Without Guilt
Chapter XVIII: Cravings
This chapter contains mature sexual themes (M/M).
Character Note:
Eugene Linden is a Firefly who worked with Tommy Miller at the Denver QZ and later moved to Jackson. You can pick up his Firefly pendant and a photograph in TLOU II, he's discussed by Dina and Ellie at the Jackson Library.
:/ 10 years earlier, December 2024.
:/ Safehouse, Denver.
"A blizzard- a fucking blizzard!" Eugene complained, ripping his frozen gloves off and throwing them haphazardly near the built-up fire.
"Eugene, seriously?" Tommy complained, fishing the gloves out of the ashy pit just as they began to smoke.
Eugene groaned, throwing the rest of his snow-covered clothes a little more responsibly on the nearby armchair. "This whole thing is fucked." He grumbled.
Tommy sighed, shaking his head at the man.
They were all high strung with tension right now. The last expedition into the Denver QZ hadn't gone so well. They'd lost three men after an early detonation alerted the military. The worse part? It had only killed civilians.
"Eugene?" Tommy called after the man, following him out of the front room towards the kitchen. "Don't go causing problems now-" He warned, trying to keep his voice low.
He was pretty sure the cell leader would have a fit once they returned to the Firefly base a little further outside the city. But for now, they were hauled up at a safehouse until the storm passed. It was always best to separate after something like that – after all, the military had guns and vehicles to spare.
Eugene took a breath, stopping at the fridge to grab a pair of beer bottles. "I'm not gonna cause no problems," He claimed, pulling his pants up a little. "I just wanna make sure what happened today had nothing to do with the… hardware." He continued towards the garage where the light was visible from under the door.
Tommy overtook him, placing a hand on his chest to stop him for just a moment. "Eugene, you know what Meyer's been through-" He tried to remind him delicately.
Eugene eyed him for a long moment. "Tommy. I ain't an asshole. I know how to talk to him." He assured, waving the beer at him in implication before gesturing for Tommy to move out of the way.
Tommy held his hands up. "Okay. I'm just sayin'. You've had a bad day."
Eugene scoffed. "We've all had a bad day." He assured, nudging the door open with his foot before heading into the garage.
There was no immediate sight of the man he was looking for, though he could hear tinkering towards the back. He made his way around the mess of boxes still not unpacked, tools left to rust, varnish and paint buckets. An attempt to tidy had been made, judging by the neater stacks of tools, recently cleaned, and the weapons that had been full serviced, currently sitting in crates awaiting delivery to the base.
Eugene spotted a pair of legs sticking out from under the SUV as he rounded the vehicle, his poor mood being replaced by mischief as he quietly crept closer. He set the bottles of beer on a nearby bench before slowly squatting down.
Greedy hands slid over the fabric of hybrid pants, making the man under the car jolt with surprise, a hand emerging to clamp over Eugene's as they reached the buckle of his utility belt.
"Watch yer head!" Eugene warned with a laugh, yanking the younger man out from under the vehicle with a strong pull.
"Fuck- Gene! Golly," Otis exhaled a breath of relief and frustration, dropping his head back against the creeper board. "You put the fucking fear of God in me again." He huffed, taking a moment to calm down.
Eugene laughed, watching him with an affectionate smile. "'s that mean you'll be crying 'oh God' all night for me?" He teased.
"Fuck you." Otis deadpanned, lifting his gaze to glare at him half-heartedly.
"Much obliged." Eugene quipped, unclipping the utility belt to get to his fly.
"Hey- quit it." Otis complained, propping himself up onto his arms. "I just showered, ain't much hot water left in the tank."
"After I'm done with you, you're gonna need a cold 'un anyway." Eugene claimed.
"Fuck- your hands are ice." Otis shifted to sit up more, his ungloved hand grabbing at Eugene's arm lightly. "'re you mad 'bout somethin'?" He asked, grunting when the other man grabbed him firmly through his boxers.
"What makes you say that?" Eugene asked, leaning in close to kiss at his neck.
Otis tilted his head to give him more room, the hungry kisses sending light tingles through him. "Thought you'd offer me dinner first, I was waitin' on you." He brought an arm around Eugene's shoulders, his fingers sinking into the man's messy hair. "Fuck- Gene, ease up, it ain't made of iron." He groaned at a rough squeeze.
Eugene released him temporarily, dragging him up by the arm before hiking him up to sit on the hood of the car. "I missed you like hell, you charmin' devil." He breathed, inhaling the scent of clean soap and soft cotton from his skin and clothes as he leaned in to kiss his neck again.
Otis sat back a moment, trying to compose himself though Eugene was making it hard to focus. "Hey, let's talk, Gene." He requested.
"Later." Eugene insisted, grabbing the hem of his t-shirt to pull it up.
