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Title: This Ache
Author:  allie_quixotic
Disclaimer: This is a RPS fic. I don’t know Gale Harold or Randy Harrison or any of the other ppl mentioned in this fic. This is all from my sick and twisted mind. If there is any truth to this, it’s only a coincidence.
Warning: R…if you want a happy ending, you might want to skip this.
Feedback: Is Love
Premise: Takes place during the time of Gale’s performance in Suddenly Last Summer
Authors Notes: I’m in a mood. Therefore this fic was born. This is my first Gale/Randy RPS. It’s unbetaed so any and all errors are mine.

 

What peaceful hours I once enjoyed
How sweet their memory still
But they have left an aching void
The world can never fill.
~ William Cowper ~

I remember the feel of his hair between my fingers. The way his warm breath, coming out in exaggerated puffs of air, would warm my skin. The way he tasted like too sweet coffee and menthol cigarettes. I remember how my tongue would push against him when we were Brian&Justin, one entity for the camera, playing parts that we felt we were born to play. I’ve never been comfortable in my own skin, in my own life, in any of my jobs, but when I stepped in front of the camera as Brian Kinney, I never felt more free. I don’t know if it was just him or if it was just really me, the real me.

After those five years, I became a trapped man, trapped in my lies, in my bullshit. I savored those five years. I drank them in like a man in the desert. I never wanted the moments to end, but eventually they did. The tips of his fingers tracing lazy circles on my skin between scenes, is now just a ghost of a memory. The slide of his lips against mine, nothing more than a sensation that I can’t recreate with anyone I’ve kissed before or since. Five years of touches, of kisses, of smiles, and talks about nothing and everything falls away like leaves from a tree at the end of fall. The only thing left is the cold dead tree of winter, barren, forgotten, ugly in its loneliness.

I lie back against the sheets of this cheap motel bed and light my sixth cigarette of the hour. Sometimes I forget that I’m supposed to be a heterosexual man who loves the feel of a tight wet pussy wrapped around his dick. Sometimes I forget I’m supposed to like the curves of a woman’s body, the malleable feel of their skin and lips. But sometimes, like tonight, I remember, I long for, I hunger, I need, for the feel of sharp angles, rough calloused hands, chapped lips, and a warm tight ass clenching around my cock.

“You were great.”

I take a long drag of my cigarette. “Do you mind…leaving?” It isn’t said with callousness or rudeness, but rather a quiet pleading. The man rolls towards me, propping himself up on his elbow, his thick blond hair falling into his soft green eyes. I wait for him to protest, to say something, but he just leans over, kisses the side of my mouth, and gets up. I close my eyes, smoke my cigarette, and listen to the sounds of his clothes sliding over his body. He’s no one. He’s just like all the other guys I’ve had. They exist only to fill in the empty spaces that his touch has left inside of me, in me, all over me.

“Call me again sometime.” He says it like he knows he’ll never hear from me again.

When the door closes behind him, I stub out my cigarette. I grab my cell phone off the bedside table before reaching up and flipping off the light above the bed. I let the cool darkness descend over my naked body. I let the silence in the room settle my nerves and push away the last tendrils of my memories. I take a deep breath and flip open my phone. The harsh blue light shines eerily in the room. I scroll through my contracts, find his name, and press send.

“He’lo?” His voice is thick and muted with sleep.

“I woke you up.”

“Gale?”

“Hey.”

“Hey.” He sounds surprised, as he should be. It’s been six months since we’ve spoken. The reasons for that aren’t tragic or dramatic or even filled with angst. I’ve been busy, he’s been busy.

“Sorry to call so late…I just wanted to let you know that I’ll be in the city soon.”

“Hold on.” I hear the rustle of sheets, the soft murmur of his voice and the voice that responds to him. I feel the pinch and twist of the ache that lives deep inside of me. “Sorry…you’re going to be in New York?”

I push back everything and swallow down the emotion that threatens to escape. “Yeah.” I use every once of skill I have as an actor to play the part of a long ago friend, who is just calling to say hey. “I’m going to be doing a play off-Broadway.”

“No kidding?” In his voice I hear a slight laugh.

“Surprising, I know.” I bite the inside of my cheek. “It’s not a big deal.”

He sighs. “Sure it is.” He pauses. “I thought you were filming a TV show.”

My heart pathetically skips a beat. “Yeah, well…they killed me off.”

“What?” He says it like it’s a tragedy. I pretend he watches the show every time it’s been on and that I’ve somehow spoiled him to the ending.

“Yeah…it hasn’t aired yet, so…you know.” I shrug against the sheets.

“Oh.”

There is a long pause between us. An echo of nothing. A silence of longing from my end and from his…I’m not sure. “Well…I just wanted to let you know I’d be in town. Maybe…” And I stop. I let my words trail off, and I let the ‘maybe’ hang in the air like a wet blanket drying on a clothesline.

“No…I’m mean yeah. Call me when you get to the city.” He laughs deep and throaty. It comes across the line and fills the gaps inside me.

“Sure. I called Scotty.” I shrug, my fingers itching for another cigarette. “Maybe we can all get together.” A barrier between him and me, a person to stop me from feeling anything more than I should, but then again Scotty’s been doing that for a long time.

“Oh god.” He laughs again. “I haven’t seen him in forever.”

“Well…I’ll call. The two of you can come to opening night, maybe…”

“Sure.” I feel his smile and it warms me like no kiss from an unknown man can. “I’d like that.”

I feel the sick twist and pull inside me, the words that bounce around in my head begging for release. “Well…I’ll call you….when I get to the city.” I lick my lips, my mouth suddenly feeling dry, my tongue heavy and swollen. “Tell Simon I’m sorry if I woke him up.” And I hate myself a little more than I did ten seconds ago.

