Chapter Text
One hour.
The cops said they would stay on the premises for one hour while he took his things out of the house. That’s what they told him the day he was discharged. He didn’t have any time to call Billy, or Morgan, or Chuckie. His real family. Because they’d waited long enough after his surgery that he could leave on his own, then picked him up in the cruiser to take him to dear ol’ dad’s place. It was kind of nice to take the ride in the front seat for once.
There wasn’t much he respected about the head of his foster family, but he knew how to put on a show. He wasn’t belligerent in public, when the cops marched Will to the door, he greeted them warmly and encouraged them to sit. The social worker had talked to him on the phone about this (it was too short notice for them to come down to some Catholic hospital full of addicts in Southie) because he would be 18 in a few weeks, he could skip the relocation hearing. But if he did, that means they can’t keep his fosters off of the property while he’s getting his things.
So Will stood on the stairs for a few moments and he could tell that even though they’d seen the ripped, bloody clothes in evidence, and the DNA swabs, and the horrible fucking photos they took of Will in his boxers to show his injuries for their “files,” they didn’t believe him. Not without due process, not while they stood in the living room with the man who dislocated his shoulder and talked shop about the Sox.
Everything he really needed to take fit into his gym bag. He left behind the shiny, pressed, church clothes they’d gotten him when he was fourteen. He grabs a pack of baseball cards, some money he skimmed from the swear jar, and his last check out from the library. In under half an hour, he’s ready to be an orphan again. He stands in his room for the last time. Over the last three years, he might not have felt perfectly safe there, but it was better than any other part of the house.
Will put his duffle over his shoulder and got ready to head downstairs, but stopped in his tracks as he heard the stairs creak. Heavy steps. It wasn’t his foster mother. As useless as she was, she’d never been as bad as her husband. He might have liked to say goodbye to her. His hands started to shake, so he gripped his bag tighter and turned towards the door. Someone knocked, which was useless because they didn’t wait for him before they opened it.
Will let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. It was maybe the first time he felt happy to see a cop.
“Hey, uh… Just makin’ sure everythin’s copasetic here.”
“I’m fine.” Will gave him a thumbs up. “Ready to go.”
The cop nodded and walked out. Will followed a few steps behind down the stairs. When he was back in the living room, he glanced at the table next to the couch. They’d been having coffee.
When he looked back up, his foster father was only a few feet away from him. Will didn’t process anything anyone was saying, but before he knew it he was enveloped in a hug. Short, with a clap on the shoulder. His body locked up as he heard his foster father say something into his ear.
“You’ll always be my favorite boy.”
Will blinked twice and when he opened his eyes he was on the lawn outside and the cops were guiding him into the back, with his bag.
“Kid? Hey, kid?”
Will zoned back in. He looked out the window. They were halfway down the block.
“Where should we take you?”
“Uh… The diner on East 6th is fine.”
He jumps out on the corner, bids the guys adieu, and walks over to the payphone, fishing for the swear jar quarters in his pocket. He dials one of the only 800- numbers he’s bothered to save. It’s agony as he waits for the line to pick up. He just wants a familiar voice in his ear.
“Boston Disposal and Demolition. Charles speakin’.”
“Charles?”
Will swears he can hear Chuckie smile through the phone.
“Fuck off, Will.”
—
Will’s sitting at the counter nursing a coffee because it’s all he has money for. He’s spent the last twenty minutes looking over his right shoulder when the bell over the door rings. He knows it’s not going to be Chuckie until after his shift ends, at five. He finds the clock on the wall by the kitchen. Another hour and a half.
He starts to shake his leg. He wonders what people think about him being here, looking like he does, practically carrying a bindle and wearing a straw hat with how much he screams teen runaway, please take advantage.
The bell rings again. Will keeps his eyes down. Someone that smells like Axe and asbestos hugs him under the arms. He stiffens up.
“What’s up, you friggin’ jack-off?” Chuckie lets go of him and musses Will’s hair.
“Next time you assault me in public, take a fuckin’ shower, Charles.”
Chuckie sits in the seat next to Will and orders black coffee and a burger, toots. Which Toots the Waitress does not appreciate, but she puts the order in anyway.
“This is why I told you little jerks not to call me at work.”
“Well, this was kind of important.”
“I know, that’s why I blew off.”
The waitress brings his coffee and Chuckie takes a sip without blowing on it. Will figures it’s because for the next five weeks, they’re on opposite sides of some ineffable thing that separates boys and men. Chuckie drives and drinks hot coffee and works on the books, then uses that money to buy the cigarettes that Will just steals. Chuckie wasn’t anybody’s favorite whipping boy.
“You look good. In spite of the whole hospital thing.”
“Yeah, they kind of fix you up before they let you on the street again.”
“Makes sense, makes sense.” Chuckie nods like Will has given him something deep and philosophical to think about. “So, I’m your first call on the outside?”
“Who else would I call? I’m not goin’ back there. They asked if I wanna go through relocation, litigation, back to St. Gertrude’s hall, just to turn eighteen and get the fuckin’ boot at the end of it. I said nah, I’ll find someplace to crash.”
“Will Hunting’s a free agent? Fuckin’ A, man, I didn’t think the day would come so soon.”
“I’m not exactly hittin’ the ground runnin’, but… Y’know, bullshit heals. Freedom’s forever.”
“Forever forever.” He smiles, looking forward as he elbows Will gently, causing his friend to smile too.
“What’d you tell them at work to get them to let you go?”
“Some fuckin’ tall tale about my girlfriend at BU windin’ up in the hospital.”
“You’re a class act, y’know that, Charles?”
“I am. See, her family’s down in Memphis so I’m kinda all she’s got.”
“Makes sense. She’s lucky to have you. You knock her up or somethin’?”
“Of course, but after the car accident I’m pretty sure my hands are clean.”
Will cracks up at that, it’s the kind of thing the nuns would probably tan their asses for back at school, but since Chuckie turned 18, he hasn’t had to worry about shit like that.
“Be careful, your chocolate milk’s gonna come flyin’ out your nose.”
“You wish, asshole.”
“Watch your mouth, bucko, you’re gonna be livin’ under my roof for the next couple months, ain’t you?”
Will sips his coffee, it’s cold and he still takes it with cream and sugar, so at this point it is more chocolate milk than mornin’ joe. “Under your ma’s roof.”
“I pay the telephone bill, so… Don’t expect to be callin’ the circulation desk on my dime with that attitude.”
“I think I can put off callin’ you an asshole until they get the complete plays of Oscar Wilde.”
“Right, right.” The waitress drops his burger off. “When we get back after this, I gotta introduce you to his cousin Girls Gone Wild.”
Will nods, but he’s staring at the burger. He hasn’t eaten since the hospital oatmeal with orange segments he had this morning. Chuckie slides it toward him.
“I got it for you, dumbass. Get your strength back.”
Will doesn’t say anything as he starts to tear into it. Chuckie steals a fry and lets him finish without expecting any more conversation out of him.
Chapter 2
Summary:
Rated E. Chuckie and Will decompress on Chuckie's couch.
Notes:
warnings/spoilers again, i think this is where the dubious consent comes in. nothing is super affirmative because of the character's trauma and internalized homophobia, so i would say since shame keeps them from an affirmative yes it's dubious. but i try to convey that both of them want it idk man they're freaks. they're repressed damaged massholes i can't with them.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Chuckie and Will were seated in the front seats of his car. At this time, it was still a little bit new, about 2000 miles on the engine and a stereo that hadn't been stolen. Will was polishing off a Big Gulp of Coke as Chuckie recounted Will’s story of how he entered the hospital.
"So… You were cookin’, then he shoved you and you go bang, right down the basement steps while you were holdin’ the knife?" Chuckie pipes up on the drive home.
"Yeah, that’s it.”
“What were you makin’?”
“Chicken pot pie or somethin’, I don’t know." Will's eyes dart out the window. He rubs his thumb against the inside of his lip.
They pulled up to the Sullivan house. The lights were out, which was usual. His dad worked on an oil rig and his mom liked to take advantage of him being away almost as much as her son did. Provided Billy and Morgan stayed out of their hair, Will was certain to have a nice, quiet recovery there.
The cops had to keep his clothes so he was dressed in a hoodie and sweatpants from the hospital. Chuckie never heard of the cops taking clothes for evidence before, but it had to be routine for child abuse. In his view, anyways. All he knew was that the story Will told wasn’t completely true, but what could Chuckie do about that? Kids who get hit lie more than kids who don’t.
Will tried to get out as soon as the car stopped, which made Chuckie practically slide across the hood to get to him and help him up.
"Well, hello there." Will chuckled at his display.
"You said they did surgery. I thought you're not supposed to strain yourself."
