Rory should have known better. He realized that now.

He didn't hear from Milo the next Friday evening. Or the Friday after that. Or the Friday after that.

He was mad at Milo, and he was mad at himself for being mad at Milo. Milo had been clear from the very beginning that he wasn't look for anything serious. And Rory had known going in that he wasn't really built for anything casual.

It's like pulling a dog's tail and being mad when it bites you, Rory thought. He'd brought this entirely on himself, by caring for someone who couldn't—or wouldn't—care for someone else.

He'd been pushing it by inviting Milo to the wedding in the first place, and he'd kept pushing the morning after the wedding, caught up in a rush of trust and adoration and infatuation.

Rory wished he'd kept his mouth shut, but maybe this was for the best—if Milo hadn't ended things, who knows how long Rory could have gone on, pining after someone completely emotionally unavailable.

Better to cut his losses and start to move on.

* * *

The holidays came and went. The new year arrived, frozen and dark.

During Rory's first week of classes, he sat down with his list, the one he'd made a few months ago which he thought might help him get his life together.

Rory only had one more semester of classes. He'd begun to search out jobs all around the country. He'd decided over the break that after graduation, he was getting out of Linfield. He felt trapped here, trapped by memories, by his family, by who he'd been clashing with who he was now. He'd get a fresh start somewhere, a chance to build a new life for himself.

Rory also decided that he would make his last semester at Bellamy a good one. He was hurt and heartbroken, but he refused to let how things had ended with Milo ruin the next few months.

His first order of business, Rory realized, was repairing the strained relationship with his housemates.

* * *

Surprisingly, it was Andy who approached him first, knocking on his door that Friday evening.

"Hey, man," Andy said, a little shyly.

"Hey," Rory said.

"Can we, um… clear the air?"

"Yeah," Rory said. "Have—have you eaten yet? Do you wanna grab dinner somewhere?"

"Sounds good," Andy said, looking relieved.

They ended up at a little sandwich shop on Chestnut Street, and Rory kept finding himself glancing at the people they passed, and it took him longer than it should have to realize he was looking for Milo.

"Is everything okay?" Andy said as they sat down. "Things got… kind of weird last semester."

"Yeah," Rory said, stirring a fry in ketchup thoughtfully. "I've been pretty frustrated, honestly. With Greg and Steve."

"I thought that might be part of it," Andy said. "And… I'm sorry. I know I haven't been… the best housemate either."

Rory shrugged.

"I didn't say anything, though," he said, glancing up at Andy. Andy hadn't touched his food yet, and he was looking at Rory with uncharacteristic worry on his face. "I'm gonna talk to them about, like, actually cleaning up and not leaving the place a mess all the time. And not having impromptu parties without warning me."

"Right," Andy said.

"But the thing is," Rory said. "I've been pissed at them, but… I, uh… really value your friendship and shit and… I just wanted you to know that."

He looked down at his food, feeling awkward.

"Look at us," Andy said, snorting. "Expressing our feelings like adults or whatever. But, yeah, I… value your friendship, too. And I'll work harder to… actually clean up my shit and stuff."

"Thanks," Rory said.

They ate in silence for a little while.

"There's, um—another thing," Rory said.

Andy glanced up, looking concerned.

"I'm going to tell you something," Rory said, hesitating. Andy's eyes widened in alarm.

"Please don't confess to a murder—" Andy said.

"No, it's not—I'm bisexual. So. There's that."

"Oh," Andy said pleasantly. "Cool, dude."

Well, that was pretty painless, Rory thought. He relaxed down in his seat, a weight lifting from his chest.

"I was… hooking up with this guy last semester," Rory said, taking a sip of his drink, still avoiding Andy's eyes. Andy had seemed okay with Rory coming out to him, but Rory wasn't sure if he'd balk if Rory actually went into any detail.

Rory really needed someone to talk to, though.

"Is that why you were gone all the time?" Andy said, like he was piecing together a puzzle. Rory couldn't help grinning.

"Yeah," he said. "I, uh, wasn't sure anyone had noticed."

