It is one of these days. One of these days Gale wishes to be somewhere - anywhere - else. It is one of these days on which just everything is off, nothing works the way it should, the baby cries again and just won’t shut up, Michelle doesn’t manage her lines and would someone please make this pounding in his head go away? And Jesus, the fucking leather pants.

Gale tries to unnoticeably scratch his ass to allow himself some more space between skin and leather, at least for a few moments. He catches Randy smirking at him. Of course he notices, he always does. But he doesn’t have to wear this ridiculous outfit; it’s not him who is trapped in these impossibly tight pants. Gale inwardly curses whoever came up with this whole Leather Ball plot but thinks that maybe it could’ve been even worse, think Latex, for example. He rolls his eyes and nods towards the baby on Randy’s arm, he’d better take care of the little siren. How, Gale doesn’t know, but Randy has to make it stop.

It’s the baby’s constant wailing that will push Gale over the edge eventually. The frequency the little bugger is crying with strikes a chord inside him that makes him dizzy like a bad trip. And when Michelle starts bitching for whatever reason (plenty enough for her to chose from, Gale thinks), he has had enough.

“Can I get a break?” he asks no one in particular and when a voice belonging to no one in particular announces “fifteen minutes, everybody,” he plants his little whip on the counter and just storms off, out of the ‘loft’. He needs a place to calm down, a place to have a cigarette (he’d rather have a joint, but he’s fucked up enough already, the whole day is). He needs a secluded space, away from the mess that is Brian’s loft with all those annoying people and the crying baby.

The rest of the set is empty - most of the crew probably use the short break to readjust their equipment, get a coffee or take a piss. Gale is perfectly fine with that, especially when he finds what he was looking for. The small prop/make up room looks promising enough, nobody seems to be around. He sneaks inside, closes the door and leans back against the wall, taking a deep breath. Finally. He feels the pulse behind his temples and rubs them briefly, trying to chase the pain away. It doesn’t work. Gale mutters some curses to himself, makes a silent vow he will never go out drinking when he has got to work the next day, knowing too well he will break that promise the next chance he gets. But it makes him feel better and calms his conscience down. And finally, he gets a chance to put a hand into the front of these fucking tight pants and give himself a little break from this fucking tightness. Not the kind he prefers anyway.

As he relaxes, a new problem arises. He can’t smoke in here. Or can he? Gale strolls over to the back of the room, not really sure what he is looking for. Concentrating is still a bit difficult, and this is supposed to be a break, isn’t it? He has just reached the back wall when he hears the door open, making a small squeaking sound.

Gale bends down and hides behind a row of clothes hanging on a dresser - his, or rather Brian’s, he notes and his gaze wanders over leather jackets, leather coats, fucking leather everything.

“Gale.”

It is not a question, it is a statement. Of course Randy knows that Gale is hiding in here, he probably knew it before Gale even thought about entering the room. Gale has no idea why Randy always knows, he stopped wondering about it some time ago. It was useless. Randy always knew from day one. He knows where Gale would hide during breaks, he can exactly tell when Gale arrives hungover on set (he made a remark about it just this morning), he knows when Gale appreciates an invitation to come over after work and when he just wants to be left alone. Randy just always sees right through him, right from the beginning. Back then, Gale was randomly entertaining him with wild tales of his sex life, all featuring him and women of every colour; Randy listened, nodded and knew, of course, that Gale was babbling to cover that he had the hots for Randy, had wanted to fuck him so badly ever since they met; again, not really knowing why, but Randy knew, and that was enough for Gale. And when Randy offered him his ass one night about three weeks ago, Gale was too drunk, stoned and horny to question anything at all and just took it. It was the first, but not the last time.

And that is why it is no surprise at all that Randy chose this stuffed room to look for Gale, not asking for him but knowing he would be here and just calling him out. And because Gale could never hide from Randy, he doesn’t intend to start it now. There just wouldn’t be any use.

“Over here,” he answers as he raises back up.

He hears Randy’s footsteps and then he sees him, his eyes take in the impossibly tight blue shirt Justin would wear and the loose track pants that so perfectly outline Randy’s ass and he thinks it’s highly unfair he has to somehow squeeze his balls into the fucking leather pants while Randy can just dangle his goods this way. Not fair at all.

“Hey,” Randy says and smirks, not because he is happy he found Gale, that was a given, he just smirks because he knows exactly what state Gale is in. “Here. Take these.” He hands Gale two small white pills, Aspirin or something similar, and a bottle of water. Gale reaches for the items, swallows the meds and drinks some.

“Thanks,” he says and closes his eyes, allowing the meds to do their work.

A moment of silence passes between them before Randy clears his throat.

“You’ve forgotten this.”

