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On Saturday morning, Travis wakes up because his mattress won’t stop shaking.

“What the hell?” he asks out loud to no one, digging under his nest of pillows and blankets. His phone is wedged between the headboard and the mattress, buzz buzz buzzing away, even though his Apple Watch says it’s barely 5am.

His Apple Watch also says it’s Nolan calling. He probably could have looked at that first, but in his defense, the sun isn’t even up. He rotates in bed, pushing his toes down, and just about has it when the phone stops ringing. Lucky (?) for him, it starts back up again, buzzing so violently in his hand, it feels like a small time bomb.

“Yo,” Travis says, trying not to sound overly concerned. In his defense, he’s not exactly awake. “Is someone dead?”

There’s a lengthy pause, before Nolan grunts, “Shut up.”

Travis sits up straighter in bed, knuckling dust out of his eyes as he glances around the room for some pants.

“Not dead,” he says. “Check. What’s going on, man? Did you just get in? Did you lose your keys? I hate when I do that. One time, Law and I went to this place, like, six hours away, and I lost my keys! They fell right out of my pocket on the boat. Thought he was gonna kill me when we got back to the car.”

“TK,” Nolan mumbles. It sounds like he has a mouth full of marbles, like he’s pushing the words out from behind his teeth. “Do you believe in magic?”

“Do I believe in what?” Travis asks. If Nolan had asked whether the sky was pink, or cows were flying, or if maybe there was a giant cotton candy slide sprouting out of the ground, that would make more sense than whatever the fuck this is. “D’you mean, like, David Blaine and stuff?”

He suddenly can’t remember if Nolan had come with the team to The Magic Castle. Nolan might’ve been out already by that part of the road trip. They travel so much during the season that everything becomes a blur, even the traumatic stuff.

“No,” Nolan says, really working the moody, monosyllabic part of his personality. “Listen, can you just, like. Come upstairs or whatever. When you have a second.”

None of those sentences were questions, but Travis can still hear the requests shining through loud and clear. He redoubles his search for clean pants, finally catching sight of a pile of laundry underneath the desk chair he never sits in, because there’s always too much laundry on it. He makes a mental note to look into hiring a cleaner, and then makes another mental note to buy some Post-Its, so he can stop making mental notes.

“You got it, tiger,” Travis says. “See you in a sec.”

He hangs up, tossing his phone onto the bed and tugging on his jeans, plus one of the three hundred Flyers hoodies that he’s accumulated over the years. He slips on the slides he kicked off by the door last night, and then heads up to Nolan’s place. He takes the stairs instead of waiting for the elevator, because time, it seems, is of the essence.

Upstairs, Nolan’s front door looks exactly how it always does. No fire singes, or splintered wood. Travis tries the door, but it’s locked. If he’d thought about it, he’d’ve expected Nolan to be waiting for him. He’s not, and Travis left his phone downstairs in his apartment, so all that’s left to do is start banging.

To Nolan’s credit, he opens up a few seconds later. He pokes his head out, makes eye contact briefly, and then makes enough space so that Travis can squeeze inside.

“Okay, Double-Oh-Winnipeg. What’s going on, bud?”

It’s early enough that it’s not surprising for Nolan’s place to be so dim, but it is weird when he doesn’t even bother to turn the lights on as they get further into the apartment. Travis can’t be sure about it, but it feels like Nolan’s hugging the shadows. Leaning into the darkness, like some lumbering, Canadian vampire.

“Pats,” Travis says. “Did you cut yourself shaving or something? Dye your hair a funky color? What the fuck is up with the secrecy, bud? What can I do to help?”

In his shadowy corner of the kitchen, Nolan says, “Do you have a library card?” instead of answering a question, or like, providing any useful information at all.

What?” Travis asks. He’s pretty good at rolling with the punches, but this is maybe a step too far. “Do I have a… what, you want to start chapter books now? Seems like a tall order, maybe we should start with, like, magazines or something. Work your way up.”

“Shut up,” Nolan says. “I could read. You can get magazines from the library, too,” he adds. “My mom does it all the time.”

