Title: Always Author: phobosgirl (phobosgirl@earthlink.net) Date: 10/24/05 Rating: R-ish Authors notes: Feedback is more than welcome and can be sent to phobosgirl@earthlink.net Disclaimer: This is only for fun. None of this is real nor should any implication be made based on this manuscript that I have any insider info on either of these two fine men. Warnings: Gale/Randy (Queer As Folk) RPS Complete: yes Always "I always wanted to fuck you." The reunion party was in full swing, and most of the former cast and crew who'd shown up would be passing hammered, soon, and be heading into the home stretch of alcoholic poisoning within another few hours. Randy wasn't even really sure what he was doing there. When the invitation printed in Thea's scrolly handwriting had arrived, he'd tossed it into the bill basket with all the other mail. He'd completely ignored it until, inexplicably, two nights later, he found himself on the phone with Continental Airlines, booking a flight to LA. He, like the others, had already had too much to drink, although he was a long way from falling-down borking-up drunk. Still, the night was young-ish. Later, though, he would blame copious consumption for the wide grin on his face and the ridiculous little revelation he'd purred into Gale's ear. Gale was slouched next to him at the bar, propping himself up with a Jack Daniels neat, scanning the room with the ghost of a smile on his lips. His eyes, looking so very brown in the dim lighting, swung towards Randy and settled on his face. "I know." "Great," Randy drawled sarcastically. Suddenly, he couldn't remember why he'd taken such pleasure in telling Gale. What the fuck else was he expecting? "Just so you know, and all." He turned sulkily away, amusing himself by counting the number of fake smiles plastered on the faces of his former co-workers. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Gale slide closer to him, but he pretended not to notice. Gale settled his chin on Randy's shoulder. Yeah, harder to ignore. "I always wanted to fuck you, too." The scent of Gale's cologne irritated him because Gale could spend half the night drinking and smoking his repulsive cigarettes, and still smell so fucking great that to this day, Randy couldn't pass the Hugo Boss fragrance counter in Bloomingdale's without his dick twitching. "Yeah, right." Randy lifted one shoulder in exasperation, dislodging Gale. Gale rose to his full height and Randy hated when he did that, too, because it meant he could look down on the top of Randy's head, and that gave him superiority, somehow, power. Just once, Randy would have liked to have a little power over Gale. Just fucking once. "No, really, I did." Gale's voice was quiet, amused- and sincere. Randy hated that the most, because no matter what the subject, Gale could make him feel as if everything he said was of the utmost importance to him. Randy couldn't stand people who did that, because it was usually so fake. Only with Gale, it was never fake. Randy had lived in New York and worked in show business long enough to have become, even at 29, cynical and more than a little judgmental. Gale, on the other hand, was almost 40 years old, and he was still as placid and enigmatic as a newborn. That made Randy crazy in an annoyingly refreshing way. "So why didn’t you?" He appeared to be asking the room in general because he refused to meet Gale's stare. Gale, predictably, overlooked his temper tantrum. "Well, you know, we worked together. And you always had a lover or a boyfriend. And then after a while, it just seemed weird. I mean, we were friends, you know?" "Yeah." Randy's anger began to deflate. It wasn't really Gale he hated, or his mannerisms. In fact, he'd always sort of found them endearing, and that's what bugged him most of all. He'd been pretty fucking sure that he'd left all that behind, that he'd so single-mindedly assimilated himself back into his old life of theatre, the Village, and espresso with a NY Times on Sunday mornings, that Gale fucking Harold's quirky Southern charms, complex fragrance and goddamned fucking harmonious oneness of whatever couldn't move him anymore. Surprise. Something occurred to Randy, stirring the embers of his ire, again. "So why didn't you ever tell me you were gay?" Gale laughed softly. "Because I'm not." "Ok, fine." Randy started to roll his eyes but then remembered that he was an adult, and stopped. "Bi. Whatever." "I'm not bi, either." "Yeah, sure. You wanted to fuck me, but you're not bi. Ok, Gale." His old acting partner was still chuckling to himself, making Randy wonder why Gale had ever