Warnings: Homosexual relationship (don't like don't read), maybe future lemons, foul language, and gay people in it for more than just the repressed sex.
Wordcount: 3481
TO JUST BE
Part 1
Will Lexington has always been good at masks. He over exaggerates his movements, slides them together until your eye can't focus on the emotions ticking across his face.
Gunther's adam's apple bobs, a bead of condensation tracing its harsh line. He slams the beer back on the table and turns to face Will. Props his head up on one arm.
There's something flawless in all of Gunther's imperfections. His lanky body is clumsy but allows him long, quick strides to wherever he wants to go. Will those strides ever be towards Will?
"I don't know if I can do this anymore. She's so damn understand all the time - and I…"
Will's hand lies palm up on his jeans. He wishes he had the courage to outstretch and feel the different textures of Gunther's skin. Be the best friend and say something normal.
"Do you think you'll break up?"
Gunther groans, slapping his forehead. "I thought I was in love with her."
A pang beats against Will's heart. "And now you don't?"
"I don't know." Gunther flops his head to the side. They're so close their breath intermingles. "You're the playboy. What do you think?"
Will shuts his eyes. Maybe then he'll be able to resist the urge. It's not just that Gunther is an attractive young man, but his mind is beautiful. The songs and the voice that sings them, ugh, if Will was only half as talented.
"Hey, you okay?"
Colours flood back into sight. Gunther smiles, and it's the end.
It has to be something else controlling Will. Telling him to curl his hand over Gunther's neck and bash their faces together, knocking teeth.
Gunther is warm, soft and hard in all the right places.
Then there are hands against Will's chest. Gunther's panic is strong enough to push the cowboy away. "What?" Gunther sputters. Surges to his feet and paces the room. "Why did you do that?"
Massive tugs at his hair. Will needs to suffer pain. This is one of the stupidest things he's ever done. "I like you."
"You're bisexual?"
The word is a hateful slur in his mind. Will needs to say it. He deserves whatever's coming to him. "Gay."
Gunther blanches. "Then why do you-?" The songwriter pauses. Slowly approaches Will. "You think you can't make it in country if you like men?"
That voice is so fucking gentle and completely unexpected. "Look, I'm sorry I kissed you. I thought - I don't know what I thought, but can we please forget about this?"
Gunther swallows and steps closer. Those deep brown eyes trace over Will's face; it's like he's being x-rayed or investigated, everything set out on the table for the world to see. Or just for Gunther to.
"Gunther -" Will blasts his best, tooth-filled smile.
"There's so much more to you than I thought." Gunther turns away, striding to the old guitar on his wall. He grabs it. Practically throws himself back on the couch.
His fingers pick along the strings. Gunther shakes his head and slips the capo onto the third fret. Begins again, hopping along chords until seeming to find something.
A minor plays sad and dark from the guitar, combining with a D minor. Gunther nods his head like the tune's always existed.
"When I first met you, I thought you were just this." He strums a D chord, an A, and a G with a bouncy rhythm. Hums along like the sweet ukulele background music to a YouTube video. "But seeing your face when you thought I'd rejected you, and the way you described yourself now -" the minor chords integrate, and Gunther plays the guitar so skillfully—
It's like an angel playing a harp.
Will slowly slips his fingers around Gunther's left wrist, stopping the music. "Gunther, what do you mean?"
Gunther lowers the guitar to the coffee table. Props himself up on his elbow once again. "Why did you kiss me?"
A golf ball seems to be making its way down Will's throat. "I thought you might be gay."
"Is that your only thing you use to start a relationship, or do you usually skip that and go straight to sex?"
Will's shifty eyes are enough.
Gunther smiles without humour; like the stretch of lips is meant for pain instead of happiness. "Look, you could have anybody you wanted, and I like you, but I'm in a relationship right now, and you don't seem to like me back. I would break up with Scarlett if you wanted to -" The songwriter tangles his fingers in Will's.
It's been so long. Will has to hold back a shudder. He just can't when Gunther lifts Will's hand up, laying a kiss along each knuckle. Those brown eyes burn into him with more intensity than Will has ever seen from a human being.
"I'm gonna go." Will jumps to his feet, his fingers pulled from Gunther's. The cowboy has to repress another sigh.