“Is your mom here?” asks Travis. It wouldn’t make sense for Carrie to randomly be hiding in this pitch black apartment, the day after their season ender, but nothing else about this morning has. What’s one more?

“No,” Nolan mumbles. He doesn’t say anything else.

Honestly, it’s not the weirdest morning Travis has ever spent with Nolan, but it’s climbing up there the longer they stand awkwardly in the dark.

“Hey, man,” says Travis, making his way to the fridge. “I’m hungry. It’s still pretty early, but I’m like, up now, you know? You mind if I make an omelette?”

The Nolan shape in the corner looks like it’s shrugging, so Travis flips the switch for the overhead light, and goes to start his breakfast.

“You want one?” Travis asks, when Nolan starts melting away from the shadows.

He’s not sure what it is that catches his attention. Nolan is still tall and gangly, hair falling all over his face, but he’s, like. It doesn’t feel like he’s as tall as he usually is. Since that’s not possible, Travis tries to ignore it, but it’s getting increasingly harder because Nolan won’t sit down.

“What are you doing, bud?” he asks.

Nolan chews hard on his bottom lip, his teeth leaving a painfully-looking white indent in their wake, and then says, “Something happened.”

What happened?” Travis asks. “If you’re, like, sick or something, shit. Is it another migraine thing? I shouldn’t have made fun of you for the lights. Are you okay? What the fuck, Patty. You don’t stop me talking and I’m gonna keep going til we run outta air.”

Nolan takes a deep breath, his chest rising and falling under his hoodie, and: wait, what?

“So, I, like,” Nolan says, exhaling loudly and shoving his hair behind his ears. “There was this girl last night.”

This sounds more familiar. Nolan either bats a thousand, or he strikes out at the plate, and even though he’s so pretty, the prettiest, sometimes he just can’t bring it home. It’s not some big thing. It happens to all of them.

“What’d you do, bud?” Travis asks over his shoulder, rummaging around in the fridge. “Just, like, send her a Snap or something. Apologize for being a two pump chump, whatever. No big deal. We can fix this before rumors of your tiny dick are all over the internet.”

Nolan’s blush is so fierce, it looks painful. He drops himself down to sit at the counter, smushing his face against the tile, and Travis has the strangest urge to curl his fingers through the sleep worn tangles at the back of his neck. He doesn’t do it, obviously, he’s not out of his mind yet, no matter how early in the day it is.

“That’s the problem,” Nolan mumbles.

“Nolan,” Travis says. It feels weird in his mouth, but he presses on. “You’re not exactly Prince Charming, but that’s okay, because you’re Nolan Patrick. Second overall, pretty eyes, nice car. We can fix it.”

“I think she did something to me,” Nolan says. “I mean, I know she did something to me, because I’m, like.”

The fact that Travis doesn’t murder him then and there is a testament to their years of friendship, and also because he doesn’t want Coach or like, the Comcast people to come after him.

“Wanna elaborate, bud?” he asks, gentle as he can.

Nolan picks his head up, peering at Travis through his bangs. “Okay, but like, if you tell anyone, I’m gonna kill you. Just, like, completely ice the shit out of you. Body parts in different coolers, no one’ll hear you scream kinda shit.”

“Nice Alien reference,” Travis says, ignoring the death threats, and holding his palm up. Nolan blushes, but he still completes the high-five.

“Thanks,” says Nolan, and then in one fast movement, tugs his hoodie up and over his head.

At first Travis doesn’t get it. They both have some pretty ugly tattoos, maybe she added another one. Maybe she left Nolan in a bathtub and stole one of his kidneys. Maybe… and then he notices that Nolan has tits now, apparently.

He’s not proud of the fact that he drops a half-empty carton of eggs on the floor. He’s definitely not proud of the fact that he takes so many steps back that he’s tucked up against the fridge like a rat. There’s some sort of static banging around his ears. Travis genuinely can’t hear for a minute, completely unfocused and gaping at Nolan’s chest.

“What, uh,” Travis says, and then stops. Nolan’s tits are on the smaller side, but they’re really nicely proportioned, high and round and rosy tipped.

Travis feels his whole body flushing as he snaps his gaze up. Checking out your bro, when he’s — when they’re? — in this situation is a skeeze move, and Travis is a lot of things, but he tries not to be that.

