Archive of Our Own ^beta

The first time Collie hits him, all Gary feels is euphoria.

Collie watches him bend over coughing and spit pink-tinged saliva onto the ground. His heart is galloping, galloping, eyes swimming with tears. Jesus, the guy hits like a freight train. The warmth of pain spreads through his chest and down into his fingertips.

“Don’t make me do that again,” Collie says.

If he had any breath, he’d laugh. Make him? No one makes Collie Parker do anything. He’d chosen to take all the shit Gary was spitting at him, and then he’d chosen to swing, and now he’s choosing to stand there with thumbs hooked in his jean pockets and watch him wiggle his jaw back to where it should be.

“Aw, man,” Gary says. “You’re lucky I like you.”

That gets a faint huff of what might be amusement. “You’d fight me?”

“Fuck yeah,” he says, even though Collie is taller and broader and could definitely put him down with one good hit. He’s never walked away from a losing battle before.

Collie settles back against the wall of the bar. The faint harsh streetlights touch his broad sharp cheekbones to silver and wash over the planes of his face, which currently is taut with irritation. Gary has that effect on people.

They hadn’t planned to meet. Ray had texted to say they were going out and he hadn’t been anywhere but work in a week, so he figured he’d swing by, but the rest of the group had moved on to another bar and only Collie was there drinking in the corner. They’d had a couple of beers, Gary had gone outside to smoke, and then he’d opened his mouth. And Collie had hit him. And it felt fucking good.

Collie says, “C’mere, let me look.”

He lets warm fingers close on his jaw, tilting his face back and forth critically. “That’s gonna bruise. Want me to get some ice?”

“No.” He’s electric with the thought of it, Collie printed on his face. “Naw, I’m good.” Then, alive with terror, “Want to do it again?”

His face is released. “Why would I want to do that?”

Gary’s jumpy. He’s nervy at the thought of it, thrilling with anticipation of pain. His brain only goes quiet after he’s been in a fight, and Collie knows how to hit him just right. “Everyone wants to fuckin’ hit me. Everyone. I’m a pain in the ass. I piss ‘em off like I piss you off. Come on, Parker, do it. You know you want to.”

Collie looks at him for a really, really long time. It’s uncomfortable. He looks at Gary like trying to solve a jigsaw puzzle without using his hands, like he’s trying to work something out. Gary twitches, a pinned bug under his stare. In the end Collie just shakes his head and turns away. Another person who’s seen who he really is and doesn’t like it.

Whatever. He shakes out his hand, then hits himself in the bruised cheek, none too lightly. The skin stings and breaks. He wipes the blood off with his fingertips, then licks it.

“Hey.” Collie is at the door of the bar, holding it open. “You coming?”

“I’m done for the night.” He really is. The buzz of alcohol has nothing on the full-body high of getting in a fight. He figured that out years ago.

Collie shrugs and drops the door. But instead of re-entering the bar he joins Gary. “Taking the bus?”

“Yeah.”

They walk in comfortable silence to the nearest stop. A few people stagger in their direction and Gary steps out the way, but Collie doesn’t. He walks straight with his eyes set on the middle distance. No matter how drunk they seem, they all veer out his way. Jealousy crawls up the back of Gary’s throat.

In the bus stop, the smeared glass rendering the light behind them hazy and strange, Gary says, “Where’s the name Collie come from, anyway? Your mom name you after a dog?”

He rolls his eyes down to him but says nothing. Gary shoves himself back on the seat and folds in, wrapping his jacket around his torso in a vain attempt to keep some warmth in. Collie shifts silently and minutely up to stand beside him.

“Look,” Gary says, mouth moving again before he can stop it, “I’m sorry about what I said earlier. I don’t actually think you’re a pussy.”

“I didn’t hit you cause of that.”

“Then why?” he asks, blinking up at him.

Collie hasn’t shifted his gaze from the middle distance. “Cause McVries told you to not call anyone a queer but you went and fuckin’ did it.”

“Oh, that.” He barely remembers. “Right.” Yeah, Pete had gotten on his case a few times before. “‘S not on purpose, the gay thing. Just grew up hearing it. Difficult to get out the head, you know?” He slaps the side of his head a couple times for emphasis.

“You gotta be better than that.”

He mumbles, “Yeah,” suddenly feeling ashamed in a way that McVries had never managed with his lectures. He goes to hit his head again and smacks something else instead.

Bewildered, Gary looks up. Collie has the back of his hand pressed against his temple, palm facing outwards to catch Gary’s fist.

“You’re going to give yourself brain damage,” he says.

