Chapter Text
Being back in your hometown wasn't exactly what you'd hoped for, but with your brother newly in prison, someone had to take over the local branch of your family's auto shop. And with dad six feet under, there was only you left up to the task.
It took barely a day before the town's own Roy Tillman rolled up to the shop in his cop car. Him and your pops had been good friends back in the day before he'd died on one of the many "favours" Roy sent him on. Since then, Roy seemed to think himself something of a father figure to you and your brother, whether you liked it or not. You did not like it.
Everything about you set you up as just the kind of girl Roy should hate. Manual labour, always covered in grease, mouth like a sailor, not to mention the rumours flying about town of pre-maritalm sex with men and women. But somehow his soft spot spot for your father, the precision with which you could handle a gun and the hefty discounts your family still allowed him at your shop meant that he somehow eyed you with a respect he didn't have even for his own son. You were something of an anomaly.
"Sorry to hear about your brother," he said as he walked in, taking off his hat as if to show respect to the sombre situation.
"I know you will have done everything you could to get the charges dropped," you said, injecting as much reverance into your voice as you could muster. "And it's not like you put him up to it is it," you wink. He had, of course, put your brother up to it, bustard. As if your dad going down for him hadn't been enough.
"Veeeery diplomatic, darlin'. Glad to see you've still got your head screwed on, Lord knows someone in this town needs an ounce of sense." He could say that again.
"Tough as ever out here, then?" you quizzed.
"Oh yeah, remind me never to offer my idiot son a job again," he growled, rolling his eyes knowingly.
"What Gator?" You'd gone to school together. "He's a deputy?" You couldn't help but huff out a laugh. "Ouch."
"Yeah, yeah, no need to rub it in," Roy said good natured.
Number one rule for getting Sheriff Tillman onside, you can get away with just about anything long as you're willing to pick on the same people we does.
And well, you were hardly about to pick on women, the gays, the poor or any of the other people he blamed for the state of the world. But Gator? He was low hanging fruit.
"Now that you're back though sweetheart, anything you need, the Tillman's have got you, and that goes for Gator too. Anything you need and you just call, we'll be there." Never mind that, based on your family history, the greatest danger to you was Roy himself.
"Thank you sir," you said, all the same.
"C'm'ere," he said, beckoning you over, arms outstretched. You let yourself be pulled into a hug. "It's good to have you back, darlin'"
"Good to be back," you muttered, not believing a word.
______
Gator, you didn't see a peak of for your first couple weeks home. You spent your time outside the shop catching up with the few real good'uns yet to escape the town, couple of beers down at the bar, cook out in someone's yard. It was... surprisingly kind of nice.
You might not have seen Gator, but you had seen a lot of Sally, his ex from high school who had then gone on to have a whirlwind summer romance with you the summer before you left, before getting married to some local meathead barely a year later. Now, a few years into marriage but not nearly enough sex to mean a baby on the way. Who could really be surprised when she suddenly started having an awful lot of "car trouble". Nothing had quite happened between you yet but... it was bordering on inevitable.
You were dropping her home after one such visit - this time at least there had been a minor part that needed replacing when you saw him. Cruiser pulled over, head tipped back against the headrest, with the most dejected look on his face. An arm draped out the window clasping what what could only be a bright blue vape. He caught your eye as you went past, and glanced over to see Sally in the passenger seat. His eyebrows dsrted together just a big further. It didn't seem to be his best moment.
You dropped Sally back home, thankfully without having to encounter her husband.
On your way back, you surprised to find Gator still there, but quickly realised why when you saw that he had a flat tyre. With being the own of the only autoshop in town, you pretty much had no choice but to give him a hand. You flashed your lights at him to draw his attention, then pulled in behind him.
You chambered out and made your way to his window.
"Deputy," you addressed him, "I see you're in need of my services." He scowled.
"You sound like a prostitute when you say that."
"What I think you mean is yes, how kind of you to notice and offer to help me, even when you're off the clock," you replied, an unimpressed look on your face. Gator looked away, and said nothing.
