Work Text:
Gilfoyle learned to not trust people when he was only a little Canadian boy, from a mother that never wanted to be a mother.
He grew up and understood the pressure society puts on everybody, that it puts on a barely adult woman.
He became who he is today because he doesn't want to have anything to do with that pressure, because people cannot be trusted. They simply try to keep promises but it's not in their nature, they're doomed to fail.
So why should he trust them?
Why should he raise again the expectations of that little kid who's still waiting on the sidewalk for a loud yellow car, hour after hour, day after day? Masochism doesn’t work like this.
So why the fuck is he even considering the possibility of giving Dinesh access after he specifically and clearly made that whole speech about his cowardice?
Why is he standing with his laptop burning his arms and his stomach closing in on itself during an almost worldwide crisis, seriously thinking about putting in the most unreliable hands the literal fate of the planet earth?
“It’s Dinesh!”, his mind screams. “It’s fucking Dinesh!”, it shouts. “Wake the fuck up, you know Dinesh!”, it commands.
“It’s Dinesh!”
It’s Dinesh.
It’s Dinesh.
It’s Dinesh…
Dinesh.
Dinesh who’s known to be a liar, a greedy and selfish person.
Dinesh who’s always ready to put himself above everything and everyone, who has never done anything except for his personal gain.
Dinesh who lies to constantly show a version of himself that doesn’t exist. Dinesh who lies to let people believe he lives a life he doesn’t even like.
Dinesh who lies to prove who fucking knows what to who fucking knows who.
Dinesh who lies, lies, lies.
Dinesh.
Dinesh who’s telling the truth.
Now, in the most critical fucking moment, Dinesh has put away his lies and decided to be a fucking decent human being.
“Ten! Nine!”
Gilfoyle refuses to close his eyes.
“Eight! Seven!”
One breath.
“Six!”
“Fuck it!”, he thinks, he says. “Dinesh, you’re in.”
They’ll ask Gilfoyle why . He knows humans need a reason for every fucking thing.
They’ll ask him why he gave Dinesh access.
He knows it as soon as he clicks that fucking tab, he knows even moments before he makes the stupid decision.
They’ll ask and he’ll answer. He’ll answer… what, exactly?
How do you explain to those fuckers that, after six years spent mocking a person for their lack of even a snippet of backbone, one developes a powerful (and useful, now he knows) skill: the ability to understand when said person , for the first time in their pathetic life full of lies, is telling the fucking truth?
And where do you even begin if you want to explain, to yourself in the first place, that this chaotic and poor show of honesty has awakened something worryingly disgusting located above your stomach?
So they naturally ask why he was, according to them, “so dumb to trust Dinesh“.
But in that moment Gilfoyle realizes the real power he built around his character, mocking remark after annoying expression.
“Shut the fuck up, Dick. If I listened to you, or better, because you were as useful as Big Head in his best days, if I decided to wait for words to come out of your non-existent mouth, we probably would have been now handcuffed to a metal table in a gray room with neon lights on our faces.”, he deadpans to a still shocked and confused Richard with a pale Jared beside him.
Then everything is confused. Journalists, cameras, microphones shoved in their faces, and Richard, thank Satan, disappears for a few hours.
Monica vanishes too, probably already to sign a new contract, the clever beast.
Jared… who the fuck cares.
Dinesh.
Dinesh is still drenched in sweat, panting, with the most miserable frown between his brows, and is looking at him.
Obviously.
Gilfoyle notices the curious glint in his eyes, the question his annoying brain is begging his mouth to ask. But then he sees the determination Dinesh gained after showing his true, horrible self with Gavin Belson first and with them after, during their last meeting.
He sees that determination swimming on top of his need to know, to ask.
He’s challenging Gilfoyle.
To what? And who’s winning?
What are you waiting for, you poor excuse of a coder, ask it. Come on. Open that stupid mouth and ask the fucking question.
And then Gilfoyle makes the mistake that’s gonna haunt him for the rest of his, now miserable, life.
He lowers his gaze. For just half of a second.
He lowers his gaze and looks at Dinesh’s aforementioned stupid mouth.
He’s a satanist. He lives by a code. He swore at the presence of his siblings united to him by faith and oath that he would always do what his body would command him to do, staying true to his whole self, everyday, at every thought.
So he could always blame it on the adrenaline of the averted world crisis, or on the chastity that this fucking work put him through for the last three weeks.
He could blame it on something if he wanted to and everybody would believe him in an instant.
But the truth is he wanted to do it. He wants to do it.
He wants to kiss Dinesh since the dumb fucker realized he could not hide his selfish nature forever.
He wants to jump on him and destroy even the smallest piece of restraint left in his polo-striped body.
He wants to ravish that shitty mouth and smell from up close the hideous unisex cologne his mom keeps sending him at every holiday (Gilfoyle only knows this cause when the package arrived he was the only one in the house and he obviously opened it as soon as he read Dinesh’s surname on it) and he wears because it reminds him of his stupid family (Gilfoyle only knows this because Dinesh said it in front of the whole house… three years ago).
He wants to kiss him.
So he does.