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One night Gary fell asleep on the sofa of their tour bus and woke up to realisation that things were truly complicated.
He was going stir crazy in his bunk and so he left it, left his sleeping bandmates to their peaceful dreams and ventured to the back lounge with glass of water and a notebook, intending to try and maybe write for a bit, work on some lyrics, do something productive instead of tossing and turning in this claustrophobic excuse of a bed. He fell asleep though and he woke up to a gray light of early morning filtering through the bus' windows – and a warm body curled against his back.
It was Rob, Gary knew it even before he opened his eyes. He recognised the feeling of his friend's broad chest against his back, the light huffing with every exhale, the smell... and he froze still, the realisation hitting him like a fist, square in the face.
It wasn't 'just' sex with them, it wasn't 'just' friendship. It was much more, so many other things, for so long already. Complicated, so fucking complicated.
The panic started breaking through the haze of sleep and Gary scrambled up, trying to breath slowly, to move as little as it was possible while he tried sliding from under Rob's arm and off the sofa. The arm tightened its grip over his torso, a gesture so simple and so possessive that Gary choked on his breath.
“Mmph,” came a muffled protest from the other man and Gary bit his lip hard, not wanting to hear the wordless plea – the order – in such small sound.
“Bathroom,” he muttered and Rob's hand moved off him reluctantly, as if the man was saying okay, go if you must, but come back soon.
Gary didn't dare to look back at his sleeping friend as he left the room.
***
He swore to himself that it had to end. He had to end it. There was no way he could go on like this, feeling this torn, having two lives, two relationships between them, something that could – and would – damage the band beyond repair. It wasn't worth it, he told himself, over and over again, and he soldiered on, smiling and joking and not shying away from Rob's public affection, trying his best not to remember how the touch felt on his bare skin.
He was doing so good, for a week, for ten days, twelve, one more, just one more... but the pressure was so high, the stress, the responsibility. Too much of it all, too much for him to bear alone, he didn't know how to bear it alone any more.
It was thirteenth day – night – and he found himself face down on his hotel bed, biting the pillow and gasping at the familiar pain/pleasure shooting up his spine. It was delicious, numbing and freeing, but it was not enough this time, not complete. Rob's hands were on him, holding him down but just barely, fingers digging into the taut muscles but only anchoring him instead of forcing him into his place. It wasn't right, even though Rob stopped asking about all those silly things, about seeing Gary's face – and now that he stopped, Gary missed it, so hard that it hurt him deep inside.
The tension wasn't leaving the way it should, it was just whirling inside of him, kept in place by the memory of Rob's strong arm wrapped around his chest, Rob's body pressed against his back, so tightly and so innocent, no surprise boners, no groping, nothing, just... tenderness. Gary didn't want tenderness, he didn't want to even think about it, and so he bucked his hips, demanding – begging – for more, for harder, for everything he knew Rob could and would give him. And it still wasn't enough.
The sob was rising from somewhere deep inside of him, his chest and throat tightened so much that he could barely breath, and he had to turn his head to the side, away from the suffocating pillow, gasping for air and cringing at the unmistakeable feeling of the wetness rolling down his cheek. He was weak, he was pathetic, unable to keep himself in check, unable to be a bloody man about it and stop wishing, stop craving, stop... everhything.
And just like that, everything did stop, Rob's body freezing behind him, fingers curling over his hip in short, nervous jerk.
“What..?” Gary forced himself to speak, to ask, not willing to crack his eye open just yet to glance over his shoulder and at the other man. He couldn't, just couldn't see Rob's face right now, even more than he couldn't let Rob see his. It was the last thing separating him from the total madness, his last string of control, over himself, over both of them, and Gary just couldn't risk it right now, he just couldn't.
Rob wasn't answering though, wasn't moving, the stillness so weird in the position they were in, making Gary hyper aware of every single thing, of how they bodies fit against each other, how they were tangled and joined, how dirty and good everything was, and his stomach tightened pleasantly at that, the arousal still there, in spite of all the mess in his head. But then Rob finally moved, his hand did, leaving the spot on Gary's lower back to fly up all the way to the side of his face as Rob's whole body shifted, in him and over him, making him gasp and shiver.
He cracked his eye open just in time to see the familiar fingers hovering in the line of his vision, the black lines of ink blurred through all the wetness, and the were coming closer, slowly and tentatively, touching the skin, touching the wet traces, wiping them away.
“It's alright,” the voice was so soft and deep, even if still breathless, caressing him as tenderly as those fingers on his cheek, warm and solid and safe, and before Gary knew, he was tilting his head towards it, letting his cheek rest against it, leaning into the touch and taking in a shaky breath when the tight ropes in his chest finally started uncoiling.
“It's alright now,” warm murmur and tender words filled his ear, and for the first time ever, Gary believed.