Chapter Text
"Told you I'd see you back in London." Rhys is grinning up at him from Joe's favorite chair in his own fucking apartment. A knock at the door nearly startles Joe out of his shoes while Rhys doesn't show an ounce of worry, "Better get that, I'll be right here."
Joe doesn't hear a thing Kate says when he finds her at the door, even though she gives him a way out. He can leave with her right now, he can leave right now. But, instead, with Rhys only a few steps away in his living room, he blows her off. He shuts the door, hovering by it, calming his breaths, before going back to the troublemaker invading his home.
Only to find that Rhys isn't there anymore.
"Tea?" Rhys calls from the kitchen, making Joe jump for the second time during his little unscheduled visit.
"You can't be here," Joe warns, stumbling into the kitchen to find the man pouring two cups of tea.
"And why is that? Because Kate might see?" Although he says her name with distaste he plasters a fake smile on his face easily, turning to look out the left side window in the kitchen. He catches Kate's eye just as she's getting back to her own flat, lifting his cup in a silent hello, he's still smiling when he turns back to Joe.
Rhys barely sets his cup down before he's taking up space in Joe's bubble, hovering in front of the right window of the kitchen now, still very much in Kate's line of view.
"What do you think she's thinking right now?" Rhys asks, sincerely. His fingers ghost over Joe's sides, his eyes searching Joe's face for any ounce of discomfort. And, although Joe hates to admit it, he most likely won't find any.
"She's probably asking herself why her buddy Rhys would come on to a straight man," Joe mumbles although he doesn't know why he says it, kind of a weak argument for many reasons in his current position.
"A straight man, you say?" Rhys' eyes grow wide, wild with challenge and want. Joe doesn't flinch, doesn't shy away at the heavy eye contact, "You're trembling, Joe." He states in a teasing way and Joe is, which is even more embarrassing.
"You could've gone with her, you know. You could've just left me here. But, instead," Rhys hooks a finger through one of the belt loops of Joe's pants to pull their bodies flush together, "you decided to stay here. With me." He says the last two words with a genuine grin that captivates Joe to his core.
Joe can't stop himself.
He rushes forward only for Rhys to take that exact moment to pull away, taking several steps back from Joe, "Eager, are we? What would Kate think of her straight man?" Rhys tuts at him, taking in Joe's feverish state before he looks out the window. Joe follows his eyes, watching Kate tidying up her apartment, mumbling under her breath. Probably about how stupid Joe is.
When he looks back, he studies Joe, intently, surveying him. I, oh God, I really do think I want this, Joe thinks to himself, his heartbeat quickens at the thought, beginning to struggle under Rhys' heavy eyes.
"You're terrified of how much you want this." Rhys says, seemingly reading his mind, grinning at him, "Take a breath, Joe. It's alright." He laughs and suddenly he's crowding in against Joe again, his thigh sliding in between Joe's trembling ones, pressing the man against the opposite counter.
Rhys tests the waters between them, unflinching at the heat of it as he leans in, slowly. And Joe lets him, he doesn't flinch away because this is Rhys, he knows Rhys, he read his book, and they match. And even though Rhys tried to kill him, locked him in a basement, and lit it a blaze, he came back. He said 'see you in London', and Joe found himself looking forward to that.
So, he forgets all about the window and closes the distance between them. Kissing this man with nothing short of all the fierceness his body can muster up.
This. This is different because Joe isn't doing the leading, he's being led. Rhys' arms guide Joe's hands to his shoulders, instructing him to hold on there. While Rhys' own hands find Joe's waist, pulling him closer. It's all so foreign to Joe, so wrong. And yet, he refuses to pull away, not with the way Rhys is kissing him.
"Someone's being nosey." Rhys singsongs, turning his face away from Joe to look out the window again. And, no, Joe can't force himself to look. No, nope, not happening. With his arms wrapped around Rhys' shoulders, his body arching into the other man's, grinding desperately against his thigh, he must look pathetic.
But, Rhys, has other plans. He takes Joe's bearded chin in his hand and forces his gaze out the window. He makes a show of kissing down Joe's neck, hands exploring high enough to be seen through the window. At one point Rhys' hands grip his ass, forcing his hips to grind harder against Rhys' thigh. He can't stop his eyes from fluttering at the sensation.
It's worse than Joe could've imagined. He must look a right mess because Kate's mouth is agape, her brows high on her face, she's frozen, and Joe can see the red tint of her cheeks from across the way. He does try to fight against Rhys' hand still on his chin, he really does, but Rhys is so much stronger than him, his hand only grows tighter, more painful.
"Let's give her a show then, shall we?" Rhys says, then he presses Joe back against the counter, making quick work of his pant buttons with one hand before he can get said hand down the front of Joe's pants and inside his underwear. His hand is rough against Joe's painfully hard cock, but Joe doesn't find that to be a turn-off.
Which terrifies him further.
"You're insane," Joe growls, pressing his hands to Rhys' chest with an intent to shove him away. But, Rhys' thumb slides over the head of Joe's cock in a way that has Joe's hands balling the material of Rhys' shirt into his tight fists. He moans, broken, pitched, and loud. So unlike how he usually is when it comes to fucking.
But, he can't count this as fucking. Can he? It's a measly handjob. Why is he being so vocal over a measly handjob? Joe fights the urge to fuck into Rhys' hand, deciding instead to press his sweaty forehead to the man's shoulder.
"No, not insane." Rhys smiles against the top of Joe's head, pressing his lips to the soft mess of hair as his hand speeds up, "Insane would be turning you around, pressing you down onto this counter here, and fucking you right in front of her." The ways he says it, so nonchalant, so easy, Joe's legs nearly give out from beneath him as he comes at the hand of Rhys Montrose.
His body shivers, his breath coming out in tight spurts, and yet he refuses to acknowledge that it was Rhys' words that pushed him over the edge. He'd never. No, not in a million years would he ever let Rhys do the things he'd described. Even as he hangs lazily off the man, still finding his breath, his body refuses to cease its twitching, long after Rhys withdraws his hand.
And yet he would. Jesus fuck, he would. He'd let Rhys, the man now chuckling lightly as he carry's Joe back to the living room to lay him on the couch, fuck him into oblivion. Fuck, he'd let Rhys take him to bed, hold him down, and make him take it even though he's never taken anything in his life. It's a terrifying realization he comes to, the realization that he wants it.
He feels hungover on his own couch, again.
"You'd let me, wouldn't you?" Rhys asks, crouching down in front of the couch, looking at Joe with pure astonishment, stroking a hand through his hair. Joe knows what he's asking and refuses to answer, turning his head to the ceiling, breath quickening again (after he just got it back to normal) when Rhys' hand moves to settle on his lower stomach, trailing underneath his shirt.
He presses there, fingers firm, "You'll feel me right here, you're going to love it." He mumbles as if Joe is some science experiment. He says it as if it's bound to happen, that Joe will let it happen, that it's all up to Joe whether or not that little fantasy of his will come true.
"I won't force myself on you." Rhys confirms, brows knitting when Joe looks at him again, a look of faux concern taking over his features now, "Although it would be entirely too easy to just hold you down, you're so tiny, you know that? You'll beg me for it when the time comes." He shrugs, withdrawing his hand, and stands. He looks down at Joe with a look of pity.
"You have my number." He says.
"You're sick." Joe spits as best he can in his weakened state.
Rhys' eyes scan down Joe's body, lower and lower until he reaches something that piques his interest, "And you," He points, grinning again, finger following where his eyes had trailed until they point at Joe's crotch, "are hard again."
Then he's gone, pivoting on his heel and leaving Joe to overthink nearly everything.