Fic: Trial by Dinner
Title: Trial by Dinner
Author: rebecca
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Adam/Gil/Sam (all original)
Summary: He’s so completely doomed.
Warnings: none that I can think of? Smut, some bad language.
Notes: This is the sequel to The Fourth Proposition (I hate that title but couldn’t think of a better one), and like that one, it’s set in what I’m calling the D3 universe. The timeline for the D3 universe is fluid due to a number of factors, but this story and its prequel both take place around 2006, give or take.
All characters in this fic belong to me. For those of you who thought Gil looks familiar - yes, I’ve used him before, and yes, he’s been referenced in Geometry. This makes sense, since D3 is a Geometry AU. However, in this particular universe he has no history with any Geometry or NCIS or other fandom people.
*****
It’s just dinner. No need to be nervous, Sam tells himself, rubbing his hands over his face. Joshua, Christian, David, himself…and Gil and Adam. Who haven’t met David, or interacted with Christian or Joshua for more than a few moments. It’ll be fine, he tells himself.
He’s so completely doomed.
This wasn’t supposed to happen this way. He was supposed to go home for a weekend hookup with Gil and Adam and then never see them again except at big events or Maverick fundraisers or the like. Instead, it’s three weeks later and he’s spent more nights at their place than his own apartment. He doesn’t know how to sleep alone anymore, without a man on either side of him. They’ve tried other sleeping arrangements, but Gil sleeps restlessly and has a tendency to kick if he’s in the middle. Adam, on the other hand, sprawls, and it’s better that he sprawl over the side of the bed than both his partners.
Sam will never, ever admit it to anyone, but he’s never slept so well in his life. Even Gil’s sickening and probably extremely healthy habit of getting up at five in the morning to work out doesn’t bother him, not when he can curl back up into Adam’s arms and either watch Gil go through yoga or just go back to sleep.
They’re supposed to be here now, at his apartment for once, because it’s easier to get to Joshua and Christian’s place from Sam’s apartment than it is from Gil and Adam’s house. But it’s almost six and they’re not here and they haven’t called to say they’ll be late, but anything can come up at the last minute. Phone calls, emergencies, last-minute trips to Tokyo, anything. Sam thunks his head against the wall-again-and sighs. He’s doomed.
Just as he thinks that, his phone buzzes. “We’re downstairs,” Gil says. “Do you come down or do we go up?”
“I’ll come down, sir,” Sam says, already moving for the door. “You don’t really want to see my place, it’s a mess.”
“Sam, you’ve barely been there the last week,” Gil says. “How can it be a mess?”
“It’s not exactly a mess, sir, but I have a dead plant,” Sam admits. “I thought it might be traumatic.”
Gil laughs. “When did you acquire a dead plant?”
“Well, I sort of rescued it from Mimi, who thought it was a cat toy, but I haven’t been home to take care of it and then I thought I’d give it to you, but I keep forgetting to pick it up when I’m here. I’m not sure it’s salvageable at this point, honestly,” Sam says.
“Bring it down,” Gil says. “I’ll take a look at it.”
“Yes, sir,” Sam says, detouring to grab the plant before closing the door behind him. He takes the stairs down to the ground floor and comes out of the building to see their car waiting. It’s technically illegal to wait there, so he scrambles into the car quickly and closes the door, letting Adam merge back into traffic.
“Oh, good grief,” Gil says when Sam hands the plant into the front seat. “It’s not dead yet, but this poor thing is certainly in intensive care.”
“I think it was a gift for Christian from someone,” Sam says. “I probably have the records at the office somewhere.”
“I’ll see what I can do with it,” Gil says, handing it back. “Just leave it on the seat for now. If it doesn’t survive until I can get it home, it was doomed anyway.”
“Sir,” Sam says, setting the plant on the seat next to him. “I did try to water it.”
“I see that,” Gil says. “Thank you for that.”
“How was your day, sir?” Sam asks.
“Busy,” Gil says. “Adam and I may need to head up to New York for a couple days next week.”
Sam nods. They’ve had to do that once already since he’s known them. “I have to go to Boston next weekend,” he says. “Christian and I leave next Friday morning, but we’ll be back by Sunday evening. He’s got a charity performance there Saturday evening, and some press stuff beforehand. I think Joshua’s coming with us, but I’m not sure.”
“I haven’t been to Boston in ages,” Adam comments. “Do I turn left here, Sam, or is it the next light?”
“Next light, sir,” Sam says, glancing at the street signs. “The only times I’ve been to Boston I’ve been with Christian. He loves it.”
“I got to know it fairly well in grad school,” Adam says. “But that was longer ago than I care to remember.”
“We’re not that old,” Gil says.
“Sir, I don’t think you need to worry about being a mature adult,” Sam says impishly.
Adam laughs. “I’ll get you for that later.”
Sam grins, thinking maybe this won’t be so bad after all. He might just survive the evening.
They get to Joshua and Christian’s without problems and even find a parking space two houses down, which Sam counts as a good omen. He notices that Gil and Adam went home before they came to get him, as neither one of them were in jeans this morning.
“The stained glass is gorgeous,” Adam says as they walk up to the house. “I’m guessing this wasn’t always a house?”
“We think it was a library or possibly a chapel at one point, but we’re not sure and no one’s bothered to research it,” Sam says. “But yeah, the stained glass is pretty nice, and there’s some gorgeous woodwork inside.”
“I’m sure,” Adam says. “You said they were doing some renovations?”
Sam nods. “I’ll let Joshua explain that,” he says, ringing the bell.
A moment later, Christian opens the door, Mimi snuggled against his shoulder. “Enter and be welcome, or something along those lines,” he says, stepping back to let them come in. He’s been working, Sam notes; he’s got pencil smudges on his left hand and a mechanical pencil sticking out of his jeans pocket, with another one stuck behind his ear. “It’s good to see you two again.” He sets Mimi down so he can shake hands.
“It’s good to see you, too,” Gil says. Then he sneezes. Twice.
“Don’t tell me you’re allergic to me,” Christian says.
Gil shakes his head. “Not you, Mimi,” he says. “I’ll be fine.”
“Sir, you didn’t tell me you were allergic to cats,” Sam murmurs.
“It’s not a severe allergy, and I took antihistamines,” Gil says. He kisses Sam’s cheek and smiles a little. “You can’t arrange everything in the world, sweetheart.”
“Watch me,” Sam says, smiling back.
“He will, too,” Christian says. “He arranges everything.”
“It’s my job,” Sam points out.
“To arrange Christian’s life, yes,” Gil says. “Anything else is just a bonus.”
“Are we a bonus now?” Adam asks.
“I like arranging things for people,” Sam says, feeling flustered and resisting the urge to look at his shoes. “There’s nothing wrong with that.”
Gil rests his hand in the small of Sam’s back, rubbing gently. “Of course there isn’t,” he says.
The doorbell rings again and Christian moves around Sam to get it and let David in. “Hey, honey,” David says, kissing Christian’s cheek. “Introduce me?”
“Of course,” Christian says. He gestures to David. “David Stein, my best friend. David, meet Gil and Adam whose last names I’ve forgotten but who belong to Sam. Or possibly Sam belongs to them, it’s unclear.”
“It’s a little of both, I think,” Gil says, shaking hands with David. “Pleasure to meet you.”
“And you,” David says, shaking hands with Adam next. “Where’s Joshua?”
“Finishing up dinner,” Christian says. “But let’s move this to the living room? Does anyone want anything to drink? We’ve got soft drinks, water, some beer, and Joshua and I are opening a bottle of pinot grigio to go with the meal if anyone wants a glass of that.”
“I’ll go for that, actually,” David says as they take seats on the couches and chairs. “Is that the one you told me about?”
“Yes, and we liked it so much we bought a case, so there’s plenty,” Christian says, laughing.
“Sounds like a good bet,” Adam says. “I’d like a glass too, please.”
“Of course. Sam? Gil?”
“Just water for me, thanks,” Gil says.
“I’ll get it,” Sam says immediately, getting up.
“No, you won’t,” Christian says. “I can handle a few glasses of wine and water. Sit back down and make small talk.”
Sam sits back down. “But-“ he tries, feeling obliged to protest at least somewhat.
“Sam, you’re off-duty,” David says. “Relax. Goldilocks can fend for himself a little bit. He did survive before you came along.”
“Those were dark times,” Christian says. “But I am perfectly capable of getting drinks. I’ll be right back.”
“You look very comfortable in that,” Sam says, looking at David sprawled out in the chair and a half.
“I am very comfortable in this,” David says. “It’s been a long week. Rehearsal’s been particularly grueling.”
“You’re a clarinetist, right?” Adam asks.
David nods. “With the NSO. Prior to that I jumped around a lot. Everywhere from New Jersey to Oregon.”
“We have season tickets for the orchestra,” Gil says. “We don’t get to go to every concert, but we try.” He sneezes again, and Sam winces. Why didn’t Gil tell him he was allergic to cats?
“Do you prefer the pops or the classical?” David asks.
“I prefer some of the classical, depending on the composer,” Gil says. “Adam prefers the pops.”
“Sometimes,” Adam says. “Also depending on composer.”
“Isn’t that always the way, though?” David asks. “Sam, what about you?”
Sam shrugs. “Most of what I have on my iPod is popular,” he says. “I have a few classical recordings I like, though. It just-it always seems overwhelming, like there are fifty million composers out there and everyone has opinions on what recordings are best, and it’s honestly easier to download whatever’s on Billboard’s top 40.”
“You know, I do this for a living,” David points out. “If you ever decide you want to learn more classical, just let me know and I’ll be happy to talk you through some of it.”
“Or me,” Christian says, returning with drinks. “We have wine, we have water, and after dinner we’ll have tea and coffee. Joshua says dinner will be ready in about ten minutes. Please tell me no one’s a vegetarian.”
“I”d have told you if they were,” Sam says, a little indignantly.
“Next time we do this we’ll have to have you over to our place,” Adam says. “I enjoy cooking.”
Next time? There’s going to be a next time? Sam can’t think that far ahead.
“And we enjoy eating, so it all works out,” Christian says, raising his glass to Adam.
“I do takeout,” David admits. “I mean, I cook for myself a bit, but mostly I do takeout and prepackaged stuff. Cooking for one is annoying at best.”
“Oh, but the prepackaged stuff is so bad for you,” Adam says with a wince. “So much sodium.”
“My blood pressure’s fine,” David says, laughing.
“Now, sure,” Adam says, grinning at him. “Talk to me in ten years.”
“I’ll make a note on my calendar,” David says, returning Adam’s grin. “Besides, you work like seventy hours a week. When do you have time to cook?”
“It’s not quite that bad,” Adam says, taking a sip of his wine. “Oh, this is good.”
“Isn’t it?” Christian asks, taking a sip from his own glass. “I’m more for red wine than white, but David told us about a local wine bar that was doing tastings, so out of curiosity, we went, and we fell in love with this one. The winery is in Washington state, of all things, and I’ve made Joshua promise me that we’ll take a tour of it the next time we’re out that way.”
“Sam, are you more of a wine or a beer person?” David asks. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you drink.”
“I don’t,” Sam says. “I’m the eternal designated driver, even when I’m not driving.” And hopefully, they’ll leave it at that.
“Someone’s got to remain sane,” Christian says. “And it’s never me, even when I’m not drinking-which is most of the time.”
“You also can’t be the DD,” David points out. “You don’t drive.”
“There is that,” Christian says with a laugh. “Gil, Adam, which of you is the DD?”
“I drive,” Adam says. “Well, mostly. But neither Gil nor I drink all that much.”
Joshua comes into the living room, wiping his hands on a dish towel. “Evening,” he says.
Christian jumps up and kisses him on the cheek. “Joshua, you remember Gil and Adam, whose last names I still don’t remember, right? Adam, Gil, Joshua,” he says, gesturing between them.
“I’m Sampson, he’s Knight,” Gil says, rising and shaking Joshua’s hand. “But don’t worry about it.”
“It’s good to see you two again,” Joshua says, shaking hands with Adam. “And if you’ll all come with me, dinner’s ready.”
They take their seats around the big wood table; Sam ends up sitting between Gil and Christian, with Adam on Gil’s left. “So I think I’m a little out of the loop here,” David says, holding out his glass so Christian can refill his wine. “You two met Sam at the fundraiser Christian did last month? Is that how this started?”
Adam nods. “We did,” he says. “Initially we wanted to talk to Sam just because his name kept coming up in all the reports we got about the planning. Everyone pointed at him when we asked why things were running so smoothly this year. Gil had hopes of maybe hiring him.”
“My assistant,” Christian says immediately and firmly. “You can’t have him.”
“We don’t poach, I promise,” Adam says, laughing. “And I don’t think Sam wants a new job, anyway.”
“Really, I don’t,” Sam says, blushing a little. “Dinner looks fantastic, Joshua.”
“Thank you,” Joshua says. “I put Christian in charge of dessert, so we have giant brownies from the bakery and an apple pie in case someone doesn’t like chocolate. “
“Although if you don’t like chocolate, there’s something wrong with you,” Christian says.
“Gil’s got a weakness for chocolate,” Adam says, serving himself as the salad bowl comes around to him. “The richer the better.”
“What about you?” David asks. “What’s your culinary weakness?”
“I love cooking in general,” Adam says. “I’m a better cook than a baker, but I’m not bad at desserts. Although nothing will beat my mom’s pound cake.”
“Oh, I love pound cake,” Christian says. “Well, I love cake in all its many forms, except sponge cake. I’m not a fan of that.”
Conversation turns to food and recipes and favorite restaurants. Sam’s somewhat sheepishly pleased to realize that most of the places Adam loves, he’s been to, and if he hasn’t, odds are good Joshua and Christian have. It makes for a good conversational flow, and Christian looks relaxed, which means everyone else is.
