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Full title: And the trees are green and overhanging - feather-light, free and everlasting
Part 3 of "Only In Dreams"
It was Saturday, and Alex awoke. He was still curled, still holding...
But of course it was a pillow, and not Greg. His sigh was heavy, but he laid in bed for a shimmering thirty or forty minutes, just reveling in remembered feelings from the past two nights. He allowed himself some warmth from the false ability to express.
He took a sort of pride in the fact that the dream gave him what he wanted - that chance to comfort Greg - but hadn't delved into creating a false horror. Surely, that said something positive about Alex? Surely, it showed his heart to be good enough?
He winced, and rolled out of bed with a laugh that was bitter and mocking. Taking credit for how he treated someone in a fantasy? Pathetic. Absolutely pathetic.
It was a rare weekend with no engagements, and Alex found that daunting. He was desperate for a distraction. Instead he drifted through a meaningless day, his thoughts always flitting back to Greg. The real Greg was out there, likely in a similar shape to what Alex had seen Friday. As far as Alex knew, Greg was alone. Alex began hating himself for his own impotence.
A full dozen times, he took out his phone with the intent of texting Greg. He wasn't even sure what he wanted to say, just that he needed to say something. But he didn't have a huge social connection with Greg - most of their text thread was work-related. The social time they'd had consisted primarily of brushing into each other at wrap-up parties.
The notion of sending a message that boiled down to an elaborate I'm worried about you in a thread that contained such intimate messages as Filming starts in 15 minutes - where are you? or The party venue has changed, see email was ridiculous. The thought of it provoked anxiety.
So the phone always went back in his pocket.
He got groceries for the week, he tried to write (again) and failed (again). He recognized the dark weight in his chest and blackness starting to take hold. He knew that it meant he needed to care for himself in some way to avoid slipping further into a depression. So he went for a jog.
It was hard to drag himself out for the jog, which itself was a sign that he needed to do it. Once he was in motion, however, he began really throwing himself into it. In fact, he added several blocks to his jog, and the jog evolved into a run for the last third of the way...
Once he was home, he showered, had a very simple meal, and laid down in bed. He occupied his thoughts by rereading one of Tim's books. It worked... a little.
He fell into a restless sleep.
__________
His dreams were an incoherent mess of color, anxiety, and reaching towards a Greg who was forever out of reach.
__________
He woke up in a knot, and immediately reached out for his phone. While his brain - and his filter - were blurred, he tapped away. His fingers ran away from him, somehow nimble despite being sleep-drunk. It was as if they'd practiced in his sleep, while he was distracted.
I really hope this isn't imposing, Greg. You were in such an awful way Friday, I'm just worried for you. Are you alright? Is there anything I can do?
Once he clicked Send, his brain caught up to what he was doing. He stared at this phone, his eyes huge. After a few minutes of frozen shock, he dragged himself out of bed and forced himself through his morning routine. After breakfast, he dragged himself into another jog, this time to work through his bouncing nerves. Exercise, he thought with a half-laugh. Is there anything you can't cure?
Partway through his jog, he felt his phone buzz and his heart stop. His text to Greg had been a little over an hour ago - 71 minutes, actually, though who could be counting? He pulled out his phone, and-
Fuck's sake, mate. Texting me that on a Sunday at 6am?? Out of nowhere?? Fuck.
Alex suppressed a smile and waited through the animated dots that showed that Greg was still typing.
I'm fine. Little pathetic pity party over here. Frankly embarrassing I couldn't hold my act together Friday. One more mark. Anyway, enjoy your long weekend. See you Tuesday.
Alex reread the message several times, noting especially how it was both self-deprecating and putting up what seemed to be a defensive wall. After hesitating, he took a deep breath and tapped back:
You live in South London, right? What general area?
The message showed as Read instantly... But the dots showing Greg's typing took almost a full minute to appear. Moments later, Greg's address appeared. Alex consulted his inner map, and replied:
Oh, I thought so! My favorite Italian restaurant isn't far from there. My weekend would be much more enjoyable if I could meet a friend there for lunch?
Again, the message showed a Read instantly... But the reply took even later to begin.
Uh, sorry, mate. I'm sure it's lovely, but, to be frank, I can't be arsed. Think I'll spend a quiet day in my flat. See you Tuesday.
Alex reread the message several times, put the phone in his pocket, and for the second day finished his jog as a run while his mind raced.