A moment later: "She's married you know." Ah, the reason for his standoffishness.
"Yeah, I'm aware," you said. "Not to you though from what I hear to I'm not really sure what your point is."
"It's still wrong, though," he said, scratching his lower lip.
"What, driving her in my car? I was just being polite," you smirked.
"No, adultery, it's wrong the Lord says so," he frowned.
"Huh, so it's just wrong because she's married?" you asked, curious.
"Yeah, why else would it be a problem? What, because I used to date her? That was years ago." He crossed his arms, making you notice for the first time the cast on his right hand.
"How about because we're a pair of dykes?" You said bluntly. "At least that's what your daddy would call us if he weren't so busy looking the other way."
"Oh, uh," Gator looked down then, sort of, steeled himself. "Yeah, totally. A pair of..." he winced "dykes. Very, uh, un-Godly." He looked mortified. His eyes dashed towards the radio attached to his dash board, as if the sheriff were listening in, right then and there. "I thought you liked guys too, anyway" he queried, after a moment, daring to look at you now, as if that would somehow make up for him forgetting to uphold his father's homophonic word of law even for a few seconds.
"Wouldn't you like to know," was your suitably cryptic reply. Gator opened his mouth to, no doubt, deny the accusation. You raised your hand to his mouth to stop him. "Look, can we just get on with getting you back on the road? Why have you been sat here for the best part of an hour without even trying to change your tyre?" you asked.
"It's my stupid, fucking arm," he said gesturing to his cast. "I can't use it for shit right now, and there's no way I could change a whole tyre."
"And why didn't you radio one of your buddies for help?" you asked, genuinely confused.
He sent another look towards his radio, this one even less pleased than the last.
"I'd never live it down if I needed help changing a tyre," he said in a small voice. And if it got back to my dad..."
"Point taken," you said, thinking back to you conversation with Roy a few weeks ago. Gator might be a loser, but you wouldn't wish Roy's disappointment on your worst enemy. "I'll give you a hand then."
Gator popped open the trunk to let you access the spare tyre but...
"Gator, where is it?" There was nothing there. He scrambled round to the back of the car.
"Fuck," he spat. "My dad's gonna kill me. He pulled at his slicked down hair, dislodging a few of the pristine tendrils.
With a sigh, you offered, "Look I'll drop you home, come back with a new tyre in the morning and tow it back to the shop for you to pick up after lunch.
"Really?" He asked. In his distressed, he seemed to have forgotten to be as rude as he had been so far.
You shut the trunk and strolled back to your car, opening the driver side door, and watching for him to follow suit on the other side. He locked up, then joined you on the other side of the car.
You turned the engine on to get the air-conditioning blasting, and fiddled with the radio station until you found something you liked. Gator grimaced at your choice, but didn't say anything, a rare appearance of his good manners.
It was probably a twenty minute drive. All of two minutes in, a flash of blue appeared in the corner of your eye, that bloody vape. The smell of artificial... something blossomed in the hot air of the car.
You rolled his window down.
"Christ, if you're gonna use that thing, the least you can do is not breathe it into the air I'm breathing."
"The whole car literally stinks of cigarettes, how is this worse," he snapped. You rolled your eyes.
At the next stop sign, you couldn't help but reach over into the glove compartment over Gator's lap and grab your pack of cigarettes. You fished your lighter out of your pocket, put a cigarette between you lips, and glanced over at Gator, who was staring back dumbfounded
"Are you serious? That is so petty," he said, tilting his head in disbelief. He wasn't wrong, but frankly you weren't sure you'd make it through the rest of the drive without a little something to help you.
"Just restoring equilibrium," you crawled. "I need something to cancel the smell of," you reach over and twisted his good hand so that the writing down the side of the vape was facing you. "Wow, the smell of Vanilla Daydream," you said with a smirk.
He yanked his hand back.
"Shut up," he said through his gritted teeth.