Sam thinks about that for a moment, cutting a bite of chicken. Christian’s really the center point here-if he’s unhappy, Joshua and David will be unhappy, and a stressed Christian is never good news for Sam, which would probably translate into bad news for Gil and Adam. If they noticed.
Of course they’d notice. They notice everything.
He smiles a little at himself at the thought, and just as he does, Gil turns to him, a questioning look on his face. “Everything all right, Sam?” he murmurs.
“Everything’s fine, sir,” Sam murmurs back, smiling for real. “Just lost in thought for a moment.”
Gil smiles back and nods before turning back to a question from Christian.
They finish dinner and Christian gets up to gather plates and silverware. “David, help me out?” he asks.
“Sure,” David says, getting to his feet.
“Anyone want tea or coffee?” Christian asks. “We can have it with dessert.”
“Do you have decaf?” Adam asks. “If I drink regular coffee now I’ll be up all night.”
“We do have decaf coffee,” Christian says. “Or, if you’d rather tea, I have a whole selection of herbals and decaf options.”
“I’ll go for the decaf coffee, thanks,” Adam says.
“Do you have a decaf green?” Gil asks curiously. “Or white?”
“I have two different decaf greens, one is regular Sencha and one is a green-jasmine blend, and I have a really good blooming white, if you’d rather that,” Christian says. He grins, a little sheepishly. “I don’t drink coffee, but I drink all kinds of tea.”
“I have a fairly extensive tea cabinet myself,” Gil says, smiling. “I’ll try the green-jasmine.”
“Excellent choice,” Christian says. “I think I’ll have that myself. David? Sam?”
“I’ll go for coffee,” David says. “Decaf is fine.”
“Same,” Sam says. “I can get started on it while you clean up, if you want.”
“We’ve got it,” David says. “I am capable of making coffee. You four just hang out and relax and in a minute we’ll have tea and coffee and brownies, unless someone would rather have apple pie.”
“I think the chocolate wins out,” Christian says at the general lack of interest. “Wise choice.” He carries his load of plates into the kitchen, and David follows him.
“Christian was mentioning earlier that you’d done some renovations on the house,” Adam says, turning to Joshua. “How much have you changed?”
“More than it looks like, less than it could be,” Joshua says, smiling. He starts telling Adam and Gil about the work done on the house, which leads to Adam telling Joshua about the renovations done to their house. Sam, meanwhile, takes advantage of not being needed to zone out a little bit. He’s tired and his head is vaguely aching--probably not anything that might signify a migraine, but he’s had a long day and was probably more stressed over this whole dinner thing than he should have been, and now the relief is making his head hurt.
He excuses himself to go use the bathroom and shamelessly raids the medicine cabinet for ibuprofen while he’s there, downing four with a gulp of water from the tap. When he returns to the table, Christian and David are setting out plates and mugs. Sam looks at his brownie and thinks that under normal circumstances he’d love it, but right now the thought of all the sugar is making him feel vaguely queasy.
Maybe he’s not so far from a migraine as he thought, which is just going to suck. He has a couple doses of pills in his bag, but mostly they’re at home and he doesn’t want to go home, he wants to go to Gil and Adam’s, but they don’t need to deal with him during a migraine.
“Sam, are you all right?” Gil asks softly, turning to him.
“I have a bit of a headache,” Sam admits. “I took some ibuprofen just now, so hopefully that’ll get rid of it.”
“Headache or migraine?” Christian asks and shit, Sam did not need that.
“Just a headache,” Sam says quickly. “I should be all right.”
“You get migraines, sweetheart?” Gil asks.
“Sometimes,” Sam says reluctantly. “Really, sir, I’ll be all right. I have painkillers if it gets too bad, and it’s just a headache for now.”
“For now,” Gil says, and Sam groans because why did he have to say that? “I think maybe we’d better take you home, sweetheart.”
“Sir, I’m okay,” Sam protests. He really doesn’t want to go back to his apartment; maybe he can just crash here. He’s done that before, and it’s not like Joshua and Christian don’t have the room.
“We can wrap up the brownies for you,” Joshua says.
“It’s--” Sam sighs at the look Gil gives him. “I don’t want to cut the evening short just because I have a headache,” he says, knowing it’s a weak protest at best. “I could just go lie down upstairs for a bit.” Actually, that doesn’t sound like a terrible idea, given that the headache’s increasing every moment and all he wants to do now is huddle under the covers someplace cold and dark.
“I think we’re going to head out,” Gil says, studying Sam. “If you could wrap up the brownies, that would be good, though.” He smiles, looking at Joshua.
“Maybe we can try take two at our place next week or something,” Adam says. “I’ll check the calendar, but I think we’re clear.”
“We should be around,” Joshua says, gathering plates.
In a couple minutes, they’re exchanging goodbyes and Sam feels like the world’s biggest idiot, albeit the world’s biggest idiot with a pounding headache that’s making him nauseous and closing his eyes against the light.
“Do you have pills on you, Sam, or do you need to stop at your apartment for them?” Adam asks quietly in the car.
“I have a couple doses on me,” Sam says, tipping his head back against the headrest. “But you can just drop me at my apartment, it’s okay.”
“No, it’s not,” Adam says. “If we need to run out to your apartment later, we can do that, but depending on what you take for your migraines I might be able to help.”
“Mostly oxycodone,” Sam says. “The triptans don’t really work for me, so my doctor gives me a supply of the oxy. A couple doses usually does it.” He rubs the bridge of his nose and hopes no one else has questions for him, because he’s feeling too miserable to focus.
To his relief, the rest of the car ride is quiet, and Sam zones out, jolted back to reality when Adam parks in the driveway. “Come on, sweetheart,” Gil says softly, getting out of the car. “Let’s get you inside and into bed.”
“You don’t have to-“ Sam protests, but he grabs the plant and follows Gil and Adam inside.
“I know how miserable migraines are,” Adam says, taking the plant from him and giving it to Gil. “I get them occasionally.”
“You do?” Sam asks in surprise, following Adam down the hall to the master bedroom.
“Ever since I hit puberty, yeah,” Adam says. “They’re pretty infrequent these days but Gil can tell you horror stories about college. I used to get them right before finals, probably from stress.” He turns on a bedside lamp, keeping the room dim, and draws the blackout curtains. “I’ll get you a glass of water so you can take your pills. You just get undressed and crawl into bed.”
“Yes, sir,” Sam murmurs, already toeing off his shoes. He undresses and rummages in his messenger bag until he finds the pill bottle, tipping a dose into his palm just as Adam returns with water and a different pill bottle. “Sir, I have pills,” he says, taking the water and downing the oxycodone.
“I know, honey, but if your stomach’s as unhappy as mine usually gets you might want this, too,” Adam says. “It’s phenergan, anti-nausea medication. I know I’m not supposed to share but this one’s pretty harmless.”
“I’ve had it before,” Sam says, taking the pill and swallowing it. “Thank you.”
“Just rest, now,” Adam says, and Sam sighs and crawls under the covers. Adam turns off the bedside lamp, plunging the room into darkness. Sam isn’t sure if he actually groans in relief or if that’s just in his head, but Adam doesn’t say anything, just brushes his fingers over Sam’s hair and the back of his neck.
Sam listens to Adam’s quiet footsteps leaving the room and sighs, willing the pills to work. It feels like forever before he starts to feel floaty, but probably isn’t more than ten or fifteen minutes, and while he can’t quite sleep while stoned, he can at least doze and be mostly unconscious.
He wakes when the pills start wearing off, leaving him feeling like he’s been run over by a steamroller and having no inclination whatsoever to get up, except he has to use the bathroom, and he’s thirsty. He lies in bed a little longer, until his bladder can’t be ignored, then gets up with a groan and goes to pee and get a cup of water from the bathroom sink.
When he returns to the bedroom, Gil’s there, sitting on the edge of the bed, and the bedside lamp is on. “I thought the pills might be wearing off about now,” Gil says. “How are you feeling?”
“Like I’ve been steamrolled,” Sam says, walking back over to the bed and sitting down next to Gil. “Everything hurts.”
“I’m not surprised,” Gil says, gently turning Sam so his back’s to Gil. Sam wonders what he’s doing and almost whimpers in relief when Gil starts rubbing his shoulders and his neck, the pressure just shy of painful and feeling amazingly good. “I do this for Adam, when he gets migraines,” Gil says. “Usually when they first hit he’s in too much pain, but after the first dose of medication wears off he says this helps.”
“I get maybe one every six to eight weeks,” Sam mumbles, dropping his head forward. “I should be okay by tomorrow morning, though.” He hopes.
“Well, we’ll see how you feel then,” Gil says, thumbs pressing into the base of Sam’s scalp and making him groan. “Have you ever tried acupuncture for your migraines?”
“No,” Sam says. “I didn’t know how to find a good one, and anyway it gets expensive.”
“I have one I like,” Gil says. “I’ll make you an appointment.”
“You don’t have to do that,” Sam feels obliged to protest.
“I want you to be healthy, sweetheart,” Gil says, drawing Sam back toward him and kissing the back of his head. “You need to accept that Adam and I care about you, that we want to take care of you.” He runs his hands up and down Sam’s arms before shifting to hold him close.
“This wasn’t supposed to be like this,” Sam says, too tired and miserable to pay attention to what he’s saying. “It was...we were supposed to have a weekend hook up, and...”
“Is that what you want?” Gil asks quietly. “Do you want to stop seeing us?”
“No,” Sam murmurs, shaking his head. “No, I don’t. I just don’t understand.”
“What don’t you understand?” Gil moves away for a moment, and Sam feels cold, but then Gil’s back and handing him pills and a glass of water. Sam swallows the pills, drinking the rest of the water, and Gil takes the glass away.
“Why you want me,” Sam says, closing his eyes.
“Oh, honey,” Gil says, so gentle it makes Sam swallow. “Come lie down with me.” He draws Sam down on the bed, under the covers, Gil’s chest against Sam’s back and Gil’s arms around him. “I want you because you’re a remarkable person, Sam,” Gil says. “You’re intelligent, you’re strong, you’re compassionate. You’re funny when you let your sense of humor show, and you’re passionate about things that matter to you.”
Sam’s head hurts and he feels queasy and he doesn’t know what to say, but Gil’s arms around him feel secure, like he can stay there for a while and, maybe, let Gil take care of him a bit. He closes his eyes, breathing out slowly.
“Relax, sweetheart,” Gil murmurs, kissing the back of his neck. “I’ve got you. I’m not going anywhere.”
“Thank you,” Sam mumbles, more grateful for that than he wants to admit. He lets himself drift until the pills kick in, and this time he thinks he does fall asleep because when he opens his eyes again Adam’s next to him but Gil isn’t, and the clock on the nightstand says it’s five fifteen in the morning.
Adam looks like he’s asleep, and Sam doesn’t want to disturb him. He slips out of bed as quietly as he can, padding to the bathroom, and considers for a moment before turning off most of the lights except the one over the sink and taking a shower. The heat and the water pressure help ease the tension in his neck and back, as does the herbal scent of his soap, and he’s feeling well enough to shave and brush his teeth by the tme he gets out of the shower.
When he walks back into the bedroom, Adam’s sort of awake, but Gil isn’t back yet. “How’s the head?” Adam asks sleepily, holding out a hand to him.
“Better,” Sam says, crawling back into bed and letting Adam wrap around him. Adam’s hair is braided back for sleep, but a few locks have gotten free and brush over Sam’s skin, feeling like silk. “I’m not a hundred percent, but I could probably pass for seventy, maybe.”
“Take it easy today, okay?” Adam asks, rubbing Sam’s back. “Stay here, relax, sleep if you need it. Christian can survive without you for a day.”
“I’m okay, sir, really,” Sam says but it’s a lame protest. All he really wants to do is sleep, and he knows that if he pushes too much before the migraine’s gone, it’ll just come back harder.
“Christian can survive without you for once,” Adam repeats. “Gil’s going to work from home today, too. You just relax and sleep off the rest of the migraine.”
Sam sighs, closing his eyes and letting Adam gently rub the back of his neck. He’s vaguely aware of footsteps and quiet voices and then the sounds of running water from the bathroom, but Adam doesn’t get out of bed or ask Sam to move and Sam’s feeling lazy enough that he’s okay with that.
Eventually the water stops. Sam stays in bed even as Adam kisses his forehead and gets up to go take his own shower and get dressed, but does manage to roll over when he feels the bed shift as Gil sits down on it. “Morning,” he mumbles, blinking his eyes open.
“Hey, honey,” Gil says, running his fingers through Sam’s hair. He’s dressed in jeans and a faded t-shirt; Sam’s guessing he’s barefoot, since he usually is, given a choice. “Are you feeling up to breakfast?”
“I think so,” Sam says after considering it for a moment.
“Do you want to come to the kitchen, or would you rather stay here where it’s less bright?” Gil asks. “How’s your head?”
“Better but not great,” Sam admits, wishing he was more capable of dissembling but not really wanting to lie to Gil anyway. “I told Adam I’m probably at about seventy percent, maybe a little less.”
“All right,” Gil says. “So you’ll take it easy today and relax, and tomorrow hopefully you’ll be back to normal. Will Joshua or Christian be awake yet for you to tell them you’re taking today off?”
He says it like there’s no question Sam’s not going to work today, and Sam feels like he should protest but what’s the point? He’s not going to win the argument and he’s not sure he should. “I’ll email Joshua,” he says. “He’ll get it when he wakes up. And I think I can handle the kitchen.”
Gil nods. “The first pot of coffee should be brewing now,” he says. “I’ll go see what we have for breakfast, come find me when you’re ready.”