“Pats, man,” Travis says. “I see what you’re trying to tell me. Could you please put your shirt back on?”

Nolan mumbles something under his breath, but Travis doesn’t catch it, what with the tsunami gushing through his ears. Eventually, Nolan pulls his hoodie back on, zipping it up so high it practically goes to his chin, and then tugging the hood up over his hair, too.

“Don’t think anybody’s ever slaughtered half a chicken coop when they saw me without my shirt on before,” Nolan says after a while.

Suddenly, Travis remembers the floor, staring down at the yolky mess, trapped on, under and around his feet. “Fuck,” he groans.

“I’ll get you the mop,” Nolan mumbles. “Dad bought it for me the last time he was here.”

++

Nolan doesn’t stick around while Travis cleans, which is more than fine, because it gives him time to freak out in private. When he’s done, the floor looks cleaner than he’s ever seen it, and he’s pretty sure he suffered some kind of paranoid delusion. There’s no way that Nolan has breasts. What a silly fantasy.

“Okay,” Travis says, storing the mop and the cleaning rag he’d been using in the closet and making his way over to the couch. Nolan’s shoved himself so far down that his ass is practically hanging off the cushions. An episode of Deadliest Catch is on the TV, playing on mute.

“Hey,” Nolan mumbles, shifting over to make room. “Didn’t realize you were considering a career change.”

The joke is weak, but Travis will take it. He laughs, then drops down on the other end of the couch. They watch the show in silence for a while, even though he knows for a fact that they’ve both seen every episode at least once. Road trips are long and boring when the xbox is broken, okay.

“Is this why you were asking me about magic?” he tries.

Nolan grunts something, and nods his head, but he doesn’t make eye contact, which is fair. If this were happening to Travis — well. If this was happening to him, he’d probably still be in his bedroom, playing with his tits, fuck, but when the high of that wore off — he’d be freaking the fuck out too, probably.

“So, like,” says Travis. “What happened?”

“I don’t fucking know,” Nolan groans, rolling his head so that they make eye contact. “I thought we had a good time, man. We got drinks. We messed around. I walked her back to her hotel. I asked for her number, even!”

“Woah,” says Travis. “Maybe she knew you weren’t ever gonna use it.”

“Low blow,” Nolan groans. “You don’t know that.”

“Obviously she knew something if she, like,” Travis says, gesturing broadly. “If she was mad, or whatever.”

Nolan sits straight up on the couch, suddenly, and he shoves Travis hard, saying, “But that’s the thing, she wasn’t. She wasn’t fucking mad! I told you. We fooled around, some, she got off, she jerked it a bit, I got her off again, when I, uh.”

“What?” Travis asks, after Nolan is silent for what feels three thousand years. “What’d you do, dude? That might be a clue!”

“A clue?” says Nolan. “A clue to what?”

I don’t fucking know,” Travis volleys back. “Who the fuck could guess what a gender altering witch/demon/ghost might have gotten mad enough about to curse you over it?”

Nolan flicks his tongue out over his lips, obviously stalling for time, but Travis catches the moment out of the corner of his eye and feels his mouth go dry. It’s nothing. It’s because girl Nolan, sorry, lady Nolan is shocking, but like, obviously attractive.

Tits, his brain provides. Tits!!!!!!

It’s been a while since he’s gotten laid, but the tightness in his jeans is unacceptable, especially considering the circumstances. Travis thinks about hurt animals, thinks about scoring an own goal in a 1-1 game at the buzzer, and gets himself under control again.

“I think, like,” Nolan grumbles, and for the first time, Travis notices that his voice is different. It’s not more feminine, exactly, but it’s a little higher, maybe a little breathier. Something. Travis feels himself blushing, and thinks about scoring an own goal again until he stops. “I think maybe she meant it as a gift.”

“A gift,” Travis repeats. “Sure, okay. Did you like, squeeze your tits with one hand and jerk it with the other before you called me? Because like, that sounds like a party, actually, bud.”

