More than anything, over the years, they've figured out how to make do. What they have here, it works because every shank does his part, steps up when he's needed. They support each other. They don't let each other down. Later, Newt will have a hard time convincing Tommy that Gally wasn't always how he was by the end - once anger and frustration and helplessness had eaten him hollow. Later, he'll have a hard time convincing Tommy of anything but, then again, Tommy never knew Gally like the rest of them did. He never had the chance.
They don't call Newt 'the Glue' for nothing.
They've been lying side by side for long enough that breathing has slowed, sweat started to cool. Newt rolls onto his side and presses a kiss against Alby's jaw. The heel of his hand grazes against Alby's bare chest, over his heartbeat. Alby's smile in the dark is bold and resilient and alive.
"Not staying, Newt?" He asks.
Newt shakes his head.
"Not tonight," he says. "I'll be back, though."
Alby nods, and closes his eyes.
"You took your time, shank."
They carve out little corners of privacy for themselves. Gally sits sprawled around the back of the kitchens, a cup of liquor resting against his knee. There's a familiar set to his jaw, a tension that Newt has learned to recognise over the years. The three of them arrived close together. Alby, Newt, Gally. He knows them just as well as he knows himself. He knows both of them well enough that, sometimes, it feels like magic. Like reading minds.
"Yeah, well," he says, tugging his shirt over his head and dropping it on the floor. That's one of the rules here - that no matter where they do it, he ends up naked, while Gally almost never does. Newt doesn't mind; they've never been caught. Not yet, anyway. "I'm bloody well here now, aren't I?"
He'd spent most of the day chopping tree stumps and there's a pleasant ache across his shoulders, a push-and-pull in the muscles of his back. He stretches both arms up over his head and watches as Gally knocks back the rest of his drink and stands up. Looking at him, Newt has a vivid sense memory of the last time they did this, of dropping to his knees in daylight under trees and sliding his mouth down over Gally's cock.
Sometimes, there are just things that Gally needs to work out of his system. His impulse has always been to use his fists but, over the years, they've figured out other ways. Newt steps up when needed.
Gally closes the distance between them but it's Newt who leans in, fingers curling around the back of Gally's neck to draw him down for a kiss. Gally's taller than him, broader. Newt shivers, just a little, when he feels the edges of Gally's teeth in the kiss.
"I'm here now," he says again. "So why don't you calm down, and tell me what you need?"
"Stop shucking talking, Newt," growls Gally, pushing him back a step towards the wall. "Don't need to hear you talk."
Gally's hands are on his ribs, his hips, pushing down under his waistband and shoving down his trousers, his underwear together, so they end up tangled around his thighs, just under his cock as he sinks down onto his knees. He opens Gally's trousers, glances up as his cock springs free.
"Don't make me come," warns Gally, chest puffed slightly as he curls his fingers around himself, smudges the slick head of his cock against Newt's bottom lip. Newt opens his mouth easily and slides it down over the first few inches, his cheeks hollowing as he starts to suck. Gally doesn't go easily on him. He pushes his fingers into the thick hair at the back of Newt's head and pushes his mouth down until the tip of his nose is buried in the hair at the base of Gally's cock. Newt feels his gag reflex starts to flutter but he holds on for as long as he can before he digs Gally in the thigh with the heel of his hand. There's another second or two of pressure before Gally's hand relaxes and Newt can pull back a little. The whole thing is a little sloppy, Newt's mouth making obscene, filthy noises as Gally fucks him. Newt's own cock twitches, naked in the air. He came less than half an hour ago but, apparently, this is something else he craves.
When Gally finally pulls out altogether, Newt is a little breathless, a little flushed. Aching hard. He knows better than to touch his own cock.
"Ready for the rest, shuckface?" asks Gally, but he's grinning and Newt knows him well enough to spot the affection in his eyes. Newt gets to his feet shakily and pushes his trousers the rest of the way off, so he's naked in front of Gally as Gally looks at him, as Gally strokes his own cock. It's not the first time like this. They've been this way enough to know this part by heart. Sex, Newt realises, is different things to different people. With him and Alby, it's a ladder to climb out of whatever misery has gripped him. With Gally, he thinks it's about owning something, for a few minutes at a time.
And Newt gets it. He does.
They have so little here that's really theirs.
Here, Gally takes his time. He works Newt's arse open with slick fingers until Newt's breath is sobbing in his chest, until he can't stay still against the wall. He threads his fingers together against the wall, over his head. He bites his lip and waits.
"Ready?" he says.
Gally's cock is different from Alby's - shorter in length, a little thicker. Newt feels every single inch as it slides into his arse. He bites his lip to keep from yelping, bends his head to rest against the wall as Gally starts to fuck him properly, thrust into him with enough force to rock him forward onto his toes. One of Gally's hands is hard on his hip, holding him in place, but the other comes up, fingertips smudging across Newt's lips until he opens his mouth, until he lets him in. Gally's fingers in his mouth mean that Newt can't bite back moans, that they come out muffled, probably too loud, that they spill out of him beyond his ability to control himself. He blushes, drops his head, rocks his hips back to meet the slide of Gally's cock on every thrust. In the morning, he knows, there'll be bruises, fingertip bruises, little circles on his wrists and his hips. He won't bother trying to hide them from Alby because he doesn't have to. Because that is not what this is about.
He squeezes his eyes shut and sucks on Gally's fingers, moans as he's fucked.
Right at the last second, when Newt can already feel his cock starting to twitch, Gally pulls out. For a moment, the sound of skin on skin is unbelievably loud and then Gally comes, hot and thick, across Newt's arse and the small of his back. Newt groans around Gally's fingers, which are still in his mouth, heavy and possessive against his tongue.
Gally slaps his arse, then. Newt's breath sobs out.
"C'mon, Newt," says Gally, and Newt can feel the pleasant exhaustion in his voice. He can almost hear him smile. "Finish yourself off. I want to watch."
Newt does as he's told. He curls his fingers around his cock and he strokes and he strokes until he comes, whimpering thanks around Gally's fingers, pushing back into the press of Gally's body against his back. His arse stings. He body trembles and aches. It's shucking beautiful.
Sometimes Gally makes him lick his mess up, but tonight isn't going to be one of those nights. He takes Newt by the shoulder and spins him around, presses a brief, hard kiss to his mouth.
"Thanks Newt," he says.
"No problem, shank," he says.
Alby is still sleeping when he slips into bed, his skin still damp from being washed. Newt curls up against his back, presses a kiss against his bare shoulder. Alby reaches with one hand and squeezes Newt's hip which is just sore but not yet bruised.
"You're back," says Alby, and Newt can feel the smile.
"Of course I am," says Newt, because of course he is. Because, no matter where else he might go, in the end, this? This is where he needs to be.