Phobosgirl
Feedback: phobosgirl@hotmail.com
Date: 11/06/04
Rating: PG-13
Authors notes: This is a tiny little song ficklet. The song, “Wicked Little
High”, belongs wholly and entirely to Bird York and appears on her fabulous
cd titled “The Velvet Hour”. This ficklet is un-beta’d cos I wouldn’t know a
beta if one walked in my front door.
Disclaimer: This is only for fun. None of this is real nor should any implication
be made based on this manuscript that I have any insider info on either of these
two actors.
Warnings: Gale/Randy RPS
“You're a wrong turn-
A big fat NO-
You're the fifth drink before a long drive home.
You're the thing to avoid-
The bars to my cage-
You're all I think about everyday.
You've got that thing
That my wildest dreams are made of.
You set my world on fire”
He thought he’d finally managed to sneak up on the man. He crept towards the
back of the couch, cat-quiet even though the giggles wanted to overtake him.
Bending to a crouch behind the sleeping man reclining there, he reached his
hand out and tickled his cheek.
“Gale?” He inquired, quietly. Naturally, he’d been fooled again- Gale’s much
larger hand shot up and gripped his before he could jerk it away. Randy’s clean,
happy laughter bubbled out of him as hazel eyes turned to meet his over the
back of the couch.
“I thought I had you!” he laughed, “How do you always know when I’m there? You
were sleeping!”
Gale kept gentle pressure on Randy’s hand and turned his face into it as he
answered. Randy gasped sharply as Gale’s breath tickled his palm in a way that
was uniquely, intimately theirs. One day he’d muster the courage to tell Gale
exactly how affected he was by simple gestures like that; how he’d take them
home every night, replay them like his own private dailies, sigh Gale’s name
into his pillow before dropping off into another exhausted sleep after fourteen
hours spent working side by side with a man who would never love him the same
way he was loved.
“I wasn’t asleep,” Gale breathed softly, “And it’s your shampoo.”
Randy blinked several times to clear his head of the sudden giddy buzz that
began when he felt Gale’s lips move softly over his palm. “M-my shampoo?” It
was getting harder to remain coherent.
Meeting Randy’s wide-eyed stare with amusement, the larger man placed a soft
kiss dead center of Randy’s palm, his lips lingering a moment longer than even
their weird propriety allowed. Randy was instantly mesmerized, rooted to the
spot where he crouched behind the couch. Does he know what he does to me?
“I knew you were there before you even touched me because I can smell your shampoo.”
The explanation was simple and obvious. How did he not get it before? He felt
Gale’s lips curl into a smile in his palm before he even saw the mirth reach
those dark eyes.
Randy only nodded, not trusting himself to speak, his gaze never leaving the
sight of Gale’s mouth pressed into his hand.
”I die everytime you walk by.
I can't hide that I'm drawn to you.
Desire is such a wicked little high
When the one you want is blind to you.”
Gale’s eyes slipped closed once more, though he didn’t relinquish Randy’s hand.
His breath was warm and pushed softly against Randy’s flesh, giving him the
audacity he needed to reach his other hand out and tentatively stroke Gale’s
soft hair. Like a cat waking from a nap, Gale’s eyes slid open again and locked
with quiet intensity into crystalline blue.
Randy lost track of how many seconds (minutes?) they studied each other,
frozen together in some kind of slow motion nirvana, but he was sure it took
him a while before he registered that Gale was still placing soft, quiet kisses
into his palm. When reality snapped back into place, moments or days later,
Randy’s eyes widened suddenly.
“Gale?” Impossible. Not possible! “Are you flirting with me?”
Randy held his breath.
“I don’t know,” Gale replied honestly, after several beats of silent contemplation,
“What would you think if I was?”
“I don’t know.” Randy echoed.
More minutes spent in silent regard of one another spun out until Randy was
beginning to wonder how in the hell time had become so elastic. His hand was
still clasped gently in Gale’s as the man said, “Let’s find out. Dinner tonight,
after work?”
Randy exhaled sharply and breathed the only answer possible, “Yes!”
“You're the third scoop-
The second pack-
You're the reason for therapy-
Why I should go back.
Hey Mister Wrong
You're the tingle in my jeans-
You're everything I don't want
But everything I need.
I see other guys
But their kisses don't mean nothin'
'Cause you're what I have in mind.”