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 3
"Fuck."
Gale woke when Randy did, listened to the words which prickled out into the still morning air, the anxious treble of his breathing. Gale did not move, did not open his eyes. He didn't want to see Randy moving away from him.
"Fucking fuck." Randy muttered as he shifted and moved, slowly, ending up in a pile on the floor - or so Gale assumed, by the thump and bump of something heavy hitting the floor. He heard Randy moving away, the shuffle of socks against the tiles in the kitchen.
He pretended to sleep until Randy left at noon.
--
Gale got very stoned, as was his custom. He sat on the floor in Randy's living room, rubbing his bare feet against the carpet. He liked the static electricity shock, the warmth and the friction, and he was so fucking horny he was pretty sure he could die.
He was used to blue balls, though, had had them fairly consistenly since the moment he started working on QaF, so he just lay back and smoked his joint. Felt the carpet against his bare back, and wondered if he and Randy would ever get to fuck there. He imagined the carpet burn up and down his skin, the bite of Randy's fingers in his hips, and he fucking well ached for it.
He ate an entire cheesecake from Randy's freezer, and then he called Scott.
In all the excitement of waiting around for Randy to love him, Gale hadn't spoken to Scott in a while, and it turned out he had a new girlfriend, a new dog, and a new car, though Gale had trouble remembering which was which, and ended up calling the girlfriend by the dog's name.
It took Gale nearly half an hour to bring up his current location.
"... You followed him to New Orleans." Scott said slowly, and there was that long suffering note of exasperation and awe that Gale had slowly become familiar with.
"A little."
"A little?"
"You know. A little."
"How do you follow someone across the country 'a little bit'?"
Gale was silent, taking a long drag of his joint. "Maybe it was a lot."
"I'm thinking so." Scott was quiet for a minute, miles stretching out between them, and if Gale was less stoned he'd try to calculate how far away Scott was right now. "What did Randy say?"
"He keeps insisting that I'm straight. It's weird."
"You are."
Gale was silent. He hated this part, this explaining himself, and he thought it would be enough that he was in love with Randy. He thought that'd make everything clear. And it did, to him.
Everything was very, very clear. Now he just had to wait. It was like a divine being had sent him some kind of message, only he didn't really believe in that. Not really. Not since he was a little kid.
"Maybe not so much. Not in a while."
"That's pretty huge."
"Yeah."
And then Scott gave him a lot of useless tips on how to win over Randy. Most of which would only work on 30 year old women, but they made Gale laugh, which seemed to be the point. They talked for a little while longer until Scott's girlfriend - or maybe it was his dog, Gale still wasn't sure - demanded his attention.
Then Gale spent a very lonely few hours at home without Randy.
--
Randy came home around nine. He didn't say much, just murmured hello as he was taking his jacket off, but he brought Gale a box of Smarties, and that seemed to be his version of an apology.
Gale still wasn't certain there was anything to apologise for, so he just sat on the couch, happily munching his candy and ignoring Randy's shitty mood.
Finally, Randy came and sat with him, and they watched old sitcoms together in silence, neither really laughing, because old sitcoms aren't really funny.
During an ad for a floor cleaner that would apparently make your life complete, Randy looked over and said, "I was an ass last night."
"Hm."
"You probably freaked out, right?"
"Not really."
"Being straight and all."
Gale turned and looked at Randy, raising an eyebrow.
"It'll probably happen again. Maybe you should go home."
"Or what, you might molest me again?"
"Yeah. Something like that."
"Oh, the horror," Gale said dryly. "Just wait while I pack my bags. Maybe I should leave my car here and fly. I'd get away from you faster, then. Might get to preserve my precious virginity."
"I'm serious, Gale. You're straight. Go home."
"I'm not straight. I'm staying here."
"Gale!" Randy shoved his shoulder, then settled back into the couch. "You don't just decide to be gay, you know."
"I know. Why are you trying to like, make me repress my homosexuality?"
"Because it doesn't exist!"
"If it didn't exist, I wouldn't want you as much as I do."
"Shut up, Gale."
"Okay."
They watched the rest of Perfect Strangers in silence.