“Yes, sir,” Sam murmurs, leaning into Gil’s hand. He stretches and rolls onto his stomach once Gil’s gone, taking stock of how he feels. Overall, he’s a bit achy, and his head feels kind of...echoing, is the best way he can put it. He doesn’t have the spike of pain through his head, but he’s still kind of tender, and probably his best bet is going to be resting or sleeping through today.
It’s tempting to just stay in bed, but he wants coffee and maybe some food. He sighs and crawls out of the big bed, pulling on sweatpants and a t-shirt, and sends Joshua a quick note from his phone before going to find Gil in the kitchen.
Gil gives him coffee, fixed just the way he likes it, and peanut butter banana toast which is one of Sam’s secret favorite breakfasts, and doesn’t seem to require much in the way of conversation. Sam’s content to sit with his breakfast and his coffee and watch Gil and Adam move around each other as they get coffee and Adam makes himself breakfast to take to work and Gil braids Adam’s hair.
Sam admits to being surprised that Gil’s working from home, and hopes it’s not because of him, but neither Adam nor Gil are acting like it’s anything out of the ordinary, so maybe this is something they do semi-regularly.
“Take care of yourself,” Adam says when he’s gotten his bag together and is ready to leave. “I’ll see you later tonight. I should be home by five, six at the outside.” He bends, kissing Sam’s temple. “We have plenty of painkillers if you need more.”
“Do you just stockpile them?” Sam asks, curious.
“Something like that,” Gil says. “They keep giving me new prescriptions and I keep not using them as often as the doctors think I should.”
Sam nods. He’s seen the scars on Gil’s left side; they’re faded, mostly, but his knee to his hip is crisscrossed with scars and a couple wind around his hip to his back. He hasn’t asked for the whole story, but maybe one of these days he will.
“He’d rather be in pain than take the meds,” Adam says, and it has the sound of an old frustration. “But. I have to get going. Gil, if you get to the market today let me know what you pick up and we’ll sort out dinner. Love you.” He kisses Gil and heads down the hall.
“So,” Gil says once the front door’s closed behind Adam. “You look like I should put you back to bed.”
“Maybe,” Sam says reluctantly. “I probably need more of the meds before my headache gets much worse, but I hate taking them.”
“I understand, sweetheart, believe me,” Gil says, making himself a cup of tea. “I was on some pretty heavy-duty pain medicine for a while after the crash, and I hated how foggy it made me.”
“When was the accident?” Sam asks.
“About five years ago,” Gil says. “Adam and I were out on a date night--we’d gone to dinner, and then a jazz club, and we were on our way home when a drunk driver lost control and slammed into us. I was driving, and he hit the driver’s door head-on.”
“What happened to him?” Sam asks.
Gil’s face tightens briefly. “He walked away without a scratch, pretty much,” he says. “There were charges, he took a plea bargain, served a few years.”
Sam winces. “I’m sorry,” he says.
“So am I, sweetheart,” Gil says, and this time he smiles a little. “Do you want to come keep me company, or would you rather go back to bed? My office does have a couch.”
“I think I’ll stay with you for a bit,” Sam says. “But I’ll take another dose of the painkillers, so I won’t be much company.”
“That’s all right,” Gil says. “Come on, then.”
The couch in Gil’s office is remarkably comfortable, and big enough to stretch out on, with a pillow under Sam’s head and a soft blanket draped over him. He swallows the pills Gil gives him and settles down, listening to the sound of Gil typing.
He’s half asleep when the couch shifts; Sam looks up to see Gil sitting by his head. “How’re you feeling, honey?” Gil asks, petting him.
“Okay,” Sam mumbles. “Stoned, but my head doesn’t really hurt, or if it hurts, I don’t care about it.”
“That’ll work,” Gil says. “Here, shift a bit.” Sam moves as directed, lying back down with his head in Gil’s lap and Gil rubbing his temples and down the sides of his face and neck. “Does this help at all?” Gil asks softly.
“Mmhmm,” is about all Sam can manage. He sighs in contentment, absently nuzzling into Gil’s hand when it brushes his cheek. “Feels good,” he murmurs, not even sure if he’s speaking out loud.
“That’s the idea,” Gil says, sounding amused, but Sam doesn’t mind. “How long have you been getting migraines?”
“Mm. Years,” Sam says. “Since...middle school, maybe? Dunno.”
“How did you deal with them as a kid?” Gil asks.
“Hid in my room with the lights off,” Sam says. “Took a lot of Excedrin, or raided my mom’s medicine cabinet for her Percocet. She never noticed.” He’s waking up a bit now, probably due to the drugs wearing off, and stretches a little, settling back down.
“She didn’t take you to the doctor?” GIl asks.
Sam snorts at the idea. “My parents are assholes, sir,” he says. “I hate them, they hate me, it’s all very rich family dysfunctional. I escaped when I graduated high school and once I turn thirty I won’t have to deal with either of them ever again if I can help it. Right now Mom’s in Europe somewhere, I think Spain, with her second husband slash alcohol supplier, and my father’s in Virginia on Barbie Wife Number Two and mistress I lost count years ago.”
Gil’s quiet for a moment. “I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he says finally.
“It’s okay,” Sam says, shrugging. “I don’t really care. What’s annoying is that my father controls my trust until I’m thirty, so I have to deal with him. My mother, thank God, is in Spain, like I said. I haven’t seen her since I graduated high school. I’m really okay with that.”
“Can your father spend your trust?” Gil asks.
“No,” Sam says. “I get an allowance from it--it’s not quite enough to live on, well it might be depending on where I lived, but I get that, and he’s not allowed to touch the money, but I only get access to the principal if he thinks I’m ready to handle it or when I turn thirty, whichever comes first. Since he thinks I’m a failure of a human being because I’m queer and didn’t want to go to college, thirty it is.”
He sighs and sits up, facing Gil. “It’s really--I don’t care, sir,” he says, wondering how he can make Gil understand. “They’re both dysfunctional assholes and I’ve known that since I was a kid. It’d be one thing if I was still in search of their approval or some shit, but I’m not.”
“No,” Gil says, but Sam can’t read the expression on his face. “No, honey, you’re not.”
Sam shrugs. “I’m not, I don’t know, in search of some sort of parental figure,” he says. “I’m twenty-six, I figure if I’ve gotten this far without one, I don’t need one. Really, I’d just throw the trust back at my father and say to hell with it, but I’ve decided it’s hazard pay for having to deal with him as a kid.”
Gil smiles a little, but there’s something off about it. Sam hesitates, worried he’s said too much, or said the wrong thing. “Sir? Did I--is everything okay?”
“It’s not you, honey,” Gil says, taking Sam’s hand. “You just...remind me of someone, very strongly.”
“Who, sir?” Sam asks.
Gil laughs. “Honestly? Me.”
“Was your father an asshole?” Sam asks, and maybe it’s just because he’s still half-stoned, but there is something pretty funny about it.
“That’s one way of putting it,” Gil says. “I stopped talking to him after I graduated college, so if you’re worried I’m going to tell you to try and reconcile with your parents, I’m not.”
Sam smiles. “Good to know, sir,” he says. “What about Adam?”
“Adam is the poster boy for well-adjusted families,” Gil says, smiling back. “He has two parents, still married to each other, who love him very much and have always been supportive of him. They’re actually remarkable people, and you’ll meet them at some point.”
“How did he manage that?” Sam asks. “I didn’t realize there were families like that out there. Everyone I knew in prep school was dysfunctional somehow.”
“Yes, and I’ll bet you went to a wealthy high school,” Gil says. “Am I right?”
Sam nods. “Yeah, it was an elite prep school thing,” he says. “The kids weren’t much better than the parents.”
“I’m sure,” Gil says. “Money breeds dysfunction, often, I think. Adam’s got a rock-solid background and family, but he didn’t grow up with a trust fund, the way I did, or the way you did.”
“It doesn’t always, but yeah,” Sam says. He sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. “I don’t want to take more pain meds,” he says. “But my head’s aching again.”
“I’m not going to force them on you, sweetheart,” Gil says. “Come here, though, and turn around.”
Sam does, nearly groaning in relief when Gil starts working on his shoulders and his neck again. “This might not cure the migraine, but it feels good,” he says, dropping his head forward.
“It’s supposed to,” Gil says, and Sam can hear the smile in his voice.
“May I ask a question?” Sam asks after a moment.
“You can ask anything you want, honey,” Gil says.
“You said you stopped talking to your father,” Sam says slowly. “What about your mother?”
“I never knew her,” Gil says. “There were complications when I was born, and she died. My father never remarried.”
“I’m sorry,” Sam murmurs. “I didn’t know.”
“There’s no reason you would have,” Gil says, squeezing his shoulders. “If you have questions, Sam, you should ask. I like it when you do.”
“Why?” Sam asks.
“Because it means you want to know the answers,” Gil says. “And I like knowing that you’re curious about me or Adam, the same way we are about you.”
“Fascinated is more like it,” Sam says without meaning to, and blushes as soon as he’s said it.
“Why do you say that?” Gil asks.
“Because...because you are,” Sam says, his cheeks heating and glad he’s not facing Gil. “You’re just--I mean, you built this giant company, and you’re worth billions, but you don’t act like it. You walk around barefoot in jeans older than me, practically, and...you’re just all these contradictions and juxtapositions, and it’s fascinating, and that you want me is...I don’t even know what that is.”
“I do want you,” Gil says, thumbs digging into the base of Sam’s neck and making him groan. “That isn’t a debate, that’s a fact.”
“But why?” Sam asks plaintively.
“I’m attracted to intelligence,” Gil says. “And competence. You’d be surprised how hard those things are to find in the same person.”
“There’s more to it than that,” Sam says, uncertain what else there is but knowing there’s more.
“There is,” Gil agrees. “Turn around, sweetheart, and look at me.” When Sam does, Gil reaches out, taking his hand. “You’re an incredibly attractive, intelligent man,” Gil says quietly. “You’re good at what you do and you like doing it. You care about Christian, and Joshua. You’re passionate when you care about something, and I find that attractive.”
Sam blushes, dropping his eyes. Gil nudges his chin up, forcing Sam to look at him. “And there’s one other thing, Sam,” Gil says. “You’re a submissive, and everything about you is screaming that you deserve a Dom--a good Dom--to take care of you and value your submission.”
“And you want that to be you,” Sam says, barely more than a whisper.
Gil nods. “I do.”
“The other--the other three people you and Adam invited home,” Sam says, hesitating but needing to know. “Were they subs? Like me? Did you want--was it the same?”
“No,” GIl says. “No, it wasn’t. The first person, the one who turned us down, was someone Adam and I thought would be fun to have sex with, honestly. He was a very charismatic and fun person, and we enjoyed being with him. We found out later he didn’t actually feel comfortable with casual sex, and we weren’t, at the time, willing to offer more than that. The second person was similar to you in that he was also a sub, but he responded more to Adam than to me. What we had with him was a very occasional thing, where he would come to us when he needed a scene or a weekend of being a sub, and then would go on his way. The third person--could have, possibly, become a full-time third, but didn’t want that level of intensity from either Adam or me, and essentially ran away from us.”
“And now me,” Sam says. “Where do--where do I fit? Where do you *want* me to fit?” He bites his lip, but Gil’s fingers are warm around his and Gil doesn’t let go.
“I want you to fit here,” Gil says. “With me, and with Adam. I want you to be mine, Sam, in case that wasn’t already obvious. I thought it was, but apparently I was wrong.”
“I didn’t realize,” Sam says numbly. “You want--but--what does Adam say?”
Gil smiles. “Adam adores you, Sam,” he says patiently. “He thinks you’re wonderful and he wants you to stay around.”
“Oh,” is all Sam can manage, and his head’s starting to ache again and he doesn’t really know what to say or do. He rubs his forehead, trying to think. “It’s--it’s only been three weeks,” he says. “Are you--how can you be sure?”
“I’m a good judge of people,” Gil says. “If you need time to think about it, Sam, that’s perfectly fine. I don’t want to push you into making a decision.”
“Thank you, sir,” Sam murmurs. “I think maybe I need to try and get some more sleep, maybe take some more of the painkillers.” It feels like a cop-out but that’s not how he means it, and he’s relieved when Gil just nods.
“I think you’re right,” Gil says. “Come on, sweetheart, I’ll put you to bed.”
Sam feels like he should object to being put to bed, but can’t quite figure out the argument against it. He follows Gil back to the bedroom and takes the pills Gil gives him, crawling under the covers and closing his eyes. Gil sits on the edge of the bed, fingers running through his hair, and Sam sighs, partially wanting Gil to stay with him, even though he knows it’s stupid.
Gil doesn’t show any signs of wanting to leave, though, and he keeps stroking Sam’s hair, and Sam eventually dozes off.
His dreams are tangled, surreal things, and he wakes with a head full of rapidly fading images and a groggy sense of disconnect from reality. On the plus side, his migraine’s just about gone and he’s kind of hungry. Overall, he’ll take the trade.
He’s alone in the bed, which doesn’t surprise him. Sam scrubs his hands over his face and crawls out of bed, going to use the bathroom and find Gil and food, not necessarily in that order.
Gil’s not in the kitchen, but there’s a covered plate in the fridge with a note that says ‘Sam - Eat Me’. Sam smiles, taking it out and sitting at the kitchen table. There’s no instructions on heating it up, and honestly, the meal looks like it’ll be pretty good cold. Sam takes a tentative bite, then another one when his stomach doesn’t protest, and before he realizes it he’s all but licked the plate clean.
He cleans up after himself and goes to find Gil in his office. The sound of voices makes him pause, and when he gets to the open door he sees Gil is on speakerphone with someone, or several someones, having a rapid-fire conversation that’s not in English--Japanese, he thinks. Sam hesitates, not wanting to disturb him, but Gil looks up, sees him, and motions for him to come in without missing a beat. Sam curls up on the couch, watching and fascinated by it.
