Work Text:
"You got what for Walt's birthday?" Bruce asked him with an absolutely horrified look on his face.
"Movie tickets," Johnny said again. "Brokeback Mountain. The late night showing."
"Jesus." Bruce put his shaking head in his hands.
"Walt likes Westerns!" Johnny defended his choice. Of course, he thought, if there wasn't at least one explosion per minute, it was just so beneath Mr. Lewis' sophisticated cinematic taste. But now his friend really was overdoing it a bit.
"Are you sure Walt likes that kind of Western?" Bruce inquired.
"What do you mean that kind of Western?" There were different kinds now?
Bruce sighed. "You ever do anything on the internet besides looking for conspiracies?"
"Uh-"
"I figured. You don't even know what the movie is about."
"Sure I know," protested Johnny. Okay, he didn't really. All he knew was that Walt had a thing for cowboys, so what the hell? This movie night was just an emergency plan anyway. He totally would have forgotten Walt's birthday, if Sarah hadn't called him in the morning and whined about not being able to celebrate properly because of Walt having to work the better part of the weekend, JJ being at hockey camp, and her father needing her attention at the residential home. He had had to come up with something quickly and the movie theater flyer had been on the coffee table.
"Oh yeah?" Bruce gave him a challenging look.
"It's about cowboys," Johnny shrugged. "Camping in the mountains. Herding sheep. Fighting over women. Doing manly stuff."
"Manly-" Bruce gaped at him. "Indeed. But no fighting over women, I'm afraid."
"No?" Well, they had enough of that in real life anyway, so they could probably do without, thought Johnny.
"Nope." At this point Bruce had gotten up from his chair and playfully slapped Johnny upside the head. "It's the gay movie of the year, you doofus. Everybody and their aunt is talking about it."
"Gay?" That didn't make any sense.
"R-rated gay, even."
"You mean they ..." Johnny started hesitantly.
"... fuck each other in the ass. Without lube," Bruce finished laconically.
"You've got to be shitting me." Johnny stared at his friend incredulously, but Bruce said nothing and just folded his arms ostentatiously.
"Oh." Johnny's mind was reeling.
"Yeah."
"That's ..."
"Yeah."
"You think ..."
"What?"
That the sheriff could take that the wrong way maybe? Johnny thought and cursed. His relationship with Walt was weird enough as it was. He still had the feeling of constantly treading on eggshells around him. Sure they were friends now. Kind of. Had a son in common, after all. Well, and Sarah, but they didn't talk about that. There really was absolutely no need for more awkwardness between them, just because he was plain stupid.
"Any ideas?" Johnny asked his friend.
"You're the psychic," Bruce reminded him and squeezed his right shoulder pointedly. "Good luck," he said and turned towards the front door.
"Good luck? Where are you going? You need to help me out here!" Johnny protested.
"Sorry man, but I have a date," Bruce gloated.
"A date? You never have a date," objected Johnny, making Bruce glare at him.
"I think you're confusing me with yourself, my friend."
"Come on. You can't let me down like that," Johnny tried with some whining.
"Bye-bye," Bruce turned away with a wave.
* * *
Four hours later, at exactly half-past nine, the doorbell rang and Johnny still had no clue how to get out of this mess. On the plus side, he hadn't had a vision of Walt backing away from him slowly or punching him in the face yet. Maybe he was freaking out about nothing. It wasn't like Walt was some kind of rampant homophobe. Sarah sure wouldn't have married a rampant homophobe, right?
But Walt was ... well, Walt. All-American good old boy. Likes baseball, the outdoors, weapons, and his job in law enforcement. Usually this didn't seem to mix well with gay cowboys, so Johnny still had a queasy feeling about it all, and for once it wasn't in his brain but rather in his stomach.
"Hey John, you ready?" Walt asked, smiling when he opened the door.
Johnny knew that smile could not only melt his ex-fiancée's heart but also those of hardened criminals and he sure didn't want to take a chance with the bad-cop alternative. "Not quite," he answered. "I heard the movie isn't all that good, so I was thinking, maybe you would want to do something else?"
"Hell no, I've been looking forward to a theater evening all day," Walt reaffirmed. "Come on. I'm sure it'll be fun."
"Really? You probably had a hard day at work, and Saturday nights are always crowded and rather nuts. We could just stay here and watch something on DVD. I have the new Harry Potter flick," Johnny tried once more.
"Harry Potter?" Walt asked emphatically, looking at him in disbelief.
"Yeah, um, I got it for JJ." Johnny tried to backpedal, but it didn't look like Walt was buying it. He just frowned at him piercingly.
