Chapter Text
The first time Gerry Delano kissed Tim Stoker, it was the briefest of pecks after a roaring round of karaoke. Martin's thirtieth birthday party was buzzing around them and the lightning flash press of their mouths left Tim high as a kite and giggling like a schoolgirl. He remembers vividly the indulgent smile Gerry gave him, the weight of their hand in his as they led him off stage.
It was in good fun and had been good fun, and Tim had hoped for it to happen again in a vague sort of way that felt more like a daydream than a real desire.
It had kept happening, though. Quick kisses of greeting or departure. An appreciative brush on the cheek when Tim called Gerry to collect Martin on a bad day. A kiss of gratitude when Tim had sat as a model for Gerry to paint.
Tim enjoys it, and Gerry does it as easily as breathing. They kiss with the ease of money changing hands; like it’s Gerry's chosen currency for remunerating their loved ones for each act of love or kindness.
Tim honestly thought there was little true spark to it, until recently.
Visiting Martin on a blisteringly hot day in August, Gerry found Tim wearing a light linen shirt with an offensive navy and coral Hawaiian pattern on it. There was a derogatory remark about the pattern and an appreciative one about the way the cuffed sleeves showed off his toned arms. Tim lived to have his biceps appreciated, and never was it better than when it was Gerry's pretty teal eyes lingering over him.
Cheeks heating, Tim laughed them off before he did something silly. Like jump over the counter and climb them like a tree in front of God and everyone.
Gerry retreated to the cafe side of the store, only to sit in his direct line of sight, sketching with a roguish smile on their pretty face. They stole looks at him with growing frequency, each glance up through their long, dark eyelashes tingling along Tim's skin like flashes of electricity.
When presented with a drawing of himself, leaning back against the counter with a teasing smirk on his face, Tim’s nervous system had ignited with a million glittering sparks. It tipped him off that his appreciation for Gerry had swayed toward the carnal side with a permanence that makes him a little nervous.
Still, if Gerry wanted to present a man with a drawing of himself looking sexy as sin (if Tim did say so himself), then they would have to live with the consequences.
With a predatory grin, Tim dragged Gerry across the counter of the bookstore by the collar of their shirt, pressing a hard kiss against their lips. When he flicked his tongue out for the briefest of tastes, he caught a hint of salty sweat and bitter coffee. Tim soaked it in, fleeting as it was.
"Thanks, Picasso," he rasped. His voice gave him away a bit, but he figured if he could be a bit too much with anyone, one of his best friends was a fairly safe bet.
"Anytime, treasure." Gerry's reply was too whip-fast for it to be anything but sincere. They blinked a moment, Tim not the only one left a little too open.
To cover their slip, and Tim's as well, Gerry left him with another kiss, this one brushed against his temple. Opposite from diffusing the muchness, it was almost more intimate than the previous kiss.
Tim remembers wondering if the two of them were in trouble.
Now he knows they are.
The moral of the story is that Gerry and Tim kiss quite a lot. More than technically can be considered friendly, but it's fine. They both enjoy it, they both know it's in good fun.
To be honest, Tim isn't exactly sure what it is that's between him and the JonGerryMartin polycule (yes he thinks of them in terms of a ship name, he thinks it's charming, hush). Sometimes it’s perfectly normal between them, a great friendship that he adores and would do anything for. But sometimes… Sometimes the tension of potential stretches between the four of them, taut like a rubber band, and Tim feels like he's waiting for the day that the tension snaps.
Before he might have expected it to be Martin, honestly, but that's a little more complicated due to their work relationship. They’re best friends but Martin is also his boss, and certain liberties sit on the other side of a boundary still carefully maintained. He thinks it might be Jon, but their chemistry is softer, more affectionate and less sexual, and there isn’t enough potential for change there to drag them over the edge.
It turns out to be Gerry, and with their newly sparked chemistry, that rather feels like that’s how it’s meant to be.
