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Ted is just—the sexiest person Trent’s ever met.
He can tell that Diana doesn’t understand it, can tell that often, when people clock his crush on Ted, they make certain assumptions.
And yes, of course Trent adores Ted, as in Ted, his personality, his presence, the kind of person he is. And yes, he won’t lie, it makes him all the more attractive, knowing he’s a warm and kind and funny and clever individual. If Ted were a sour and cruel wanker, Trent would find him less attractive, because it does add something, the fact that it’s—well. Ted.
But god, he’d still be attracted to him, even if he was annoyed about it, because just physically, okay, Ted is the sexiest person Trent’s ever met.
It’s not that Trent has a particular type—honestly, he doesn’t, it’s not as if Ted reminds him of sexual awakenings during puberty or childhood crushes—it’s just. Ted.
And getting to actually touch him, getting to undress him? Knowing what he looked like, felt like, pressed close and warm and bare? Knowing how it felt to have Ted’s arms around him or Ted’s hands at his waist, Ted’s thigh between his, Ted’s mouth on his? Yeah, that made it about a thousand times worse.
His strong arms and the hair on them (god, Ted’s arms are—Trent thinks a little bit too much about Ted’s arms, daydreams about them) and his fairly broad shoulders, the hairy expanse of his chest and his soft belly. His big, warm hands, just a bit calloused; his thick thighs and just—the hair all over him, the fat and muscle, the warmth of him, the everything.
He's proportional, too, both in the sense that all these disparate pieces come together to form a man that Trent is insanely, ridiculously hot for, and in the sense that okay, yes, Ted’s cock is perfect.
God, he feels mindblowingly good, in Trent’s hand or his mouth or his cunt. Perfectly thick and long without being too much, a nice heft with wiry curls at the base...
He’s so fucking hot. And Trent is somehow lucky enough he’s allowed to look, he’s allowed to touch, and Ted touches him, wants him; He’s so lucky that he gets to be under Ted, gets to be on top of him and in his lap, gets to be kissed by Ted and pulled closer against him, gets this. All of it.
And all that? All that’s just Ted’s body—Ted’s also just. handsome. His face. The tickle of his mustache, the kindness and warmth in his eyes. His hair that Trent likes to run fingers through and mess up a bit, his lips that are very, very kissable.
This does start getting more into personality—because Ted’s personality is written all over his face; he’s expressive and Trent loves it—but it’s nonetheless part of it. Ted’s a handsome man, with a gorgeous smile and nice hair and eyes to get lost in…
And it’s a bit inevitable anyway, that physical attraction is absorbed into emotional—Trent doesn’t just love Ted’s hands, he loves how they touch him, how gentle but firm they are. Trent doesn’t just love Ted’s stomach, he loves how it feels pressed to his when they hug. And so on.
Trent just. can’t believe it sometimes. Sometimes he feels like the gay version of the stereotype of an incredibly average man somehow married to a supermodel.
Ted, of course, feels the exact same way about him, meaning that they are both constantly trying to show each other that the other is so incredibly, ridiculously hot. Which leads to a lot of hands-all-over mouths-all-over whispering-praise making out and/or sex. Not that either of them complaining.
When they’re entwined like that—and all the time, really—Ted makes him feel handsome, attractive, sexy, and he hopes more than anything he does the same for Ted.
(Lord, he does. The way Trent looks at him—so unapologetically wanting, all heated and helpless in the face of his desire—god, it does something to Ted’s insides. He’s never felt particularly attractive, but with Trent’s eyes and hands on him, appreciative and exploring and eager, it’s easier to feel…sexy. And it’s all the more flattering coming from Trent, the sexiest, prettiest, just straight-up truly hottest person Ted knows.)