Chapter Text
Honestly, if you had asked Ryland Grace what his life would look like at this age, the title ‘sugar baby’ would not have been one he would have reached for. Especially a sugar baby to a famous actor. Double especially to a famous actor who also happens to be his brother's kind of boss? Hard to say specifically since they both view the relationship differently. Colt says Tom is his boss, but Tom always says he and Colt are partners. He tends to just go with whoever he’s talking to at the time, it’s easier that way.
Colt doesn’t know about this little arrangement he and Tom have. They both decided it was probably for the best, since the only label there was to it is either hook up or the aforementioned sugar baby. It just sort of . . . happened. Probably the middle of Tom’s career, when he really started making money. Suddenly Ryland started receiving things - a new sweater from that same company he got the fox one he adores from, a new bike helmet when he complained about how he keeps losing his on set, industrial sized bags of sour skittles, other things that he never really asked for but suddenly showed up at his apartment with a little note that would read “From - T 🩷”. He didn’t know another T that could afford a brand new bike when his got hit in the parking lot of the school.
To: Tom Ryder
R: Hey, can we talk?
T: Yeah, sure! Everything okay?
R: Yeah, everything is fine. Meet up for dinner?
T: Sure!!
Tom had sent the details to a pretty upscale place. Ryland had looked at it online, sighed, and dug out his good slacks and button down, a relic from when he was in academia.
Dinner was good, the food was incredible, of course, but they both danced around the subject until dessert was placed in front of them.
“So . . . the gifts.” Ryland started, watching Tom’s face carefully. Tom placed his fork down on his plate, nodding slowly, looking mildly like a deer in the headlights.
“Yeah . . . the gifts.” He echoed, squirming a bit in his seat, “Are they . . . are they too much or something? Because I can tone it down, or if you didn’t like the stuff I got you then I can totally get you different things?”
“No, it’s not that, I have really liked the stuff you got me. I’m just sort of wondering why you’re doing it? I know you don’t get Colt anything like you get me, he noticed the bike yesterday and asked about it. I said it came from you and he looked like I’d just told him that ribosomes are enclosed by a membrane.”
Tom stared at him blankly and he’d tried not to sigh. “Like I’d just told him he had to be off book within two days.”
“Oh! Yeah, uh, no I don’t really . . . I mean, is it a problem?” Tom asked, fidgeting with the spoon from his dessert.
Ryland had to think about it, was it a problem? No, not really. He liked the things, and Tom wasn’t demanding of him in any way. He just sort of felt bad about taking them without being able to offer anything back.
“It’s not really a problem, honestly. I just don’t have a way of paying you back, is all.” He shrugged, taking a sip of his decaf coffee. That’s what places like this did, for some reason, was give you decaf coffee after your meal even though it was 8 pm on a Thursday.
“You don’t owe me anything, Rylie.” Tom had smiled at him so earnestly, that something in Ryland’s heart clenched. He wasn’t too sure about the nickname still, even though Tom’s been calling him that for a couple years at this point, but he hadn’t ever actually told Tom to stop. Maybe there was a little part of him that did really like it, the same part that’s currently thinking about Tom in a way that is not conducive to remaining single. Which he wanted to be.
But, being single didn’t mean he couldn’t have fun, right? And he’s seen the way Tom stares at him, the way his eyes linger. The gifts are probably part of that too, right?
“I mean, we could hook up, if you wanted.” He shrugged, picking up his coffee and taking a sip to calm his nerves.
Tom had choked on his water, had nodded so vigorously his curls had flopped around his head. Ryland learned very quickly that night that Tom loved to be topped. Which worked out in his favor, because Ryland loved to top. He’d left the next morning with a notification that $1k had been sent to his bank account, and he’d been able to purchase a lot more school supplies than he’d originally budgeted for.
And then Ryland had gone back the next day. And the next. And then a couple days after. And suddenly it’s been years and he’s been a steady fixture in Tom’s bed and Tom has been a steady fixture in his brain and his heart, much to his chagrin. He’s not falling for his sugar daddy. Which, what a phrase, really.
