Work Text:
EARLY JUNE 1946
Babe’s knee jumps. Up and down, up and down.
Nerves buzz under his skin, turning his guts into a boiling mess.
Jesus Christ, get a hold of yourself, he tells himself, irritation and anxiety rolling back and forth in the pit of his stomach. It should be a fucking breeze, right? He’s jumped out of a goddamn airplane, out of his own damn free will, too, so he should be able to handle a dinner like a respectable adult.
Right?
Babe rubs his face with both hands, his pulse gaining speed. No, nope, he’s going to ruin everything.
”Babe. Chérie. Hey.”
Gene sits next to him on the couch and leans to rest his palm on Babe’s jittery knee, and the rhythm stills immediately. Babe exhales. Empties his lungs, air rushes out in a steady blow.
”They’re gonna fuckin’ hate me,” he mumbles and picks the hem of his t-shirt. ”They’re gonna tell me to fuck off and leave you and you’re gonna marry a pretty dame and have a dozen beautiful kids and I’m gonna be a grouchy old man in Philly, all fuckin’ miserable and own like twelve dogs or something”
Gene hums. ”Not gonna happen.” He squeezes Babe’s knee, and the warmth, comfort seeps into Babe’s skin. ”’Cause I ain’t lettin’ ya go like tha’. Not until ya tell me to.”
With a groan, Babe leans into Gene and buries his head into the familiar juncture between Gene’s throat and shoulder.
”I want ’em to like me so bad, Gene,” he mumbles and shifts their positions so his legs are resting across Gene’s lap. Gene automatically wraps his hand around Babe’s ankle and traces comforting patterns on the bare skin with his thumb. ”They’re your parents. Don’t wanna mess this up.”
”You’ll be fine, coeur,” Gene replies and leans to press his mouth against Babe’s copper-red hair, and for his own part, Babe takes reassurance in Gene’s deep voice. It resonates, echoes and sings in his bones, settles and makes a home there, safe and calm. ”S’gonna go okay.”
Babe almost believes that. Most of him does. He can do this, he can do this. But they are Gene parents; people who raised him, poured all of that life and devotion and goodness into him, shaped Gene, and Babe is supposed to meet them, look them in the eye and somehow be enough for Gene in their eyes? Yeah, he has no fucking idea how he’s ever going to be that.
He breathes out again. ”… okay. I’ll probably say somethin’ so fuckin’ dumb that I have to move outta sheer shame. Can’t look anyone in the eye again. You included, Gene. Yeah, no, you.”
”Nah, that doesn’t sound right.” Gene strokes Babe’s hair from his forehead, moves his hand under Babe’s chin and lifts his head up just so slightly that their gazes meet. Everything about that has been blossomed open, there is comfort in the knowledge that Gene sees all of it and loves him fiercely through it, even though Babe has no idea how the hell that even worked out the way it did. ”Like your eyes, wanna see ’em.”
Babe wrinkles his nose in playful resignation at him before bumping his head back on Gene’s shoulder.
”...just some ginger punk from Philly.”
”’ey, you’re not ’just’ anything,” Gene says sternly. ”Look at me?”
After a beat of hesitation, Babe does and is endlessly lost in that warm dark pool of Gene’s gaze.
”I know you’re nervous ’n that’s okay,” Gene says and runs his palm down Babe’s spine. His voice drops into a husky, gravelly note, and Babe wants to sink in it. ”You mean the world to me, ’n I’d love ’em to meet you.”
Babe shivers. God, the way Gene says it, unapologetic and so painfully sincere, and the conviction in there makes some of the tension in Babe ebb away.
I love this man.
After a beat, Gene offers: ”We can cancel it if it feels too much.”
Babe knows Gene means it. Gene would never force him to do anything he didn’t want to do, he knows Gene would cancel it immediately if that was what Babe wanted. He shakes his head and buries his head into Gene’s shoulder.
”Nah, no… no. I’m just bein’ a fucking chicken. They’re important to ya, they’re your goddamn parents. ’n I wanna meet ’em. I really do, Gene, ain’t no doubt about that, I swear. S’more that – I don’t wanna disappoint ’em.”
Gene’s eyes widen slightly, then his lips brush against the rosy skin of Babe’s cheekbone. ”You won’t.”
