FIC: Trouble is a Friend of Mine (Ray Levoi/Walter Crow Horse, PG-13)
TITLE: Trouble is a Friend of Mine
RATING: PG-13
FANDOM: Thunderheart
PAIRING: Ray Levoi/Walter Crow Horse
SUMMARY: Ray just wants a date. Crow Horse gives him trouble, instead.
AUTHOR'S NOTES: Written for writers_choice prompt #403: trouble.
I’m a sucker for his charm
Trouble is a friend of mine.
-Lenka, “Trouble Is a Friend”
It wasn’t like Ray was the girl or anything; he just got restless is all. Nothing made him itch like the same routine day after day, and that could be a bad problem on the rez.
“A date,” Ray said again, squirming out of Crow Horse’s grasp. “It’s where we go somewhere to spend time with each other.”
Crow Horse sighed as his hands slipped off Ray’s waist.
“Sex,” Crow Horse said. “It’s where you stop jawing and we both have a nice time. Why can’t we spend time together doing that?”
Ray crossed his arms over his chest, and he got that look on his face like he was thinking of places far away.
“Is that all you want me for?” he asked.
Crow Horse sighed again, and settled down next to Ray. There was no way to explain to him how that wasn’t the truth, and there was no getting that look off his face until he knew it, so Crow Horse agreed to take him on a date.
***
“This is not what I had in mind.”
Crow Horse looked scandalized. “What’re you talkin’ about? You said I had to take you somewhere; this is somewhere.”
Ray sighed. “I didn’t think you needed more parameters; I meant somewhere nice.”
“This is plenty nice.”
Ray’s mouth turned, sourly. “What about that?”
He nodded to a battered tin sign tacked to the front of the building: No dogs or Indians. Crow Horse shrugged.
“That’s an antique. Don’t mean nothin’. Come on; I’ll buy you a drink.”
“I don’t drink,” Ray said, but he followed.
“I know that, Ray. A Coke. You know what I mean. Don’t worry; I’ll drink for both of us.”
“Like usual.”
The bar was populated by a half dozen men in cowboy boots and dusty plaids, most of them sitting around the bar squinting at the tiny television propped up next to the Jim Beam. Ray and Crow Horse slid into a booth; Ray picked at the table’s peeling varnish while Crow Horse flagged down the waitress, a pinched, gray woman who might have started work there when the place opened, back in frontier days.
“I’ll have a beer, and my friend’ll take your finest Coca-Cola.”
The old woman toddled off. Ray ran his tongue around the inside of his mouth, never a good sign.
“Come on, kola,” Crow Horse said. “Loosen up.”
“Would you take a woman here?” Ray asked.
Crow Horse frowned. “What do you mean?”
“Exactly that. Would you bring a woman here? Someone you were seeing?”
“No,” Crow Horse said slowly. “But you ain’t a woman, Ray. I been here with my friends plenty of times. You are my friend, aren’t you?”
“Yeah. But I’m also your-” The word came out like a child’s first swear word. “-boyfriend, and sometimes you can’t treat me like I’m one of the guys. Because I’m not. I’m-I’m your guy.”
Crow Horse’s face softened. He placed his hand over Ray’s, the pad of his thumb rubbing over the small bones of Ray’s wrist.
“What’ve we got here?” A shadow fell over their table; Ray and Crow Horse looked up to find three of the dusty plaids from the bar standing before them. “Injuns and faggots. Looks like you boys lost life’s lottery twice.”
The other men laughed. Crow Horse withdrew his hand; Ray squared his jaw. He had been running wildfire roadblocks at work for the past two weeks, spending most of every day out in the unpitying sun. He had tanned a deep bronze, and he was a couple weeks from a haircut; Crow Horse hadn’t noticed before, because it was just Ray, but he did look more Indian than he had when he’d moved out to the rez. As for the faggot part, well, Crow Horse had just forgotten they weren’t among friends. That was his own fault.
“Walk away,” Ray said, tone even, detached.
The cowboys laughed. The tallest one, the speaker, gave Ray’s shoulder a push.
“Whatcha gonna do about it, faggot?”
Ray was still for a moment, his jaw extension bridge tense. Then he sprung up, grabbing the tall cowboy’s wrist and using it to pull him off balance and push him, face first, into the hard wood of their table. Blood spread over the thick varnish. Ray jumped out of the booth and swung at one of the other cowboys; his fist connected hard with the man’s nose. The third cowboy grabbed Ray around the middle; Ray elbowed hard into his belly, and he folded.
The bartender ran out from behind the bar.
“All right, all right, that’s enough! All of you, get the fuck out of here!”
The cowboys limped to the parking lot. Ray and Crow Horse strolled along behind them.
“Ray,” Crow Horse started. “Listen, I’m-”
Ray panted and wiped his bloody lip with the back of his hand.
“I take it back,” he said. “This was a great date.”