Notes: Written for strangecobwebs on her birthday.
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December 7: The dog bowl is frozen in the trailer. I talk on my cell phone, even though it still doesn't work.
-- Callum Keith Rennie's Adventures in Ashcroft
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The lights are off when Callum gets back to his trailer. Nothing new. Power always goes out here.
Alberta's whining in the corner, curled up on her bed. It's fucking cold in here�dog's lucky she's covered in fur. She lifts her head, whines again, hungry, maybe. It's been a long day since nine in the morning. He's hungry too. Hasn't eaten since�wait, did he have breakfast? He can't remember. Coffee. That was breakfast. That's always breakfast.
"You want something to eat?" he asks her, and she sniffs, puts her head between her paws. He goes to get her bowl, kicks the water dish in the dark. "Shit," he hisses, but his foot isn't wet. Just a little bruised. He leans down to feel around for the dish, and hits something cold, hard. Frozen again. "Yeah, this is fun," he says to the dog, and wonders if maybe he's going a little nuts. Isn't talking to your dog one of the first signs of that?
"Tons of fun," he hears from above him, and if talking to your dog isn't actually the first sign of being nuts, hearing your dog talk back must be.
"The fuck?" he says, jumping back a little, and just barely manages to not fall on his ass.
"Nice place you got here," the voice says again, and this time he knows it. A lighter flickers to life in the darkness, lights a cigarette in front of a face that he shouldn't be so damn happy to see.
"Hugh, shit," he says, surging to his feet, throwing out his hands in the direction of the glowing cigarette. He hears the solid thump of a body against a doorframe, feels the impact through his palms as Hugh slams into the wall. Hugh's shirt is soft under his fingers, worn from too many trips from the washer, and he knows which one it is, just from the feel of it. He twists his fingers in the cloth, pushes Hugh back a little harder. "What the fuck do you think you're doing? Could have given me a goddamn heart attack."
He can see the end of the cigarette twitch, knows that Hugh's smirking at him. "You should get some better locks on this place," he says, reaching up to untangle Callum's hands from the front of his shirt, push them away. "Nice to see you too," he adds. "Fucker."
Callum reaches out to take the cigarette from Hugh's lips, breathes in the smoke like it's air, like it'll give him something to say. "What're you doing here?" he finally asks again, and Hugh's fingers brush his as he takes back his cigarette.
"Came to see you. 'Cause you're so fucking special." Anyone else would think he was joking, being the sarcastic bastard he is. Callum knows he means it. There's a long silence. Dog moving, smoke being inhaled, a siren in the distance. "It's fucking cold in here," he says after a few minutes, and passes the cigarette back to Callum.
Callum leans back against the counter, breathes in, waits. "Doesn't matter," he says. "I'm used to it."
"Well la dee fucking da for you. I'm not."
"Yeah," Callum agrees, reaching out to put the cigarette back between Hugh's lips. Feels their skin touch, just for a second. "That's 'cause you're a pussy."
"Bitch," Hugh says, and something changes. Something in his voice, in the energy of the room, and Callum can feel him, feel the heat coming off him even though they're not touching, even though they're both so fucking cold they're shivering.
"What are you doing here?" Callum asks for a third time, feels Hugh's fingers closing tight around his wrists, his body pressing Callum into the counter, legs shifting as he stamps out the cigarette on his floor, the dipshit.
"Does it matter?" Hugh asks, breath hot against Callum's cheek, and it doesn't.
Hugh tastes like cigarettes, like airline peanuts, and like the last time they saw each other. His hair's grown out, just a little, enough that when he leans in to suck the curve of Callum's ear, he can feel it tickling his face.
Callum closes his eyes when Hugh kisses him again, feels Hugh's hands sliding around his back, pulling them so tight together that he can't breathe, can't move, can only lean back harder into the counter and hook one leg around Hugh, holding him there, pulling him still closer. His hands are in Hugh's hair, feeling it soft and sharp against his skin.
He sees light flashing against his closed eyelids, and it takes him a minute to realize that it's not some romance novel clich� come to life, it's just the power coming back on. They pull apart and squint at each other in the painful kitchen lights until Callum reaches past Hugh to turn them off. But the TV's flickering by the couch, and the bathroom lights are on, so he can see Hugh enough to take him by the arms and shove him hard, backwards into the bedroom. Hugh's grinning, that challenging grin, the one that says you want to see how far you can push me, bitch? and his next kiss is all pressure and teeth, a claiming kiss, the kind they had in the beginning when nothing made sense but the need for each other.
A lot of it still doesn't make sense, probably never will, but it doesn't matter when they're pulling each other's shirts off, running frozen fingers across slightly warmer chests and shivering with each touch. "Missed you," Hugh says against his neck, and that's on the list of Things Guys Like Hugh and Callum Don't Say. It's a long fucking list, getting shorter by the minute as Callum says "Yeah. Yeah," and pushes Hugh back onto the bed.
He lands heavily, awkwardly, but then Callum's on him, moving, chests pressed together, Hugh's hands warm inside the back pockets of his jeans, and awkward turns to hot really fucking fast. Hugh catches his breath as Callum rocks against him, hard, slow, and Callum�s thinking about the first time they did this, middle of the night in some crappy club with bad lighting, up against a brick wall that left scrapes on Callum�s back and Hugh�s hands for weeks.
There�s none of that desperation now, though, just a different kind, the it�s been way too fucking long kind, and Callum takes his time unbuttoning Hugh�s pants, pausing to lick the skin of his stomach, run his fingers down his side, feeling the cold leaving each place he touches. "Hey," Hugh says eventually, reaching down to brush Callum's jaw with his fingers, pull him up to claim his lips again. Then they're rolling, Hugh pinning Callum's wrists to the mattress with one hand while he uses the other to finish the job of getting him naked.