Nolan’s face goes a deep, dark red. He looks constipated, like he’s roughly ten seconds away from passing out when he says, “I don’t, like. Down there I have a, um. Like a pussy or whatever right now.”

For the second time in the last half hour, Travis feels like he’s trapped in a tornado. A hurricane. There is some sort of earth shattering, discombobulating event happening in his ears, because he’s pretty sure Nolan said he had a pussy.

Wow. That’s, just, wow.

“Fucking say something,” Nolan whines, however long later.

“Saying something,” Travis responds on cue. If there’s anything he can do, it’s talk, right? “That’s, uh. That’s fucking nuts, Pat. What are you gonna do?”

Nolan stares at him blankly. “Do?”

“Yeah, like,” says Travis. “I’m assuming you want your dick back, right? That’s why you called me at five in the morning and not your mom or your sisters, the people that actually know about girl shit?”

“s’the twenty first century, bud,” says Nolan, in exactly the same flat monotone as always, except for how he sounds different. He sounds different because he is different. Fuck. “Can’t talk like that anymore.”

“I don’t think anyone’s gonna be surprised that I don’t know shit about pussies, Pat,” Travis says, because he doesn’t always think things through before they come out of his mouth.

Nolan locks eyes with him. It’s obvious that he’s trying not to laugh, and also obvious that he’s losing the fucking battle. He tips his head back, shoulders shaking with how funny it is that Travis is such a loser, probably. Normally, the sight of something like this, Nolan really letting loose, it’d be the highlight of the year. There’s nothing better than actually getting Nolan to have an emotion.

The problem is that the way he’s got his head tipped back makes his sweatshirt cling tighter to his chest. His brand new tits might be small, but they’re not flat. He’s curved in brand new places, and Travis can’t stop staring.

“I should go,” Travis says, dragging his eyes up and staring somewhere behind Nolan’s ear.

“Go?” Nolan asks, voice suddenly high and sort of squeaky. “You’re going to leave me like this?”

“I thought it was a gift,” Travis volleys back, thanking every god in the universe for the fact that he can always count on his mouth. He glances at Nolan’s, twisted in a grumpy scowl, and feels something fizzy swoop in his stomach. Fuck, fuck, fuck, shit.

“I mean, I don’t know,” Nolan mumbles, cheeks so red that it actually looks painful. He untucks his hair from out behind his ear and then forcibly shoves it back. “She, like. She said I was, like. She said I was the best she’d ever had. Like. Do that.”

“Sex?” Travis is the one squeaking now. Thankfully, Nolan doesn’t seem to notice.

Nolan messes with his hair again, letting out a low, frustrated grunt before he says, “We, uh. We didn’t fuck, Trav, okay? No penetrative sex. But I did, like. I gave her head for, like, an hour.”

“An hour,” Travis repeats, like an oversized parrot.

“Yeah, man,” says Nolan, rubbing his cheeks with the pads of his thumbs. “She really liked it, and going down on chicks is like, way less stressful than, uh.”

He stops mid sentence, and Travis feels that rushing in his ears again. Maybe it’s not just ears this time. Maybe it’s his whole fucking body. Maybe he and Nolan are both trapped in this typhoon.

Roughly three hundred years pass before Nolan says, “Sometimes it’s just less of a hassle than trying to suck a dick, you know?”

Travis doesn’t know. Travis feels like his head is going to pop clear off his neck, like a deflated balloon.

“Yup,” he says instead, popping the p the way he knows Nolan hates, and smiling with all his teeth on display. “I totally know. I have so much experience with dick sucking, bud. Like, loads. Ha! Loads. I’m a pro, I tell ya.”

“Oh yeah?” Nolan says. He’s smirking in that way that says: bring it on, or: let’s see who can stay underwater the longest, or: bet you can’t have a four point night, TK, not the way I can.

“Too bad you don’t have a dick right now, or I’d prove it,” says Travis.

He doesn’t always say the right thing. Heck, he doesn’t even often say the right thing, but this, right here, this is the perfect piece of chirping. Nolan doesn’t have a dick right now, so it stands to reason that Travis won’t have to back down, or prove his worth. Banner fucking day.

“Would you?” Nolan asks, tucking his hair behind his ear again. “‘m gonna make a note, for, like, whenever I have my dick back.”