Otis shuddered at the cold as the article was pulled up to his collarbone, his spine arching away from the freezing hood of the car as Eugene pushed him to lay back. His hand moved to smooth his dishevelled hair back, inky locks spilled against the metal.
Eugene seemed to pause, absorbing the sight before him. "If I met you when I was younger…" He implied with a growing grin.
Otis flustered. "You're just talkin' like that 'cuz your dick is hard." He accused, turning his head away when Eugene caressed his sides, those calloused hands sweeping up his torso to take hold of his jaw.
"You gonna do somethin' 'bout it then?" Eugene suggested, a hand moving down to his crotch again.
"Depends." Otis replied, his body tensing from the rough strokes that started up a bit quickly. "You're chaffing me- bastard."
"On what?" Eugene challenged, amused to make him squirm.
Otis grunted, grabbing at Eugene's hand in an ingenuine attempt to slow him down. Whatever he was going to say was lost in a strangled exhalation, his nails digging into Eugene's skin.
"Sorry, Sailor," Eugene apologised insincerely. "Gotta catch you up to this old man."
Otis frowned, trying to concentrate through the uncomfortably rushed heat building up in the depths of his stomach. He managed to release Eugene's hand, though the experience was uncomfortable at best. "You're fucking awful at this."
"I ain't awful." Eugene protested, slowing down. "Just thought I'd take the lead on this for once." His hand stopped its movement.
Otis gave him a lazy smirk. "Ain't iron, Linden. Hey-"
Eugene pulled him down, turning him over to pin him against the hood of the vehicle. "I might be just a lil' mad, yeah." He finally conceded, unzipping his own pants before melding his hips against the other man.
"I said we should talk." Otis reminded him, bracing his hands to push back against him a fraction.
"Not in the mood, just let me have you." Eugene pressed, clasping a hand at the back of his neck to keep him down. He kissed at his back, trailing his spine and the sculpture of his defined back with lust filled admiration.
It was the little things – the small affections, the whispers against his skin, the fingers in his hair that made the unadulterated nature of these encounters look like more than what they really were.
An exercise of frustration.
Otis exhaled heated breaths, each one misting in the cold contrast of the garage. The realisation that he wanted this was shameful, burning like a brand deep in his stomach. He loved that Eugene Linden made him forget everything for just one night, better than any number of prescription bottles and spilled alcohol and cigarettes overflowing from the ash tray.
He grabbed at Eugene's hand as it dipped into his boxers. "Wait- where are you touching?" He briefly questioned, distracted by a searing kiss.
Eugene kissed him hungrily, the awkward angle making it sloppy and imperfect by most standards though it was a perfect mirror of their relationship. "Let's just do it, Meyer." He panted breathlessly, his hot breath burning the other man's ear. "Let's go all the way."
"No." Otis declined, a little light-headed.
"Why not?" Eugene questioned, shifting a back to give him some room to move.
Otis turned to face him, impatiently tearing at the buttons of his flannel. "We're not like that." He reminded him quietly, working on his belt as he kissed him back with equal vigour.
Eugene let him take over, less ashamed of expressing his pleasure. "Oh yeah, just like that." He encouraged, pushing his hips forward once he was freed from his clothing. He sat himself down as Otis briefly left his side to retrieve the bottle of lubricant from its hiding place.
Otis came to a stop before him, the picture of Guillaume Geef's Lucifer as he ran his hand back through his dark curls. "You've really let yourself go, Linden." He remarked, a little more relaxed now that they were in a more familiar routine.
"'m sorry I ain't a work of art, but believe you me, I was a looker in my days." Eugene joked. "Oh!" He exclaimed in surprise as Otis leaned over him, a knee being planted against his hip.
"I'm not talkin' 'bout your face, Linden." Otis implied, pouring some lubricant into his hand to warm it between his fingers. The bottle was set aside before the pudge at Eugene's waistline was given a playful squeeze. "Let up on the beer a lil', you're drinkin' the fridge so dry, 'm worried it'll start spittin' cotton."
Eugene let out a laugh that shook his gut with motion. "Well now, I thought you'd find it charmin'. 's this thing stopping you from accepting my offer?"
"What offer?" Otis questioned, taking hold of his already attentive shaft. It pulsed strongly against his palm, weeping with the soft squeeze and jerking motion.
"Oh yeah, work it just like that." Eugene shivered with delight. "Offer was- going all the way." He answered with some delay, too distracted.
"I told you, we ain't like that, you and me." Otis sighed, letting Eugene pull him closer for more kisses, shorter, sweeter but just as burning. He melted against him, his stronger body a contrast of definition and full curves against Eugene's softer and rounded form.
"I ain't never known you to be shy, Otis Meyer." Eugene groaned out his name, ravenous hands gorging themselves on full pectorals.
"I ain't shy, I'm waitin' on you to get bored." Otis replied, shifting to grind against him.
