Archive of Our Own

“You’re shaking,” Collie teased, balancing the needle between his top and bottom teeth, “you scared?”

“I’m not fuckin’ scared, you’re fuckin’ scared.” Gary spat.

“It’s just a needle,” Collie shrugged.

He flicked the lighter on and held it to the sharp point until it started to glow faintly. Heat waved against Collie’s nose as the flame climbed higher.

“Yeah, doesn’t mean I fuckin’ trust you with it,” Gary grumbled, adjusting himself on the cruddy plastic stool.

Music blared from the boombox in the bedroom, crashy drums and unintelligible lyrics muffled by the thick tile walls of the bathroom and the persistent buzz of the flickering light overhead.

It was a crummy apartment, bordering on total shit, but it was theirs. The broken bed frame and the smokey carpets and poster-plastered walls, it was all theirs. Walking distance to the places they really cared about and the friends they wanted to keep forever made the jacked-up price and hellish conditions worth it.

“Hey, which of us actually worked as a piercer?” Collie asked, pulling on a black latex glove.

Gary rolled his eyes, “For like six months.”

“Yeah, because I got fucking fired,” Collie chuckled, “remember why?”

Gary remembered. So did Collie. They’d met back in those days when Collie was stabbing people for pay in a shitty strip mall and Gary was taking half-hour smoke breaks five times a day at the gas station on the corner. It started with Collie buying an energy drink every day on his lunch break and Gary begging for some free piercings. It ended with the two of them getting caught fucking on a tattoo chair after hours. They both lost their jobs the next day, though Gary lost his because he never even manned the register.

Collie thought meeting Gary made losing his job totally worth it.

The light in their bathroom flooded Gary's pale face with a sickly-green wash, deep shadows casting across his face beneath his thick brow and high cheeks. He worried at the inside of one of his snakebites with his teeth while Collie readied the needle. Even though he was adding to an existing constellation of jewelry in Gary's face, he still squirmed every time like it was his first.

Collie bent down in front of him. He wiped at the edge of his eyebrow with some rubbing alcohol. Gary's eyes, round and wet, watched him from below. Fuck, Collie should just say fuck it to the whole evening, shouldn’t he? Call his buddy, say he can’t make it to the show so he can spend a few hours just taking Gary's clothes off, bit by bit, until he’s squirming just like he is in this stool.

“Stop fuckin’ looking at me like that,” Collie grumbled.

Gary wasn’t the type to do what he was told. He hooked his finger into a rip in Collie’s jeans and tugged a little. His eyes trailed from Collie’s zipper to his face.

“You gonna stick me or not, faggot?” Gary teased him in a whisper.

The corner of Collie’s mouth twitched. He took the needle, pinched Gary's eyebrow between his fingers, and positioned the end of the needle.

“You gonna cry?” Collie asked.

“You wish,” Gary replied.

That first push, breaking the barrier of the skin, always gave Collie a sick sort of thrill. Slowly and firmly, he breached the first layer.

“Fuck,” Gary hissed when the needle reached muscle.

Collie kept pushing. The resistance the skin gave made him want to push harder, go deeper. Because the more he pushed, the more Gary's face tightened from the pain.

Once the needle appeared on the other side, Gary parted his lips and let out this whine like he’d just been kicked in the ribs. Collie knew that whine. It was his whine. Gary's cheeks flushed as he hooked two fingers into Collie’s belt loop, his knuckles scraping against the thick leather belt.

“Such a perv,” Collie whispered, “you into this shit?”

Collie didn’t ask questions like that  because he didn’t already know the answer. He asked them because watching Gary try and play it off by acting tough reminded him of the old days when they weren’t boyfriends, just a “situation”. Gary was a difficult motherfucker, so their “situation” lasted for six months longer than Collie was willing to stand and it took moving fucking mountains to get him to admit that their “situation” was love.

“Nah, I think you’re—ah—the fuckin’ perv,” Gary yelped when Collie put the jewelry in.

“Yeah?” Collie hummed.

He screwed the little ball onto the open end of the piercing. Then, he touched a curious finger to the side of the fresh wound.

“Ow, would you fuck off?” Gary hissed, tilting his head away.

Just barely in the dim light, Collie could see a single tear trailing down Gary's cheek. He lunged for it, sucking up the salty drop then licking up the trail it left behind. He tasted rubbing alcohol and blood and metal and cigarettes. He swore he could walk into a room blindfolded and know if Gary was there. Collie was like a bloodhound for his deodorant and his menthols and his spit.

“See?” Gary muttered, “Perv.”

Collie stuck his hand between Gary’s legs where he was about as hard as he could get.

“See?” He teased him.

“Oh, you’re hilarious,” Gary shoved his shoulders, “you’re fuckin’ hilarious, you know that? Hey, fuck your fake concert job, America needs your comedy to lighten the dismal fucking mood.”

“Fake concert job?” Collie laughed as he peeled off the glove and went to wash his hands, “You’re a fuckin’ photographer.”

“So we’re just two broke motherfuckers, then?” Gary reached for his pack in his back pocket.

“Yup,” said Collie, planting a quick kiss to the top of Gary’s head.

He snaked his hand around the back of Gary’s neck and guided his head down a bit.

“Your roots are showing,” said Collie.

“So what?” Gary forced his head back up.

“You’ll see Aurora tonight,” Collie replied, “just ask her for a touch-up sometime this week.”

Gary stuck a cigarette between his lips and made grabby hands for the lighter on the bathroom counter. Collie handed it to him, letting his fingers dance down the thick silver chain on Gary’s neck. It was a stretch of industrial-grade links that they’d cut from a spool in a hardware store and forgotten to pay for.

“They owe me,” Collie had said, shrugging.

“What, America?” Gary asked.

“Yup.”