The door slams a little bit too loudly behind him. Will slips into his truck, breathing in heavy breaths of spearmint gum and whey powder.
His chest tightens like a belt with too few notches. He scratches his fingers along his scalp. Pulls down the mirror and stares at himself.
Will Levington has always been the disappointment, the repressed boy, and the guy who smiles too big. He sleeps with girls and then cuts them loose. Eventually the more perceptive ones notice that their bodies do nothing for him.
But now a man, and not just any man - Gunther would date him. Will has to check his choices. It's stupid. Will needs to become a star. Gunther can pretend all he wants - gay men do not make it in the country world.
Those lips against his, and then the featherlight kisses against his knuckles. Will has to shake himself out of a daze.
The cowboy sticks the key in the ignition. His Chevy roars, faint mildew blowing through the A/C.
He's got an audition tomorrow. It could be the big break - so Will locks his feelings up in a box, turns up the radio, and screams along to a country song about beer and women.
o0o0o0o
Gunther rams his head against the wall. Tangles his fingers in his unruly hair and pulls. How did he not see it before?
Will Levington is much deeper, sexier, and more dangerous than Gunther thought.
The door creaks open, and Gunther's never turned his head so fast.
Scarlett blinks at him, her white dress flowing perfectly around her petite body. "I came to get my stuff." Her mouth twists awkwardly. She's so cute when she's nervous.
"This is your apartment, if anyone's leaving it should be me. Um… can you sit down for a moment?"
She gives him those big eyes. Slowly seats herself, back ramrod straight and miles from the couch's backing.
"I'm sorry for being an idiot. I'm sorry for cutting you out of my life and trying to become my brother - I - the wound stills hurts, but I'm trying to work through it."
"What do you want me to say, Gunther?" Scarlett rubs at the bags beneath her eyes. Did he do that?
"I hurt you a lot, and I just wanted you to know that I recognize that."
She scoffs and grits her teeth. "You want to get back together?"
"Are we broken up?"
Small hands lace together in her lap. Scarlett lifts her chin, staring directly into the TV. "Yes."
"Okay." A hole in his chest makes breathing difficult. "Maybe someday we can be friends."
"Maybe." She stands and brushes invisible crumbs for her lap. Stalks to her bedroom, head held high. "Please find somewhere else to stay."
Gunther scratches the back of his neck. "Okay."
o0o0o0o
Will strums the guitar a bit too loud, pasting his habitual wide smile on his face and singing each note a bit to sharp.
An angry sigh closer to a scream bursts from his throat. He puts the guitar back onto its stand and flops onto his bed.
Usually when he's this angry he walks around until he finds someone (a male someone). This someone will look at his body a bit too closely, smiling with a little too much teeth, eyes darkened. His gaydar has yet to fail… well excluding Gunther, whatever he is.
But he can't just go have meaningless sex. Gunther's words echo around in his head like a vibrating cymbal.
Will paces around his small apartment. The microwave clock glows a constant 12:00, blinking consistently since last month's power outage. It's like time is a whirl, a construct, and it has never moved slower.
The cowboy huffs. Yanks his guitar back off of the stand. He pulls the capo to the third fret, his face tightening as he reaches into the recesses of his mind. What were Gunther's chords, again?
There was a D for sure. Will tries to find the fingerpicking pattern and fails.
"Fuck." He digs his nails into his neck. Tries again.
This time he gets two chords in before he messes up.
Then again.
And again.
And - who is he kidding anyways? It's not like he'll have any lyrics to put to it. Will is stupid and inept at writing his own songs. All people want from him is a beer-drinking playboy-cowboy, anyway.
He lays the guitar beside him; puts his hands behind his head and counts the stalactites in the popcorn ceiling.
There's too many fucking ideas in Will's head. He grits his teeth, then shudders at the sound. His apartment is too small, too messy, and too… someone-less.
The cowboy shrugs himself into a jean jacket and shoves his keys and wallet into pockets.
It's much lighter out than he thought it was. The sunset casts a myriad of colours through the entry windows. Cubes of orange and red carpet contrast with reality - looking even more dingy than usual.
Will crumples his hands into his jacket pockets. Gives a tight smile to the girl that lives on his floor. He slept with her once, after her grandmother praised his gentlemanliness a bit too much, and the girl rolled her eyes, saying all the ones that look like him (and never bring chicks into his room) must be hiding a deep dark secret.