Whoever Gil’s talking to, he doesn’t look thrilled about it, and when one of the other people is done talking he responds immediately, not giving anyone else a chance to talk. He keeps talking for a few minutes, and there’s silence when he finishes. Sam knows just enough to tell that there’s a general round of agreement and then Gil hangs up the phone. “One moment, honey,” he says, punching in another number.
“Hey, Boss,” a man says. “How’d it go?”
“Don’t ask,” Gil says, sounding annoyed. He gives a bunch of instructions about emailing someone and specifications for an offer, and tells the man he’ll look for the email in the next hour or two. The guy on the other end laughs, promises it’ll be done, and Gil hangs up the phone again.
“For the record, sir,” Sam says after a moment, “that’s really kind of hot.”
“Me being annoyed is hot?” Gil asks with a laugh.
“Not you being annoyed, you being all focused and business mode and everything,” Sam says, blushing. “It’s--I don’t speak Japanese, or whatever that was, but I could tell that they were trying to get you to agree to something, and you didn’t, and you told them whatever was going to happen was going to be done the way you wanted it, and they had to go along with you. It’s like--I don’t know, it’s like being a Dom in a way, because your sub often wants things, but you may not agree, and it’s your decision in the end, isn’t it?”
“Japanese, yes,” Gil says. “I’ve studied it for years, I started when I started karate lessons. And that’s a very apt analysis of the conversation I had with that group of people. Are you sure I can’t hire you?”
“One, I work for Christian,” Sam says, blushing again. “Two, I like what I do. Three, I don’t want to go into business. And four, if I worked for you I think I’d have to stop sleeping with you, and I don’t want to do that, either.”
“Right on most counts,” Gil says, smiling. “Well, if you ever change your mind about points one through three, promise me you’ll let me know.”
“I will,” Sam promises.
“How’s the headache?” Gil asks.
“I think the worst is over,” Sam says. “I ate lunch, or whatever meal that was in the fridge for me.”
“Lunch is close enough,” Gil says. “It’s just about three.”
There’s quiet for a moment, and Sam bites his lip. “Sir, it’s not that--you know it’s not that I don’t want to--I just--it’s been three weeks,” he says a bit incoherently. “Can we talk about this again in a month?”
“There’s no rush,” Gil says. “I’m not going to change my mind, and neither is Adam, but we don’t want to pressure you into a decision you don’t feel comfortable with. If the way things are now is what you want, that’s fine, sweetheart. Take your time.”
“Okay,” Sam says, not sure how he feels about the whole thing. Honestly, he wants to talk it over with Joshua, and maybe David, and Christian will probably have some kind of input, even if it’s just to say he likes Gil and Adam.
“I have a couple more things to finish up here,” Gil says. “And then I thought I could get you to go soak with me.”
“I will always be happy to go soak in the hot tub with you, sir,” Sam says immediately. Gil laughs, and Sam grins back. “When did you put that in, anyway?”
“After the accident,” Gil says. “We had the pool before that, and we’d been talking about adding in a hot tub and a sauna, but hadn’t gotten around to it, and then everything happened and it ended up being really helpful during rehab. There was a lot of muscle damage, and the hot tub helped ease some of the strain.”
“How badly were you--I mean--” Sam hesitates, not knowing what to ask.
“I almost died,” Gil says, seeming to read his mind. “I was in a coma for four days, and recovery ended up being a game of resetting expectations. First they thought I’d have brain damage, then they thought I wouldn’t walk again, then they thought I wouldn’t walk without help, and that’s kind of where I am now. I do have a cane for bad days, but those aren’t very often. But I’ll never have full strength or range of motion on that side again.”
“Was Adam hurt?” Sam asks.
“He had a few cracked ribs, a lot of bruises and some cuts,” Gil says. “And a lot of anxiety.”
“I can’t blame him,” Sam says, trying to imagine it. “I mean...”
“It’s understandable,” Gil agrees. “We can talk about it more when we soak, if you want. Or we can talk about anything else.”
Sam smiles a little. “Do you mind if I stay here while you work?” he asks. “I have my phone, I can keep myself busy, but...”
“I don’t mind at all, sweetheart,” Gil says, smiling back.
While Gil’s working, Sam texts back and forth with Joshua, reassuring him he’s fine, checking in on Christian, and agreeing that he’ll be there tomorrow morning as planned. He checks Christian’s public email account, doesn’t see anything important, and sends a note to his publicist asking some questions about the Boston performance. He has some other stuff to handle, but he needs his laptop for it and it’s not urgent, so he settles in to read the news and listen to Gil mutter to himself.
About an hour later, Sam looks up from his phone to see Gil stretched back in his chair, arms over his head and eyes closed. His t-shirt’s ridden up a little bit, exposing a slice of skin, and before he can talk himself out of it Sam moves across the room as quietly as he can, kneeling in front of Gil and kissing his stomach. “Had to be done,” he says, staying where he is and slipping his hands under the edge of Gil’s t-shirt.
“Did it, now,” Gil says, lazy and amused, and he shifts to drape his hands over Sam’s shoulders.
“Mm-hmm,” Sam says, more interested in pushing Gil’s shirt out of the way to nuzzle his stomach. He rubs his cheek against warm skin and breathes in Gil’s scent, a hint of musk and a lot of--green, is the best way Sam’s been able to describe it. Green, like plants and herbs. “Are you done working?”
“Apparently I am,” Gil says, lightly scratching the back of Sam’s neck.
“Okay,” Sam says, unbuttoning Gil’s jeans. “Don’t mind me, then.” He likes it when Gil laughs; his stomach muscles tense and Sam can feel the vibrations under his cheek and his fingers.
“I’ll try not to,” Gil says.
Sam grins and tugs down the zipper with his teeth, just because he can.
In comparison to other lovers, Sam thinks absently, Gil’s relatively quiet. He doesn’t keep up a running commentary of what Sam’s doing to him, and he’s not all that prone to loud moans or groans or other sounds. But Sam’s learning how to read him, and the soft catches in his breathing, the way he tenses under Sam’s hands and mouth and the way his fingers curl against Sam’s shoulder--it’s even more satisfying, honestly.
Also, the low growl he makes just before he comes is quite possibly the hottest sound Sam’s ever heard anyone make, but Sam’s had that opinion since the first weekend.
He straightens Gil’s clothes out, after, and lets Gil pull him up into his lap for a kiss. It’s slow and lazy and Gil pets him, fingers brushing over his back and his neck. It feels good, but it’s not quite what Sam wants at the moment, and he shifts a little, not sure how to ask for it.
Before he gets a chance, though, Gil has a hand down his sweats and a grip that’s just shy of too tight and so, so perfect Sam groans, pushing into it. “Shift a little, sweetheart,” Gil says, and Sam does, ending up straddling Gil with his pants around his hips, shirt rucked up anyhow and Gil’s hands right where Sam wants them.
Sam’s fingers clench against Gil’s shoulders, this time, and he pants into Gil’s mouth and begs between kisses, and when Gil tells him to come he cries out, hips snapping forward and mind going blank.
He cleans up with tissues after, as best he can, but his shirt’s kind of a mess and Gil’s t-shirt isn’t much better. “It’ll wash,” Gil says, catching Sam looking at the shirts. “Think you’re up for walking to the hot tub?”
“I think I can manage that,” Sam says, getting to his feet. They walk back through the house to the enclosed pool area, where Gil turns on the jets and Sam sinks into the bubbling hot water with a sigh of pleasure. Gil laughs, settling into the tub next to him, and for a bit they sit in companionable silence.
Sam closes his eyes, not sure where to start. He’s got a million questions about everything, it feels like, and he doesn’t know what to ask first, or what Gil will feel comfortable answering. “Did you--after the accident, did you think you wouldn’t walk again?” he asks finally, not sure it’s quite what he intended but willing to go with it.
“No,” Gil says. “No, I knew I would.” He laughs softly, and Sam turns to look at him. “I’ve never been one to let other people tell me what I can and can’t do,” Gil explains. “It’s why I went into business for myself. I didn’t want to work for anyone else.”
“Yeah, okay, but...there’s a difference between working for yourself and not listening to what your doctors tell you,” Sam feels obliged to point out.
“If I listened to the doctors I’d be hobbling around with a cane or a walker,” Gil says. “And in pain all the time.”
“Are you?” Sam asks softly.
Gil sighs. “I’m used to it, Sam. Most of the time it’s not a problem, it’s just a residual ache.”
“Adam said you won’t take the painkillers,” Sam says. “Should you be?”
“I take them when I need them,” Gil says. “Adam...Adam worries, and he doesn’t like it when people around him are in pain. He doesn’t like it when I’m in pain, and the reality is, there’s always going to be some. There’s just nothing they can do about that. I’m used to it by now, and when it gets worse, I take the medication.”
“It’s not fair,” Sam says, fighting down the frustration. “It’s not--you shouldn’t have to go through this. You didn’t do anything.”
“No, I didn’t,” Gil says. “But life’s not fair, life is life. I don’t believe everything happens for a reason, but I believe in karma. Maybe this is from something that happened in a previous life, or maybe it’s something else, I don’t know. I don’t want to sit around and ask why me, because that gets me absolutely nowhere and I’ll never know the answer.”
Sam nods. It makes sense. “Will you--will you tell me if there’s anything I can do to make things better for you?” he asks.
“I will,” Gil says. “I promise.”
That means a lot, and Sam knows it. He gets the sense Gil doesn’t break his promises, the same way he’s already learned Gil doesn’t lie. For a supposedly evil businessman, he’s not all that evil, Sam thinks, smiling a little to himself.
They soak a bit longer, and just as Sam’s thinking it’s probably time to get out of the tub Adam walks in, sleeves rolled up, tie gone and shirt collar unbuttoned. “Hey, loves,” he says. “Are you getting out or do I get in?”
“We’re getting out, I think,” Gil says.
“Figures. Maybe I’ll swim later.” Adam crouches down next to the tub and leans over to kiss GIl. Sam thinks it’s supposed to be a friendly welcome-home kiss, but it doesn’t really stay that way, and both of them are breathing just a little harder when Adam pulls back.
Sam smiles, watching, and then Adam kisses him and leaves him feeling a bit dazed. He takes a good ten seconds to redirect his brain before getting out of the tub and taking the towel Adam hands him.
“How was your day?” Adam asks as if there’s nothing at all out of the ordinary about him wearing business clothes and shoes standing next to two naked wet men. Sam resists the urge to snicker at the scene. He dries off, tosses the towel in the hamper, and takes the robe Gil gives him instead.
Gil makes a face. “We have to go to Tokyo next week,” he says, not looking pleased about it.
“Again?” Adam also makes a face. “We were just there last month.”
“Yes, well, when someone over there becomes capable of following a set of instructions without finding ways to ‘improve’ them, we can stop going over there so often,” GIl says. “Sam, do you want to go to Tokyo with us?”
Sam blinks, startled by the question. “Uh,” he says. “It depends on whether Christian needs me.”
“I’ll have dates for you tomorrow,” Gil says as the three of them walk back into the house.
Sam half-listens to the conversation about work and what to have for dinner and office gossip, wondering if he can get away for a few days next month to go to Tokyo. He wonders what he’d do in Tokyo; it’s not like he speaks Japanese. Then he wonders when this became his life, and almost laughs at himself. It’s not like working for Christian is all that much more realistic.
He ducks into the bedroom to change from the robe into a pair of loose pants and a t-shirt, and stops while he’s there to check his phone. No new email, but a text message from Christian asking if he’s all right and that he should stay home tomorrow and let GIl and Adam take care of him if he needs it.
Sam’s first thought is that no, he’ll be at work tomorrow, because the migraine’s gone and he’s back to normal. His second thought is that he can’t stay home and let Gil and Adam take care of him because they also have to work.
Then he realizes he’s thinking of the big house as ‘home’. That when he thinks about his bedroom, it’s this room, not the small room in his small apartment.
He sits down on the edge of the bed, looking at his phone, and rubs a hand over his face and his throat, pausing over his Adam’s apple. He wonders if Gil would actually collar him, what that would look like. What it would feel like, to have that security, that symbol.
Sam keeps quiet through dinner, and after dinner Adam goes to swim and Gil goes to work in the conservatory, giving him some much-needed space. But after half an hour of restlessly trying to settle with his laptop, or a book, he gives up and climbs the stairs to the conservatory, throwing himself down on the couch and watching Gil work with the plants.
“What’s on your mind, sweetheart?” Gil asks, looking up at him, and Sam sighs and rolls onto his back, one arm flung over his head.
“I want...” He stops, sits up. Runs his hands through his hair. “What you said, earlier today,” he says. “About me--about me being here. Being yours.”
Gil nods. “What about it?”
“I want it,” Sam says, almost a whisper. “I’m just...it feels too easy.”
“You want to know a secret?” Gil asks, moving around the table to come sit by him. “That’s what I told Adam about a week after I met him. It felt too easy.” He puts an arm around Sam’s shoulders, and Sam burrows into him. “It’s all right, sweetheart,” GIl says into Sam’s hair. “If this is what you want, you can have it.”
“I want it,” Sam whispers. “I want you. And Adam. And..all of this.”
“Okay.” Gil kisses his hair, his temple, and Sam closes his eyes, breathing in the scents of the flowers and plants. Slowly, he relaxes, and when Gil tips his face up and kisses him he yields easily, sighing into the kiss. “Mine,” Gil murmurs against his mouth, and Sam shivers all over.
“Yours, sir,” he murmurs back, knowing this is completely insane and Joshua might have a fit but he doesn’t care. He doesn’t care that it’s only been three weeks. This is what he wants.