Babe snorts. ”Yeah, all right.”
”None of that, you won’t.”
Comfortable silence falls in the living room as they lie on the couch, curled around each other for a moment, until Babe asks very quietly:
”Do – do they know? Y’know, ’know’?”
Gene pauses to consider and shifts his weight thoughtfully against Babe. ”Don’t think so. Never really talked ’bout it,” he says. ”Think my grandma knew. In her own way, I guess. Knew a lot of things ’bout people. But… what they think ain’t up to me. If they wanna talk ’bout it, then we’ll see.”
”Just like that?” Babe asks in awe. God, he can’t even imagine what he would say to his Ma about this; Ma had been surprised enough that he decided to stay in Louisiana, who knows how it would go with the whole queer thing.
”Doubt it’ll be an easy conversation, no, but…” Gene seems to consider. ”We’ll see.”
”Okay.” A pause. ”You okay with that?”
The edges of Gene’s features soften, and his smile is a tender thing. ”Yeah, Babe, I’m okay with that. You don’t have to worry ’bout me.”
”Pfft, no, that ain’t how it works, we been over this. Two-way street, genius. You worry ’bout me and I worry about you. S’a lot of worrying going around.”
Chuckling, Gene leans in to kiss Babe then; slow and sweet, almost a chaste press of lips. ”Yeah. It is.’n I’m not regretting anything.”
Babe’s heart leaps. ”Yeah?”
”Mmh-hmm.”
This time Babe is the one who crushes his mouth onto Gene’s. In relief, in joy, in affection. They pull back just slightly to press their noses together, to relish the closeness, and Babe burns brightly with it – the adoration, the fondness, everything he has.
He never thought, never, that this would be allowed to him, that he would get to be this happy. But in the same time, he’s ready to face the hard parts, too. The highs, the lows. All of what life has to offer in all its power, he wants to experience it all with this man.
Gently Gene rolls them on the couch so Babe ends up between the cushions and Gene, and they trade open, playful kisses, their fingers intertwined just beside Babe’s head. There’s no rush, no hurry… it’s just them, enjoying this with each other.
Every step of the way.
+
Babe thought he could handle this. He was ready to handle this.
Now that he’s standing next to Gene’s dented car and he’s desperately trying not to light a smoke to ease his nerves right there in the middle of the Roe’s front yard, he comes to a conclusion that nope, he’s not handling this at all.
Christ, he’s meeting Gene’s parents.
He never even met Doris’s parents!
God, he’s just not that kinda guy who gets introduced to parents – nope. A fuckin’ troublemaker, a ginger punk with a loud mouth, seriously. And Gene –
Oh, Babe’s heart clenches, shudders in the violent wave of pure tenderness and love when he just thinks about the whole situation, about Gene – Gene who accepts Babe as he is, deeply flawed, anxious, stubborn and loud, and still loves him, still wants Babe to meet his parents.
’You mean the world to me’.
And Babe – well, Babe has no fucking clue how that happened. His brain is caught between that and utter selfish euphoria, and that – that gives him hope. Such desperate, tentative, wonderful sort of hope that he can actually do this, that he is worthy of Gene’s love.
He wants to meet Gene’s parents, shout at them just how much he loves their son, how much he wants to make their son happy for as long as Gene will let him, and – and maybe that’s enough. It’s more than most people get.
Across from him, Gene leans over to check the car’s front lights, examining them under his furrowed eyebrows.
”You ready?” Babe asks and tries his best not to jiggle his leg again.
Gene looks up. ”Yeah. Are ya?”
Fuck no. I’m terrified, is Babe’s honest answer but no way is he saying that. It probably shows on his face.
He just grimaces, anxiously adjusts his shirt and nods. Gene steps next to him, and there, in the hazy twilight of the bayou and the setting sun, he squeezes Babe’s sweaty, trembling hand, brushes his thumb gently on the knuckles.
”S’okay, Babe,” he murmurs.
”...yeah. I’m just – ” Babe bites the inside of his cheek, squirms, ”I’m just so fucking nervous.”
Gene’s mouth curves into a soft smile. ”Yeah, I know… ’n I appreciate that you’re still here, doin’ this.”
”Just don’t wanna mess up, Gene.”
”You won’t.”