put up with his foul moods, his jaded perspective and his sharp tongue. Gale leaned in, his nose practically buried in the hair tucked behind Randy's ear, and while his body language was seductive, his tone was still merely conversational. "I said I wanted to fuck you, not guys." "Great, so now I'm not a guy?" Randy flared. "What am I, a substitute girl?" "Don't be a queen, you know what I'm saying." Randy thought it might be possible that if Gale didn't stop smiling soon, he'd be wearing Randy's drink. "I never wanted to fuck other guys. Just you." "Just me?" "Just you." Gale winked solemnly. A pleased bloom of pride spread through Randy's chest, threatening to lift his hard-fought petulance. He gave it the finger and pressed on. "So why just me?" "Stop fishing for compliments." "I'm not. It's totally out of a sense of curiosity, I swear. Tell me." Gale shrugged and sipped his drink. "Fuck, Randy, I dunno." "Come on," Randy nudged his shoulder, "you can do better than that." "I'm not sure I can. I dunno why I wanted you and no one else. I just always did." Gale smiled over at him, still leaning both elbows casually on the bar, his drink almost empty. "Did?" "Huh?" "Did? As in, past tense? As in, no longer?" "I dunno," Gale answered again. "Tell ya the truth, I hadn't really thought about it since you left." "I didn't leave, Gale. I went home. To New York." "Right," Gale said, draining his JD and turning to put the glass on the bar behind him. "That's what I meant." "You went home, too. To LA." "Randy," Gale emphasized his name as if he was a small child, "I know." "Yeah," Randy answered. "Okay." They fell silent, watching their old friends laugh and thump each other on the back. Gale ordered another round, and they nursed it slowly while Randy's mind whirled. "So, I was thinking," Randy said suddenly, once more drawing Gale's keen attention. "We don't work together, anymore. And, uhh, you know, I'm single, now." "Yeah, I'd heard that." Gale quirked an eyebrow at him, grinning, before turning again to survey the room. "But we're still friends." "True." "Although…" "What?" "Well, technically, can we still be called friends?" Gale sounded as if he was asking a purely philosophical question, carefully and abstractly weighing the pros and cons of every side of the issue. Randy wondered idly if he'd pull out a tome from Plato and do a little research. "I mean, I haven't seen you in more than a year," Gale continued, "and the last time we talked on the phone was what, eleven months ago?" "Yeah. But…" "But?" Gale raised his eyebrows in question, but Randy could see the teasing mirth hiding in his eyes. "You still feel like my friend." "Oh." His eyebrows fell, along with most of the rest of his face "Don't sound so disappointed!" Now it was Randy's turn to laugh. "I'm not. I'm glad we're still friends. But you aren't giving me a lot of room to work, here, Ran." "Yeah," Randy agreed, musing, a frown etching lines between his eyes. "But then, I'm known for being difficult." Gale's sudden, loud laughter rang out across the room, drawing the puzzled but benevolent glances of several people standing nearby. "Yeah," Gale nudged closer, his lips almost pressed to Randy's ear, "you are. But maybe you could make it a little easier for me? Just this once?" Randy bowed his head, teasingly pretending to consider Gale's request. Never mind that his dick was already growing rigid in his pants or that Gale's breath was tickling the side of his face in an erotically distracting way; maybe it wasn't exactly power, but he certainly had Gale hanging on his answer. "Randy," Gale growled. Randy grinned, straightening and looking longingly towards the door. "Tell ya what. The sooner you get me out of here, the sooner I'll have your dick in my mouth. How's that for easy?" "Perfect." Gale got them out very quickly, indeed.  6 Weeks Later… "I always wanted to date you." "Yeah, ummm," Randy stretched out on his back, wiping sweat from his eyes. He sighed contentedly and counted his thundering heart rate as it began to slow. "Isn't that kinda what we're doing?" "No," Gale felt lazy, sated, and he flopped down next to Randy, watching as he removed the condom with a snap. "What we're doing is fucking." "Oh." Randy was yawning, ready to bring their latest marathon to a close. "Aren't they kind of the same thing? "Uh, no." Gale pulled the blankets over them both. "They've very different things." "How so?" "You've dated, you know how it goes. I ask you out, take you to a fancy restaurant, hold your chair, pretend I'm not paying for dinner just so I can get laid later, maybe take