This entry was originally posted at http://blueraccoon.dreamwidth.org/1020595.html. Please comment there. |
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Author: rebecca
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Adam/Gil/Sam (all original)
Summary: He’s so completely doomed.
Warnings: none that I can think of? Smut, some bad language.
Notes: This is the sequel to The Fourth Proposition (I hate that title but couldn’t think of a better one), and like that one, it’s set in what I’m calling the D3 universe. The timeline for the D3 universe is fluid due to a number of factors, but this story and its prequel both take place around 2006, give or take.
All characters in this fic belong to me. For those of you who thought Gil looks familiar - yes, I’ve used him before, and yes, he’s been referenced in Geometry. This makes sense, since D3 is a Geometry AU. However, in this particular universe he has no history with any Geometry or NCIS or other fandom people.
*****
It’s just dinner. No need to be nervous, Sam tells himself, rubbing his hands over his face. Joshua, Christian, David, himself…and Gil and Adam. Who haven’t met David, or interacted with Christian or Joshua for more than a few moments. It’ll be fine, he tells himself.
He’s so completely doomed.
This wasn’t supposed to happen this way. He was supposed to go home for a weekend hookup with Gil and Adam and then never see them again except at big events or Maverick fundraisers or the like. Instead, it’s three weeks later and he’s spent more nights at their place than his own apartment. He doesn’t know how to sleep alone anymore, without a man on either side of him. They’ve tried other sleeping arrangements, but Gil sleeps restlessly and has a tendency to kick if he’s in the middle. Adam, on the other hand, sprawls, and it’s better that he sprawl over the side of the bed than both his partners.
Sam will never, ever admit it to anyone, but he’s never slept so well in his life. Even Gil’s sickening and probably extremely healthy habit of getting up at five in the morning to work out doesn’t bother him, not when he can curl back up into Adam’s arms and either watch Gil go through yoga or just go back to sleep.
They’re supposed to be here now, at his apartment for once, because it’s easier to get to Joshua and Christian’s place from Sam’s apartment than it is from Gil and Adam’s house. But it’s almost six and they’re not here and they haven’t called to say they’ll be late, but anything can come up at the last minute. Phone calls, emergencies, last-minute trips to Tokyo, anything. Sam thunks his head against the wall-again-and sighs. He’s doomed.
Just as he thinks that, his phone buzzes. “We’re downstairs,” Gil says. “Do you come down or do we go up?”
“I’ll come down, sir,” Sam says, already moving for the door. “You don’t really want to see my place, it’s a mess.”
“Sam, you’ve barely been there the last week,” Gil says. “How can it be a mess?”
“It’s not exactly a mess, sir, but I have a dead plant,” Sam admits. “I thought it might be traumatic.”
Gil laughs. “When did you acquire a dead plant?”
“Well, I sort of rescued it from Mimi, who thought it was a cat toy, but I haven’t been home to take care of it and then I thought I’d give it to you, but I keep forgetting to pick it up when I’m here. I’m not sure it’s salvageable at this point, honestly,” Sam says.
“Bring it down,” Gil says. “I’ll take a look at it.”
“Yes, sir,” Sam says, detouring to grab the plant before closing the door behind him. He takes the stairs down to the ground floor and comes out of the building to see their car waiting. It’s technically illegal to wait there, so he scrambles into the car quickly and closes the door, letting Adam merge back into traffic.
“Oh, good grief,” Gil says when Sam hands the plant into the front seat. “It’s not dead yet, but this poor thing is certainly in intensive care.”
“I think it was a gift for Christian from someone,” Sam says. “I probably have the records at the office somewhere.”
“I’ll see what I can do with it,” Gil says, handing it back. “Just leave it on the seat for now. If it doesn’t survive until I can get it home, it was doomed anyway.”
“Sir,” Sam says, setting the plant on the seat next to him. “I did try to water it.”
“I see that,” Gil says. “Thank you for that.”
“How was your day, sir?” Sam asks.
“Busy,” Gil says. “Adam and I may need to head up to New York for a couple days next week.”
Sam nods. They’ve had to do that once already since he’s known them. “I have to go to Boston next weekend,” he says. “Christian and I leave next Friday morning, but we’ll be back by Sunday evening. He’s got a charity performance there Saturday evening, and some press stuff beforehand. I think Joshua’s coming with us, but I’m not sure.”
“I haven’t been to Boston in ages,” Adam comments. “Do I turn left here, Sam, or is it the next light?”
“Next light, sir,” Sam says, glancing at the street signs. “The only times I’ve been to Boston I’ve been with Christian. He loves it.”
“I got to know it fairly well in grad school,” Adam says. “But that was longer ago than I care to remember.”
“We’re not that old,” Gil says.
“Sir, I don’t think you need to worry about being a mature adult,” Sam says impishly.
Adam laughs. “I’ll get you for that later.”
Sam grins, thinking maybe this won’t be so bad after all. He might just survive the evening.
They get to Joshua and Christian’s without problems and even find a parking space two houses down, which Sam counts as a good omen. He notices that Gil and Adam went home before they came to get him, as neither one of them were in jeans this morning.
“The stained glass is gorgeous,” Adam says as they walk up to the house. “I’m guessing this wasn’t always a house?”
“We think it was a library or possibly a chapel at one point, but we’re not sure and no one’s bothered to research it,” Sam says. “But yeah, the stained glass is pretty nice, and there’s some gorgeous woodwork inside.”
“I’m sure,” Adam says. “You said they were doing some renovations?”
Sam nods. “I’ll let Joshua explain that,” he says, ringing the bell.
A moment later, Christian opens the door, Mimi snuggled against his shoulder. “Enter and be welcome, or something along those lines,” he says, stepping back to let them come in. He’s been working, Sam notes; he’s got pencil smudges on his left hand and a mechanical pencil sticking out of his jeans pocket, with another one stuck behind his ear. “It’s good to see you two again.” He sets Mimi down so he can shake hands.
“It’s good to see you, too,” Gil says. Then he sneezes. Twice.
“Don’t tell me you’re allergic to me,” Christian says.
Gil shakes his head. “Not you, Mimi,” he says. “I’ll be fine.”
“Sir, you didn’t tell me you were allergic to cats,” Sam murmurs.
“It’s not a severe allergy, and I took antihistamines,” Gil says. He kisses Sam’s cheek and smiles a little. “You can’t arrange everything in the world, sweetheart.”
“Watch me,” Sam says, smiling back.
“He will, too,” Christian says. “He arranges everything.”
“It’s my job,” Sam points out.
“To arrange Christian’s life, yes,” Gil says. “Anything else is just a bonus.”
“Are we a bonus now?” Adam asks.
“I like arranging things for people,” Sam says, feeling flustered and resisting the urge to look at his shoes. “There’s nothing wrong with that.”
Gil rests his hand in the small of Sam’s back, rubbing gently. “Of course there isn’t,” he says.
The doorbell rings again and Christian moves around Sam to get it and let David in. “Hey, honey,” David says, kissing Christian’s cheek. “Introduce me?”
“Of course,” Christian says. He gestures to David. “David Stein, my best friend. David, meet Gil and Adam whose last names I’ve forgotten but who belong to Sam. Or possibly Sam belongs to them, it’s unclear.”
“It’s a little of both, I think,” Gil says, shaking hands with David. “Pleasure to meet you.”
“And you,” David says, shaking hands with Adam next. “Where’s Joshua?”
“Finishing up dinner,” Christian says. “But let’s move this to the living room? Does anyone want anything to drink? We’ve got soft drinks, water, some beer, and Joshua and I are opening a bottle of pinot grigio to go with the meal if anyone wants a glass of that.”
“I’ll go for that, actually,” David says as they take seats on the couches and chairs. “Is that the one you told me about?”
“Yes, and we liked it so much we bought a case, so there’s plenty,” Christian says, laughing.
“Sounds like a good bet,” Adam says. “I’d like a glass too, please.”
“Of course. Sam? Gil?”
“Just water for me, thanks,” Gil says.
“I’ll get it,” Sam says immediately, getting up.
“No, you won’t,” Christian says. “I can handle a few glasses of wine and water. Sit back down and make small talk.”
Sam sits back down. “But-“ he tries, feeling obliged to protest at least somewhat.
“Sam, you’re off-duty,” David says. “Relax. Goldilocks can fend for himself a little bit. He did survive before you came along.”
“Those were dark times,” Christian says. “But I am perfectly capable of getting drinks. I’ll be right back.”
“You look very comfortable in that,” Sam says, looking at David sprawled out in the chair and a half.
“I am very comfortable in this,” David says. “It’s been a long week. Rehearsal’s been particularly grueling.”
“You’re a clarinetist, right?” Adam asks.
David nods. “With the NSO. Prior to that I jumped around a lot. Everywhere from New Jersey to Oregon.”
“We have season tickets for the orchestra,” Gil says. “We don’t get to go to every concert, but we try.” He sneezes again, and Sam winces. Why didn’t Gil tell him he was allergic to cats?
“Do you prefer the pops or the classical?” David asks.
“I prefer some of the classical, depending on the composer,” Gil says. “Adam prefers the pops.”
“Sometimes,” Adam says. “Also depending on composer.”
“Isn’t that always the way, though?” David asks. “Sam, what about you?”
Sam shrugs. “Most of what I have on my iPod is popular,” he says. “I have a few classical recordings I like, though. It just-it always seems overwhelming, like there are fifty million composers out there and everyone has opinions on what recordings are best, and it’s honestly easier to download whatever’s on Billboard’s top 40.”
“You know, I do this for a living,” David points out. “If you ever decide you want to learn more classical, just let me know and I’ll be happy to talk you through some of it.”
“Or me,” Christian says, returning with drinks. “We have wine, we have water, and after dinner we’ll have tea and coffee. Joshua says dinner will be ready in about ten minutes. Please tell me no one’s a vegetarian.”
“I”d have told you if they were,” Sam says, a little indignantly.
“Next time we do this we’ll have to have you over to our place,” Adam says. “I enjoy cooking.”
Next time? There’s going to be a next time? Sam can’t think that far ahead.
“And we enjoy eating, so it all works out,” Christian says, raising his glass to Adam.
“I do takeout,” David admits. “I mean, I cook for myself a bit, but mostly I do takeout and prepackaged stuff. Cooking for one is annoying at best.”
“Oh, but the prepackaged stuff is so bad for you,” Adam says with a wince. “So much sodium.”
“My blood pressure’s fine,” David says, laughing.
“Now, sure,” Adam says, grinning at him. “Talk to me in ten years.”
“I’ll make a note on my calendar,” David says, returning Adam’s grin. “Besides, you work like seventy hours a week. When do you have time to cook?”
“It’s not quite that bad,” Adam says, taking a sip of his wine. “Oh, this is good.”
“Isn’t it?” Christian asks, taking a sip from his own glass. “I’m more for red wine than white, but David told us about a local wine bar that was doing tastings, so out of curiosity, we went, and we fell in love with this one. The winery is in Washington state, of all things, and I’ve made Joshua promise me that we’ll take a tour of it the next time we’re out that way.”
“Sam, are you more of a wine or a beer person?” David asks. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you drink.”
“I don’t,” Sam says. “I’m the eternal designated driver, even when I’m not driving.” And hopefully, they’ll leave it at that.
“Someone’s got to remain sane,” Christian says. “And it’s never me, even when I’m not drinking-which is most of the time.”
“You also can’t be the DD,” David points out. “You don’t drive.”
“There is that,” Christian says with a laugh. “Gil, Adam, which of you is the DD?”
“I drive,” Adam says. “Well, mostly. But neither Gil nor I drink all that much.”
Joshua comes into the living room, wiping his hands on a dish towel. “Evening,” he says.
Christian jumps up and kisses him on the cheek. “Joshua, you remember Gil and Adam, whose last names I still don’t remember, right? Adam, Gil, Joshua,” he says, gesturing between them.
“I’m Sampson, he’s Knight,” Gil says, rising and shaking Joshua’s hand. “But don’t worry about it.”
“It’s good to see you two again,” Joshua says, shaking hands with Adam. “And if you’ll all come with me, dinner’s ready.”
They take their seats around the big wood table; Sam ends up sitting between Gil and Christian, with Adam on Gil’s left. “So I think I’m a little out of the loop here,” David says, holding out his glass so Christian can refill his wine. “You two met Sam at the fundraiser Christian did last month? Is that how this started?”
Adam nods. “We did,” he says. “Initially we wanted to talk to Sam just because his name kept coming up in all the reports we got about the planning. Everyone pointed at him when we asked why things were running so smoothly this year. Gil had hopes of maybe hiring him.”
“My assistant,” Christian says immediately and firmly. “You can’t have him.”
“We don’t poach, I promise,” Adam says, laughing. “And I don’t think Sam wants a new job, anyway.”
“Really, I don’t,” Sam says, blushing a little. “Dinner looks fantastic, Joshua.”
“Thank you,” Joshua says. “I put Christian in charge of dessert, so we have giant brownies from the bakery and an apple pie in case someone doesn’t like chocolate. “
“Although if you don’t like chocolate, there’s something wrong with you,” Christian says.
“Gil’s got a weakness for chocolate,” Adam says, serving himself as the salad bowl comes around to him. “The richer the better.”
“What about you?” David asks. “What’s your culinary weakness?”
“I love cooking in general,” Adam says. “I’m a better cook than a baker, but I’m not bad at desserts. Although nothing will beat my mom’s pound cake.”
“Oh, I love pound cake,” Christian says. “Well, I love cake in all its many forms, except sponge cake. I’m not a fan of that.”
Conversation turns to food and recipes and favorite restaurants. Sam’s somewhat sheepishly pleased to realize that most of the places Adam loves, he’s been to, and if he hasn’t, odds are good Joshua and Christian have. It makes for a good conversational flow, and Christian looks relaxed, which means everyone else is.
