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you're the best kind of bad something (cause we keep on coming back for more)

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tommy is face-down, ass-up on his creaking bed when the phone that rests on his nightstand chimes with the irritating sound of another discord message. 

he groans, exasperated, burying his nose into the pillow that is stained with his own drool. he’s already had to ignore a couple of texts from tubbo, whose current favourite pastime is annoying tommy with his emotional hard-on for ranboo, and quite a few from dream, who is weirdly eager to prepare for their next lore stream. 

it’s late on a friday night, why do these people keep bothering him when they have a whole server full of other idiots to harass? tommy is a secret sweetheart for his closest friends but he always lacks the patience to deal with them when he’s home alone and stuck in his usual stage of teenage-hormones-induced horniness. 

wiping his lube-covered hand on the sheets, already well aware there’s no point in keeping tidy and clean when he’ll have to do his laundry before his parents arrive back in a couple of days anyways, tommy crawls to the side of the bed. his grumblings of irritation are broken up by whimpers as the toy still sitting inside his ass shifts and stimulates his sensitive walls, barely able to scramble for his phone as he resists the urge to just ignore the message.

it could be important. could. it’ll probably just be another long thread of tubbo freaking out over ranboo wearing cat ears, or phil making sure he’s okay after the mishap with the last origins stream (listen, it’s not his fault that wilbur said something that if you squint hard enough could be seen as an innuendo and he spent the rest of his recording session awkwardly trying to hide his erection from both his friends and the chat.).

oh. speak of the devil. it’s wilbur. 

his heart always sings a little at the realisation that the older man has texted him first without any prompting, even if wilbur has been actively seeking out his company for nearly a year now. part of tommy has never evolved past being that insecure little kid who would always desperately seek out attention and for wilbur to reach out to him so often helps soothe his concerns just a little.

worry immediately rises back up again when he scans over the contents of wilbur’s dm. it’s just a short and simple ‘can i call you’ that feels a tad unsettling, unnerving. wilbur never bothers to ask because he knows that tommy will always answer. he just rings without warning and overwhelms tommy’s ears with his naturally enthralling voice, or he waits with anticipation for tommy to accost him in a random vc. 

tommy fidgets nervously, sharply inhaling as the toy decides to squish even further inside and fuel his desperate need to cum right now, right this instant. clutching at the headboard with one hand and chewing at a couple of his free fingers on the other, he bounces his hips a little, but the toy is too malleable to really move up and down on easily.

his own piercing whine of frustration snaps him back to reality and to the offending message still displayed on his phone screen. wilbur should come first. honestly, when tommy is the one making decisions, wilbur will always come first. the older man will always be his priority, because somehow for some reason he has become one of wilbur’s primary confidants. 

it’s a special privilege to be so included in wilbur’s everyday life and no one can be able to push the man to get out of bed on those few terrible, horrible, no good, very bad days the way tommy can. and so tommy wraps a hand around the toy’s lower half, pulling it out carefully even as his hole clenches down in protest. 

the empty feeling that follows aches, as lube cools uncomfortably on his inner thighs. tommy scorns his inability to say no to the man who haunts almost all of his waking thoughts and collapses onto his bed, holding his phone so close that the bright light burns his eyes as he goes to his and wilbur’s private messages and starts a voice call. 

“will?” he murmurs softly, gently, as the call connects, tone so tender he might as well be trying to coax an easily startled fawn out of its hiding spot. it’s not tommy’s usual manner of speaking, not when he’s known for being loud and boisterous and kind of an irritating arsehole at times, but he doesn’t want to scare wilbur off straight away.

there’s a pause, a few awkward seconds of silence broken by something that sounds like a mix between a heavy sigh and an involuntary yawn. “hey, toms,” wilbur murmurs sleepily and tommy winces at the croaking quality of his voice. god, the man sounds exhausted down to the very core. tommy makes a pitying noise that is meant to speak of sympathy, but it’s a little too breathy for his own good as his hard dick rubs between the bottom of his hoodie and his slick-covered stomach.

“rough day?” tommy asks, hand sliding his hoodie just a little further up his tummy so it no longer traps his erection in a slightly stomach-turning friction. but now his cock is in full view, leaking all over his flushed pink skin, and tommy squirms, trying his hardest to ignore the arousal that leaves him desperate enough to just fuck into his fist and get it all over with. 

wilbur hums, a melodic noise that is a little too melancholic. “you could say that,” he says, a shuffling noise coming from the other end of the line. tommy can already imagine him rubbing his palm over his forehead, brushing away the curls that part in the middle, and accidentally knocking his glasses askew. “i’m just so bloody tired, you know?”