"I'm getting my jacket," Johnny gave up.
"Good."
Johnny got his jacket from the coat rack and hurried out the door after Walt, who was walking towards his car. "Harry Potter," Walt muttered again while getting into the driver's seat and glanced at him with a crushing mixture of bafflement and pity. Johnny decided he'd better keep his mouth shut during the drive.
They were early at the theater and had enough time to explore its kiosks before entry. Walt's eyes lit up like a Christmas tree at the sight of super-sized popcorn and Coke, so Johnny bought them a generous portion of each. When they finally took their seats he had a short vision of the usher cursing at the mess they would leave behind, which made him feel slightly guilty. Walt had made himself comfortable by putting the popcorn bucket between his legs and their Cokes between their seats.
Ten minutes into the movie Johnny thought maybe Bruce was onto something with the explosions, because that was some boring shit right there. But not so much with the gay so far, thankfully. Just two not very talkative cowboys and some even less talkative sheep in front of some beautiful scenery. Maybe right up Walt's alley. He seemed to be captivated enough.
Suddenly the mountain idyll was disrupted by an annoying ring tone and it took Johnny some time to recognise that it was his own cell phone that was the offender. Embarrassed, he fumbled for the on-off switch of the thing, muttering a "Sorry" at the rest of the audience's piercing looks in his direction. When he put the phone back into his pocket his knee bumped into Walt's and ...
... suddenly there is Arnie on the big screen instead of the sheep, threatening "to be back" and a dark-haired girl's neon-pink-polished hand (that matches quite stunningly her oversized ear clips) is creeping ever so slowly up teenage Walt's thigh.
Walt is not looking all that happy about it and tries to focus his attention back on the movie, but he is also distracted by Jeremy, who sits further to his right and makes obscene gestures in his direction. Allison snuggled up against Jeremy, is rolling her eyes at her boyfriend's antics.
Between them sits Frankie, the proverbial fifth wheel, his baseball cap tugged deep down almost over his eyes, signalling with his whole posture that he would rather be anywhere but there...
"Um, John?" Walt's curious voice snapped Johnny out of the vision, only to find his hand at the very place rather far up Walt's thigh that the dark-haired girl's had proceeded to. He removed it as quickly as one would from a stovetop and it was almost burning like that as well.
Walt seemed rather unfazed though. He just looked at Johnny as if waiting for something, but then he was used to Johnny's weird trips into the Dead Zone by now. Johnny shook his head to indicate it was nothing and Walt turned his attention back to the movie. Sometimes Johnny had the unsettling feeling, that Walt had developed a better understanding of his visions than he had over the last years. Maybe it was his investigator gene or something, but anyway, the sheep were back on the screen. And the cowboys continued to not talk all that much with each other. And then ...
There was fucking in the ass. Without lube.
"Wow." Walt commented silently, frowning at the screen.
Say something Smith, thought Johnny. "I-I guess John Wayne and Randolph Scott never did anything like that, huh?" he asked under his breath.
"No." That seemed all that Walt had to say, but then he added: "Well not on screen at least."
Yeah, thought Johnny. Wait. What?
"Did you know that Randolph Scott was gay?" Walt asked turning towards him.
"Huh?" No, Johnny had no idea.
"Yeah. And John Wayne was maybe just a classic case of a guy that doth protest too much, so who knows ..." Walt mumbled ominously and gave Johnny a big grin and a conspiratory shove with his elbow and ...
... he's in Walt's room, where Walt is lying on the bed getting pleasured in a pretty obvious way, judging from his moaning, the motions under the blanket and some dark hair peeking out from it.
Suddenly Jeremy is storming into the room, rambling something about the Portland Tigers kicking ass, but then he stops dead at the scene in front of him. "Oh ... oh sorry man, didn't know you were uh ... busy."
"Never heard of knocking, asshole?" Walt yells, frantically trying to cover up as well as possible, drawing the blanket up to his nose.
"She's a bit shy, huh?" Jeremy is joking, trying to get a better look.
"Jeremy!" Walt protests and glares at his friend.
"Yeah, yeah. I'm outta here." Jeremy starts to retreat, but can't refrain from turning back once more saying "You go man," and giving Walt two thumbs up.
"Whoa." Slowly the rather disheveled head of Frankie comes up from under the blanket after he's gone. "That was close," he observes.
"Yeah." Walt is letting out a breath that he was apparently holding and his head falls back onto the pillows.
"At least this time it wasn't my mother," offers Frankie.
