Title: Together
Author: Baked Goldfish
Rated: R, for content matter and language
Characters: Jed/Leo, Jed's POV
Summary: And here we are today. Thirty-five years after that first night.
Warnings: Erm, character rape. Death of non-main character. The fact that I wrote this really, really late/early.
Disclaimer: I don't even pretend to own them. Please don't sue.


Together by Baked Goldfish

He was a slim boy, and I use the term boy loosely. He was as much a man as I, if not more so. But he was slim, with sharp eyes, slightly tanned skin, and the strongest jawline there could ever be. He had a shock of wavy blond hair, the kind that would feel silky running your fingers through. Along with all this came a grin that could get you into trouble.

He was a slim man. With slim shoulders that slimmed down into an even slimmer waist, and the most beautiful ass possible. He looked like a dancer; slender, yes, but by no means skinny. Under that rakishly half-buttoned shirt was sinewy muscle, strong and taut. Those worn, faded jeans left nothing to the imagination, nothing at all.

And there he'd sit, across the bar, drinking beer and laughing with a couple of coeds hanging onto his arms and hanging onto his every word. They'd think he's a bad boy type. They'd think that with that voice and that look that he's a rough, great lay. They think he'd screw one of them, roll over, and screw the next.

I knew the truth. I knew what they don't. I knew the knife-sharp intelligence behind those eyes. I knew the sensitivity. I knew the wit, I knew the anger, I knew the fear.

But, most of all, I knew for a fact that he really is a rough, great lay.

God, I remember our first like it was yesterday. I saw him in the bar, talking to one of our mutual friends. We had quite a few of those, seeing as how we'd known each other for about six years. I saw him talking to Todd. Todd, who was so flamboyantly gay, you could spot him a mile away in the fog. They knew I was across the bar, reading a book and contemplating my brew. I saw them get up and go upstairs to the room that the barkeep kept for Leo. He was always screwing when we came here, and the barkeep didn't want to lose such good business, so he let him rent out a room above the bar. I kept to myself, and drove him back to the dorm when he was drunk on liquor and sex.

I saw them get up and go upstairs. A little while later, I saw Todd come down again, but no Leo. I went up to check on him, make sure he wasn't passed out or anything. He'd do that sometimes, and I'd see girls coming downstairs, giggling and fixing their hair and walking like they were in pain. Every now and again I'd see a guy walk down with a grin on his face and a stiff gait. Todd was smirking and sauntering, just like he normally did.

I went up to check on him. Make sure he wasn't passed out or anything.

He was naked and belly down on the dirty carpet, his belt wrapped around his wrists and tied to the bottom of a metal bedpost. Bruises were on his back and side, and he was beginning to form a black eye. Numbly, I untied the bandana from his face. It was spotted with blood where it had been in his mouth. Next was the belt, and after that I lowered him to the ground. He wasn't quite unconcious, but he wasn't really aware of what was going on around him. I used the bandana to clean him up a bit, and then I got him dressed as best I could.

Leo stumbled down the stairs with me, drunk and dazed and mumbling that he was hurting. Thank goodness for the late hour and the lack of people because of it. We made it to the car, the silence interrupted only by his questions of why he hurt. I was about to get him into the car when he pushed me up against it, and kissed me. I pushed him away, and put him in the car. He was doing it again. Sex and booze make everything better, and since he was already drunk and that wasn't helping, he went for screwing. I had to drive home with him alternately pawing me and slumping against the door in pain.

I was going to kill Todd. Later, I found out that six beers and speeding down the highway took care of that for me, but I felt cheated out of my vengeance. The last thing he did on this earth was fuck my best friend, and I never got the chance to get back at him for it.

We got to the dorms, and everything was silent. It was so late at night that not even the bugs were making noises. I brought him inside, trying to support his lithe frame whilst keeping his hands off my ass and crotch. When we got to the room, he promptly forgot about it all and flopped on the bed. He somehow had the sentience to pull back the covers and curl up under them. He never did that, ever. I wanted to kill Todd, but like I said. . .

I sat there, beside him, unable to sleep for the worry and the rage and the guilt. Once, when he shivered, I reached out to brush his cheek, to soothe him. He flinched away from me. Later, when he shivered again, I didn't try to touch him. I just sort of looked away.

He woke up after I'd finally dozed off. I woke up because I felt his eyes on me. They were wide, and they held terror and shame in them. I looked away. He closed them and tucked the pillow closer to him. I looked at him again, a moment longer, and his eyes opened again.

"Water," he murmured. I got up and got him a glass of tap water. He sat up and drank it quickly. "Hurt," he whispered as he lay back down. I scrubbed at my eyes. I didn't know what else to do. He reached his hand out to me, and whispered again, "Hurt."

I didn't know what he meant. Was he asking me to hurt him? Was he asking if I was going to hurt him? Did his hand hurt? I thought about the last one. His wrists might have hurt, since he probably struggled against the belt. I took his hand and tried to look at his wrist in the moonlight.

His fingers intertwined with mine, and he pulled me onto the bed next to him. I hesitated when he curled up next to me, but my arms found their way around his beautifully slim shoulders. He kissed me on the lips and grabbed my waist, and I pushed away. Sex makes everything better to him, except it doesn't. I started to get up, and he pulled me back towards him. "Please," he said, and the look in his eyes was too much. Too sober.

I wasn't me. I was someone else, and that someone else climbed under the covers with him. Then I felt him kiss me again, and I returned. His hands were on me, and mine on him, and it just felt good to be there in that moment.

It was fast, it was raging, it was frenetic. It was rough, but I didn't mind. He kissed and bit and licked and thrust and grunted, and I took it. Because I wanted it. Because I liked it. Not the sex, though that wasn't bad. I liked it because when it was all over, and he was still half in me, and I was lying beneath him spent and smiling, he began to cry. "I'm so sorry," he sobbed, over and over, his lissom frame shaking as I turned and gathered him up. We stayed like that the rest of the night and most of the morning, alternately dozing and crying, the both of us, with him sprawled across my torso, and me with my arms on his back.

He went back to that bar, after a long time. I was there sometimes, and sometimes I wasn't. Sex and booze, but only with women. I was his only man. And eventually, Jenny was his only woman. He kept going to the bars, for the booze. He fell. Jenny and I picked him up. He fell again. We picked him up again. And then she left him, and we were afraid he'd fall. He didn't.

And here we are today. Thirty-five years after that first night. And he's still sprawled across my torso, and I've still got my arms on his back. Different locale, but just the same. We've been through hell and high water together. Sometimes starting apart, but always together in the end. His hair's not as thick as it used to be; he's got the smallest beginnings of a bald spot. He's not as slim, either. But I happen to like those love handles and that cute little paunch of a belly. Granted, I'm not looking twenty anymore either, but I'm just saying.

We've grown together. Through it all, always together.


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