It’s karaoke again, and that might be a lesson in how Tim begins romances. As they step off the stage, buzzed with laughter and cocktails, Gerry tugs him closer than necessary, an arm winding around his waist.
The frequency of Tim’s buzz tightens with the press of their bodies together, even before Gerry’s soft lips, bisected with the harsh line of their labret piercing, brush against his. It’s fleeting but inspiring, and Tim finds himself catching that bottom lip between his teeth, letting it scrape through as they pull away.
Gerry stops, mirth fading away to leave something else sparkling in their eyes. Their eyebrows draw up in question. Tim freezes, caught like a deer in the headlights as they stare at each other. He hadn't meant to, exactly, except that he had followed the undeniable urge to catch Gerry's attention, to keep their megawatt brilliance focused on him for another moment.
Well, now their attention is honed onto him and nothing else, and Tim's stomach swoops, dizzy with anticipation.
Unlike most people, Tim and Gerry are of a height, which is a bit of a novelty for both of them. A hand comes up to cup his cheek, decorated with black nail polish and eye tattoos. Tim stops breathing, anticipation popping in his belly like champagne bubbles.
Their fingers move to tangle in his hair, a smile quirking the corners of Gerry’s mouth as they bring him in again. They kiss him, properly this time. Long and slow, seeping into his bloodstream and opening him up like a flower blooming in the morning sun.
Even after all the quick, easy kisses they've shared, this one still feels like their first. It gains energy, heat rising between them with the addition of tongue and teeth, weighted with the flush of desire. It turns Tim into molten lava, sweeping all his thoughts away as an eruption of want shatters through him.
Tim supposes that he should be aware of all the eyes on them as Gerry’s grip shifts down, cupping his arse and bringing their hips flush together, but he’s too distracted by them. They’re all-encompassing, every bit of Tim’s attention narrowed down to their little piece of the dancefloor. To Gerry and their lips on his and both of their erections trapped between them.
When he feels like he might combust on the spot, Tim pulls away to breathe, eyes damp and wide when they meet Gerry’s. That slow smirk is back on their face, and it makes something deep inside Tim clench with need.
“Come outside with me?” Gerry asks. Tim can only nod, dazed and flushed.
Gerry tangles their fingers together, guiding Tim through the press of people as he follows them eagerly.
Gerry takes them on a little detour so they pass by Jon and Martin, cuddled together at a table with Oliver Banks and Jordan Kennedy. (They started dating recently, and Tim thinks they make a cute couple, but right now he barely spares them a thought. If he had thought to glance at them though, he would find rapt looks of amazement on their faces at this little development.)
“I’m taking Tim outside for some air. In the alley,” Gerry says, bending to speak to Jon and Martin.
Jon’s eyebrow rises, a smirk curving his mouth. Tim flushes, very aware that one of Gerry’s hands is tucked into his back pocket, cupping his arse. “The alley?” There’s an undeniable suggestion in his tone.
“The alley,” Gerry agrees.
Martin hides his knowing smile in his drink. “Have fun, darlings.” Gerry drops a kiss to the top of Martin’s head, pausing a moment to nuzzle into the softness of his curls. Tim might have felt himself melt at the sweet moment, except Jon has risen to wrap an arm around his shoulders, coming up on his tip-toes to kiss Tim on the cheek.
Lingering with his lips close to Tim’s ear, Jon murmurs, “They do this fantastic thing with their tongue. Don’t let them hold back on you.”
All the blood in Tim’s body rushes to his cock, and he almost falls over into Jon’s welcoming lap. Eyes glazed and brain bluescreened, he follows Gerry out of the close, humid space and into the cool night air.
Outside in the alley, where Jon and Gerry can often be caught sneaking cigarettes and kisses, Gerry brackets Tim into the chilly bricks with their body. Later, when he’s not so preoccupied, Tim will realise that this is probably not the first sex Gerry has had in this alley, given Jon and Martin’s reaction.
