antilocaprine - Tumblr blog

antilocaprine · 25 days ago

Note

The text is still fucked up on this one and it drives me insane. I guess it's something that happened at upload - I didn't do anything differently, but something must have changed. Sorry to darkmode users; this one's a secret, apparently. (Except for some scattered paragraphs and the italicized words, for some fucking reason...)

Frenrey w 23 or 50 (or if you feel you have the energy combine them? I feel they could be combined but it's your call)

(Kiss Prompt List)

50: ...out of love.

Gordon’s hair has mostly gone gray now, with white streaks from his temples and at the edges of his still-tightly-trimmed beard. He’s smugly proud of the volume of hair he still has. He doesn’t say this, of course, but Benrey can tell by the amount of time he puts into the combing and washing and trimming of it.

Benrey himself is going bald, mostly to make Gordon laugh and preen in comparison. He lets wrinkles form on his cheeks and brow, lets the bags under his eyes grow, and sprinkles some salt strands into his own dark hair.

They make quite a dignified couple, sitting on the front porch and looking out across the low mists wreathing the fields in the mountain town they moved to a decade after Joshua finished college and moved to Brazil. He’s partnered with some futuristic food company to work on the development of a new strain of cashews, and rides with the local gauchos in his time off. Gordon and Benrey talk to him several times a week on Gordon’s tablet, though Joshua whines about that at least once a month (“Dad, c’mon, let me get you a newer model, please”). But the tablet is the only thing left in the house that can load Benrey’s favorite old games, so Gordon refuses to upgrade.

Benrey thinks that feels a little like love.

“Did you see this?” Gordon says suddenly, and Benrey glances up from the tablet only to get a faceful of newsprint.

“I see that you’re a grandpa,” Benrey grumbles and reaches up with one hand to push the newspaper back far enough that he can actually see the article Gordon is pointing to.

“Shut up,” Gordon says affectionately. “Tommy’s invested in the local news, we have to support it.”

“Tommy should’ve, uh, invested in something that’s better, then.” Benrey squints at the headline, then rears back, setting the porch swing (another mark in the grandpa column) to swaying. “Whuh - is that -?”

“Yes!” Gordon snaps, pulling the newspaper back and spinning it to glare down at the article. “Margaret Heinrichs is running for mayor!”

“She can’t even run a, uh, chili contest,” Benrey says.

“Exactly! And speaking of, look - look!” He holds the paper back up to Benrey’s face, one metal finger tapping aggressively at a line of text. “The firehouse is supporting her run! After what they said about the last chili cook-off!”

“Oh, what’d they say?” Benrey doesn’t remember hearing about this - though that may have been because he had to tiptoe around the house for two weeks after Gordon lost the cook-off on a technicality, even though all five judges agreed his chili was far better than Margaret’s.

“They said it was a disgrace,” Gordon says vehemently. “The chief himself told me that no one had ever enforced that rule before. Ten year’s residency, my ass - it’s fucking stupid!”

“It’s only been, what, eight years?” Benrey muses. “You gonna try again this year?”

“Fuck yes I’m gonna try again,” Gordon growls, newspaper crinkling in the tight grip of his metal hand. His flesh hand trembles a little these days, off and on, but the metal hand is strong and true. Benrey’s not sure how to feel about that sometimes.

“You gonna - same recipe?”

“No,” Gordon says, and gives him a feral grin. “I’m using a better one. Nuclear option or bust.”

Benrey’s eyebrows go up. “Oh, shit?”

“That’s right,” Gordon says, settling his shoulders against the porch swing’s backrest and smiling out at the thinning mist. “Grandma’s recipe.”

“Oh, shit,” Benrey chuckles. “Yeah, that’ll - that’ll knock their socks off.” He taps his foot against Gordon’s. Gordon snorts and taps him back.

“You and feet, man,” he says. “Always with the feet.”

“You love it,” Benrey replies automatically, and Gordon tilts his head toward him and smiles gently.

“Yeah,” he says. “I really, really do.”

They lapse into silence, and over the years Benrey has learned the different flavors of Gordon’s silences. This one starts out scheming, then transforms into something more wistful and contemplative. Benrey advances two more levels in his game, then decides he’s bored and hooks a foot behind Gordon’s ankle.

Gordon blinks and starts a little. “Hmm?”

“What’s your, uhhh plans?”

“Take down Margaret,” Gordon replies promptly.

Benrey huffs a short laugh. “No, I, uh. I meant for today.”

“Oh.” Gordon links his fingers and stretches his arms out in front of him, then catches the newspaper before it can slide off his lap. “I can’t just do that today?”

“Uh…” Benrey thinks for a moment. “I guess, but then we’d prob’ly have to, uh. Go into hiding or something.”

“Eh, Tommy could fix that for us,” Gordon says, waving a hand.

Benrey grins at him. “Okay, so, d’you wanna kill her?”

Gordon takes a deep breath and heaves a sigh that sounds like it comes all the way from his feet. (Yeah, okay, Benrey knows what he likes.)

“I guess we shouldn’t,” he says. “Anyway, it’ll be way more satisfying to beat that hag at her own game.”

“Poison?”

Gordon snorts. “No, man, chili.”

“Poison in the chili?”

“Oh, now there’s a thought,” Gordon says, tapping at his lip with a metal finger. “But how to keep it away from the judges…?”