Sam thinks about that for a moment, cutting a bite of chicken. Christian’s really the center point here-if he’s unhappy, Joshua and David will be unhappy, and a stressed Christian is never good news for Sam, which would probably translate into bad news for Gil and Adam. If they noticed.
Of course they’d notice. They notice everything.
He smiles a little at himself at the thought, and just as he does, Gil turns to him, a questioning look on his face. “Everything all right, Sam?” he murmurs.
“Everything’s fine, sir,” Sam murmurs back, smiling for real. “Just lost in thought for a moment.”
Gil smiles back and nods before turning back to a question from Christian.
They finish dinner and Christian gets up to gather plates and silverware. “David, help me out?” he asks.
“Sure,” David says, getting to his feet.
“Anyone want tea or coffee?” Christian asks. “We can have it with dessert.”
“Do you have decaf?” Adam asks. “If I drink regular coffee now I’ll be up all night.”
“We do have decaf coffee,” Christian says. “Or, if you’d rather tea, I have a whole selection of herbals and decaf options.”
“I’ll go for the decaf coffee, thanks,” Adam says.
“Do you have a decaf green?” Gil asks curiously. “Or white?”
“I have two different decaf greens, one is regular Sencha and one is a green-jasmine blend, and I have a really good blooming white, if you’d rather that,” Christian says. He grins, a little sheepishly. “I don’t drink coffee, but I drink all kinds of tea.”
“I have a fairly extensive tea cabinet myself,” Gil says, smiling. “I’ll try the green-jasmine.”
“Excellent choice,” Christian says. “I think I’ll have that myself. David? Sam?”
“I’ll go for coffee,” David says. “Decaf is fine.”
“Same,” Sam says. “I can get started on it while you clean up, if you want.”
“We’ve got it,” David says. “I am capable of making coffee. You four just hang out and relax and in a minute we’ll have tea and coffee and brownies, unless someone would rather have apple pie.”
“I think the chocolate wins out,” Christian says at the general lack of interest. “Wise choice.” He carries his load of plates into the kitchen, and David follows him.
“Christian was mentioning earlier that you’d done some renovations on the house,” Adam says, turning to Joshua. “How much have you changed?”
“More than it looks like, less than it could be,” Joshua says, smiling. He starts telling Adam and Gil about the work done on the house, which leads to Adam telling Joshua about the renovations done to their house. Sam, meanwhile, takes advantage of not being needed to zone out a little bit. He’s tired and his head is vaguely aching--probably not anything that might signify a migraine, but he’s had a long day and was probably more stressed over this whole dinner thing than he should have been, and now the relief is making his head hurt.
He excuses himself to go use the bathroom and shamelessly raids the medicine cabinet for ibuprofen while he’s there, downing four with a gulp of water from the tap. When he returns to the table, Christian and David are setting out plates and mugs. Sam looks at his brownie and thinks that under normal circumstances he’d love it, but right now the thought of all the sugar is making him feel vaguely queasy.
Maybe he’s not so far from a migraine as he thought, which is just going to suck. He has a couple doses of pills in his bag, but mostly they’re at home and he doesn’t want to go home, he wants to go to Gil and Adam’s, but they don’t need to deal with him during a migraine.
“Sam, are you all right?” Gil asks softly, turning to him.
“I have a bit of a headache,” Sam admits. “I took some ibuprofen just now, so hopefully that’ll get rid of it.”
“Headache or migraine?” Christian asks and shit, Sam did not need that.
“Just a headache,” Sam says quickly. “I should be all right.”
“You get migraines, sweetheart?” Gil asks.
“Sometimes,” Sam says reluctantly. “Really, sir, I’ll be all right. I have painkillers if it gets too bad, and it’s just a headache for now.”
“For now,” Gil says, and Sam groans because why did he have to say that? “I think maybe we’d better take you home, sweetheart.”
“Sir, I’m okay,” Sam protests. He really doesn’t want to go back to his apartment; maybe he can just crash here. He’s done that before, and it’s not like Joshua and Christian don’t have the room.
“We can wrap up the brownies for you,” Joshua says.
“It’s--” Sam sighs at the look Gil gives him. “I don’t want to cut the evening short just because I have a headache,” he says, knowing it’s a weak protest at best. “I could just go lie down upstairs for a bit.” Actually, that doesn’t sound like a terrible idea, given that the headache’s increasing every moment and all he wants to do now is huddle under the covers someplace cold and dark.
“I think we’re going to head out,” Gil says, studying Sam. “If you could wrap up the brownies, that would be good, though.” He smiles, looking at Joshua.
“Maybe we can try take two at our place next week or something,” Adam says. “I’ll check the calendar, but I think we’re clear.”
“We should be around,” Joshua says, gathering plates.
In a couple minutes, they’re exchanging goodbyes and Sam feels like the world’s biggest idiot, albeit the world’s biggest idiot with a pounding headache that’s making him nauseous and closing his eyes against the light.
“Do you have pills on you, Sam, or do you need to stop at your apartment for them?” Adam asks quietly in the car.
“I have a couple doses on me,” Sam says, tipping his head back against the headrest. “But you can just drop me at my apartment, it’s okay.”
“No, it’s not,” Adam says. “If we need to run out to your apartment later, we can do that, but depending on what you take for your migraines I might be able to help.”
“Mostly oxycodone,” Sam says. “The triptans don’t really work for me, so my doctor gives me a supply of the oxy. A couple doses usually does it.” He rubs the bridge of his nose and hopes no one else has questions for him, because he’s feeling too miserable to focus.
To his relief, the rest of the car ride is quiet, and Sam zones out, jolted back to reality when Adam parks in the driveway. “Come on, sweetheart,” Gil says softly, getting out of the car. “Let’s get you inside and into bed.”
“You don’t have to-“ Sam protests, but he grabs the plant and follows Gil and Adam inside.
“I know how miserable migraines are,” Adam says, taking the plant from him and giving it to Gil. “I get them occasionally.”
“You do?” Sam asks in surprise, following Adam down the hall to the master bedroom.
“Ever since I hit puberty, yeah,” Adam says. “They’re pretty infrequent these days but Gil can tell you horror stories about college. I used to get them right before finals, probably from stress.” He turns on a bedside lamp, keeping the room dim, and draws the blackout curtains. “I’ll get you a glass of water so you can take your pills. You just get undressed and crawl into bed.”
“Yes, sir,” Sam murmurs, already toeing off his shoes. He undresses and rummages in his messenger bag until he finds the pill bottle, tipping a dose into his palm just as Adam returns with water and a different pill bottle. “Sir, I have pills,” he says, taking the water and downing the oxycodone.
“I know, honey, but if your stomach’s as unhappy as mine usually gets you might want this, too,” Adam says. “It’s phenergan, anti-nausea medication. I know I’m not supposed to share but this one’s pretty harmless.”
“I’ve had it before,” Sam says, taking the pill and swallowing it. “Thank you.”
“Just rest, now,” Adam says, and Sam sighs and crawls under the covers. Adam turns off the bedside lamp, plunging the room into darkness. Sam isn’t sure if he actually groans in relief or if that’s just in his head, but Adam doesn’t say anything, just brushes his fingers over Sam’s hair and the back of his neck.
Sam listens to Adam’s quiet footsteps leaving the room and sighs, willing the pills to work. It feels like forever before he starts to feel floaty, but probably isn’t more than ten or fifteen minutes, and while he can’t quite sleep while stoned, he can at least doze and be mostly unconscious.
He wakes when the pills start wearing off, leaving him feeling like he’s been run over by a steamroller and having no inclination whatsoever to get up, except he has to use the bathroom, and he’s thirsty. He lies in bed a little longer, until his bladder can’t be ignored, then gets up with a groan and goes to pee and get a cup of water from the bathroom sink.
When he returns to the bedroom, Gil’s there, sitting on the edge of the bed, and the bedside lamp is on. “I thought the pills might be wearing off about now,” Gil says. “How are you feeling?”
“Like I’ve been steamrolled,” Sam says, walking back over to the bed and sitting down next to Gil. “Everything hurts.”
“I’m not surprised,” Gil says, gently turning Sam so his back’s to Gil. Sam wonders what he’s doing and almost whimpers in relief when Gil starts rubbing his shoulders and his neck, the pressure just shy of painful and feeling amazingly good. “I do this for Adam, when he gets migraines,” Gil says. “Usually when they first hit he’s in too much pain, but after the first dose of medication wears off he says this helps.”
“I get maybe one every six to eight weeks,” Sam mumbles, dropping his head forward. “I should be okay by tomorrow morning, though.” He hopes.
“Well, we’ll see how you feel then,” Gil says, thumbs pressing into the base of Sam’s scalp and making him groan. “Have you ever tried acupuncture for your migraines?”
“No,” Sam says. “I didn’t know how to find a good one, and anyway it gets expensive.”
“I have one I like,” Gil says. “I’ll make you an appointment.”
“You don’t have to do that,” Sam feels obliged to protest.
“I want you to be healthy, sweetheart,” Gil says, drawing Sam back toward him and kissing the back of his head. “You need to accept that Adam and I care about you, that we want to take care of you.” He runs his hands up and down Sam’s arms before shifting to hold him close.
“This wasn’t supposed to be like this,” Sam says, too tired and miserable to pay attention to what he’s saying. “It was...we were supposed to have a weekend hook up, and...”
“Is that what you want?” Gil asks quietly. “Do you want to stop seeing us?”
“No,” Sam murmurs, shaking his head. “No, I don’t. I just don’t understand.”
“What don’t you understand?” Gil moves away for a moment, and Sam feels cold, but then Gil’s back and handing him pills and a glass of water. Sam swallows the pills, drinking the rest of the water, and Gil takes the glass away.
“Why you want me,” Sam says, closing his eyes.
“Oh, honey,” Gil says, so gentle it makes Sam swallow. “Come lie down with me.” He draws Sam down on the bed, under the covers, Gil’s chest against Sam’s back and Gil’s arms around him. “I want you because you’re a remarkable person, Sam,” Gil says. “You’re intelligent, you’re strong, you’re compassionate. You’re funny when you let your sense of humor show, and you’re passionate about things that matter to you.”
Sam’s head hurts and he feels queasy and he doesn’t know what to say, but Gil’s arms around him feel secure, like he can stay there for a while and, maybe, let Gil take care of him a bit. He closes his eyes, breathing out slowly.
“Relax, sweetheart,” Gil murmurs, kissing the back of his neck. “I’ve got you. I’m not going anywhere.”
“Thank you,” Sam mumbles, more grateful for that than he wants to admit. He lets himself drift until the pills kick in, and this time he thinks he does fall asleep because when he opens his eyes again Adam’s next to him but Gil isn’t, and the clock on the nightstand says it’s five fifteen in the morning.
Adam looks like he’s asleep, and Sam doesn’t want to disturb him. He slips out of bed as quietly as he can, padding to the bathroom, and considers for a moment before turning off most of the lights except the one over the sink and taking a shower. The heat and the water pressure help ease the tension in his neck and back, as does the herbal scent of his soap, and he’s feeling well enough to shave and brush his teeth by the tme he gets out of the shower.
When he walks back into the bedroom, Adam’s sort of awake, but Gil isn’t back yet. “How’s the head?” Adam asks sleepily, holding out a hand to him.
“Better,” Sam says, crawling back into bed and letting Adam wrap around him. Adam’s hair is braided back for sleep, but a few locks have gotten free and brush over Sam’s skin, feeling like silk. “I’m not a hundred percent, but I could probably pass for seventy, maybe.”
“Take it easy today, okay?” Adam asks, rubbing Sam’s back. “Stay here, relax, sleep if you need it. Christian can survive without you for a day.”
“I’m okay, sir, really,” Sam says but it’s a lame protest. All he really wants to do is sleep, and he knows that if he pushes too much before the migraine’s gone, it’ll just come back harder.
“Christian can survive without you for once,” Adam repeats. “Gil’s going to work from home today, too. You just relax and sleep off the rest of the migraine.”
Sam sighs, closing his eyes and letting Adam gently rub the back of his neck. He’s vaguely aware of footsteps and quiet voices and then the sounds of running water from the bathroom, but Adam doesn’t get out of bed or ask Sam to move and Sam’s feeling lazy enough that he’s okay with that.
Eventually the water stops. Sam stays in bed even as Adam kisses his forehead and gets up to go take his own shower and get dressed, but does manage to roll over when he feels the bed shift as Gil sits down on it. “Morning,” he mumbles, blinking his eyes open.
“Hey, honey,” Gil says, running his fingers through Sam’s hair. He’s dressed in jeans and a faded t-shirt; Sam’s guessing he’s barefoot, since he usually is, given a choice. “Are you feeling up to breakfast?”
“I think so,” Sam says after considering it for a moment.
“Do you want to come to the kitchen, or would you rather stay here where it’s less bright?” Gil asks. “How’s your head?”
“Better but not great,” Sam admits, wishing he was more capable of dissembling but not really wanting to lie to Gil anyway. “I told Adam I’m probably at about seventy percent, maybe a little less.”
“All right,” Gil says. “So you’ll take it easy today and relax, and tomorrow hopefully you’ll be back to normal. Will Joshua or Christian be awake yet for you to tell them you’re taking today off?”
He says it like there’s no question Sam’s not going to work today, and Sam feels like he should protest but what’s the point? He’s not going to win the argument and he’s not sure he should. “I’ll email Joshua,” he says. “He’ll get it when he wakes up. And I think I can handle the kitchen.”
Gil nods. “The first pot of coffee should be brewing now,” he says. “I’ll go see what we have for breakfast, come find me when you’re ready.”