Collie had welded the ends together so it was a permanent appendage that Gary had to scrub underneath when he was in the shower. Dangling between Gary’s collarbones was a silver tag shaped like a bone.

Collie, the engraving read.

He didn’t feel bad about the permanence of the necklace because Collie had made a bad deal with Gary one night that resulted in his last name being tattooed on Collie’s lower back. They were bound now by something too tangible to ignore.

“Can’t believe you’re dragging me to your shitty ass punk show,” Gary said without an ounce of actual anger. He glared at himself in the mirror and prodded gently at his new piercing until he winced.

“You love my shitty ass punk shows,” Collie leaned against the door, “and I went to your shitty metal show last week.”

Gary eyed him in the mirror’s reflection and stuck out his tongue, the little silver ball near the tip catching the greenish light. Collie flashed him a middle finger and smiled. God, he couldn’t help it. Gary made him think of a little dog who barked its head off to try and make you think it’s tough. He could never tell Gary how endearing he found this because it would send him in a tailspin for at least a month.

“That what you’re wearing?” Collie asked him.

Gary looked back at him.

“Fuck is that supposed to mean?” He spat.

He was in a long shirt with a metal band logo that Collie couldn’t make out if he tried, even though he knew they were technically letters. Gary’s long black jeans were scuffed at the ends, little strings hanging all around his dingy black sneakers.

Collie held his hands up in surrender.

“Just asking!” He said.

“Is that what you’re wearing?” Gary gestured towards Collie’s tight black tanktop and torn-up black jeans.

“And my vest, yeah,” Collie shrugged.

Gary crossed his arms, his lip quirking up into a snarl.

“Fine,” he huffed, “I’ll put on a goddamn jacket. Happy?”

Collie’s lips stretched into a smile. He reached for Gary and flicked at the tag dangling from his neck.

“Always, baby.”

Collie adjusted his back against the sharp grooves of the brick wall he was leaning against. It was chilly enough outside that he wished he’d worn another layer. Gary, the coldblooded creature he is, immediately started to complain and poached a sweatshirt from a friend of theirs who works merchandise for shows at the venue. Even so, the two of them were standing outside so Gary could have a cigarette before the show started.

“Fucking freezing,” he hissed, the cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth while he tried to warm his hands in his sweatshirt.

Collie reached into Gary’s back pocket, took his lighter, flicked it on and waved it around Gary’s face. He grimaced.

“You’re just on a roll tonight, aren’t you?” He said flatly.

“I’m feeling my oats,” said Collie, trying something new.

“Feeling your oats?” Gary asked, “That’s gotta be something sexual.”

“It’s not!” Collie replied, “It’s just a saying.”

“What’s it mean?”

“I dunno, that you feel good?”

“And you can’t just say you feel good?”

Someone Collie knew passed by and gave him a casual handshake. He nodded to Gary and Gary responded in kind.

“Fine, I feel good,” Collie said.

“Ayo, Bite!”

A familiar voice. Collie turned and saw Pete and his new beau walking towards the door to the venue. Pete always looked fresh on nights like these, an all black ensemble with an heirloom leather jacket covered in sharp studs that was the envy of everyone in the local scene. Tonight he was also wearing a black leather beret with a pin that said “Let’s get horizontal!” in bright purple letters.

His new man had only been around for a few months at this point so Collie hadn’t said much to him, but Pete was obviously crazy about him and he’d made an effort this evening in a black band tee from Pete’s extensive closet and jeans worn with grass and dirt stains. His face was still sweet though, round and freckled. When he smiled, his eyes crinkled.

Pete pulled Collie in for a hug. Gary nodded towards him and Pete kicked him gently on the shin.

“You look cold, Bark,” Pete teased him.

Getting an affectionate nickname was a rite of passage in the scene. Gary became “Bark” when he started in on a douchebag outside the venue who wasn’t leaving some girl alone, teasing him and goading him until finally he cracked and swung a fist Gary’s way. Collie became “Bite” when, as the douchebag’s body went careening right by Gary, Collie broke his jaw with his fist. The tactic has gone unused since that night, but the names stuck like that guy’s blood to the pavement.

“I am fuckin’ cold, Pete,” Gary replied, “who’s the Jolly Green Giant?”

Pete’s companion pointed to himself with wide eyes. Pete placed a hand on his arm and smiled.

“Bite, you’ve met Ray before right?” Collie nodded, Pete turned to Gary, “This is Ray. And he’s a dear boy, so don’t go scarin’ him off, alright?”

Gary flicked some ashes from the end of the cigarette.

“And your idea of not scaring him off is taking him to see Vomit Romney?” He asked.

“Now, he might not look it, but Ray’s no scaredy cat,” Pete said, “and he’s smart too! Reads books, something you two could probably be doing.”

Collie scoffed.

“What’s Vomit Romney?” Ray asked with a twisted expression.

“That’s the name of the band, baby,” Pete whispered to him.

Ray nodded, his face twitching in thinly-veiled disgust. Pete shrugged.

“If Bark here doesn’t turn to ice first, we’ll see ya’ll inside, yeah?” Pete pointed between the two of them.

“Yeah, man,” Collie said, shaking Pete’s hand again and giving Ray a little salute.

Gary put his cigarette out on the wall behind them as the band started to tune up inside. He turned to Collie and wiggled his brows.

“Wonder what they’re like in the sack,” he said, nodding towards the door that Pete and Ray had disappeared through.

“You’re sick,” Collie said, shaking his head.

“I’m curious,” Gary replied, “I think about how everyone would be in bed. Like, solely for fuckin’ research.”

“Did you do that to me when we met?” Collie asked suggestively.

“Obviously,” Gary scoffed, “Why do you think I had that whole sexuality crisis? I couldn’t stop thinking about your dick. It was showing up in my fuckin’ dreams and everything.”