You too the moment to light up, a whisp of smoke wandered lazily through the air towards him. "It's horrible," he said, fanning the smoke away. By way of retaliation, you blew the first lungful of smoke right back into his face. He spluttered, and took an angry puff of his vape as if to cleanse himself of the tobacco.
"Look all I'm saying is, if you're gonna have a nicotine addiction, you might as well look good doing it," you speculated aloud. "There is something deeply unerotic about the practice of vaping."
He clutched his vape closer to his chest, and shifted to face our the window. Clearly the conversation was over.
______
The next morning, around 8am, you went to pick up his car. On your way back, with it in tow, you rang him to let him know the update. He spoke in a stage whisper that could only mean his dad was nearby. Happy with having given him his update, you were all set to hang up.
"Wait," Gator said meekly. "What you said yesterday about the uh, the vape. Did you mean that? Or were you just winding me up."
"Oh uhhh." You were blindsided. "I mean, yeah, I think the sexual imagery of the cigarette is long established, and the vape can't really hold a candle to that." Silence. "And I do earnestly hate the smell," you added. More silence. "But it's really not that deep, it's your life. And who knows maybe some chicks in this town dig vapes." You were surprised to find yourself, what, reassuring him? It was an objectively ridiculous line of conversation but the insecurity in his voice left you all but powerless to provide at least a smidge of comfort. "Look I tell you what, when you come pick up your car you can try one of mine," you offered.
Gator let out an amused huff on the other end of the line. "Yeah, alright."
__________
Gator's POV
Unfortunately, due to his lack of car, Gator had no choice but to ask his stepmother for a lift to the auto shop. Add that to the list of humbling things that had happened to him in the last 24 hours.
She was on her way to the supermarket, and had not been particularly flexible with her timings, so "after lunch" had become barely after 12.
As they pulled up, Gator bit his thumb anxiously. He didn't want to seem too keen, even though he really was just coming to pick up his car... and share a cigarette. But he figured he didn't really have a choice. He got our of the car and slammed the door closed, unbuttered by his stepmother's clear wince at the forced he did it with. The shutters to the car bay were down, so he headed to the door into the lobby next to them. The pushed the door. Locked. It was only then that he noticed the sign flipped to Closed hanging on the glass.
"Damn," he muttered. He leant back against the glass for a moment, considering his options. He could hear your shitty music blasting inside, so knew you must be in there. So, he figured, he could probably just go round to the back door the the janky lock and let himself in. So he did just that.
He crept in, quiet as his combat boots allowed, looking for any sign he should turn back, that he should come back later. But, there was no one in sight on the shop floor.
He followed the sound of the music round to the little office you had tucked away at the back.
As he came closer he heard a voice. A voice doing what? It was like, a shout, or, or a yelp or something. He couldn't quite pin it down.
He neared the office, coming into view of the door, that had been left ajar.
And there sat on the desk was Sally, head tipped back, mouth hanging open, her hand resting on, oh God, was that your head in between her legs.
Another of those sounds. This time, clearly a high pitched moan of pleasure.
Shit, shit, shit. Abort mission.
Gator backed away as quickly as he could, only to lose his footing on something and send himself crashing down to the floor.
A commotion from the office. Then, the door wrenched open to reveal you, hair askew in an admittedly artful manner, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, and with the most damning scowl on your face.
Your POV
You closed the door behind you, leaving Sally in the office to gather herself.
"I could've sworn I told you to come after lunch, Deputy, not right in the middle of it," you spat, the title coming out as far more of an insult than you'd realised possible. Gator just stared back stupidly, still on the floor where his fall hand landed him.
"Sally's gonna leave," you told him firmly, "then you're gonna cash in on that cigarette I promised you, and listen very, very closely while I speak, got it?" He stared back.
"Funny sort of lunch," he finally said.
"What?"
"I said, it ain't like any lunch I've ever had."
"Yeah, I can believe that," you said with a huff.
The door clicked open behind you. You turned to see Sally, looking good as new, but with her head hung so as to avoid eye contact with either of you.
