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Years. For years Gordon done this once a week, and once a week for years he’d had to hype himself up beforehand.
He’d seen so many things. He’d been shot, clawed, burned by lasers; he’d fallen from impossible heights and survived, he’d looked death in the face and defied it—but what he held in his hand always had the power to weaken his muscles and shake his breath in his lungs.
He steadied himself. He had flicked the bubbles out of the syringe and made sure the needle was screwed on tight. He’d washed his hands. He’d checked that no one was home to interrupt him. It was time.
Gripping the muscles in one thigh, he took a deep breath and mumbled, “One, two, three, Gordon—”
“sup motherfucker, wanna play some games with m—”
Time slows. The scene is as follows: Gordon with his pants down around his knees, sitting on his bed. One hand clenches the quad muscle in his left thigh. A syringe filled with viscous, pale yellow testosterone is poised above the little mound of skin Gordon creates between his fingers. His door, which had been almost closed, slams open with the whoosh and thud of the doorknob hitting the wall. A very unwelcome face with smug eyes and a grin seems to float from the backdrop of thick dark hair. The eyes widen from smugness to surprise, then horror at the way the color drains from Gordon’s face.
Time resumed as normal as Gordon flung the syringe reflexively to the side and pressed his legs together.
“Get out of my fucking room, Benrey,” he snarled, eyes flashing.
“the door was open—i got home early—i—”
“Get out!”
For once, blessedly, Benrey actually obeyed him. They wrenched the door closed. Their footsteps were heavy and rapid, fading off to their own room.
At first Gordon’s head was numb of all thoughts as the shock of being discovered enveloped him entirely. Shame at how he’d yelled at Benrey trickled in, squashed by frustration and anger.
Maybe they didn’t see, he tried to soothe himself. Maybe they did see and didn’t know what they were seeing. It’s fine. It’s fine.
But he stayed in his room for hours.
He couldn’t cloister himself forever, though, and he knew it. He put on his best poker face when the others returned from work, and by later in the evening the memory was just an itch in the back of his mind. That is, until Benrey finally emerged from their room.
Gordon met their eyes.
“hey,” they said, and looked down at the floor. “can i talk to you alone for a sec?”
“Alone, eh?” said Bubby. “Mysterious!”
Coomer said cheerily, “Anything you say to Gordon, you can say to us too, Benrey!”
“hey, fuck off.”
“Yeah, Coomer, fuck off,” said Bubby as he threw a soft punch at Coomer’s shoulder.
“Bubby, you are using punches against me! My feelings are hurt!”
“Guys, don’t fight,” said Tommy, and the conversation between the three of them devolved into arguing.
Gordon rose from his position on the couch and nodded silently to Benrey, who led him further down the hall until the sounds of the Science Team were just a dim roar. When they turned back around, their face was scarlet.
“i don’t really know what to say right now so i just—”
“Benrey. You didn’t respect my privacy. What did you—” He clenched his teeth. “What did you…see in there?”
Benrey blinked a few times and simply stared at him, as they often did, and Gordon sighed and started to turn.
“no, look.”
Benrey lifted the leg of their shorts to show a patch on their thigh. It took Gordon a moment to recognize it as an HRT patch, and when he did, his jaw dropped.
“You too?” was all he could say.
“yeah, man. why do you think i’m so fucking jacked? i never skip t day.” Their usual shit-eating grin returned to their face in force.
A chuckle escaped Gordon, which grew and grew until he was laughing way too hard for the situation. It was the belly-laugh that erased all problems, and the one he did when he realized he’d kinda fucked up.
Benrey, meanwhile, just watched him laugh, letting the leg of their shorts fall back to normal. “i won’t tell if you won’t,” they said when Gordon’s laughs had quieted back down to giggles.
“No, dude. I won’t tell.”
“we good?”
“We good. Just never open my door randomly again, okay?”
“i promise nothing.”
That was as good as he’d get out of them, he knew. He clapped a hand on Benrey’s shoulder and recoiled at “ooh, pat me harder.”
Yeah, things were fine.