—-------
It’s a little over a year into their arrangement. It’s been going really well, honestly. It’s not without its faults, of course, but they’ve managed to weather some pretty rocky things. Tom understands now when Ryland needs a bit of space, and Ryland understands when Tom is calling because he wants a hook up or because he needs company. It’s a school night, so late that it’s technically morning when his phone goes off with Tom’s specific ringtone. He doesn’t remember when he gave Tom a specific ringtone, just that his body now recognizes it before his brain does and he’s already reaching for the phone before he’s fully awake.
“Tom?” Ryland asks, voice sleepy and hoarse.
“Hey . . . sorry, were you sleeping?” He sounds sad. It’s the first thing Ryland thinks when Tom’s voice filters through the phone. Ryland sits up, clicking on the light, now fully awake.
“Yeah, but it’s fine. What’s wrong?” Ryland’s voice is soft, warm, encouraging. He vaguely remembers that Tom was supposed to go out with friends tonight, had called him around 10 pm outside of the nightclub that had just opened downtown to say goodnight.
Tom takes a shuddering breath on the other side and Ryland realizes he’s been crying. It’s that little hitch, he’s heard it before only once or twice, but when you hear it once it’s unmistakable.
“Where are you?” Ryland asks quickly, getting up and grabbing the first things he can find. Yesterday’s jeans, a Miami Stunt Show t-shirt he uses for sleeping, a sweatshirt, a beanie. If he’s still downtown Ryland can call Tom’s driver for him, get him picked up, and then Ryland can uber over to Tom’s place. Tom hasn’t come to his apartment yet, it’s been strictly Ryland staying at his place. It’s nicer than Ryland’s one bedroom, 1200 square foot living space. It’s cozy, comfortable, but not much about Tom’s life is suited to cozy.
“I’m outside your apartment . . . I can go, but I just wanted to see you, just for a moment?” Tom responds, and he can hear shuffling from the speaker. Ryland drops the clothes he had gathered and basically runs to his front door.
He throws it open, seeing Tom standing there in his club getup. Ryland will never understand what makes him wear tight leather pants, sheer shirts, big white sunglasses, but he’s in all three, even though the white sunglasses are broken and dangling from his fingers in a loose grip. He’s got tear tracks down his face, his curls are messed up, and if he didn’t see the tailend of the black hummer exiting the apartment complex he genuinely would have been worried that Tom walked here.
“C’mon, honey,” Ryland hangs up the phone and sets it on the little entryway table, gently taking Tom by the arm and tugging him inside, “Let’s get you into something more comfortable and we can either talk about it or watch something or sleep, does that sound okay?”
Tom nods, allowing himself to be pulled into Ryland’s apartment. He looks halfway in a dissociative episode and it’s worrying Ryland. Tom is generally able to bounce quickly back from something that bothers him. Whatever happened tonight is really getting to him.
Ryland grabs his phone on the way. He’s going to get Tom into the shower and then send an email to Eva about missing tomorrow. There’s something happening and he needs to make sure he’s available to help. He’s never seen Tom like this before, and it’s really worrying.
“Okay, why don’t you take a shower? Wash off whatever happened before you came here. I don’t have any of your products, so maybe avoid washing your hair, I think I have a shower cap somewhere? I’ll look for one-” He’s babbling, he knows he is because Tom is staring at him with this . . . almost anguished look in his eyes. Ryland can’t help the little wounded noise that slips from him and he pulls Tom close, hugging him tight.
It takes Tom less than a second to hug him back and start sobbing into his shoulder. Ryland eases them to the floor in the middle of the hallway, just a few steps from both the bathroom and the bedroom. He pulls Tom into his lap, feeling the way Tom’s thighs fit on either side of his hips. It feels so natural, so like home, that it takes him a moment to get back to the present because all he can think about it is what it would be like if Tom didn’t have to call him to be let in, if they lived together and they shared their locations and Tom could call him the moment something was wrong instead of feeling like he was a burden and having to show up for fear of being rejected before the driver could even pick him up.
He feels Tom’s tears soak the shoulder of his shirt and he realizes he’s been rubbing Tom’s back while also having a hand in his hair because he knows Tom likes when Ryland runs his fingers through his curls. He lets Tom cry for a while, leaning up against the small wall of the hallway. The doorframe to the bedroom is digging into the middle of his right scapula, but he literally could not care less about the pain, not when Tom has his fists bunched up in the front of his shirt and is holding on like someone is going to rip him away and if that happens he’ll die. Ryland kind of feels the same way right now, funny enough.
