RPS Fic: Of Cowardice and Frog-shaped Soap, Part 3/3
Genre: RPS (*flails*), romance | Timeframe: late Season 3-early Season 4 shooting | Rating: R | Pairing: Gale/Randy | Beta: backwards_rain | Summary: Randy goes to India. Gale goes to New York. Randy is a control freak, and Gale might be his own gay counterpart.
Disclaimer: I totally made this all up. No actors or soap animals were harmed during writing this. Please don’t sue, I have no monies. :(
[ previous parts: Part 1 | Part 2 ]
[ full fic in PDF downloadable here. ]
Of Cowardice and Frog-shaped Soap [3/3]
by sakesushimaki
:: NOW ::
The next time Gale saw Randy, it was on the first day of shooting Season four.
They only had two short scenes together that day. One was in the loft, where they had a talk about Brian selling it to pay off his debt, and there’d been a short, very moderate kiss scene. Never before had Gale felt nervous about a kiss, let alone about such a timid one.
“It was love to me,” Justin said, and Gale put a safety net over his own feelings. Brian had to kiss Justin then.
Gale improvised a little forehead touching-letting Randy’s smell fill him three precious seconds longer.
The director commented on how heartfelt it looked and Gale wanted to go home and hide under fifteen layers of blankets in his bed.
To his amazement, his wish was granted. With a twist, though. Of course.
They barely got anything more done that day as there were some technical problems that forced the crew to halt filming for a couple of days; right in the middle of an episode shoot no less.
The forecast predicted another succession of showers, and Gale spent most of those two days in bed.
That doesn’t mean he didn’t suffer from insomnia.
:: THEN ::
Gale woke up to a faint beeping sound outside.
He glanced at the clock and realized it was 5 am. Right, today was garbage collection. And once again he’d forgotten to put his out.
Rolling over, he froze in shock.
Randy. Randy lying in his bed, sleeping. Sleeping after- after they’d had sex.
Holy shit, it actually happened. This time, it hadn’t been one of those dreams.
He’d slept with Randy. He’d fucked him. He’d fucked him, and kissed him and it had been amazing. He’d felt Randy shake around him, he himself quivering and releasing his orgasm into Randy’s perfect body.
It had felt absolutely and unadulteratedly pristine.
Randy had been drunk, but Gale hadn’t. The beer at the Barbie house had been imported and alcohol-free. The only thing working for Gale was that he’d smoked pot a couple of hours previous to landing in bed with Randy. Maybe he had still been a bit stoned.
Gale rubbed his hands over his face. He craved nicotine badly. Judging by the light snore, Randy was deep asleep. But still, he knew that Randy’s freakishly sensitive nose would notice the smell and wake him up. Gale couldn’t risk that.
The naked back next to him lay slightly curved, the duvet only covering Randy from the waist down. Gale would never forget how that back had bowed beneath him, how his own fingers dug into the slightly damp skin.
His fingers itched and Gale bit his lip. He should have known that he had always touched Randy more than others. His tactile senses had always been on overload near him.
An arm stretched out, fingers reaching for soft skin. Fingertips traveled up to the shoulder and back down again, around the waist. Randy sighed, and Gale chose to interpret that as consent.
He started scooting across the sheets, carefully, slowly-the slightly lumpy mattress feeling like a minefield.
Gale just wanted to test, wanted to know how it felt, waking up not next to, but with Randy. He moved forward, folding his body around Randy’s. Chest against back, crotch against ass, thighs against thighs.
It felt too good, much too good. It could only be perishable.
There was no way to know what would happen in the morning. Gale didn’t want to think about it. There was nothing he could do.
He let his palm stroke down Randy’s smooth side before reaching up and winding his arm around Randy’s. He felt his heart beat reverberate from the skin pressed against his chest and he buried his nose in the shaggy hair.
What Gale could do though, was steal a few more hours from the night.
Randy would never know.
:: NOW ::
Gale didn’t know how he’d come to think of the frog thing as such a good idea in the first place. But when he had stood in that store a couple of weeks ago, all bleary eyed and pathetic, he saw the animal-shaped soap selection and acted on pure impulse.