"Don't remind me," groans Walt, covering his eyes with one arm...
"Seen anything interesting?" Walt brought him back with a touch of his hand and a knowing smile that sent a shiver down Johnny's spine. He tried to say something but somehow nothing came out of his mouth, which probably made him look like a stupid stranded goldfish.
"What? You never experimented in your youth?" Walt asked innocently.
That sneaking little son of a bitch, Johnny thought, still left speechless.
"Not even during your punk phase?" Walt dug deeper.
"Oh. Shut up." Johnny finally got out, turning deliberately back towards the silver screen.
"Don't worry. You look kinda cute when you turn all pink in the face." Walt assured.
"Shut up. You can't tell that at all, it's dark in here," Johnny returned.
"Could you two take your lovers' quarrel maybe outside? There are people in here who actually want to watch the movie," a middle aged woman in the row in front of them turned around and hissed at them.
"Lovers' quarrel? We haven't even started yet," deadpanned Walt, provoking a rather threatening "Ssshhhh!" from further down their row. Johnny held his hands up appeasingly, and kicked Walt in the shin.
The rest of the movie was spent in well-behaved silence, but Walt's fingers brushed his own suspiciously often when he reached over for some popcorn, thought Johnny. No more visions though, thank God.
* * *
"Why is it always raining when I get out of the movies?" asked Walt, looking up at the dull night sky while he opened his umbrella. Typical Walt. Always prepared, thought Johnny, as he took shelter under it. "Because you live in Maine and the best movies always come out in autumn or winter?" he offered for an explanation.
Walt didn't respond to this but started: "Now that was..."
"... depressing," finished Johnny, as they headed for the parking lot.
"Sad really, really sad." Walt affirmed, rubbing at suspiciously red eyes.
"You were crying?"
"Nah. Must have gotten something into them."
"Yeah, me too," Johnny went with playing it down, but their beautiful macho-man moment was spoilt by two teenage girls waiting at the bus stop, who started to titter and giggle flamboyantly in their direction.
Walt seemed to find this quite funny for some reason, but it made Johnny feel rather uneasy. "Jeez. Are they even old enough for an R-rated movie?" he asked snidely.
"What? You want me to arrest them, or something?" Walt asked back jokingly, and Johnny had to admit that his reaction was a bit ridiculous.
"Good," said Walt, as Johnny glanced at him sheepishly. "I think I've got a better idea anyway." He stopped Johnny in his tracks by catching his right hand. Putting the umbrella halfway down to shield them from curious looks, he drew him closer and closer until their lips brushed, then linked, giving Johnny a strange sense of déjà vu.
After the kiss Johnny blinked and said: "Please, don't tell me you've dreamed about this ever since I set foot into your sheriff's office."
"Hell no," scoffed Walt, "that would be really pushing it. But for a while now." He was looking at Johnny contemplatively. "Although ..."
Although? Johnny was wondering as Walt leaned in. "Lately I have wondered, if I couldn't have spared myself a lot of grief, if I had just thrown you and your passive aggressive 'greet your family from me, will you?' over my desk and shown you who's the boss," Walt whispered into his ear.
Jesus Christ. The father of his son was not only kinda gay, he was into kinky talk too, Johnny thought. This was all a bit much to take in.
"Come on. I'll bring you home," said Walt matter-of-factly and they resumed their way to the car.
They had barely hit the road for Cleaves Mills when the police radio Walt had turned on to listen in reported a massive freeway pileup east of Bangor.
Walt groaned and gave Johnny a questioning look. "It's okay. Turn around. Maybe I can help," said Johnny, and Walt immediately put the siren on the roof. When they reached the scene of the accident there were already several cruisers, ambulances, and a fire truck there.
It turned out that Johnny couldn't provide much help in this case, because while his visions gave him some insight into how the accident had happened, there wasn't much follow-up on it. At least he managed to calm a young woman, who was in hysterics over her injured dog that had been thrown from the backseat into the windshield of her car, by promising her the poor thing would make it.
Walt let his deputies delegate the operation, but helped with securing the area, gathering particulars, and questioning eyewitnesses. There were thankfully not any fatalities but quite a few lightly- and heavily injured persons involved, and it took some time to get them all into the waiting ambulances and out of the place.
Johnny accompanied Walt to the police station afterwards, which was pretty empty that late at night - or rather that early in the morning - with most of the cruisers still on the road. Only dispatch was occupied and Thompson and Harris were sitting at their desks trying not to look too bored as the boss came in but failing rather miserably.