Travis rolls his eyes and says, “Yeah, yeah, as soon as that happens, bud. I better be your first call.”

There’s a charge in the air. Travis would have to be a total bonehead not to feel it, but feeling it, and doing anything about it are two very different beasts. Feeling it, and then coming on to your bro, while he’s in the middle of a health crisis would be the worst fucking move.

“Have you ever, like,” Nolan says, looking across at him, and making eye contact. “Do you like going down on girls?”

God fucking damnit, is Nolan Patrick the bravest person Travis knows. Plays through injury after injury after concussion. Gets diagnosed with a migraine disorder and claws his way back. Gets turned into a woman and rolls with the fucking punches.

Travis clears his throat and says, “Yeah, man. It’s fun, right? My favorite thing about sex is making sure everybody’s having a good time, and if that’s a lady’s favorite way to get off, well, then it’s my favorite, too.”

It’s true for the most part, but it’s been a long time since he had the time or the inclination to take home somebody new. He does like it, though. Girls are soft, and they smell good, and for the most part, they like it, so he likes it too.

“I’m a simple guy, bud,” he says. “I’ll do whatever you want.”

It was always going to be his mouth that fucked him over in the end. Nolan peers at him from the corner of his eye, trying to look casual. The problem is that Nolan doesn’t really do casual. He’s not chill, at least not here in Philly. Travis has seen the short shorts rollerblading photos, too, okay. He knows, but this isn’t that.

“Whatever I want?”

Travis’ fate is sealed.

++

Forever, for the rest of his life, Travis will remember this moment.

Nolan says, “Whatever I want?” in that new, familiar voice, and Travis, well. He’s never known how to back down from a challenge.

“That’s what I said, isn’t it?” he volleys back, watching for that glint in Nolan’s eye that says it’s okay to push for more. That he wants it.

“Okay,” Nolan says. “What if, like. When I finished her off the second time, she looked so blissed out. She was loving it.”

“Eat up, bud,” Travis chirps, and maybe it snaps the heightened, sexy momentum, but Nolan laughs again, tipping back against the couch, and that’s better.

“I mean, I did,” says Nolan. He’s flushed, his hoodie riding up on the bare skin of his stomach. Travis wants to touch so much his palms are tingling.

“And then she gifted you a pussy, so you, could, what, also experience this amazing sensation on your own? She does know you have, like, bones in your body, right? Not like you can eat yourself out, unless she also made you a snake.”

Nolan looks at his arms like maybe he’ll sprout scales, but: nah. “Just me,” he says.

The words come out of his mouth before he’s even conscious of saying them. It’s happened to Travis before, speaking before he thinks, but:

“I could help you with that,” is the last thing he should probably say, but it’s what he says anyway. “Happy to take one for the team so you can feel what it’s like to come your brains out, Pat.”

“Oh yeah?” says Nolan. He’s smirking again. “I guess you can.”

“You guess?” Travis squawks. “You guess?”

Nolan takes his time answering. Nolan takes his time doing everything, and normally that’s fine, Travis can roll whatever, but it’s rarely for stuff he wants this bad. And he does want it, whatever the fuck it is. Wants to get Nolan off. Wants him to see what all the fuss is about.

“It’s gotta be weird,” Nolan says, “right?”

“Not if you don’t want it to be,” Travis rushes to say. He scoots forward, pressing his hand to Nolan’s bare knee. “We can be totally cool.”

“Ice cold,” Nolan agrees, smirking. “You sure you know what that’s like?”

“My whole job is working on ice, bud,” Travis says. “I’ve had way more exposure than you do.”

“That’s what you think,” Nolan says.

“Do I?” Travis volleys back, climbing over Nolan’s splayed legs and pressing their mouths together.

It’s not exactly awkward, but it’s not comfortable, either, until he turns his head and their noses shift, sliding against each other. After that, it’s easier to get comfortable. Travis fits his hand against Nolan’s neck, thumbing against the steady thrum of his pulse.

“Is this okay,” he asks, the words bumping up against Nolan’s mouth in a sticky whisper.