”Pfft, okay, yeah. Good thing at least one of us is confident ’bout that.”
The low-setting sun’s last rays break in Gene’s gaze, a beautiful kaleidoscope of dark, dark blue, and Babe loses his breath for a second.
Gene’s eyes darken, turn heavy for a moment, and Babe recognizes that look; Gene often gets it when he wants to kiss Babe, and there’s nothing Babe would want more right then, but here in the open they can’t do that, so they just hold hands, interlace their fingers briefly before letting go.
+
Gene’s childhood home is a relatively big house with yellow windows, shutters and a tiny garden – Babe has to admit, even just to himself that their own is much better, blooming with colors and life, vegetables, fruits and flowers.
This is neatly trimmed minimalism, but still pleasant to the eyes.
Gene knocks and without waiting an answer, lets them in. A warm scent of spices and crawfish waft in Babe’s nose, and he loses some of his nervousness, just a bit.
”Anyone home?”
” – Gene! Come in, come in!”
A woman strides in from the living room, and Babe is suddenly taken aback; this lady is without a doubt of Gene’s mother. They’ve got the same sort of structure, the sharp jawline, dark, serious eyes, but hers hold a lively glimmer of humor in there that Babe’s no way prepared to see.
She doesn’t see him at first, she hugs Gene tightly and as she’s letting go of him, that’s when she sees Babe. He freezes, and for a split second, she stills as well. For that second, they just stare at each other.
I love your son, Babe wants to tell her. He makes me happy. I want him to be happy. I fell for him in the Ardennes, I followed him to Louisiana. He means the world to me, too.
He’s one of the best of men I have ever known.
He wants to tell her all these things, he wants to tell her how her son saved so many men in Europe, gave his all to help just as many, Babe wants to tell her so many things but instead, his mouth feels glued shut, full of dry sand, and he can just stare at her.
Then, she smiles. Babe notices it’s not like Gene’s smile; Gene’s smile is a private thing, just a bit crooked on the other side, but no less real, no less warm or amused.
Hers, however different, is just as genuine.
”Ah,” she says, her eyes crinkled around the thin lines around the corners. ”You must be the mysterious red-head who works at Wilson’s?”
Babe laughs weakly. ”Yeah, that’s probably me, ma’am. Haven’t seen other red-heads ’round here.” He gives his hand to her and to his embarrassment, notices a slight quiver in it. ”Edward Heffron, ma’am, nice to finally meet you.”
Beaming, Mrs. Roe shakes his hand, and her grip is strong. ”Maud Roe. Likewise, Edward.”
”No one calls ’im that,” Gene adds with his quiet amusement.
Mrs. Roe’s eyebrows jump up. ”Oh, no?” She glances at Babe as if she’s worried that she’s offended him. ”What do they call you?”
Babe grins, for the first time since stepping into the house. ”Uh, people call me ’Babe’, ma’am.”
Her other eyebrow arches higher, and now she’s definitely smiling. ”I’m guessing there is a story behind that one?”
Babe shrugs. ”Youngest of the bunch, so the nickname stuck. Not even my Ma calls me Edward, only the – ”
” – only the nuns call ’im that.”
Mrs. Roe looks very interested now. ”Really?”
”So he says.”
Babe flashes his teeth playfully at Gene. ”What’s that, Gene, I ain’t lying! They pull that tone with you when they say your name ’n I can’t tell a nun to – ”
”You yelled at me for callin’ you Edward.”
”No, wait – oh yeah, that’s true. Pfft, askin’ me ’bout morphine even though you asked me ’bout it already. Not even listening to me. Also you called me Heffron. So how dare you.”
”Ain’t that still your name?” Gene asks, amused, beautiful light spilling across his face.
Bastard. Gene’s definitely teasing him, and Babe loves all of it. The easy, silly banter, the warmth and familiarity woven deep into it that comes from knowing each other inside and out.
The very beating heart of them both.
(Babe doesn’t see it, but Mrs. Roe watches their exchange intently.)
” – that Gene? Maud? Did they arrive already?” a low man’s voice calls from upstairs, and Babe’s stomach drops. Oh shit, oh shit, this ain’t over yet – hell, it’s not even fucking started yet –
Mrs. Roe, however, doesn’t look bothered in the least and hollers up: ”Just came in! Come down, Ed!”
