Curate, connect, and discover
Okay I have a fic brewing for today's @tamlinweek prompt biting/chest, but I don't actually know if it'll be ready to post to AO3 by the end of the day, so I figure I'd give a little snippet now!
This fic is Rhysand/Tamlin, past friends to enemies, present strangers to lovers. There's technically an age gap but Rhys worries about it way more than he actually needs to.
I promise my real post for it will be prettier than this haha. But anyways, the clip is below the cut if you'd like to see what's in store!
It’s maybe a little weird. Or a lot. Rhys can't really tell.
It's definitely a little weird that he's at a high school reunion for a class that he was never a student in, but Mor had asked until he relented, and he loves his cousin enough not to make a big deal about it. Plus, it's basically a form of community engagement. Good PR.
And it’s not like he wasn't curious.
(But Rhys supposes he knows what curiosity does to the cat.)
It probably is weird. He should just let it go. Pretend he didn’t even see that flash of pale hair, that once-familiar smile, the eyes that somehow still look green from afar in the dim throwback-to-homecoming lighting. Rhys knows that he’s become a little dry, distracted, and that people will start noticing, but he just can’t stop searching.
Looking for a trace of the boy he knew ten years ago in the man he sees now.
Tamlin looks practically unreal. His hair has gone from sandy, dirty blonde to vibrant, spun gold, practically platinum in some places. It cascades down past his shoulders, wavy and thick, holding none of the country club pretentiousness that his preppy little swoop had back in high school. His shy grin is the same, but the face it decorates is practically foreign. Angular and distinct, high-definition in human form.
When Rhys first met Tamlin, he’d looked like he was growing like a puppy. Linebacker shoulders that he didn’t seem to know how to grow into, a jawline hidden in lingering baby fat that he hadn’t yet grown out of. He’d always moved with a clear cautiousness, like he didn’t know what to do with his size, a kid piloting a teenage body. With the soft roundness of his face and the unsure gait he walked with, he'd almost appeared small despite his height.
Now, it seems like there’s not a part of him that hadn’t stopped growing since Rhys last saw him.
He fills out his sage green dress shirt like it was tailored to display his form in the most accurate way possible without the stitches ripping. He’s thicker than most average men, his chest curved, arms thick, and hell, even his legs show their definition through his light tan pants. He’s very clearly jacked.
It’s understated enough, though, that he doesn’t look crazy or roided out. Just very carefully crafted, like somewhere along the way, he’d turned himself to stone just to reshape his body into the cut he wanted.
His clean-shaven jaw is now entirely visible and perfectly sharp, not too severe. His cheeks have hollowed a bit as well, but not in a way that suggests cosmetic help. Broad shoulders now have the muscle to make up for it, his large hands finally matching the rest of his body, his strapping chest smoothly leading down to a slim waist, creating a figure that simply dominates among regular layfolk.
And he’s tall. Even taller than he’d been when Rhys graduated, towering over his company, easily clearing six feet.
He’s a man now. Practically a whole different person.
But it still feels so weird. That spark of attraction racing along Rhys’ veins, teasing the inside of his mouth, under his tongue.
If they were strangers, he wouldn’t think twice about it. It’s not that big of a difference.
But the fact is, they’re not strangers. They knew each other, once. When Rhys was already awaiting his acceptance letter from Brown, and Tamlin was fourteen.