He extends his hand to Will, who takes it and lets Chuckie haul him up, out of the car. Will thinks he can stand just fine, but a jolt of pain in his body, where the knife was, makes him collapse forward against Chuckie's chest.
"Shit, you okay?"
Will winces at the feeling. Not just from the blade, the idea that he's been made weaker from what happened to him. That part of him will be broken and exposed forever.
"Yeah…” He backs away from Chuckie. “Chill got me, that's all."
Chuckie locks the car up and the two of them part, Chuckie grabs his bag and starts trailing behind Will to see if anything else gives him "a chill." It doesn't. He goes around and unlocks the door, letting Will into the living room where he zeros in on a box of donuts on the coffee table.
"Sorry, man, they're not that fresh…"
Will grabs a Boston Cream and splits it in half. "Don't fuckin' care."
Chuckie smiles at the way he eats, licking some of the cream so it doesn't squeeze out with his next bite. It's some quirk he's done since they were kids. Not that they aren't still young.
That's what scares Chuckie. He might be able to drive and work and everything, but Will can't. Especially not for the next few weeks while he's recovering. Especially if they don't throw that bastard in jail. Even if Will got a nice gig stocking shelves at the grocery store, he knows his friend. He knows Will would split and lose it the second that guy walked up to him asking for the cream of mushroom soup.
"What crawled up your ass and died?" Will says with his mouth full.
"Nothin’, man. Just… Thinkin’."
Will smirks. "That's a first for you, buddy."
Chuckie speaks as he crosses to sit next to Will on the couch. "Hey, don't think just 'cause you're recoverin’ I won't flatten your ass when you're better."
"Oh, yeah, sure you will. And I'll be a witness at your folk's divorce."
He pinches Will's ear and tugs it. It's the only harm he's willing to cause him like this. For a moment they're both laughing, then Chuckie's eyes fall on the open bit of the hoodie where Will's skin is showing and he realizes there's a scratch. Up near Will's heart. Chuckie realizes whatever he was hurt with could have got him in the heart. It makes him wonder what he doesn’t know about. Even more than he wondered before.
"My eyes are up here, thanks."
Chuckie looks up at Will's face and realizes he'd been caught staring.
"I'm sorry."
"…For what? You didn't do anythin’. I'm sorry you had to leave work to get me, I just… I didn't have anybody else to call."
"No, come on. I would drop everythin’ to be with you, man. I love you. You're my only brother, I can't let somethin’ happen to you."
Will's cheeks flush, he feels warm inside from a mix of embarrassment and affection. He stammers a little bit, no one's ever said something like that before. Sure, the two of them will exchange an "I love you, brother" over a few beers, but this is real. Chuckie does love him. He has to or else Will wouldn't be sitting on his couch right now.
He really can't think of anything to say to him, so he just folds a leg under himself, half kneeling, as he leans forward and hugs him. Chuckie knows not to say anything back either. He puts an arm around Will's waist, being mindful of whatever injuries he could have there. He knows it's probably the last few days of hospital food making Will seem frail and boney, but Chuckie never realized how small he was until now. He was always shorter, he was never particularly strong. But Chuckie's never had his body pressed against his for so long. He's never felt his ribs underhand through a thin, scratchy hoodie. He's never thought about how perfectly their bodies fit together.
Chuckie takes a deep breath and notices Will doesn't fully smell like himself. His hair is still a little greasy, holding onto the Old Spice and cigarette smell that he usually has, but his body still smells like sterile hospital soap, only covered up slightly by whatever deodorant he got his hands on while moving out.
Will sinks into Chuckie's body even more and that's where it ends. Somebody's weight shifted on the remote, making ESPN's coverage of the Orioles game rip through the room at top volume. They separate from each other with a laugh, rearranging themselves to sit knee to knee as Chuckie feels around for the remote and starts channel flipping when he finds it.
"I heard they put Blue Lagoon on Home Box Office." Will says.
"That film is such a steamin’ shit, dude."
"You don't want to see Brooke Shields?"
"No, does Tiny Tim want to?"
Will rolls his eyes. "They don't have Skin-amax in the hospital, sue me."
Chuckie rolls his eyes and flips to the premium channels. The premium content wasn’t coming on anytime soon and some fruity comedy called The Birdcage was on until then, so he let it run until the real action came.
Will points toward the screen. "That guy's funny, the guy in the dress."
"Who is he?"
Will sucks his teeth. "You know, man, he's the voice in the Lion King."
“Ferris Bueller?”
“No, the meerkat.”
"Oh..."
They'd been fans of that movie growing up. Chuckie's mom even got them Timon and Pumba lunch bags one year for back to school. He never imagined that one of them was played by a guy so… mincing. Will cracked up a little bit, but tried not to disturb his stitches. Chuckie just sat there, a little awed by how ouvert everything was.
He looked over at Will. “Y’know… I’ve got somethin’ better than Brooke Shields.”
Will didn’t react, paying attention to the movie. Chuckie walked away, heading upstairs into his bedroom. He poked around his bookshelf, moving dusty old school dioramas his mother insisted he held onto to find the real gem: his porn stash. He replaced the magazines every few weeks (unless they really turned him on) but he only had two VHS tapes. Sexpot Hospital and Bang Bus 12: Back on the Road. It’s a no brainer which one is a better to watch with a friend.
Chuckie bounds back down the stairs and kneels in front of the TV, sliding his selection into the VCR.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doin’? One of us was watchin’ that.”
“If you wanna watch a guy prance around in a dress, we can play in my ma’s closet later.”
Will crossed his arms, waiting to see what Chuckie had brought down. In a perfectly topical move, it was a hospital full of sexy nurses. Chuckie was particularly locked in on a girl with a sandy blonde bob and perky tits that poked out of the neckline of her nurse's uniform a little bit. He turned to Will to see if he was enjoying himself, only to find him looking over at Chuckie. Chuck smiled at him, he had to. He was kind of glad things were going back to normal so quickly. Will hesitated, but smiled back.
“She looks just like Tiff, doesn't she?”
“Yeah,” Will elbows him in the ribs a little bit. “Exactly your type.”
“You say it like you didn’t nail her, too.”
“I didn't. She looked like she could be my sister.”
Chuckie turned back to the screen just as the dusty blonde started wringing sponge bath water all over her breasts. It was then he realized Will was right. If anything, the porn star looked more like Will than Tiff did. She kind of had the same hair color as him. The same sad look in her eyes, with that pouty bottom lip. But he didn't want to think about that right now.
“Personally, I’m shocked the whole sister thing turned you off. I know you love my seconds.”
“Shut up, man. I’m gonna hurl thinking about your sloppy seconds.”
“Oh, is that why you never stick with them?”
“Shut up and watch your fuckin’ movie.”
Chuckie clapped him on the shoulder, too locked in on the film to see Will wince where his palm pushed on a bruise. His eyes were trained on the blonde nurse undoing her dress. It was then that he felt Will’s knee draw closer, his fingers brushing the seam between their legs. Despite how badly he wanted to focus on the movie, he found himself thinking about how he hadn’t seen Will’s body yet. He didn’t like to be morbidly curious, but he always had been. Everybody noticed when Will kept his shirt on when he swam, or wore jeans in gym class, but the thing that made Chuckie feel special was that he always knew what was under neath. That he got to help him nip burn cream from the pharmacy and trace the shape of his bruises while they shared cigarettes on his back porch. He suddenly realized two things at the same time, he hadn’t taken a breath in quite a long time and Will’s hand was at the top of his thigh.
Chuckie grabs Will's wrist, his middle finger presses into a small burn covered with silicone tape.
"…Easy there, Romeo. What are you trying to..."
"I mean..." He raises his eyebrows. "Feels better when somebody else does it for you, doesn't it?"
"Feels better when a girl does it, yeah."
"Feels best when a girl does it. Feels better when somebody else does."
Chuckie stares at him, then glances down at their hands. He squeezes Will’s wrist fondly. "You know I'd never ask you to do that, kid."
"You don't gotta ask me, I want to."
"Why?"
"You earned it."
“I didn't earn shit.” Chuckie swallows a lump he didn't notice had set up shop in his throat. "I was happy to pick you up, Will, that's a f-fucking privilege."
Will kneels on the couch again, Chuckie's grip on his wrist melted like butter, his fingers trailed down to Will’s palm, letting him move freely. Will leans in, almost nose to nose, his finger hooks in the waist of his pants. If they were further apart, the soft hah that dripped from Chuckie's lips wouldn't have been audible. It wouldn't have made Will smile and want to do it again.
"I can tell you need it. I'm sorry you had to see me like this. Let me help you forget."
Chuckie shoves his hand away. "I can't forget about that, Will."
