They Say What They Say

Tite: Beer and Cigarettes
Authors: laylee and engenda
Pairing: Duck/Buddy
Rating: Sex with clothes on
Summary: He starts and looks over at Duck – who is watching him with a little frown on his face, all serious and intent, and his lips are shiny.




Buddy likes running at night. He likes the quiet and being able to lose himself in the action. Nothing else to think about except one foot after another. He especially likes running at night now that it's starting to get warmer, running during the colder months is not nearly as much fun. It also gets him out of the house for a while, and away from his mum's constant fussing and fluttering.

She's always on his case about something. Where are you going Buddy, and what time will you be home? Who are you seeing? Have you done you're homework? Are you wearing clean socks, and oh, Buddy, do be careful, you know how I worry!

Right now her pet subject is what he's going to do after school and how he should be studying so he can have a future. He had at least half an hour of it tonight before he was able to escape. He knows that graduation is only a few weeks away, and he also knows he has to think about what he's going to do with his life. But does she have to keep treating him like a little kid who can't decide if he wants ice cream or cookies?

Buddy loves his mum dearly, but he can't help wishing that she wasn't so smothering. She's always been over-protective, but it's gotten so much worse since his father died. It's almost like she can't bear the idea of him growing up and leaving home. But there's no way he's going to stay there any longer than he has to. He likes Wilby, but there's more to the world than Wilby and he's not going to end up like Kenny Birkin who's nearly fifty and still lives at home with his mum who buys his tighty-whities from Porter's department store.

He doesn't know how she'll react when he tells her that he's not going to university in Halifax like she wants him to. He does know that she'll blow a gasket when he tells her that he wants to be a cop. He's already put in the application. He's 18, he doesn't need parental approval.

But he's not trying not think about any of this as he pounds along the coast road then cuts up the hill toward the high school where he'll run a few laps of the football field and then head home. He'd just started to cut through the edge of park near school when he almost tripped over Duck MacDonald, who was sprawling with his back against a tree, a lit cigarette in one hand and a bottle of beer between his legs. Buddy skids to a halt and stares at Duck who blinks up at Buddy, squinting as he brings the cigarette to his lips.

"Hey, Duck."

Duck exhales. "Hey, Buddy."

Buddy and Duck don't really talk much anymore. When they were kids they talked all the time, but lately, not so much. He remembers playing on the jungle gym with him in grade school, and the time they let the chickens out of the hen house during Amy Parker's ninth birthday, but as they got older they seemed to go different ways. Duck was always a bit of a loner, while Buddy liked to be around people, and was it his fault they made him Captain of the football team? Or that he was a popular guy and had the beautiful girlfriend to prove it? He and Margie had been going out all year, and he really liked her, while Duck - well Buddy couldn't really say where Duck went. He was always quiet and in the background and just there. You never really saw him hanging out with anyone. Sometimes Duck looked lonely, not that he'd given it much thought - he had his own life to live and his own friends to hang out with

Buddy can't really see much of Duck's expression. The street lights don't shine that brightly in this part of the park, but he can see that Duck is upset about something. He can also see the six-pack next to Duck and the two empties on the ground.

"So, uh, what's up?"

Duck laughs bitterly up at him, "What do you care?"

"Hey, don't be like that!"

Duck sighs. “Fuck off, Buddy.”

Buddy leans down and takes the cigarette out of Duck’s hand, ignores Duck’s “hey” and takes a drag. Yet another thing his mum doesn't know about and would hate if she knew. She thinks people who smoke are low-class, but likes how it helps him relax, and the smell should be gone by the time he gets home. He sits down next to Duck, hands the cigarette back and blows smoke in his face. Duck rolls his eyes at him and batts it way with his hand. Duck has really long fingers, Buddy notices.

Buddy straightens his back, spreads his arms and in a deep voice, just like Principal Butler, he says, “So. Duck MacDonald. Why are you sitting in the park, at night, by yourself, with a six-pack of beer?”

Duck snorts and shrugs.

Buddy shuffles around so he’s leaning against the tree too, and his shoulder nudges against Duck's.

Duck looks over at him. “My Dad.”

Buddy nods. Parents. They really don’t get it sometimes.

Duck reaches for the remains of his six-pack, hands Buddy a beer and mutters, “What would he know about being queer?”

Buddy looks over at Duck, who’s pulled his knees to his chest wrapping his arms around them – looking into the distance. He’s not even sure if Duck’s aware that he spoke out loud. Buddy does what he does best when he’s not sure, he ignores it, and raises his beer to his mouth, taking a long gulp. It’s a little warm and kind of flat. Duck must’ve been sitting in the park for quite some time before he got there.

Duck looks over at him and he tries not to catch his eye. Buddy’s never thought of that, at least not on purpose. But sometimes… sometimes he finds it hard not to stare when he’s getting changed in the locker room. He tries to blow it off, telling himself that every guy does it; checking out the competition. And it's not like he does it deliberately. It's just that sometimes when Peter Grant is bending over to take off his cleats…

Okay, Buddy, don't go there.