Collie tucked a strand of hair behind Gary’s ear. Gary leaned in and kissed him, transferring the tangy aftertaste of cigarettes directly to his tongue. Collie pulled Gary closer with a finger in his waistband.

“This is—” Collie whispered into Gary’s open mouth, “kinda gay, dude.”

Gary retaliated by running the ball of his tongue piercing along Collie’s bottom lip before pulling it taut between his teeth.

“Fuckin’ queer,” he whispered.

Collie could’ve stayed like that forever, Gary’s hips against his and the cold night forgotten within the heat sparking in their bodies, but Collie kind of really wanted to see Vomit Romney. So he pulled away and kicked the toe of Gary’s shoes with his boot.

“Come on.”

Collie entered something of a flow state at shows like this, even when the venue was so cramped he could barely move. When he closed his eyes, he could feel the music crashing through his skin and his muscles and his bones, shaking the insides of his ears until there was only the guitar. Until there was only a voice screeching through the haze. And he could feel the beat in his fingers like sonar waves at the deepest parts of the ocean, seeking others to feel the flow with him.

Shaking and banging his head around was second nature in times like these. He was an involuntary reflex of the crowd, a puppet pulled taut on electric strings at the band’s sole discretion. Collie didn’t care about the spilled drinks soaking into his pants or or all of the sweat he was exchanging with others.

He could sense Barkovitch beside him. Could know him by just running his fingers over his presence. He wanted to grab him, pull him closer and closer until they were sharing one skin. He wanted to know more about Gary than Gary even knew about himself.

Someone shoved Collie from behind. His heart thudded. Anticipation fizzled in his head.

Fuck yeah.

Collie let himself get swept into the pit. If he was a puppet, the strings had just zapped him alive and told him to run, to kick, to make space for himself where it didn’t exist before. His eyes flew open and the blur of life overwhelmed them. Every time someone on the edge pushed him back in, he felt the energy ramp up. He couldn’t be stopped. He was on overdrive, and he felt his insides heat up like the hood of a racecar burning fuel with reckless abandon.

Every action had an equal and opposite reaction, so when Collie was shoved back into the round about as hard as he could bear, he collided with a body he couldn’t forget if he tried.

Gary.

A sharp elbow jabbed him square in the nose, and Collie heard a crack. At the same time, Collie felt the spitty impact of teeth against his fist. Collie doubled over as a bolt of pain shot through the center of his face, feeling like the whole thing was splitting in half. He stumbled out of the pit, a helping hand tugging him by the back of his vest.

Collie forced his eyes open, his vision throbbing in time with his nose. Something warm and wet dripped down over his lips.

“Hey, Gary!” He shouted over the music.

He couldn’t see him anywhere. He was right there just a moment ago. Collie let out a string of curses as he fought through the thick crowd, the idea of ripping his nose off entirely seeming the better option than enduring this pain any longer. But Gary was somewhere out there with a mouthful of busted teeth and blood. Collie felt the lasting sting in his knuckles.

“Gary!” He shouted again.

“Hey, what’s all the shouting for?”

Collie whipped around and saw Gary standing right behind him, a huge split in the center of his lip that was coating his chin and teeth in bright red blood. He smiled. Collie’s insides turned to pure, molten heat.

He grabbed the back of Gary’s neck and pulled him in, the collision of their mouths rivaling the mess of elbows and fists that had bloodied them in the first place. Collie felt the wetness everywhere, under his nose and in his mouth and smeared across his cheek. He licked at the back of Gary's teeth, savoring the acrid, metallic taste. All his pain forgotten, Collie pulled Gary closer and melted against him. Collie wedged two fingers underneath Gary’s necklace and pulled. He made a little choking noise in Collie’s mouth that made his brain fuzzy.

It took the end of the song and a tap on the shoulder from someone behind them asking if they’re okay for the two of them to come back to reality, specifically the reality of having each other’s blood smeared all over themselves.

“Fuck,” Gary chuckled as they made their way to the bathroom.

Tucked into a dark bathroom surrounded by graffiti and posters and stickers, Collie and Gary wiped at their faces and scrubbed with water until the stained edges of their blood disappeared down the cracked porcelain bowl and into the drain. Collie leaned against the edge of the sink and watched as Gary poked around where his lip was split. An unwelcome memory came to him.

“The fuck happened to you?”

“None of your fuckin’ business,” Gary spat.

They were outside of the gas station sometime after midnight. The pumps were deserted and the bright neon lights flickered overhead.

“Someone beat you up or something?” Collie took a step towards him.

“Fuck off!” Gary cried, his body recoiling into the darkness.

He had a black eye that hadn’t yet reached its darkest stage. And there was a bruise forming on his temple. Claw marks stretched down his neck, some of them deep enough to scab over. His lip was split and purple.

“Barkovitch,” Collie stepped towards him again.

“Look, I dunno if you’re some kinda fuckin’ queer or something, Parker,” Gary hissed, “but you need to stay the fuck away. I don’t play that fuckin’ game, you know that.”

Collie had moved beyond being hurt by Gary’s words when he got like this. He saw something deeper within it that he couldn’t reveal until the time was right.

“Fuckin’ faggot,” Gary spat.

He hit himself, hard, right on the side of his head where he was already bruising. He turned and started muttering to himself. Collie took a step back, but he didn’t mean anything by it. He just needed to reprocess.

These were self-inflicted wounds, all of them probably.

“Quit that,” Collie said.

Gary didn’t listen. He clawed at his neck with one shaking hand and tried to grab a cigarette from the pack in his back pocket with the other.

“I said quit it!”

Collie lunged for him, taking Gary’s wrist in his hand and pulling at him hard.

“Fuck off, Parker!” Gary screamed.

“This is what you do?” Collie screamed back, “Sit around and rough yourself up? You think you deserve it?”