"So you're not even going to let me try? Huh? I just have to sit here and pretend nothing's different while you think of me as some fucking weakling?"
"Mother of God, Will, I don't think that!"
"No, you do. That's why you won't let me do this, you think I'm some dumb fucking kid who doesn't know what he's doing. I know. I know I want to do this for you."
"I don't want you to hurt yourself."
The rejection rocks Will to his core, right under the dull thrum of pain from his wound. He trembles under Chuckie's grip. Realizing what's starting to happen, Chuckie softens right away.
"I didn't… I don't mean it like that, Will. C'mon, you know I don't—"
Will curls around Chuckie’s side, hot tears of frustration start to soak his shoulder.
“Do you have any idea what the last week of my life has been like? The last five fucking hours even?” His hands come up to ball into Chuckie’s shirt. “It’s been hell. I’ve been in hell. Don’t think you’re protecting me by saying some white knight bullshit. I don’t fuckin’ need it.”
Chuckie's dumbstruck, his whole body feels hot. He's embarrassed. For himself. For Will. He keeps his hands at his sides. He doesn’t know if he should pull Will closer or push him away. He hardly notices what’s going on around him. Not the porno still playing and least of all Will’s hand until it presses between his thighs again.
Chuckie already knew he was hard, but getting grabbed like that sends him to full attention faster than he’s ever been. Not with porn, not win any girl from the neighborhood.
Will’s voice is raw. "You don't want this to stop, right?"
Chuckie wants to rip their clothes off and show him how much he wanted to keep going. But that feels like a shitty, evil thing to do after seeing him like this. After feeling his body heave against his. Knowing which hand they stabbed his IV into. Knowing he has to sleep on this couch tonight because somebody at home tried to stab him. Knowing he fainted on the playground in fifth grade because family number four forgot to feed him. He knows too much about his history to want to be a part of the next, fucked up chapter.
“More…” He chokes it out, just as strained as Will’s.
He feels Will’s mouth curl against his neck, that makes Chuckie smile, too, for a moment. The next thing he knows, Will’s moving his hand again and he's rolling his eyes back while getting an over the pants handjob from his best friend.
It isn't bad, is what gets him. Even though it's Will, and he smells like hospital, and he just cried his eyes out into the shoulder of Chuckie's favorite work shirt, he can moan and sigh freely, like this isn’t going down in history as one of the biggest Boston tragedies since the fuckin’ molasses flood. Eventually, he opens up his eyes and he can see Will staring at him, licking his lips. Chuckie never noticed they were so pink.
"S'good?"
For some reason, he looks down at the spot where Will's hand, covered in bruises and burn patches and calluses on his palms from hanging on the monkey bars when they go smoke at the park, is grabbing his dick. Neither of them can ignore the way it throbs when he looks back at Will’s face.
"S'real good."
Will nods and brings his hand up, slowly starting to undo the other’s fly. Chuckie guides his hand away and begins to undress himself, getting his pants down to his ankles as Will sits there, watching him enraptured. Then, Chuckie stops, he puts his hand on Will's cheek. There's a small bruise, right below his eye. That's the last thing Chuckie saw before Will leaned in and kissed him. He sighed into it, almost melting against Will's body. He slid his hands down his sides, grabbing his waist before a sharp gasp from Will reminded him that was a bad idea.
"Sorry! I'm so sorry dude, fuck... Are you good? Where does it hurt?"
Without thinking, he opened Will’s hoodie, taking his first real look at the damage on his body.
They’re both silent as Chuckie looks at him. Will has bruises on his chest and arm that, to Chuckie, look a lot like his foster father’s loafers. Another one on his shoulder that looks like a wildly different shape. They’re striking, still black and blue with just little flashes of yellow on the outside. The gash under his collar that he noticed is in line with a second, deeper one on his stomach that had to be stitched close.
“The stairs…”
“Don't act surprised.”
“I am, Will, it's never been like this before. Not even that ashtray bitch left you like this.”
“It’s not that bad. S’not like I have to go back anytime soon.”
Chuckie brings out his hand to touch Will’s side and it takes every ounce of the smaller boy’s strength to not flinch away. He hates that he needs to tell himself that he's safe here.
"Does it still hurt?"
"No, I'm alright. I swear."
Chuckie nods, then sits back against the arm of the couch. It isn't long before Will leans forward, falling on top of him again and hugging him around his shoulders. He reaches behind Chuckie and turns off the lamp, leaving the porno as their only light. He kisses Chuckie again, the weight of Will sitting on his boner pulls a pleasant hum from him. They don't go too far with it, no tongue, no passion. They both know better than that. The way their lips come together is almost chaste, just something to do with their mouths. Will’s lips move to Chuckie's cheek, then his jaw. His hands shove under the hem of his cotton Boston D&D t-shirt.
"Have you done something like this before?" Chuckie asked.
"Yeah. Don't worry about it."
Chuckie lifts his arms up, letting Will have him bare as he kisses his way down his front. He takes his time on that. He likes biting patches of skin on Chuckie’s abs. A hand pets Will’s hair. They let themselves enjoy it a little too much and a few dark marks appear on Chuckie’s stomach by the time Will gets to where he was going. He presses a kiss against Chuckie’s cockhead through his boxers.
"Jesus, Will, holy fuck—"
Will looks up at him with a smirk in his eyes, then continues. It's just a hummer, but it's more than Chuckie thought he would get tonight. Everything he's ignoring by focusing on the gentle rumble from Will’s mouth seems to make it more intense. Hot shame licks at both their heels in a way it doesn’t when they’re with girls. Neither of them are thinking about Will’s body, or if this means anything, or what’s gonna happen if Chuckie’s mom walks in. Chuckie rolls his hips up into Will’s face, which he apparently doesn't like so Will brings his own hands down into Chuckie’s lap, pinning him to the couch.
He tries shaking his grip. Nothing. None of the girls he fucks are strong enough to pull that off. None. Almost as soon as Will puts his mouth on him again, he blows his load.
Chuckie comes down absolutely euphoric, nothing has come crashing in yet. Then he looks down at Will and notices he’s wiping a stripe of jizz off his chin and everything gets a little more real. He doesn't say anything. He just pulls his pants back up and extends a hand to pick up Will.
“Thanks.”
Will sat back on the couch and looked at the porn on the living room TV. He didn’t even register that the orderlies and nurses started fucking each other, but he has to keep his eyes forward because he can feel Chuckie looking at him. Like he wants something else.
“Hey.”
Will doesn’t turn to look at him. “Hey yourself.”
“Do you want me to…”
“No.” He smiles and gawfs at the suggestion. “Not like that anyways.”
Chuckie leans back with his arm over the couch, his arm is almost long enough to reach Will’s shoulder from over there. “How do you want it, then?”
“I don’t.”
“You don’t wanna get your rocks off?”
Will sighs and keeps looking forward. He’s sweating a little bit because he does. He’s human, hearing somebody else cum turned him on. If he was being honest, just being held by Chuckie started to turn him on. He understood those girls at the bar that liked to grab his muscles and offer to climb him like a tree. Liking that… It could mean nothing, but the idea of letting himself be touched and looked at by Chuckie is something. Something that’s a little off. Like having your shoes on the wrong feet.
“You don’t have to offer just because I did you.”
“You deserve it. After seeing me like this.” He laughs at himself, which makes Will turn and laugh at him too.
It’s hard to make himself want to deny it when he’s looking at Chuckie. It’d be easier if they couldn’t see each other, Will thinks. It’d been the middle of the afternoon when Chuckie met him at the diner, and now the windows didn’t give off any light. They were just blue-tinged glass squares, so when someone turned off the television, it was nearly black in the living room.
Will hears the remote drop to the floor as Chuckie moves to sit closer to him. He puts his hand on the small of Will’s back gently, like he’s afraid to break him. Any other time, Will would be insulted by the move, but he’d give anything to not be reminded of the state he was in. If soft touching like he was made of glass or porcelain, something more valuable than shit was the way to do it, he’d take it.
Chuckie leans in toward Will’s neck, careful not to put weight on the bruise he knows is there. He presses a soft kiss to his neck and that’s the first time Will flinches away from him in earnest all night.
“Should I stop-”
“No.” Will whispered sharply.
Chuckie takes the word to heart and slowly removes Will’s hoodie. Will feels lips on his body again, to the dull thrumming spot on his shoulder blade where it dislocated. He sighs and relaxes against Chuckie a bit more. He never wanted someone to kiss his “booboos,” and at his age he didn’t think he needed it, but it filled him with an undeniable ease anyways.
“Can I keep touching you?” He shifted his hands to Will’s thighs.
“Not… not my stomach.”