“Probably already have. Would explain a lot, huh?” He tries again and smacks only Collie’s palm. It’s got the sound of impact without the satisfying sense of knocking his brain loose. Collie’s hand is warm and firm, a gentle pressure against the side of his head. He can’t decide if he likes it or not.

They stay in that position until the bus comes. He expects to get on by himself, but no, Collie boards with him and takes the pair of seats in front, arm tossed over the back of the headrests. It’s virtually empty at this time of night.

“I thought you worked night shifts,” he says.

Gary nods. “I do most nights. They didn’t need me. Think the area manager is coming round or something, my manager’s fine with me swearing at bitchy customers but the area one’s got opinions. Customer service or some shit.”

Gas station clerk is not a glamorous job, but it takes little effort, the hours are unsociable, and because it’s kind of out of the way he has to be chill with everything, up to and including armed robbery. Truck stops can be like that. It works great for him, as all previous employers have had opinions about his attitude.

“You should come and work in the shop,” Collie tells him. “If you’re got a decent pair of hands they’ll take just about anyone.”

“Nah, I’m not smart enough to be a mechanic.”

“Who says?”

Collie’s eyes are calm and serious. Gary tears his gaze away, watches the streetlights flashing past, feeling the low rumble of the engine reverberate through his bones and ground him. Like the bus is doing the work of running for him and he can relax a bit. “Everyone,” he admits. “My dad, mostly.”

“I thought he died.”

Had he ever told Collie that? “Yeah, but…” He drags a hand through his hair. “He was right about a lot of stuff, my dad. Wanted me to go out and make friends but I could see it in his face. He didn’t think I could. I mean this is dumb as fuck, but- I never could, like, sit still as a child, right? I always knew there was something wrong with me but he wouldn’t have it. Kept saying no, I needed to focus, that was all, like it was easy. Said if I couldn’t focus I wouldn’t get anywhere. And I can’t focus, and…” He waved a hand. Collie was still looking at him like that. “What?”

He settles his chin on the head rest. “Your dad sucked.”

“Don’t talk shit about him.”

“What’re you gonna do?”

“I’ll fucking kill you. Don’t talk shit about my dad.”

There’s a brief pause, in which the lights vanish into the distance like so many candles blowing out, and then Collie says, “Did you love him?”

“Jesus fucking Christ, man!” The outburst gets the attention of the only two other people on the bus, who turn back round after Gary levels a glare at them. “Why would you ask that?”

Collie says, very clearly, “Your dad sucked ass. I was just wondering.”

Gary lunges forward and grabs the back of his head, fingers digging into the shocking softness of his hair. They’re barely an inch apart. Collie doesn’t look fazed. Gary grits out, “Are you trying to piss me off?”

“Obviously.”

He lets go and leans back, laughing; Collie’s hand goes to the back of his head, brushing through his hair. “Fuck, man. You gotta stop doing that.”

He shrugs. The bus slows. They get off in the near-darkness, road on one side and field on the other, strolling on the verge. The taillights recede into the distance.

“Is it your dad’s fault you keep calling people queers?”

Gary turns and swings: his fist is batted away, he tries a knee but Collie hits him square in the stomach and when Gary goes to punch him again there’s a fizz of stars and his head echoes. His mouth tastes of blood. He hadn’t even seen the punch coming.

“For fuck’s sake, I’m trying to have a conversation!” Collie sounds genuinely irritated.

The blood is sweet and sharp. Gary swallows it, revelling in the shock of adrenaline and fresh sting of his face. He looks up at Collie. “Hit me again.”

“No.”

“Fucking hit me!” He dives forward and bodily tackles him. Collie knees up into his solar plexus and while he’s gasping for air rolls him over and tackles him right there on the tarmac, hands tight on his wrists, so close they’re breathing the same air. And Gary just goes limp. Prey in the snare. Hot breaths panted onto his lips, Collie so close he can smell the engine oil.

“Make it hurt,” Gary breathes.

And Collie does, because he leans in and kisses him.

There’s the barest second when he lets himself enjoy it, being bracketed in Collie’s long dark hair, the firm press of their lips, the surge of heat. Then he bites his lip and when he pulls back, says, “Didn’t know you were a fucking queer.”

The hand that grabs him by the jaw is a vice, hard. So is the kiss that follows it, brutal, Collie prying his mouth open and pressing inside, tongue sweeping along his teeth. Kissing like he’s gonna swallow Gary whole. Kissing like a drowning man coming up for air. His whole body tingles with electricity. But he’s calm, too, with the weight of the body pressing him down onto the tarmac. Feels so fucking good. A hand cups the back of his head, the other pushed heavy against his chest to keep him down.