Babe isn’t sure what exactly he was expecting, but the man that comes down the stairs looks just as much Gene’s father as Mrs. Roe looks like his mother. Mr. Roe’s got dark hair, surprisingly elegant sort of face if slightly rough around the jaw, and his eyes are the same shade of blue as Gene’s.
Babe freezes again. He can feel the burning weight of Mr. Roe’s attention, assessing him carefully, watching him, and Christ, Babe feels like trembling out of his skin. Like a bug under a microscope.
”Good evening, sir,” Babe says and tries desperately to hold his arm still.
He jumped out of a plane voluntarily, for Chrissakes.
He faced Bastogne.
He can face Gene’s father.
”The Yankee,” Mr. Roe says nodding and grips Babe’s hand in a brisk, warm manner. His eyes twinkle, even if he doesn’t quite smile. Babe isn’t sure how to read him and wonders if this is a Roe thing. Probably.
”Edward Heffron, sir.”
”No one calls him that,” Mrs. Roe adds helpfully.
”That so? What do they call you, son?”
Babe’s neck burns red, the heat rises up to his hairline, but he keeps stubbornly looking back at Mr. Roe.
”They call me Babe, sir.”
A pause.
Then Mr. Roe chuckles. ”No offense, kid, but I’m not callin’ you that.”
It startles a laugh out of Babe, because that’s the last thing he expected to hear, and suddenly it’s all right.
+
The dinner goes well once Babe starts to get over his nervous jitters.
The Roes have prepared a wonderful meal of crawfish gumbo; the taste of onions, bell peppers and garlic burns deliciously Babe’s mouth and it makes his weak nostrils sniffle, but otherwise it’s very good.
Meanwhile Mr. and Mrs. Roe ask him questions – and Babe understands why.
Gene told him before he didn’t know how to answer them, and they have so many. Of course they have. Everybody who wasn’t there always has.
The good thing, Babe guesses is that they don’t poke or needle, they are careful, almost delicate with their words, asking basic things about their training, Toccoa –
Before the timeline really reaches Europe, Normandy and the part with Bastogne and the camps and the gut-wrenching horror of witnessing that nightmare, the Roes direct the questions somewhere else entirely, much to Babe and Gene’s relief.
”So, how long are you stayin’ in Louisiana?” Mrs. Roe asks as she pours them more sweet tea.
Oh yeah. That thing. Babe squirms in the chair, shifts and feverishly thinks about the answer. The answer itself is pretty damn simple to both Babe and Gene, but it’s different how to phrase it politely to his lover’s parents.
”Uh, I dunno,” he says fumbling and pokes at a crawfish in the bowl. ”I – I love this place, and… dunno if I wanna go back to Philly. ’n Gene’s a good friend.”
More than that, he thinks. Goddamn half of my soul, and he doesn’t give a flying fuck if that sounds sappy.
”Have you considered gettin’ your own place?” Mr. Roe asks, tilting his head and drills his black eyes into Babe’s, who starts to sweat. ”Ain’t too big, Genie’s house. There are plenty of nice spots in town closer to Wilson’s – I was actually talking with Tony about it just yesterday – they’re not too shabby with rents, either.”
Mrs. Roe scoffs. ”Well, of course he’ll say that.”
Babe fidgets with the spoon. Moves a piece of garlic across the bowl. Is this a warning to fuck off? God, he has no experience in this sort of thing. He’s messing this up already, he feels it in his bones, he’s messing this up, but he can’t backpedal, he doesn’t know what to say to fix this –
Beside him, Gene frowns across the table at his parents; the sharp furrow between his brows deepen. ”He doesn’t have to move out,” he says firmly.
”No no, we didn’t mean it like that,” Mrs. Roe hurries to explain and shoots a look at her husband. ”Of course you’re more than welcome to stay in Louisiana as long as you like, we just weren’t really sure if – ” She falters, flushes, and says very softly: ”That did sound rude. Ed,” she hisses, disapproving.
Mr. Roe has the grace to look a little apologetic. ”I’m sorry.”
”No, no, it’s okay,” Babe says, frantic to get the conversation somewhere safe since he’s failing so spectacularly at this. ”S’just… it’s nice, not bein’ alone. After everything that went down. Plus I’ve planted peppers there and no way am I going before I see how those turn out.”