Tom smells like booze and cigarettes and weed. It’s not a smell he particularly enjoys, but it’s also not a smell like he’s consumed these things in mass quantities. He knows when Tom is high, he’s giggly and touchy and when they have sex he can’t stop touching Ryland’s skin in a reverent sort of way, in a way that sometimes makes Ryland feel like it’s how people touch something holy. When Tom is drunk he’s sleepy, quiet, clingy in a way that has Ryland believing that if Tom could fuse with his body he would in a heartbeat. Cigarettes are just something Tom doesn’t smoke. He says it ruins his ‘actors lungs’ and if he starts coughing on set when trying to do a big dramatic monologue it’ll ruin everything. Ryland used to smoke in college, but he quit because it was mainly a social thing and after a particularly rough bender he stopped partying altogether. He’d told Tom about a few weeks ago after Tom called him really, really drunk asking him to come over. He had come over, of course, but it was to put Tom to bed with a glass of water and some medicine and sleep on the couch. There was no way he was even tempting that. That had made him worried, so he sat Tom down and told him what happened to him, how he drank for two weeks straight to get through finals and even though he aced them somehow he’d almost ended up in the hospital from liver failure. It took Colt and Rocky to get him to stop. Tom had listened intently, had promised he would never get that drunk again. So far he’s kept it. He’s only been an appropriate amount of drunk (if there was such a thing). Right now he doesn’t even smell like he drank that much.
When Tom’s cries turn to sniffles and he turns his head towards Ryland instead of burying his whole face in Ryland’s shoulder Ryland turns and kisses the crown of his head. “Do you wanna talk about it?”
He nods, but stays quiet for a little while longer. Ryland is giving him all the time he needs because he doesn’t want to scare him into leaving. He’s not sure that Tom would actually leave, but it’s better to be safe than sorry, and he doesn’t want to try and push him into something he’s not ready for anyways.
Tom takes a deep, stuttering breath, “It’s stupid, honestly, I really shouldn’t care this much. But, um, do you think I’m shallow and a waste of air?”
“What??” Ryland asks, pulling back and looking at his face. Tom is looking down, looking away, like he’s afraid of what Ryland is going to say. “Who told you that you were shallow and a waste of air?”
“I kind of got into a fight with Marlo? He wanted me to go shot for shot with him and I know that he can really take his alcohol and I promised you that I wasn’t going to get that drunk ever again so I told him no. He was pushing me about why I was suddenly ‘not as fun’ anymore and so I just . . . kind of told him that you and I were friends and I wanted to respect you and all that and he laughed at me and said to just drink because I was shallow and a waste of air and you wouldn’t stay with me for long because you’d realize it sooner rather than later and he was my friend despite it. I tried arguing back that I wasn’t, that you didn’t think I was and he said . . . well, it doesn’t matter what he said in response. I did kind of, um, punchhimintheface.” The last sentence is a rush of air out of him, stringing the words together so fast Ryland isn’t able to figure out what he said because he doesn’t have his hearing aid in his left ear and even though Tom deliberately has been talking in his right it still can be hard to parse through run ons like that.
“What did you do?” He asks, leaning forward and kissing him on the forehead, trying to make him feel comfortable enough to just slow down and tell him everything.
Tom sighs heavily. “I punched him in the face.”
“You punched Marlo in the face??” He’s stunned. Marlo is one of Tom’s best friends. He’s met Marlo a couple times when they’ve worked on movies together. He’s not Marlo’s biggest fan, but Tom seemed to like him well enough, and it’s not like Ryland was expected to be around him all the time. Maybe if he and Tom were dating they would need to have a full conversation about it, but they aren’t. They aren’t dating.
“Yeah, he, uh, he said that you looked easy, that if you and I weren’t fucking I was doing something wrong, that even someone shallow like me could appeal to you.” Tom somehow moves closer to him, somehow there’s less space between them, “And I told him to shut the fuck up and he just laughed at me and rolled his eyes and said I was stupid and that if I’m not fucking you then he’ll do it and that’s when I punched him in the face.”