"I noticed," Andy said, wriggling his eyebrows suggestively. "I figured you wanted privacy, though, so I didn't give you shit about it. I thought you might have been getting laid, actually."

"Well, I was," Rory said. "Well, kind of. But, um, it's over now."

"Oh," Andy said. "That sucks."

"It does. I… I really liked him." Rory said. He drew a deep breath. "Sorry—if this is weird for you to talk about, we don't have to—"

"It's fine," Andy said, shrugging. "You know, I've hooked up with a guy before."

"Wait, what?" Rory said, suddenly sitting up. "When? I didn't know you were—"

Andy laughed.

"I don't really have a label. I'm not really into guys, for the most part—it just kind of fell into my lap. Literally. It was a friends-with-benefits kind of thing."

"How long did it last?" Rory asked.

"Um, the whole time we roomed together," Andy said with a smile. "So about a year—"

"Wait, was this with Drew?" Rory interrupted.

"Shit, yeah—look, don't tell anyone—"

"I swear I won't," Rory said. He'd only met Drew a handful of times before—Rory and Andy had gotten much closer during grad school, but he remembered Drew as nice, if a little stoic.

"I forgot you knew him. But, uh, yeah, we both went our separate ways after graduation."

"And it just ended?"

Andy paused, staring at some place beyond Rory's head.

"Well, yeah," Andy said. "I mean, he's one of my good friends. I cared—care—about him a lot. But… we both knew it was temporary."

"Holy shit," Rory said, sitting back again and laughing. "I had no idea."

"Anyway, sorry, didn't mean to make that all about me," Andy said. "My point was, it's fine if you want to talk about it. I'm not gonna be weirded out by it."

Rory chewed on his lip.

"I guess I do want to talk about it," he said at last. Hesitantly, he told Andy about things with Milo, about how Milo was so magnetic and so inscrutable, how his rare smiles had an addictive property that gave Rory a rush like a drug.

"Shit," Andy said once Rory had finished. "Sounds like you really like this guy."

Rory smiled sadly.

"Yeah. I really fucking do," Rory said. He sighed. "And the thing is… I think he likes me, too. I dunno. Maybe it was just wishful thinking. I felt like we had a connection."

"No offense, but… he sounds like kind of an asshole," Andy said.

"He's not," Rory said quickly. "Well, maybe he is. Sometimes. Not all the time. It feels like a defense mechanism, though. Not, like, who he really is, you know?"

"Yeah," Andy said through a mouthful of sandwich. "But defense mechanism or not, you deserve to be with someone who's… you know, not a total dick to you."

"I guess it doesn't matter now," Rory said. "It's over. He made that pretty damn clear."

"I'm sorry, man," Andy said. "Well, if you ever need a wingman to pick up chicks or dudes or whatever, let me know."

Rory snorted.

"Thanks," he said. "I think I'm just gonna… try and focus on graduating in one piece, you know?"

Andy nodded.

"Also—I wanna know more about things with you and Drew," Rory said, leaning forward. Andy laughed and rolled his eyes. "Like, how did it happen? I can't believe you were sleeping with your roommate and no one noticed."

"Honestly, our housemates were too busy falling in love with each other to notice," Andy said. "They thought they were being discreet but they really were not. Besides, it wasn't like, a super regular thing."

"So you would just… casually hook up sometimes? No feelings?"

Andy hesitated.

"No feelings," he said, in a way that made Rory feel like he wasn't quite being honest. "Nope, it was just casual."

Rory decided not to press it.

"It was stupid of me to try to do something casual," Rory said. "I kept… telling myself I'd be able to handle it, but that was a total lie. I wanted to be with him."

"Hey, don't beat yourself up," Andy said. "Hindsight is twenty-twenty. Fuck that guy, though. If you want me to go kick his ass or anything, let me know."

"Thanks, Andy," Rory said with a sad smile. "That means a lot to me."

* * *

It was a Tuesday night, and Rory's phone vibrated insistently—someone was calling him. He sighed, bracing himself to talk to his mother, and reached for his phone.

Milo was calling.

