FIC: Baby, Let Me Hold Your Hand (Thunderheart, Walter Crow Horse/Ray Levoi, PG-13)
TITLE: Baby, Let Me Hold Your Hand
RATING: PG-13
FANDOMS: Thunderheart
PAIRINGS: Ray Levoi/Walter Crow Horse
SUMMARY: For our anonymous caller who requested, For the sweet OTP things could you write Walter Crowhorse/Ray Levoi. The, "holding hands, that simple act nearly overwhelming one or both of them, thumbs stroking over knuckles, fingers interlacing." But really you could do any prompt for them and I'd love it ❤
Title from Ray Charles.
Ray’s first French kiss was with Robin Sullivan in the back row of a movie theater in the seventh grade. The movie was Planet of the Apes, and he missed the last ten minutes and ended up not seeing the film in its entirety until 1975, but the kiss had been good. Sweet, smooth, tasting like movie theater popcorn in the best way. Ray loved movie theater popcorn.
In his teens and early twenties, he’d gotten past first base in a movie theater more than once. In the dark, with everyone else’s attention on the film, there was a kind of privacy to it, and that was what he liked, not the voyeuristic aspect of it. A lot of people seemed to get it the other way around, but Ray’s thrills when it came to romance were focused on the person he was with, not any sort of illicit detail of the setting or the act itself.
Ray’s been back on the rez a few months the first time Walter takes him to the movies. The nearest theater is in Rapid City, ninety miles away, but Ray doesn’t mind the drive if he’s making it with Walter. He’s not really a film buff, not even close, but he likes the experience of going to the movies, and he still loves movie theater popcorn. He buys a bucket, and Walter buys a box of Red Hots, and they go and sit together near the back of the theater.
Walter picked the movie, and it’s some teen slasher thing, but it’s between summer blockbuster season and when the family films come out right before Christmas, so there weren’t a lot of choices. Ray doesn’t care. He sits in the dark in the soft, low chair and eats his popcorn. The seats are small, and close, and he’s shoulder-to-shoulder with Walter. Ray likes movie theaters. He likes the cool, dark space, and the closeness, and the strange near-privacy of the experience. He likes sitting close to his date and brushing fingers with them when they both reach for the soda they’re sharing.
Being in public with Walter is hard, sometimes. He’d like to lean in and kiss him, like Robin Sullivan in the seventh grade. By now, he is very familiar with the details of kissing Walter: his taste, the heat of his mouth, the way he uses his tongue and teeth. He likes kissing Walter. He likes kissing him a lot. Now, he imagines leaning in, his hand weaving through Walter’s hair to position him the way he likes, the way the sharp cinnamon of Walter’s candy will burn his mouth, just a little.
But he knows he can’t go any further than imagining it. The stakes are too high. He can’t kiss Walter in public. Unless you’re somewhere safe, and they’re not, that kind of thing can get you killed. He’s seen murderers walk because they claimed their victim was a fag and it made them temporarily insane. He’s not stupid.
But he’s not scared, either.
Ray glances over at Walter briefly. He’s watching the movie; the light from the screen flashes over his face. His hand is on the armrest between them.
Ray faces forward, but he watches Walter out of the corner of his eye. Slowly, purposefully, he slides his hand over Walter’s on the armrest.
Walter goes a little rigid at first, and Ray can tell he’s trying to get Ray to look at him, but Ray pretends to be watching the movie. After a moment, Walter relaxes, and as soon as he does, Ray runs his fingertips lightly over Walter’s knuckles. Walter lets out a sharp breath; Ray can smell the cinnamon, and he smiles, which is when Walter knows he’s not really watching the movie, and he gives him a look. It’s not a look of censure; more of a what do you think you’re doing? look. Ray ignores him. He faces the screen, and he schools his expression into something more neutral. Eventually, Walter relaxes, and as soon as he does, Ray interlaces their fingers, folding his down to hold Walter’s hand properly. Walter pants out a breath, but he closes his fingers around Ray’s, too, the pad of his thumb stroking Ray’s fingertips. Ray bites his lip to keep from smiling, and they go on watching the movie like that, pretending they can focus on anything other than the other’s hand in theirs.