If Greg was throwing a "pity party," staying alone in his flat for most (or all) of the weekend was the worst possible decision.
Maybe... it was time to take a chance. If only for Greg's sake.
__________
"What the fuck, Alex?" Greg spluttered when he opened the door.
Alex smiled in response. "I don't suppose you'd mind if I stepped in? Heavy bags, and all that."
A stunned Greg stood aside, and made a sarcastically-grand gesture at the interior.
Alex stepped through and took things in quickly. Noticing the entrance to the kitchen, he brightened, and headed over.
He set his bags down on the kitchen table - two large portions of spaghetti and meatballs, an order of parmesan-garlic breadsticks, marinara. It smelled alright, which was a relief, as he'd never been to the restaurant in question.
Greg seemingly sleepwalked his way into the kitchen, looking at the bags and smelling the air with one eyebrow raised skeptically. Alex took a moment to quickly assess him. It was now noon, and Greg sported rumpled sleepwear, crusty eyes in darkened sockets, mussed hair, and a faint smell that suggested he hadn't showered - or brushed his teeth?? - in a bit. Since work Friday? Not good signs.
"Why the skeptical look, Greg? I wouldn't bring you poison."
Greg's response sounded tired and confused, "You aren't exactly known for having the finest of palettes, Alex. This does smell fantastic, though. Wait- why am I talking about the food. Why the fuck are you here?"
Alex smiled gently. "Well, I thought about how you 'couldn't be arsed' to meet me for lunch, and decided there was no reason lunch couldn't come to you, then. I mean, you gave me your address, after all...."
Greg's face turned red, "Why, you little prick-"
"Hey, no need for that language. To the person who brought you a lovely Italian lunch? I should think not. Where do you keep your plates and silverware?"
His tone was so reasonable that Greg mumbled without thinking, "Overhead counter to the right of the sink, and the drawer below that."
Greg slumped into one of the chairs at the kitchen table as Alex grabbed the things, along with two glasses of water. He stared seemingly with confusion as Alex unpacked the food. When Greg stared at the food containers instead of loading his plate, Alex loaded it for him. He carefully kept Greg's portions a moderate size, as he suspected large plates would put him off in his current state.
Greg looked at the plate. "Look, Alex, this is really kind of you. Really. But I've not really wanted-"
"Tut tut! None of that. Not at least until you've had a bite, I think."
Greg's look in response was almost sullen. Eventually his manners propelled him forward - it would be rude not to at least try, after all. With the sort of hesitation that suggested he was afraid his spaghetti would turn out to have been hot toothpaste pie all along, he took a bite. "S'pretty good, actually," he reluctantly admitted. "Nice sauce."
Alex released his breath, and took a bite of his own.
They ate quietly, and quickly. For Alex that was the norm, but Greg's rapid eating left Alex wondering if he hadn't been feeding himself well for a while....
When Alex could see that Greg was done, he slapped his hands down onto his thighs suddenly, making Greg jump. "Alright! Let's get this all cleared up." Alex quickly cleared the dishes, repackaged the few leftovers, and tucked them into Greg's fridge. Greg remained slumped slightly in his chair.
"Looks like you have a nice, easy dinner in there ready and waiting for you, now," Alex pointed out with a smile.
Greg nodded vaguely.
Alex looked at him for a moment, considering. Basic self care was certainly one of the first things to go, and Greg certainly smelled ripe. Basic self care was also one of the first steps out of the hole.
"Greg, um, one friend to another-"
"We're friends now, eh? We've hardly spent any time outside of the show." Greg huffed a hurt sound at the back of his throat.
Alex felt a little gut punch at that, but also recognized the cynicism was more Greg beating up on himself than on Alex. He kept his tone light, "I brought you a pasta lunch. Only friends bring pasta lunches. One pasta friend to another... You could use a shower. And maybe a nice session with your toothbrush. If you don't mind my observation."
Greg raised his eyes. The hurt was visible again. But Alex felt sure it wasn't because Alex had basically called him out on his hygiene - not really. It was him acknowledging he'd gotten to that state.
His response, however, was to look away and defend himself with another retreat into self-deprecation and sarcasm. "Yeah, well, it's been two full days since I've done either, mate. You see how you'd smell, in those circumstances."
Alex nodded a moment, thoughtful. "Yes, well... As a matter of fact, I've smelled awful in those cases. I also realized later that I felt even worse, when I was like that. Up we go, where's your shower?"
