Archive of Our Own ^beta

The afternoon light slanted through the kitchen windows, casting long, soft streaks of gold across the worn wooden floors. Their farmhouse, settled deep in the countryside, breathed with a familiar hush — the gentle creak of old wood, the faint ticking of the clock, and the stillness of quiet halls wrapped in the afternoon’s warm glow.

Gordon crouched low beneath the sink, lips pursed in concentration. His tank top clung comfortably to his back and shoulders, loose at the hem where it bunched slightly into the waistband of his worn joggers. The fabric bared his arms entirely, showing the years of quiet strength that hadn’t left him since Black Mesa — lean, wiry, freckled skin still taut as he twisted a wrench stubbornly against an aging pipe.

A breath escaped his lips, short and focused, as he leaned further forward, oblivious to the way the motion pulled his joggers just so—enough to leave the curve of his lower back and the shift of muscle unmistakable.

G-Man padded in quietly from the sitting room, socked feet gliding effortlessly over the smooth kitchen floorboards. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, the soft grey fabric of his shirt catching the dim afternoon light, denim pants worn comfortably from age. His head tilted as he approached, words already forming with familiar intent.

" Would you—ah—care for some assistance, my dear—?”

His voice stalled mid-sentence. His gaze dropped.

There was Gordon — crouched low, forearms flexed, tank top shifting high enough to tease skin and shape at once. The strong line of his shoulders bled down into his back, tapering smooth, the curve below impossible to ignore. Silence blanketed G-Man in an instant. His lips parted faintly, but no words followed. His fingers twitched at his sides, poised between offering help and… not bothering to speak at all. His eyes lingered, gaze sharp yet soft, locked unwaveringly on the sight before him.

He forgot entirely why he’d come in.

Gordon muttered again, twisting the wrench, before glancing back over his shoulder. His brows drew tight.

"Greg? You alright?"

G-Man’s expression, when their eyes met, was far too neutral — practiced calm barely masking the faintest quirk tugging at the corner of his lips. His posture betrayed nothing, but his gaze… his gaze stayed a breath too low for Gordon not to notice. The realization hit him fast. Gordon’s brows lifted; a deep flush bloomed high across his cheekbones. He fumbled upright with a sharp breath, hitting his shoulder on the cabinet door in his rush to stand.

"Jesus— You — Were you just staring at my ass ?"

G-Man didn’t blink. His hands slid easily into his pockets as he took an unhurried step closer, voice silkier than it had any right to be.

"I was merely… appreciating the finer things this afternoon has graced me with."

His eyes flicked down, deliberate and slow. 

"I see no shame in enjoying what belongs—wholeheartedly—to me."

Gordon sputtered, dragging the hem of his tank top down and yanking his joggers up with an embarrassed huff. His freckled ears flushed scarlet.

"You’re unbelievable, you know that? I’m trying to fix the damn sink, and you’re behind me ogling like it’s our honeymoon or something—"

G-Man closed the distance smoothly, his hand settling low at Gordon’s back with infuriating ease. His thumb traced warm, slow circles against the thin fabric of the joggers, dipping low enough to make Gordon’s breath hitch.

" Twenty years, Gordon ," 

He murmured, voice low and velvety as his fingers splayed wider, anchoring him close. 

" And I am still just as… captivated… as day one ." 

His lips brushed the shell of Gordon’s ear in passing. 

" Perhaps even more so now ."

Gordon’s knees almost buckled. He covered his face with one hand, exhaling hard through his nose. His other hand instinctively caught G-Man’s wrist but didn’t push it away.

"You’re ridiculous, Greg," 

he muttered under his breath — though his tone had softened, breathier now with fond exasperation. He lowered his hand, gaze meeting G-Man’s in half-hearted defiance. 

"You’re a damn menace sometimes."

G-Man only smiled — genuine, soft, unhurried. His hand slipped down just enough to hook two fingers gently through the waistband of Gordon’s joggers. His eyes gleamed with quiet mirth.

" Mm. Your menace, dear heart ."

Gordon rolled his eyes, though the ghost of a crooked smile pulled at the edge of his lips as his blush deepened. Slowly, subtly, he leaned back into G-Man’s touch.