“Okay. I’ll talk to you then.”

“Yeah.” I hang up the phone and toss it…somewhere. I reach out blindly for my cigarettes. I light one, my fingers fumbling in the dark. I inhale so deep that the smoke burns all the way down. This one inhale of dirty smoke chokes me, suffocates me, kills me little by little, just like my life.

* * *

My muscles are stiff. My face frozen. My performance is wooden. Chalk to up to nervousness, chalk it up to the fact that maybe I’m not cut out for roles in plays, chalk it up to whatever you wish, but I know the truth. I’m grateful for the harsh glare of the spot light, but even that doesn’t matter, because I can feel him. I can feel his eyes on me. I can feel him all around me. The deep creep of longing and want suffuses my every line, taints my every move. I look into the faces of my co-stars, but I don’t see them. I barely hear them. The only thing I can feel is the flush of my skin, the sweat gathering at the back of my neck and trickling down my back. The only thing I can hear is the loud pounding of my heart against my chest. How I make it though the performance at all is a miracle within itself.

When its over, after the smattering of applause, and the required bows, I retreat into my small dressing room. I strip off my costume, trading it in for a pair of loose jeans, a black sweater, and my black jacket. I’m burning up, hot and sweaty, but I bury my anxiety in layers of clothing. The soft knock at the door makes me jerk. I look at myself in the mirror, but quickly turn away. I don’t recognize the face I see there anymore. I take a deep breath, plant a smile on my face, and open the door. Scotty smiles, but his eyes show concern. He hugs me, bringing a small essence of comfort. When he releases me and steps aside, I come face to face with Randy. His hair is darker, his eyes a little less blue then I remember, but his smile is the same, wide and genuine.

“Gale.” He half-whispers, half-sighs my name as he steps forward, wraps his arms around my shoulders, and pulls me to him. Automatically, my arms circle around his waist. It’s a familiar embrace, one shared between us a million times over on many different occasions.

I pull back from him, regretfully. “Hey, have you gotten taller?” I pull out an old joke that we traded back and forth between each season.

He rolls his eyes and smirks. “No, you’re just getting shorter.”

Then it feels like no time has past at all. We leave the theater, the three of us, talking about nothing, what we’ve been doing, how we’ve been doing, what we plan on doing. We stop at a bar and have a beer. We reminisce about old times. We laugh so hard we cry. The hours fly by and before I know it, it’s well past midnight. Scotty hugs us each in turn when it’s time to go. He has an early flight out to LA tomorrow. I tell him I’ll call him soon. He grabs me by the shoulder and says, “You do that.”

When it’s just me and Randy standing outside the hole-in-the-wall bar, I light a cigarette. The nerves, the anxiety, the longing return with the absence of Scotty. “So…” I exhale the smoke from my lungs. “It’s late.”

He laughs nervously and a part of me relaxes. “Yeah.” He shoves his hands into the pockets of his coat. “You staying someplace close?” His face flushes slightly.

I grin lopsidedly. “Yeah, I’m subletting a friend’s place during the run.”

“Mm.”

I suck on my cigarette and feel time slipping through my fingers. We speak at the same time.

“Listen-”

“I should-”

I flick my cigarette to the street and look up at the tall buildings surrounding us. I let out a deep breath of warm fading fog. When I look down at him, he’s watching me with interest. “I better get going.” Inside my head, I’m screaming at myself, hating myself, because I don’t want to go…I don’t want him to go.

“Gale.” He takes a small step forward and as he does, he reaches up and presses his hand against the side of my face. Unable to hold onto pretenses any longer, I close my eyes and lean into his touch. “I missed you.” His lips brush mine as he whispers the words, words that float into my mouth and travel down into the pit of my dark soul, shining the light of truth so bright that the glare blinds me.

I stop thinking. I stop wanting. I cup the back of his neck and press our lips together. In that moment, I take and take and take. His mouth opens to me and as my tongue pushes over his lips, I savor the taste of him. It’s the same…but different. In his mouth lingers the taste of the man he shares his life with, a realization that has me pulling back, pulling away, letting go.

I shove my hands into my coat pockets and lick my lips. “I…better go.” He nods his head, but neither of us move.

“Yeah, I should be getting back as well.”

I force a smile along with the next words that leave my mouth. “Tell Simon I said hey.”

He presses his lips into a thin line. “Don’t do that.”

I shrug. “That’s how it is.” I turn to the curb and throw out my hand for a passing cab. As one slow to a stop, I open the door and look over at him. “Thanks for coming to the show tonight.”

He crosses his arms over his chest. “I wouldn’t have missed it.”

I smile sadly, that tug of longing still holding me in place. “I know.” With my heart twisting in my chest, a heaviness pressing on my shoulders, and a tightness in my gut, I get into the cab. It takes everything I have not to look back.

* * *

Standing at the window, I watch the snow drift to the ground. It’s late, it’s cold, and my time in the city is over. It’s my last night here, then it’s back to…life, my life. It’s back to that empty three-bedroom house on the outskirts of LA, back to the men I’ll only see once, spread out before me on the rough sheets in a cheap motel room, back to the bullshit, the lies, back to wanting what can never truly be mine. I haven’t seen or talked to Randy since opening night. I thought I could come here, could hang out with him like old times, but after that kiss, after pushing open that door, I knew I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t be around him and not want him like that. I couldn’t be around him and deny the fact that I…love him. I can only take so much pain, so much torture.

I have no dream that he will leave Simon. That he will come to me. I have no false hope to hang onto that somehow, someway, we can have a life together. This isn’t a TV show, this isn’t a movie, this is real life, and sometimes, despite our wants, our needs, our fucking desires, some of us just aren’t meant to have happy endings.

~fin~