The hard lines on Gene’s face ease, as he makes a soft noise. ”They’re turnin’ out great, we got nothin’ to worry about.”
”What, we don’t know for sure since I’m the one who put ’em there and you know I can’t be trusted with stuff like that.”
”Still wrong ’bout that, Babe.”
”Fine. Try to kick me out before then,” Babe teases back, full well knowing that Gene isn’t going to do anything of the sort, but it’s fun and a relief to share conversations like this as it settles like balm on his wildly beating heart. Flushing and a bit flustered, he explains: ”Gene’s trying to teach me more ’bout gardening. Think cooking’s more my thing, though.”
Mrs. Roe brightens. ”You like cooking?” she asks, almost giddy.
”W – well, yeah, but I’m still learning. Doin’ simple stuff. Gene says I’m gettin’ better.”
”You were never bad to begin with,” Gene says very patiently, and Babe can see the corner of his mouth lifting into a gentle smile.
”Oh, yeah?”
”Yeah.”
”You’re delirious, Gene, I’ve got plenty of examples to remind you about.”
”Ain’t as bad as that, Babe. You’re too hard on yourself.”
Babe squints at him with fond suspicion but lets Gene have this. Sure, he hasn’t had any kitchen related disasters in a while but he still holds onto a healthy amount of self-criticism when it comes to cooking actual food.
(but yeah, he’s getting better.)
+
After the dinner and cleaning up, Mrs. Roe takes it as her mission to drag Babe into the living room, to the bookshelf, where – by the looks of all worn, scruffy books – she keeps her cook books, her notes and scribbled recipe cards.
”I don’t want to pressure you,” she hurries to say and smiles at him, ”but if you see any recipes you like or wanna try, then be my guest! S’il vous plaît. I’d love to share some with you.”
Babe’s stunned. It’s a real thing, a real offer, she wields sincerity like Gene does, and to be honest, it’s a little overwhelming.
As he’s examining the glossy cards, turning them over to look at the pictures, Mrs. Roe hesitates and says very softly: ”I haven’t seen him smile like that since he came back.”
Babe freezes. His head snaps up, his eyes wide, he stares at her, his whole body gone cold.
But her face remains kind, her eyes glimmer wet, and she’s still smiling through the tears, even if it is wobbly.
”I haven’t heard him talk as much since he came back.” Mrs. Roe shakes her head and laughs. ”I haven’t heard him joke… or by God, tease anyone like that.” She draws her shoulders straight, meets his stunned eyes and pats his arm. ”Thank you. For whatever you did, for coming here, for being here, thank you.”
”I didn’t do – ”
”You did,” Mrs. Roe interrupts him, somehow sharp and soft at the same time. ”You did. He was – so, so quiet when he came back. Pale and quiet as the grave and he didn’t wanna talk so we didn’t push him and then he bought the house and I was – ”
She cuts herself off, seems to gather herself before continuing: ”We were worried. But then… now… perhaps it was all the things together, you and the house, the work but… seeing him happier now means more to me than anything I can ever explain to you, Edward Heffron. Oh, I’m sorry, I – I know I’m not a nun, forgive me, but – thank you.”
Babe doesn’t know how to deal with that, with that sort of raw gratitude that seems to radiate her in waves since in his opinion, he doesn’t feel like he did all that much. In the end, he comes to a conclusion that it is an equal trade. Finding peace, whatever that may be, together.
”It’s the same for me,” he says hoarsely. ”He does the same for me.”
The lines on her forehead smooth out. ”Then I’m glad,” she says, and he can hear just how much she means it.
+
Mrs. Roe gives him half of the recipe cards.
+
Dazed, Babe wonders what the fuck just happened.
+
Mr. Roe is another thing.
Babe still has no idea how to read him, he’s quiet, more on the gruff side – it’s like Gene’s silence but shaped into a different direction, Babe guesses, after years and years and different sort of wars and life experiences.
Through the evening Babe can feel him watching him, and it’s not hostile or unkind, just the way Babe would describe it is curious. It makes him squirm, it burns and prickles at his neck since he has no damn idea what the old man is looking for, but he stubbornly endures it.