Greg's head snapped up, his expression revealing he was completely poleaxed by this quiet revelation. Twice, his mouth moved like he was going to say something, finally settling on a faint "Is that what this...."
Greg shuffled to his feet. He led Alex out of the kitchen, through to the back of his flat, and into his bedroom.
Alex tried not to scan every detail of the environment, but found himself anyway. He was so eager to memorize every detail of Greg's space, as if it would unlock the mystery of the man. It was especially difficult in Greg's bedroom, a place he dearly wished to commit to memory. But there were more important things going on, and he pulled himself forward, following Greg into his en suite.
It was nice. Small, but with lovely amenities.
"Alright, friend," Alex said lightheartedly, hoping to call back his gentle banter from before. "I'll let you get to it. I'll see myself back to the kitchen, I bet we could both use a tea, after."
Greg nodded mutely, but stood frozen. Alex wasn't sure what the best course was at that point, and decided following through on that tea would have to do.
Alex made his way back to the kitchen reluctantly. He felt like he shouldn't have left Greg there, but... When he arrived in the kitchen, which was becoming rather familiar at this point, he made an educated guess on where the mugs would be, and got a small thrill when he was right.
He set two mugs onto the counter, but then froze. From down the hallway, he heard a sound. Rough, hesitant, muted. His heart clenched as he checked through all the possible answers to the mystery of its source.
He sprang lightly down the hall, trying to be both quick and quiet. If it was nothing, he didn't want Greg to know he'd been spooked. But if it was-
As he dashed through Greg's bedroom and grew close, it was unmistakable. Heart in his mouth, Alex swung open the door.
Greg was slumped on his loo, sobbing. At first, he didn't realize Alex was there, but when Alex moved, his head snapped up. "Oh god," Greg exclaimed. "God, don't see me like this. Get out! Get the fuck out!!"
He was roaring by the end, and it was raw with his hurt. Alex trembled slightly as it seemed to physically blast over him. He felt like he was digging his feet in, so as not to be blown away.
Greg continued: "You fucking prick, why did you come here? I didn't ask you to come here! I am fucking pathetic and I just want to be alone. I just need to leave everyone alone! I don't need to be a fuck-up with you too! Wouldn't that be on brand! Fuck up my connection with Taskmaster! Wouldn't that just be the fucking cherry on top of this fucking shit sundae. Get out!!"
Alex let the abuse wash over him, his heart knotted and bleeding in his chest. He kept his breathing slow and reminded himself that, no matter what it sounded like, Greg's words were not about Alex. Greg wasn't angry at Alex. It was the pain talking. Pain and an impossible mountain of self-loathing. So he stood, he breathed, and he waited.
And when Greg had blown his whole storm out, when he had collapsed his head again into his hands, Alex walked over to him. He bent over. One arm he wrapped around Greg's shoulders and back. The other pressed Greg's head into his chest.
And the whole world was silent.
At first, Greg was stiff with shock. Then he melted into Alex's body, and Alex felt hot tears of pain and relief roll down his own cheeks. Finally, his body sighed beautifully.
Time lost meaning as Alex held Greg, and Greg weakly sobbed. When the great man had cried himself out, and had been still for long enough, Alex spoke to him. "Greg, I can see you're hurting. What's happened, recently? Why are you so sure you're going to mess things up with me, or Taskmaster, or anything else?"
Alex stood the rest of the way back up, and sat on the edge of the tub. Greg looked at his own hands, tightly balled together, and began speaking.
Alex listened to every word, and pieced the puzzle together from things both said and unsaid. Greg had been suffering from writer's block. It sounded like it had caused a sort of feedback loop of self-loathing - he'd struggle, and then be sure the next time he went to write he wouldn't be good enough to come up with anything, and things would get worse. He began missing deadlines.
This came to a head Thursday afternoon. After they had filmed Taskmaster, Greg came home to a message that the deal for the current book he was writing was canceled - everything he had managed to write was now for nothing. The publisher, out of frustration with their current experience, requested Greg not contact them in the future with any other proposals.
"It wasn't the first deal I'd lost," he admitted quietly. "My reputation lately... it hasn't been great. Taskmaster has been the only thing that's been steady on."
The only thing that had been steady... but now that Alex stopped to think about it, he'd nearly been late two or three times to filming just this current series. Make-up had been furious with the resultant rush. Why hadn't Alex paid attention? A major clue had been right there.