Rory stared at his phone for a moment. Surely this was a pocket call—there'd be no reason for Milo to call him on purpose.

He could hang up, block Milo's number—that was probably the smartest thing to do.

Rory answered.

"Milo? Are you okay?" Rory asked.

There was no response from the other end.

"Milo?" he said, trying one more time.

"Do you wanna be my date to a wedding?" Milo asked.

Rory was so stunned it took him several moments to process what Milo had said. Milo's voice was a little glassy, his words slurred. They were both quiet, the silence between them almost fizzing, and Rory tried to work out how to respond.

"What the fuck, Milo." Rory said finally.

Milo was quiet for a moment.

"I'm sorry," he said.

Rory took a deep, measured breath. He would be more than justified in hanging up on Milo and blocking his number so he never had to hear from him again.

But he wanted to talk to Milo. Not like this, of course—drunk, over the phone, in the middle of the night, when they hadn't spoken in weeks.

He'd take what he could get.

"Are you drunk?" Rory asked flatly.

"Yeah," Milo said. Rory heard him sigh, a long, low hiss. "I got invited to Ryan's wedding. Wanna be my date? Return the favor?"

His voice sounded distant, like he was talking to himself, like Rory was just an anonymous confessional, and Rory felt a stab of pain and sadness in his chest.

It hurt, Rory thought, to want someone who didn't want him.

"Why are you calling me?" Rory said, his voice clipped.

"I miss you," Milo said. "I… I fucked up."

Rory squeezed his eyes shut. How many times had he fantasized about this moment, about Milo saying these exact things to him?

Except, in his mind, Milo had been whispering them softly in his ear, rather than drunkenly slurring through the phone at close to midnight.

"I should go," Rory said. He went to end the call.

"Rory—"

Rory froze at the naked need and pain in Milo's voice.

"What, Milo?" he asked. Rory felt exhausted, wrung out. He wanted to sleep for days.

"Can I see you? Please? I—I need to say something."

"It's late," Rory said. "I'm not in the mood to go anywhere. Good night."

"I'll come to you," Milo said desperately. "Please. I—" He trailed off, apparently unable to finish.

And, because Rory was a glutton for punishment, at least when it came to Milo, he relented.

"Fine. I'll text you my address."

And, feeling immature and self-righteous, Rory hung up after that.

* * *

What the fuck are you doing? Rory asked himself as he hastily collected the dirty dishes from the various horizontal surfaces in the house. Things had gotten better with his housemates—they were making an effort, most of the time, though they still didn't seem to really get the basic tenets of cleaning.

It shouldn't matter, he knew, but this was the first time—and last, Rory reminded himself grimly—that Milo would be in his house, and Rory didn't want it to look completely disgusting. And, Rory realized, this was just another example of how thoroughly he'd managed to fool himself. They'd been hooking up for months and Milo had never even been to his house—how could Rory have dared to hope for anything more?

When he'd tidied things up as best as he could, he sat down on the couch and folded his arms over his chest, glowering at the wall. He was tired. Angry. Hurt. He didn't want to be sitting up, waiting for Milo to arrive.

There was a knock at the door, and Rory pulled it open to find Milo standing there, arms wrapped around himself.

"I'm not that drunk," Milo said.

Rory stepped aside to let Milo inside.

"Sounds like something someone who is that drunk would say," Rory said as he shut the door.

They stood there a moment, staring at each other. Milo was as tall and handsome as ever, and it was hard for Rory not to want to be wrapped in his slender arms, to press his head to Milo's chest and be held.

Milo didn't seem like he was planning on saying anything.

"What do you want?" Rory asked shortly.

"I—I wanted to apologize," Milo said. Predictably, he wasn't meeting Rory's gaze, instead staring down at the jumble of athletic shoes by the door.

"Do you really?" Rory asked, crossing his arms. "Because you drunk-called me at midnight and invited me to a wedding. That's a pretty shitty apology."

Milo shut his eyes for a moment, and Rory saw his chest rise and fall as he sighed. There were dark circles under his eyes, purple crescent bruises against his pale skin.