“Yeah, bud, keep going,” Nolan whispers back, shifting his hips up.

He leans back enough to tug his hoodie off again. Travis freezes, briefly, caught between wanting to look his fill, and touch until his fingers can’t forget the memory. Either way, it’s not a great look. Nolan starts blushing again, no way to hide it like this.

Travis likes that more than he wants to admit, relieved that he’s still mostly dressed and can curate exposure to his own arousal. They make eye contact briefly as he starts to dip his head, and he freezes. Caught out.

“I can, uh. Can I play with your tits? Breasts? Chest...area?” He wants to die. Maybe this is hell, and he deserves to be there because of every time he forgot to pick up his laundry, or pretended to be sick, so he wouldn’t have to help out on the farm.

“Thought you were gonna blow my mind with your mouth,” Nolan says.

“That’s the main event,” Travis crows, gesturing wildly. “I gotta warm you up good, first, don’t I?”

Nolan turns his head, exposing the long pale column of his throat, and when he says, “Yeah,” it’s this barely there sound. Not much of anything at all.

Travis doesn’t waste any time, letting his lips skate down Nolan’s neck. He doesn’t want to leave any marks, but it’s hard, because Nolan responds so easily to it when he uses his teeth.

“You look real good, Pats,” Travis whispers, and feels it as Nolan’s skin heats with a blush. Ain’t that something.

He presses open mouthed kisses to the dip between Nolan’s breasts. His tits, jesus fuck, are they pretty this close up. Travis sucks one of Nolan’s nipples into his mouth, surprised by the immediate response he gets. Nolan moans again, so much louder this time, his body rumbling with it.

“Fuck, that’s good,” Travis pulls back enough to mumble. “Keep making noise, bud. Let me hear it.”

Nolan presses softly against the crown of Travis’ head, fingers threading in his hair. It’s the universal signal for get back to it, idiot, so Travis does.

He’s not sure how long he’s at it for, alternating between both of Nolan’s breasts, listening for the noises that tell him whether he should suck, or lick, or scrape with his teeth. Nolan is softer during sex than he would’ve expected if he’d ever thought about it. He’s also bossy as hell, which Travis could have guessed.

Nolan gasps, and says, “Okay, fuck, okay, I need something else. More. Fuck. I’m so close, but I can’t get there. Fuck, I miss having a dick.”

“Okay, okay, it’s okay, I got you,” Travis mumbles, makes little nonsense noises as they push Nolan’s shorts down together.

He’s not wearing underwear, probably because nothing he has would fit his new, narrow hips. Travis feels his mouth watering at the same moment that he thinks: bet his dick is as pretty as the rest of this.

That’s new, but he files it away for later, reaching forward to touch with the hand that’s not braced against Nolan’s knee. Pressing his thumb to the very edge of Nolan’s pussy is wild, because of everything, obviously, but also because he’s so wet.

“You’re so, um,” says Travis, stuck staring at the way his fingers part the reddish brown curls covering the entrance to Nolan’s body. “You’re so pretty, Pats. Sorry, but it’s true. Prettiest pussy I’ve ever seen. Swear to god.”

“How many have you actually seen, though,” Nolan mumbles, arm thrown over his eyes, like not making eye contact is going to change what’s happening here.

“Some,” Travis says, licking his lips. “Yours is the nicest, though.”

It’s the last thing he says for a while, because then he’s ducking forward and pressing his mouth to right where Nolan is the wettest. If the high, shuddering noise Nolan makes is any indication, he must be doing something right.

The way they’re positioned on the couch is suboptimal, but no way is Travis asking Nolan to move. Not when he’s got his tongue pressed to Nolan’s clit, christ, his clit, and Nolan’s making these harsh hiccuping noises above him. Travis could do this all day, drive Nolan out of his mind with just his tongue and teeth, his thumbs smoothing soothing circles against Nolan’s skin.

“Can you,” Nolan whispers, the words tacked onto another one of those gasp groans. “In me, Trav. Can you, just like. One of your fingers. Or like, two? I want it, come on, please. Please, please, please, please.”

“You like it?” Travis asks, his breath making goosebumps break out on Nolan’s skin.