Stepping with Johnny into his office, Walt habitually closed the blinds before he started to shift through papers and filed some stuff. Now that's more like it, thought Johnny. Despite the lack of uniform the sheriff seemed to be back to normal. Maybe he had just imagined the whole crazy evening episode. His brain had produced stranger things before.
Waiting patiently for Walt to finish Johnny leaned against the desk and ...
... he's lying halfway across it and Walt does something differently with his cock and that feels so good, that Johnny cries out and almost loses his grip on the tabletop. He grabs blindly for some support, pushing Walt's nametag over the edge of the desk in the process ...
"Something wrong with the desk?" Walt asked as Johnny abruptly got away from it.
"John?" Walt inquired at his shocked face, stepping closer, but then something seemed to occur to him. "You know I was just making fun of you before, right?" he provided.
That's not what I just saw, thought Johnny, but he stammered: "Right. Sure," and backed away some more, as he could feel the blood shoot into his face and - other body regions.
There was a nerve-wracking pause, where they just stared at each other, before Walt dropped the papers in his hand and with a heartfelt "Oh, damn it" had closed the distance between them in no time. He shoved Johnny against the filing cabinet and placed his hands under his jacket.
Pressing his hot mouth against Johnny's lips, he sought entrance with his tongue and Johnny opened his mouth ungrudgingly. He eased into Walt's embrace and let him peel off his jacket before clutching at him as they started to make out seriously.
Johnny staggered and groaned as Walt sneaked one hand under his sweatshirt and combed through his fine chest hair. Just as it looked like his knees would buckle, Walt navigated them away from the cabinets towards the desk and heaved Johnny onto its edge with one strong move. Johnny let Walt settle between his legs, which he had shoved apart forcefully to be able to press their erections together.
With shivers running down his spine, Johnny tried to help Walt, who started to fumble with their pants to get their cocks out. When they finally had gotten rid of the jeans and the underpants, he reveled in the sensation of skin on skin as Walt pressed their cocks back together. Spreading his legs even further apart, Walt started to experimentally thrust against Johnny, worming a whimper out of him. Trying to meet the thrusts, he braced himself on the desk and slithered backwards. Half aware, he noticed Walt rummaging through the desk drawer and heard him curse silently before slamming it shut again. "Sorry," he muttered with ragged breath and propped Johnny's feet up on the desk's edge. "This is going to hurt a bit." He spat into his hands and instantly pushed into him roughly.
A bit? A bit? That hurt pretty damn much, it shot through Johnny's mind. Sure, this was Walt Bannerman, also known as `Mr. Understatement', but still. "Breathe," Walt advised him, as he tried to adjust for his squirm.
Johnny complied and after a while it didn't feel so bad anymore, just a little weird and amazingly intimate, and then Walt did something differently with his cock and that felt so good that Johnny cried out and almost lost his grip on the tabletop. He grabbed blindly for some support, pushing Walt's nametag over the edge of the desk in the process and finally came all over himself. Still shuddering and panting for air he felt Walt losing it too, as he groaned and buried his face into Johnny's stomach.
It took some time until their heavy breathing evened out, they slowly broke away from each other and Johnny skidded clumsily off the desk. Walt had somehow produced tissues out of nowhere and started to clean Johnny up tenderly before using some on himself. Johnny didn't quite know what to say. He felt exhausted but wonderfully satisfied, and Walt was looking at him in a way he had never seen before. Something between surprise and worship. Or maybe he had seen it before. Just not quite for the same reason. Johnny brought his hand up to Walt's face and gave him a short kiss on the lips. A sudden rapping at the office door drove them both apart quickly though, and made them put their pants on in absolute record time.
"A moment, please." Walt yelled, as he dived for the nametag and tried to gather himself behind the desk. Johnny headed for the other side of the room to get a proper distance between himself and the sheriff again.
"Yeah?" Walt answered the door.
"Boss?" Thompson's head appeared in the door frame. "I'm calling it a day. Anderson should be here soon. Is that okay?"
"All right," Walt affirmed, his voice not quite its usual steady self.
Turning to leave, Johnny's awkward pose against a chair's back caught Thompson's eyes and he looked somewhat curiously from him to Walt and back. "Something happened?" he asked.
"No." Johnny shook his head.
"Everything is fine."
"Great."
"No problems."
"Okay then." Thompson gave them a confused look but added: "Good night."
"Good night." Johnny and Walt returned.
"Well, at least it wasn't Mrs. Cantrell." Johnny remarked sarcastically, after he was gone and both of them had breathed a sigh of relief.
Walt just smiled at him.