"You're in a nasty hole, Greg. I've been there, and if you'll let me, I'd like to help you get out."
Greg stared at him, mutely.
"Right. Let's get you cleaned up. You deserve better than this. Let's get you there."
It wasn't too difficult to cajole Greg into brushing his teeth. Alex was willing to bet it was a case of it taking minimal effort to fix a major embarrassment.
"Alright, and now let's get a shower in."
Greg stood, staring into his mirror, but seemed like an empty puppet. Certainly not a person ready for the shower.
Two pieces of Alex warred within him. He knew what he needed to do next, but he needed to know, all the way down, that his reasons were pure. Because if they weren't, and he went forward with this, he wouldn't be able to look at himself in the mirror ever again.
"Greg, can I.... can I help you? Get set up for a shower? Please, just shake your head, and I'll step right out. Immediately. But Greg... I know where you are right now. Inside. And I just... I can't bear you spending another second there. Please. Please let me help you."
Greg slowly looked down at Alex. For a moment, his eyes were still the blank gaze of an automaton. Then, his expression cracked, all of his facial muscles tightened, and the pain was clear again. He closed his eyes and nodded.
Alex took a deep breath, and helped undress Greg. He felt guilty doing it after so many scenes in his mind of this happening under very different circumstances. He kept his eyes averted from Greg's cock. No matter how deep his curiosity, he knew that was the ugly line between doing this for the right reasons and being the lowest of the low.
Alex began running the tap in the tub, feeling out the right temperature. Greg slumped in and sat down.
"Yes, okay, bath and not shower," Alex said lightly. "How's this for the temperature?"
Greg nodded.
Alex stopped up the drain and took in the tools around him. There was a detachable sprayer, that would make his work here easier. And then the usual cleansers. Alex took the sprayer down from its hook. "Alright, let's get this figured out...."
Soon, he was running warm water down Greg's body. He knew that sensation alone would be such an important start to this process, and kept running the sprayer round and round almost hypnotically. Alex's eyes did wander, some. He tried to give himself grace.
"I hope you're starting to at least feel a little better, Greg. Hopefully you can feel the mess of the last couple of days washing away - physical and mental."
After a moment, Greg nodded slightly, his eyes filling again with tears.
"Is it okay if I apply shampoo? And some conditioner after? It's okay to say 'no.'"
Greg nodded again, and Alex reached for his shampoo. As he lathered, he breathed in its slightly spicy smell.
Greg didn't have a lot of hair, but Alex found himself lingering over the task anyway. He felt a little guilty about that, the two sides of him warring again. There was the honest reason that a scalp massage was absolutely the right idea in the situation, and the very dishonest reason...
"Feels nice," he finally heard Greg say softly, almost a whisper. Alex's heart seized up in his chest. He took a deep breath and said "I'm really, really glad to hear that, Greg," then continued working the shampoo. Alex repeated the entire over-long process with the conditioner.
"Do you want to wash your face, or shall I?" Alex asked. "There's no wrong answer."
"It's... soothing when you do it, if that's okay," Greg said. "I.... I think the food and water might be helping."
Alex closed his eyes to contain the relief and joy that admission kindled within him.
Greg used a clear amber bar soap for his face. Alex lathered his hands again and...
As he brought his hands up to Greg's cheeks, sparks seemed to jump from one man to the other. Alex closed his eyes, and rubbed the soap into Greg's cheeks. His fingers worked the soap onto Greg's broad forehead, his chin, behind his ears. He did this all by careful touch, allowing himself to savor it a little given Greg's slight mood shift. When he opened his eyes, he jumped slightly. Greg was staring at Alex's face with an unreadable expression -
Not unreadable, part of Alex's mind whispered to itself.
- that left Alex a bit dizzy. Alex quickly broke eye contact to hold the detachable sprayer in a shower-like position. "You, um, should probably take the charge on rinsing that off" he laughed faintly.
Greg smiled - he actually smiled - and leaned forward into the spray. The water washed off so much more than the soap. The Greg that came out was lighter, gentler.
"Hmm. Well... now we come to the interesting crux, don't we, Alex? How far do we take this?"
Alex felt like he was suspended on the tip of a mountain. Which way would he come down? There's no going back from here, one way or another.
Alex took a slow breath in. "I... would love to carry on with my task here, with your permission. I'm only part way done, after all. Not how I tend to do things. But if you'd rather I stepped out, you need only ask."