Gary tried to punch Collie with his free fist, but Collie caught it first. Then they were wrestling, straining against each other as the barren gas station closed in around them.

Collie stepped closer. His muscles burned. Gary was stronger than he looked.

“Fuck you,” Gary muttered before spitting right on Collie’s cheek.

Collie felt his stomach drop, the earth opening up to greet it. He was a faggot, just like Gary said. He wanted this forever, the strain of his muscles against Gary’s entire weight. He wanted to hold his wrists like this and lick all of the pain off of his skin, breathe in the scent of his desperation. He wanted Gary.

But they were just dogs, snarling and snapping at each other until they ceased to be the very dogs they believed themselves to be and became suggestions of violence. They were landscapes of teeth and spit and fur. From a distance, someone would only see hate, an aggression born of a fight for dominance. But in here, in the middle of it all, there was only a love too fierce to express with a kiss. Collie wanted to bleed. He wanted Gary to bleed too.

He wanted to be a bad dog and fight until he dropped dead.

“The fuck’re you lookin’ at me like that for?” Gary asked.

There was no bruise on the side of his head. On his neck, there was only the chain with Collie’s name hanging off of it. Gary’s eyes were softened towards him. Not fearful.

“I love you,” said Collie.

Gary’s face pinched.

“Oka-ay?” He replied.

“Say it back.”

Gary looked around like the prank was just about to be revealed.

“Say it.”

“I love you, too,” he sighed, “freak.”

Gary offered to find Cramp, the venue owner, and ask for a first aid kit. Collie had a cut on the bridge of his nose that started to bleed every time he sniffed and Gary needed an ice pack for his lip or it was going to be double the size by the next morning.

Collie found a seat at the bar. The bartender handed him a soda and smiled.

“That’s a gnarly gash there,” she teased.

“Domestic dispute,” Collie joked, “Bark got me in the pit.”

“Well, how’s the other guy look?”

“Busted his lip. He’ll live.”

Collie kept his bandana at the ready in case his nose started to pour again. He watched the show from afar, not quite as lost in the music as before but content to be sitting down as dull pain knocked at every point of his body.

“Hey.”

Collie’s eyes fell to a tall, lean man in a white tank top and black pants. His blonde hair and unaltered skin looked out of place in the crowd, but he wasn’t acting lost. In fact, he watched Collie with more intention than was socially acceptable.

“Do you mind?” He asked in a low, flat voice, motioning to the chair beside Collie.

“Go for it,” Collie said.

The man’s engineer boots clinked against the barstool legs as he sat, sighing long and deep. He caught the bartender’s eye and ordered a gin and tonic.

“Billy,” the man said.

“Collie.”

Billy was a very direct sort of man and that made Collie happy because the thought of sitting here making small talk was sickening. When his drink came, Collie offered a cheers. Billy eyed him.

“You know the scene out here?” He asked.

“Yeah,” Collie shrugged, “I work here. At the venue. You’re new to the area?”

“Something like that,” Billy replied.

A pause. Collie could feel Billy’s intense gaze on him again.

“Are you gay?” He asked.

Alright, Billy was very direct.

“Yeah,” Collie replied.

Billy nodded. He took a long sip from his drink. Then he scratched at the defined line of his jaw. Collie caught a glimpse of a large silver ring on his middle finger.

“Lookin’ for anything in particular? Maybe somewhere quiet?” Billy asked so plainly Collie would think he was discussing the weather.

Collie glanced over at Billy. It was common knowledge amongst the local punks that Collie and Gary were together. He couldn’t exactly blame this guy for not knowing. If Billy had made the offer three years ago, Collie would’ve probably taken him up on it. He had a thing for blondes.

Over Billy’s shoulder a good ten feet away, Gary was leaning against a post with the first aid kit tucked under his arm and a hungry look in his eyes. With his free hand, he was fiddling with the tag on his necklace.

Having fun over there?

He could hear Gary’s teasing voice in his head. There was no threat here, both of them knew that. Because loyal dogs always come home.

Collie looked back at Billy.

“Can’t. I’ve got a pretty possessive dog at home.”

His gaze flickers to where Gary is waiting for him. Collie smiles at Billy.

“And he bites.”

Billy’s gaze narrowed. He turned and followed the line of Collie’s sight to where Gary was standing. Gary’s eyes cut over to Billy.

He’s mine, they said.

Collie watched Billy nod to himself as he turned back around. He took down the rest of his gin and tonic in one gulp and set the glass down with a thud.

“You’ve got him all trained up, huh?” Billy remarked, still devoid of any real interest.

“Why? Looking for one of your own?” Collie asked.

Billy stood. His boots thumped against the concrete floor.

“Not really my bag,” he said, “but have fun.”

And then he smiled like he knew. Like he’d been in their bedroom with them all those nights, seen the depths of their loyalty from the dark corners of their apartment. Like he was intrigued by it on a purely observational basis.

Like he said, it wasn’t really his bag. Collie hoped in earnest that one day, Billy did find a situation of his own.

Just like Collie had found his.

Collie and Gary spoke in code.

It was such a subtle code that no one other than each other would be able to parse out the finer details. A firm hand on Gary’s shoulder meant that he was committing a social faux pas. A pinch to Collie’s elbow meant that Gary was ten minutes away from all-consuming starvation. And a hand on the lower back meant that the other person was there, and they weren’t leaving anytime soon.

But when Collie walked up to Gary, leaned into his ear, and whispered:

Time to go home.

It meant that if they weren’t in bed in the next thirty minutes, Collie was going to risk an indecent exposure charge.

The two of them raced through the chilly autumn evening, Gary complaining non-stop about how cold it is while Collie was just trying to keep himself together until they got to the apartment. Gary tried to stop for a smoke in the alleyway and Collie gave him a look that should have killed. Gary just smiled. It was his little victory before the real race began.