Chuckie kisses him again, on his back hairline. When he talks, his lips mumble against his skin. “So this is fine?”
Will’s breath picks up into a pant as Chuckie runs his fingers over the inside of Will’s thighs, teasing toward and away from his erection as he moves.
“Just jerk me off, you fuckin’ asshole.”
Chuckie brings his hand up to Will’s unmarred pec, squeezing it. “God forbid I take my time. You ain’t never read about foreplay?”
“Foreplay’s for virgins and high end escorts.”
He arches against Chuckie enough to pull his sweatpants down. Chuckie kisses Will’s neck and it makes him squirm. It’s not a fair fight anymore if he’s going to do shit like that. Will only kissed him once or twice. Not that he was keeping score. If he was, he’d take points off for the sound Chuckie rips out of him from pinching his nipple.
“Chuckie.”
“That’s my name.” His hand dips low between Will’s legs and cups him though his shorts.
Will sighs. “Thank you, was that hard?”
“You are.”
Will rolls his eyes at the bad joke, but quickly falls into a rhythm of panting and moaning as Chuckie begins to work him over. He doesn’t buck into his touch, he just lets him do what he wants. He thinks the only thing more humiliating than humping your friend’s hand is pulling a stitch while you do it.
“You sound wicked hot.” He kisses Will’s neck again. He can already tell he’s going to want to do this every time he looks at him from now on. “Can’t wait to make you cum your fuckin’ brains out.”
“Then make me cum my f-fuckin’ brains out already.”
Chuckie dips his hand through the hole in Will’s boxers and starts to jerk him off in earnest, not just fondle him through his clothes. He’d pay money to switch on the lamp and see what Will’s face looked like as his head lolled back onto Chuckie’s shoulder. He adjusts their position a bit, as gently as he can with one free hand.
“Keep talkin’, fuckin’-A.” He sighed into Will’s ear. “You’re better than a pornstar.”
Will laughed a little bit at that. “Yeah? That turn you on?”
“I dunno about all that, but I find it encouraging with ya fuckin’ dick in my hand.”
This side of Chuckie isn’t new to him. He’s heard him flirt, he’s heard him fuck, he’s heard him talk girls through it in the front seat and pretended not to. But it’s brand new knowing what Chuckie’s saying is about him. He lets himself go limp against Chuckie’s body, making sure he lets every sound that’s pulled out of him makes it to Chuckie’s ears.
“Chuckie…”
“That’s it, say my fuckin’ name.”
“Yank it like you mean it and I’ll do anything you say.”
Chuckie brings his hand up and spits. “I find that hard to fucking believe.”
“Wh-” he gets cut off by his own moan when Chuck takes him into his warm, suddenly slick hand.
Chuckie licked a stripe from shoulder to shoulder and is strangely satisfied by the fact that the sterile hospital smell that was all over Will’s body has dissipated. Thanks to him, Will just smells like sex.
“Chuckie…” Will whines, fully slack against his friend. “Almost.”
“Sh, yeah, I know. I got you.” He speeds up a bit. “Feels good, yeah?”
“Wicked good, man.” He sounds wrecked, his voice shaking.
“S’what I like to hear.”
Will bites his tongue as he cums into Chuckie’s hand, but neither of them mind. Least of all Chuckie. He admired how Will managed to be so aloof and mature seeming, but like this he was like an open book.
Will laid against Chuckie completely, to the point that when he was ready to get up, he didn’t bother asking Will to stir. He just picked him up and placed him down on the couch. The light flicked on as he left the room. Will laid on the couch feeling like he was floating, like he was sailing in the sky and his body was battered and cum coated and stuck to the earth.
Chuckie walked back in and dropped one of his mother’s kitchen towels onto his chest. They locked eyes as Chuckie smiled around the rim of the beer he was drinking. Will slowly sat up, using the towel to wipe his sweat before any other substance.
“Where’s mine?”
Chuckie handed him a Gatorade. “They just had you on a fuckin’ morphine drip, I’m not handin’ you a beer.”
Will opened it and took a sip. It wasn’t as good as a lager and a cigarette might have been, but he needed it. Even he could admit that he’d overdone it tonight. Chuckie leaned on the arm of the couch, but didn’t sit with Will again. Neither of them moved to turn the TV back on, they just stared ahead as if the grey reflections in the glass were as entertaining as anything else.
Chuckie put his hand on Will’s shoulder and watched as his body stiffened. It reminded him of seeing a deer in headlights.
“Do you wanna take the first shower?”
Will looked up at him, he wasn’t expecting this to be the kind of pillow talk they engaged in. “You take it, man. I can shower in the morning. I didn’t really do anything today.”
Chuckie nods.
“You wanna head upstairs and toss me down some sheets?”
“Nah.”
“Alright man, no rush. S’just getting late.”
“Oh,” he looks right at Will realizing what he meant, “I don’t wanna do that ‘cause you should sleep upstairs. I can take the couch, kid, I didn’t…”
Chuckie trails off as his eyes stare at the long row of stitches on Will’s stomach. He crosses his arms over himself, he feels naked.
“I got clean clothes in my room. If you don’t wanna unpack.”
Will doesn’t say anything. He just takes his hoodie and his Gatorade and runs up to Chuckie’s room.
Notes:
hey... how y'all doin....
Chapter 3
Summary:
Chuckie takes Will to work with him, then they go to the bar.
Notes:
some discussion of will's abuse. besides that a very sfw chapter <3 period typical homophobia warning but who give a fuck. it's not worse than "the departed."
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Chuckie wished he’d spent the night with Will.
That’s something that was hanging in the back of his mind like a blister on his heel. Even as he brushed his teeth and got ready for work, it played in his head on a loop. You let him wake up alone. You asshole.
The record didn’t cut out until Will walked in. He grabbed the mouth wash and poured it into one of the pink Dixie cups Chuckie’s mother furnished the bathroom with.
“Mornin’. How’d you sleep?”
Chuckie bent over and spit into the sink, then Will spit did. He watched it mingle with Chuckie’s for a moment before washing it out. It reminded him too much of mingling spit last night.
“Fine. How was the couch?”
“I woke up under the cushions. Found your retainer, by the way.”
“Thanks.” He leaned against the towel rack, staring at Chuckie as he shook his can of shaving cream. Will’s eyes flitted down to Chuckie’s stomach. It was littered with hickeys. “Shit... I did all of that?”
“Hm?” He said as he began spreading it across his face. He heard what Will said perfectly, but had to play it cool. “Yeah, it’s whatever. I’ve got an excuse if my shirt pulls up or something.”
“The broad who just got hit by semi-truck did all of that to you?”
“Maybe she did it before the semi, I don’t know.”
Will scoffed and stated to strip his shirt off. He pulled it over his head first, trying not to irritate his wound too much.
“I just don’t think it makes a ton of sense.”
Chuckie wet his razor and began to take care of his stubble. “Maybe she dumped me and I just swooned into the arms of her redneck brother.”
Will chuckled and stripped off his boxers as he cut behind Chuckie and got into the shower. “Yeah, that’s much better. Good luck with that one.”
Chuckie caught a glimpse of him in the mirror and nicked himself on the jaw, hissing at the sting. Will didn’t notice anything as he turned the knob and began to wash himself.
It felt good to rid his body of the iodine and the squares of medical adhesive still stick to some of his skin. Scrubbing his bruises still hurt, but the hot water and the stimulation of the once screaming, throbbing nerves walked it to the good side of pain.
He doesn’t remember everything that happened to him. According to his foster mother (the one day she managed to see him), he’d hit his head. Hard, on the doorframe at some point. But he remembers how the other times went, and figures this was the sum of all their parts. He could have gotten himself moved if he’d wanted to, he’d learned what to say and what to do and how crazy or sane to be when he had a good thing or a bad thing. But when his voice started to drop, they let him know for the next few years it’d be hard for him. Nobody wants a teenager in the house, least of all a boy who’s been moved five times since he was ten.
So he played it cool. He went to church. He walked their daughter home from girl scouts. He took the beatings when he left his clothes outside the hamper. He took the hands under his shirt while he washed the dishes. He had to. He didn’t want to end up like the burn out kids that haunted the group home until they were 18. He can’t really say if he would have been better off that way. But if you asked him, he’d say no.
The edge of Will's nail catches a stitch while he absently scrubs his body. His body that's covered with marks that weren't there last week. That are going to stick around until he dies. He sucks his teeth and decides to focus on scrubbing the sweat out of his hair. Bringing his head under the stream is nice, it sends him to a different place for a moment. Floaty. Like he was last night.
He’s quick about getting out after that. He didn’t notice Chuckie had cut out to go downstairs.