Ryland has no idea what to say to that, honestly. He feels so many things. Surprised at the punch, disgusted with Marlo, loved by Tom. What does he do with these feelings? He shoves them down and nods, now intent on making sure Tom is okay. “Did he hit you back?”
“No, he’s a pus- uh, he’s a wimp? And ran off after I got him. The rest of my fri- well, I guess they aren’t my friends anymore since they went after him and no one stayed with me. But no, I’m fine. I just . . . you’re the only good person in my life, you know that?” Tom lays his head back on Ryland’s shoulder, sighing heavily. “Thank you for putting up with me.”
“It’s not putting up with you, Tommy, I like what we have.” Ryland smiles down at him warmly, bringing his hand up to push the curls off his forehead.
Tom nods, eyes dimming again in sadness briefly before standing. Ryland instantly feels the loss of warmth deep in his bones but stands as well, following as Tom walks into the bathroom and turns on the shower.
“I like what we have too, by the way. I’m lucky to have you.” Tom smiles at him, a tired, worn out thing. Ryland hugs him again before sending off the email that he won’t be making it to work the next day.
When he’s done, he wanders back into the bathroom where Tom is standing under the stream, looking down at the water as it swirls the drain.
“For the record, I don’t think you’re shallow or a waste of space or stupid,” he says, stripping out of his night clothes and joining in the barely too small shower, holding him from behind.
Tom stays the night, and in the morning Ryland wakes before he does. Tom is sprawled on top of him, snoring softly in his ear. Ryland is struck with the feelings he had last night, that this feels right, that he wishes this was his every morning, his every day. Tears prick his eyes when he thinks about how that’s not possible, how this is all they’ll ever be because Tom doesn’t want more and he’s not going to jeopardize what they have right now because he might have caught feelings for his fucking sugar daddy. He’s going to shove it down and not think about it again. And he succeeds for a while.
—-------
It’s a normal workday when Ryland checks his phone halfway through the day. He knows Tom will have texted him by now, he normally texts around noon and it’s one right now. Just like he thought, he’s gotten a text from Tom about dinner tonight, asking if he’s still available and if they still want to do dinner in. Ryland knows he went to the club last night, that he hooked up with some guy in the bathroom. Tom had told him all about it that morning when he called for his good morning chat. Ryland chooses to ignore the fact that they talk on average once a day, sometimes even twice. Tom knows that Ryland prefers phone calls to texts and that’s why when he goes through his call log there’s so many outbound and inbound calls from ‘Tom 🩷’, some lasting a couple seconds where they tell each other good morning or good night, some lasting hours if he’s away on a shoot. It’s fine, it’s normal. The man is currently paying his rent on auto pay. He can indulge these things, right? Doesn’t mean anything that it’s something he finds himself looking forward to.
He dresses in one of the shirts Tom got for him recently. It’s a nice, blue silky button down that he knows costs way too much, but Tom really likes him in silk inside and outside the bedroom and it’s comfortable. He knows that it’ll probably be on the floor longer than it was on his body, but that’s fine. He lets himself into Tom’s place and Tom is already at the stove, stirring something in a pot. He’s staring off into space, clearly thinking hard. Ryland can almost see the gears turning in his pretty head.
He’s not really sneaking, but he does toe off his shoes so his steps are quieter as he makes his way over. Ryland winds his arms around Tom’s waist and presses a kiss to his shoulder. “Penny for your thoughts?”
Tom jumps, which makes Ryland jump too. That was not what he was expecting, at all. Normally Tom melts into him, even when Ryland surprises him. Ryland takes a better look at him and sees the way his eyes are darting away from his face every time he meets Ryland’s eyes. Oh . . . Tom is nervous. Something’s wrong, something’s going on. It makes Ryland immediately on edge. He thinks back to this morning, the thirty minute ramble when Ryland was getting ready about how hot this Simon was when he was pounding into Tom in the stall of whatever club Tom had gone to last night when Ryland was at parent teacher conferences. Was . . . did Tom want to end their thing so he could pursue Simon?