He looks down into his beer, Duck’s gaze is intense, and Buddy can feel his skin getting warm. He’s feeling that prickle he normally only gets when he’s unhooked Margie’s bra and has her breast in his hand.

Duck looks at him like he knows what he's thinking, knows that that sometimes Buddy wants to know what it feels like to get off with a guy. He can feel Duck shifting as he puts the beer bottle on the ground, and lays his hand on Buddy’s thigh. He starts and looks over at Duck – who is watching him with a little frown on his face, all serious and intent, and his lips are shiny.

Buddy finds himself leaning toward Duck, his eyes sliding shut. He can feel Duck’s breath across his lips and can’t help opening his mouth slightly. Duck’s so close now, he can almost feel his heart beating, and it’s the most natural thing in the world to lean forward a little more and kiss him. He feels the slip and slide of Duck's lips against his, those long fingers threading through his hair, and his moan is low and thready. Duck deepens the kiss, his tongue sliding into Buddy’s mouth. He tastes like beer and cigarettes, and Buddy is practically crawling into Duck’s lap. They end up on the ground, all tangled together with Duck’s hand sliding into the back of his running shorts as their kisses become fiercer.

Duck’s hard against his hip and tracing his nails over the skin of Buddy’s arse. He can’t stop grinding against Duck, and knows he’s not going to last. Duck’s making all these noises and shit, it’s so much better than making out with Margie in her parents rec room because she never lets him put his hands inside her panties. It’s not until he feels skin that Buddy realises that he’s burrowed his hands under Duck’s shirt. Duck shudders against him as he runs his fingers across the skin on his back, just above the waistband of his jeans.

He can feel Duck’s ribs and the sweat on his skin. Buddy drags his mouth away from Duck’s and buries his head in the crook of his neck as they hump against each other. And oh, god, Buddy’s coming in his running shorts, all hot and sticky. Duck’s nails dig into his arse and he grabs Duck’s hip and pulls him closer, and gently bites his neck. Duck’s grunt is high pitched as he comes against him.

They stay that way for a while, tightly wound together and panting into each other’s ears until Joe Matheson drives by honking the “only one on the island” horn that he got when his dad gave him the pick-up for his seventeenth birthday. Startled, Buddy rolls off Duck and his first reaction is to freak out and run. Then he realises that Joe’s long gone and couldn’t see them from the road anyway. They lie staring up through the leaves at the stars, trying to get their breath back, wondering what the hell just happened.

Buddy sits up first, and Duck soon follows, darting quick glances at each other, and looking away when caught. Both of them are sticky and getting stickier. Duck has bits of leaves and twigs stuck to his t-shirt, and Buddy isn't sure how he's going to explain the stains on his own clothes to his mum. Some how he doesn't think that telling her he fell over is going to cut it. Buddy clears his throat. "Uhhhh..."

Duck doesn't say anything, just sort of turns away and looks around like he's searching for something to clean up with. Buddy tries to talk again, but he's completely tongue-tied. His shorts are getting really uncomfortable and all he wants to do is go home and lock himself in his room for the next century.

Finally, Duck looks over at him. His eyes are wide and frightened in the dim light. Buddy watches Duck straighten his shoulders and raise his chin, as though getting ready to be hit. But Buddy doesn't want to hit Duck. He's not sure what he wants to do, but hitting is not it.

He snorts a little, looks down at his hands. "Some night, huh?"

Duck blinks at him and cautiously nods. He opens his mouth to speak but closes it again and shrugs at Buddy.

"I, uh, I really need to get home” Buddy says and rises. He looks at his hands some more, twisting them together. "I'm not..." He looks over at Duck quickly, before looking down, "I mean, I've never..."

Duck nods, getting to his feet, "I am."

Buddy offers him a sort of half smile. "Yeah, I figured."

"Yeah". Duck shuffles his feet a little then turns to Buddy, reaching out to wrap his fingers around his arm - "You...you won't?"

"What? No!" God, no. Buddy has as much to lose as Duck if this got out - maybe more.

Duck nods, looking relieved. "Okay. Good."

"So, uh, I'll see you then."

Duck shrugs. "Yeah"

Buddy dusts himself off a little. "Yeah. See ya," he says and starts toward home.

Despite the fact that his shorts are really sticky and uncomfortable, he starts to run. And he doesn't look back, no matter how much he wants to. But he won't, because he's not like that. Not really. It never happened, he tells himself, and tries to believe it that it's true. It was the beer. He just felt sorry for Duck. Plus, he has Margie.

As he rounds the bend, he can't help but look back at Duck. Who’s standing there, his outline just barely visible in the dark, alone and still, like he was waiting for something. Or someone.