-
When Will came downstairs, dressed and ready to go, Chuckie was shoving a slice of peanut butter toast at him.
“Take it.” He mumbles. “If we don’t peel out soon, I’m gonna be late.”
“Lost track of time.” Will grabs it and follows him outside to his car. “You didn’t have to wait for me. The walk to the pharmacy isn’t that bad.”
“My mom would have my ass if let you do that, kid.” He unlocks the driver’s side and gets in.
Will joins him, holding Chuckie’s lunch pail on his lap. “I’m sure your boss is gonna love that excuse.”
“He’d better.” Chuckie begins to speed down the block. “My girlfriend’s in the hospital.”
It isn’t too long before they’re in the parking lot of the pharmacy. It’s a modest storefront in the corner of a stripmall, flanked on the side and rear by a pawn shop and liquour store. Chuckie double parks near the exit. Will gets out and looks over his shoulder as he walks.
“I thought you were going to work.”
“I can’t buy a pack of smokes for my break?”
Will shook his head and headed toward the pharmacy counter. Chuckie ducked to the end of the magazine rack, near the beer fridge. There was where boys became men. The four shelf endcap where everything was served in a brown paper bag. This wasn’t the first time he’d been there, it certainly wouldn’t be the last, but he was sweating on the nape of his neck like it was the first time. He glanced at the handwritten labels. Playboy. Hustler. Maxim. The usual order. He got on one knee to inspect the bottom shelf. Playgirl, dated from now back about three months. He cleared his throat as he shoved it under his sweatshirt, then strolled to the line in front to grab some cigarettes and gum.
He waits behind four other people and convinces himself they all know what he did. Exactly what he took, exactly why they took it. Exactly what he thinks he can figure out from that book.
Will caught him, lost in thought on the back of the line. “Hey, thought you’d left without me.”
“No, yeah, thought I’d browse.”
“Didn’t see anything you liked?”
Will looks over at a pair of girls talking in the candy aisle. He doesn’t know them, but he recognizes them from CCD a few years ago. He catches the taller one’s eye. He waves at her. Chuckie watches the whole thing.
“No, not really. But you go for the school girls while you still can, kid.” He claps a hand on Will’s shoulder. It completley throws off the little game he had.
They make it to the front of the line. Chuckie gets a pack of Camels and a pack of Juicy Fruit. He tries to get Will to add his Coke and bag of chips to the tally, but he insists he’s got it. They step back out into the crisp Boston air.
“If you see that girl again, you’ve got to talk to her.”
“Oh, what do you think I should open with? I like Jujubees, too?”
“I think you could, and I think you could get away with it. She wants to make it with you, man. And she goes to Blessed Mother of the Immaculate Conception, all the girls there are easy.”
Will rolls his eyes. He tries not to think about what he said for the rest of the drive.
-
Will was bored out of his mind watching Chuckie work. Next time he comes around, he’ll be sure to bring some light reading with him. Like Finnegean’s Wake.
Over the course of a single day, Will observes, Chuckie cleans the place, puts coffee in the break room, files invoices, takes stock of the tools, the nails, the equipment, the fucking sawdust. Then he signs off on dumpster drop offs, dumpster rentals, dumpster returns. Chuckie tells him that sometimes he gets to sort bricks and strip copper wire, which is almost like real work. Then at the end of it all, he has to sweep the place, check the doors, check the locks, and chain the fence shut.
As miserable as it was, it was better than waiting for him back at the house. At least that’s what he told himself as he watched through the window as Chuckie shook hands with some of the guy from the sanitation department and let him haul off one of the many dumpsters lining the lot outside the office space. It reminded him of a military compound, or maybe Chuckie was the knight tending a castle surrounded by an asphalt moat filled with ravenous, cast iron monsters. He at least looked the part with his customer service persona Charles on.
Sir Charles of Boston came walking in again, letting a chill of cold winter air in with him.
“Check it out!” Chuckie brandished a twenty dollar bill as he walked back to the front desk.
“What’d you do to earn that?”
“His partner was out so I helped hitch his trailer.”
“Very nice.” Will shuddered a little bit. That was the other thing he didn’t like about Chuckie’s job, no fucking heat. He reached for Chuckie’s jacket, crumpled in the corner.
“Hey,” he stepped in front of it before Will could reach it.
“Hey, yourself. Can you turn up the thermostat?”
“Can you tough it out? The last dumpster is supposed to be here in like thirty minutes.”
“I can... But then it’s another thirty minutes of waiting for you to close up. It only takes forty minutes for frostbite to set in.”
Chuckie rolled his eyes and picked up his jacket, and the paper package tucked inside. He played it off as it was some office material and placed it on the filing cabinet behind him and handed Will his jacket. He pulled it on, leaving Chuckie thoroughly amused at how it draped over Will. The sleeves were about the right length but it was a size and a half too big in the shoulders.
“Looks great.”
“I know. Fits me like a glove.” Will tilted his head to see behind Chuckie’s back.
“I gotta secure the exits. C’mon.”
“Thought you’d never ask.”
Chuckie walked around the office, trailing Will behind him. They got to the further most window of the office. Chuckie tried pulling it up to make sure it was locked.
“Y’know, we could meet the guys on L street. If the truck comes on time.”
“I dunno. I’m due for my second pill in a couple of hours.”
“Did they say you can’t drink?” Chuckie walks down the hall and does the same thing to a cage full of demolition supplies.
“I mean... Not to my face.”
“Then we should go.”
Will followed him out of the rear enterance, zipping their shared jacket as they approached the parking lot with one branded van, the second he would have to clean out before closing.
“I have to think about it.”
“Are you scared or something? They know what you’ve been through, man, I doubt they’d give you crap about it.” Chuckie opened up the back of the van, gave it a once over, then closed it up. “Not anymore crap than they usually do, anyways.”
Will chuckled, then took the pack of cigarettes out of Chuckie’s pocket and lit one up. He took a drag and before long, Chuckie put his hand out for him to pass it.
“I can just light you another one, y’know.” He handed it to Chuckie.
“I’m not supposed to smoke here. All the wood and chemicals and shit, could blow right up.”
Will smirked and kicked an empty pack that had been littered at their feet.
“Okay, smartass. We’re still not supposed to.” He passes the cigarette back to Will, then walks over to check the chain the smaller gate.
The smile stayed on his face as he watched Chuckie haul about five pounds of chain and then lock it with the key from his obnoxiously large ring of keys. The blue floodlight shines on his back like an editorial photo. In the last few months since Chuckie dropped out, he ever imagined he spent his nights like this. And Will never imagined he’d see the reward in it.
He heard gravel crunch, he looked behind him and saw the truck they’d been waiting for had rolled in, with two older guys sitting in the front.
“Hey, Sullivan!” The guy with less gray hair than the driver stuck his head out of the window.
Chuckie smiled at him and approached the truck. “Hey, O’Neil. How’d the job go?”
“Same as it always goes, man.” He saw Will standing off to the side with his hands in his pockets. “Who’s that? Your fuckin’ girlfriend?”
“Come off it, man. He’s just a kid from the neighborhood.”
“I’m yankin’ your chain.” He stares at Will for a moment. He waves to O’Neil, feeling a little awkward. “See you back at the office, Charlie.”
The truck pulled up to the parking space they’d just walked away from. Will stayed by the fence and finished his cigarette. His ears started to tingle from the cold, but he just pulled his hoodie up. He didn’t really want to be around Chuckie’s coworkers longer than he had to.
Neither did Chuckie apparently, because it wasn’t long after they left that he just locked up the building and the van, and joined WIll at the gate.
“Sorry, man.” He was a little winded from jogging over to him. “The owner is such a fuckin’ washerwoman sometimes. He talks until you’re blue in the face.”
Will cracked up a bit, trying not to show that he’d been hugging himself to keep warm. “That’s a good one.”
“I know. I can be good.” Chuckie put his arm around Will without having to think about it. “When I really wanna be. You ready to lead to the L?”
“Do I have a choice?”
Chuckie’s arm around the shoulder crooked around Will’s neck, pulling him close for a noogie.
-
Chuckie let Will head in first, under the guise of getting parking, but really it’s the Playgirl that’s been burning a hole in his pocket since his boss got back and he had to stash it before they left the office. He really wouldn’t’ve heard the end of it. Will might find it funny, the guys might call him a fag, but he was never getting on the demo crew with something like that against him.
He tears the paper open in the cover and suddenly Mark fucking Wahlberg is reclining topless on the cover, all eight of his abs on display, staring right at him. With a smile as if to say “you’re into this, aren’t you, you sick fuck?”
