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Thirteen Conversations About Teh Gay!

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1. The Swallow Pause (Coupling UK, Steve/Jeff)

“The worst part of getting a blow job is the swallow pause,” Jeff said confidently, leaving Steve to boggle.

“Swallow pause?”

“Ay, you know what I mean. They’ll just be going away on you, slurping like a lollipop, all systems go…and then there’ll be the pause,” Jeff said, nodding at everyone as though this were a normal topic of conversation. “Now women, women have perfected the pre-suck pause. Unless there’s something truly unexpected in the operation, they’ve decided whether to spit or swallow before the bloke’s ever got his trousers off.”

His mum, a thousand years of British masculinity, and common sanity begged him not to say anything. Steve ignored their compulsions. “And when men are giving a blow job?”

“Well, we’re locked in a dilemma, aren’t we?” Jeff said, the very soul of reasonable dialogue. “We may not want to swallow, but there’s the voice in the back of our heads saying, ‘if I were the one receiving instead of giving, would I be insulted if the ending was anticlimactic?’ and for a split-second, there’s paralysis because of that sympathy.”

“Yes, thank you, Jeff,” Steve said acerbically. “That’s a fascinating look into the dynamics of male/male sex. My question is, why did you feel the need to explain…well, now?”

Jeff smiled sheepishly. “Didn’t want you to think I’d gotten cold feet,” he said. “It was just the swallow pause.”

Steve shook his head and chuckled, pulling Jeff in for the long foretold ‘little cuddle.’ “That will be quite enough, Jeff.”


2. Fangirls Suck! (Sealab 2021, Stormy/Quinn)

“This is ridiculous!” Quinn shouted, walking back in forth in the brig, which he and Stormy had found themselves locked in as the temperature began to rise. “I don’t care what they say! I am not having sex with you to get out of here!”

“Dude, it’s a fan-written episode,” Stormy said, unzipping his wetsuit. “See, after Hesh got his twelve minutes of Mary Sue, fangirls wrote to the producers and explained that a real fan episode would need to cater to slashers…and they totally bought it!”

Quinn gazed, not sure if he was enchanted or disgusted by Stormy’s silky, luxuriant chest hair. “Why does that mean everyone’s now gay and always has been?” he asked.

“Because heterosexuality’s boring,” Stormy said, uncovering his magnificent penis. Quinn gaped in jealousy. His own manhood quivered — or was it paled? — in comparison. “After all, who wants to have sex with an icky girl?

“Have any of these people had heterosexual sex?” Quinn asked, his mouth dry as he watched Stormy take his thick cock in his own hand. “Because I’m telling you people, it doesn’t suck all that much.”

“Come on, man — you can’t deny the prison sex,” Stormy said, offering his member to Quinn wantonly. “Everyone’s doing it, dude. Even the Debbies.”

“Really?” Quinn asked, imagining the Debbies naked and touching. “Fine. Let’s get this over with. If anyone asks, I was thinking about the Debbies.”

“Whatever turns you on, baby,” Stormy said, grinning like an idiot as he started fumbling with Quinn’s wetsuit ineptly.

“Damn, fangirls suck,” Quinn growled.


3. Amor Vincit Omnia (That 70s Show, Fez/Kelso)

“I never thought this day would come,” Jackie said, eyes dewy as she clutched Hyde’s sleeve. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

“Jackie, it’s a wedding rehearsal,” Hyde said, looking around the overdecorated church with visible disgust. “Also, it looks like the inside of a cupcake.”

“Well, Fez did the decorating,” Jackie said, shrugging. “What did you expect, Queer Eye for the Straight Guy?”

Hyde rolled his eyes. “Jackie, how many grooms do you see up there?” he asked.

Jackie snorted. “Um? Two,” she said. “Why do you care if there are two grooms? Michael and Fez are your best friends! I thought you were totally down with their gay wedding.”

“I am. I’m just pointing out that the decorator most definitely had a queer eye,” Hyde said, sitting down behind the minister, who was staring at Kelso as though he had horns. “What’s the problem, man?”

Kelso smiled. “No problem, man!” he said. “Father Bob here is just having a hard time accepting my vows to Fez.”

