Pretense
You ass. Gale gets up from the studio chair during commercial and
mutters it.
Randy widens his eyes. What? Me? He sits with his legs splayed in
a folding chair off camera and grins.
Gale snorts and goes to take a piss.
* * *
One knock on the hotel door, and its not room service or housekeeping.
He opens it and Randy swaggers in, honor bar mini-bottle of vodka in his fingers.
You eat?
Gale shrugs, motions to the in-room meal cart with silver covered dishes. Sorta.
You want to go out? What times your flight tomorrow? Randy
drops to the bed and lies back on one elbow, uncapping the vodka and taking
a swig.
Fuckin early. Nine, which means Sarahs waking me up at six,
because she doesnt think I can fucking get up on time. Why did she come?
Michelles already doing the PR thing. Gale gestures for Randy to
hand over the bottle.
Because Ron told her to. And since Sarah secretly wants to blow him, she
does whatever he tells her. Duh. Randy toes off his shoes and flops back
on the bed. Bored. Boredboredbored.
Here, Gale says, and throws the remote. Theres porn
on channel 116.
Cool, Randy answers, and turns to it. Ew. Thats het
porn.
And?
Gross! I cant watch anything with boobs. He belies his words
by staring at the television with interest. Those are huge, he comments.
Gale glances at the screen. Yeah. And fake. He sits on the edge
of the bed, elbows on his knees. She has a nice ass.
His is better.
I guess, he says disinterestedly, and smiles to himself when he
feels a stockinged foot creep under his rear. Quit it.
Why? You dont like it?
No, I really dont.
Lie, Randy says. Thats the hugest fucking lie.
And he keeps his foot where it is, wedged in between Gales ass and the
bed. Gale doesnt move away.
They half-heartedly watch the porn for another few minutes, Gale laughing at
Randys uncensored commentary.
Christ! Randy exclaims, as the guy with the nice ass starts tit-fucking
the girl. Does he like that?
Apparently, Gale muses, and ignores the stirring in his dick.
Huh, Randy says, and wiggles the foot under Gales ass. Do
you like that?
Im trying to watch television, you shit. Go get more little tiny
bottles of liquor.
No, Randy yawns, and sits up to drape himself over Gales back.
Im happy here.
Gale turns his head slightly to see Randy peering over his shoulder at him.
You fucked up that interview today.
Randy laughs. You mean I fucked up you today. Wassamatter, cant
handle the pressure?
You cant say shit like that in public. People have a field day with
that crap. Did you see King perk up like hed struck gold? Randy
is nuzzling the fine hairs at the nape of his neck and Gale cant remember
what the exact point of his scolding was.
You got hard, Randy whispers in his ear. I saw.
So fucking what. Gale shrugs him off, but doesnt get up.
The straight man got hard, Randy taunts in a singsong voice. And
not for the first time.
Youre proud? Gale sneers over his shoulder. My dick
stands up for anything when I dont have a girlfriend.
Which is never.
Fuck you.
Other way round, Randy corrects, and pulls him backward. Gale
finds himself under Randy in the space of a second, his hips being straddled
by lean legs encased in black Levis. Gale tries to affect a bored expression
but thinks he fails when Randy smirks at him.
I changed my mind, Gale says in the breath of a space before Randy
leans down to taste his mouth. Lets go out.
But Randy just laughs knowingly and uses his tongue to feel the roughness of
Gales beard shadow. You always want to go out when youre horny
around me. Because you know what happens if we stay in.
Gale turns his head the tiniest bit he doesnt want to, but cant
help it to give Randy access to the hollow behind his ear. Im
not afraid of you, he murmurs, and wonders if he really sounds like hes
twelve.
I know, Randy sighs, and grinds down a little. Youre
not afraid of me, you dont fuck guys, youre not gay. Heard it.
I dont fuck guys, Gale agrees, and lets Randy lift his t-shirt
over his head.
