Fic: Strangers with Candy "Getting in Touch with Nature"

Dec 06, 2008 23:37

A fic for cruelest_month who wanted a SWC fic about Chuck and Geoffrey on one of their "hunting trips." Unbetaed, you can beat me with sticks later.

Title: Getting in Touch with Nature
Fandom: Strangers with Candy
Pairing: Chuck/Geoffrey
Rating: PG-13 (language and sexual situations)
Word Count: 3339
Summary: On their first "hunting trip" together, things aren't what they expected and don't go the way they planned.
A/N: Apologies for once again chickening-out of getting too sexually explicit causing what may seem to be a rather awkward page-break.

Getting in Touch with Nature

"I don't think I can do this."

Chuck gritted his teeth. Already frustrated from getting the car stuck in the mud and wet leaves that were claiming to be road, he didn't need Geoffrey's sudden case of cold feet, especially when using one of Chuck's lines.

"What do you mean?" He jerked the car into reverse then forward again.

Geoffrey was curled up in the passenger seat, hands clasped around his raised knees. "I just don't think I can shoot a defenseless animal. Killing another person I understand. But no deer has ever rejected and laughed at my cubist homage to surrealism in the style of Degas."

If you brought them along with, I'm sure they would. "We're not actually going to hunt anything, Geoffrey. And would get your feet off the seat?"

Geoffrey lowered his legs, frowning thoughtfully. "Then what are we doing in the woods in an isolated cabin, far away from our families and co-workers, for an entire weekend?"

Chuck shot him a look and slammed down on the accelerator. The sudden, fierce lurch forward freed the car from the mud. The movement also jostled Geoffrey's thoughts. A glitter of understanding brightened his eyes. "Oh!" A slow, salacious smile spread on Geoffrey's face. "So...are we there yet?"

Chuck swatted away the mittened hand creeping up his thigh. "I don't know. And let me concentrate or else we'll just get stuck again and not be there all the more yet."

Geoffrey folded his arms and sulked in his seat.

About fifteen minutes later they came to the end of a large curve in the road and finally upon the clearing where the log cabin stood.

Geoffrey gasped. "Oh, Chuck! It's so quaint and rustic!" He was opening his door before the car came to a complete stop. As Chuck killed the engine and popped the trunk, Geoffrey was already running around and picking up leaves that managed to retain their bright Autumn colors and hadn't shriveled and browned. "I can make a collage commemorating our special weekend! No! I can super glue these leaves to some Styrofoam: a 3-D collage!"

Chuck grabbed his own bags and dropped Geoffrey's unceremoniously on the ground. He shut the trunk and jumped when Geoffrey was suddenly at his side. Orange leaves were sticking out from a bed of dark curls, crowning the art teacher's head.

Chuck kicked Geoffrey's bags in his direction. He'd be damned if he was carrying both their luggage. He was already paying for the cabin, the hunting license and other hunter's trappings they didn't need in order to keep up the facade (actually, some of it was money from Claire's savings, but she let him co-sign, she knew the risks).

At the door, Chucked cursed. He didn't want to put his bags down again, but the key was in his pocket. "I'll get it!" Geoffrey offered cheerfully, immediately going for the front of Chuck's jeans.

"My coat pocket!" Chuck squeaked, squirming away from Geoffrey's grabby hands.

He unlocked the door and entered. Chuck followed, carrying his own luggage and kicking the bags Geoffrey left on the porch along the floor. "Something's not right," Geoffrey pronounced after a cursory look around the main room.

Despite that all the furniture was present and tidy, as the owners promised, Chuck had to agree. The day was overcast and even with the curtains drawn back the cabin's interior was dim. He felt along the wall for a light switch and found none. On the end table by the sofa there was no lamp, but a lantern and a box of matches. Cold fear gripped him. "There's no electricity!"

"And the fire place doesn't bode well for the existence of central heating," Geoffrey pointed out.

No electricity? No heat? Oh, hell. What other modern convenience were they being denied? In a panic, Chuck started opening doors. He found a closet, the kitchen (with a gas stove and an iron kettle on top), then finally..."Oh, thank God!" The bathroom. He tested the taps in the sink and shower. Indoor plumbing! Chuck nearly collapsed from relief.

"So, it's a half-assed way of roughing it." Geoffrey said from the doorway, confused.