"You're too good for me, Rory," he muttered.

Rory rolled his eyes, irritation sparking through him.

"You know what, Milo?" Rory snapped, and Milo's dark eyes snapped up to meet his. "That's bullshit. Rory, you're too good for me. Rory I'm sorry I'm a wreck. You've been saying that the whole time we've been—whatever. If you're gonna be an absolute dick to me, then just own it. Don't keep apologizing as if that means you can just keep doing it. It's only a real apology if you're actually, you know, sorry."

Milo's mouth hung open, and Rory's sudden outburst seemed to have left him speechless. Rory's anger fizzled out, as bright and brief as a falling star, and now he just wanted to go to bed.

"Look," Rory said. "I'm tired. I—"

"You're right," Milo said, and to his credit he wasn't looking away from Rory, wasn't avoiding his gaze. In fact, he was concentrating on Rory like Rory was the only person that existed. Rory swallowed and shifted his weight uncomfortably from one foot to the other.

"Okay," Rory said, after a moment. Milo's hands balled into fists, like he was steeling himself.

"I was scared," Milo said, and he sounded more sober now than he had on the phone. "You fucking terrify me, Rory, because—because I—"

He paused and swallowed, like the words were gumming up in his throat, dark and sticky.

"Because I care about you," he continued. "And before I met you—well, re-met you, I made a rule that I wasn't going to care about anyone anymore, because… that's how people get hurt. But then I did start caring about you, and you had to go be so—perfect and sweet and—and I just—I—"

Milo faltered, burying his face in his hands. Rory was reeling a little bit, so shocked that he simply stood there in silence, watching Milo collect his thoughts.

After a moment, Milo let his hands drop to his sides.

"This thing—this thing with Ryan has really thrown me," Milo said, gesturing at himself with a humorless smile. "But I can't stop thinking about you. I—I miss you."

"Okay," Rory said again. He was fighting hard to keep his face blank, because he didn't know if he wanted to laugh or cry, whether he wanted to kiss Milo or shove him.

Milo looked like he was waiting for Rory to respond, but Rory just stood there, his head spinning.

"Will you—will you take me back?" Milo said.

Rory sighed.

"I never had you in the first place," Rory said, and Milo seemed to be crumpling in on himself—he looked as exhausted as Rory felt.

"You know what I mean," Milo said.

"No, Milo, I really don't."

Rory was tired and sad and angry and hopeful all at once. His housemates would be home soon and Rory didn't feel like explaining who Milo was or dealing with their drunken antics.

He tried to parse through what he wanted. The problem was, Rory realized, he did want Milo to be here with him—but Rory didn't want Milo like this, drunk and distressed and cagey. He wanted them to be together, but only when they were happy, not hurt, full of desire rather than desperation.

A productive conversation wasn't possible tonight, but he couldn't stomach the idea of sending Milo away now. And, Rory knew, if he did, he might not ever see Milo again.

"Stay the night," Rory said. "If you can say all that stuff to me tomorrow—when you're sober—then—then—"

Rory stopped. He didn't know what would happen then, didn’t know if Milo would even be able to say it.

Milo hesitated.

"Okay," Milo said.

And so, he grabbed Milo's hand and led Milo back to his bedroom.

Rory shut the door behind them. In silence, they stripped down to their underwear and got into Rory's bed. Rory pulled the comforter up over them and for a moment, Milo lay behind him stiffly, as if he were waiting for something.

Rory rolled over, laying his head on Milo's narrow chest, pressing himself up against Milo's cool, smooth skin, and immediately Milo snaked his arms around Rory, holding him tight.

Rory squeezed his eyes shut, and he felt Milo press a soft kiss to his forehead. Rory's heart ached.

This was a terrible idea, he knew. But he was too sad, too tired, to care. It felt good to be in Milo's arms.

He had no idea what tomorrow would bring, but for now, he tried to let this moment be enough.

* * *

When Rory awoke the next morning, they'd shifted in the night, but they were still tangled together.

It was nice, or at least, it was nice, until Rory remembered that he was pissed at Milo.

