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The rain hadn't stopped for days and Gale was beginning to wonder if it ever would. It poured onto rooftops, rushed through gutters, and emptied noisily into flooded Toronto streets. The constant hiss of it made him feel itchy and insane. He wanted to leave the house without being pelted by the cold, Canadian rain. He wanted to open his eyes onto a view of something more blue than the dark, cloud-covered sky. He craved complete and utter silence if only for just a few minutes. Yes, silence--empty and waiting for something to fill it--not this overbearing weight of sound that blanketed the city.

The slosh and sizzle of the car's tires over the wet steets, through the puddles and thick rivulets, over veritable streams, underlay the chuck-chuck of the windshield wipers and the smack of the rain on the roof and windshield. Gale squinted into the darkness ahead of him, the streetlamps fuzzy and glowing in the wet air like impressionistic oil paintings, and he wondered again where it was that he was going, and why. He'd been at home, warm and dry, when he'd gotten the call from Randy.

Gale, could you come over?

Sure, he supposed. It was better than hanging out at home listening to the rain, going slowly insane, missing things he'd never had and people he'd never known, like some morbid fucking son-of-a-bitch with no one and nothing on his side. But he'd just said, "Yeah, I guess so." And left it at that.

The red stop sign on the corner was barely visible in the downpour, but Gale knew it was there, and he slowed to a stop, closing his eyes for a moment and running his thumb over the tattoo on his middle finger.

Simon's in New York. I guess I'm lonely.

"Yeah, we all get lonely." That's what he'd wanted to say, but he'd just put on his tennis shoes, and grabbed his coat, muttering, "Yeah, sure. I'll be over."

You don't mind? It's raining pretty hard.

"I don't mind."

He didn't mind. And that was why he was turning left, blinking at the nearly vacant streets, and parking across the street from Randy's place. That was why he was running through puddles, soaking his pants, feeling icy-cold rain pelt his face, and hopelessly brushing water from his eyes as he pressed the ringer to be buzzed inside. Because he didn't mind.

Gale was cold, shivering, and soaked through, and he sighed gratefully when Randy opened the door to his apartment holding a warm towel straight from the dryer.

"I thought you might need this," Randy said, helping to rub it over Gale's bent head. "I can't believe you came out in this weather."

"Then why did you call?" Gale asked, reasonably. Randy's eyes darted away, and Gale ducked his head to try to catch them again.

"I was hoping, but I didn't think you really would." Randy stepped back, and pulled Gale inside. "Come on, I've got a fire going, and some sweats for you to put on."

The apartment was warm and cozy with plush furniture, books on every surface, and half-folded laundry on the sofa. There was music on the stereo--a woman with a haunted voice singing something about love, and the television was on next to the fireplace. A black and white movie playing on mute.

There by the sofa, Gale peeled out of his jacket and shirt, pushed down his jeans and underwear, and handed his clothes over to Randy. Randy didn't look at him twice, taking his clothes to shove in the dryer, and indicating with a wave of his hand that Gale should put on the sweats that were folded on top of the pile on the couch. And that amused Gale and made him feel oddly at home. More at home than he'd felt back at his place listening to the endless rush of rain.

Rain. Funny, since he'd stepped into Randy's apartment the rain seemed more comforting than suffocating.

The sweat pants and t-shirt were soft and also fresh from the dryer. Gale sat down on the sofa, and pulled a t-shirt from the pile of unfolded clothes, and tucked the sleeves, then doubled it over, placing it on top of the other folded t-shirts.

"You don't have to do that," Randy said, coming back into the room from the kitchen.

Gale took the glass of wine that Randy held out to him. "I know, but I don't mind."

Randy cocked his head a little, and sat down on the other side of the sofa, the folded clothes between them. "You don't mind," he repeated, slowly.

"No. I don't mind."

And they folded the clothes together, listening to the music, and sipping the wine, talking a little, and listening to the rain.

"Nice drawers," Gale commented, holding up a pair of The Grinch Who Stole Christmas undies.

Randy snorted. "Those are Simon's."

"Sexy."

"Mmhmm," Randy murmured.