It’s near nine o’clock, when Mr. Roe asks Babe to help him to move a box of things he’s supposed to bring to his neighbor to the next day. In all honesty Babe thinks Mr. Roe would probably have no trouble dragging it by himself but his Ma raised him polite so he just goes along with it and ignores the obvious excuse.
They get to the back porch, and Mr. Roe points at the heavy-looking wooden box under the bench.
”Would you, son? Hurt my back a while ago, hurts like a son of a bitch and Simon keeps nagging at me for the parts…”
”Yeah, sure, sir.”
Babe hauls the box and Mr. Roe leads him towards his own truck. It’s dark outside, the thick sort of dark and full of cicada and cricket sounds.
”Just put it there, on the back of the – great, thanks, kid.” Mr. Roe straightens, leans against his truck, still keeps his eyes on the front of it and says: ”I didn’t mean anything by it, earlier.”
Babe blinks. ”Yeah, I know, I wasn’t offended or nothin’, sir, don’t worry.”
”I’m real grateful, you know.” Mr. Roe clears his throat and runs his hand absently on the truck. ”Seems like havin’ a friend there is what Genie needs.”
”… yeah.”
Mr. Roe’s black eyes glint in the porch’s faint light. And under there, Babe can make it out,a glint of something determined, fiercely protective. ”So stay as long as you wanna. Just be kind to my boy. No dragging him into trouble, no gambling, no picking fights in bars, being upfront ’bout shit, all right?”
Despite his stern words, they are still almost entirely without heat. Babe has a suspicion that Mr. Roe might mean the whole thing more in a roommate sort of way but he figures it’s the thought that counts.
”Yes, sir. Think we’re on the same wavelength ’bout it.”
Pfft, gambling and bar fights, Jesus Christ.
Mr. Roe relaxes. ”All right. Good. As long as we’re clear on that. You seem like a good kid.” Relieved, he smiles and pats Babe on the shoulder. ”C’mon, before Maud ’n Genie start looking for us.”
Babe still feels like his brain is catching up on everything, but seriously, it could’ve been a disaster.
+
Gene is worried, Babe can tell immediately when they get back inside, but Babe just shakes his head, offers him a genuine smile that he means as a ’i’m alive, your dad didn’t threaten to castrate me, i think we’re pals now’ sort of gesture.
Judging by the way Gene’s posture relaxes, Babe thinks he succeeded in it.
Mrs. Roe raises her eyebrow at her husband. ”Heaven’s sake, Ed, what did you drag him out for?” she demands, and Mr. Roe smiles rather sheepishly.
”Edward kindly lent me a hand with the box – gonna finally drop it to Simon tomorrow, maybe he’ll stop his goddamn complaining for once – ”
”But why would you put him to work? Honestly – ”
”It was all right,” Babe chirps, feeling now rather cheerful that he wasn’t threatened in the dark and left for the gators to gnaw on.
Gene steps beside him, gives him a short, curious look and asks: ”Ready to head home?”
Home. Babe’s heart swells. God, he’ll never get enough hearing that from Gene’s mouth.
”Yeah, let’s go home.”
+
After Mrs. Roe packs them some pastries left from the dessert, they wave Babe and Gene off from the porch as Gene pulls the car from the yard.
”So – from one to ten, how’d you rate how this thing went?” Babe asks cheerily as he holds on the warm box of left-overs.
Gene snorts but to Babe’s delight, he humors him. ”Seven? Maybe six. Coulda gone worse ’n think coulda gone better. Sorry for leavin’ you alone to deal with Dad – he behave?”
”Oh yeah! Nah, Gene, he really did, I did have to carry a heavy box back there, like what the hell was even in that? Anyway, told me not to gamble or drag you into shit.”
”He what?”
”Hey, no, no, he got a point. He was worried so I guess he had to check that I wasn’t gonna screw you over and take off into the night with your money or something.” A pause. ”I’m not gonna do that. Like, fuckin’ ever, I promise I won’t.”
”’ey, hey, Babe, no, I know that – ”
Babe grins. ”Okay, good. ’Cause I won’t. Hey.” He puts his hand on Gene’s knee. ”Your parents were amazing. Okay? They love you so fuckin’ much, and they – they said they’re happy to see you happier.”
