Title: Take a Number, Knock on Wood
Summary: Thoughts, fantasies that had chased around his mind come screeching into reality and it takes all his composure to process what's going on.
Notes: Written for a friend.
Take a Number, Knock on WoodIt starts with a "Help me close up?"
It ends like this:
Randal has his mouth on Dante's and he isn't sure if it's in his mind or actually happening. He's thought about this before, offhandedly and stupidly and jokingly and painfully seriously and so he can't really tell if this is fantasy or fact until Dante makes a strangled noise in his throat, something Randal never really thought about adding to his fantasies. It's then that he knows this is real and he's fucking kissing Dante and what the hell was he even thinking?
But then Dante's lips move against his.
Randal's stomach drops to the floor and he feels disbelief creep down from his scalp like that game they played when they were kids, when Dante would tap his fist against Randal's head and drag his fingers down his hair, like an egg cracking on his scalp.
They break apart unceremoniously and stare at each other because what the fuck can they say? Randal was never one for silence and it starts to wear on him so he shifts on his feet and flicks his eyes away from Dante's because they're a little too dark for him to deal with right now.
"Jesus, do you ever brush your teeth?"
Dante's sigh is incredulous and impatient and Randal wishes he could've caught it with his mouth. His hands are twitching at his sides to take Dante's shoulders and shove him into the counter and crush their bodies together, but that's a little too fast even for him and he has to let this sink in first.
"Can you be serious for one second?" Randal chooses not to answer, turns his eyes over the porn magazines, pretends like his heart isn't about to pound out of his chest. "This is huge, man. This is... Fuck, I don't even know."
When Randal turns his eyes back to Dante, he's turned away from him with his hands on the counter and his head hanging on his chest and he looks dejected. For a second a flash of satisfaction flares in him, after years of being silent and wishing, wishing—and now here's Dante with his head and shoulders slumped and that whine in his voice and it's for him. He tries not to grin but it doesn't work and instead he crosses his arms over his chest and leans against the counter.
"What do you want me to say, Dante?"
Dante turns his head and his eyes are flashing and Randal knows this is hitting him somewhere inside, someplace where he feels something, and it scares both of them. "I don't know! Something! I mean, fuck! You kiss me out of nowhere and I—" Here he pales and looks away and curls his hands into a fist. "And all you have to say is 'Tic Tac?'"
Randal watches Dante's eyes scan the counter and he wonders how much he should say. "What should I say instead? 'Chap Stick?' 'Wait a minute, don't we like pussy?' Should I say that I can't fucking think of anything to say because all I can think about is that you kissed me back?"
Dante turns his head slowly and levels his eyes with Randal.
"Fuck, Dante. We just kissed—fucking kissed—and you want me to say something? No wonder you never get laid."
He narrows his eyes and stands up straighter. "I get laid. Hey, I've never seen you have two girls fighting over you."
Randal feels the joke come up and he tries to bite it back but it comes out before he can stop it. "Because I've been chasing a dude."
Dante stops and stares for a few seconds before he grins and blushes, and Randal thinks he wants to go throw up in the bathroom. What is he doing? Five seconds into his gay career and he's already spouting Hallmark cards. He sighs and drops his head and tries to find a way to regain some sort of masculinity here, but he isn't sure that really works when he wants to wrap his hand around another dude's cock.
In the end, he decides that's the best course of action.
This is where it begins.