He’d remembered a night in an empty bath tub, Randy smelling so fucking nice, and mumbling something about a soap frog being symbolic.
Five minutes later, Gale had left the store with two cartons of cigarettes and a little soap animal.
He was back at that store now.
He felt the sales clerk eyeing him as he headed straight to that one aisle. She asked if he was decorating, Gale answered he was in the middle of a project.
On his way home, he found a piece of paper in his glove compartment, scribbled down his next note, and left the frog on Randy’s doormat.
~ I can't tell you where we're going
I guess there’s just no way of knowing ~
This is Rocky, because he’s brave and has a mean right hook.
That bridge, Rands? Jump with me.
::
The next evening, Gale sat on his porch, waiting. He hadn’t been this nervous since… since he didn’t even know when.
Tomorrow was going to be the day they started shooting again, finish up Episode 401. Gale knew the script, knew his lines, and yet, he wasn’t sure he could pull it off. It all depended on how the next couple of hours would go.
Randy had called 45 minutes ago. 44 minutes and 27 seconds ago, if the call log was to be trusted. Randy had said he wanted to come over and talk. Gale had just dumbly agreed, trying to cover the speaker of his phone a little so Randy wouldn’t hear the noises his marathon-running heart was making. They hadn’t set a time. At least Gale couldn’t remember that they did.
Consequently, he sat on his porch to make sure Randy wouldn’t change his mind on the last minute and turn around once he got here. It made sense to Gale. The rain was rolling down the overhang, and he flicked the stub of his cigarette out into the weather.
The soft hum of Randy’s economical European car stood out against the prattling noise of the raindrops. Gale closed his eyes and listened.
He waited twenty seconds, the longest twenty seconds in his life, before he heard a door opening. Another five seconds, a door closing. Squishy footfall against drenched lawn. The distinct sound of wet Chucks thumping on the front steps.
And then: nothing. Just the rain.
“Hey.”
Gale opened his eyes. “Hey.”
They went inside. Gale offered coffee, tea, juice, soda, and just about everything he could think of, half of which he didn’t even have.
Randy commented on the new art on the east living room wall, Gale explained that the previous tenant had hung it. Randy asked how long Gale had been in Toronto already, Gale told him the days. Gale was sitting on the sofa, all the while staring at the mini cactus that Randy slowly spun around.
Gale sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. “Rands, I-”
“Do you still feel the way you said you did when you came to see me three weeks ago?”
Gale’s hand dropped heavily on his thigh. “I do.”
Randy just nodded, staring down at the fake oriental rug. Gale had found it at some flea market a couple of years back and Randy had helped moving around the furniture to accommodate the thing.
Gale tried not to jerk when Randy suddenly got up and sat next to him. The space between them felt wrong.
He felt tentative fingers in his hair and almost wanted to cry. He hadn’t been aware of how much he’d longed for Randy’s touch. Little touches, even. Those that used to happen so naturally and frequently between them. Those that had always felt better than with anybody else.
“What about you?” Gale asked through dry lips.
A sigh. Then, “I still feel the way I have for the past two years.”
“You… ?” Words were failing Gale, as they so often did.
Randy scooted closer. Closer still, and Gale thought he was going to have a heart-attack. Randy’s forehead came to rest against his temple, and Gale felt the air that left Randy’s mouth flow around his neck.
“Do you… Do you think we could… try?” Randy whispered.
Gale didn’t want to try. Fuck trying. Gale wanted to have, to fully indulge. He turned his head, palm against Randy’s soft cheek. “No,” he said and watched Randy’s gaze grow dim. “We don’t try.”
And his fingers tangled in Randy’s nape and he yanked him forward. Gale kissed and probed and touched, and Randy still wasn’t close enough. His hands moved down, pulled, and Randy was in his lap.
Randy sighed, and gasped, and moaned. Gale tasted, and wished, and loved.
When Randy started his descent, Gale wanted to scream. Urgent hands tugged on his jeans, and Gale missed them every second they weren’t touching his skin instead.