His truck obediently roars to life. Will leans back and drives with no end in sight. Not until he reaches the younger edge of town, where 11 o'clock is a young hour with everyone much too sober.
He pays for a couple of hours at the metre. Stares across the street to a place he never dared to go before. The neon sign flashes obnoxiously. Men of all shapes and sizes enter the club, some confident, some sketchy, and some strutting. That strut has always been something Will couldn't relate with.
Gay people, or the ones with abnormal tastes, should hide it. Why would you want to talk a little bit higher than others, with that lift at the end of each sentence, hands flinging about? Pairing that with any sort of slightly effeminate style, and Will has to shudder.
Will is sexually attracted to guys, and that's it. He's never felt the urge to dress like a woman, or to wear makeup and do hair.
Why would anyone choose to do that to themselves? It's so fucking obvious that they're different. Their family and friends will know, and why would they put themselves through that rejection? The disgust?
"Are you tripping out or are you just nervous?"
Will steadies his shoulders and turns to the speaker. The young man is about his own age, dressed casually, with a suave smirk that immediately puts Will on guard. They're in a somewhat public place, after all.
"You're making me really lean towards the former." The brunette steps closer, greenish-brown eyes glinting in the light.
Will shifts. "I don't do drugs. I was just - nothing - leaving, that's what I'm doing."
"I think you want to go in. You're buried deep in that closet, huh?" The man cocks his head to the side. "My name is Thomas."
"Will. And I'm not -" A warm hand reaches up. Strokes the lines of his neck.
"Tell me to stop if you want, but you look awful willing. Come on, those people you're afraid of aren't here."
The cowboy gives an obvious shudder. Lets his smile slip to his face without force. "Okay."
Thomas' smirk grows. He entangles his fingers in Will's and leads him across the street. They get in line behind two men who gesture the end of each sentence, glitter brushed along their cheeks and up into their hair.
"Tommy!" One says. Light shines through his green silk shirt. He pulls Thomas into a hug.
"Hey Garrett, how's it been?" Thomas' gaze is just as depthful, but his stance is slightly stiff.
Garrett bites his shiny lip. "Oh, the usual." He wraps his arm around the waist of the man beside him. Looks up at his partner. "This is my boyfriend, Mark. And who's this?"
Will's muscles stiffen like a biscuit cooked too long. He's never been around any of the LGBTQ community (other than one man at a time). This is overwhelming and… what if someone sees him? Or a picture goes on social media?
"My closeted friend is trying to say that his name is Will." Thomas hooks his arm in Will's.
"Super nice to meet you." Garrett looks at his manicured nails. Turns around and enters the building, silent Mark in tow.
"You got a case of the zipped lips?" Thomas smoothes his fingers along the soft skin of Will's inner wrist.
The bouncer looks them both down head to foot. Incredibly slowly checks his watch.
"Come on, Marello. You're torturing us here." The brunet says dramatically, giving that slow smile that seems to work on everyone.
The bouncer sighs. "Get your sorry asses inside. He's a wild one." He says to Will, pointing a thumb at Thomas.
The club is just the same as the others he's been to, but with less… women. Some men walk around shirtless, leather pants practically painted on to skin. A stream of light catches on one man's chest, where a stamp of glitter states the name of the business. Another of similar clothing carries around a tray.
"You look lost." Thomas curls his hand around the back of Will's neck. Gets up on his tiptoes to whisper. "Can I help with that?"
"I don't know what you want from me." Will's voice moves to a gravelly baritone in desperation.
Thomas grins. "I want what you want." His hands squeeze Will's butt, no warning included.
The cowboy jumps back with a curse, attracting a few eyes. Some sections of the club bounce and grope to the heavy music, others are more relaxed with men flirting at the bar.
"Calmate, chico. Nobody's gonna arrest you." Thomas pulls them closer, swinging to the beat.
"Maybe I'm just a bad dancer, amigo." Will consciously relaxes his shoulders and gives the signature wide smile.
"Something tells me you're just used to dancing with the wrong sex."
Will's grin widens as he watches Thomas' full mouth form the word. This man is handsome, and obviously interested, but Will has trouble keeping his focus. All around the club are casual touches he would never make himself. Hands slide over arms and brush down faces, bodies sitting too close.