“Quoting Ben Affleck’s gay wedding speech is not a vow, Michael!” Fez snapped, smacking him on the shoulder.

“But it’s beautiful, man,” Kelso said, looking down at a pad of paper. “Your love has opened up so many parts of my heart that I did not know existed…especially the queer parts. There are so many things that you are wicked good at…”

“Oh, you lovable galoot,” said Fez, shaking his head. “But no. Those vows are for Ben and Matt and their pure, true love alone. Good day to them!”

“But Fez…” Kelso said, looking up at his groom-to-be with beseeching, pretty eyes.

“I said good day!” Fez said. “Now kiss me, you beautiful thing, and let’s try again.”


4. H-E-L-L (Angel, Wes/Gunn)

“Okay, so Wes?” Gunn asked, lying against the diving board on a hot Mexican day. “Tell me if I’m wrong about any of this.”

“Of course,” Wesley said, on his back against the other diving board. “I always do.”

“So we’re dead, in hell, and your ex-girlfriend’s running the joint,” Gunn began, licking his thumb to slick the head of his cock.

“Running in a covert operation to overthrow Wolfram and Hart,” Wesley corrected pedantically, lackadaisically jerking himself off as he gazed sunward.

“Whatever, and her idea of a good time is to make us redo movies because she needs an undead bitch chuckle or six and wants to get one last good snap on Angel,” Gunn continued, the ache starting to build in his balls.

“Sounds about right,” Wesley agreed, his hips straining upward.

Gunn grunted, taking a moment to finish and come because now was most definitely the — “Hell yes!” — time. He gave Wes a few more seconds to follow, and the quick gasp and the cry of, “Ay, mamaciiiiita!” let him know English was finally done.

“Well, if she’s going to make us do Y Tu Mama Tambien for a week straight, when, oh when, is the bitch going to let us have that threesome?” Gunn asked. “Because I’m ready, willing, and able to fuck you, man.”

Wesley sighed. “I suspect the truth is Lilah’s tried to fit in the time to play along and not found it,” he said. “This is Hell, after all. Threesomes might be quite out of the question.”

“Crazy damn ex-girlfriends,” Gunn said. “I swear to Jesus, we should have just stayed together.”

Wesley shrugged, rolled off the diving board, stretched. “On a scale of 1 to 10, I think the eternal torture of taking a beautiful roadtrip together and not getting to fuck rates a minus five,” he pointed out. “But I’ll remind the lady in question we’ve been very good.”

“Damn straight,” Gunn said. “By the way? I’m driving this time, charolastra.”


5. The Unkindest Cut (Pop, Trickyfish)

“Dude, what the HELL was that about?” Lance asked Chris after Joey and Justin got into a heated fight about the pros and cons of circumcision. “Since when did Joey and Justin fight about fucking chopping bits of their dick off on the tour bus? And where the hell did Joey come up with all that religious and medical stuff out of nowhere?”

Chris shook his head and tried to settle back into the novel he was reading. “Let it go, man,” he said. “They finally shut up, and that should be enough.”

“Yeah, I know…” Lance said, trailing off. “So…are you cut?”

Gaping, Chris found himself without a ready comeback. “The fuck?” he finally asked. “What kind of a question is that, Lance?”

“A short and simple one,” Lance said. “Are you cut?”

“Again, I have no words, Bass,” Chris said, shaking his head. “Would you like me to whip it out for you?”

Lance, being Lance and utterly cool in bizarre-ass situations like this, shrugged. “If you want,” he said. “It’s mostly an idle curiosity.”

“You wondering what my cock looks like is an *idle curiosity*?” Chris asked. “Shit, I’d hate to see what a burning desire looks like on you, bro.”

Okay, so that was a lie. So mostly he was flabbergasted because the thought of Lance wondering what Chris’s dick looked like turned him on. As did the thoughts branching out from that thought, like Lance examining his dick for more than just its foreskin or lack thereof.

“I’ve been told it’s not that much different,” said Lance, giving him a toothy smile. “So? You gonna tell me, or do I have to show you mine before you show me yours?”