He was inhaled, he was devoured. With a nose pressed into his pubes, lips just barely sliding over his length and sucking into the skin covering his loins, a tongue lapping at his balls, Gale was panting, clenching his stomach and bursting into flames.
Then, slowly, Randy took him in his mouth, sucking softly on the head and his tongue pressing just there. Gale was flying, overdosing, and his head thrashed in its spot between back of the sofa and armrest. Gale found Randy’s fingers and threaded them with his.
He held on, and Randy set him free.
Randy tasted like him later, after Gale had pulled him up. He tasted like forever.
“Rands, I…”
“What?” Wet lips moved against his cheek, a hard body pressed against his own.
“I think I-…”
“You think?”
“I’m actually pretty sure.”
“Yeah? How sure?”
“99 percent sure.” Gale gulped. He wanted to tell him-he felt the words on the tip of his tongue. But then Randy licked his lips and stroked his thumbs over Gale’s jaw. And Gale fucking lived for that.
Later, when he had Randy pressed against him and so deep inside him that he felt him in every pore, Gale tore his favorite pillow case.
Randy rotated his hips just so, never leaving Gale’s body, giving, nudging, pressuring that bundle of nerves to ecstasy.
Gale’s knees buckled, gave out, and he knew what completion meant.
::
When Randy would wake up the next morning, it would be to an empty bed.
He would panic for a minute. Then, he’d find a little frog sitting in the middle of the bed.
~ I used to think that the day would never come
I'd see delight in the shade of the morning sun ~
Brian is tricking early today.
See you at lunch?
I love my Flowbee! you,
x
:: LATER ::
-----------------------------------------------
Date: July 10 2004, 16:32 pm
Subject: Re: Photo Shoot for Vanity Fair
-----------------------------------------------
This is an automated response. I am not reachable via email till ~August 30, as I’m currently on vacation in China.
For anything work-related, please email my agent at emma@paradigmagency.com. For anything urgent please email to gharold@gmail.com, because he can’t stay away from his email and will check it regularly.
Regards,
Randy
:: The End ::
Loved? Hated? Found it too schmoopy? Have constructive criticism? Feedback makes me so very retardedly happy. <3
Also, should I put together a PDF file for this one? Would anyone be interested? Lemme know!
[ full fic in PDF downloadable here. ]
Disclaimer: I totally made this all up. No actors or soap animals were harmed during writing this. Please don’t sue, I have no monies. :(
[ previous parts: Part 1 | Part 2 ]
[ full fic in PDF downloadable here. ]
Of Cowardice and Frog-shaped Soap [3/3]
by sakesushimaki
:: NOW ::
The next time Gale saw Randy, it was on the first day of shooting Season four.
They only had two short scenes together that day. One was in the loft, where they had a talk about Brian selling it to pay off his debt, and there’d been a short, very moderate kiss scene. Never before had Gale felt nervous about a kiss, let alone about such a timid one.
“It was love to me,” Justin said, and Gale put a safety net over his own feelings. Brian had to kiss Justin then.
Gale improvised a little forehead touching-letting Randy’s smell fill him three precious seconds longer.
The director commented on how heartfelt it looked and Gale wanted to go home and hide under fifteen layers of blankets in his bed.
To his amazement, his wish was granted. With a twist, though. Of course.
They barely got anything more done that day as there were some technical problems that forced the crew to halt filming for a couple of days; right in the middle of an episode shoot no less.
The forecast predicted another succession of showers, and Gale spent most of those two days in bed.
That doesn’t mean he didn’t suffer from insomnia.
:: THEN ::
Gale woke up to a faint beeping sound outside.
He glanced at the clock and realized it was 5 am. Right, today was garbage collection. And once again he’d forgotten to put his out.
Rolling over, he froze in shock.
Randy. Randy lying in his bed, sleeping. Sleeping after- after they’d had sex.
Holy shit, it actually happened. This time, it hadn’t been one of those dreams.
He’d slept with Randy. He’d fucked him. He’d fucked him, and kissed him and it had been amazing. He’d felt Randy shake around him, he himself quivering and releasing his orgasm into Randy’s perfect body.
It had felt absolutely and unadulteratedly pristine.