Benrey makes a dismissive noise, and Gordon cracks, cackling loudly enough that it startles a small flock of crows from the line of pine trees across the road.

“Let’s not even start,” Gordon says, lifting his glasses to wipe moisture from the corners of his eyes. “Don’t even - if I start thinking about how easy it would be to do, I’m gonna fucking do it, and then we really will have to leave.”

“Yeah, but - it’d be worth it,” Benrey says, leaning back and throwing an arm across the backrest. Gordon leans against it and sighs as Benrey curls his hand around Gordon’s shoulder.

“Nah, not yet. I like it here.”

They gaze out across the fields and toward the line of dark trees that the crows are circling back down into, still cawing reproachfully. Benrey’s tempted to change shape and go bother them, but he resists the urge. Sometimes when he changes back, he forgets to add the age marks - and he sees the look on Gordon’s face when Benrey appears, even for a moment, to be the same age he was the day they met. He’s not, of course - time moves forward for them all, even when it’s stopped - but Benrey’s appearance has always been under his control more than most.

“We should go make food,” Gordon says after a few minutes, but he makes no effort to move. Benrey runs his fingers up and down Gordon’s shoulder, and taps the inside of his ankle with his foot.

“Yeah?” Benrey mumbles, attention torn between playing his game one-handed and studying Gordon’s graying profile.

“Well,” Gordon says. “Eventually.”

The midmorning sun is finally breaking over the tall pine trees, its heat burning out the last wisps of mist. A car passes by on the county road - one of the newer models with hardlight tires. Benrey’s been in those, and he’s always a little disturbed by the silence. He much prefers the rattle and crunch of traditional rubber tires. At least then you know you’re connected to the road. Hardlight tires sound the same if they’re driving over a hill or driving off a cliff, and Benrey doesn’t trust what he can’t hear.

“D’you remember that brand of soda that we kept getting from those two vending machines? The ones outside Darnold’s lab?” Gordon’s voice sounds a bit distant, and Benrey’s grip on his shoulder tightens involuntarily.

“The one with the, uh, gamer colors?”

“Yes! Those ones.”

“I think it was, uh.” Benrey makes a face as he dredges his memories. “I think it was called Glub?”

“It was not.” Gordon’s voice is flat. Benrey shrugs.

“S’what I remember.”

“Is it? Fuck, how could I forget that?” Gordon’s voice trails off, and he leans further into Benrey’s side. “Fucking…Glub soda? Glub cans? Cans of Glub?”

“Can’t you Glub?” Benrey says, and he feels the memory ping in Gordon’s brain as he tenses, then laughs.

“That’s right - okay, I remember now. ‘I can Glub - can you Glub?’ We had Tommy going in circles.”

“You didn’t even like the flavor.”

“I didn’t! None of us did, it was terrible! No wonder no one outside Black Mesa has ever heard of it!”

“Well, scientists have no taste, so -” Benrey is interrupted by Gordon leaning back and whacking him playfully with the newspaper. He holds up one hand and struggles to continue. “So how could you tell if it was good or -”

“I will kill you,” Gordon cackles, and the porch swing sways wildly under them, the metal chains creaking. “Watch it, watch - you’re gonna break our fucking chair!”

“Oh noooo,” Benrey drawls, and goes for his own nuclear option to end the conflict. He wraps a hand around the back of Gordon’s skull and tugs him down into a teeth-clacking kiss.

Gordon laughs into his mouth and returns the kiss, quieting immediately. Benrey winds his fingers through the silver strands of Gordon’s hair and tugs gently. Gordon mumbles something unintelligible against his lips and cups Benrey’s face with both hands - one sun-warmed metal, and one blood-warmed flesh. The newspaper finally escapes to the wooden planks of the porch with a rustle.

Gordon disengages first, then smacks a kiss to the top of Benrey’s balding head. Benrey grins and tugs a lock of gray hair over Gordon’s shoulder, wrapping it around his finger and kissing it in turn - and that feels a little like love.

“So,” he says. “Margaret?”

Gordon’s face darkens. “Fuck Margaret,” he says. “Well, not - ugh, you know what I mean.”

Benrey snorts and runs a hand down Gordon’s arm to link their fingers together. “Yeah, I know.”

“C’mon,” Gordon says, and tugs their linked hands to pull Benrey to his feet, leaving the newspaper on the floor as he heads for the door. “I’ve got a chili recipe to find.”

Benrey raises their joined hands and presses a quick kiss to the back of Gordon’s knuckles as they head for the kitchen, and is only mildly surprised to feel metal against his lips. He hadn’t even noticed that it was Gordon’s prosthetic hand he was holding. They’re both Gordon’s, after all.

Soon, the kitchen will fill with the smell of browning meat, black beans, green chili, and spices. Soon, Benrey will be called upon to be the taste tester, and will have to come up with slightly different words of praise for each batch. Soon, Joshua will call and they will bicker over the tablet, and the upcoming cookoff, and the similarities of their two towns, separated by half a world. But right now, Benrey squeezes Gordon’s hand tighter, and admires the way the lines around his eyes crinkle when he smiles, and watches his silver hair dance as he whirls through the house, dragging Benrey after him like he can’t imagine doing anything without him.

And, well, okay. Benrey supposes that this all feels an awful lot like love.

#hlvrai #irritating #i had so hoped it was a glitch that would be fixed #but alas

63 notes · View notes