Hesitation bleeding away from him, Gene gazes at Babe, warm and fond. ”I am.”
Babe’s heart stutters, skips a lovely beat and picks up speed again. ”Oh, okay. Good. ’n despite my endless bitching, I’m real happy that I met your folks, too.”
”Yeah?”
”Yeah, Gene. Thanks for bein’ patient with my ass.”
Gene chuckles, a wonderful low rumble. ”Always. ’n ’sides… you charmed their socks off.”
”What? No way.”
”Yeah, you did. Ma’s probably ready to give ya all her cookin’ secrets.”
”Pfft, no way,” Babe gasps, gleeful. Gene’s probably more than aware of that, because he snorts, his eyes shining. ”I mean, she already gave me some cards, so that’s somethin’, right?”
God, it actually went well. Babe’s still reeling.
Keeping his other hand firmly on the wheel, Gene covers Babe’s hand on his knee, and that’s how they drive home, their fingers interlaced.
+
It’s closer to eleven o’clock, but they light a lamp in the kitchen, a cozy, butter-yellow flicker of light spreads into the small space as they’re fixing a snack. They sit by the table, their ankles crossed under it, and they just talk about stuff.
About Gene’s childhood room, the pictures that his parents keep in the shelves, the garden –
And Gene’s face is so open with affection like he can’t quite get enough of the sight of Babe sitting in there, in the kitchen with him, eating sandwiches at near midnight.
Babe’s in the middle of putting milk back in the fridge when he feels Gene’s hand settle on his hips and pull him gently backwards into a familiar, solid chest.
Babe melts into Gene with a soft sigh and tilts his head to the side to give Gene more room, and Gene presses a hot kiss on the side of Babe’s throat. His other hand sneaks under Babe’s t-shirt, searches for the bare soft skin underneath and rests his palm on Babe’ stomach, fingers splayed across his ribs.
A heavy weigh of his hand on him and the blissful drag of Gene’s callouses sends fire to Babe’s veins.
All the tension and nervousness from the earlier changes into something electric.
The air hangs heady thick, dizzying and Babe rolls his hips against Gene, who lets out a low grunt of surprise, and Babe can feel the hardness pressing against his backside.
Gene’s mouth burns Babe’s skin, trails heated kisses down the long column of his throat to his shoulder, and it feels so good.
”So it’s like that, huh?” Babe asks with a huff of uneven laughter that breaks into a moan. ”Gene – don’t stop. C’mon, please – Gene.”
”Easy, easy, I got you,” Gene husks into the sensitive spot between Babe’s neck and shoulder. ”I got’ya, darlin’.”
I know you do.
Gene’s hand slips under Babe’s waist band and a moment later his wonderful fingers curl around Babe’s cock, run his thumb over the tip and smears some pre-cum, and God, the heat sears so deliciously, makes the hot blood pound in Babe’s ears.
It’s a frantic fumble with their pants, but they rut against each other in blind search for friction, it’s slick and filthy and wonderful. Babe’s mind feels like bursting into firecrackers with so many sizzling sensations – their rhythm falters and picks up speed, Gene jerks him off with those talented fingers of his, and Babe loves him so much –
It doesn’t take long until the quivering tension that’s been building behind Babe’s navel coils before it snaps loose, and he comes, trembling against the kitchen counter. He’s distantly aware of Gene kissing his bare, freckled shoulder, the scrape of his teeth and the grip of his hand on Babe’s hip clenches and follows him over the edge.
It’s still dark in the kitchen, they can hear the cicada and their own heavy breathing.
They stay slumped against the counter and gingerly, Babe turns around in Gene’s arms, not really trusting his shaky legs. Gene looks disheveled, his eyes are half-lidded and dark with sated want, and Babe can’t help but to lean in to kiss him lazily.
This man of his, the love of his life.
Gene responds immediately with slow, languid strokes of tongue, hums with contentment and rubs comforting patterns onto Babe’s side.
Babe grins, all lop-sided and silly and nudges his nose into Gene’s. ”Up for bed, huh handsome?”
With a husky chuckle, Gene smooths Babe’s wild hair with his hand, brushes his thumb across Babe’s eyebrow.
”Okay, coeur,” he murmurs and steals one last, deep kiss and Babe melts into it, all over again.
It’s a good life, he thinks.
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