in a movie afterwards. You're on your best behavior cos you want to impress me and I bring you candy and flowers cos, I dunno, you like candy and flowers. You know, dating." "Hetero dating," Randy mumbled, rolling towards Gale and snuggling closer. "We go out to eat every time I'm in town because you hate to cook. I'm always on my best behavior." Gale snorted, but Randy ignored him, "And candy makes me fat. We even see movies, when we're not too busy fucking. Now, go to sleep, I have a plane to catch in the morning." This last was almost unintelligible- he was already asleep before he could hear Gale's muttered response whispered in his ear. "Doesn't count. No flowers, no date." In the morning, as Randy rushed to find his shoeskeyscellphonewherethefuckiseverything, Gale sipped hot, black coffee from his seat on the couch and watched the frenzy. "Gale, for fuck's sake, I'm gonna be late for my plane, do ya suppose you could help even a little?" "I will if you let me bring you roses." "The fuck?" Randy was barely paying attention as he moved away into Gale's bedroom. "Flowers, asshole," Gale said quietly into his coffee mug, taking another sip. "ROSES!" He shouted in the general direction of the bedroom. He was having a drama moment, but fuck it. Everyone deserves a drama moment if their fuck buddy disregards their desire to have more "What about them?" Randy called, but Gale knew it was a reflex; he could still hear Randy complaining to himself about being late. Gale waited for Randy's next pass into the kitchen to answer. "I said, I always wanted to date you." Randy stopped in the middle of the room, glancing around and patting his pockets, his eyes finally meeting Gale's. "With flowers and movies and dinners and stuff." Gale clarified. "A real date, Randy. I don't give a fuck if it is hetero." "You really want to date me?" Randy's brows furrowed together in confusion. Gale slumped deeper into the couch, refocusing on his coffee mug, not bothering to hide his hurt expression. "Forget it." Gale felt like such a child, and he wondered if it was because he was an emotional child or if he had a legitimate complaint. The hell with it, he decided, hurt was hurt and when you are, it matters. He kept forgetting to count on it mattering to Randy, too. "Gale," Randy's voice had gone quiet, serious. "I'll be back in LA in two weeks. Will you take me to dinner?" Gale wasn't ready to be placated. Not even when Randy settled on the cushion next to him. Not even when Randy took the mug from his hands, took a discreet sip from it, and placed it gently on the coffee table. Not even when Randy nudged his chin up with a finger and a softly spoken, "Please?" "Don't patronize me." "I'm not." Randy scooted in closer, placing soft kisses down Gale's jaw line and goddamnmotherfuck, if it wasn’t working. "I want to date you, too." Gale tilted his head imperceptibly, giving Randy better access to his neck in a silent gesture of reconciliation. "Will you bring red roses, or white?" Randy wondered, making his way to Gale's lips. "I think white suits my skin tone better."  6 Months Later… "I always wanted to live with you." Randy squinted into the sun, his face upturned to its warmth, and waited. Gale looked up from his laptop. "You hate it here, Ran. You say it's all fake and plastic, and it is, but you've never had the tolerance for it that I have." "So fine, you're special." His sarcasm was gentle but his blood was rushing hard through his veins, fear of rejection keeping him from meeting Gale's eyes. "Who says we have to live here? You love New York." "I do. But my job is here. My house is here." He indicated the hacienda behind them, the deck they sat on, the small strip of crowded beach that he liked to call his, even though the Governator owned the vast majority of it. "Yeah, but where's your life?" Randy asked softly, his voice barely carrying over the sound of waves and children shrieking down on the sand. "Do you need to ask?" Gale matched Randy's tone. Randy finally turned his face from the unrelenting rays of the sun and, from behind the wraparound sunglasses that Gale had bought him to protect the pale blue of his irises, leveled a challenging stare at his partner. "A house is bricks and drywall. You can have one anywhere in the world." "I think mine is actually stucco and plaster," Gale mused quietly, drawing a smile from Randy, despite his fear. "Even still, my job is-" "Within flying distance." Gale huffed, crossing his hands in his lap, and gazed out over the ocean. It was a particularly bright day, but those were nothing new here. The humidity hung