He’s not immediately repulsed by the sight. Which makes him think maybe he’s the only thing about this situation. He takes a deep breath and thumbs through the rest of the magazine, finding out exactly what comes between him and his Calvins, as the cover had promised. He has to swallow a lump in his throat as it sinks in for him that maybe knows exactly why he let what happened last night happen. And maybe it’s his responsibility to make sure he doesn’t indulge in something like that ever again. Even if Marky Mark tapped on his window and fuckin’ begged him for it.
He shoves the magazine into the back seat and gets out of the car. This is the kind of realization he needs a fuckin’ beer to deal with.
When he walks inside, it doesn’t take him long to find the guys at their usual booth, about half way through a pitcher of draft. He reminds himself to give Billy a few dollars towards it, he knows he got it to celebrate Will’s freedom.
“Took you long enough. Where’d you park? Vermont?” Will slid down the booth toward the wall, making room for Chuckie to sit next to sit next to him.
“I’ll send your ass to fuckin’ Vermont if you don’t hand me a glass.”
Will laughed and slid one over to him. Chuckie downed about half of his glass before setting it down for air.
“Shit, man, somebody had a rough day at work.”
“Fellas... Our Chuckie has gotta be one of the hardest working secretaries in Boston, I’ll say that much.”
“Flattery’s gonna get you nowhere in this life, Hunting.”
“Oh, so now I’m just Hunting to you?”
Billy whispered something to Morgan that made him chuckle and pound the table. That really reminded Will and Chuckie that they had been drinking for about forty minutes before the two of them got there.
“The fuck did he say to you?” Chuckie smirked and took another sip of his beer.
Morgan was still out of comission, so Billy answered. “I said Will’s gonna get grounded.”
“Come off it.”
Will smiled and leaned back in his seat. “Yeah, guys, he’s not gonna ground me. Might give me the belt, but he ain’t gonna ground me.”
That had the other two guys at the table rolling. Chuckie looked over at Will, who just raised his eyebrows and hit his knee into Chuckie’s, as if to implicate him in something. Chuckie held his gaze as his hand reached across the table for the pitcher.
“Shit, Bill, here we go.” Morgan said.
Chuckie looked down at his glass as he poured another beer from the sweaty pitcher.
“What do you mean by that?” Will responded.
“Oh, you know...” Morgan looked away and sipped his beer.
“You guys always seem like you know something we don’t. I told him it was only gonna be worse now that you’re living together.”
“We do know something you don’t, Billy.”
“Like what?” He barked back at Will.
“A couple things.” Chuckie chimed in. “How to avoid a DUI, how to wash behind our ears, the touch of a woman.”
That made Morgan spit his drink out and onto the waitress passing by. He bolted away from the table to do damage control with her, which was almost as entertianing as seeing the act in the first place.
“So...” Billy said as he finished off the pitcher, pouring it into his own glass. “How’s the bachelor pad been?”
“I haven’t run into his mom, yet, but I’m sure we’ll be hearing about the state of the house tonight.”
“Spent the first night partying? Without us?”
Chuckie laughed because if he didn’t he’d start to sweat. “Not really, it’s just-”
Will cuts him off, sensing his malaise. “He doesn’t know how to pick up after himself. He’s gonna blame me ‘cause he’s had to play Florence Nightingale and everything, but he just doesn’t like to do it. That’s probably the worst part.”
Billy laughed. Will put his hand on Chuckie’s thigh under the table. Chuckie downed the rest of his beer.
“Oh, he’s got your number, kid.” Billy pointed at Chuckie.
“Does fuckin’ not.” Chuckie felt Will’s fingers curl behind his knee. He didn’t know what to think of it. He knew he couldn’t think of anything.
“I’ve lived in the group home, I can handle myself.” Will sipped his IPA and Chuckie got jealous of the fucking glass. “His charmed life as the only boy is over.”
Billy laughs. “The only time it’s fun to have brothers is if there’s a game on. The rest of the time it’s fuckin’ warfare.”
Chuckie didn’t believe what they were implying. He could handle living with Will. Maybe not now, but under normal circumstances, he’d love to see him every day.
“I’ll let you know my feelings by the end of the year.”
Billy got up, no doubt to get the second round. “What’s special about that?”
“S’when my lease is up.” Will squeezed his leg before letting go, putting both hands on the table. “Right, boss?”
Chuckie turned to him and smiled. “I’m not kicking you out. Where am I supposed to get all my entertainment?”
“National Geographic?” Will said.
“The two of you are something else, man.” Bill shook his head and walked away with the pitcher.
Will finished off his beer. Chuckie finished his own, and the half a glass left beind by Billy.
“Are you okay?” Will asked him.
“Yeah, I’m fine, I’m just...” His eyes scanned around the bar. He was honestly happy to see Tiff in the corner with some girls from the phone company. “Working up the nerve.”
“The nerve?” Will laughed. “Since when do you nerve...” He trailed off as he watched Chuckie walk over to her.
Will walked off to stand by Bill, who was flirting with the bartender to get another round. It gave him a great vantage point to watch Chuckie do his stuff, talk game, and probably get a different blonde to suck his dick on the couch that night. That’s what he thought he’d be watching, anyways.
He didn’t think after five minutes, Chuckie would turn green and run out the door so fast he practically tore it off the hinges.
Notes:
i had a whole going to bed together section that i cut because the yearning is more potent if there's distance but here it is as a drabble
https://www.tumblr.com/criesinauthor/791691906745843712/some-of-it-is-transcendental-drabbleeee-just-what
Chapter 4
Summary:
The day after Chuckie upchucks.
Notes:
sooo much f-slur in this chapter i'm SORRY. i'm also not going to keep the day by day form after this chapter i think which kills me because i love yearning but it just doesn't make sense for where i want to take it (the bone zone)
Chapter Text
Will caught up with him in the alley between the bar and the adjacent. Chuckie was bracing himself on the wall as he coughed up the contents of his stomach onto the pavement. Instinctually, Will’s hand came between his shoulder blades and started rubbing his back.
“Are you okay? What the fuck happened back there?”
Chuckie coughed and spit one more time before standing up. He took a few steps back, or maybe he stumbled drunk deeper into the alley. Either way he put a few feet of distance between himself and Will.
“Nothing... It’s nothing. Go inside, have another round. I’ll meet you there.”
“Chuckie... C’mon. Don’t bullshit me.” Will stepped closer, extending his hand to him.
He backed up further, hitting his back against the brick wall. “Don’t fuckin’ touch me, man. I’m fine.”
“You’re not fuckin’ fine, man, stop being a prick.”
“I should have just walked away. Just walked the fuck out the second you...” He trailed off, too overwhelmed to keep going.
“So what? You’re disgusted by me now? We can’t be in the same bar together?”
Chuckie zoned out, staring at his sick on the cobblestones. He looked at Will with a hollow gaze as he came to. “No, Will. I’m disgusted with myself.”
Will blinked a few times. He wondered how long this feeling had been stirring, why it only boiled over here and now and not when they were alone together. Where it was safe. “Okay. For what?”
“What do you think?”
“I think that was my idea and I liked it.”
“Yeah, but I shouldn’t have done it. I’m not... I’ve never been the kind of person to just take advantage of someone like that.”
“But I wanted it.”
“Stop it.” Chuckie cut him off, bounding off the wall to get into his face. He reeked of beer and bile. It wasn’t something unfamiliar to Will, just unfamiliar on him. “Stop fucking saying that like it matters. You’re hurt. You’ve been hurt. I can’t just do something like that to you with no consequences. What the fuck kind of excuse is that?”
Will stared him down, not afraid of him in the slightest. “It ain’t an excuse, Chuckie. I wanted it.”
“Stop fucking saying that! I know I fucked up.” Chuckie’s voice broke. “Okay? I know I’m a bad person. I should have just let you alone...”
He started to weep. He strangely wasn’t afraid to do it in front of just Will. Even when he lost control of his lungs and his limbs began to shake. He knew he’d never fall apart like this in front of anybody else.
Will stepped closer to him, testing to see if he’d get pushed away again. “Chuckie... You’re not a bad person. Believe me.”
“I can’t, okay? It’s been eating at me all fuckin’ day. I can’t stand it.”
Will put his hand on Chuckie’s shoulder. He squeezed it to make sure he knew it was there. “I'm not... I'm not proud of what we did. But I needed it. It was better to go for it than just sit there being miserable.”
“What do you mean we should just go for it?” Chuckie straightened up as he began to calm down.
“You know what I mean.” He moved his hand to the back of his neck. “It felt electric. Like... none of the bullshit mattered. How often do you feel that way?”
“I...” He couldn’t deny that he knew what Will meant. His hand found it’s way to his waist, his palm curling around to the small of his back. He couldn’t let himself do more. He pulled him in for a hug and rested his head on Will’s shoulder. “Can we just go home? Please?”