"Better half-ass than nothing. Son of a bitch! It didn't say anything about this in the ad!" He stormed back into the main room, nearly shoving Geoffrey out of his way.

"It's only three days, Chuck. Besides, get a couple of blankets, sit by the fire; it'll be...cozy."

Chuck flinched, expecting the sentence to end with "romantic." Had Geoffrey said it, he'd probably would have thrown up. He opened the last door he hadn't flung open, and hoped that it would be a bedroom with an actual bed. He couldn't take anything for granted now.

The double bed was covered in flannel blankets. A smaller fireplace than in the other room appeared to be the room's only heat. Chuck couldn't care anymore. It had been a long drive only to arrive in the 19th century. He flung his bags wherever, took off his coat (it wasn't too cold yet) and sat heavily on the bed, defeated. He dropped his head in his hands and growled, "Aaagh. This sucks!"

"You know," Geoffrey said slowly from the doorway. Chuck wondered at his lurking in doorways since their arrival, but couldn't comment as he continued, "maybe I could get into this whole Mighty Hunter thing."

Chuck lowered his hands and raised his head, shooting him a most incredulous look. "What?"

Geoffrey smirked. "You know...the whole thrill of the hunt thing: adrenaline and testosterone flooding the veins, causing my blood to pound, the kill satisfying my blood-lust, but finding myself needing to be satisfied in other ways." His smile turned positively predatory, and Chuck's mouth went dry.

Oh. Fuck. He hated it when Geoffrey showed his dominate side, but only because it did things to him he could never admit to. Because if he did admit to it, Geoffrey could take advantage, and Chuck would lose any notion of having control in the relationship.

Geoffrey stepped into the room, Chuck scooted further up on the bed; retreating and submitting at the same time. "So, I'd come back to the cabin to find another helpless animal."

Chuck frowned. He was willing to play along, but being compared to a "helpless animal" was a bit much. He had no time to voice his displeasure when Geoffrey suddenly pounced on the bed, pinning Chuck down, hands on his shoulders and sitting on his thighs. Geoffrey's smile was less predatory now and more amused. "Now that my prey has been felled..."

Chuck snorted. "Felled? We played Medieval warriors last week."

"Quiet," Geoffrey admonished, giving Chuck's nose a quick tweak. "Where was I? Oh yeah. Now that you've been felled, I have to field dress you!" He was still completely dressed in camo, and he reached into a pocket and pulled out a knife.

Chuck's eyes widened and he swallowed hard. They've never did anything like this before, it was a little scary and worryingly arousing, something he couldn't deny when Geoffrey shifted so his weight was settled firmly on Chuck's pelvis. Chuck squeezed his eyes shut and bit his lip, determined to not make some kind of embarrassing noise. The yelp was completely unavoidable when Geoffrey leaned over and started cutting the buttons off Chuck's shirt with quick flicks of the knife. As annoyed as he was at the ruining of one his shirts, he thought it best to not argue with the man with the sharp pointy thing.

The last button detached, Chuck helped getting the shirt and his undershirt off. He reached up to start working on Geoffrey's clothes, but his hand was swatted away. "I'm not done with you yet," he was sternly told. He shivered, partially from the exposed skin, but mostly from Geoffrey's demanding tone.

Geoffrey shifted again to make it easier to get at Chuck's fly. He'd put the knife away, dispelling any fears of having to invest in a whole new outfit by the end of the weekend. Soon Chuck was completely naked, hard, and starting to get a little cold. Geoffrey, though, was still aggravatingly fully-clothed in baggy camo, concealing that inappropriate physique which Chuck was desperately wanting to get his hands on.

But after removing Chuck's jeans and boots he had moved off the bed, out of reach, and was rummaging through their bags. "Geoooooffreeey..." Chuck whined.

"Hold your horses!"

"I'm getting cold over here."

Geoffrey tutted and tossed onto Chuck's chest a tube of lube. Finally, he started taking his clothes off, "It's one way to keep warm."

Exhausted from the car ride and rigorous sex, they fell asleep almost instantly, although it had only been the middle of the afternoon. Chuck woke up sometime after dark, and it was dark. Like any suburbanite he was used to at least streetlights providing a midnight glow, but out in the middle of the woods it was the proverbial pitch black. He didn't really care. He turned over, pressing his face into the curve of Geoffrey's shoulder, and tried to go back to sleep.