The song switches. A heavy beat with unintelligible lyrics slams through the speakers, and Will has to grimace. He's all about the stories formed by a song, the performance to draw eyes in, and all this does for him is pound into his head like a whack-a-mole machine.
"Not into rap?" Thomas' lips are right by Will's ear. How did he get there?
Will swallows. "I'm more of a country guy myself." His eyes wander away.
"You wanna dance with someone else?"
"This is not really my scene." And it's wrong.
Thomas' hazel eyes hone in. "You don't have to be here with me. Look, stay for fifteen more minutes. Go sit at the bar or something, then, if you still want to leave, just do it."
"Okay."
And like that he's released. Thomas finds another dancing partner within seconds, and both men seem to be having the time of their lives. Is it that easy to just… be?
Will weaves through the crowd. He's so… small. In the real world Will stands tall, feet far apart, hips jutted slightly forward to show off whatever belt buckle he's wearing. Here it feels like any second someone will tap him on the shoulder and ask him what he's doing. Will doesn't belong here.
The bar is a weird tabletop of plastic over moving glitter. Will cautiously dances his fingers across it and orders a beer.
"You look out of place."
Will gives the speaker the side eye and hunches in. "Mark, right?"
The sparkling man smiles, showing off his extremely highlighted cheekbones (they would already have been beautiful before). "Have you ever been to a club before?"
"Sure." Will scratches the nape of his neck.
Mark hops a stool forward so they're right next to each other and crosses his legs. "But you're not used to the LGBTQ+ community? Thomas said you're closeted, but he didn't know quite how much, eh?" Strong, shiny shoulders reflect light, his tank top bedazzled and distracting.
Will takes a long drought of beer. "I'm gonna make it big in the country industry. I can't be… gay if I'm gonna do that."
"You really think that?"
"I know it."
Mark pinches the bridge of his nose. "If you made it, in spite of being gay, you would change the game for everyone. Inspire so many people."
"If I made it." Will finishes the beer. His face crumples. "It's hard enough making it through being anybody, but nobody wants the controversy of signing a gay star."
"You just think the world's out to get you, eh?"
"What?"
"There's so many fucking options nowadays." Mark leans forward. "You could make it on social media if your voice is good and you're persistent. There's an entire subculture for people like us." He cocks his head to the side and slides his eyes down Will's face. "But you're too afraid of failing."
"I don't know why I came here, but it wasn't for therapy."
"Come on! You know why. You're tired of fucking running from yourself."
Will stands and spins, attempting to find the door in the large, low-lit room.
"Wait." Mark dances manicured nails across Will's shoulder. "You want to belong, yes? You want friends that are like you."
"You're not like me." His throat seems to be encasing a softball, with all the trouble Will's having with swallowing.
Mark slips his hand slowly into Will's jean jacket and pulls out a plain black Samsung. The phone's blue light casts a further glow across Mark's sharp features, fake lashes brushing his cheekbones as he looks down.
"There." Mark hands the phone back. "If you have questions, or want to meet for coffee or something, I'm available most of the time."
"People don't just do that." Will grins, his eyes dead. "And I thought you were with that Garrett guy."
"Doesn't mean I can't have friends. And we're a community, handsome." Mark raises his angled brow.
Will finally manages to walk away, his Samsung seeming to weigh as much as a newborn foal.
A community of people act this way when they're unafraid in a club, maybe, but what about in real life? What sort of person could live with the stares and whispers and judgement?
Only one person sort of knows about Will, and it causes an ache in his chest to think about it. His dad's shouting comes back whenever Will looks at a man, resounding echoes whenever Will is sweaty and panting after long due intercourse.
The way those fingers curled sharply over Will's shoulders, pushing the then sixteen-year-old boy back into the wall.
It was hard enough to leave a dent.
o0o0o0o
Hello, I've never posted using this account before.
So… I wanted to see a fic that put Gunther and Will together. I'm not gonna follow canon at all. Also, this will most definitely be OOC (for Gunther at least, being that he wasn't gay/bisexual). But I totally got the vibes watching Nash, so here we go.
Will had major issues in the canon, so I wanted to expand on those, yet still helping him get over them faster. This is a threeshot, after all.
Thank you for reading. If you'd like to give some constructive criticism, I'd love to hear it.
Bisoux!