Fantasy and Putts - t.h. series [18+]

Putter Fantasy - Strike One

There's a far-away exchange of words in the background and before Harrison comes back, you take a second to swirl towards Tom and steal a quick kiss from his lips, winking at him as sensually as you can. You move away with a slight curve of your spine, tracing a finger across his collarbones, exposed through the open collar of his navy blue polo.

Tom grins excitedly at you, moving his arm to try and grab your hand, but stopping before he can when the door bangs loudly on the other side of the house.

"Harrison!"

"Sorry!" If Tom has yet to get used to not leaving his socks everywhere, Harrison has yet to learn how to close the doors stealthily.

You and Tom exchange yet another sly grin and he leans forward for a new kiss, but you tap his mouth twice and push him away as Harrison's steps approach. While it's true that he already knows about what you and Tom get up to whenever he's not around, you prefer to keep it on the down low in front of Harrison. He's voiced his disgust after spotting a sneaky butt here or a side boob there, and you don't want to disrespect him. Some things are not meant to be seen by third parties. Tom doesn't seem to disagree, and it's much better that your encounters, no matter how short and insignificant, are always furtive. First, because that makes it fun. And second, because it's a good way to avoid any questions about the what and the why and the what if that admitting that you sleep together might raise.

You don't want to go there anytime soon.

"I brought dinner!" Harrison chirps, shaking the food container filled paper bag in his arms. "So, y/n," he says right after, stepping in between you and Tom. "You into golfing now, huh?"

Tom laughs at his best friend's question, which earns him a light punch on his broad shoulder. They're both much stronger than you, of that you have no doubt, but they wouldn't dare retaliate. Or so you hope.

You follow them both into the kitchen, turning to Harrison and asking, "Is there something you'd like to say to me, Mr.?"

"No, no," he laughs, Tom's tuts annoying you in the background. You throw a napkin at him since he's starting to set the table. That was his task for the day, but you believe he had an emergency work-related phone call that impeded him to follow through with it. You could have interrupted your show to do it, but honestly? With these two? You couldn't be arsed.

"It's just-" Harrison continues, pointing towards the glasses cupboard behind your head. "Haha, I could swear you hated golf a few weeks ago. You called me snobbish, if I remember correctly."

"You were wearing those horrible orange shorts, Harry!"

"Don't call me that!" he protests, banging the bottle of wine he's holding on the table. Tom shakes his head while he distributes the plates and the silverware. Harrison starts emptying the bag and says, "Is it going to be your first time golfing, though?"

"Yeah, it'll be my first time, so what?" you tease, both Harrison for his patronizing tone, but also Tom for the smirk he throws at you.

"I'll happily deflower you, darling," he offers, winking.

Harrison starts gagging, but then he folds the bag in four and asks, "Can I come? I'd love to see that. I mean-" He clears his throat. "Unless it's some weirdo sex thing because that I do not wish to see."

You start to laugh since that had honestly been your intention in the first place. Ever since you and Tom discussed this fantasy of his of having sex at the golf course, you simply haven't been able to keep it out of your mind. It plagues your thoughts whether you're busy or not, whether you're alone or not, which is quite troublesome. More than once, you found yourself being the target of wolf whistles from your mates because you were daydreaming, and once your best friend - curse their bloody soul - dared you to confess what you were thinking about or take a whiskey shot. You hate whiskey more than anything in the whole world, but you forced yourself to gulp it down so you wouldn't have to admit that you were thinking about riding Tom's cock in a golf cart.