Title: Kiss and Control
Fandom: Dreamcatcher
Characters/Pairing: Gary 'Jonesy' Jones/Henry Devlin, mention of Carla Jones.
Rating: R for sexual situations and a little language.
Warnings: None
Summary: After Jonesy's accident, Henry reminisces about their past. Title from AFI's song, Kiss and Control.
Notes: I find that Jonesy and Henry are completely slashable, and very, very cute to boot, so, consider this a new OTP?
Spoilers: Small ones for the Stephen King novel, Dreamcatcher, and, I assume, the film version, as well.
Watch the stars, Part your lips a bit more,
Turn you to nothing.
Now blush and smile
as they whisk you away.
I'll swallow your fear.
I will show you how
all the bite marks impress
A need to be here,
A need to see
Kiss and Control, AFI
Henry's painfully aware of how frail Jonesy looks. Carla smiles and touches his arm, the action shooting guilt along his nerves, as her kindness always does. He wonders idly if she knows about them. He doubts it, and feels good, then feels bad about feeling good. Her eyes are red-rimmed, and Henry wonders if his are, too – God knows that he's cried enough getting here. An air stewardess actually asked him if there'd been a death in the family, he was crying so much. He'd replied that his boyfriend had been run over. She'd smiled meekly and hurried away. He looks over at Carla and accepts the coffee she's offering, and she seems almost relieved that he's there to share the burden.
"Thanks," he murmurs, his attention once again drawn to Jonesy, laying immobile on the hospital bed. He wants to go into that room, brush that ridiculous floppy fringe out of Jonesy's eyes, kiss his forehead oh-so gently and hold his hand, muttering something vaguely comforting and retelling tales from their past – Duddits, Hole in the Wall, maybe some of the Beav's better phrases.
Instead, he just looks through the window. Wishing will get you nowhere, that annoying internal voice says to him. Sometimes he really hates that voice.
His mind shuts that voice out and transports him back to a sunny June day. Could have been any June day from any year; he and Jonesy are no older than 15, sitting in his backyard on old, moth-eaten sun-loungers, sharing a stolen bottle of beer between them, feeling thoroughly rebellious, as teenage boys are want to do. Henry smiles at the memory and wonders if he's smiling in the hospital, or if it's just an internal smile. He decides that he doesn't give a shit.
He smiles into his coffee when he realises that his life has a clear-cut division; pre-Duddits and post-Duddits. He takes a sip of the burning, bitter liquid, and shakes his head – right now, that's beside the point.
"D'you reckon Miss Prentiss will marry Mr Rodgers?" Henry is asking on that day back in June, laying back so the sky is all he can see. Jonesy finishes taking his drink and lobs the empty bottle over the back fence – Henry admires his pitching ability, but keeps quiet. He doesn't want to inflate Jonesy's ego any more than it already is.
"I would," Jonesy replies, and Henry props himself up on one elbow and looks at him.
"Yeah, me too," he admits, and they both laugh raucously, then stop and just look at one another.
Henry later understands that look. It's the look that a pretty girl at a bar gives to a hunky bloke she wants to take home; the look that a husband gives his wife even when she's 8 months pregnant and he still wants her. And, this retrospective view of that June day, he wonders how what happened next surprised him.
Because the next thing he clearly remembers is Jonesy's weight, pushing him into the sun-lounger, his hands holding onto Henry's collarbone, Henry's hands are in Jonesy's messy brown hair and they were kissing in a certainly non-platonic way. Oh, and Henry has a raging boner and he's hoping that Jonesy doesn't notice. But it's good, and hot and wet and he can feel gentle stubble rash on his chin and it should be so wrong but oh God it's great.
When they break apart it should be awkward. It should be one of those moments when you look at each other and want the ground to swallow you up. They just look at each other, Jonesy a very attractive pink shade, then Henry, before he even realises he's doing it, is leaning up to start the kiss again.
Though at that focus in time he couldn't know it, that drunken, sloppy and desperate kiss would lead to frantic fumbles and, finally, to a failed double prom date when the two girls went home with other guys and Jonesy and Henry lose their virginity anyway. Henry saves that memory for another day; he thinks he'll need all those positive memories over the coming weeks and months.
Henry in the hospital is smiling again. Carla has gone to call her Mom, let the kids know that Dad's going to be alright. He can imagine her crying to her Mom, Jane, telling her how frail he looks, oh God Mom, what'll I do if... If...
Pete and Beaver had no idea. They used to think it was really funny that Jonesy and Henry would travel to Hole in the Wall a day early to 'get stuff ready', that they always went there together, and always shared the double room. They'd say it's because Pete snored and Beaver's feet smelt, but really, they'd push the single beds together and fuck, or, if they were too tired from a days hunting to even consider that as a worthwhile activity (not very common), just lay there, holding onto one another. They'd make those stupid plans all couples do - "Oh, well I'll leave Carla, you leave Lynette, and we'll run away to Canada together," Jonesy once suggested. Henry half-wishes that they had – maybe Jonesy wouldn't have been hit by that car. Wouldn't be lying frail and hurting in a hospital bed.
His favourite close-shave was when Pete decided to surprise them by turning up early for their annual hunting week. He had opened the door to Hole in the Wall and saw Jonesy, completely naked as the day he was born and soaked from the shower, rooting through the kitchen cabinets.
Looking for chocolate syrup, was the honest explanation.
"Ran out of shower gel," he quipped, smiling sheepishly. Pete had laughed, then opened his bag and thrown Jonesy a bottle of expensive-looking shower gel. Jonesy grinned. "Cheers."
Pete hadn't figured out that, if he took half a dozen steps forward and looked towards the bathroom at the end of the hall, he'd see Henry, also soaking wet, pulling his clothes on, heaving himself out of the window to run around and come in through the front door, mumbling something about checking the log pile.
Cock-blocked by Pete Moore.
Henry in the hospital was smiling again; he could feel Carla looking up at him. "What's funny?" she asks, and he looked at her slightly sadly.
"Old memories," he replies, draining his coffee cup and heading into the sterile room, taking a seat beside Jonesy. "So, Canada, then?"