low over the water, giving everything a soft focus that Gale found peace in, despite the noise of families splashing in the water and drunken young men hooting at the beautiful sun bathers. He felt himself being hypnotized by the heat, the sound of the waves, and the lazy way they crashed ashore before rushing back into the ocean on their way to somewhere else. "Convince me." "Convince you?" Randy was indignant. "You're kidding me!" "Ran," Gale said patiently, "you're asking me to move myself and everything I own across the country to live in a city that's 3000 miles away from my job. I need convincing." His smirk was playful, but Randy was ready for this. He'd been thinking about it for weeks, had known before being told that Gale would want to hear valid reasons for why he should just abandon California with it's moderate temperatures and excessive lifestyle for cold, dirty, alive New York City. He pulled out all his best arguments, polished and spit-shined with practice in front of the mirror just last night, as if he was rehearsing for a part, and strutted them out for display. "Gale, how much time do you actually spend working out here?" Randy asked. "I'll tell you how much- almost none. When you're shooting a film, you're almost always on location somewhere else and when you're working for one of the networks, it's 2 or 3 days in the studio here, max. You come here to audition, and because your agent is here, but most of your free time is spent with me, in New York." Gale was nodding absently; everything Randy said was true. He watched a small girl sitting in the sand, nearly forgotten by her older siblings, a large floppy hat on her head to protect her from the sun, and little red, heart-shaped sunglasses perched on her sun-screen dotted nose. She was studiously building a sand castle despite the shifting sand beneath her. Her own miniature home. "And you know," Randy's uncertainty began to show in his voice, drawing Gale's attention back to his face. "You could always think about going back into the theatre. It's not like we'd be up for the same kinds of roles. Especially since you can’t sing or dance." Randy grinned charmingly, eliciting a chuckle from Gale. "Any other reasons?" Gale leaned closer, pinning Randy to his chair with his hazel scrutiny. "Yeah, the best reason." Gale raised his eyebrows and waited. "I love you, asshole. I want to be with you. I'm tired of waiting in an airport for you to get off a plane so I can hold you. I think we can make something together, something real. And my ass will be available to you 24-7, and you know that's a bargain at any price." Gale laughed loudly, reaching his hand out to cover Randy's with his own. "How about 280 West 17th street?" "Huh?" Randy occasionally found it difficult to track the path that Gale's mind took, but he thought he'd been getting better at it. Until now. Confusion lending him eloquence, he repeated, "Huh?" Gale grinned, and without taking his gaze from Randy, he reached out to his laptop and turned it on the table between them so Randy could see the display. Most of the screen was taken up with a browser resting on the Coldwell Banker real estate page. The home featured in the ad was a modestly decorated 2 bedroom, 2 bath with vaulted ceilings, an island kitchen and a small patio overlooking the street. Randy gaped at the screen. "That's my favorite neighborhood," he breathed, entranced by the full-color photos. "I know," Gale said smugly. "You motherfucker." Randy was too dazed to feel anger. He'd been had, but in the best possible sense. Well, the second best, at least. "I know," Gale repeated casually, looking back out over the water and sounding altogether too pleased with himself. "Can we afford this?" Gale stretched his hand out, tapped a mouse button and revealed the next tab in the browser- a mortgage calculator provided by a local bank. "With our combined income, I think we can negotiate a great interest rate. This is what the monthly would be." He tapped another mouse button. Randy was boggled. "You motherfucker!" "Randy?" "Yeah?" Randy couldn't tear his eyes off the screen, his mind already calculating the down payment. "I always wanted to live with you, too." Randy's answering grin outshone the gleaming California sun.  16 Years Later… "I always wanted to grow old with you." In the pale light of the streetlamp shining in through the bedroom window, Gale ran his fingers through the gray just barely beginning to show at Randy's temples, and kissed the curve of his ear. "Randy, trust me, it's happening faster than either of us could have counted on!" Fin