An indeterminate time later he was woken again by being shaken and his name being repeated in a high-pitched panic. "What?" Chuck groused, trying to shove Geoffrey away.

"Chuck, I've gone blind!"

"No, you haven't."

"I have! It's just darkness!" His breathing started to quicken and would soon become full-on hyperventilation.

"If you'd let go of my face I could reach the matches."

Geoffrey whimpered, but relinquished his hold. Chuck had a vague memory of matches and another lantern sitting on the small dresser next to the bed. He hoped it wasn't a memory born of wishful thinking. He groped in its general direction until his fingers brushed a small cardboard box. He sat up and blindly struck a match. It broke. He tried again. That one broke too. He swore and tried again. Finally, one took.

Geoffrey gasped as the match sprang to life casting the small vicinity of the bed in a flickering orange glow. He blinked a couple times, adjusting his eyes then grinned up at Chuck. "Oh, hi!"

Chuck shook his head and grabbed the lantern. It was actually one of those fancy, glass, oil-burning hurricane lamps. Three more matches were used just trying to light it since he never actually used one before. The light crisis adverted and Geoffrey having regained his sight, Chuck was noticing the cold again, and it was all the colder since the sun went down. They were going to have to find the wood for the fireplace tomorrow, but for now Chuck was willing to settle for the blankets and Geoffrey as his sources of heat.

But Geoffrey had other concerns. "I'm kinda hungry."

"Go to sleep, we can have breakfast in the morning."

"But I won't be able to sleep if I'm hungry."

"We left the cooler in the car. If you leave this bed you'll freeze death, you won't starve before morning."

"You could go out and-"

"I'll have to take the lamp with me and you'll be left alone in the dark."

"Oh. Maybe we should go back to sleep."

In the morning, they finally bothered to take full stock of their situation. In the kitchen Geoffrey found instant coffee, a box of tea, and a container of instant oatmeal. Chuck went out and fetched the cooler. It had originally only contained two dozen bottles of beer, but along the way they realized they couldn't remain sustained on alcohol alone, so an assortment of wrapped sandwiches, candy bars, and other gas station snacks had been added.

After a brunch of Cheetos and Gummi Bears they showered together, engaging in some warm, slippery frottage. In the early afternoon Geoffrey went outside to collect more leaves. "Don't get eaten by a bear," Chuck called after him.

He stopped just before closing the door. "There's bears here?"

Chuck shrugged. "Maybe. I'm just saying be careful, and if you're being attacked...uhm...good luck."

"Wouldn't you dial 911?"

Chuck held up his cell phone. "No reception."

Geoffrey continued to hesitate, uncertain if risking a bear attack for the sake of art supplies was worth it. He decided it was, and closed the door behind him with a confident slam.

Chuck started piling logs in the fireplace. He had found a small stack of cut ones under a blanket in the main room, and more under a tarp outside, so worries about running out of fuel even if they couldn't find the back-up oil for the lamps were extinguished. He never actually built a fire before, and tried to remember how people did it in the movies. Didn't they always tear newspapers up or something to start it? The cabin was tidy he doubted there would be any old newspapers laying around, so he went through Geoffrey's bags and found his sketchbook. He tore out a few pages, unmindful whether or not they were blank.

The grey clouds that covered the sky the previous day came back and it started to rain. Geoffrey rushed back inside, hat in his hands, and the hat full of leaves. Chuck had managed to make a decent fire and was stretched out on the sofa reading a paperback romance novel. He only made a grunt of acknowledgment when Geoffrey informed him about the state of the weather.

For almost a full hour they stayed in companionable silence: Chuck reading and occasionally reaching with the poker to stoke the fire, Geoffrey sitting cross-legged on the floor, pressing leaves between the pages of his sketchbook (not noticing the missing pages). Geoffrey closed his book and sighed happily. "I like this."

Chuck grunted and turned a page of his novel.

"I think being in the midst of nature I really connect with my muse. You know what we should do? We should get a getaway cabin of our own, or a cottage. Go whenever we want. And the room that gets the most natural light during the day can be my studio! Though I suppose it would get hot in there in the summers."

He continued to speculate excitedly, but Chuck had to stop listening. He had already tensed up in a panic after hearing the "we" and "our own." The whole "hunting weekend" idea to Chuck was no different than any other of their trysts, just a little longer; the cabin nothing more than a slight upgrade from their "place": a seedy, clandestine meeting that involved a lot of sex. Geoffrey was talking about co-ownership, someplace to spend a week or even an entire summer. He was talking responsibility and commitment.