The lights fire and the television flickered over the room, and the mellow buzz from the wine settled into Gale's limbs, making him move more slowly, concentrating on lining the seams of the shirts up as he folded, creasing the legs of the pants just so.

"Do you think it'll ever stop raining?" Randy asked, getting up to adjust the blinds, and stopping to peer out into night.

"Probably not."

"Yeah, that's what I was thinking, too."

And he sat back down next to Gale, shoving aside the clothes they'd just folded, knocking the pile onto the floor. Gale closed his eyes and waited--listened to the rain, the wet, endless rain--and he felt that feeling again. The itch inside that didn't go away, like he couldn't breathe, like he couldn't escape, like he was trapped, and burdened by something heavier than he could bear. Like he was going to die if Randy didn't kiss him this time, like last time, like the time before that.

He felt flushed with wine and the heat from the fireplace. His cheeks burned, and his eyelids felt overly hot. He kept them closed and waited. And waited.

"I want you," Randy said, shifting over Gale's lap, straddling him, and putting his hands on Gale's shoulders. Gale let his head fall back on the sofa, struggling to breath against the constriction in his chest, the fire that was burning in his groin, and flooding his body. Randy's lips, wet and hot, moved against his neck. "I want you."

"Randy--" And that's all he could say. Just that name that tormented him. The name that meant things he couldn't have, wasn't supposed to want, and sure as hell wasn't supposed to do. The name of the man who held him down on the sofa, grabbed his chin, and forced him to look into his eyes before kissing him.

Oh God. Randy. Gale quivered as Randy's tongue brushed his own, and he surrendered to the kiss. Gentle licks, sucking and wet, tingling brushes against the roof of his mouth, and mouthfuls of soft lips. God. It wasn't like he hadn't known when the call came, but he never knew, and some part of him always wondered if it would be this time that he'd resist.

They rocked together, mouths devouring, hands roaming, and it wasn't long before Gale had Randy's cock in his hand, stroking it in rhythm with their kiss. Randy's hands clenched Gale's still damp hair, and muttered against Gale's lips, "Fuck, you make me crazy." One hand on Randy's thigh, the other busy with his cock, Gale groaned into Randy's mouth, grinding his hips into Randy's ass for friction.

No, no--it was Randy who made him crazy. It was Randy who made him drive into a flood to jerk him off on his couch. It was Randy who made him ignore the photograph of Simon on the mantle, and the Grinch underwear now somewhere on the floor, and the ring that flashed on Randy's finger. It was Randy who made that feeling well up within him, the crazy, needy, desperate, must-have-or-die feeling that made him betray himself in so many ways.

Gale kissed Randy's neck, slid his mouth down to his collar bone, and nibbled there. He shoved Randy's shirt up, and ran his hand over Randy's panting stomach, jerking him harder as he rubbed his palm over the soft skin of Randy's back. He knew that Randy was close from the way he swiveled his hips against Gale's hand, moaning, and biting Gale's neck a little harder than before.

"Oh, fuck, Gale--"

He held on as Randy shook, and he felt the hot splash of come on his fist. He rubbed Randy's shuddering back, and kissed the delicate skin where neck met shoulder. He was still hard and aching, but he forced himself to stop thrusting against Randy's ass, taking deep breaths to calm down. He listened for it, and it was still there: the rain hurtling down from above, pounding against surfaces, shattering like desperate men throwing themselves from the sky.

Randy lifted Gale's hand, and Gale sucked in a breath as Randy licked his own come from Gale's fingers. His passion-dark eyes searched Gale's and after only a few moment's he smoothed sweat-damp fingers over Gale's brow. "Don't think, Gale."

Don't think? But he'd thought. "I should go." He didn't move. "I should...go."

Randy shook his head slowly.

Gale tried to meet Randy's gaze, tried to say the words again, with more force, more conviction, with some action to back it up, but the intensity of Randy's expression was too much, and he looked away. He closed his eyes, licked his lips, and waited, his heart pounding in his ears, his cock throbbing against his sweats.

"Stay." A single word against his ear, hot and damp, and full of desire, so much desire that made him shudder.

"Simon--"

"Is gone."

"Kim--"

"Isn't here."