The wall is hard and unyielding at his back, Gerry is hot and demanding at his front, and Tim finds himself gloriously trapped. Of course, he wouldn’t want to escape, more than happy to be caught up in the flow of Gerry’s kisses and their hands on his body. Fingers slip under his shirt to dance over his torso, teeth catching the skin of his neck as they taste him.
Gerry whispers filthy, wonderful things in his ear as they take Tim to pieces. He’s too caught up to do much more than let Gerry have whatever they want while his hands try to touch every inch of them he can get to without ripping their clothes off.
Gerry makes a hungry, appreciative noise as they extract Tim from his pants, their eyes glued to his cock. They’ve seen him naked a few times, for art reasons, but never aroused. Tim feels very pleased with himself at that moment, watching Gerry’s ravenous gaze on him.
He isn’t expecting them to go to their knees, for some reason, but they barely hesitate. Then Tim is buried in the wet warmth of their mouth, a garbled moan escaping him as they swallow him down to the base with the supreme confidence of someone who loves to give head and has done it plentifully.
They suck him off with long, languorous strokes, mouth hot and demanding around him. Their tongue dances around the head of his cock, pressing along his slit and greedily swallowing splashes of precome. Give me your pleasure, Gerry communicates without words, coaxing him up and up, driving him absolutely fucking insane.
Tim grips the long fall of their hair, silky strands tangled in his fingers. He doesn’t mean to pull the first time, but Gerry moans around him, eyes flashing up to meet his. With some confidence that they like it, Tim pulls again. He’s not trying to control Gerry's movement, but merely leaning into the hedonism of the moment. They redouble their efforts and before he even knows it’s coming, his orgasm crashes over him with the force of an earthquake.
After gently tucking him away, Gerry rises to take his weight as Tim’s knees go to jelly. They cuddle into the curve of his neck and simply exist with him as he gently floats back down to earth, shaking arms wrapped tight around them.
There’s a long, languid kiss, after. It’s almost indulgent, despite the desperation that would seem to merit tipsy, semi-public sex in an alleyway. Tim kisses the taste of himself out of their mouth, committing the flavour of them together to memory. Gerry groans when they realise what he’s doing, the vibration of it adding another layer to the tactility of them coming together.
It drives Tim a little crazy that Gerry won’t let him return the favour, but the way they whisper, “Later, sweetheart,” in that husky, fuck-me voice of theirs almost makes up for it. Later, later, later, Tim can show Gerry just how good he can be for them.
Afterwards, all three of them walk Tim home, Jon holding his hand on one side and Gerry on the other, Martin tucked under Gerry’s arm. They’re all happy-tipsy and the laughter comes easy between them.
He's left leaning against his front door, warm and hazy, body boneless and heavy in the way it can be after good sex and better companionship.
He watches them walk away, Gerry pausing to take one last, lingering look at him. Their eyes meet, flashing through the space between them, lusty and intense. A moment to mark the beginning of the new between them.
Tim savours the memory of the way they had tasted together, warm and salty and fucking wonderful.
It's the first time, but far from the last.
They keep having sex.
The sort of insane, fantastic sex that leaves Tim full and aching in the best way. Gerry fucks him into the mattress and wraps their hand around his throat and says dirty, wonderful things to him.
Knowing what a terrible sub they are (Martin likes to talk, okay, and Tim likes to listen), it's a pleasant surprise to be so thoroughly topped by them. Tim has a feeling that Gerry is fascinated by him, curious about all the unique ways Tim can be undone and taken apart and pieced back together. Like a science project that he half hopes Gerry never quite manages to solve. That they can keep coming back to again and again and again.
What they do together doesn't step into the realm of kink, and Tim suspects that's the difference between Martin’s Gerry and his Gerry. Gerry is a sub for their dom, but with him, they're just having sex. It's hot and it's wild and it's kind of perfect.
When they're not having sex, they're friends as well as lovers, like the intimacy soaked in between them has enhanced their friendship instead of dismantling it and making them different.