Randy had been drunk, but Gale hadn’t. The beer at the Barbie house had been imported and alcohol-free. The only thing working for Gale was that he’d smoked pot a couple of hours previous to landing in bed with Randy. Maybe he had still been a bit stoned.
Gale rubbed his hands over his face. He craved nicotine badly. Judging by the light snore, Randy was deep asleep. But still, he knew that Randy’s freakishly sensitive nose would notice the smell and wake him up. Gale couldn’t risk that.
The naked back next to him lay slightly curved, the duvet only covering Randy from the waist down. Gale would never forget how that back had bowed beneath him, how his own fingers dug into the slightly damp skin.
His fingers itched and Gale bit his lip. He should have known that he had always touched Randy more than others. His tactile senses had always been on overload near him.
An arm stretched out, fingers reaching for soft skin. Fingertips traveled up to the shoulder and back down again, around the waist. Randy sighed, and Gale chose to interpret that as consent.
He started scooting across the sheets, carefully, slowly-the slightly lumpy mattress feeling like a minefield.
Gale just wanted to test, wanted to know how it felt, waking up not next to, but with Randy. He moved forward, folding his body around Randy’s. Chest against back, crotch against ass, thighs against thighs.
It felt too good, much too good. It could only be perishable.
There was no way to know what would happen in the morning. Gale didn’t want to think about it. There was nothing he could do.
He let his palm stroke down Randy’s smooth side before reaching up and winding his arm around Randy’s. He felt his heart beat reverberate from the skin pressed against his chest and he buried his nose in the shaggy hair.
What Gale could do though, was steal a few more hours from the night.
Randy would never know.
:: NOW ::
Gale didn’t know how he’d come to think of the frog thing as such a good idea in the first place. But when he had stood in that store a couple of weeks ago, all bleary eyed and pathetic, he saw the animal-shaped soap selection and acted on pure impulse.
He’d remembered a night in an empty bath tub, Randy smelling so fucking nice, and mumbling something about a soap frog being symbolic.
Five minutes later, Gale had left the store with two cartons of cigarettes and a little soap animal.
He was back at that store now.
He felt the sales clerk eyeing him as he headed straight to that one aisle. She asked if he was decorating, Gale answered he was in the middle of a project.
On his way home, he found a piece of paper in his glove compartment, scribbled down his next note, and left the frog on Randy’s doormat.
~ I can't tell you where we're going
I guess there’s just no way of knowing ~
This is Rocky, because he’s brave and has a mean right hook.
That bridge, Rands? Jump with me.
::
The next evening, Gale sat on his porch, waiting. He hadn’t been this nervous since… since he didn’t even know when.
Tomorrow was going to be the day they started shooting again, finish up Episode 401. Gale knew the script, knew his lines, and yet, he wasn’t sure he could pull it off. It all depended on how the next couple of hours would go.
Randy had called 45 minutes ago. 44 minutes and 27 seconds ago, if the call log was to be trusted. Randy had said he wanted to come over and talk. Gale had just dumbly agreed, trying to cover the speaker of his phone a little so Randy wouldn’t hear the noises his marathon-running heart was making. They hadn’t set a time. At least Gale couldn’t remember that they did.
Consequently, he sat on his porch to make sure Randy wouldn’t change his mind on the last minute and turn around once he got here. It made sense to Gale. The rain was rolling down the overhang, and he flicked the stub of his cigarette out into the weather.
The soft hum of Randy’s economical European car stood out against the prattling noise of the raindrops. Gale closed his eyes and listened.
He waited twenty seconds, the longest twenty seconds in his life, before he heard a door opening. Another five seconds, a door closing. Squishy footfall against drenched lawn. The distinct sound of wet Chucks thumping on the front steps.
And then: nothing. Just the rain.
“Hey.”
Gale opened his eyes. “Hey.”
They went inside. Gale offered coffee, tea, juice, soda, and just about everything he could think of, half of which he didn’t even have.
Randy commented on the new art on the east living room wall, Gale explained that the previous tenant had hung it. Randy asked how long Gale had been in Toronto already, Gale told him the days. Gale was sitting on the sofa, all the while staring at the mini cactus that Randy slowly spun around.