"I--"

"Want me."

"Please--"

"Yes," Randy whispered. "Yes."

It had been a last ditch effort to bring them up. Kim--fuck, she'd been out of his life for months. And Simon--well, he'd never been enough to stop them before. But it had been the interrupted "I" that had been his hopeless attempt to stop this before it went further. If Randy had listened he would have heard, "I don't know where this is going. I don't know how to stop this. I'm losing myself. I'm terrified."

Maybe he heard it anyway.

Randy's mouth tasted like come when they kissed again. Shirts came off, and Randy's jeans joined the clothes now scattered on the floor. Gale's sweats ended up shoved down around his knees when Randy couldn't seem to keep his mouth away from Gale's cock long enough to get them the rest of the way down. Gale bit his cheek, and fought for control of his emotions, as Randy sucked the head of his cock gently, tonguing the slit, and twirling around the head. He let his head fall back, and clenched his hands in Randy's hair when Randy took him deep, and he grunted with half-sobs as he drew closer and closer to coming.

"Oh. Oh, God," he whispered, a prayer of awe laced with terror. He bit his cheek again, blaming the pain for the tears in his eyes when the coil of pleasure in his gut gripped his body and spun him into shuddering orgasm. He groaned as he shot into Randy's mouth, his legs twitching and jerking with every spurt.

Randy's wet mouth suckled him as he came down, and he twined his fingers through Randy's hair to pull him up for another kiss. It was this that scared him the most--tenderness between them that made him start to imagine more. He knew that it was never just sex and he wished to God that it was.

A torrent of rain slammed against the window, rattling the panes. Gale jerked, tearing his mouth away from the Randy's lips.

"It's just the rain," Randy whispered. "Don't worry so much. Relax."

Randy's gentle fingers were rubbing him now, massaging his shoulders, and running up and down his neck as Randy kissed him again. Gale settled back and let Randy pull him down until they were both laying lengthwise on the couch, Randy on top of him, and Gale toed the sweats the rest of the way down his legs, and kicked them off; they flew somewhere on the other side of the coffee table. Gale ran his fingers through Randy's hair, and felt the soft puffs of Randy's breath on his chest, each one rushing damply over his nipple, making it rise in anticipation.

Randy didn't take long to accept his nipple's invitation, taking it between his lips, and worrying it with his teeth. Gale threw his head back, and arched into the sensation. He whimpered when Randy released it and moved on to press kisses to his chest.

"Christ, Gale, you're so fucking beautiful," Randy said, running his hands over Gale's abdomen, and down to his cock which was waking up already, then back up again. "How could I resist this?" he asked, his voice playful and soft.

Resist. Gale swallowed hard and tried, really tried, but he gave up when Randy pushed his legs apart, settled between them, and lifted Gale's calves onto his shoulders. Gale braced himself, clenching his hands into fists, and tightening his thighs, but nothing ever prepared him for the hot, wet violation of Randy's tongue on his asshole. He yelled out in shock. He shook his head back and forth, trying to get a grip, but it was like this every time. Every fucking time. And he just lost it. Always lost it when it came to Randy eating his ass. Lost it.

He was crooning and thrashing, and part of him was aware that Randy was almost laughing as he grasped Gale's hips hard and continued to rim him, but he couldn't stop feeling. "I'm going to come," he yelled, and Randy did laugh then, a hot puff air against his ass, and Gale shuddered and shook--but didn't come. Christ, it was too much.

Randy moved away, leaving Gale's ass wet and suddenly chilled in the air. "Hold on. Don't go anywhere," Randy muttered, leaning over and shuffling through the drawer in the coffee table. "Fuck, I know I've got stuff in here."

Gale panted and shivered, realizing suddenly that he was covered in sweat, and that his cock was flexing with every beat of his heart. He was so fucking hard again that he couldn't fucking breathe, or maybe that was because he was still hyperventilating from the rim-job. Randy sat back and Gale heard the tear of cellophane, and he tensed again.

Randy shoved Gale's legs up until Gale thought his knees were going to touch his ears. Gale took a deep breath. He had to say something. And it was now or never. Now or never. Now or--

"Relax," Randy said, the thick head of his cock shoving against Gale's asshole. "Gale, relax. Think about the rain. Listen to the rain."