At the door, Collie fumbled with the keys. He undid the top lock, then the bottom lock, and had barely shoved through the door stuck together with paint before he was on Gary’s neck, pushing him against the wall and working his tongue back behind his teeth.

Gary groaned, stringy bits of his hair were stuck between their lips but Collie wouldn’t let him go long enough to fix it. No, they needed to breathe each other in. They needed to merge their fucking souls.

Collie pulled Gary into the bedroom by his belt loops, practically slobbering over his mouth as they stumbled over each other’s feet through the door. Collie’s fingers drifted under the hemline of Gary’s shirt. So he took it off and started with the button on his jeans. In the meantime, Collie sucked something red and painful right under Gary’s jaw.

“Ow, fuck,” Gary hissed when Collie used his teeth.

Collie licked over the red welt and moved on to a fresh patch of skin right over Gary’s throat so when he groaned, Collie felt every bit of it in his lips. He heard a rustle of fabric then the distinct thud of Gary’s pants hitting the floor.

Instantly, Collie stuck his hands down the back of Gary’s boxers, holding him into place on the wall with his hips. He let off of Gary’s throat and shifted himself until he felt something hard and waiting against him.

“You gonna be good?” Collie asked, breathless.

“Fuck,” Gary groaned, reaching for the buckle of Collie’s belt, “fuck, fuck, fuck.”

Collie took his wrist and twisted it until Gary whimpered.

“You know better than that,” he said lowly.

Gary smiled, his head lolling against the wall and his eyes glazed over with pure elation. He lunged at Collie, teeth first. Collie pushed him against the wall even harder, taking both of Gary’s wrists in his hand.

“Want ‘em tied?” He asked.

Gary nodded, “Yes, please.”

“Stay,” said Collie. And Gary did.

He took a seat on the side of the unmade bed. There was a harsh red light from the lamp on the desk. Whatever wasn’t blood-red was pitch-black, the all-consuming or the unknown. Collie fished in the nightstand drawer for a zip tie. Then he leaned back against his hand and kicked his feet out.

Gary watched hungrily from the wall, panting and practically drooling. He looked so small standing there in nothing but his boxers and his necklace. Collie admired the mess of tattoos, only some of which were actually done by experienced artists, littering his pale skin. Covered halfway by the waistband of his boxers was one of those tattoos, six gothic-style letters that read:

B A D  D O G

“Come,” Collie said.

And Gary did, because he was only a bad dog when he wanted to be. He scampered to Collie and waited with his wrists touching over his boxers. Collie slipped on the sip tie, and Gary tightened the slack with his teeth until the plastic was digging deep into his skin. Gary shuddered when Collie’s calloused fingers danced over his skin.

“Down,” said Collie.

And Gary sank to his knees right at Collie’s feet. Collie watched as Gary eyed his dingy, sticky boots with laces long enough for Collie to wrap it around a few times at the top before knotting it. Years of beer and spit and cum and god knows what else lived on those boots.

Gary didn’t care.

“Go ahead,” Collie said, sensing his impatience.

Even with his hands bound, Gary could shuffle his knees back and lower himself until his nose was barely touching the top of Collie’s boot. He stayed like that for a moment, his spine heaving under his pale skin as he breathed. In and out. In and out. Collie shed his vest, riddled with fraying patches and studs that he'd collected over the years. He draped it over Gary's shoulders, watching the fabric engulf him.

“Thought you were hungry” Collie goaded.

In the next second, Gary’s tongue was flat on the side of the boot, and he drew a long, slow line across the toe. Collie’s cock twitched when Gary sat back up, a sheen of spit glistening on his chin from the underside of his tongue. His cheeks were ruddied. The fabric of his boxers was warped against his hardening dick.

“That good?” Collie asked.

Gary nodded.

He leaned back down and planted a kiss over where his spit was quickly drying. He gave it another kiss, deeper and wetter, tongue jutting out to lick again and again. Collie resisted the urge to push his foot further in, making him whine around the thick sole as he stretched his jaw as wide as it could go. He had to be content watching Gary suck on the leather like this, nudging the neglected boot in his direction.

Gary switched his focus, pressing his tongue flat against the boot and covering it with his spit. Collie stretched the other leg until his sole touched Gary’s cock. He whined against the leather, nudging his hips forward to greet it. Collie was seriously hard now, straining against his zipper in a way that would be painful if the fuzzy feeling of watching Gary suck on his boots wasn’t numbing it.

His tongue stuttered as he tried to inch his hips closer to Collie’s boot for the friction it provided. Collie indulged him since he was being such a good boy, shifting himself closer to the edge of the bed and pressing the sole harder into Gary’s crotch.

“Fuck, man,” he groaned, having now moved on to making out with the dirty leather.

He rutted his hips against the rubber sole, harder and quicker and more desperately. Collie leaned down, grabbed Gary’s hair by the grown-out roots, and yanked his head up.

His mouth was shining with spit, the wound in his lip letting out a little trickle of blood when he smiled blissfully. Gary’s eyes were so lidded they were nearly closed.

“Want more?” Collie asked, nudging Gary with his boot.

Gary nodded as Collie released his grip and pulled his foot back towards the bed. Gary shuffled along the floor, following the boot until he could settle himself against it. Collie carded his fingers through his hair and settled his hand on the back of his neck. Gary gazed up at him, pupils blown and mouth stretched into a lazy smile.

The pressure against Collie’s boot increased as Gary started rutting himself against it, using the laces as friction against the head of his cock that was poking out of the waistband. He whimpered, adjusting his knees again so he could get closer. Collie kept his foot rooted in place. Gary’s breath came out in huffs. Collie took his chin in his fingers and tilted his head up.