“Yes, sir,” Sam murmurs, leaning into Gil’s hand. He stretches and rolls onto his stomach once Gil’s gone, taking stock of how he feels. Overall, he’s a bit achy, and his head feels kind of...echoing, is the best way he can put it. He doesn’t have the spike of pain through his head, but he’s still kind of tender, and probably his best bet is going to be resting or sleeping through today.
It’s tempting to just stay in bed, but he wants coffee and maybe some food. He sighs and crawls out of the big bed, pulling on sweatpants and a t-shirt, and sends Joshua a quick note from his phone before going to find Gil in the kitchen.
Gil gives him coffee, fixed just the way he likes it, and peanut butter banana toast which is one of Sam’s secret favorite breakfasts, and doesn’t seem to require much in the way of conversation. Sam’s content to sit with his breakfast and his coffee and watch Gil and Adam move around each other as they get coffee and Adam makes himself breakfast to take to work and Gil braids Adam’s hair.
Sam admits to being surprised that Gil’s working from home, and hopes it’s not because of him, but neither Adam nor Gil are acting like it’s anything out of the ordinary, so maybe this is something they do semi-regularly.
“Take care of yourself,” Adam says when he’s gotten his bag together and is ready to leave. “I’ll see you later tonight. I should be home by five, six at the outside.” He bends, kissing Sam’s temple. “We have plenty of painkillers if you need more.”
“Do you just stockpile them?” Sam asks, curious.
“Something like that,” Gil says. “They keep giving me new prescriptions and I keep not using them as often as the doctors think I should.”
Sam nods. He’s seen the scars on Gil’s left side; they’re faded, mostly, but his knee to his hip is crisscrossed with scars and a couple wind around his hip to his back. He hasn’t asked for the whole story, but maybe one of these days he will.
“He’d rather be in pain than take the meds,” Adam says, and it has the sound of an old frustration. “But. I have to get going. Gil, if you get to the market today let me know what you pick up and we’ll sort out dinner. Love you.” He kisses Gil and heads down the hall.
“So,” Gil says once the front door’s closed behind Adam. “You look like I should put you back to bed.”
“Maybe,” Sam says reluctantly. “I probably need more of the meds before my headache gets much worse, but I hate taking them.”
“I understand, sweetheart, believe me,” Gil says, making himself a cup of tea. “I was on some pretty heavy-duty pain medicine for a while after the crash, and I hated how foggy it made me.”
“When was the accident?” Sam asks.
“About five years ago,” Gil says. “Adam and I were out on a date night--we’d gone to dinner, and then a jazz club, and we were on our way home when a drunk driver lost control and slammed into us. I was driving, and he hit the driver’s door head-on.”
“What happened to him?” Sam asks.
Gil’s face tightens briefly. “He walked away without a scratch, pretty much,” he says. “There were charges, he took a plea bargain, served a few years.”
Sam winces. “I’m sorry,” he says.
“So am I, sweetheart,” Gil says, and this time he smiles a little. “Do you want to come keep me company, or would you rather go back to bed? My office does have a couch.”
“I think I’ll stay with you for a bit,” Sam says. “But I’ll take another dose of the painkillers, so I won’t be much company.”
“That’s all right,” Gil says. “Come on, then.”
The couch in Gil’s office is remarkably comfortable, and big enough to stretch out on, with a pillow under Sam’s head and a soft blanket draped over him. He swallows the pills Gil gives him and settles down, listening to the sound of Gil typing.
He’s half asleep when the couch shifts; Sam looks up to see Gil sitting by his head. “How’re you feeling, honey?” Gil asks, petting him.
“Okay,” Sam mumbles. “Stoned, but my head doesn’t really hurt, or if it hurts, I don’t care about it.”
“That’ll work,” Gil says. “Here, shift a bit.” Sam moves as directed, lying back down with his head in Gil’s lap and Gil rubbing his temples and down the sides of his face and neck. “Does this help at all?” Gil asks softly.
“Mmhmm,” is about all Sam can manage. He sighs in contentment, absently nuzzling into Gil’s hand when it brushes his cheek. “Feels good,” he murmurs, not even sure if he’s speaking out loud.
“That’s the idea,” Gil says, sounding amused, but Sam doesn’t mind. “How long have you been getting migraines?”
“Mm. Years,” Sam says. “Since...middle school, maybe? Dunno.”
“How did you deal with them as a kid?” Gil asks.
“Hid in my room with the lights off,” Sam says. “Took a lot of Excedrin, or raided my mom’s medicine cabinet for her Percocet. She never noticed.” He’s waking up a bit now, probably due to the drugs wearing off, and stretches a little, settling back down.
“She didn’t take you to the doctor?” GIl asks.
Sam snorts at the idea. “My parents are assholes, sir,” he says. “I hate them, they hate me, it’s all very rich family dysfunctional. I escaped when I graduated high school and once I turn thirty I won’t have to deal with either of them ever again if I can help it. Right now Mom’s in Europe somewhere, I think Spain, with her second husband slash alcohol supplier, and my father’s in Virginia on Barbie Wife Number Two and mistress I lost count years ago.”
Gil’s quiet for a moment. “I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he says finally.
“It’s okay,” Sam says, shrugging. “I don’t really care. What’s annoying is that my father controls my trust until I’m thirty, so I have to deal with him. My mother, thank God, is in Spain, like I said. I haven’t seen her since I graduated high school. I’m really okay with that.”
“Can your father spend your trust?” Gil asks.
“No,” Sam says. “I get an allowance from it--it’s not quite enough to live on, well it might be depending on where I lived, but I get that, and he’s not allowed to touch the money, but I only get access to the principal if he thinks I’m ready to handle it or when I turn thirty, whichever comes first. Since he thinks I’m a failure of a human being because I’m queer and didn’t want to go to college, thirty it is.”
He sighs and sits up, facing Gil. “It’s really--I don’t care, sir,” he says, wondering how he can make Gil understand. “They’re both dysfunctional assholes and I’ve known that since I was a kid. It’d be one thing if I was still in search of their approval or some shit, but I’m not.”
“No,” Gil says, but Sam can’t read the expression on his face. “No, honey, you’re not.”
Sam shrugs. “I’m not, I don’t know, in search of some sort of parental figure,” he says. “I’m twenty-six, I figure if I’ve gotten this far without one, I don’t need one. Really, I’d just throw the trust back at my father and say to hell with it, but I’ve decided it’s hazard pay for having to deal with him as a kid.”
Gil smiles a little, but there’s something off about it. Sam hesitates, worried he’s said too much, or said the wrong thing. “Sir? Did I--is everything okay?”
“It’s not you, honey,” Gil says, taking Sam’s hand. “You just...remind me of someone, very strongly.”
“Who, sir?” Sam asks.
Gil laughs. “Honestly? Me.”
“Was your father an asshole?” Sam asks, and maybe it’s just because he’s still half-stoned, but there is something pretty funny about it.
“That’s one way of putting it,” Gil says. “I stopped talking to him after I graduated college, so if you’re worried I’m going to tell you to try and reconcile with your parents, I’m not.”
Sam smiles. “Good to know, sir,” he says. “What about Adam?”
“Adam is the poster boy for well-adjusted families,” Gil says, smiling back. “He has two parents, still married to each other, who love him very much and have always been supportive of him. They’re actually remarkable people, and you’ll meet them at some point.”
“How did he manage that?” Sam asks. “I didn’t realize there were families like that out there. Everyone I knew in prep school was dysfunctional somehow.”
“Yes, and I’ll bet you went to a wealthy high school,” Gil says. “Am I right?”
Sam nods. “Yeah, it was an elite prep school thing,” he says. “The kids weren’t much better than the parents.”
“I’m sure,” Gil says. “Money breeds dysfunction, often, I think. Adam’s got a rock-solid background and family, but he didn’t grow up with a trust fund, the way I did, or the way you did.”
“It doesn’t always, but yeah,” Sam says. He sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. “I don’t want to take more pain meds,” he says. “But my head’s aching again.”
“I’m not going to force them on you, sweetheart,” Gil says. “Come here, though, and turn around.”
Sam does, nearly groaning in relief when Gil starts working on his shoulders and his neck again. “This might not cure the migraine, but it feels good,” he says, dropping his head forward.
“It’s supposed to,” Gil says, and Sam can hear the smile in his voice.
“May I ask a question?” Sam asks after a moment.
“You can ask anything you want, honey,” Gil says.
“You said you stopped talking to your father,” Sam says slowly. “What about your mother?”
“I never knew her,” Gil says. “There were complications when I was born, and she died. My father never remarried.”
“I’m sorry,” Sam murmurs. “I didn’t know.”
“There’s no reason you would have,” Gil says, squeezing his shoulders. “If you have questions, Sam, you should ask. I like it when you do.”
“Why?” Sam asks.
“Because it means you want to know the answers,” Gil says. “And I like knowing that you’re curious about me or Adam, the same way we are about you.”
“Fascinated is more like it,” Sam says without meaning to, and blushes as soon as he’s said it.
“Why do you say that?” Gil asks.
“Because...because you are,” Sam says, his cheeks heating and glad he’s not facing Gil. “You’re just--I mean, you built this giant company, and you’re worth billions, but you don’t act like it. You walk around barefoot in jeans older than me, practically, and...you’re just all these contradictions and juxtapositions, and it’s fascinating, and that you want me is...I don’t even know what that is.”
“I do want you,” Gil says, thumbs digging into the base of Sam’s neck and making him groan. “That isn’t a debate, that’s a fact.”
“But why?” Sam asks plaintively.
“I’m attracted to intelligence,” Gil says. “And competence. You’d be surprised how hard those things are to find in the same person.”
“There’s more to it than that,” Sam says, uncertain what else there is but knowing there’s more.
“There is,” Gil agrees. “Turn around, sweetheart, and look at me.” When Sam does, Gil reaches out, taking his hand. “You’re an incredibly attractive, intelligent man,” Gil says quietly. “You’re good at what you do and you like doing it. You care about Christian, and Joshua. You’re passionate when you care about something, and I find that attractive.”
Sam blushes, dropping his eyes. Gil nudges his chin up, forcing Sam to look at him. “And there’s one other thing, Sam,” Gil says. “You’re a submissive, and everything about you is screaming that you deserve a Dom--a good Dom--to take care of you and value your submission.”
“And you want that to be you,” Sam says, barely more than a whisper.
Gil nods. “I do.”
“The other--the other three people you and Adam invited home,” Sam says, hesitating but needing to know. “Were they subs? Like me? Did you want--was it the same?”
“No,” GIl says. “No, it wasn’t. The first person, the one who turned us down, was someone Adam and I thought would be fun to have sex with, honestly. He was a very charismatic and fun person, and we enjoyed being with him. We found out later he didn’t actually feel comfortable with casual sex, and we weren’t, at the time, willing to offer more than that. The second person was similar to you in that he was also a sub, but he responded more to Adam than to me. What we had with him was a very occasional thing, where he would come to us when he needed a scene or a weekend of being a sub, and then would go on his way. The third person--could have, possibly, become a full-time third, but didn’t want that level of intensity from either Adam or me, and essentially ran away from us.”
“And now me,” Sam says. “Where do--where do I fit? Where do you *want* me to fit?” He bites his lip, but Gil’s fingers are warm around his and Gil doesn’t let go.
“I want you to fit here,” Gil says. “With me, and with Adam. I want you to be mine, Sam, in case that wasn’t already obvious. I thought it was, but apparently I was wrong.”
“I didn’t realize,” Sam says numbly. “You want--but--what does Adam say?”
Gil smiles. “Adam adores you, Sam,” he says patiently. “He thinks you’re wonderful and he wants you to stay around.”
“Oh,” is all Sam can manage, and his head’s starting to ache again and he doesn’t really know what to say or do. He rubs his forehead, trying to think. “It’s--it’s only been three weeks,” he says. “Are you--how can you be sure?”
“I’m a good judge of people,” Gil says. “If you need time to think about it, Sam, that’s perfectly fine. I don’t want to push you into making a decision.”
“Thank you, sir,” Sam murmurs. “I think maybe I need to try and get some more sleep, maybe take some more of the painkillers.” It feels like a cop-out but that’s not how he means it, and he’s relieved when Gil just nods.
“I think you’re right,” Gil says. “Come on, sweetheart, I’ll put you to bed.”
Sam feels like he should object to being put to bed, but can’t quite figure out the argument against it. He follows Gil back to the bedroom and takes the pills Gil gives him, crawling under the covers and closing his eyes. Gil sits on the edge of the bed, fingers running through his hair, and Sam sighs, partially wanting Gil to stay with him, even though he knows it’s stupid.
Gil doesn’t show any signs of wanting to leave, though, and he keeps stroking Sam’s hair, and Sam eventually dozes off.
His dreams are tangled, surreal things, and he wakes with a head full of rapidly fading images and a groggy sense of disconnect from reality. On the plus side, his migraine’s just about gone and he’s kind of hungry. Overall, he’ll take the trade.
He’s alone in the bed, which doesn’t surprise him. Sam scrubs his hands over his face and crawls out of bed, going to use the bathroom and find Gil and food, not necessarily in that order.
Gil’s not in the kitchen, but there’s a covered plate in the fridge with a note that says ‘Sam - Eat Me’. Sam smiles, taking it out and sitting at the kitchen table. There’s no instructions on heating it up, and honestly, the meal looks like it’ll be pretty good cold. Sam takes a tentative bite, then another one when his stomach doesn’t protest, and before he realizes it he’s all but licked the plate clean.
He cleans up after himself and goes to find Gil in his office. The sound of voices makes him pause, and when he gets to the open door he sees Gil is on speakerphone with someone, or several someones, having a rapid-fire conversation that’s not in English--Japanese, he thinks. Sam hesitates, not wanting to disturb him, but Gil looks up, sees him, and motions for him to come in without missing a beat. Sam curls up on the couch, watching and fascinated by it.
