't appreciate it?"

"It felt, I dunno. Like I've had my todger up your bum and in spite of clearly enjoying it, you couldn't be arsed to avoid the subject? It was an odd thing to say to those lads. And god help us if any of them were paying attention to my reaction."

Oh. They're still playing. Ted smiles, "What can I say? It's been a time of great divorce. Is it not okay for me to mention my non-committal to a sexuality? Or should I just keep quiet and enjoy it when you, y'know?"

Trent squeezes teasingly at a love handle and feels Ted jump as he practically bellows in Ted's ear with incredulity, "Eat out your arse?!"

They both lay back in a stack of stupidity and sweetness. Laughing at their awkward attempt at flirting. They are both deeply in over their heads and drowning in idiocy feels comfortable. Good even. Fine. But the nice fine and not the whatever, faux unbothered fine. It feels like possibly the first time they have been on the same page.

Trent feels Ted shift away from him and then there is a Ted-shaped cold spot the very length of his body. He is quick to move up to his knees, crawling to the edge of the bed. He sings, half playful, but is fully begging, "No. No! No. Are you going? I'm ready for a second row!" Ted leans over and collects his boxers and before he can step into them, Trent growls, fisting his sheets in a hand, frustrated in his own skin, "For fuck's sake, Ted! At least leave me your pants!"

Ted stands with his boxers in hand, at odds with his body. He knows he could go toe to toe for another round with Trent. His body feels heavy outside of the bed they've shared, like crawling out of a pool and realizing the weight of his own skin. It is a revelation. All the things that feel lighter when Trent is around. Even the darkest moments. And if he's honest, it doesn't begin and end when they're naked. Though, he really, really likes when they're naked.

Ted is so beautiful. Even with those god awful American flag pants in his hand. His skin is like double cream with thick, wired curls that haven't yet grayed like the bits that threaten at his temples. His nipples and his pretty cock share a similar pink blush. He is long and lithe-limbed with a firm trunk of a body that is secretly much softer to hold than he looks. He is tall and broad and just looking at him, just holding that secret behind his eyes, Trent can feel himself begin to grow hard. It feels foolish, to want someone so badly that wants nothing to do with you, but he does. Trent is so painfully, so foolishly in love, and he has simply given up trying to hide it. Even to saying the words silently into Ted's lips. He looks into Ted's warring eyes and admits defeat. Waves the white flag. "I wasn't trying to be a dick, Ted. I'm certain it wouldn't have bothered me at all if I didn't like you so much."

A rubber band snaps somewhere in Ted's subconscious. He can see it. He can see just how Trent feels about him. When Trent sits across the room, observing. When Trent leans against a wall, following ground rules. And now as Trent's knelt on the edge of a mattress, naked, pleading. Ted has courted disaster and his own personal disaster is a cool drink of water. A cool drink that he wants to drown in one breath. In titanic gulps. For his own survival. He needs Trent. He wants Trent. And more than that, if he's honest with himself. But he has to put some kind of distance between them. However he can. There's no way that if this is truly how Trent feels, he can keep leading him on. Ted likes him so much it hurts now. Physically hurts to hold himself back. "I'm sure I've given you more than just cause to not like me at all."

Trent sighs and smiles, defeated, letting his head fall to the side. "It's no use. I liked you from the beginning. I don't think there's any changing it. Please. Come back to bed and let's have another tumble."

And there it is. Ted's pretty pink cock. And hope. Springing back to life.

Ted drops his boxers and puts his head in his hand. "How about a compromise?"

"I'm listening."

Ted lets his hands fall to his hips and looks Trent in the eyes. If he is going to let his body win this battle, he is going to be very brave about it. "How about, if I come back to bed, I give you a good weinerin?"

Trent snorts. Absurd man. "Are you serious?"

Ted nods, his cock continuing to grow hard. Trent cannot bother with pretending he wants anything else. He makes a brief look to the bedside table. He can't imagine Ted has the patience for all the proper channels, so they will have to lubricate.

"Please?"

Ted's body relents. "Okay, but then I really have to go." He searches the floor and doesn't even pretend to have had any other plans for their time together when he pulls a foil out of the pocket of his khakis.

Trent crawls across the bed to grab the lube, "Don't ruin the fun before I've had my weinering."

When Ted approaches the bed, he pulls the long line of Trent's body into his. Trent is so amenable and melts just so. Ted reaches one hand into the hair at the nape of Trent's neck and pushes Trent's hair up and away, nipping at the tender flesh there. He reaches his other hand around to Trent's chest and slides a hand down the continuous flesh until he can dig his fingers into the silvered, waxy pubic hairs. Ted closes Trent's curly bits in his fist and gently tugs, tearing a moan from somewhere deep in Trent's chest. He rubs his cock between Trent's ass cheeks and knows immediately if he keeps doing that, this will not last long. He is a reciprocal fella, after all.

When Ted and Trent are finally locked into one another, Ted thrusting long and powerful, Trent's heels wrapped around his thighs, arms holding Ted's arms to his chest, they are omniscient. Together, they are an endless, expansive breath in and an exultation out. Everywhere and nowhere. Confetti and colored smoke and explosions and lightning and all acts of god big and small.

When Ted can feel Trent coming, the enormity of his feelings, the joy, the power, the consideration, the trust and care and kindness and curiosity, the love–oh god, the Love–Ted has to physically bite down on his tongue because if he doesn't, the truth will come spilling out of his mouth.

Instead, he lets himself come with a grunt. He pulls gently out of Trent. He lays Trent down. And he kisses Trent to sleep. Then he dresses in silence. In the dark. He steps out of the front door. Checks his phone. Sees the missed call from Michelle. Wants to be sick on the street. 

He calls her back instead.

Chapter Text

At first he expects to have the little girl at his door ask for Honey. She is much too old to know his girl, but the expectation fits? 

"Are you Trent Crimm?"

And then the horror of an awful prank crosses his mind. His present and past catching up with him.

But then he hears an incomprehensible whisper off behind a bit of his overgrown hedges and sees Man City Manager Nathan Shelley hiding. Simultaneously, Honey comes bounding up to him and hiding behind a leg. He looks down to see sweet heart-shaped eyes.

He invites them both in for tea.

Nathan Shelley looks a raincloud more than the storm he remembers the last time Shelley knocked on his door.