Gale took a deep breath, let it out slowly, and listened. It was there. The rain: fast, furious, constant, thick, slow, inexorable, stretching, burning, tight. Oh fuck. Gale gulped in air. He'd fucking forgotten how much it hurt.

"Oh, my God, Gale. Oh my God," Randy said, reverently.

Randy's dick slid into him like honey, thick and slow. He shuddered, and Randy ran strong hands over Gale's thighs. "S'okay, Gale. Christ, though. You're tight." Randy's voice sounded tense, and Gale took in another shaky breath, trying to calm down. His thighs trembled, and his knees were nearly knocking against Randy's ears when Randy brought them up to his shoulders.

Randy reached up and ran a hand over Gale's cheek and brushed the sweaty hair off his forehead. "Calm down. Shhh. It's okay. I've got you."

Gale closed his eyes and took deep, deep, deep breaths--each one brought Randy into him further. When he opened his eyes, he saw Randy's face above his, but just out of reach. He wanted to kiss him, wanted to pull him down and suck his lips, but the angle wouldn't give, and he just wasn't that flexible. Oh God--it said so much.

Randy rolled his hips, and Gale gasped, his feet flexing and his ass clenching Randy's dick.

It amazed him how quickly the pain turned to pleasure and how fast he went from barely being able to contain Randy to feeling like he wasn't going to survive when Randy pulled out. He gave himself over to it, over to the thrumming of the rain, and the rolling thrusts of Randy's hips. He gave himself over to the chill-bump inducing pleasure of a hard cock pummeling his ass, and he gave up the fight for control of his emotions, feeling the well of his heart overflow, and the tightening of his throat that heralded one of his worst fears.

Randy's fingers wiped at Gale's tears even as he fucked him harder. "I know. I know it's hard," Randy said, gently. "I know."

Gale groaned as Randy started to jerk him off with a hand still wet with Gale's tears. Randy didn't know. He couldn't know. And Gale wanted to shout that at him. Wanted to say, "Fuck you, you'll never know. You'll never know anything." But he kept his mouth shut, breathing through his nose, and biting his cheek again, his balls burning with the need to come. Because Randy knew too much, even if he'd never know what it was like to want this, need this, and be unable to fucking take it, have it, keep it.

Frantic to come, Gale grasped Randy's hand and forced him to a faster pace. He bucked and arched, taking Randy's cock deeper, and ramming his own dick into the clench of their hands. He twisted and pushed up, forcing himself to a position that pulled at his hamstrings, but let him barely reach Randy's mouth, and he kissed him when he came, yelling against Randy's lips. Hot come splashed between them, and he felt his ass grab at Randy's still thrusting dick.

"Fuck," Randy muttered, throwing his head back, and shaking. Gale collapsed, closed his eyes, and felt the throbbing of Randy's cock in his ass. "Fuck, fuck, fuck," Randy chanted, his hands clenching Gale's thighs too hard and hurting him.

Gale said nothing, his cock still twitching, and already dreading Randy's withdrawal. Why did it have to be so fucking short-lived? Why couldn't it go on and on? He closed his eyes and listened to Randy's panting breaths, and underneath them he could still hear the rain.

It wasn't dawn when Gale got up from the mess of clothes and condoms that was Randy's couch. Randy snored softly, not waking when Gale slipped out from under him. He stood for a minute and watched him breath. No, no--it was Randy who was so fucking beautiful.

Gale pulled on the sweats from the night before, found his jacket, and left. The rain was coming down hard as he pulled his truck away from the curb. His ass hurt, and he felt bruised inside somehow. In his soul. He drove toward the place where he had a bed he called his own under dark and heavy clouds. He wanted to look into something more blue. Like Randy's eyes. But there was only this, the constant, endless rain that made him feel itchy inside, and rather insane. That made him want more.

The windshield wipers waved frantically at him like he was making some kind of mistake. And the rain came down even harder. He didn't think it was ever going to stop.


THE END


Inspired by Inside My House by Jennifer Niceley.