He pulled back sharply and saw that Milo was already awake, watching him carefully. He sat up and Milo followed suit.

"So, like, what the fuck was that, last night?" Rory said, narrowing his eyes.

"Good morning to you, too," Milo said, and Rory rolled his eyes, sighing in frustration.

To his credit, Milo's face went serious.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I—I just… I missed you."

"Yeah, well, fuck you," Rory said, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Can we talk?" Milo asked.

"Do you want to talk? Or should I wait 'til you're drunk so you can stand to be around me?"

Milo looked like Rory had just slapped him, and Rory softened.

"That was—that was harsh," Rory said, looking away. He pulled at a loose thread on the duvet. "But, like, it's… kind of true. It's a really shitty feeling to have someone who only admits they like you when they're drunk."

Milo's eyes fluttered shut and he licked his lips.

"You're right," he said, his voice quiet. He opened his eyes and they looked at each other for a moment.

Rory wanted to grab Milo by the shoulders and shake him.

It doesn't have to be this difficult, he wanted to yell. You don't have to make things so hard. For you. For me. For both of us.

"I want to explain."

"I'm waiting," Rory said. He wasn't being particularly generous, but he'd run out of patience for catering to Milo's skittishness.

Milo looked down at his hands, picking compulsively at a hangnail.

"How much did I tell you about Ryan?" he said finally, wincing at the name.

"Not much," Rory said. "I've put together bits and pieces, but…"

"I was really fucking in love with him," Milo said. He heaved a sigh. His voice was strangely flat as he talked, like he was reciting a piece of fiction. "Maybe not in love, because it wasn't reciprocated. I thought—for a while, I thought it might have been. Reciprocated, I mean. But I was just being an idiot. Whatever it was, I was… infatuated. I would have done anything for him, and he knew it. He took advantage of that, and I let him."

Milo paused, drawing his knees up to his chest under the comforter and wrapping his arms around them. He was staring off into space someplace beyond Rory's shoulder. Rory wanted desperately to wrap his arms around Milo and hold him tight, but he forced himself to stay still.

"He treated me like shit, and I let him," Milo said, swallowing hard. "I thought—I thought maybe I could… earn his love somehow."

Milo was silent for a while, and he seemed lost in his thoughts.

"I'm not Ryan," Rory said at last, and when Milo looked at him, the distant look in his eyes was gone—Rory felt like Milo was really seeing him there.

"I know you're not," Milo said. "And I fucking hate myself because—because you've never done anything to make me not trust you, but at the same time—there's this part of my brain yelling at me that—if I—if we—" He drew a deep breath. "That I'm going to get hurt like that again."

"Why are you telling me all this?" Rory asked after a moment.

"Because I want you to understand," Milo said. "I want—I want you. I've really fucking missed you. But I need you to know that if we do this, I—I—"

"Do what?" Rory interrupted. He knew what Milo was getting at, but he needed to hear Milo say it.

Milo looked right at him, his eyes dark and unguarded and sad.

"Be together. If… if you even still want me."

Rory's breath caught in his throat.

"I do," Rory said, against his better judgement, and he saw a spark of something that looked very much like hope in Milo's eyes.

"I'm… not going to be very good at this," Milo said hesitantly. "Dating, or whatever. I've… I've never done it before."

"Is that what you want, Milo? To date?" Rory asked. He felt that same hope, sharp and almost dangerous, welling in his chest.

Milo nodded.

"I think, yeah. I just know that… when I got that invitation, I got upset and so fucking angry and—and all I wanted was… to see you. To be with you."

Rory frowned.

"So you're upset your ex is getting married, and that's why you want to date me? That's kind of fucked up."

Milo made a frustrated noise and scrubbed his hand over his face.

"Fuck—no, that's not it—I'm not explaining myself well."

Rory bit back a retort and waiting for Milo to continue. Milo was frowning across the room, as if the explanation were somewhere on Rory's bookshelf.

