Starla
WARNING: If you don't approve of RPS, don't read it. I don't want to hear about
it, though. Especially considering I barely approve of it myself BUT I CAN'T
RESIST THE GALE/RANDY.
God. This fandom is making me a scary person.
mysquishy, please pretend you did not see this.
Part 2
Gale became convinced that if he just stuck around long enough, Randy would give in and recognise the truth of their love. Randy was convinced that Gale was suffering from some kind of premature midlife crisis, so he let him crash on the couch for the time being - and only the time being, though in Gale's mind, he could stretch a couple weeks into a couple months if necessary.
He knew he could, because Randy loved him. He just couldn't seem to take Gale's occasional pronouncements of love and devotion very seriously. Everything would be better once Randy believed. Really believed.
Gale liked to do little things for Randy. He'd get up early in the morning and bring him coffee - "early" being 10am, otherwise Gale was fairly confident that Randy would try to kill him in his sleep. He brought home grocery bags full of food he knew Randy liked. He bought the right shampoo and was always nice to the few friends that Randy had.
He often picked up random books and videos that he thought Randy might like, and left them lying around the house where he knew Randy would find them. Once, when particularly stoned, Gale left a copy of Vonnegut's Breakfast of Champions in the freezer between a box of fish fingers and a tub of chocolate chunk icecream. Randy found it at 3am when he wandered into the kitchen for a midnight snack, and he hadn't let Gale forget it since.
He read it, though. Pages bending cold beneath his fingers, and he told Gale later that the paper smelled like fish.
When Gale had been there 10 days, Randy brought a guy home. Rink shirt and a nipple ring, like a fucking extra from Queer as Folk, as if Randy was saying, "You think you're gay? *This* is gay," and it made Gale's stomach roll. He left the house and walked around all night, rolling and smoking joints one after the other. He felt nothing, but for a strange curiousity about Randy's motivations.
Gale knew that Randy was not usually inclined towards one night stands.
Randy was sitting at the kitchen table with the guy when Gale got back. 10am, and he was still there with his pink shirt and close cut hair. Gale felt a hot flush of anxiety settle into his chest, pumping out in heavy pulses along his arms and fingertips.
He didn't want to see this guy.
Gale sat at the table and poured himself a bowl of cereal, smiled politely when Randy made simple introductions. He talked very little, refused to remember the guy's name, and made few comments when they were asked questions about the show. He did tell one story about Scott Lowell, but then lapsed back into silence.
Eventually, he excused himself to take a shower. When he came out, the guy was gone, and Gale never saw him again.
--
For the first two days after that, everything was tense. Gale felt nervous, like maybe he'd been overconfident in his estimation of Randy's love. Like maybe Randy would kick him out at any moment, and then he'd never know what it would be like to wake up with Randy drooling on his shoulder, or how that first moment of their first time would feel.
Eventually, though, things settled down, and a few weeks later Gale found himself watching daytime tv on the couch, legs tangled up with Randy's. Randy was wearing thick brown socks, and Gale pulled one off and threw it on the floor, ignoring Randy's exclamation of indignance.
He traced the curve of Randy's toes, the line of his soles, the ball of his heel. He pushed his fingers into Randy's instep, feeling the shift of muscles beneath his touch.
Randy made a barely audible noise and stared at Gale with glazed eyes. That night, Randy went out without him.
--
Gale was asleep when Randy got home, but barely. Even though Randy had shown him how to pull the sofa out into a proper bed, it was still hardly what one would call comfortable. One might call it fucking hellishly uncomfortable, actually, and Gale usually woke up feeling like he hadn't slept in months.
Tonight he woke up to Randy's breath hot against his face, smelling faintly of whiskey and breathmints. Randy's hands on his bare chest, the weight of Randy's body settling over his own.
Gale started to open his eyes, but then Randy started kissing him, and they fell shut again. He hitched Randy closer to him, felt him already hard and grinding against his thigh. Randy drunk and erratic, winding pale arms around Gale's shoulders.
"Gale," Randy moaned, arching his neck. Gale kissed a path along his jaw. "Were you serious?"
"What?"
"When you said you loved me."
"Yes."
For a moment, Randy's eyes were clear, and he smoothed his palm down Gale's cheek. "You're so pretty, you know that?"
And then he passed out, body still pressing heavily against Gale's own. Gale held him tighter. It took him hours to get to sleep.