The thought makes something twist heavy and deep in Ryland’s gut. He doesn’t like the idea of this ending. Not because the money would stop, he’s realizing in this moment he does not care about the money so much as he doesn’t want to lose Tom. He’s reminded of that time Tom came to him at one am, sobbing, asking if Ryland thought he was shallow and a waste of space and how he thought he was falling in love with Tom then but he’s certain that he already has. It’s two realizations slamming into him with such force that he ends up needing to take a step back, stumbling really. Tom looks at him with concern, the nerves vanishing for a moment.
“Rylile? Love, you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine . . . I’m just gonna set the table.” He scurries off, grabbing bowls and spoons and the glass bottles of water that Tom loves for some reason. He’s trying to decide how much he’s willing to beg, if he’s willing at all to debase himself like that. He should just let Tom go, right? It would make the most sense, in the end, probably hurt less than if he does end up getting on his knees to beg and Tom still says no, that he’s grown bored of Ryland after all of these years and he wants something new and fresh and probably younger. Tom could have anyone he wanted, he was a movie star for god’s sake. Ryland really does not like the understanding that Tom is probably one of the best things that’s ever happened to him.
Dinner is tense because Ryland cannot look at Tom for too long without feeling the need to burst into tears. He holds it together though, waits for Tom to start talking first. Maybe he’ll wait till after they hook up. Ryland’s not sure he’ll be able to get it up with the nerves he’s got right now, but they have toys, he can use one of those until Tom takes his key and he leaves for the last time.
“So . . . I wanted to talk with you about something,” Tom starts, looking even more nervous now.
Ryland nods, folding his hands in front of him on the table, taking a deep breath. “Yeah, I figured you would, you’ve been nervous all night.”
“Have I?” He winces, scratching at the side of his face absentmindedly. “Well, I mean, I don’t want to fuck this up between us, you know?”
He blinks at Tom, thrown completely. Fuck this up between us? Does . . . does that mean Tom isn’t ending their thing?
“Oh, uh, I thought . . . I thought you were going to end our . . .” What does he call it?? It’s been years and he has no idea what to call it. It’s kind of a relationship without strings attached (well, aside from the strings he’s apparently crafted in his mind when his consciousness wasn’t looking). They aren’t dating, they’re fucking and Tom buys him things. Tom likes buying him things, he’s said before he would still hook up with Tom if the things and money went away but he says it makes him happy to do it, makes him feel accomplished and he’ll never spend the amount of money he has or makes by himself anyways so why not use it to spoil Ryland? It does make him feel loved wanted. It’s a nice feeling.
It’s Tom’s turn to blink at him before he understands what Ryland is saying. “Oh!! No!! Do you . . . do you want to . . .?” Tom is starting to look devastated and Ryland can’t have that.
“Not at all!! I just thought, you met that guy last night and then you were so nervous today and I just kind of thought that you’d gotten tired of me? We’ve been doing this for years and you can have anyone you want and I’m not jealous, not at all, but I just . . . I don’t know. But no, I don’t want this to end,” Ryland says in a rush, slowing down when he gets to the end. He probably shouldn’t have said all of that, he probably should have just moved the conversation on and ask what Tom actually wanted to talk about. But they’ve always been adamant about open communication that it’s become just a habit.
Tom smiles at him, reaching across the table and grabbing his hands. “Rylie, no one could ever replace you. I was going to ask if you would be okay if I asked Simon to be what you are to me too, a sugar baby. I was also going to say that if you aren’t okay with it I won’t. I don’t want to ruin what we have here.”
Ruin what we have here. Here, being the sugar baby thing. Why is that a bit of a twinge in his gut? The idea that all Tom wants from this is the casual sex. Ryland is fine with that. There’s no reason that he needs to look down for a moment, disguising it as thinking about how he feels about Simon being Tom’s sugar baby. He doesn’t care about that, honestly it’ll be good for Ryland if Tom has another outlet. Tom wears him out, point blank. If he could, the man would fuck Ryland twice a day every day. Ryland has a day job, he can’t be available constantly and Tom gets needy. In fact, Ryland might send Simon a fruit basket or something if he accepts and helps share the load. It really is just is the fact that Tom doesn’t want anything more from him. Oh well, he can deal with it on his own, like he does with all of the other inconvenient feelings he has.
“Go for it!” Ryland smiles wide. “If you like him that much, I think you should. Just remember to have him sign the NDA’s and things, yeah? You made me sign those and I’m the brother to your stunt double.”