Chris considered this, his usual sense of humor reasserting itself. “Hey, do you think this how Bowie and Jagger ended up fucking? Possibly without the circumcision debate?”

“And with a lot more booze,” Lance said archly. “So…you Jagger, me Bowie?”

Chris laughed. “Fuck you, Lance,” he said, leaning back and picking up his book. “Lou Reed.”

Lance laughed, leaned back, and gave Chris a good shot of the boner he was sporting. “Niiiiiiice.”



6. Sexual Chocolate (Chappelle’s Show, Silky Johnston/Buck Nasty)

Silky Johnston’s boudoir was resplendent. No, it was blinding and dazzling. Champagne was perennially chilling in a tub of dry ice that smoked and oozed; the disco ball shone multicolored light on the six lava lamps and the beaded curtain next to the Brother Malcolm poster. The rug? One hundred percent genuine bear fur. The fire? Not so much.

“What kind of broke-ass fire is that shit?” Buck Nasty asked, pointing to the television. “You set the mood with a fire on the tv?”

Silky adjusted his toothpick. “Buck Nasty, I see you’re as ignorant of fire code as you are basic hygiene,” he said. “I cannot have a fireplace in my apartment, so I set the ambience with substitutions.”

Buck Nasty snickered. “You mean like using Viagra cuz you can’t provide a natural erection?” he asked, looking around as if he expected the rest of the posse to laugh with him.

“I wouldn’t know about that. Why don’t you ask your last boyfriend, Bob Dole?” Silky retorted, rummaging through his drawer of supplies. His satin robe left very little to the imagination.

“Silky, your dick’s so small they have to find it with…” Buck Nasty paused. “One of them electron microscopes!”

Silky Johnston pulled himself up and sneered. “Is that what your mama told you when she put you to bed?” he asked. “Because I’m not sure that tells you more about me or your mama…”

Buck Nasty looked momentarily insulted. “Man, I thought we weren’t gonna talk about my mama,” he said. “Come on, if we’re going to have the forbidden butt sex, I want my mother left 100% out of it.”

“Fair enough,” Silky agreed. “Now, what do you think the chances are that the so-called Beautiful snuck into my boudoir and poked holes in all my condoms with his comb?”

“That’s hateful, man,” Buck Nasty said. “However, because Beautiful’s so homophobic that he can’t touch himself cuz he’s afraid of being turned on by a penis, he didn’t realize you might have relations with another man and told me all about it. Hence–” and Buck Nasty pulled the condoms out of his wallet. “I’m prepared.”


7. The Letter (Star Trek: DS9, Bashir/O’Brien)

Molly O’Brien found them two weeks after her father’s funeral. Twenty-six PADDs, neatly stowed in a trunk that had always belonged to her father and that Molly had never thought to disturb.

She had been going through his possessions for her mother, who was reluctant to even look at them yet, but announced that it had to be done. Molly and Yoshi had agreed to divide up duties, and Molly had ended up going through her father’s room while Yoshi served tea to the latest set of well-meaning mourners who made Keiko’s teeth grind.

After taking a moment to set them aside from the rest of the mess, some of which would be given away to today’s mourners, Molly picked up one of the tablets and started reading.

Miles, old man, you must take better care of yourself. If not for you, or Keiko, or the children, for me. You’ve promised that we’ll have a night to ourselves on your next visit out, and I intend to take full advantage of that…

Molly dropped the PADD like it was hot. Very gingerly, she started scrolling through the stored files. 52 documents, and every last one of them was a letter from Uncle Julian to her father.

It became very obvious three or four letters in that they were love letters. Not in the usual way, but the tone, the teasing, they reminded her of the letters her girlfriend wrote during the years she was assigned to the Klingon border. Somehow longing, and very confident in knowing the longing was returned.

Had her father and Uncle Julian…her parents’ marriage had always been tempestuous, but Miles O’Brien was not an adulterer. He wouldn’t cheat on Keiko, and Molly knew that as well as she knew herself.

