Gunner Doesn't Watch Gay Porn

Gunner sighed.

"I guess...maybe that's why I can never keep a boyfriend," he mumbled.

"I'd like to keep you," he teased, running his hand over Gunner's lower back. "Is that okay?"

Gunner squirmed, biting his lip.

"So, uh, I don't have work tomorrow," he spat it out and he wasn't even sure why.

"You wanna come home with me?" he asked eagerly. "I always make breakfast. And sometimes lunch, if you're that hungover."

Gunner had expected that reaction. And now it was impossible to say no.

"S-sure," he smiled, downing the last of his whiskey. "Why don't we just go now?"

Suddenly, he just wanted to get it over with.

"You're not having fun?" he asked, slowly withdrawing his hand.

"Huh?" Gunner froze. "What? No, that's...not what I meant, I mean, I don't like...drinking in public, really. Or really...bars."

"Oh," he said, smiling again. "That's fine then--we can go someplace more quiet, if you want."

Gunner was relieved. He wasn't a fan of bars, when he knew he was going home alone. It made him feel more depressed.

"So...your place?" he asked sheepishly.

"Um, sure, if you want," he said, smiling. "My place is kind of small, though, I hope that's okay."

"Mine's...not much bigger, I wouldn't think," he admitted. "The barn is bigger than my house."

It wasn't a joke.

He chuckled.

"Really? Well, that'll be fine, then. Did you drive here?"

"Yeah, I did," he replied. "That, uh, beat up old red truck is mine."

"Well, you can follow my car to my house? It's not that far, it's only a few minutes from here."

Gunner smiled, but it still looked forced.

"...okay."

"I promise, you can just go home afterward--all I want is your company and conversation for maybe another hour or so. Is that okay?" He squeezed Gunner's hand again; it was calloused, but warm. He wouldn't mind having hands like that touching hiim all over, but he chose to keep the thought to himself. Gunner seemed nervous.

He drained his martini in one gulp and stood up, ignoring the burn. "Let's go," he said, leading Gunner outside.

-x-

Duncan's house wasn't cramped; rather, it was cozy. There wasn't a couch, and the kitchen table barely held place settings for two, but the furniture he had was well cared for and there were decorative touches strewn about, paintings on the walls and embroidered pillows on the armchairs.

He hung up his jacket on the coat rack and held his hand out for Gunner's.

"Make yourself at home."

"It's...nice," Gunner said, primarily to himself. His house was much, much less lived in than this. Suddenly, he felt a bit embarrassed at the sorry state of his own house. He decided that it was probably best if Duncan never saw his house. It wasn't particularly nice. At all.

"You like to...uhm, sew?" he asked, trying his best to make conversation. He was no good at this sort of thing.

"Hmm? Oh, no, not really," he admitted, chuckling nervously. "Maggie tried to teach me how to patch clothes, but I'm still pretty bad at it...I'm better at interior decorating, though. Picked those out from Bed Bath & Beyond--so I guess I won't be an awful wife someday, huh? Please, sit down where you like."

He hurried to the kitchen and poured himself a glass of water. He was in his own house, but he had butterflies; he really liked Gunner.

"Do you want anything to drink, or maybe something to eat?" he asked.

Gunner awkwardly sat down in a chair. It wasn't often he went to someone else's house, and with how nicely it looked, he felt even more awkward.

"No, I'm...fine," he fiddled with his hat. "Well...do you have any beer?"

"Yes," he replied witth relief, grabbing a bottle from the fridge. "Is Heineken good? That's what everyone at work drinks, so it's just kind of a habit."

He handed Gunner the bottle, letting their fingers brush against each other, and sat down on the chair next to him. 'So, what do you want to talk about? Or should I ask the questions?"

Gunner felt his heart pound, and he swallowed roughly. "Uhm...you ask, please."

Maybe answering some basic questions would put him at ease. He hoped.

"So, you're a policeman? Do you like your job? I'm guessing it's probably more exciting than being a vet." He grabbed Gunner's hand and entwined their fingers. "Tell me, what's it like?"

"It's..." Gunner could only think about Jake. "...difficult. Not much happens in town, other than...that rowdy group of hooligans who wear the makeup."

Gunner shrugged.

"I have a lot of time off because my hands don't work too good."

"Oh, really? So I guess you spend most of your time horse-riding, huh?"

He nodded.

"Lucy is my third or fourth horse...haven't had much luck with horses. Most of the time I get 'em when they're old 'cause people want them to take it easy near the end of their life. So, I usually just ride them instead of makin' 'em pull carriages or nothin'. But...Lucy's not been doin' well, neither. Kinda gets me worried."

He frowned deeply.

"...Lucy started gettin' sick...same time as Maggie."