"Camilla—Ryan's fiancée—knew about us. It was this whole messy open relationship for a while until—well, I guess until it wasn't open anymore—but, the point is she knew that he and I fucked sometimes, and she hated me—"

"Ryan sounds like a huge asshole," Rory interrupted, unable to stop himself. Milo smiled faintly. "Like, that's not what open relationships are."

"Yes, he really is," Milo said. "There's something about him, I guess, because he had both Camilla and I bending over backwards for him. And you're right. I've seen successful open relationships and that was certainly not one. But—the invitation was—it was a fuck you, you know? It was Camilla saying that she'd won. That's why I was upset."

Rory looked at Milo carefully, the long, sharp lines of his profile, his sleep-mussed hair.

"I can't be with you if you're not over him," Rory said at last. He was surprised by how hard it was to say, as if he had to physically push the words out of his mouth. All he'd wanted was to date Milo, and now here he was, refusing him.

"I'm over him," Milo said sharply, snapping his head to face Rory. Rory was so surprised his mouth fell open. Milo's gaze had such intensity, such fire in it that Rory knew he was telling the truth, or at least, that Milo believed what he was saying. "It hurts. That he chose her over me. I'm not denying that. But this—this isn't about him. It's about you, Rory."

Rory grimaced. He wanted to believe Milo, but at the same time—

"I…" He started, then faltered, then tried again. "Milo… I haven't heard from you in weeks. You don't get to just be an asshole and then come back when it's convenient for you."

Except, Rory thought, maybe Milo did get to just do that, because it was taking every bit of his willpower to keep himself from throwing himself at Milo.

"I know that," Milo said, looking down at his hands in his lap. He took a deep breath, then met Rory's eyes again. "I'm sorry."

Rory made a frustrated noise.

"Sorry's just a word," he said. "It doesn't mean much if there's not action to back it up."

Milo glanced away, nodding.

"You know, I was never asking to be your boyfriend, or whatever," Rory said, maybe a little more sharply than was necessary. "You're the one that said that. I just meant—like, fuck, it'd have been nice to do something more than just… mess around. I like spending time with you."

"I know," Milo said. "I—I want to try it, though. Dating. All that stuff."

"You do?" Rory asked, and he hated how needy and desperate and hopeful his voice sounded.

Milo nodded.

Rory wanted to laugh or cry or yell or run—a dozen different emotions were cartwheeling around inside him, banging into one another, and he'd lost any sense of what the right thing to do in that moment was.

So Rory leaned in, cupping his hand around Milo's head, and drew his face closer. Milo's eyes went wide, and Rory paused, faces so close their noses brushed together.

"Don't be a fucking asshole again, okay?"

"I-I'll try," Milo said slowly.

And then they were kissing, and everything was right again. He was in Milo's lap in an instant and Milo's hands were all over him, clinging to him urgently, as Milo's tongue slid into his mouth.

You're going to get hurt again, a voice in the back of Rory's head warned, and he waved it away impatiently. Love was a gamble, he told himself. And in the moment, any amount of future, potential heartbreak seemed worth the feeling of Milo's hands and mouth and body against his.

Milo pulled back, his hands holding Rory's waist so tightly Rory thought he might bruise.

"Are you sure?" Milo said breathlessly.

"Are you sure?" Rory said.

Milo answered with a kiss, tangling his hands in Rory's hair, kissing Rory like he wanted to devour him, like he'd die without Rory's mouth on his.

Milo reached between them, sliding his long fingers down Rory's stomach and palming Rory's cock through his boxers. Rory moaned into the kiss, rocking his hips forward to meet Milo's hand. It had been so long, and he thought he'd never feel this again, feel Milo with him like this.

Milo broke the kiss again, his hand still on Rory's cock, and Rory blinked his eyes open, dazed.

"Tell me what you want," Milo murmured.

"I—I—" Rory said stupidly. He wanted everything and nothing at all, because he already had the thing he needed most—Milo, here, with him, wanting him. He looked at Milo almost pleadingly, as if Milo could somehow help plumb the depths of the vast ache of feelings inside him.