“yeah,” tommy whispers, attempting to ignore how fucked up it is that he’s listening to wilbur’s pained voice while his neglected dick throbs. he fails, shame flooding his entire body, curling his legs up into his chest as he rests the phone beside his head. “yeah, i know, big man. do you want to talk…” he trails off, nervously biting his lip as his voice falters and turns tiny.

tommy should know better than to walk on eggshells around a man who has declared the child his best friend more than once publicly, but he can’t help but be tentative in the face of someone tommy had once seen as so untouchable becoming so worn down. idol worship had blinded him a little bit at the beginning of their friendship and his fanboy ways still have a little bit of a clutch on him.

“sorry, toms.” wilbur sounds apologetic but also something else tommy can’t quite put a finger on. he’s too good of an actor for his own good, but tommy already knows the older’s quirks inside and out. secretive is something wilbur will never manage to be in front of the great tommyinnit and tommy is pretty sure the man is scared, flustered and fond, all at once. “i don’t think this is something you could help. it’s just, uh, some adulting stuff.”

it’s a flimsy excuse. wilbur should know that tommy won’t take something that simple, that fake, as an answer, when he’s clearly bothered enough to be swamped with fatigue. “are you really being ageist to me right now?” tommy blurts out, mind barely working fast enough to filter his words. “of course i could help! i’m a big man, wilbur, the massivest man you’ll ever bloody meet-”

“tommy, you were literally only sixteen just about a week ago.” wilbur may sigh at tommy’s excessively loud attempts to loosen him up, but he sounds amused, a little lighter than his previous somber tone. his mic crackles, from a loose wire probably, something painfully familiar in their late night calls. “also it’s the most massive.”

“shut up.” tommy fidgets, a small smile spreading over his now relaxed face. “anyway, you know i’m here to listen to whining about your- what does adult stuff even mean? d-dating? you found yourself a pretty girl, big man? you can always come to me for advice on women, you know i’m the wife haver-” he rambles but suddenly electric shocks through his system and a noise entirely wrong for the moment crawls up his throat. “a-ah!”

if there’s one defining characteristic belonging to tommy, it’s his way of being so naturally expressive. his face twists into over-the-top expressions and his arms flail around him wildly as he loses himself in talking other people’s heads off. he’s brash and easily distracted, which is why he brushed his hand over his erection without even realising. 

tommy slams a hand over his mouth, face practically burning against his palm with the tomato-like shade of red it has become. “tommy, are you- was that-” wilbur stutters, clearly trying to grasp onto what is happening on tommy’s side of the phone. a couple seconds of not-at-all tranquil quiet pass before wilbur’s incredulous voice pipes up again. “are you touching yourself right now?”

“no!” it comes out sounding a lot more defensive than tommy had hoped and he scrambles to keep a semblance of his dignity safe. this might ruin everything, if wilbur: a) got the impression that tommy cared more about getting off than listening to his real life problems, or b) thought tommy was jacking off to him specifically. admittedly, he does do the latter a lot, just not this time. “you’re crazy, will, absolutely crackers, of course i wouldn’t-”

“tommy- you- i- i mean, seriously? you think i believe that?” wilbur splutters, genuine in both his confusion and irritation. “why did you even ring me?” the annoyance the other can’t help but feel is audible, slightly pissed off in the way he sometimes gets when tommy’s antics go a little too far, but there’s a yearning edge to his voice that is hard to miss. tommy swallows when he thinks about what that might mean, even if he would be praying for a miracle if he thought he could ever get wilbur’s full affection.

“well, fuck me for caring! i didn’t want you to be lonely, dickhead!” tommy falls back on what he knows best: shouting till his opponent caves. it’s just his luck that wilbur is equally as hard-headed and stubborn, but at least tommy has his erratic, stuttering manner of speech, a mess of barely comprehensible words falling from his lips. “cause then i know you wouldn’t even bother getting out of bed and then i’d be worried all fucking day about you, arsehole-”

“so you decided to call me when you’re jerking off instead of just waiting, like a normal person?” wilbur continues to berate him, pitching up in volume with each syllable to the point that he’ll probably get a noise complaint from his neighbours. tommy continues to make indecipherable noises in the background in an attempt to get wilbur to shut up, but they are easily shadowed by the man’s ire. “c’mon, i know you’re unusually confident but that’s a bit much-”

“i wasn’t jerking off!” and technically he wasn’t, depending on your definition of the phrase, considering he hadn’t touched his cock at all in favour of ruthlessly fingering himself ready for the toy now jammed awkwardly beneath his hip. tommy’s voice has risen to its highest pitch in embarrassment, squeaky as he squawks in denial and rebuttal. “i haven’t put my hands anywhere near my penis at all today, thank you very much!”