His cheeks were ruddied. He was chewing on his lip, trying to redirect his focus from his aching cock.

“Collie,” he hummed.

Collie nodded. And Gary knew he was free to let go.

He came with a raspy cry, his head falling onto Collie’s knee as his hips stuttered against the laces. Collie watched the cum leak over the head and soak into his boxers. His shoulders heaved as he panted, his hot breath dampening a spot of exposed skin in Collie’s ripped jeans. Gary looked back up at him and smiled.

“Fuck,” Collie groaned, wet heat engulfing him.

Gary’s shift was over and Collie had stuck around after the tattoo shop closed later than usual so he could find himself here, his back pressed into the outside of the gas station with Gary sucking him off. There was a sour smell coming from the dumpster next to them that made Collie wish they’d gone a little further down the wall, but they were submerged in perfect shadow. No one would know what they were doing unless they could hear them.

“Fuck, fuck,” Collie whispered.

Lewd, wet sounds called his eyes down. He had an unconscious hand in the back of Gary’s long hair, guiding him back and forth. Collie’s knees buckled when he swirled his tongue around the head, his piercing catching the slit.

“Barko—dude,” Collie stammered, “I’m gonna cum.”

Gary didn’t let up. Collie pulled his lips between his teeth and bit until he tasted blood. Gary always made him cum on his face and Collie worried that he wouldn’t make it out in time.

“Bark—Gary,” he pleaded.

He didn’t stop. He just went harder and deeper and wetter and Collie could feel the very back of his throat and he was fucking done for.

He came with Gary’s nose flat against him, a burst of heat in his core that felt less like an uncoiling and more like an explosion. Gary swallowed around him. Collie doubled over, somehow still cumming.

After a few more seconds, Gary shoved his thigh until his softening cock slipped out. He wiped some cum and spit from around his mouth with the back of his wrist. His hair hung stringy in his face, covering a healing bruise he had on his cheek.

Collie’s hand fell from the back of Gary’s head to his neck. A moment of tenderness that he blamed on the aftershocks of his orgasm. Gary’s eyes narrowed, but he didn’t push Collie’s hand away.

This wasn’t the first time Gary had sucked him off behind the gas station. It had been a few weeks of this, at least. Collie didn’t know what changed from their fight but Gary tugged him towards the dumpster and wrestled his pants off like the earth was going to explode if he didn’t.

Collie always came, and Gary always left afterwards, not even bothering to say goodbye.

“Gary,” Collie said in the smallest whisper.

Gary’s hand dragged down Collie’s leg. His eyes trailed from his soft cock to his boots. Collie caressed his neck. When he finally stood, Collie moved his hand to where his neck and his shoulder met.

Face twitching, Gary met Collie’s eyes and wouldn’t sever the connection. There was an energy in his body, a fierce desire to move forward that Collie could feel beneath his fingers. But there was also a resistance, a brick wall that scraped soft skin until it was raw and bloody. Gary fought both of them at the same time, the want and the fear.

Collie pulled him by the neck, just slightly. Maybe he could tip the scales in the direction he wanted. The direction that let Gary lean in and kiss him.

“C’mon, Barkovitch,” Collie whispered to him, “do it.”

Gary’s eyes flicked between Collie’s lips and his eyes. His jaw rippled.

Tilting his head in a way that Collie only saw because they were so close, Gary’s body leaned forward, centimeter by excruciating centimeter.

“Close your eyes,” he rasped.

Collie did. Then, he felt Gary’s breath fan over his nose, smelling the faintest strain of cigarette smoke and cum. For a moment, that was all there was. Breath. Night air. Want.

Their lips touched. It was uncertain and dry, Gary’s lips were tight. He was inexperienced. But Collie waited for him to do something first, to let him know that all of this was okay. Gary leaned in closer and Collie met him, parting his lips until his breath could escape and Gary could receive it on the other side.

A real kiss, even if they were just breathing into each other’s mouths. It was very, very real.

Collie moved his hand along Gary’s throat, pressing a gentle finger into his fluttering pulse.

In an instant, Gary’s lips and body were gone and Collie’s head was knocked against the wall. He sucked in a sharp breath when he saw Gary standing an arm’s length away, his hand twitching around his neck.

“Fuck you,” he hissed.

“Wait,” Collie took a step away from the wall.

Gary scampered back.

“Why would you fuckin'—."

Gary’s eyes scrunched closed. His fingers shook. His lip curled.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what—” Collie pursued him again with a step.

Gary maintained the distance, his eyes fierce yet faraway.

“Fuck you,” he spat, “fuck.”

He covered his eyes with his trembling hands. He was muttering something to himself.

“Barko—” Collie tried one last time.

“Just fuck off, Collie!” Gary screamed, his voice breaking.

“Come,” Collie commanded.

And Gary complied. He scrambled onto the bed, the vest slipping from his shoulders, while Collie took off his shirt and untied the laces on his boots. Collie pulled himself fully onto the bed where Gary was waiting for him, still in recovery from his orgasm. He strained against the zip tie and pouted, so Collie took the pocket knife from his nightstand and set him free.

Collie pulled Gary in by the back of his neck and kissed him, open and slow and real. Gary fell into rhythm with him, accepting Collie’s tongue and his hands. Collie scooped some cum off of Gary’s stomach and pressed it into his mouth with two fingers until they were both tasting it. Collie snaked his hands up into Gary’s hair. It was shorter than it used to be. There was a time when Collie’s hair was just past his shoulders and Gary’s was down to his chest. After they started dating, Gary shaved his head and Collie moped until it was long enough to pull again.

A lot of things were different, now. Collie kissed Gary and was grateful for that fact.

As Gary fumbled with his belt, Collie chuckled against his lips. Gary grumbled. When Collie parted from him, he flicked a soft part of Collie’s stomach.

