Title: Stream of Consciousness
Author: phobosgirl (phobosgirl@eartlink.net)
Date: 11/30/04
Rating: R for language
Authors notes: This is a different style for me and as you’ll notice, the scarcity of punctuation is intentional. This is un-beta’d. 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 super-fine men.
Warnings: Gale/Randy RPS (Queer as Folk)
POV: Gale
Complete: yes



Stream of Consciousness

Yeah, so the cool weather rolled into town just like it did each fall and for the previous four years that had always signaled one thing to Gale- it was time to get back to his bread and butter, cos the fly-by-the-seat-of-your-pants work of one Indy film after another every summer was fun and all, but it didn’t pay the bills for shit and oh by the way, what was he going to do about that when Queer As Folk wrapped?

But this year, the fifth year, the final year, the cold weather carried a different signal, a signal that caused a pain in his chest and a lump in his throat, so Gale didn’t think too hard on that one cos the reason for the pain and the lump (Him) didn’t make a whole lot of sense and while he may babble like a fool in the press, that was only nerves, man, he fucking hated doing interviews, but he was no fool and he liked when things made sense, so something important (Him) couldn’t have been going on when the cool weather didn’t signal bread-and-butter time, and instead signaled Randy time.

Randy was in the city somewhere right now with someone (Simon) walking around and showing someone (Simon) the sights and probably buying groceries to make dinners with someone (Simon) and maybe he was even looking for a place that was bigger than his usual Toronto apartment because maybe he had someone (Simon) with him this year who’d need space to spread out but since Randy was probably with someone (Simonsimonsimonfuck) Gale would play it cool and wait to see him on the set cos after all, it wasn’t like he wanted Randy or anything, ‘course not, he just liked to hang out with him and see movies with him and listen to him talk and laugh and breath and stuff, no big deal.

So Gale worked and he fucking loved his job so he did it really well and if Randy wasn’t on the set for the first couple of weeks, well, that was to be expected, cos Justin was supposed to be in Hollywood filming the Rage thing and of course Gale didn’t think about missing him, he was too busy doing his job really well and goofing off with Hal between takes and trying to avoid the fans who would scream to them from behind the police barriers every time they jumped out of the car at location shoots and no way was he wondering what Randy was doing with someone (Simon) cos that would be unprofessional and he was always professional and that’s what made him so fucking good at his job.

And Gale didn’t call him, didn’t act like he had his cell phone number memorized, didn’t show any signs of needing and wanting and waiting to talk to him cos you know, they were just buds and friends don’t cling to their friends like desperate little school girls and there was no fucking reason to cling anyway, cos Gale loved his friends but he didn’t expect them to notify him every time they hit town and if he maybe loved Randy a little more than his other friends, and he wasn’t saying he did, cos of course he didn’t, but if he did well then that could only be expected, too, since they spent so much time together naked, right?

Naturally, Randy didn’t call him either to say, “hey, how you doing?” or “hey, what’s been up with you?” or “hey, why don’t you come over to my new bigger place and fuck me into the mattress?” cos wouldn’t that be a stupid thing for Randy to say since he was with someone (Simon) now and had no reason to wonder if Gale might be thinking about things he wanted to do to him, warm things, wet things, things he had no business wanting, things that made him turn his cell phone on silent vibrate even during filming just in case Randy decided to leave someone (Simon), telepathically read Gale’s mind, ignore all that denial crap clogging things up in there, all that crap about not really wanting to fuck Randy into the mattress and not really wanting to kiss him breathless cos how could he want that when he was straight and Randy was gay and they were friends, ignore all that stupid shit in his mind after reading it telepathically and just, like, give him a call.

And then one day, a week before he was due back to work, Randy did call and he didn’t ask Gale how he was doing, or what was up or if he wanted to come over and fuck him into the mattress but instead he asked Gale something that Gale made him repeat cos he wasn’t sure he’d heard it right- he asked him to go to (romantic) Paris with him and Gale did his best to stammer and stutter while he thought about it and really, he didn’t have to actually try to stammer or stutter, that came pretty naturally when he was caught so far off guard and made to think about things like (romantic) Paris with Randy for a whole long weekend, but by the time the stammering and stuttering had stopped, he’d asked why Randy wasn’t taking (fucking) Simon and Randy had said, “Simon who?” real disgusted like, and Gale didn’t have to ask to know that (fucking) Simon was history and that thrilled and scared him shitless both at the same time but before he knew it, he said no to (romantic) Paris just as if he didn’t really want to be sitting next to Randy for ten hours on a plane or seeing (romantic) Paris with him for three solid days and when he hung up the phone he went back to work and fucked up his lines for the next six hours until the director sent him home with an admonishment to get his head back in the game by tomorrow morning.