“Yeah,” Nolan says, dropping down his arm. Now he wants to make eye contact, apparently. Okay, let’s fucking go. “I want it.”

“Guess I’m doing it then,” Travis chirps back, slinking off the edge of the couch and tugging gently, so that Nolan is exactly where he wants him.

It’s easy to fall back into it when Nolan’s hips are working so well with his rhythm. He flicks his tongue against Nolan’s clit as he slides one finger inside of him, an easy slide because of his wetness, and also because of the mess Travis himself left behind. It’s starting to hit him, suddenly, how weird this is. Amazing, but weird as hell. If he’s going to have sex with Nolan, shouldn’t it be with the Nolan that’s going to stick around? Shouldn’t it be with the Nolan he actually knows? Questions for another time, probably.

Definitely.

Travis slides a second finger inside of Nolan, working in a circular motion until he finds something that works. Above him, Nolan gasps again, face flushed furiously red, gripping the back of the couch so hard, he might actually tear the leather.

“You think you can take a third?” Travis asks. His chin and cheeks are stinging, but he wants to keep going. He wants to make Nolan come harder than he ever has before.

“Yeah,” Nolan groans. “No, I don’t know, Trav. Come on. I want to come.”

There’s not a switch that gets flipped, but one second Nolan’s writhing against his mouth and on his fingers, and then he’s arching, high, high, higher, practically sitting up straight, muscles rippling as he comes right on Travis’ tongue. He’s not sure how long they sit there afterward, breathing hard in the still silence of the apartment, but it could be hours. He’d have no idea.

“You okay?” he asks, watching Nolan’s face as he slides his fingers away.

Nolan doesn’t say anything, furious or still catching his breath, or maybe just completely wiped out, because Travis blew his fucking mind.

“Pat,” Travis says, nudging Nolan’s knee with his clean hand. “You gonna make it? You ready to join the rest of us in the land of the living?”

“Shut up,” Nolan groans, but he sits up, reaching across the couch to grab his hoodie again and tugging it back on with ruthless efficiency. He’s more delicate as he pulls on his shorts, but he does it, hidden all over again.

“Was that, like, good for you?” Travis asks, wiping his mouth with the bottom of his own hoodie. He’s hard in his jeans, how could he not be? But it feels more important to actually talk this through, make sure he didn’t just blow up their friendship.

Nolan opens his mouth, and then closes it so fast his teeth practically knock together.

“Yeah,” he says, and then finally opens his eyes for long enough that they can make eye contact. “Was good. Weird, but, like. Fun.”

“You came your brains out,” Travis teases, and Nolan looks at him, surprised maybe, but smiling. He laughs, and yeah, that’s it. Making Nolan laugh is better than anything else.

“Yeah, yeah,” Nolan says. “Don’t get too full of yourself, Teeks. You want to really blow my mind, you actually gotta…”

He trails off, but Travis can guess what he means. “I told you, man, soon as you get that dick back, I better be your first call.”

Nolan’s smirking as he says, “We’ll see, Trav. I might be busy.”

He shifts up on the couch, making room for Travis if he wants to get up off his knees and sit down. It’s a tempting offer, so he takes it, stretching once he’s on his feet, shaking his limbs out.

“You good?” Nolan asks. He doesn’t exactly gesture to the tent in Travis’ pants, but like, what else could he be asking about?

“I’m cool, bud,” Travis says. “Ice cold, remember?”

It’s easy to get comfortable. Easy to get lulled into a doze by the steady rise and fall of Nolan’s breathing just a few inches away. Eventually, Nolan turns the volume on Deadliest Catch. It’s not too loud, just high enough that they can hear it.

++

“Trav,” says a voice. There’s something hard against his shoulder. “TK. Wake the fuck up.”

Travis snaps his eyes open, face squished against Nolan’s ugly leather couch. His sweatshirt is tangled all around his neck, and he has to sit up so he can fix it.

“What the fuck, bud,” he says, settling back down with his eyes closed. “Some asshole woke me up at the crack of fucking dawn, then used me like a reverse Flesh Light thing. Leave me alone.”

Trav,” Nolan says, shoving him again. “I’m back.”