They only separate when, in the corner of his eye, Gary sees the glare of headlights and the horn blasts through the air. Collie rolls them both back onto the verge and the car rushes past.

The near miss shakes them out of it. Collie stands up and offers him a hand. “C’mon, let me walk you home.”

Gary, still on the ground, says, “You gonna try and get in my pants?”

“I don’t fuck on first dates. Get up, dipshit.”

With this tender endearment he stumbles to his feet. “This wasn’t a fucking date. I’m not-“

“If you say that word again I’ll hit you in a way you don’t like.”

“Kinda hard to do,” Gary mumbles, but he shuts his mouth anyway. They start walking toward the faint glow of the town and his mouth is tingling and he’s thinking, Collie Parker kissed me, with total disbelief.

“What’s with the hitting thing?” Collie says all of a sudden. “You think you deserve it or something?”

“No,” Gary says, unconvincingly, since he’s absolutely fucking nailed it. “Just. Helps me keep my head on straight. Look, was that a one time thing or-“

“I’m not gonna help you beat yourself up.”

“That’s not what this is. Collie - look - for fuck’s sake, I don’t know what’s going on right now. Fuck. Fuck!”

Collie’s not quick enough to stop the first hit, but by the second he’s got his hand wrapped around Gary’s. He says, “Stop it,” with such lethal softness that if Gary was even slightly less of a fucking bastard he probably would. “You need me to do it, fine. But don’t do it to yourself.”

“What difference does it make?”

“Cause I know how to do it.”

And he does, he fucking does, Collie does fucking, fucking martial arts or some shit, and every time he’s hit him Gary knows it’s done maximum pain with minimum damage. He hits him in the face but not too hard. Never aims for the jaw because that’s asking for a concussion. Probably other stuff too that he doesn’t even know about. He just doesn’t get it. “Why do you give a fuck about me?”

They walk for a little bit in the night with the soft breeze blowing past their faces. Eventually Collie says, “We’re - we’ve got stuff in common. And I know you’re more than a dipshit that runs his mouth.”

“But I am that, too.”

“Yeah.”

It’s about as good as he can get. “Plus you get to punch me in the face. That’s a bonus.”

“I don’t want to.”

“It’s fine if you do. It’s all good, man. It’s chill.”

It’s quiet a bit longer while, presumably, Collie sorts his shit out. Gary’s split cheekbone is throbbing with low, persistent warmth and his stomach is hurting. He really thought nobody would notice how he looked at Collie, least of all Collie himself. He’s reserved and stoic, barely says a fucking word unless it’s been dragged out of him, and eases up only around McVries and Garraty, probably because they’re the kind of guys everyone likes without even meaning to. Hell, they’d put up with Gary. Parker, who is built like a brick shithouse and talks about as much as one, must be downright friendly by comparison.

It’s not like there haven’t been moments. Looking at each other across the room, that sharp stare of Collie’s that makes Gary very aware of his own body. Ending up shoulder to shoulder with him more than should be expected in such a big group. That one time Collie had said his type was blondes and then studiously avoided Gary’s eyes for the entire evening. Yeah. Moments. Normal fucking moments that everyone has with his buddy. It’s just that Gary gets all wound up and antsy around Collie and he doesn’t get why, so then he talks too much like he’s trying to get put down. Maybe he is. Aw, fuck.

But… Collie had never told him to shut up. Collie only ever hit for one reason: Gary had crossed a line and needed to know it. Not because he was running his mouth, but because he’d violated a really specific rule. Like calling people queers. When he looked at it like that everything made a whole lot more sense.

He runs his tongue over his teeth and says, “Would you hit me if I asked for it?”

“No.”

“Does it turn you on?”

There’s a really long pause before Collie says, “Sometimes.” It sounds dragged out of him. Then, more defensively: “Don’t pretend you don’t get off on it too.”

They’re drawing up to the edges of town, the verge melding seamlessly into street. As they pass the tiny convenience store with its glowing sign, advertising cheap liquor and cigs, Collie says, “Wait here,” and ducks inside. He comes out a minute later with a bag of ice.

“What that for?”

He tears the top of the bag open and shakes a couple of cubes out, then presses them into Gary’s hand. The shock of the cold wakes him right up. He says, “Put that on your face.”

“Why?”

“I don’t want it to bruise.”

That ship has sailed. He shrugs and applies it anyway, the cubes slippery and brutally, horribly cold against the tenderised skin of his face. He can’t remember the last time he iced a bruise. A droplet trails down his cheek.

They walk until the cubes are half their size and water is dripping down his face like tears. Finally Gary says, “My place is here.”