He doesn’t want different, is the thing. He likes his friendship with them all, and he doesn’t want to change who they are to each other.
Still, he likes to know that what they do together means something to Gerry—that he means something to Gerry.
Because, almost despite himself, it means more to Tim than he was expecting.
It’s… special.
He hadn’t really thought he was made to have special things.
Tim has also kissed Jon before. Quite a few times before Martin and Gerry existed for him, they got tipsy together and made out on the ancient, lumpy sofa Tim used to have in his shitty, old apartment. They had been long, lazy kisses, full of exploration and lacking urgency. Jon liked to be laid out on the sofa and feel pressed down with his weight, liked the warmth of Tim’s hands resting on his waist while straddling him.
They had both enjoyed their kisses, but Jon hadn't wanted to go further, and Tim was happy to be the friend that Jon kissed sometimes. It had been nice to be that for him, the person he could go to for affection and intimacy, no pressure or strings attached. Jon had needed that, to be loved regardless of his intricacies, and Tim liked being that for him.
After Martin and Gerry, Jon didn't need anyone else to kiss, so they simply went back to friends who didn't kiss. They still bantered and even flirted, and the intimacy forged during that time remains between them, lively and strong.
Things shift on a rainy Saturday evening, curled up on the sofa in the bookstore together. Tim catches Jon watching him. His gaze is curious, puzzling. Tim gets the impression that Jon is trying to solve him like a complex equation, to understand him like a rare literary device. What a pair Jon and Gerry are. Always looking to understand the most bizarre parts of the world.
It's been a while since things started with Gerry, and it's been going well (better than well, but Tim is reluctant to admit that they twist him up quite so firmly as they do). He knows Jon is curious about it, but there’s no question that he’s supportive. Tim had gotten the impression that it had been Jon’s idea, actually. Something about a list of some kind.
Jon smiles at him now, full of warm affection, like the sun rising on a clear spring day. Tim's stomach flips over, a dance of butterflies taking flight in his rib cage.
"Can I kiss you?" Jon asks, reaching up to cup his face. His thumb strokes the curve of his jaw, rasping over his artful five o'clock shadow.
Tim kisses him first, leaning firmly into his space and claiming his mouth for long, tender moments. The kiss is the sort that goes on forever without ever really going anywhere. It's warm and intimate, the perfect extension of their bratty, wonderful friendship. It’s just as Tim remembers it, except Jon’s kissing skills have been honed a bit over his years in a relationship. He finds himself getting kissed back with just as much vigour as he gives out, Jon meeting his energy at every turn.
Tim loves it, loves the way it leaves him soft and sleepy. Loves the way Jon pulls away at the end, only to caress his bottom lip with the pad of his thumb. He looks perfectly at ease, hazy as he swims out of the sweetness of the kiss and emerges into the world, soft and malleable.
They share a smile and a final kiss before going back to their reading, Jon tucked firmly into Tim’s side.
Tim doesn't expect it to happen again, but it does.
Jon kisses him again and again, and he treasures each one like a perfect bit of sunshine. Warm and golden, a drop of pleasure to tuck away in a treasure chest in his mind, to take out and revel in often.
He feels like Jon appreciates them as well, and Tim luxuriates in knowing that even though Jon has everything he needs in his relationships, he still wants Tim.
He hadn’t imagined being wanted so purely could be such a heady feeling. The thought that a true relationship should be built on unbearable need has always stuck in the back of Tim’s mind. It’s one of the reasons his exclusive relationships have always been so fleeting. But being with Gerry and Jon helps him to see that he doesn’t have to be someone's favourite, their north star, their everything, for their relationship to be special and important. He realises that superiority doesn’t need to equate to security.
There’s something beautiful in being a choice. Every time they reach for Tim, he never has to worry that there is anything but simple desire there. Jon kisses him because he wants to. Gerry takes him to bed because they like how he makes them feel.
He’s good for them and they want him.
He finds that being allowed to want them back is just as sweet.