They separated and walked back inside. Chuckie put on his best “egregiously sick drunk” act and let Will parade him around on his arm as he said his goodbyes. It was a pretty clean getaway, not counting the sidewalk Chuckie had soiled. It went without saying that he had to hand Will the keys on their walk to the car. Ever the gentleman, Will unlocked Chuckie’s door and held it open for him. All Chuckie offered was a murmured thanks, barely audible through the wind whipping over the harbor.
Will sat in the driver’s seat and turned on the car. The stereo came to life, playing Don’t Let the Sun Go Down on Me, which made them both jump a bit in the quiet of the car.
...Although I search myself, it's always someone else I see / I'd just allow a fragment of your life, to wan-
Chuckie cut off George Michael, pushed in one of his presets and some kind of yacht rock song started playing as Will turned down the street.
“You’re not getting me in that fuckin’ office again, y’know.”
“What?” Chuckie stopped looking out the passenger side window and turned to Will.
“Your job. I ain’t comin’ back.”
He smiled a bit. “Well shit, man, I told the boss you’d replace me next week.”
“Is that how you get promoted there? Trick somebody into playing desk set while you’re workin’ the big jobs?”
That managed to get him laughing. “Oh, absolutely, man. If I didn’t sell you up the river, I’d be printing order forms until I turn fifty.”
Work proved to be a fine neutral ground. They went back and forth with it all the way up the stairs, even if they had to curb their volume when they noticed Mrs. Sullivan’s pumps were discarded on the living room floor. If anything, it brought back old feelings of sneaking around the house during school night sleepover. They were practically giddy as they entered Chuckie’s bedroom.
“God.” Will crashed onto his back and began stripping his pants off. “This fuckin’ belt was killin’ me today, man.”
“Why’d you wear a belt if it hurt?” Chuckie was struggling to pull his hand out of his sleeve.
“I don’t like wearing my pants around my ankles.” He kicked off one of his shoes, hitting Chuckie in the leg.
He doubled over with laughter, bracing himself on the bed. Will shushed him furiously, his mother’s room was right down the hall.
“Sorry, sorry.” Chuckie lurched forward and collided with the mattress like he was doing a bellyflop. His coat dropped onto the floor.
As he sat up and stripped his shirt off, Will watched him like a hawk, just like the first night he slept over. Only this time, flashes of their talk in the alley of the bar came to him. Maybe he was the one in the wrong. Maybe he only enjoyed it at Chuckie's expense. Had it even been as good as he remembered it? He had to break himself out of a trance to get his other shoe and his jeans completely off.
Chuckie tried to strip his, too, but it was a slog. Laying prone on his back, coordinating his gangly limbs through the haze of too much beer and too little food was taxing. Without having to ask for it, he felt Will grab one of his legs in the dark and unlace the boot himself. It fell to the floor steel-toe first from the sound of it.
Will rolled his eyes. “Other one, too, dipstick.”
Chuckie huffed out a curt laugh and shoved his other leg toward Will, whose deft fingers took care of it in half the time it’s owner could’ve. His hand lingered on Chuckie’s thigh where his loose jeans bunched up. He pulled them the rest of the way down, letting them fall into a pile on top of Chuckie’s boots.
“Thanks.” Chuckie whispered, looking up at the dark ceiling.
Will’s hand cupped the back of his calf. “Don’t mention it.”
His fingers started massaging the tendons of Chuckie’s leg, from the back of knee down to his ankle. For a moment, he tenses under the touch, but then Will’s thumb is digging into his arch. He’s liquid all of a sudden, just seeping into the mattress.
“Quit it. I’m tired, I gotta make it downstairs.”
Will pulled his leg by the ankle. “Then go to sleep, dumbass.”
Chuckie didn’t think twice about being in bed with him, for once. He was too tired and his head was swimming to the point where only nuclear warfare might bother him. He’s made of blind obedience as he swings his body to curl around the space Will takes up on his double XL mattress.
Chuckie maintained his modesty even now by having just one leg tangled into the bedding. Will sank into it beside him. It was definitely better than sleeping alone.
He couldn’t bring himself to be honest about it. The strange, disorienting dream he’d had the first night. He wasn’t scared of it. It was the unconscious mind presenting itself. Hands everywhere, under his skin, pulling him apart, suffocating him. It wasn’t anything he hadn’t been through before. It was just weird that Chuckie’s were involved.
He knew they were his in the darkness then the same way he knows now.
They felt good.
-
Will woke up enveloped in Chuckie’s arms. This is one of the times that he’s glad his friend hasn’t lost the baby fat he’s constantly fretting over, he’d be a much shitter pillow if he was as boney as Will was. He’s almost overwhelmed by how easily he’s relaxed against Chuckie. No one’s cradled him in his sleep since his mother died and he guesses that his body never forgot that.
He wonders if everything they’ve been through over the long weekend can be explained by Freud. Oral fixation and absent fathers and gender inversion. It’s a nice fairytale to tell yourself when you’re sitting out of gym class for the fourth week in a row, but he doesn’t know that it holds water here. Not that he’d ever let that slip to Chuckie. He couldn’t handle the simple conversion that hands feel like any other hand and mouths like any other mouth. He’s sure if he opened the conversation to psychoanalysis, he’d kill the poor guy.
It’s probably a little selfish. That he doesn’t immediately wake him up and issue his court-ordered get off, fag. But he doesn’t want him to.
That’s of course when his alarm clock goes off and suddenly his blissful spooning is replaced with a faceful of armpit and “too sparse to justify it” hairy chest as Chuckie reaches over him to shut it off.
“Watch where you’re going, Jesus.” He shoved him in the chest to keep him off, but it only sent him off balance, having him catch himself by hovering over Will, boxing his head with both hands.
“Some of us have to get up for work, man.” He sat up next to him. “Sorry I interrupted your beauty sleep.”
“I meant what I said last night, stupid.”
Chuckie was quiet for a moment. It was obvious, painfully obvious, so painfully obvious the glassy look in his eyes hurt to look at, that he was thinking about the wrong conversation.
“...About not following you to work again.” He tacked it on in a way that was fundamentally unsatisfying, but that was going to be the theme of their relationship from this point forward, Will figured.
“Oh! No, yeah, uh... You don’t have to.”
“Good.” He turned on his side and hugged the pillow to his face. It was almost like waking up with Chuckie again. Almost. “You take care now, yeah? Bring me and Peg home the big bucks.”
“You’re a piece of work.” He tugged him on the ear before getting up and dressing for work. It took Will everything he had not to laugh as he heard him trip over his own shoes.
-
Will pulled on his sweat pants from catholic school before he ambled down the stairs. He was glad he didn’t completely miss Chuckie, who was still running around the kitchen trying to pack his own lunch while mildly hungover. His mother was unable to help him, as it seemed she was nursing a hangover of her own in the corner.
“Jesus... Ma, where’s the Wonderbread?”
“Where it always is, Charles, it’s on-”
“It ain’t there. Yesterday I took macaroni salad so don’t try to say I moved it.”
Will watched from the door as she rubbed her temple, the same way her son pinched the bridge of his nose when he was deeply focused. At almost the same time they, they both blurted out microwave. The exact right location.
Will sat down next to Mrs. Sullivan. Peg, as she always wanted to be called. Most moms in the neighborhood weren’t old old, but Peg dropped out of tenth grade to take care of Chuckie. That just meant she was always a little cooler and a little more understanding than the other parents they knew. And maybe it contributed to the weird way she and her son managed to think at the same pace.
That’s another thing Will kind of envied about real families, the ability to truly know each other deeply. Intimately. To know what someone was thinking and not have to assume the worst from every look, every step, wondering if even laughter was at your expense.
Chuckie haphazardly put his sandwich into the same faded Thermos case he’d had since he was 14. He kissed his mother goodbye and ruffled Will’s hair for good measure, then headed toward the door.
“You keep her out of trouble, alright, Hunting?”
Peg rolled her eyes. Will laughed and called after him as he walked out.
“You know I can’t do that, Chuckie.”
It always felt weird for him to be alone with Mrs. Sullivan, but she always seemed happy to see him. Even now with her smudged mascara and her glaring, obvious hangover, she smiled and reached across the table to shake shoulder.
“I... um... I wanted to thank you for letting me stay here and everything. I can’t really lift anything for another month, but when I can I want to help around the house. And I can still do other things like... I could fix furniture maybe. Or sweep the-”
Peg shushed him, which he was thankful for whenever he started rambling. “I don’t want you to do a thing until you have a clean bill of health, alright? I got my other son taking care of me, I don’t need you chipping in just yet”
“Thank you so much, Mrs. Sullivan.” He smiled politely. It was well known to all of his friends by then that he was just a different person when their parents were around.