“Down, boy,” Collie teased him.

Gary rolled his eyes.

“Roll over.”

Gary finally got the belt undone and was pulling it out through the loops.

“Speak.”

“Fuck you,” Gary spat at him.

Collie unzipped his pants and shimmied them off, hearing them clatter somewhere in the darkness of their room. Gary stuck a hand down his briefs and grabbed Collie’s hard cock. Collie felt him smile against his lips, another little victory of his. He lowered both of them down until Gary’s back was against the mattress and his hand was trapped between them.

Collie tugged his briefs down. Gary struggled to take his own boxers off with just one hand. When they finally touched, fully nude and vulnerable, Collie groaned.

“Fuck, I love you,” he hummed, “I love you so fuckin’ much.”

He pressed a hand to the back of Gary’s knee and hiked it up. He slipped his fingers into Gary's mouth, pumping them in and out while his tongue danced around them. When Collie’s wet finger brushed his hole, Gary shuddered and gripped Collie’s cock in a tight fist.

“Weak shit,” Gary chuckled breathily, “thought you wanted this.”

Collie plunged a finger deep and Gary sighed in relief. If there was any pain to it, Gary wasn’t fazed. No, he probably wanted it, knowing that sicko.

Collie’s hair fell to either side like a veil, creating a shadowy chamber where it was only them, just the two of them in the whole world. With the hand that wasn’t working Collie’s dick, Gary reached up and ran his fingers over the dark waves. Then, he tilted his head up until his lips could latch onto Collie's nipple. He took the piercing there between his teeth, rolling his tongue piercing around it and biting playfully on the bud.

Collie gave him another finger and relished in the way Gary’s body tensed in surprise then relaxed with familiarity. He got a lock of Collie’s hair between his fingers and pulled.

“Ow! The fuck?”

Gary smiled devilishly. Collie teased a third finger at the rim just to see his eyes shift from bravery to want. He opened his mouth and let his tongue roll out.

Collie spit into it, aiming for the piercing.

“C’mon, baby,” Gary pleaded.

And what Collie’s dog wanted, he got.

He lined himself up and pushed in, savoring every tight inch even though he knew Gary preferred a rushed entrance. It was the resistance, after all, that made him want to go deeper. He hiked Gary’s other knee over his shoulder, letting out a long, slow breath as he bottomed out. They stayed like that, still and panting.

A moment of quiet.

Collie was sweeping the floor, the only other sound coming from the bright, buzzing lights. It was late. The store was closed until the next morning and he was on clean-up duty for the night. His heart jumped when someone knocked on the door.

On the other side of the glass, he saw Gary standing meekly in his plainclothes, an oversized band tee, torn sweatpants, and a stained work jacket. His hair was swept over one shoulder. As Collie walked towards the door, Gary’s eyes darted down to the pavement.

The two of them had been ignoring each other for a week at this point. After Gary ran off on him that last time, Collie thought it was best that he kept his distance. Maybe he was just making things worse for Gary. At that point, Collie was ready to let it go entirely.

His throat tightened when he unlocked the door and opened it, letting a rush of warm summer air into the tattoo shop.

“Hey,” Gary mumbled.

“Hey.”

A few moments passed. Gary chewed on his thumbnail.

“Look, what happened last week—” he started.

“It’s fine,” Collie cut in.

“No, fuck—” Gary winced, “lemme fuckin’ do this, okay?”

Collie opened the door wider.

“Wanna come in?”

He locked the door back up and watched Gary take in the interior of the shop. Afterwards, he turned and furrowed his brow.

“What happened last week,” Gary started again, taking a beat where Collie had interrupted him before, “I didn’t meant to fuckin’---freak out like that or anything.”

“Okay,” Collie said.

“I—” Gary squeezed his eyes shut. He took his lighter from his pocket and started messing with it, rubbing his thumb against the side and pulling it open and shut and open again.

Collie leaned against the front desk. He was afraid that if he said something or made some sudden move, Gary would run off again like the skittish dog he was. He had to approach with no visible intention. Like he just happened to be passing by.

“My old man,” Gary muttered, “he used to—”

Gary started to reach for his neck but sputtered out halfway, leaving his fingers twitching around nothing.

“Y’know how they are,” he shook his head, “used to get all worked up and just—grab me.”

His tongue darted out to lick his lips, and Collie watched the piercing catch as he pulled it back in.

“By my neck and all that,” Gary continued, “hold me ‘till I couldn’t fuckin’ breathe. Just clawing at him trying not to black out.”

Collie’s stomach burned, his limbs ached to do something, but he held himself by the desk. Gary’s eyes darted around. He was thinking. Remembering.

“I wasn’t always like this, y’know?” His voice frayed, “I wish I wasn’t. I mean, wish I was normal and shit. But I’m not. It’s like—when you’ve got a dog, right? And you just chain him up outside all the time, can’t run around or do normal dog stuff. And you treat him like shit when he tries, throw him around for just tryin’ to be a dog.”

The clock ticked. The lights buzzed. Collie watched as Gary’s eyes glazed over.

“And then when he bites, you put him down. He never even had the chance to be a good dog and you just—” he said, “you give up on him.”

Slowly, he lifted his head and looked at Collie, his blue eyes brimming with tears.

“I want to be a good dog, Collie,” He said in a shuddering whisper, “I just don’t know how.”

When Collie stepped towards him, Gary took a step back. But his face crumpled like he hadn’t meant to, like he wanted to stay where he was and let a good thing actually come to him. Collie took another step, so did Gary.

“I think you’re good,” Collie said, “I do.”

Gary shook his head, “No, no you’re just saying that.”

“I don’t say things I don’t mean.”

“I fuckin’ do!” Gary cried, “I say shit I don’t mean all the time because every time I speak it’s like I’m fuckin’ throwing up, I can’t keep anything inside. And I—”

Collie walked towards him. He was so caught up in his own words that he stayed where he was.