Gale opens his eyes again and looks at the small whip Randy is waving in front of his eyes.

“Yeah. My whip. As if this outfit wasn’t ridiculous enough already.” He tries to sound as annoyed as he is, but somehow he can’t pull it off convincingly, he never can when Randy is close and smiling at him like this. Like he is doing now, lips curled in silent amusement, one eyebrow raised, head probably full of naughty ideas that make him feel smug and would Gale make feel good.

“It’s not ridiculous,” Randy argues and steps closer towards Gale, pressing his body against his. “It’s hot. You’re hot.”

The words are wet against Gale’s ear and he stops breathing for a moment or two, trying to remember why he was feeling bad to begin with, while Randy’s body still pushes against his own, firmer now, harder… god, he’s hard. The track pants give everything away.

“Hot,” Randy whispers again, “you should wear leather more often.”

And suddenly, Randy’s words make much more sense than any headache or hangover ever can and Gale has to give in.

“Yeah? You think so?” he breathes back, his voice adjusting to Randy’s hot whispers by default.

“Mh-hm.”

Gale feels hands on his ass, rubbing and squeezing it and he tries to imagine what it would be like to feel Randy’s ass this way, covered in the soft yet strong material and he is getting aroused, too. Randy’s hand rubs faster, all across Gale’s globes, down and back up on his thighs and moving forward, aiming towards his crotch. Gale spreads his legs a bit to give Randy better access, he has to feel him now and then he does, Randy’s hands outline his cock through the leather, roughly gliding up and down on it.

“Randy… we… you… fuck,” Gale stutters, not really sure what he is trying to say. He has no idea why his brain is sending him these messages about getting back to set, about going out there and work, dammit, instead of standing here, letting his co-star softly jerk him through his costume.

“That’s right, Gale. Fuck. Now.” Randy uses the little whip to stress his words, he slaps it against Gale’s thigh. It doesn’t hurt or anything, there is just this small smacking sound of the whip hitting the leather and Gale knows he is lost.

He grabs Randy by the hips and pushes the track pants down with no button or belt in the way, Christ, it is almost too easy. Suddenly, a condom falls down to the ground, Randy must have hidden it under his waistband, which only confirms Gale’s suspicion that he came fully prepared. Clever little shit. Randy bends down to get it, granting Gale a pretty good view of the ass he is about to fuck.

Gale unbuckles his own pants, fumbling a bit, he just wants to get them open, fast, now. His cock springs free, finally, and he wants to shove the pants further down, not only to fuck but also to get out of them for a bit, but Randy stops his movements.

“No. Leave them on like this. I want to feel them.”

Jesus.

Randy hands Gale the condom - lubed, of course. Gale opens the foil and puts the latex on with slightly shaking hands. He shouldn’t really be this excited; after all, he is about to fuck Randy yet again. But it is always the same, no matter how often they do it. It always has a forbidden ring to it and Gale knows they both get off on this idea.

“Come on, Gale,” Randy urges him on. “Come on, now.” He drops the little whip, turns, bends forward and grabs some of the clothes on the dresser in front of him for leverage. It’s one of Brian’s leather coats, Gale notices and thinks that maybe Brian does know much more about fashion than he thought. After all, who is Gale Harold to argue with Brian Kinney’s fashion sense? Gale catches himself pondering Brian Kinney while he is about to fuck Randy and somehow, the whole idea seems completely weird, so he lets go and concentrates on something else instead. Like Randy, presenting his ass to him again, pale and curvy and impossible tight on the inside, Gale knows all about that.

Gale lowers his body slightly, the tip of his cock aiming for Randy’s hole and he watches his movements, watches as his head starts pushing inside. It looks hot but it feels even better, thanks to the lack of preparation. But Gale knows the lube of the condom is enough, he knows Randy likes it rough and he also knows that they are best like this: fucking on the brink of pain.

“Yes,” Randy hisses as Gale pushes further inside.

Gale watches his cock disappear between the globes, inch by inch. He holds his breath as he tries to fight Randy’s inner resistance, tries to break him, to gain the upper hand in this fucked up relationship or whatever it is, at least for now. He withdraws a bit and pushes back in, harsher now, and Randy moans, he fucking enjoys it and Gale knows that he never had the upper hand to begin with.

Randy’s right hand is back on him. Gale feels it searching for his ass, fingering the leather. He remembers that Randy wanted to feel the leather on him, so that is what he will get.