"I wanna make you feel good," Milo said, his voice low and hoarse. His lids were lowered, and he looked at Rory through the dark fringe of his lashes. "Please."

Rory nodded—as if he'd say no to that. He wanted Milo, wanted whatever Milo was offering, was so overwhelmed by everything that had happened that he could only let himself be guided so he was laying on his back, Milo above him.

Milo braced himself on one elbow, looking down at Rory as he traced his hand along Rory's cheek.

"I missed this," he whispered.

Rory bit his lip, smiling. The words gave him a warm, sunny feeling inside.

"I missed this, too," he said.

Milo leaned down, and this kiss was different—slower, less urgent, but deeper somehow. Milo was taking his time, because there was time to take. Rory knew he should protect himself, should guard his heart instead of giving it to someone so guarded.

But Rory trusted Milo. He felt something there, in that kiss, a glimpse into the real Milo, the one not hiding behind fear and aloofness.

Or maybe he was just making it up. But now Milo's hand was moving lower, tracing along his neck and his collarbones, and so Rory didn't care about much else. He relaxed back against the pillow, sighing as Milo teased his nipples with his fingers and then his tongue, kissing every part of Rory's chest and stomach like he was memorizing the topography of Rory's body.

And every now and then, Milo would break from his careful, almost torturous exploration of Rory's body, moving back up to kiss Rory, long and slow and deep, until Rory felt like he was drunk on Milo's mouth, breathless, somehow content and full of need all at once.

Milo shifted lower now, easing Rory's boxers off, and Rory shifted his hips up to accommodate him. Milo nudged Rory's thighs apart so he was kneeling between his legs, kissing up Rory's inner thigh, running his hands over every bit of skin, lighting up areas of Rory's body he'd never given much thought to, as if somehow even the most mundane parts of his body had been transformed into erogenous zones.

When Milo reached the crease between Rory's leg and his hip and Rory was panting and writhing, Milo didn't relent, though—he mirrored his same journey up Rory's other thigh, slow and worshipful and methodical.

Rory willed himself to be patient—his cock was hard and heavy, precum leaking onto his stomach, but he somehow also never wanted Milo's thorough survey of his body to ever end. He had no idea if he'd been laying there for minutes or hours, lost in the overwhelming swirl of kiss and touch and emotion.

Milo was moving Rory again, so his knees were bent, his thighs up against his body, and he should have felt exposed and vulnerable—and strangely, Rory did, but he felt safe like that too, even with himself spread and on display for Milo.

Milo braced his hands on Rory's thighs, holding them up, and Rory again relaxed, letting his body go limp and heavy, as Milo kissed along the backs of his thighs. Rory was too far gone to feel self-conscious, and then it didn't matter anyway, because Milo's tongue was teasing over his hole, lapping slowly across it.

Rory heard a low, desperate moan that he realized had come from himself, and he pressed the back of his wrist to his mouth to keep himself quiet—the walls weren't exactly soundproof, and he doubted Andy wanted to wake up to the sound of Rory being eaten out.

Milo stopped to briefly lavish attention on Rory's balls, rolling them and mouthing them, before taking Rory's cock in his mouth. Rory bit back his moans, his breath catching in his throat, as Milo swallowed along his cock, messy and hungry, slicking it. He released Rory's cock from his mouth, taking it in hand and bringing his tongue back to Rory's hole.

Rory had to bite his arm to keep from crying out as Milo began to stroke his cock with one hand, sliding his tongue inside Rory. Rory reached down, digging his fingers into his leg, holding himself open for Milo, rocking his hips in time with Milo's mouth and hand.

Rory came back down to earth for long enough to remember that first night with Milo, when he'd been so overwhelmed and overstimulated that he'd come just from Milo's tongue along the underside of his cock. He was sure he could come from this, too—Milo's tongue in his ass, Milo's hand on his cock, but he wanted more.

"Milo," Rory gasped, his voice so hoarse he barely recognized it. "I want—I want your cock. Fuck me."

Milo pulled back, looking up at Rory. His eyes were glassy, mouth slack, chin slick with spit.