“I mean every time I open my brain I’m just, I’m thinking of you and I can’t fucking stop it!” He was almost sobbing, words tight and painful as they clawed their way out, “And for the first fucking time, I’m having dreams that aren’t nightmares. I’m—fuck, I’m happy.”

Collie was less than an arms’ length away now.

“I’m happy when I’m with you. There, I fuckin’ said it,” Gary tossed up his hands, “I’m a fag and I’m happy and I can’t—”

People always told Collie that when you kiss someone you love, the world stops. A spotlight shines down on just the two of you, and you suddenly have all the time in the world. But when Collie kissed Gary, for real this time, the world raced a hundred miles per hour. Everything that had ever been true or false or real or fake sped past them. The force of every tornado and hurricane came to measure themselves against the gale force of desperation that wept from every place where their bodies met.

Collie thought himself invincible, right then. Like he could jump from a plane and land without breaking a bone. Like he could hold his breath underwater for an entire day. Like if the shop caught fire, he and Gary could make it out without a burn.

Gary.

He was still here. He had his fingers clutched in Collie’s shirt and his thigh tucked between Collie’s legs.

He was still here.

“Fuck!” Gary groaned when Collie found his prostate, his nails scraping long red marks down his back and the rough slide of his cock inside of Gary sending shivers down his spine.

“Turn over,” Collie ordered him.

He pulled out of Gary so he could readjust. He whined the whole way, lowering down onto his elbows and burying his head in the pillow and arching back. Collie gripped his ass and admired the flush he always got when they had sex. Collie pushed back in, slow and deliberate. Gary whimpered until Collie started moving like he was before. Collie’s insides wound up again and his skin prickled with heat. No matter how familiar the feeling of being inside Gary was, Collie never got used to it. He yearned to be closer, crawl inside of his skin and stay there until he was content which would be never.

Collie reached for Gary’s collar, sticking his fingers under it and pulling until he heard Gary choke.

“Fuck, yeah,” Gary huffed out.

Collie ramped up to a speed that he was sure he’d feel in his lower back the next morning. If he’d met Barkovitch back when he had a younger, more flexible body, there was an anthology of things he’d also be doing. For now, he had to be happy with a sore body after nights like these. 

“Don’t stop,” whispered Gary, breathless beneath him.

Collie doubled over, his sweaty chest pasted over Gary’s equally sweaty back. He felt a fuse get lit at the ends of his body, starting their slow crawl towards the bomb at his center. He slipped his fingers out from under the collar so he could bite around it and pull.

He took Gary in his hand and started to work him quickly.

“Fuck, don’t stop,” he groaned again, more desperate and broken at the edges.

Collie knew Gary was close with the way he tightened. He knew he was close too as the lit fuses raced from his extremities towards the pure dynamite at his core. 

Gary shifted his head and sunk his teeth into the meat of Collie’s hand that he was using to hold himself up. His sharp teeth broke skin, and Collie came so hard he saw bolts of lightning in his vision, the explosion radiating from his core to the rest of his body in sonic waves. He let go of the chain between his teeth and bit down on Gary’s shoulder until he felt wet blood ooze out onto his lips and hot cum spill over his fingers.

They came down from the high together, Gary collapsed into the sheets and Collie splayed over him, planting lazy kisses on every expanse of damp skin he could find.

“Good boy,” Collie whispered in his ear, “such a good boy.”

Once they’d cleaned themselves up and opened the windows to let some air flow in, Gary sat up in bed and lit a cigarette. Collie had his arm around him, absentmindedly fiddling with the chain around his neck. His nose started to hurt again now that he wasn't so distracted.

“That was pretty good,” Gary hummed.

“Pretty good?” Collie glared at him, “My back is gonna be fucked up for a week for pretty good?”

Gary smiled. One more tiny victory.

“Well, we gotta keep trying until you fuckin’ turn me inside out,” he teased, letting out a long plume of smoke.

Collie turned and burrowed his lips into Gary’s hair. He breathed in his sweat and musk. He smiled.

“What was that one guy’s deal?” Gary asked, “At the bar?”

Collie chuckled, “Looking for a good time, told him I was spoken for.”

“Damn straight.”

“I’m sure he’ll find the sub he’s looking for,” Collie sighed.

Gary looked at him like he had two heads.

“Sub?” He asked, then laughed through puffs of smoke, “You’re fuckin’ jokin’.”

“What do you mean?” Collie countered.

Gary glared at him out of the corner of his eye.

“He’s like, submissive as fuck,” he said like it was obvious, “he’s looking for someone to hit him, call him a loser or a freak. I mean, freakier shit than we do, probably.”

“There’s no way,” Collie shook his head.

Gary pinched his stomach, “Nope, I’m right. I can sniff a sub from a mile away. We’ve got some sorta mind meld or whatever.”

Collie tossed up his hands.

“Okay, then, I hope he finds someone to bully him and slap him until he cries!”

“You’re fuckin’ sweet,” Gary crooned as he put his cigarette out in the ashtray on his nightstand.

When he turned, Collie caught a glimpse of the wound he’d left on Gary’s shoulder with his teeth. He reached for it, running his finger around the reddened grooves.

“I thought I was the dog in this equation,” Gary teased.

“You are,” Collie replied, “so am I. My tail’s wagging right now, you just can’t see it.”

Gary scoffed. He rubbed a hand down Collie’s thigh. They reveled in the silence, in the crisp shadows of the bedroom against the moonlight.

“Y’know, if you’re looking for a round two, you gotta put the boots back on,” said Gary.

“Why’s that?” Collie asked him.

Gary smiled, flashing his teeth like a very bad dog ready to pounce.

“I was just thinking you could step on me."