So Gale spent a week getting his head back in the game while Randy flew off alone to (romantic) Paris and when Randy got back and came in to work a few days later he was filled with stories about art and food and wine and Gale ached inside and wasn’t sure why except that all he'd thought about was being with Randy, sharing all the great art, food and wine and the two of them laughing and (kissing) seeing the sights and (holding hands) using the French they’d both learned after five years in Toronto and (making love 'till dawn) walking down some Rue ‘D Something talking and talking and talking like the old friends they were and Gale was pretty sure that his head was in the game now but he didn’t know exactly what game anymore and it made his mouth dry with fear and need and one day he’d have to say something to Randy about it cos otherwise it was gonna come out during a drinking binge or a drugged haze and that could really be bad, that could be fucking horrible, that could possibly wreck everything.

And really, when he thought about it, which was pretty much all of the fucking time now, he couldn’t figure out why this year was so different from all the other years when he hadn’t been watching Randy out of the corner of his eye all the time or wondering what he was doing every weekend or wishing Randy would just walk up to him and put his tongue down his throat but he thought maybe it might have something to do with the fact that every other year after the season wrapped he always knew he’d see Randy again and this year he had no such guarantee and that was starting to suck so badly that Gale hurt nearly all the time now except when he was doing a scene with Randy or eating lunch with him or watching him laugh with Michelle.

Then Gale knew a crisis point was being reached, critical mass, baby, and he was quietly freaking out pretty much 24/7 so he told Randy that he needed to talk to him privately and invited him to come over to the house that weekend for a few beers and when Randy said “ok,” Gale almost backed out right then and there and told him to forget it but he couldn’t cos really, he had to admit to himself now that he was in love down to his fucking toes and he had to get it out, had to tell the truth once and for all or he would cry like a baby or keel over from a stroke or some other embarrassing shit like that.

And the night he asked Randy to come over and Randy said yes, Gale went home alone to his house and slept heavily until he woke sometime before dawn from a dream that left him panting and sweating and clutching the sheets in his fists and he was hard, so fucking hard, absolutely goddamned rigid and he knew whose fault that was, he remembered the dream in dizzying, vivid detail and holding those images in his mind he let his hand wander to his dick, his fucking absolutely rigidly hard dick and it only took a couple of quick pulls before he was writhing and gasping and saying a name in a voice he’d never heard come out of his own throat before and then he knew it was the Right Thing, that telling Randy was the Right Thing, even if it did ruin everything because he couldn’t fucking go on like this, his life had become something unrecognizable and a thing filled only with choking pain and unrequited want.

So Gale waited for the week to end so he could spill his guts and hear Randy’s response, and it took so fucking long, like when you’re seven years old and waiting for Christmas morning so you can wake your parents and go downstairs to see what Santa brought and Gale yearned for Santa to grant him this one wish, this one Christmas miracle even though Christmas was months away and he asked, Dear Santa, all I want for Christmas and the rest of my life is a man, this man, this one smart funny quirky beautiful sexy breath-taking man and I’ll be a good boy for the whole rest of the year, Santa, I promise, for the whole rest of my life, please enjoy the cookies, thank you, your friend, Gale.

And finally Saturday night arrived, and with it, a smart funny quirky beautiful sexy breath-taking man carrying a six-pack, half of which Gale demolished before he could even say more than “Hi, come in,” (I love you forever) and then he started talking and he paced while he talked and he gestured dramatically and he couldn’t look at Randy, even though he knew Randy was staring at him like he was a bug under glass and he could imagine the shock that must have been on Randy’s face when he said all the words he needed to say, when he choked them out haltingly, and it felt like he talked for hours when it was probably only fifteen minutes or so and when he was done and words like love and need and always and please had been said, he fell silent and still and stood by the window, waiting, God, just waiting and listening to Randy’s rapid breathing and praying like he hadn’t done since he was a child, Please Santa, I pray you’ll give me this one gift and if you do I won’t ever ask for anything else, I promise, your friend, Gale.

Then there was movement behind him and Randy was standing, he was walking, and Gale didn’t know if he was walking to the door, walking out of Gale’s life, but then there was breathing behind him, hands on his waist, gently turning him, nudging him around and when he turned and looked at Randy, it was all there, like a mirror of his own face and he thinks he might have cried then, just a little, but he can’t be sure because suddenly there were lips and murmurs and teeth and fingers and grasping and his hair was soft, so fucking soft and Gale couldn’t stop touching it and they were tumbling to the floor and there was Randy, God, there was Randy and he was everywhere and his taste and his smell and his smiles and laughter and kisses and then his tongue, ohmygod his tongue, it was everywhere, too and Gale arched and moaned and said his name again and again in that voice he’d never heard come from his own throat before but knew he would become accustomed to and there was coming, godgodgod, was there coming, his and Randy’s and then his again and it was frantic and filled with too many years of waiting and the culmination of love denied, but no longer.

Then the peace surprised him, shocked him because he’d never realized how conflicted he’d really been, month after month, year after year and the peace in him, now, the harmony of spirit and heart, the wash of comfort across his life, left him sagging into the arms, the curved body, the tangled legs and tangled fingers of his old friend, his new lover, his Randy, his, finally- and now he could just. Stop. Thinking.

And start loving.

The End.