But the letters were still there, and as Molly (who discreetly spirited them all home to her own apartment) kept reading, there was no doubt in her mind that to call it anything less than love was wrong. If she pretended it wasn’t her father, good ol’ honest, stubborn Chief O’Brien, with more integrity than half of Starfleet, she was even touched by how clearly loving the relationship had been.

Molly, however, was also cursed with her parents’ tempers, and so the first words out of her mouth when she saw Uncle Julian were, “How could you do that to Mom? And Aunt Ezri?”

“You found the letters,” said Uncle Julian, debonair and caring as ever. “And you think your father and I betrayed everyone.”

“I did,” Molly said icily. “I do.”

Uncle Julian’s eyes hardened. “I can’t force you to feel differently, of course,” he said quietly. “But consider this. You have twenty-five years of letters between two people who loved each other wholly, but who put their responsibilities and feelings for others before that. You had your father; I didn’t. All I had were those letters.”

He nodded politely, and walked over to Keiko, true sympathy in every line of his face. Molly wasn’t sure if she wanted to cry or scream.

It took two years before she wrote her own letter to Uncle Julian. Very simple, but Molly thought perhaps it would make him smile nonetheless.

Thank you, she wrote. For giving me my father back. Twice.


8. …and the Lash (Pirates of the Caribbean, Sparrow/Norrington)

Sea air really was quite refreshing, Norrington decided, walking the deck of his ship with an all-too-expressive grin on his face. If the watch saw him in this state, they’d be certain he was somehow mad.

Perhaps he was mad, but the memory of Jack Sparrow’s black eyes gazing up as his mouth bobbed up and down, tongue swirling in some technique the privateer swore was taught to him in the East Indies by a sensual mystic named Ashara was distracting. James still had one or two splinters underneath his fingernails from his grip on the wood as Sparrow’s tricky thieving fingers had gripped him roughly, causing him to spend heavily and groan his pleasure at such expert ministrations.

“Now there,” said Jack, rising to his feet and favoring James with a telling smirk, “Was a professional answer to lascivious overtures, Commodore. Young Turner had no idea what to answer when I thus propositioned him.”

Norrington had snorted at that. “You couldn’t have been serious. As if the whelp had the least idea of how to handle it. He’d turn tail and have Elizabeth deliver a blistering tirade on the vice of sodomy,” he said, eyeing Jack speculatively.

“Quite probably, but with that mouth, how could I resist the question?” Jack replied, putting himself well within Norrington’s grasp. “He’s very pretty.”

“Useless, but pretty,” Norrington agreed, turning his attentions to Sparrow. “Shall we continue?”

“It would be gentlemanly of you,” Sparrow said, his breath hot in Norrington’s face. “And I’ve always heard tell of the fabled skills of the Royal Navy.”

“I promise you, Mr. Sparrow,” and Norrington had gazed pointedly at the empty bottle of rum the man had drained without batting an eyelash, “A good naval officer makes certain his skills aren’t fable.”

As he paced the deck, looking at the sparkle of stars against the sea and sky, James realized he could get quite used to proving his skills, both naval and otherwise, on Jack Sparrow, and that the dog wouldn’t mind a bit.

Humming an old sea chantey, there was most certainly a spring in his step as he forgot all about it being Elizabeth and Will’s wedding day. He’d found something much more promising.


9. Companionable (David Eddings, Berit/Khalad)

“Did your father teach you to do that, too?” Berit asked, the young man’s eyes rather wide as he regarded Khalad. “That was rather singular.”

Khalad’s eyes twinkled as he finished hitching up his sturdy peasant’s hose and went back to check on the fire. “Sparhawk would have disapproved intensely. As would my mothers,” he pointed out.

“I didn’t mean…you’re making fun of me again,” the young knight said, a flush rising in his cheeks. “Sparhawk would disapprove, though, wouldn’t he?”

Over the glow of the fire, Khalad’s smile looked rather ghoulish. “It wouldn’t occur to him that it’s something men like us do,” he said. “Boy-loving is something slightly more refined. Never mind that Ulath and Tynian…”

Berit gaped. “Ulath? And Tynian? You must be joking,” he said. “I imagine nobody told Bevier.”