Right, Randy affirms. You let them fuck you. And Gale
is turned to his stomach before his shirt is even all the way off, cheek pressed
into the rough, quilted hotel bedspread. You let them fuck you,
Randy continues, licking patterns into Gales bare skin, because
then you can keep up the pretense. And pretense is important, isnt it?
Most of the time, Gale says, reaching under to unzip his pants and
wriggle out of them, hindered mostly by the fact that Randy is sprawled on top
of him with no intention of moving.
Most of the time?
Sometimes pretense doesnt mean shit. Especially if youre not
fooling people.
In that case, Randy says slyly, here. And he hands Gale
the condom from his back pocket, the condom Gale knew Randy put there before
strolling down the hall to his room.
Gale turns to his side to look at Randy, so cocky in his self-assurance, then
looks at the small foil square. He deliberately turns back to his stomach and
reaches up to hug the down pillow to his chest. Just do it.
Randy snickers and Gale knows it wont be as easy as just saying no
thanks. Out of the corner of his eye he sees Randy put the condom on the
bedside table. Well just leave that there for now, he says
blithely. You might change your mind.
Gale makes up his mind right then not to.
But it gets really fucking difficult when Randy sheds his jeans and underwear
and is hard and lean against him, grinding slowly against Gales ass crack
and shoving Gale into the bed with a thrusting motion. And what Gale really
wants to do is flip the kid over, tear the wrapper with his teeth, and fuck
him within an inch of his life.
But keeping up the pretense is important.
So Gale presses his dick down against the coarse bedspread, knowing it will
be raw and angry-red in the morning and someone in makeup will probably notice
but probably not say a word. He welcomes the rough friction, craves it, even
moreso when Randy leans over and mutters low in his ear, Cmon, just
fuck me. Put the condom on and do it.
He shakes his head once, violently, and says, Im about to get off
all over this bed, and after I do, neither of us gets to fuck anyone. So quit
dicking around before I come.
Randy chuckles wisely and Gale hears the rip of the wrapper. He puts his head
down on the pillow clutched in his arms, feels Randy prep him with two experienced
fingers, using only saliva. Gale hopes the kid at least grabbed a lubed condom.
A soft grunt, and Randy pushes in. Gale relaxes his body, savoring the little
stings and flashes of pain, holding on to them tightly and making them outweigh
the underlying pleasure. The pain is the important part.
Except his body is just one big fucking pit of betrayal, because even through
the burning, Gale feels himself grow even harder, listens with everything he
has to Randys dirty whispers, bucks back against the boy on top of him
and grinds into the bed on the downstroke. Once, twice, three times and
then he comes with a gasp, the orgasm sneaking up and surprising him, making
him jerk against the bed and rubbing the skin on his thighs raw.
Gale senses Randys triumphant grin against his shoulder, feels the bite
of even, white teeth on his neck. And then Randy is digging in with urgent fingers,
grasping the covers on either side of Gales head and straining for release.
He finds it a minute later, muffling his groan in the hollow between Gales
shoulder and neck, shuddering against him.
The only sound in the room is the faint faux-orgasm from the television. Gale
finds it offensive. He shifts under Randys weight and Randy pulls out
roughly, peeling off the condom and disappearing into the bathroom.
Gale watches the flickering light from the tv make shadows on the ceiling. He
doesnt look at Randy when he emerges from the bathroom.
So, Randy pauses, one hand on the hotel room door. I get in
at noon. Youre coming in tomorrow, yeah?
Yep, Gale says, knowing he told Randy that already.
Will you be around tomorrow night?
Ill be home, if thats what you mean.
Do you
Randy trails off uncertainly and Gale wonders about
that. Uncertainty is not a quality Randy usually exhibits. He tries again. Wanna
hang out?
With you?
Randy doesnt answer. Gale turns his head sideways on the bed to see him.
He looks young, nibbling on a nail.
Why not, Gale says dryly. Pretense is for straight men.
~End