"Fuck," he says, leaning back on his heels and letting his eyes run down Callum's body. "Jesus, you're so fucking..." he trails off, probably wanting Callum to think he was going to say slutty or pathetic, but the way he bites his lip is saying gorgeous, and Callum twists his hands in Hugh's grasp, wanting to touch him, to smooth that look away. Hugh doesn't let him move, though, tightening his fingers and reaching down with his other hand to grip Callum's cock, stroke it slow enough to drive him completely fucking nuts. Callum twists under him, arching up, wanting more.
"Hugh," he says, too fucking turned on to be ashamed at the way his voice cracks on the word, and Hugh looks down at him. Grins. Doesn't stop moving at that mindfuck pace.
"Did you want something?" he asks, all mock concern. Callum wants to punch him.
"Fuck you," he snarls, and Hugh's grin gets a little wider as he leans in, close to Callum's ear.
"That what you want?" he asks, making Callum shiver. No. It's not. "I don't think that's what you want," Hugh says, thumb brushing across the head of Callum's cock, and Callum closes his eyes. Fucker sees too much, knows him too goddamn well. "Not tonight," and he can already feel hands moving to his hips, turning him. He can't help thrusting a few times against the sheets as he feels Hugh reach over him to open the drawer beside the bed. "Hey," Hugh says, hand firm on Callum's hip, and Callum stops, looks up. Hugh's leaning over him, digging through the drawer, trying to pretend that he isn't intentionally putting his cock right at mouth level.
"You're a real cunt, you know that?" Callum says, just before wrapping his lips around him, sucking hard.
Hugh lets out a groan, braces himself on the bed, making quick shallow thrusts into Callum's mouth. It's been too fucking long, and Callum's tasting him, letting his hand drift up to Hugh's thigh, guiding him faster, harder, wanting to feel Hugh in him, any way he can get him. When Hugh finally pulls back, his arms are shaking, eyes closed, like it's taking everything he's got not to come right fucking there. "Shit," he hisses, lowering his head to Callum's shoulder, catching his breath. "You shouldn't be so fucking good at that."
"You complaining?" Callum asks as Hugh stretches out next to him.
Quiet laugh beside his ear. "Do I look like I'm fucking complaining?" Hugh asks, and slides two slick fingers into Callum, fast and unexpected. Callum muffles his cry in the pillows, and Hugh laughs again. "Slut," he says, and coming from anyone else, Callum would be kicking some ass right about now. But it's Hugh, so he just chuckles, looks back over his shoulder. "You love it," he says, and Hugh leans over him, kisses his spine, because yeah. He loves it.
Hugh gasps out something unintelligible as he pushes into him, and for the first time since they started this, Callum feels the cold. A swift chill, all over his exposed skin, and he's shaking, maybe from that, maybe from the adrenaline. "Hey," Hugh says beside his ear. "Hey." He leaves the you okay? unspoken, and Callum pushes back against him, telling him that yeah, I'm okay, I'm fucking perfect, and if you don't start fucking me harder right the fuck now, I'm going to kick your ass so hard you won't be able to sit down for three months. Hugh gets the picture. Always does.
He's got one hand braced on Callum's shoulder, the other wrapped around his hip, and he's pushing in hard, fast, so fucking good. Callum looks over his other shoulder, watches. Sees the moment when Hugh loses himself to the heat and the movement and the feel of them moving together, his eyes closed, breath coming in almost soundless moans. Callum works a hand under himself, grips his own cock, watches Hugh's face as he holds himself on the very edge. It isn't until Hugh opens his eyes, looks at him with such fucking desperation, that he comes, turning to cry out into the pillows.
A few more thrusts and Hugh is there too, gasping out Callum's name and melting into his back, pressing him down heavy and hot into the sheets.
They stay like that until Hugh rolls off, stretches out in the cool air, one arm still flung across Callum's chest. "Fuck," he says into the pillow, and Callum grins, reaches for a cigarette. "Yeah," he agrees, lighting it, and Hugh's got it out of his hands before he can even get the damn thing to his lips.
"So what the fuck is this?" Callum asks, sitting up against the headboard. "You showing up, hiding out in my trailer?"
"Tried to call," Hugh says, passing him the cigarette. "Phone service sucks. Heating sucks. Power sucks. Anything about this place that doesn't suck?"
"Me," says Callum, and Hugh snorts.
"Right. Tell that to my dick."
The man has a point. Callum stretches, rolls his shoulders. "You staying?" he asks, not because he thinks that he won't, just because he wants to hear him say it.
"Don't have anywhere to be," Hugh says, and Callum can hear the lie, knows that he'll find out in a couple of days about Hugh missing a gig, an audition, something. Or maybe he'll never find out. Doesn't matter.
"Yeah, ok," he says, stabs out the cigarette without seeing if Hugh wants it back.
"Fucking cold in here," Hugh says, and it is, now that they're both sitting there covered in sweat.
"I'd call to have it fixed, but the phone doesn't work."
"Should have called anyway," Hugh tells him, and Callum grins, not because it's that funny, just because he feels like it.
"Yeah," he says, and they fall silent, sex drowsy, watching the light from the TV flicker across the walls in the other room. They fall asleep like that, Callum propped up on the pillows, Hugh slumped over, head resting in his lap.
For the first time since coming to this town, Callum wakes up warm in the morning, feeling Hugh curled around him. He closes his eyes, breathes in the scent of him, and drifts back to sleep.
The morning, for all he cares, can go fuck itself.