Khalad’s laughter rang over the fire and its rise of evil smoke. “If they had, I imagine Bevier would still be on his knees somewhere, praying for our souls and his,” he pointed out. “Some things, you don’t share with your friends until they’re ready to know it.”

Berit put his hand gratefully on Khalad’s shoulder. “I understand, friend Khalad,” he said. “Though I admit, this sharing has solved the problem of how cold it gets in the tent at nights.”

Khalad clouted Berit on the back heartily. “See, Sir Knight?” he said with a grin. “You’re learning the value of practicality very quickly. There may be some use for you yet.”

Berit took the opportunity to pull the solid squire into his arms. “You’re an inventive fellow,” he growled. “Find a few right now.”


10. Rattling His Chain (Alias, Sark/Vaughn)

“It’s not one of your strong points, is it?” Sark hisses into Vaughn’s ear as he pushes inside of him, the pained groan from the man underneath him sending a champagne-thrill down Sark’s spine. “You’re a boy, Mr. Vaughn. A boy reaching for the moon instead of appreciating what you have.”

He thrusts deeper, and Vaughn hisses. “And you take it upon yourself….ahhh…to appreciate for me?” he asks, his wrists aching in the cuffs.

A quick sharp blow on the side of his leg. “You’ll be punished for that later,” Sark reminds him. “This is what you need, remember? Penitence.”

His lungs feel flattened against the thinly-padded examining table Sark has him splayed against. Vaughn wants to fight back, to attack this son of a bitch until he bleeds, but that’s not the point.

He fails and keeps failing. Alice, Sydney, even Lauren. And now his traitor dick is half-hard with Sark in him balls-deep, those hands of his lustily marking Vaughn as his own. He deserves to be punished, to be bent forward and aching for release while this former pretty boy lazily thrusts in and out.

“God!” Vaughn hisses as Sark drives in deeper, one hand reaching around to pull at a nipple. “That hurts!”

“It doesn’t hurt me, Mr. Vaughn,” Sark says smoothly. “You’re much more responsive than your ex-wife. She needed an adrenaline rush to get wet, and each time it took a little more, until she would have to contort herself to get off.”

The chains attached to Vaughn’s cuff rattle emptily. With a pleased grunt, Sark finishes, biting down hard on his shoulder, leaving that ache in Vaughn’s balls.

“I’ll send someone in to clean you up,” Sark says, giving him a kiss on the back of the head. “Next week, if you’re better, I might let you come.”

Vaughn sags against the table as the door clicks closed, fight gone out of him. Even in this, he’s failed.


11. Obsession for Double Agents (X-Files, Mulder/Krycek)

What’s love to an assassin?

What of obsession? The burning need to follow someone beyond the parameters of the assignment, to know him better than he knows himself?

When Alex smells a certain aftershave, slightly woodsy, the bright burn of alcohol just underneath, he thinks of Fox Mulder. The smell of coffee, an overtaxed coffee machine, air that hasn’t seen the outside world for at least five years…all of these things make him think of his target.

And lord help him when he sees a guy in a Speedo, because Alex Krycek is sporting wood within thirty seconds, thinking of how deeply inappropriate it was for Mulder to wear a bright red one in a pool. Ever. Unless he was going to pull himself up, dripping wet, to pull an equally wet lover into his arms and fasten that orally-fixated mouth against his…

The smoking bastard has warned him about getting too interested in Mulder. There are larger things going on than one agent and his relentless pursuit of the truth, and Alex recognizes this.

He also recognizes that Mulder reeks of obsession, and if you breathe in too deeply around him, you pick up his disease.

So it doesn’t bother him that he’s jerking his own cock with an old t-shirt of Mulder’s close by. That he’s imagining Mulder’s thumb swirling over its head. That the smell of his own come and Mulder’s sweat are permeating the air.

He’s infected. Who could blame him?


12. A Very Special Announcement (South Park, None)

Stan looked at the crowd about to rip Mr. Garrison, Mr. Slave, Big Gay Al, and Cartman to shreds. While it was really tempting to wait until Cartman got the beat-down he deserved, this was wrong. He knew it was wrong.

“You guys!” he yelled from the platform. “You have to stop this craziness!”

