Fic: Never Said You Were
Title: Never Said You Were
Fandom: The Expendables
Rating: T
Warning: non-malicious use of the word "fag"
Disclaimer: If I owned it, the gay would be way more obvious.
Summary: "Not some fag," Tool mutters, almost feverish, and Barney softens.
Note: Ohhh, I promised this to so many people so long ago. See darlings? I DID IT! <3 (Also, slightly unrelated, those who've seen Crank-- I want Christmas/Chelios. Y/Y/Y? To those who haven't seen Crank, this means badass Statham/badass Statham. Y/Y/Y?)
Never Said You Were
Barney sighs when he steps into Tool's place and the sound of retching immediately hits his ears from upstairs. Either Tool's sick for the first time in about twenty years, or he's hammered. Spotting the one, two, three, four empty beer bottles sitting around on his way to the elevator, Barney's willing to bet it's the latter. “Tool?” he calls, pushing the button. A violent heaving sound that makes Barney's own stomach churn is the only response.
As the elevator comes to a stop, Barney steps off. He keeps counting beer bottles on his way to the bathroom-- five, six, seven, eight, nine. He steps into the tiny bathroom and sighs again. Tool's on the floor, clutching the toilet and heaving pathetically. Barney puts a hand on Tool's shoulder, squeezes to let the other man know he's here, and steps back to lean against the wall in case Tool needs him. Tool retches again, lifts his head. Stringy black and white hair sticks to his sweaty forehead.
“Hey,” he rasps, voice rough and raw.
“Hey,” Barney answers, soft as he can manage. “You okay?”
Tool chuckles darkly, hanging on to the toilet as he pulls himself up. “Not really, brother.” He's wiping his mouth violently on his sleeve, and Barney reaches out to catch Tool as the other man lurches towards him, but suddenly cracked, bile-flavored lips are on his, and a tongue that makes Barney retch from the vomit still on it is in his mouth, and teeth are on him, and he pushes Tool away so violently his brother's lying on the floor, looking up at him with dazed, too-shiny eyes.
Barney turns to the side, spits violently on the floor, trying to get the taste out of his mouth. When he turns back, Tool is already unsteadily pulling himself to his knees, hands clumsy and frantic on Barney's belt, fingers shaking and fumbling on the clasp. “Tool, whoa, what are you doing?” Barney yells, retreating out of the bathroom. “What the hell's going on?”
Tool stands, staggers, falls against the doorframe. “C'mon, Barney. C'mon.”
“Come on what?” Barney asks incredulously. “Thought you didn't even like men, Tool!”
"Not some fag," Tool mutters, almost feverish, and Barney softens.
"Know you aren't, brother."
"Goddamn Christmas don't know," Tool says, and Barney's starting to get an idea what happened.
“What do ya mean, Christmas don't know?”
Tool's voice is all over the place, shaking and cracking and trembling wildly. “I was, I, I told him that tattoo, you know, the the goddamn spiderweb, he wanted to know why it was sexy, and... I'm not a fag, Barney. You know I'm not.”
Barney nods, feels like there's something going on he's not seeing, something that's gonna make him sick when he sees it. Tools keeps on muttering. “Not my fault he's so perfect for ink, brother, maybe my brain's a little crossed by now, but I'm not a fag.”
Barney raises his hands placatingly. “Never said you were.”
Tool's trying to get closer to Barney, but he can't stand up straight if he lets go of the door frame, and Barney's secretly real glad he's got this space between them so he's got room to breathe. “C'mon, Barney,” Tool's saying, pleading. “Fix it, brother. Make it... make me...”
Barney stares. “Make you what?” he asks.
Tool isn't meeting his eyes. “Make me myself again,” he says roughly.
Barney swallows. “No.” Tool looks up, eyes bright. “No, Tool. I'm not going to... what, you want me to... to cure you? Fix you? What, un-gay you?”
Tool's head snaps up as he snarls, “I'm not gay!” He lunges again, but Barney sidesteps, and Tool goes crashing into a table. When Barney kneels down a safe distance away, he hears a soft, snuffling, whimpering sound. With a sigh, he sits down next to the overturned table and pulls Tool gently into his arms. Tool's shaking apart, crying, snot all over his face, but Barney doesn't care. He just holds Tool tightly for a long time.
At last Tool's breathing is almost back to regular, though his eyes are terribly red. Tool hiccups, and, not meeting Barney's eyes, mutters thickly, “Still not a fag.”