Collie climbs the steps to his apartment behind him, saying nothing. His soft tread makes the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. Shit, it’s been a weird fucking night. He’s spent his whole life not thinking about boys, about men, their voices and yeah, their cocks, and then he’d met Collie and everything clicked into place. He really likes him. God, if he wasn’t a man he’d be perfect. But then he wouldn’t be Collie and- Gary tries to smack the side of his head and is only vaguely surprised when he smacks Collie’s hand instead.

He drops the ice cubes in the hallway and unlocks his door with his free hand. Then he flicks the light switch and Collie leans against the doorway, beautiful long hair tumbling past his shoulders and eyes deep enough to drown in. Looking at him as if he’s worth keeping, worth looking at.

“I don’t like hitting you,” Collie says, despite all the evidence suggesting otherwise. “Look, can I try something else?”

“Yeah, sure.” There’s nothing he wouldn’t let him do. He doesn’t resist when Collie steps forward and wraps him up in his arms, kicking the door closed behind him, one hand curled tight against the back of Gary’s head and the other a vice on his waist. When he thinks he’s going to be beaten Gary relaxes, but when he realises he’s being hugged he thrashes like he’s drowning, flailing, trying to throw him off, to kick and claw and punch.

Collie tightens his grip and doesn’t let go. Begins to move his fingers gently against Gary’s skull, tiny soothing motions that really just kick the fury up another gear. He’s a coyote stuck in a trap. He could take any amount of violence but this is unbearable. Even worse because Collie’s humming, a low wordless sound right by his ear, rising and falling in a gentle rhythm.

Unbearably, he feels calm. The noise in his head is reduced. The tightness of Collie’s hold allows nothing else in; the low rumble of his voice is all there is to focus on. They move in little steps, circling like dancers.

Collie murmurs, “I’ve got you. Shh.”

The fingers against his skull begin to move in his hair. They twist slightly, twining locks, and then they pull.

Gary moans. Loudly.

He’s horrified for a second, face burning up in humiliation - but Collie leans down and captures his lips, kissing him hard, desperate, as if the noise was the tether on his self-control. All the heat comes rushing back. They stumble toward the bed without separating for a second. Collie’s everywhere, he’s everywhere, his smell in Gary’s nose, his taste in his mouth, his hands slipping under his T-shirt to rove against his skin. Gary falls on the bed and crawls back and Collie comes with him, hovering over him, and he’s just as beautiful in the bright light of his apartment as by the roadside under the moon.

Collie dips his head to lick at his neck. He screws up his eyes and his courage, fists one hand in the back of Collie’s shirt, and says, “Can I suck you off? Please?”

“Yes,” Collie says against his neck, “whatever you want,” his teeth grazing at a sensitive spot that makes him yelp. “You’re so sweet. You’re really sweet.”

“Shut up,” Gary says, embarrassed.

Collie sits back on his thighs and smiles at him. “What? Want me to stop talking?”

“Yes,” he says immediately.

He laughs, but Gary kisses him again: makes him roll over onto his back, Collie pulling his shirt off with barely a break, the clinking of his belt as it comes undone. Gary’s - okay, he’s fucking terrified, he’s never done this before let alone with a guy, and he wants to get Collie off so bad it hurts but he doesn’t want to fuck up.

“Hey.” His chin is taken. He’s been staring at his collarbone for a moment too long, obviously. “You alright?”

“Can you just-“ He swallows. Nobody told him sex was embarrassing, or that it involved this much fumbling, or about the pure head-rush that is skin to skin contact. Collie’s radiating heat like a furnace. Figures he’d run hot. “Can you tell me if I do it wrong?” he says, all in a rush.

He’s gifted a sweet, slightly teasing smile. “It’s hard to do it wrong. Just don’t bite, yeah?”

“Oh, fuck you,” he says, and with a rush of bravado palms at Collie’s crotch, feeling the heavy heat under his hand. Collie groans and his eyes slam shut.

This is fine. He’s touching a dick and the sky hasn’t fallen in, so all that shit about homosexuals causing the apocalypse must be bullshit. He curls his fingers around the shape, curious, rubs his thumb over the length.

“You’re fucking killing me, man,” Collie says.

Newly emboldened, Gary pops the zip on Collie’s jeans and wrestles them down his legs, then shoves his boxers down too, and that’s- yeah, okay, that’s Collie’s cock lying fat and heavy against his thigh, and his mouth waters. He dips his head and presses a kiss to the head, down the shaft. Collie moans again. His hands are working convulsively in the sheets. He’s working so hard not to touch him, not to put him off.