Whoever Gil’s talking to, he doesn’t look thrilled about it, and when one of the other people is done talking he responds immediately, not giving anyone else a chance to talk. He keeps talking for a few minutes, and there’s silence when he finishes. Sam knows just enough to tell that there’s a general round of agreement and then Gil hangs up the phone. “One moment, honey,” he says, punching in another number.
“Hey, Boss,” a man says. “How’d it go?”
“Don’t ask,” Gil says, sounding annoyed. He gives a bunch of instructions about emailing someone and specifications for an offer, and tells the man he’ll look for the email in the next hour or two. The guy on the other end laughs, promises it’ll be done, and Gil hangs up the phone again.
“For the record, sir,” Sam says after a moment, “that’s really kind of hot.”
“Me being annoyed is hot?” Gil asks with a laugh.
“Not you being annoyed, you being all focused and business mode and everything,” Sam says, blushing. “It’s--I don’t speak Japanese, or whatever that was, but I could tell that they were trying to get you to agree to something, and you didn’t, and you told them whatever was going to happen was going to be done the way you wanted it, and they had to go along with you. It’s like--I don’t know, it’s like being a Dom in a way, because your sub often wants things, but you may not agree, and it’s your decision in the end, isn’t it?”
“Japanese, yes,” Gil says. “I’ve studied it for years, I started when I started karate lessons. And that’s a very apt analysis of the conversation I had with that group of people. Are you sure I can’t hire you?”
“One, I work for Christian,” Sam says, blushing again. “Two, I like what I do. Three, I don’t want to go into business. And four, if I worked for you I think I’d have to stop sleeping with you, and I don’t want to do that, either.”
“Right on most counts,” Gil says, smiling. “Well, if you ever change your mind about points one through three, promise me you’ll let me know.”
“I will,” Sam promises.
“How’s the headache?” Gil asks.
“I think the worst is over,” Sam says. “I ate lunch, or whatever meal that was in the fridge for me.”
“Lunch is close enough,” Gil says. “It’s just about three.”
There’s quiet for a moment, and Sam bites his lip. “Sir, it’s not that--you know it’s not that I don’t want to--I just--it’s been three weeks,” he says a bit incoherently. “Can we talk about this again in a month?”
“There’s no rush,” Gil says. “I’m not going to change my mind, and neither is Adam, but we don’t want to pressure you into a decision you don’t feel comfortable with. If the way things are now is what you want, that’s fine, sweetheart. Take your time.”
“Okay,” Sam says, not sure how he feels about the whole thing. Honestly, he wants to talk it over with Joshua, and maybe David, and Christian will probably have some kind of input, even if it’s just to say he likes Gil and Adam.
“I have a couple more things to finish up here,” Gil says. “And then I thought I could get you to go soak with me.”
“I will always be happy to go soak in the hot tub with you, sir,” Sam says immediately. Gil laughs, and Sam grins back. “When did you put that in, anyway?”
“After the accident,” Gil says. “We had the pool before that, and we’d been talking about adding in a hot tub and a sauna, but hadn’t gotten around to it, and then everything happened and it ended up being really helpful during rehab. There was a lot of muscle damage, and the hot tub helped ease some of the strain.”
“How badly were you--I mean--” Sam hesitates, not knowing what to ask.
“I almost died,” Gil says, seeming to read his mind. “I was in a coma for four days, and recovery ended up being a game of resetting expectations. First they thought I’d have brain damage, then they thought I wouldn’t walk again, then they thought I wouldn’t walk without help, and that’s kind of where I am now. I do have a cane for bad days, but those aren’t very often. But I’ll never have full strength or range of motion on that side again.”
“Was Adam hurt?” Sam asks.
“He had a few cracked ribs, a lot of bruises and some cuts,” Gil says. “And a lot of anxiety.”
“I can’t blame him,” Sam says, trying to imagine it. “I mean...”
“It’s understandable,” Gil agrees. “We can talk about it more when we soak, if you want. Or we can talk about anything else.”
Sam smiles a little. “Do you mind if I stay here while you work?” he asks. “I have my phone, I can keep myself busy, but...”
“I don’t mind at all, sweetheart,” Gil says, smiling back.
While Gil’s working, Sam texts back and forth with Joshua, reassuring him he’s fine, checking in on Christian, and agreeing that he’ll be there tomorrow morning as planned. He checks Christian’s public email account, doesn’t see anything important, and sends a note to his publicist asking some questions about the Boston performance. He has some other stuff to handle, but he needs his laptop for it and it’s not urgent, so he settles in to read the news and listen to Gil mutter to himself.
About an hour later, Sam looks up from his phone to see Gil stretched back in his chair, arms over his head and eyes closed. His t-shirt’s ridden up a little bit, exposing a slice of skin, and before he can talk himself out of it Sam moves across the room as quietly as he can, kneeling in front of Gil and kissing his stomach. “Had to be done,” he says, staying where he is and slipping his hands under the edge of Gil’s t-shirt.
“Did it, now,” Gil says, lazy and amused, and he shifts to drape his hands over Sam’s shoulders.
“Mm-hmm,” Sam says, more interested in pushing Gil’s shirt out of the way to nuzzle his stomach. He rubs his cheek against warm skin and breathes in Gil’s scent, a hint of musk and a lot of--green, is the best way Sam’s been able to describe it. Green, like plants and herbs. “Are you done working?”
“Apparently I am,” Gil says, lightly scratching the back of Sam’s neck.
“Okay,” Sam says, unbuttoning Gil’s jeans. “Don’t mind me, then.” He likes it when Gil laughs; his stomach muscles tense and Sam can feel the vibrations under his cheek and his fingers.
“I’ll try not to,” Gil says.
Sam grins and tugs down the zipper with his teeth, just because he can.
In comparison to other lovers, Sam thinks absently, Gil’s relatively quiet. He doesn’t keep up a running commentary of what Sam’s doing to him, and he’s not all that prone to loud moans or groans or other sounds. But Sam’s learning how to read him, and the soft catches in his breathing, the way he tenses under Sam’s hands and mouth and the way his fingers curl against Sam’s shoulder--it’s even more satisfying, honestly.
Also, the low growl he makes just before he comes is quite possibly the hottest sound Sam’s ever heard anyone make, but Sam’s had that opinion since the first weekend.
He straightens Gil’s clothes out, after, and lets Gil pull him up into his lap for a kiss. It’s slow and lazy and Gil pets him, fingers brushing over his back and his neck. It feels good, but it’s not quite what Sam wants at the moment, and he shifts a little, not sure how to ask for it.
Before he gets a chance, though, Gil has a hand down his sweats and a grip that’s just shy of too tight and so, so perfect Sam groans, pushing into it. “Shift a little, sweetheart,” Gil says, and Sam does, ending up straddling Gil with his pants around his hips, shirt rucked up anyhow and Gil’s hands right where Sam wants them.
Sam’s fingers clench against Gil’s shoulders, this time, and he pants into Gil’s mouth and begs between kisses, and when Gil tells him to come he cries out, hips snapping forward and mind going blank.
He cleans up with tissues after, as best he can, but his shirt’s kind of a mess and Gil’s t-shirt isn’t much better. “It’ll wash,” Gil says, catching Sam looking at the shirts. “Think you’re up for walking to the hot tub?”
“I think I can manage that,” Sam says, getting to his feet. They walk back through the house to the enclosed pool area, where Gil turns on the jets and Sam sinks into the bubbling hot water with a sigh of pleasure. Gil laughs, settling into the tub next to him, and for a bit they sit in companionable silence.
Sam closes his eyes, not sure where to start. He’s got a million questions about everything, it feels like, and he doesn’t know what to ask first, or what Gil will feel comfortable answering. “Did you--after the accident, did you think you wouldn’t walk again?” he asks finally, not sure it’s quite what he intended but willing to go with it.
“No,” Gil says. “No, I knew I would.” He laughs softly, and Sam turns to look at him. “I’ve never been one to let other people tell me what I can and can’t do,” Gil explains. “It’s why I went into business for myself. I didn’t want to work for anyone else.”
“Yeah, okay, but...there’s a difference between working for yourself and not listening to what your doctors tell you,” Sam feels obliged to point out.
“If I listened to the doctors I’d be hobbling around with a cane or a walker,” Gil says. “And in pain all the time.”
“Are you?” Sam asks softly.
Gil sighs. “I’m used to it, Sam. Most of the time it’s not a problem, it’s just a residual ache.”
“Adam said you won’t take the painkillers,” Sam says. “Should you be?”
“I take them when I need them,” Gil says. “Adam...Adam worries, and he doesn’t like it when people around him are in pain. He doesn’t like it when I’m in pain, and the reality is, there’s always going to be some. There’s just nothing they can do about that. I’m used to it by now, and when it gets worse, I take the medication.”
“It’s not fair,” Sam says, fighting down the frustration. “It’s not--you shouldn’t have to go through this. You didn’t do anything.”
“No, I didn’t,” Gil says. “But life’s not fair, life is life. I don’t believe everything happens for a reason, but I believe in karma. Maybe this is from something that happened in a previous life, or maybe it’s something else, I don’t know. I don’t want to sit around and ask why me, because that gets me absolutely nowhere and I’ll never know the answer.”
Sam nods. It makes sense. “Will you--will you tell me if there’s anything I can do to make things better for you?” he asks.
“I will,” Gil says. “I promise.”
That means a lot, and Sam knows it. He gets the sense Gil doesn’t break his promises, the same way he’s already learned Gil doesn’t lie. For a supposedly evil businessman, he’s not all that evil, Sam thinks, smiling a little to himself.
They soak a bit longer, and just as Sam’s thinking it’s probably time to get out of the tub Adam walks in, sleeves rolled up, tie gone and shirt collar unbuttoned. “Hey, loves,” he says. “Are you getting out or do I get in?”
“We’re getting out, I think,” Gil says.
“Figures. Maybe I’ll swim later.” Adam crouches down next to the tub and leans over to kiss GIl. Sam thinks it’s supposed to be a friendly welcome-home kiss, but it doesn’t really stay that way, and both of them are breathing just a little harder when Adam pulls back.
Sam smiles, watching, and then Adam kisses him and leaves him feeling a bit dazed. He takes a good ten seconds to redirect his brain before getting out of the tub and taking the towel Adam hands him.
“How was your day?” Adam asks as if there’s nothing at all out of the ordinary about him wearing business clothes and shoes standing next to two naked wet men. Sam resists the urge to snicker at the scene. He dries off, tosses the towel in the hamper, and takes the robe Gil gives him instead.
Gil makes a face. “We have to go to Tokyo next week,” he says, not looking pleased about it.
“Again?” Adam also makes a face. “We were just there last month.”
“Yes, well, when someone over there becomes capable of following a set of instructions without finding ways to ‘improve’ them, we can stop going over there so often,” GIl says. “Sam, do you want to go to Tokyo with us?”
Sam blinks, startled by the question. “Uh,” he says. “It depends on whether Christian needs me.”
“I’ll have dates for you tomorrow,” Gil says as the three of them walk back into the house.
Sam half-listens to the conversation about work and what to have for dinner and office gossip, wondering if he can get away for a few days next month to go to Tokyo. He wonders what he’d do in Tokyo; it’s not like he speaks Japanese. Then he wonders when this became his life, and almost laughs at himself. It’s not like working for Christian is all that much more realistic.
He ducks into the bedroom to change from the robe into a pair of loose pants and a t-shirt, and stops while he’s there to check his phone. No new email, but a text message from Christian asking if he’s all right and that he should stay home tomorrow and let GIl and Adam take care of him if he needs it.
Sam’s first thought is that no, he’ll be at work tomorrow, because the migraine’s gone and he’s back to normal. His second thought is that he can’t stay home and let Gil and Adam take care of him because they also have to work.
Then he realizes he’s thinking of the big house as ‘home’. That when he thinks about his bedroom, it’s this room, not the small room in his small apartment.
He sits down on the edge of the bed, looking at his phone, and rubs a hand over his face and his throat, pausing over his Adam’s apple. He wonders if Gil would actually collar him, what that would look like. What it would feel like, to have that security, that symbol.
Sam keeps quiet through dinner, and after dinner Adam goes to swim and Gil goes to work in the conservatory, giving him some much-needed space. But after half an hour of restlessly trying to settle with his laptop, or a book, he gives up and climbs the stairs to the conservatory, throwing himself down on the couch and watching Gil work with the plants.
“What’s on your mind, sweetheart?” Gil asks, looking up at him, and Sam sighs and rolls onto his back, one arm flung over his head.
“I want...” He stops, sits up. Runs his hands through his hair. “What you said, earlier today,” he says. “About me--about me being here. Being yours.”
Gil nods. “What about it?”
“I want it,” Sam says, almost a whisper. “I’m just...it feels too easy.”
“You want to know a secret?” Gil asks, moving around the table to come sit by him. “That’s what I told Adam about a week after I met him. It felt too easy.” He puts an arm around Sam’s shoulders, and Sam burrows into him. “It’s all right, sweetheart,” GIl says into Sam’s hair. “If this is what you want, you can have it.”
“I want it,” Sam whispers. “I want you. And Adam. And..all of this.”
“Okay.” Gil kisses his hair, his temple, and Sam closes his eyes, breathing in the scents of the flowers and plants. Slowly, he relaxes, and when Gil tips his face up and kisses him he yields easily, sighing into the kiss. “Mine,” Gil murmurs against his mouth, and Sam shivers all over.
“Yours, sir,” he murmurs back, knowing this is completely insane and Joshua might have a fit but he doesn’t care. He doesn’t care that it’s only been three weeks. This is what he wants.
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