“Never said you were, brother.”
Fandom: The Expendables
Rating: T
Warning: non-malicious use of the word "fag"
Disclaimer: If I owned it, the gay would be way more obvious.
Summary: "Not some fag," Tool mutters, almost feverish, and Barney softens.
Note: Ohhh, I promised this to so many people so long ago. See darlings? I DID IT! <3 (Also, slightly unrelated, those who've seen Crank-- I want Christmas/Chelios. Y/Y/Y? To those who haven't seen Crank, this means badass Statham/badass Statham. Y/Y/Y?)
Never Said You Were
Barney sighs when he steps into Tool's place and the sound of retching immediately hits his ears from upstairs. Either Tool's sick for the first time in about twenty years, or he's hammered. Spotting the one, two, three, four empty beer bottles sitting around on his way to the elevator, Barney's willing to bet it's the latter. “Tool?” he calls, pushing the button. A violent heaving sound that makes Barney's own stomach churn is the only response.
As the elevator comes to a stop, Barney steps off. He keeps counting beer bottles on his way to the bathroom-- five, six, seven, eight, nine. He steps into the tiny bathroom and sighs again. Tool's on the floor, clutching the toilet and heaving pathetically. Barney puts a hand on Tool's shoulder, squeezes to let the other man know he's here, and steps back to lean against the wall in case Tool needs him. Tool retches again, lifts his head. Stringy black and white hair sticks to his sweaty forehead.
“Hey,” he rasps, voice rough and raw.
“Hey,” Barney answers, soft as he can manage. “You okay?”
Tool chuckles darkly, hanging on to the toilet as he pulls himself up. “Not really, brother.” He's wiping his mouth violently on his sleeve, and Barney reaches out to catch Tool as the other man lurches towards him, but suddenly cracked, bile-flavored lips are on his, and a tongue that makes Barney retch from the vomit still on it is in his mouth, and teeth are on him, and he pushes Tool away so violently his brother's lying on the floor, looking up at him with dazed, too-shiny eyes.
Barney turns to the side, spits violently on the floor, trying to get the taste out of his mouth. When he turns back, Tool is already unsteadily pulling himself to his knees, hands clumsy and frantic on Barney's belt, fingers shaking and fumbling on the clasp. “Tool, whoa, what are you doing?” Barney yells, retreating out of the bathroom. “What the hell's going on?”
Tool stands, staggers, falls against the doorframe. “C'mon, Barney. C'mon.”
“Come on what?” Barney asks incredulously. “Thought you didn't even like men, Tool!”
"Not some fag," Tool mutters, almost feverish, and Barney softens.
"Know you aren't, brother."
"Goddamn Christmas don't know," Tool says, and Barney's starting to get an idea what happened.
“What do ya mean, Christmas don't know?”
Tool's voice is all over the place, shaking and cracking and trembling wildly. “I was, I, I told him that tattoo, you know, the the goddamn spiderweb, he wanted to know why it was sexy, and... I'm not a fag, Barney. You know I'm not.”
Barney nods, feels like there's something going on he's not seeing, something that's gonna make him sick when he sees it. Tools keeps on muttering. “Not my fault he's so perfect for ink, brother, maybe my brain's a little crossed by now, but I'm not a fag.”
Barney raises his hands placatingly. “Never said you were.”
Tool's trying to get closer to Barney, but he can't stand up straight if he lets go of the door frame, and Barney's secretly real glad he's got this space between them so he's got room to breathe. “C'mon, Barney,” Tool's saying, pleading. “Fix it, brother. Make it... make me...”
Barney stares. “Make you what?” he asks.
Tool isn't meeting his eyes. “Make me myself again,” he says roughly.
Barney swallows. “No.” Tool looks up, eyes bright. “No, Tool. I'm not going to... what, you want me to... to cure you? Fix you? What, un-gay you?”
Tool's head snaps up as he snarls, “I'm not gay!” He lunges again, but Barney sidesteps, and Tool goes crashing into a table. When Barney kneels down a safe distance away, he hears a soft, snuffling, whimpering sound. With a sigh, he sits down next to the overturned table and pulls Tool gently into his arms. Tool's shaking apart, crying, snot all over his face, but Barney doesn't care. He just holds Tool tightly for a long time.
At last Tool's breathing is almost back to regular, though his eyes are terribly red. Tool hiccups, and, not meeting Barney's eyes, mutters thickly, “Still not a fag.”
“Never said you were, brother.”