Disclaimer: I do not own the characters of this work of fiction, and no profit, monetary or otherwise, is being made through the writing of this.
A/N: Inspired by an email 'conversation', in which my friend mentioned shipping these three. This is Lee's point of view, and it is imperfect. It's angsty and has some emotional hurt/comfort as well as sex in the kitchen while there are noodles boiling on the stove. The sex is non-graphic. Though this is M/M/M, the main focus of this particular one-shot is Lee and Galgo. With any luck, and if there is interest, I may have another two stories from Galgo's and Barney's perspectives.
It's months into their strange relationship (if it can even be called a relationship) before Lee learns that the key to getting Galgo to shut up is not in threatening him. That only makes the mercenary talk faster, as though he's trying to fit every word in edgewise before he's physically restrained. Forced into a blessed quietude.
No, the key to getting Galgo to shut up lies not in threats, or in placing a hand over Galgo's mouth, or even in asking him to stop, but rather in doing something that will shut off the man's mind, because Lee's discovered, in these past several months, that it's not Galgo's mouth that's the real problem, but rather his mind. The man can't stop thinking. And when he thinks, he talks. Non-stop.
And, for the longest time that had driven Lee mad, made him question Barney's sanity in starting this thing, whatever the fuck it was, with Galgo, and him, because, even in sleep, Galgo talks, about nothing and everything. Lee can't even find peace in his own dreams, because Galgo's voice follows him even down to sleep, filtering in through Lee's subconscious, planting memories there that aren't his own, giving him another man's nightmares.
There are times when Lee misses the quiet of his former, pre-Galgo, pre-Barney, life. And he clambers up the side of Barney's place, sits on the roof. Alone. Watches for a shooting star. Looks for the man in the moon. Sips at a beer. Enjoys the solitude, knowing that it won't last. That, as much as he misses the quiet, he'll go back inside, back to Barney and Galgo, and whatever it is that they have.
And there will be Galgo's voice, larger than life, echoing off of the walls like a Boléro. It'll build in intensity, crescendo with the excitement of whatever story Galgo's spinning for them, for no one in particular, that night.
Lee's discovered that Galgo's stories are audience independent. He'll talk until his voice is hoarse, mouth dry, throat aching with the act of it. He'll talk as if his life is dependent on it, as though it's akin to breathing, and if he stops, he'll die, and Lee thinks that maybe that's part of what it is for Galgo. The fear that if he doesn't keep talking, he'll die from the sheer weight of the things that haunt his nightmares, and keep him nattering on about nothing at all. Crap that Lee and Barney, and even he doesn't care about.
Now that Lee knows how to shut Galgo up, how to help the man shut down before he implodes, he's started listening to the stories, the nonsense, the words Galgo uses when he's flirting, when he's saying nothing at all. He's started to hear what it is that Galgo's not saying, the meaning between the lines, the desperate cry for help that's disguised with constant chatter. The need not to be alone, even if it's just the sound of his own voice that's keeping him company.
Like tonight, for instance, Lee walks into the kitchen, Galgo's sitting on the counter like a cat, feet, and chest bare, hands and arms waving wildly as he talks, voice just shy of hoarse.
Barney's cooking, nodding at appropriate places, because Galgo's telling some story and Barney can't get a word in right now if he wanted to, because it's one of those nights.
Galgo's got something that he wants to forget. A memory, niggling at some dark part of his mind, that wants to get free, but Galgo won't let it, and the only thing stopping it is the sound of his own voice, Barney's presence, the fragrant bouquet of herbs and spices that tickle the nose, and tease the tastebuds.
Barney's not pregnant, and he's not a woman, but he is barefoot, and wearing a 'kiss the cook' apron that Tool gave him. There's something like a dusting of flour on his cheek, and he's stirring a pot of something that Lee reaches around him to cop a taste of, only to have his knuckles rapped by the wooden spoon in Barney's hand. Barney purses his lips, and raises an eyebrow, wooden spoon poised to strike again if Lee doesn't back off. Pouting, Lee shakes the sting out of his hand, and presses a kiss to Barney's cheek, leaving a smudge in the flour.
Barney's eyes seek his out, send a silent plea to Lee, and, sighing, Lee nods, wonders when it suddenly became his duty to calm their kitchen kitten. But he turns, plants himself directly in front of Galgo, hands on either side of the man, trapping him in place on the counter.
Galgo's words come to a stuttering halt, his brow wrinkling in a way that Lee now finds endearing, when Lee leans in close, licks at the hollow of Galgo's neck, and starts to suck and kiss an aimless path along Galgo's collarbone and torso, leaving marks that, with any luck, will last for days.
Galgo's toes curl, his breath hitches. His flying, flailing hands go to Lee's shoulders, anchoring the both of them when Lee cups Galgo through his jeans and starts to rub and fondle him through the coarse fabric.
Galgo's eyes are dark, and heavy lidded, and, though his mouth is opening and closing, there is no sound coming from it. No words, and Lee feels drunk on the power that he has over the other man. The power to silence his lover through lips, and teeth, and touch.
The way Galgo says, "Lee," all breath, no sound, and, "fuck," lips fashioning soundless words, makes Lee dizzy with need, and he can feel Barney stepping up behind him, preceded by heat and vibrations that knock the breath out of him before Barney's hands even touch him.
Lips, warm and soft, on the back of Lee's neck, make him shiver, and he rubs, rubs, rubs at Galgo's trapped erection, wondering when sex in the kitchen had become their thing. When he and Barney had gone from friends to lovers, when he'd stopped hating Galgo, and wanted nothing more than to fuck the man senseless, to help Galgo learn to love silence as much as he does.
Barney's rubbing up against his ass, palming Lee through the front of his jeans, and Lee drops his mouth to Galgo's groin, sucks at the throbbing bulge, wanting to taste, but needing to tease, and coax, and control, because that's what Galgo needs right now - someone else to be in control, and with Barney in control of him, Lee can be in control of Galgo.
It's unconventional, what they have. By some people's standards it's immoral, and dirty, but, for them, it works, and Lee wouldn't have it any other way.
The sounds of sucking, grunting, panting, of sauce and noodles starting to boil on the stove, permeate the air around them, and it's a messy, heady cacophony. Soft, muted sounds that are music to Lee's ears.
When it's over, and all three of them are sated and spent, Barney tends to the sauce on the stove as it bubbles and pops, hoping to salvage dinner. Lee tends to Galgo, whose skin glistens with sweat in the kitchen light. His chest heaves and tears spill against the front of Lee's shirt.
Lee holds the younger man, whispers words of a story he's only told one other person before, and, long after dinner, when all three of them are lying in bed together, Galgo sandwiched between Barney and Lee - demons laid safely to rest, no longer lurking in the dark shadows of Galgo's and Lee's minds - a comfortable silence lingers, broken only by the sound of soft snores.
Let me know if you liked. Mahalo