“just because you don’t have your dick in your hands right now doesn’t mean it isn’t inappropriate, tommy.” wilbur sounds exasperated, exhausted, clearly in disbelief at how lackluster tommy’s shoddy attempts to save face are. he’s mumbling more so now, as if he has realised getting too worked up might end in another eviction incident. “god, you’re so fucking unfair…”

tommy is pretty sure he wasn’t meant to hear that last part, given how wilbur had attempted to say it under his breath. unfair. shouldn’t that mean that tommy is holding something above wilbur’s head, that he’s got an advantage over the older man? tommy doesn’t get it. “unfair? what do you mean unfair?”

there’s a solid minute of silence, not even the slightest sound of wilbur shuffling in his chair, as he is frozen, buffering as he comes to terms with the fact that tommy could catch his voice through his shitty mic. “you weren’t meant to hear that.” wilbur tries to play it off with a laugh but it’s more hysterical than convincing. “you really were not meant to hear that. tommy- i- i’m sorry i have to go-”

“hey, hey, hey!” tommy’s voice cracks almost comically as he shouts, frantically trying to keep wilbur from leaving the call, even if it might be a hopeless endeavour. unfair is such a small word, but it had left wilbur’s mouth with so much emotion packed behind it and tommy just can’t understand why. “don’t just run off without explaining yourself, big man.”

“isn’t it fucking obvious what i meant?” wilbur snaps sharply. caught off guard, tommy whimpers at the sound, a noise not born of carnal origin. usually, wilbur’s anger would make him cackle and then be used as fuel for his private fantasies, but he’s stuck deep in confusion and the reaction hurts more than it should.”oh, fuck- i’m sorry, it’s not your fault that i-”

the realisation comes flooding over him all at once. “you like me?” tommy whispers, as if it’s a dirty secret that should not be overheard, not even through the thick walls that connect his house to another’s. his voice is too timid, too tentative, for who tommy is at his very core. this couldn’t possibly be true, could it? but why else would wilbur call him unfair with tommy’s dick still causing an uncomfortable heat between his legs?

“i don’t think it’s just a matter of liking.” bittersweet, that is how wilbur sounds, seemingly stuck between adoring tommy and scorning his own uncontrollable feelings. something uncomfortable flutters in tommy’s stomach, not quite a butterfly, but not quite a moth either. neither of them have yet to find their balance in how to love without feeling ashamed. “i’m enamoured with you, tommy.”

“what’s with you and all these bloody synonyms.” tommy’s nose is crinkling in false disgust, but his heart is racing so fast it might as well be on the verge of failing. he’s clinging to some kind of normalcy, even though nothing might ever be normal again. the honesty in wilbur’s voice is palpable and tommy can feel his brain short-circuit. “stop being so fancy, just say you love me or something.”

“i love you.” wilbur quickly follows tommy’s suggestion and tommy’s fingers claw into the sheets, trying to ground himself back down to earth even though the sincerity in wilbur’s voice has his head drifting off into the clouds. “so fucking much. i fell in love with you the minute you arrived in brighton, waving around that stupid vlog gun and teasing me over losing at the arcade and making me… happy, happier than anyone had in years. and i hate myself for it.”

“wilby…” tommy trails off. it makes sense now, exactly why wilbur has been so drained. yes, there’s the effects of lockdown to consider, but he and wilbur are in calls together practically 24/7, with tommy’s energetic voice acting as a constant reminder of the love wilbur clearly thinks he shouldn’t feel. “is- is that why you’ve been like this?”

“you're only seventeen, toms.” wilbur stresses the age like recalling it is a sin and it might as well be, if he’s pining for tommy’s touch the way tommy is for his. but how could it be a sin, tommy thinks to himself, if soaking in wilbur’s sunlight always feel so right, so rejuvenating, with nothing being more reliable to pick up tommy’s mood than the man’s radiance. “it’s just- it’s just wrong. i’m a creep for thinking of you like this.”