Gale grunts and presses his body closer onto Randy’s, his leather-covered thighs meeting Randy’s bare skin. Randy’s hand squeezes Gale’s ass now and he starts moving of his own accord, slamming back against Gale, tries to force them together even closer. Gale doubts that it is possible, but what he can do is to pick up speed, to fuck Randy faster and harder, so he does. The leather around his crotch produces an indescribable sound whenever it meets Randy’s ass, it accentuates their bodies colliding in a kinky and most arousing way. The zipper of the pants will probably leave marks on Randy’s cheeks and Gale feels like getting high from the idea alone.

“Randy… yes,” Gale stammers, because there isn’t anything else he can say right now. He buries himself in Randy’s tight ass again and again, pushes in and out relentlessly, and he wonders why he ever fancied pussy at all, when he can have this. Later today, he will talk to Randy about it, he promises himself, just like every time he’s fucking his co-star. He will talk about what they are doing, why they are doing it, what he is feeling and if Randy feels anything at all, anything beyond the pleasure of fucking. He will talk about all this later on, but not now. Not now, because Randy is doing this thing again, he is contracting his muscles down there and Gale feel like drawn in. He knows it isn’t possible to get further inside Randy than he already is, but he always wants more, deeper, longer.

Gale reaches for Randy’s cock, it is leaking already - holy shit, so hot - and he starts jerking it, roughly, to match his fierce thrusts. Randy pinches Gale’s ass in appreciation, and Gale swallows a moan, he is getting vocal and knows that this hot ride will be over way too soon. He starts to sweat, the smell of it mixes with the leather that suddenly seems to be everywhere, and the air feels heavy around them. Gale closes his eyes and inhales deeply. The smacking sound of his pants hitting Randy’s bare ass are more prominent now that the visuals are gone. Gale runs his free hand up and down his own thigh, feeling the leather underneath his fingers.

“You… like it… too,” Randy states breathlessly and Gale opens his eyes to find Randy looking at him, watching him while he touches himself.

“Yeah,” Gale replies hoarsely. He is close. He needs to shoot, to come inside Randy… and he wants Randy to come with him. He grunts again and tightens his fist around Randy’s cock, squeezes, pulls, anything. Randy’s hand flies from Gale’s ass to his own cock, covering its head and Gale feels him coming, feels the cock pulsating inside his fist and the ass tighten around him. Randy moans and bucks while he catches his come in his palm and Gale keeps on pounding into him, desperate to find his own release. Once Randy is done, he brings his hand close to Gale’s face. Gale’s tongue darts out and starts licking it clean.

The taste of Randy’s come is just the last bit of stimulation Gale needs to get off. His balls, slapping against Randy tighten, announcing the overture to his orgasm.

And then, Randy suddenly stops moving against him and Gale is confused until he hears it, a noise that isn’t supposed to be there. Moaning and panting is okay, but not this… squealing? Of a door?

“Gale? Randy?” Michelle asks and Gale holds his breath. Shit.

“Are you in here, boys? We’re ready to go,” Michelle adds and Gale tries to hold perfectly still, tries to ignore the tingling in his balls, the throbbing of his cock and the aching that is just everywhere, damn, he is so fucking close. He has to come, now, and he prays that Michelle would just go away so he can let go.

Randy, who is the biggest fucker possible, uses this moment to constrict his muscles again. That is all he does, he tenses and relaxes the muscles that surround Gale’s cock. He does so three, maybe four times, gripping and releasing Gale again, until Gale just can’t fight anything anymore. He bites Randy’s shoulder to occupy his mouth and comes, just comes, forgetting about Michelle and the set and the urge to talk to Randy, forgetting everything except the rush of his orgasm. So hard. So wrong. So right. So good.

“It’s okay. She’s gone,” Randy says later, seconds, minutes, Gale doesn’t know. He tries to calm down, tries to get his breathing and his shaking body under control. He can’t.

In the end, it is Randy who takes care of things. Randy makes sure the condom is secure when he frees his body of Gale’s spent cock. He turns and watches Gale.

“You okay?”

Gale hears something in his voice. He likes to pretend it is concern, but he doesn’t want to fool himself any more than necessary.

“I’m fine.”

Randy nods but he still doesn’t look convinced. Gale just shrugs. What is he supposed to say anyway?

The touch of Randy’s hand on his cheek startles him. The kiss Randy gives him almost freaks him out. It is soft and caring and Gale wonders if maybe he worries too much. Maybe things will be fine.

“Come see me tonight,” Randy whispers when he withdraws. “I think we need to talk.”

Nobody comments when Gale and Randy reappear on set. Not that Gale gives a shit, not about them. Maybe his hair is even messier than before, maybe he’s sweaty, so what. Brian is supposed to look fucked up anyway.

The baby starts crying again as soon as Randy holds it and Gale has to smirk. They will talk tonight, he remembers, and suddenly, he wonders why the baby is crying at all. It is getting all of Randy’s attention, what’s there to cry about?