“You got any plans today?”
“Oh, uh... No, not really. I just have to eat something so I can take my pills.”
That was more than enough to set her off. She downed her coffee and popped a few pills of her own, namely ibuprofen and Midol, but got to work making him a modest breakfast, more than he ever would have imagined asking for. He insisted on washing his own dish and she knew better than to deny him that. Then he was invited to watch her “stories” with her while she drank wine and dusted the tchotchkes and photos that lined the house. She seemed to stop every three minutes to share her opinions on some guy with an eye patch or to tell him the story of Chuckie’s communion and Chuckie’s kindergarten graduation and her prom photos that she was lucky to get a few weeks before she started showing.
Will enjoyed the day, but he had to say he enjoyed it even more when she abandoned him with the rest of the bottle while she got ready upstairs and blasted Connie Francis records. He knew from hanging out with Chuckie so often that unless his father was home, he’d often come home from work and she’d be on her way out to see a friend. Will didn’t judge it and neither did her son, it was Chuckie’s understanding that neither of his parents were faithful to anyone besides him.
Just as he anticipated, the door opened, he heard Chuckie’s boots wipe off on the rug. He heard Peg’s stilettos click down the stairs. He heard Peg’s voice clear as day, chiding her son for being late, sending him her love, and then the door closed. Then he the fridge open, size 12 house slippers pad across the linoleum, and a beer bottle open. Right before a bottlecap fell on his forehead.
It was weird looking at Chuckie upside down, but it brought a dumb smile to his face anyway.
“Hey, kid.” He took a sip from his beer.
“Hey.”
Chuckie sat on the couch next to him. He smelled like perfume. And he knew it wasn’t his mother’s because Will had been accosted with it about seven times that day. He decided to ignore it. They weren’t married just because they shared a bed once. And even if they were, he couldn’t expect Chuckie to be faithful. Just look at his homelife.
“What’d you and ma get up to today?”
“We watched the patch show.”
“Oh, nice. I used to love watching that one on sick days.”
“She told me all about your sick days. You almost got held back in kindergarten?”
“I had allergies, that had nothing to do with it.” He took another sip of his beer. “They just were pissed off I didn’t know my name.”
Will’s cheeks started to hurt from how wide he was smiling. “No one is named pumpkin pie, this ain’t West Virginia.”
“You try explaining that to a five year old, I don’t fuckin’ know.”
“Stop it, oh God.” He giggled, but tried to suppress it before laughing outright. “You’re gonna put me in the fuckin’ hospital.”
It was at this time Chuckie noticed the empty wine glass on the coffee table. He tangled his fingers in Will’s hair, rubbing the pads against his scalp.
“Did you eat anything?”
“Not since breakfast. Why?”
“Nothing. I didn’t eat dinner either, I’ll order us some heroes.”
Will started cracking up again. “Are you sure you didn’t eat?”
“What?”
“It seems like you got somethin’ before you came in. S’all.”
This was apparently the most hilarious thing Will said all day, but Chuckie fell silent, looking straight ahead at the evening news, too low to really hear it.
“Is that... Okay with you?”
“I mean...” Will hesitated a bit before looking up at him. “Yeah, man. How was it?”
Chuckie started to relax again, playing with Will’s hair to occupy himself. “Fine. Nothin’ to write home about, really.”
“Who was it?”
“Uh...” His hands stilled. He took another sip of his beer. “Tiff.”
That killed about any positive momentum their conversation had. The minute Will heard her name, saw her face in his head with her white teeth and her mousy blonde hair, all of the alcohol and pain medication left his body. He crashed from his high, and God did it hurt.
“Oh... That’s nice.”
“Yeah.” Chuckie shifted uncomfortably on the couch. If Will’s head wasn’t in his lap, he probably would have ran.
“Haven’t really seen her out lately.”
“Yeah, she, uh... She’s training to be a dental hygienist. Tough schedule.”
Will sucked his teeth. “I’m sure you guys talked a lot about her dental hygiene.”
“Why are you being such a bitch about this?”
“I’m not being a bitch, I just don’t see why you’d fuck someone who’s not even fuckin’... Interesting. I wish you’d respect yourself a little more, is all.”
“The entire time I’ve known you, you’ve only found two girls interesting enough to make it with. Forgive me if I pick a different path.”
Will shot straight up and got into Chuckie’s face. “Don’t fuckin’ talk about who I do and don’t make it with. You’re lucky it hasn’t fuckin’ fallen off the way you pick ‘em.”
He grabbed himself. "And yet it still works just fine."
“So we’re just gonna pretend you’re not using meaningless sex as a way to cope with-”
“Keep talking out of your ass like I don’t know you’re jealous.”
“Keep pretending you’re not a faggot.”
The minute the words left his mouth, Will felt a fist seize the collar of his shirt and pull him up, almost off the couch.
“What the fuck did you just call me?”
Chuckie’s words were almost drowned out by the sound of Will’s heart beating in his ears. He liked getting a rise out of him with that one. It showed him there were still some heartstrings to pull. It felt good. Electric, even.
“Get that fucking look off your face, Will. What did you just fucking call me?’
“You heard me. What are you gonna do about it? Hit me?”
Chuckie sighed and let him go. “No, you fuckin’ asshole.”
Will watched him as he walked off into the kitchen. He stayed in the living room and waited. He didn’t want to press his luck by following him around the house, even if it was his default state. He heard the muffled noises of him calling in an order on the phone, then back door opening as he took the line outside, presumably to light a smoke while he called. Will let his instincts take over as he walked out to the back porch to meet him. Chuckie sat on the rusty porch swing with the moth eaten cushions that had endless possibilities when they were kids. Bucking bronco, pirate ship, space craft, or just a soft place to land after chasing each other around the yard. Everything out there seemed so small now.
“I’m on hold." Chuckie said as will opened the screen door. "What do you want?”
That explained the faint tarantella playing from the receiver on his lap. He pointed the pack of cigarettes. Chuckie pulled an unlit one out of the pack and stuck it in his mouth, using his embers to light it before passing it onto Will.
“Anything else you want to say to me?”
Will took a drag. “I shoulda not said that.”
“Damn right.”
Their silence was filled with the sound of crickets and another Dean Martin song playing over the phone. As their eyes adjusted to the dark, they could almost see the ghosts of their past selves chasing them across the yard. Catching them in jam jars so Will could hold up a plastic magnifying glass from the 99 cent store and tell him about the thorax and the exoskeleton and other terms Chuckie would never use except to tell someone else what his best friend Will taught him last night.
“I think I should leave.”
Chuckie turned his head to look at him in disbelief. “Don’t be stupid. Why should you fuckin’ move out?”
“I don’t know... I don’t really belong here. It’s nice to visit, but... I don’t want to mess up a good thing.”
“Listen,” he took a drag, then held the cigarette in his hand as he spoke. “Ma told me not to say anything but... When we were little, before he got the oil job, they used to fight about you sometimes. She wanted to take you in and everything. Probably from the moment she met you, knowing her, but... You know my father. Charity ain’t really his strong suit.”
Will crossed his arms. He didn’t really know what to say. He’d always assumed the comments over the years about him being like another son to her and welcome at anytime were for Chuckie’s sake, not his. As nice as it was to hear, it was the exact opposite of a fundamental truth he’d lived with for years. That he was hard for a parent to love.
“Can you come sit with me instead of standing over my shoulder like a fuckin’ cop?” Chuckie watched Will as he silently nodded and moved to sit with him. “As far as the two of us are concerned, you’re part of the family. End of story. That means you're not going anywhere.”
Will took a drag of his cigarette. He started to shake his leg. Anything to keep himself from saying the wrong thing again. Chuckie pat him on the shoulder to extend a little comfort.
“I’m sorry I called you a jealous bitch.”
Will sat back on the swing, the motion making them sway slightly. “It’s alright. S’not like you were off base.”
“I screw around with a girl a few times and, what? You think your time is up?” He laughed and extinguished his cigarette butt on the metal arm of the chair. “You’re a fuckin’ lifetime investment. I’m not tossing that out for the finest lay in Boston.”
Will smiled, looking down at the cigarette butt in his hands as he fidgeted with it. “You say it like I’m not the finest lay in Boston.”
Chuckie put his arm around Will, pulling him in close. He could feel his breath on the side of face.
“Jury’s out on that for now, y’know.”
The muffled, romantic Italian music cut out. “Hello? Are you still on the line?”
Chuckie stood up and started to recite their usual order into the receiver. Like nothing happened. As the cold seeped into his cheek again, he couldn’t help but wonder if nothing had.