Chuck quickly sat up, hoping it would help the pressure in his chest. He kept his eyes on the book, though no longer reading. When Geoffrey started talking about sharing living space, it would eventually lead to Geoffrey talking about other things like about Claire and the possibility of Chuck leaving her. And Chuck didn't like talking about that, because that meant having to actually think about it, and then that could lead to him admitting to actually wanting it. And that would just not do.

When Chuck sat up, Geoffrey took it to be an invitation and sat next do him, and gave him a hopeful nudge on the shoulder. "So...what do you think?"

"I think I want to get drunk."

The next morning there were ten empty bottles of beer in front of a dark fireplace. Chuck and Geoffrey were passed out on the couch in a tangle of limbs and clothes that weren't completely removed during the drunken sex. Chuck woke up with the most horrific hang-over of his life. He shoved at the dead weight blanketing him. "Geoffrey, get up." Geoffrey shifted and muttered, but stayed basically where he was. "Geoffrey, if you don't get off me right now, I will puke on you."

Appropriately motivated, Geoffrey rolled off Chuck and landed on the floor among the beer bottles. "Ow!"

Chuck didn't have time to care, already inhibited by his pants being around his knees, he barely made it in time to the bathroom and be all the more grateful for the indoor plumbing.

After taking a moment to regret eating nothing but a bag of the Funyuns the previous night while rinsing his mouth and face, he adjusted his clothes and went back to the main room. Geoffrey was still on his back on the floor. At Chucks' approach he opened he eyes. "You look like hell."

"You're no princess yourself," Chuck informed him.

That made Geoffrey pout. Then reaching up and wiggling in fingers in expectation of being helped up made him look all the more like an over-sized child. Rolling his eyes, Chuck reached down and grabbed his hands. Once on his feet, Geoffrey lost all the will to support himself and just leaned against Chuck. In all honesty, Geoffrey really didn't look like a man who had spent the previous night in all manners of debauchery. Other than the mussed curls and disarrayed clothes, he definitely did not look as bad as Chuck felt. Annoyed, he shoved him away. "I'm making coffee."

Chuck stood in front of the stove waiting for steam to rise from the kettle's spout, just staring at it. Geoffrey shuffled in, all cleaned up. He came up behind Chuck and put his arms around his waist, resting his head on Chuck's back. "It's Sunday," Geoffrey mumbled.

Chuck nodded. "Back to Flatpoint, back to work."

"Back to Claire."

"Who?"

"...Your wife."

"Yeah, her too." Chuck turned around, and looking down at Geoffrey's sad smile he felt a warmth settle in his chest that made him concerned about a possible heart condition. "We could do this again next week," he suggested.

Geoffrey's smiled broadened and he reached up to kiss him briefly. The unfamiliar warmth spread throughout the rest of his body, making him feel a little weak and his stomach a bit unsettled. He figured he probably caught something over the damp, cold, weekend without heat or electricity and would probably have to go to the doctor. Just great.

"Next week," Geoffrey agreed. "But can you find a better place? Maybe something that even has a patio and hot tub? Oh! Water's done!" He grabbed the mug Chuck had set out and made himself a cup of instant coffee. He grimaced after one sip then shoved it at Chuck. "And an espresso machine. We should be packing," he called back as he left the kitchen.

Chuck dumped the coffee and braced himself against the sink. He realized the cause of the strange warm feelings. He tried to drudge up all the mental tricks of denial that helped him for years to not give in to his attractions, that was until Geoffrey came along, who was too beautiful to not give in to. That Chuck was actually in love with him was too much to expect. What, the sex wasn't good enough anymore? Who did he think he was making people fall in love with him like that? How dare Geoffrey force this on him!

Placing blame and getting angry calmed him down and eased the nausea, making it possible for him to go help with the packing.

Outside, Chuck finished putting everything in the trunk of the car when Geoffrey gasped. "Oh my God, look!" He pointed to the edge of the trees where a large buck was emerging. They stood together and stared at it. The buck merely stared back. "It's beautiful," Geoffrey whispered.

"I know," Chuck said with reverence. "Really makes me wish we brought guns."

Geoffrey took his hand and gave it a squeeze. "Next time. I could really use those antlers in an art piece."

fic, strangers with candy

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