“you’re a creep, you’re a weirdo.” this probably isn’t the best time to start singing radiohead, but if tommy doesn’t pretend to be his usual, unfazed self, then he’s sure he’ll shatter. it’s not the warbly, off-kilter kind of singing he’ll show off on stream, but his real and somewhat soft tone that always manages to melt wilbur’s defences. it might be wrong of him to use it to his advantage, but he can’t bring himself to care. “but i don’t think you’re a creep at all, big man, and-” i really wouldn’t mind if you were one, honestly, tommy thinks, but decides it’s better not to say. “i want you. isn’t that the most important thing?”

“but i shouldn’t want you-” it comes out sharp and cold and it feels like a casual dismissal, that tommy’s feelings in the matter should be tossed aside for the sake of keeping other people’s morality-induced anger subdued. a little wounded noise drags itself out of tommy’s mouth and just that alone sends wilbur into a frenzy. “that- that sounded worse than i thought it would. god, tommy, you know how much you mean to me, but- you’re so young. i’m eight years older than you, that isn’t right-”

“i want you, wilbur,” tommy cuts him off, shutting the man’s protest down with a single confession. “i know that, i know that i’ve wanted you since we met on smpearth, i know that i still want you now. despite everything, despite the consequences, i want to be with you.” he takes a steady breath and readies himself for the inevitable fallout, for wilbur to end the call and block him on all social media and break tommy’s heart in two.

“you know,” the older man starts and tommy tenses, bracing for the impact of wilbur’s next few words. this is make or break and tommy has a feeling it’ll be the latter for him. “my worst weakness is that i can’t say no to you,” wilbur chuckles wetly and tommy freezes, muscles even more rigid, because wilbur isn’t giving up, he isn’t letting go, he’s still here and he’s got tommy’s heart in the palm of his hands. 

“i just-” wilbur sighs, weary as if he is holding the weight of the whole world on his shoulders. he isn’t, but he has been the one to place tommy’s endgame on a tipping scale, unsure if he’s reaching for nirvana or heartbreak. “i just want to walk down the street holding your hand and not have to worry about a fan turning the corner and seeing us together. i want to kiss you breathless and not have to think about how someone could see us and decide to ruin everything we’ve worked for. i want you so bad, but i can’t have you, not fully, not right now.”

“wilby…” the nickname keeps slipping into tommy’s sentences without the boy’s consent, but each time he can imagine the utterly fond smile wilbur gave him over their video call when tommy called him that for the first time without caving to embarrassment. he wants all of that too, but tommy knows that won’t be safe, not for wilbur who would lose everything in an instant if someone decided he was worth the effort of ruining. 

tommy feels tears prick at the corners of his eyes, but he blinks them away, his sniffling luckily barely audible. someone has to be strong enough to keep them both afloat, and wilbur is too emotion-driven for that, a man who pours his heart and soul into the things he cares for dearly. tommy was the recipient of such attention and he’ll never be able to thank the man enough for that. “so what if we have to keep it quiet for a while? i’d rather be happy with you in private, then a lonely fucking loser with nothing at all.”

“we could have movie nights and c-cuddle on your sofa instead of just doing them through discord, we could bake those recipes niki recommended and have takeaway together every other night,” tommy suggests, stuttering, thinking of dates he always sees in movies. he’s a novice when it comes to romance, but hopefully wilbur will have the courage to teach him the secrets of the trade. “we just have to be discreet. we don’t have to not see each other at all.”

“and- and- and-” his words tumble over each other, spilling out too fast as his thoughts jumble, mind working overtime to convince wilbur that this is worth it. “you know my parents already love you and they- they picked up pretty quickly on my c-crush and they don’t mind the age difference as long as i’m safe and happy and you take care of me and everything is entirely legal-”

“tommy.” wilbur cuts him off. “tommy, are you sure about this?”

“i’ve never been more sure about anything,” tommy confesses. “i love you too, wil. a lot.”

“awwww, tommy~... i guess i don’t have to hide it anymore, huh. that'll take some getting used to. but god, toms, it’s been only a few days since i last saw you face-to-face and i already want to turn back time somehow and just have kissed you then like i should have… say, tommy-?”

“hmm?”

“you were doing what i think you were doing, right?”

“wouldn’t you like to know, weather boy?”  

he definitely was, but wilbur doesn’t need to know that. (wilbur knows. for the sake of tommy’s pride, he decides he’ll let it slide for now.)