“You can touch me,” Gary says, “please,” and makes his first attempt at sucking dick. He has to pull off five seconds later because Collie’s hips buck when he takes him into his mouth, but he waves off the gasped apologies and tries again, laying an arm across his hips this time. That’s better. He rubs the head against the inside of his cheek and dares to push down more.

“Fuck, Gary, fuck!”

He’s hard, he realises, reaching down to palm himself. He’s so fucking hard off the noises Collie’s making, the slightly musky taste of him, the long exposed stretch of his body. He bobs his head experimentally. The whole idea of Collie being in him, in his mouth, hasn’t quite sunk in yet. He never thought he’d get this.

A hand lands in his hair and pulls, very gently. Gary moans around the cock in his mouth and tries to sink lower, cutting off Collie’s harsh laugh.

“Figures you’d like your hair pulled,” he says. “C’mon, be a good boy for me, Barkovitch.”

He is. He sucks and swallows messily, bolts of arousal shooting down to his cock when Collie wraps his hand in his hair and pulls, guides him, tells him, “Like that,” and, “Look so fucking good, shit,” until he’s rocking his hips down onto Collie’s firm thigh.

At some point he thinks he’s lost his grip on language, but then he understands - Collie’s saying, “Niinimoshenh, niinimoshenh,” breathless, “Gonna come,” and Gary just moans around him, eyelids fluttering. Then he’s coming into Gary’s mouth and he swallows without thinking, nose almost against his pubic bone, running so fucking hot at the thought of being owned like this.

“Oh, fuck,” Collie curses, “okay, off, come up here.”

They lie next to each other. Collie spits in his palm and wraps his hand around his length, and Gary’s close enough already that he just buries his face in Collie’s shoulder, hips moving in abortive little thrusts, bucking into his big warm palm.

“It’s all right,” he hears, “good, come on, come for me.”

“Can’t. Need-“ He breaks off, ashamed: he worries the skin in front of him with his teeth, nearly tearful with the pleasure that’s overwhelming and not enough all at once. He’s never come without something, a little bite of pain, sharp nails digging into his nipples, scratches raked down his ribs. Something that doesn’t let him float away.

Collie’s free hand wraps around the back of his neck. He’s cradling him. Murmuring, “You’re fine. Take your time. Pretty boy,” which only ratchets the arousal up another unbearable notch. He’s trying to say no, no he needs it to hurt, needs a punch to the face- but Collie’s pace is consistent, stroking him with firm slick movements, holding him still. Oh, fuck. He’s gonna come.

It’s not the quick, perfunctory experience he’s used to. This orgasm goes on and on, knocking him under in long rolling waves of pleasure. He’s hyper-conscious of the fingers against the back of his neck, the sweetness of Collie’s voice. By the time it’s over he’s gasping against the sweat-soaked skin. And he’s not let go. Those hands stroke up and down his back and this is awful. He’s going to cry. He’s never felt this protected and cared for in his life and it’s overwhelming.

“Collie,” Gary says, voice halfway to breaking. They kiss in lazy sweeps, languorous, Collie exploring his mouth without urgency. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why-“

“I do. It’s fine.”

That’s all he gets out of him. At some point Collie grabs a couple of tissues to clean them off, then they lie on top of the covers. Gary explores the deep stretch of his ribcage, the muscles of his arms. He’s beautiful, and he’s here.

Quite suddenly, Collie says, “Will you go out with me?”

Gary props himself up on an elbow to examine his face. There’s no mocking there. He’s looking back with some concern, maybe some nerves, entirely serious. “You’re not kidding?”

“No.”

“Me?”

He sweeps a hand out, as if to say, Who else is here?

Gary blinks once, twice, and says, “Okay.”

“Wow, you sound delighted,” Collie deadpans, and he can’t help the laugh. They both crack up.

“No, i just- didn’t expect it, that’s all.”

“I don’t do one night stands.”

“You could,” Gary says, “you really could. Have you seen yourself?”

Collie grins in a slightly bashful way and gathers him close again. “Hey, it’s not my ego we’re working on. I’ve decided to stop punching you.”

“Why? It’s obviously working.”

“Yeah,” Collie says, “but I prefer talking to you. Let’s try that for a bit. If it doesn’t work we can start fighting again. Sound good?”

“Works for me.”

They lie there in contented silence, Gary’s hand over the broad span of chest in front of him. He’s feeling the heartbeat under his fingertips. He feels like he’s soaring. His cheekbone has stopped hurting, but he’s not got the itch to replace it. Collie makes him feel safe.

Makes him feel better than a fight.

“Hey,” Collie says abruptly, “that bag of ice has melted on your carpet.”

“Fuck!”