"Really?" he said, breathless. Rory nodded, not in the mood to argue about it.

"Come on," Rory begged. "Fuck me." Milo nodded and in an instant, Rory had leaned over, digging around his bedside table drawer and tossing a condom and a bottle of lube—leftover from his time with Georgina—onto the bed.

"How do you want—" Milo asked as he sat back on his heels.

"Like this," Rory said. He knew that just Milo's tongue probably wouldn't be enough, so he tossed the condom at Milo and grabbed the lube himself, impatiently slicking his fingers.

He reached down and pressed two fingers inside himself, tensing slightly. It was a lot, and distinctly odd—he'd never actually done this to himself before. He heard a sharp intake of breath and glanced down to see Milo staring at him with a look so hungry it bordered on predatory.

"Fuck, Rory," Milo said. "God, you're fucking gorgeous."

Rory couldn't help smiling, and, feeling emboldened, he put on a bit of a show for Milo as he felt his body relaxing around his own hand. He threw his head back, spreading his legs a little further, rocking his hips up to meet his fingers. He could feel Milo's eyes on him, like Milo was hypnotized, and Rory had never felt more powerful.

"I need you inside me," Rory said, and though it should have sounded ridiculous, porny, it was just a statement of fact, a plea. Milo had rolled the condom and was stroking himself, and he knelt between Rory's legs, gently guiding Rory's hand out of himself and lining the head of his cock up with Rory's hole.

Rory lay back, gasping as Milo pushed inside him, sliding in gently, relentlessly, until their hips were nestled together. Milo paused, shifting carefully so his arms were braced on either side of Rory's shoulders. Rory moved his hands to Milo's, and then Milo was shifting again, entwining their fingers together. Rory was pinned to the mattress like this, but it made him feel safe, kept, wanted.

After a moment to adjust, Rory hooked his legs behind Milo's hips, and Milo leaned down, their foreheads pressed together, as he began to roll his hips, pushing deeper inside Rory.

Rory couldn't help moaning, and Milo quickly covered Rory's mouth with his, kissing him fiercely as he thrust into him. Rory opened his eyes as Milo broke the kiss, and he found Milo looking down at him with an intensity that Rory had never seen from anyone before, like Rory was a star that Milo's whole being centered around.

His breath caught, and he rocked his hips up to meet Milo's thrusts, begging for more. Milo got the message quickly, shifting backwards so he was sitting on his heels, dragging Rory's hips back up with him, never losing a moment of contact. Bracing Rory's hips with one hand, Milo grabbed Rory's cock with the other, stroking him in time with the movement of his hips.

Rory clapped his hand over his mouth, silently—then not so silently—pleading and gasping Milo's name as Milo hit that perfect angle over and over again—

And then Rory was coming, so hard that he felt his own cum splatter across his chest and onto his chin, so hard that he nearly blacked out, brilliant splotches of color blooming behind his closed eyes.

And finally, gasping, Rory opened his eyes to find Milo watching him.

"Good?" Milo asked softly with a faint smile, and Rory nodded as he grinned, unable to even try to form a sentence.

He reached down and squeezed Milo's thigh, urging him to finish, and Milo began to thrust into him. Rory was sensitive now, and it was almost too much, but he was entranced as he watched Milo, eyes shut, lips slightly parted, as he gripped Rory's hips hard, snapping his hips into him hard and deep.

Milo gasped, his brow furrowed, and he bit his lip—then Rory could feel Milo's cock pulsing inside him as Milo came. Rory gripped the sheets—the sensation was intense—and breathed out slowly.

And then Milo was pulling out, stumbling across the room to dispose of the condom before falling back into bed on top of Rory, smiling and sweaty and shaky.

"Fuck, that was good," Rory said.

"Yeah," Milo said, still out of breath. He dropped his head, burrowing his face into the crook of Rory's neck. Rory wrapped his arms around Milo's narrow back, holding him close. He could feel the rise and fall of Milo's ribs, felt Milo's heartbeat slowly return to normal.

It was funny, he thought to himself, smiling up at the ceiling, how much things could change in the course of an hour.