"I ain't bored just 'cuz I want more." Eugene denied, mesmerised by the sensual roll of those strong hips. "Boy you are a devil with the things you do to me." He wanted to rid him of those infernal pants, to touch every inch of tanned skin, to feel the way muscles strained and quivered under taut skin as he worshipped it.
Otis managed a breathless laugh, taking Eugene's hands from his waist and lacing their fingers together. "I might could believe you, Linden, 'cept I know you still hopin' to get back to Claire."
Eugene felt like a cold bucket of water had been poured over him. "You had to bring her up." He grumbled.
Otis gave him a foxy grin. "I know you didn't just touch me the way you did thinkin' 'bout Otis Meyer, sir." He countered. "I ain't a woman but I know what a woman could do to your head."
"I don't treat you like a woman, Meyer." Eugene contended. "That ain't why I asked to have sex with you." He'd insist.
Otis hummed, feigning thoughtfulness. "Ain't what I said neither." He pointed out, giving a sharp buck of his hips which drew a soft gasp from his partner.
"Otis," Eugene shifted, squeezing his hands gently. "I don't know if you can understand me or believe me when I say this," He mumbled, his dark eyes tracing his features with sincerity. "But I can love you just as much as I do Claire."
He still didn't understand it.
"Otis, are you awake?" Dorothy's looming figure pulled him free from the fog of troubled sleep.
Tired eyes opened to gaze up at her, a tired exhalation following as he pushed himself to sit up. He grunted out a light sound in question to why she was waking him in the middle of the night like this, rubbing his sore back.
The floor was cold and hard, making for an uncomfortable few hours of sleep.
"Sorry." Dorothy apologised, shuffling to sit beside him before holding out one of the two steaming mugs.
He took it slowly, letting its warmth caress his face like the ghost of a long-gone lover.
The fire was still going strong in its ashy parlour, its flames defiant against the whistling wind that seeped in through every crack and crevice of the worn down building. They hadn't made it to the safehouse. The heavy snowfall the previous day had made most of the roads hard to traverse and it had taken them the best part of 8 hours just to reach a part of the city that hadn't already been picked clean.
Dominique and Kumi were peacefully snoozing away on the couch, leaving Otis and Dorothy to make do with their bags for pillows.
Dorothy looked worse for wear. She clearly hadn't slept much even though she'd been so tuckered out that she'd fallen asleep the minute they got the fire going in the hearth. She probably hadn't walked that much in her life and her small frame meant that it was impossible for her to carry any more than the absolute minimum. Kumi had had to take her bag about halfway through the journey and on multiple occasions Otis had carried her to get her over the higher hurdles.
She felt like dead weight.
"Sorry for… giving you guys so much trouble." She voiced quietly, her gaze fixed into the hot embers.
Otis shook his head to dismiss her apology, truthfully a bit too distracted by his unexpected dreams. He set the mug aside briefly to retrieve the bottle of water from his bag, drinking it to clear his head.
The past was a closed chapter he shouldn't re-read.
"I just… can't stop thinking about this whole thing." Dorothy confessed, unable to hold his gaze even when it turned to her.
His grey eyes looked gold under the firelight, touched by Midas. She wondered how someone so scary could also be so beautiful all at once. But, more than that, how she could feel warm towards him. She'd been so shaken by what happened with William – it was nothing that she thought she'd have to suffer again, and yet for the second time she found Otis Meyer like her wrath executing those who hurt her.
He was like the anger she could only fathom by being upset.
She wished she had even an ounce of his strength, to be able to afford herself the respect to be treated like a human.
There was something about Otis Meyer that just made her admire him.
She sighed and looked away. "I never really got to say thanks for… before. So, thanks." She mumbled, a hand rubbing over her socks in an attempt to soothe the burning of her incredibly sore feet underneath.
Otis wasn't sure what she was thanking him for. She'd saved his life. Twice.
He shifted to open his bag again, retrieving a plastic tub which he held out to her.
Dorothy blinked in light confusion before reaching out to take it. "What's this for?" She asked, unable to determine anything from the water damaged label.
He indicated her feet, slowly sipping from the warm drink. He had no idea what it was, but it was sweet and reminded him of the herbal drinks Dominique's mother used to brew to keep them all warm in the winter.
Another memory breached the surface – the smell of baked goods and his mother's warm smile as she told him to wash his hands after a long day of working on the farm. The labour had been tough, too gruelling for a child, but the sweet treats made him forget about it by the end of the day.
He had a terrible sweet tooth.
Dorothy paused in her delicate application of the cream, gaping at him. "You're smiling." She noted in complete bewilderment.
Almost as soon as she pointed it out, it was gone. He glanced to her emptily befpre focusing ahead again.
Eugene had been very good at sating his cravings.
Please R&R!