Greg raised an eyebrow, only slightly. He stood up, and reached for his shower gel and a hand brush. Handing them to Alex, he smirked a little as he instructed, "Yes, partway won't do at all. Finish the job, Alex."
Alex felt so light he might float away as he applied the shower gel - also scented gently with spice - to the hand brush. He brought the brush up to eye-level to begin thoroughly scrubbing Greg's shoulders. Greg winked - actually winked - before he turned around so that Alex could scrub his back.
As Alex scrubbed lower, he felt an embarrassed smile creep onto his lips. After convincing his friend to strip and get into the shower, now he felt prudish? How ridiculous could he get-
"Horne, you're leaving something out back there. Finish the job."
"Are- Are you sure, Greg? Just trying to protect your modesty, and all that."
Greg's barked-out laugh actually shook the space, and hurt Alex's ears. It was Real Greg. It was wonderful. "We are well past protecting my modesty, friend. Finish. the job."
Alex was too embarrassed to linger, but made sure to give each cheek its due.
Greg turned around with a shocked expression. "Little Alex Horne! Giving my arse a proper scrubbing!"
Alex found himself falling into his persona. "Well, Greg. It's only right for the Taskmaster's Assistant, I should think."
Greg's expression melted, he bent over, and their lips finally came together.
It was a kiss that was chaste by any basic definition, perfectly still. And yet... the most emotionally passionate imaginable. In that stillness, through that most serious form of touch, Alex willed through all of his love, admiration, and care for Greg. And Greg willed his right back.
Then Alex reached up with both hands, again cupping both sides of Greg's face, thumbs running softly through his stubble, and the kiss grew much deeper.
After a moment, he pulled away for air. Greg stared at him with something approaching awe.
"Did you ever notice," Greg asked, "how you smile after one of our goofy public kisses? I love that look. I could bottle that up and take it out on one of these dark days, and be right as rain."
Alex felt wobbly in his knees. Defensively side-stepping the compliment, he confessed, "Breaking that kiss Thursday was one of the hardest things I've done in a long time."
"Is that so?" Greg purred. "Let's do something about that."
Greg looked down at him, and his eyes began to smoulder. His grin became predatory, like he was going to eat Alex whole...
__________
That night, after a great deal of time getting to know each other's bodies (at last), a dinner of reheated spaghetti and breadsticks, and a long chat in Greg's living room about missed opportunities and longing... In other words, after the most beautiful day in Alex's life, he dressed in one of Greg's t-shirts for bed. Greg had given him a naughty smile when Alex requested that the shirt come from his dirty laundry.
Every time Alex breathed in, it was like he grew lighter and lighter.
As they returned to the bedroom, Greg laid down with an arm out in a position that suggested he would pull Alex to his chest, but Alex shook his head.
Alex laid down next to Greg, slipped an arm underneath the larger man, and guided Greg around until they were facing each other. He pulled Greg's head into his own chest, rested his head on top of Greg's head, and wrapped his arms around him.
Greg tensed up. "I'm.... a big man, Alex. I must look ridiculous, held like a baby. I can't-" he started to push away.
Alex couldn't help it, he wheezed a half laugh. "Greg, I gave you a bath today-"
"That's not all you did, mate!"
Alex wheezed another half laugh as a dozen memories of Greg's cock, his body, his face, flashed merrily through his mind. "You were in a dark spot. You're struggling your way out. You deserve to be held, and I am going to do the holding."
"Goodness, Little Producer Horne! My apologies!" and Greg curled inward. He cozied his head into Alex's chest, and Alex rested his head on top of Greg's.
For a few minutes, things were still and beautiful. Then Alex whispered around a lump in his throat, "Greg, my heart is so full right now. Thank you for letting me in. I... I love you. Truly."
Greg pulled his head away and looked up at him for a moment. The raw emotions in his eyes could kindle Alex's spark for a lifetime, he felt sure.
"Thank you for insisting on this whole day, Alex. Thank you for hearing past my bluster, for hearing my heart. I... I love you, too. So much."
Greg curled his head back under Alex's chin, cozied up to Alex's chest.
Alex slept the warmest, most peaceful sleep he'd had in a very long time. And in the morning, he awoke to warm sun on his face, filtered in through trees just outside of Greg's window. He curled into the great man's back, and breathed in...
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