Tom laughs and nods. “Yeah, ‘course I will, Rylie. I really—” Tom pauses for just a moment longer than he does in normal conversation before saying, “—appreciate you. I want to do something bigger for you than you normally let me. How much does the science club need to run for the next ten years?”
Ryland doesn’t know if Tom planned on trying to meet up with Simon the next day, but Ryland doesn’t let Tom leave the bed for 24 hours after that.
—-------
A couple months later, Ryland is lounging on Tom’s couch during the weekend. He’s been here since Thursday, with his work closed for a holiday or something. He hasn’t been able to spend a couple days with Tom since school started, so as soon as he found out they would have this random long weekend he’d called Tom to ask if he was free. Thankfully he’d said yes, and now it was Saturday and he’s officially sore. That’s what happens when you fuck like bunny rabbits for two days straight.
“Hey, could I get your opinion about something for Simon?” Tom asks as he pads into the room, curls damp, sweatpants slung low on his hips. Sometimes Ryland curses the fact that he isn’t as hypersexual as Tom, because he wants nothing more than to tug those sweatpants down and have his way with Tom again, but he knows if he tried his dick would not cooperate and he doesn’t want to deal with that. So instead, he reaches out and tugs Tom into his lap, resting his chin on Tom’s shoulder.
“Of course, honey, what is it?” Tom has talked about Simon enough that Ryland thinks he might be able to help with gifts. Nothing in depth, Tom tends to cut himself off if he thinks he’s talking about the other man too much, like he thinks Ryland will get upset or something. Ryland very much will not. It’s nice to share, especially during the holidays because now he doesn’t have to worry about making Tom spend them alone because he can’t necessarily tell his family that he’s spending the holiday with his sugar daddy, who no one knows about. And if Ryland tried to tell them he wanted to be alone they would just show up at his house anyways. Sometimes he thinks he’d like to spend a holiday or two with Tom, but it’s just not something that can happen. They make up for it with the week before and after.
“Well, I wanted to ask you about, like, what prosthetic would be best?” Tom holds up his phone to Ryland, zoomed in on a man with well defined pecs in a harness, his left arm gone just above the elbow joint. Ryland can’t help the way his eyes roam over the expanse of skin, the way the harness fits him. It looks like it was taken on a bed, on Tom’s bed actually, he recognizes those silk sheets. Is this Simon? Is this . . . a zoomed in nude of Simon??
“Uhhhhhh,” Ryland says eloquently, resisting the urge to take Tom’s phone and zoom the photo out. He knows that Tom has pictures of him on his phone, and it never really occurred to him that someone might see them. But, Tom is making sure that the photo doesn’t zoom out, so at least he’s being respectful.
“I want to get him a prosthetic but I don’t know the first thing about them, you know? I just thought that maybe since you’re a super smart scientist you might have some insight?” Tom’s voice is hopeful and he nuzzles the top of his head into the crook of Ryland’s shoulder, sighing a bit. Ryland knows that sigh, it’s a sigh that says he’s really fond of whatever they’re talking about and trying to play it cool. Ryland smiles and shakes his head.
“Tommy, I’m not that kind of scientist. Besides, it’s going to be his arm, I don’t think this is something that you can just surprise him with. He’ll probably like it a lot more if he gets to build it with you, you know?” He reaches up and scratches his nails lightly against the back of Tom’s head, getting lost in his own thoughts. He’d really like to meet Simon. He’s been thinking about it for about a month or so. Mainly because he wants to shake the man's hand and tell him thank you so much for sharing Tom, but also because he’s incredibly curious about who else could captivate Tom like this. He wants to meet the man even more now that he’s seen this. He really, really wouldn’t mind sharing between the three of them. But, if Tom wanted that, he would have asked. Tom generally doesn’t have any qualms with asking for what he wants, which is how Ryland has found himself with a drawer full of lingerie in varying colors of expensive silk that he wears often when he meets with Tom. He packed a couple sets this stay, even.
Tom hums out a breath, clearly thinking, the wheels turning in his pretty head. Ryland laughs softly and turns his head to give Tom a kiss. “You wanna watch that movie now? I need to rest for a little bit.”