Gale sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. “Rands, I-”
“Do you still feel the way you said you did when you came to see me three weeks ago?”
Gale’s hand dropped heavily on his thigh. “I do.”
Randy just nodded, staring down at the fake oriental rug. Gale had found it at some flea market a couple of years back and Randy had helped moving around the furniture to accommodate the thing.
Gale tried not to jerk when Randy suddenly got up and sat next to him. The space between them felt wrong.
He felt tentative fingers in his hair and almost wanted to cry. He hadn’t been aware of how much he’d longed for Randy’s touch. Little touches, even. Those that used to happen so naturally and frequently between them. Those that had always felt better than with anybody else.
“What about you?” Gale asked through dry lips.
A sigh. Then, “I still feel the way I have for the past two years.”
“You… ?” Words were failing Gale, as they so often did.
Randy scooted closer. Closer still, and Gale thought he was going to have a heart-attack. Randy’s forehead came to rest against his temple, and Gale felt the air that left Randy’s mouth flow around his neck.
“Do you… Do you think we could… try?” Randy whispered.
Gale didn’t want to try. Fuck trying. Gale wanted to have, to fully indulge. He turned his head, palm against Randy’s soft cheek. “No,” he said and watched Randy’s gaze grow dim. “We don’t try.”
And his fingers tangled in Randy’s nape and he yanked him forward. Gale kissed and probed and touched, and Randy still wasn’t close enough. His hands moved down, pulled, and Randy was in his lap.
Randy sighed, and gasped, and moaned. Gale tasted, and wished, and loved.
When Randy started his descent, Gale wanted to scream. Urgent hands tugged on his jeans, and Gale missed them every second they weren’t touching his skin instead.
He was inhaled, he was devoured. With a nose pressed into his pubes, lips just barely sliding over his length and sucking into the skin covering his loins, a tongue lapping at his balls, Gale was panting, clenching his stomach and bursting into flames.
Then, slowly, Randy took him in his mouth, sucking softly on the head and his tongue pressing just there. Gale was flying, overdosing, and his head thrashed in its spot between back of the sofa and armrest. Gale found Randy’s fingers and threaded them with his.
He held on, and Randy set him free.
Randy tasted like him later, after Gale had pulled him up. He tasted like forever.
“Rands, I…”
“What?” Wet lips moved against his cheek, a hard body pressed against his own.
“I think I-…”
“You think?”
“I’m actually pretty sure.”
“Yeah? How sure?”
“99 percent sure.” Gale gulped. He wanted to tell him-he felt the words on the tip of his tongue. But then Randy licked his lips and stroked his thumbs over Gale’s jaw. And Gale fucking lived for that.
Later, when he had Randy pressed against him and so deep inside him that he felt him in every pore, Gale tore his favorite pillow case.
Randy rotated his hips just so, never leaving Gale’s body, giving, nudging, pressuring that bundle of nerves to ecstasy.
Gale’s knees buckled, gave out, and he knew what completion meant.
::
When Randy would wake up the next morning, it would be to an empty bed.
He would panic for a minute. Then, he’d find a little frog sitting in the middle of the bed.
~ I used to think that the day would never come
I'd see delight in the shade of the morning sun ~
Brian is tricking early today.
See you at lunch?
I love my Flowbee! you,
x
:: LATER ::
-----------------------------------------------
Date: July 10 2004, 16:32 pm
Subject: Re: Photo Shoot for Vanity Fair
-----------------------------------------------
This is an automated response. I am not reachable via email till ~August 30, as I’m currently on vacation in China.
For anything work-related, please email my agent at emma@paradigmagency.com. For anything urgent please email to gharold@gmail.com, because he can’t stay away from his email and will check it regularly.
Regards,
Randy
:: The End ::
Loved? Hated? Found it too schmoopy? Have constructive criticism? Feedback makes me so very retardedly happy. <3
Also, should I put together a PDF file for this one? Would anyone be interested? Lemme know!
[ full fic in PDF downloadable here. ]