“But these men are demeaning what it means to be married!” one of the crowd yelled.

“Marriage is a sacred institution between a man and a woman!” someone else yelled. “They’re weakening that with their anti-family demands!”

“Yeah!” the crowd shouted.

Stan shook his head. “Dudes, you’ve totally been taken in by propaganda,” he said. “Marriage wasn’t even a sacrament until the 1400s, and that was so the corrupt fucking Catholic Church could get more political control. I mean, even a hundred years ago, marriage wasn’t about love. It was about getting a bunch of property and making deals. Sure, it’s a new thing that gay people want to get married, but new ideas aren’t always bad ones. Besides, unless they’re making you into their gay wife, what the fuck do you care, dude? It’s not like they’re going to stop being gay if they can’t get married.”

“But it weakens the institution!” someone yelled. “It’s sacrilege!”

“Well,” and Stan paused. “Maybe it means the government shouldn’t be involved in marriage at all. Maybe if you want to hold the religious definition of marriage up, we should respect the First Amendment and give up all the tax benefits and legal rights of marriage. Besides, what the fuck does gay marriage have to do with tar and feathering these guys? Violence is no way to give your side a good name.”

The mob paused. “He’s right,” someone said. “We’re really not talking about the religious side of marriage, just the civil rights that are extended to married couples.”

“We’re sorry,” someone else said. “From now on, we’re going to focus on love in our own marriages and if gays want to settle down, more power to them!”

“HOORAY!” the mob cried, wandering off and leaving Stan, Kyle, and Cartman alone at the rally stage. Cartman, as usual, looked disgusted.

“Oh my God,” Cartman said, shaking his head. “You’re such a fucking queermo, dude.”

Kyle stared at him. “Dude, he just saved your life, fatass!” he said.

“I know that, but he’s still a queermo,” Cartman said. “Why don’t you two lovebirds get a room? I bet there’s a whole section of Assachussetts waiting for you two to tie the knot.”

Stan shook his head. “Screw you, Cartman. Next time a rampaging homophobic mob wants to kick your ass, I’m going to let them!”

“Fine,” Cartman said. “Screw you guys, I’m going home.”

And he did. Kyle snorted. “What a retard. You should have just let him die.”

“I know. Being ethical sucks, dude,” Stan said.


13. Sweetness Follows (Twin Peaks, Cooper/Truman)

She’s gone.

Josie’s gone, and she didn’t say goodbye (Coop’s mouth against yours, and it’s bittersweet, like the coffee he loves so much, and just a hint of cherry pie) and you’re lost.

Gone. (He’s got eyes as deep and dark as the woods at night, and when they look into you, it’s hard to see his soul.)

The boys at the station were sorry for your loss. Whole town knew that there was something fishy about Josie Packard, but they don’t think you deserved to suffer.

(“I want to do this for you,” he said, unbuttoning each button of your shirt, kissing you almost like you were a woman. “Please, Harry.”)

You drove around for hours, wondering when the world came apart. And you wished, if only for a moment, that someone had pushed Laura Palmer back out into the river, carried her taint out of your lives forever.

(“It’s wrong.” “It’s only wrong if we make it wrong,” he said, and he always had that passion in him, that clean-burning truth and it’s washing over you like rain in summertime. “An act given in love can’t be wrong unless it’s received with a dark spirit.”)

When you came back, you stopped at the Double R. Norma was sitting there, eating one of the pieces of leftover pie. And when you sat next to her, she took one look at you and poured you a cup of coffee.

“Can’t help who you love, Harry,” she told you, and her smile was warm and sympathetic. “No matter how badly it turns out.”

(Arching up. Moaning, almost helpless. Need this. Want this. Coop…)

“Doesn’t make it hurt less when they go away,” you replied, digging into a slice of apple pie. “She’s gone, Norma.”

“I know, Harry,” she said. “You’ll just have to make it through with everyone who loves her. And you.”

(Was it enough? Was it an act of love? Can love save something that’s already rotten? “Maybe that’s what grace is, Harry. God loving us enough to see past the rotten parts.”)

She’s gone.