“Yeah, ‘course, love.” Tom clicks his phone shut and sets it to the side. Ryland wants to ask to see a non-nude photo of Simon, wants to know what he looks like. But he stops himself and instead pulls a blanket over them and turns on the TV, navigating the streaming app.
—---------
School let out yesterday for the summer, thank god. Yesterday had been such a whirlwind that he’d barely been able to check his phone. He’d missed a couple texts and calls from Tom, which he hated letting go but there just was no way he could stop what he was doing to talk to him. Besides, he thought Simon was supposed to be with him for the day since his classes had gotten out the day before. Ryland had been a little concerned when he’d found a sticky note that said ‘remember to pay Si’s tuition,’ but Tom had explained that he was getting his master’s and that made him feel a lot better. Tom had been proud when he talked about what Simon was studying, and it makes him wonder if Tom talks about him like that to Simon.
He’d looked at the texts last night when he got home from work before passing out still wearing his jeans. There had been three messages.
From: Tommy 🩷
T: Hey, love, this is the set you were looking at, right?
T: (image)
T: I’m getting it, even if it’s not we’ll still have fun putting it together 🥰
The photo had been of Simon holding up a big lego set, a framed milky way galaxy with oranges, pinks, blues, purples, and whites. It’s absolutely gorgeous, an art piece really. It’s not the one he was looking at, but he’d panicked when he saw the photo because he wasn’t able to say he wanted it; luckily, he’d gotten to relax a second later when he saw the next text saying that Tom had gone ahead and gotten for him. It had made him smile so wide that his face hurt. Tom knows what he likes and proves it in ways like these.
Right now, he’s sitting in his favorite coffee shop, nursing an iced coffee and scrolling through his phone. He’d already finished the pastry he’d gotten, and he’s just waiting for Tom to text him on one of his breaks. They plan on getting together within the next couple days, which probably means he’ll end up at Tom’s tonight if Simon isn’t still with him. That thought triggers something in his mind and he goes back to the photo Tom had sent. There, in the background, holding the lego set up for Tom to take a picture. He recognizes Simon from the prosthetic on his left arm (also because he can see a bit of his defined pecs over top of the box, but that’s beside the point). Ryland zooms in on the top half of the photo, where he can see a bit of Simon’s face. From the nose down only, but his lips are curved up into a fond smile, a beard adorning his face that Ryland wants to touch for some reason. His hair is long enough that the ends show around his neck. He’s squinting at the photo like it’ll magically reveal more to him. He fully understands why Tom went so crazy for him a year ago. Just from this little bit he’s seen, Simon is pretty.
Ryland bites his thumbnail, thinking through things as logically as he can. It’s been a year, Tom probably doesn’t want to introduce them, probably wants to keep them separate. Is that because he wants it, or because he thinks it would be best? Ryland would really like to climb Simon like a tree. He knows for a fact Tom isn’t topping anyone, so Simon must also be a top. He can work with that, Ryland doesn’t mind being a switch if he needs to. He likes riding dick almost as much as Tom does. Though, he’ll probably never like it as much as Tom. If, for some reason, Tom thinks they’ll be weird about each other, Ryland wants to try and assuage those fears. Maybe he can bring it up when he sees Tom tonight or tomorrow.
The coffee shop is a little busy, not much though, so when the door opens and the bell dings he mainly looks up because the noise draws his attention. He goes to look back down but does a double take when he notices the prosthetic on the man who is currently walking through the door. That’s . . . that’s Simon! Holy cheese and crackers, that's Simon. He’s as built as Ryland’s been picturing: thick thighs in short cloth workout shorts, a workout shirt that’s basically painted on him, his hair in a half bun. Ryland’s actually kind of salivating.
He wants to go talk with him, but what the fuck does he say?? ‘Hi, your sugar daddy is also my sugar daddy, lets fuck about it’? If he were a braver man he might have. But as it was, he’s rooted to the spot, literally just staring at him. He needs to stop staring at him. Oh my gosh, stop staring!
And then it’s too late. Simon turns around and clearly catches him, an annoyed look passing over his face before he freezes, staring just as wide-eyed back at Ryland. Their staring contest lasts for a minute before another patron gets annoyed at Simon blocking the walkway and he finally gets moving. Right towards Ryland.
Christmas Eve, what the heck is he going to say?