"Don't worry, Sal," you said. "Mr Tillman here isn't gonna say a thing, are you Gator."
"Uhh," he squawked. You step closer to him, looming over and positioning your left boot just a little too close to his family jewels. He winced. "Uhm, no no I'm not gonna say anything. I didn't even see anything! Not that there was anything to see." You nodded at him, signalling your approval, then offered him a hand to pull him up. He accepted.
You looked back over at Sally, whose eyes looked wet.
"Don't move," you commanded Gator.
You guided Sally back into the office.
"I'm so sorry this happened, Sally," you said. She nodded tearfully.
"I know, I'm just, I'm not like you. I can't live this life of secrets and, and drama and all this. I know I complain, but I have a nice life, and I can't do anything to risk it. I'm sorry." And she did look extremely sorry.
"OK," you nodded, angry that Gator had ruined pretty much the best part of moving back home, without even trying. You gave Sally a final, lingering kiss, fished her car keys out of the pocket of your overalls and dropped them into your hand. "Bye, baby."
All through this, and as you both watched Sally go, Gator stood, dutifully, in the place you'd left him. You shut the back door and locked it (properly this time), and then beckoned him into the office. You sat down behind you desk and motioned for him to take the other seat. He waited patiently while you opened one of the drawers and scooped out your cigarettes, pulling your dads old lighter out of a pocket with the other hand.
You lit yourself one and took a few slow drags. Still, Gator said nothing. It was only his leg, bouncing anxiously that set him apart from the crash test dummy piled in the opposite corner. But then, inevitably, his fingers crept to his own pocket, and slowly, as you tracked them across his body pulled out that goddammit vape.
You looked at him sternly, and watched the vape retreat back into his pocket.
"Good," you said, not feeling good at all.
You held out your lit cigarette to him. "A peace offering."
Apprensively, he reached forward and plucked it from your fingers. You lent back and lit another, in the time that he had barely begun to reach it to his lips.
He looked up at you, as if for encouragement. You exhaled.
"Copy me," you said. "Can you do that?" He nodded. You weren't sure if you were imagining it, but you could swear his cheeks were going a little pink.
Slowly, slowly you raised the cigarette to your lips. Gator's eyes were wide as he followed you movement for movement. When you finally inhaled, it was almost like you were doing it for him to, with how in time you were.
But then of course, the spell was broken by him hacking up a lung. You tossed him a luke warm bottle of water that had been hanging around the office and watched as he opened it with surprising ease for someone with a cast on one hand and a cigarette in the other. He gulped hungrily for a new moments, then lowered the bottle, face flushed and panting a little.
"I'm OK, I'm OK," he muttered, his voice a little hoarse. You weren't sure which of the two of you he was trying to convince.
"You breathed in too much for your first try," you explained. "Try again."
He took another drag sceptically, but burst out in another coughing fit. He shook his head as if to dislodge the smoke, and smashed the lit end into the overflowing ash tray on the desk.
"Sorry," he said lowly. "I guess I'm no good at that either."
"Either?" you questioned, confused.
He scratched his neck awkwardly. "Ah shit." He deliberated. "Its- Look I did mean it, I'm not gonna squeak to anyone." To his credit, he did look sincere. "It's more that, well, what you said before where, you like, implied I didn't have much experience with..." He blushed. "With doing what you were doing."
"You and every other man in this town, I'm sure," you jumped in, scathingly.
"It's not for lack of trying, as it were," he confessed. "It's just, well, I never got Sally to make the noises she made with you. Sally, or any other girl for that matter."
Well that was not what you expecting him to say at all.
"I see," are the only words you can really manage to summon. "Why are you telling me this?" you asked.
"I thought maybe, like with the cigarette, you could help me, or like, teach me," Gator said, barely above a whisper.
"Teach you," you repeated.
"Yes," he said. "Yes please."
You considered his behaviour over the past few days, his attempts to fight back against you, but also his unfettered obedience at other moments. He would certainly make for an interesting student.
"And are you envisioning a hands on approach?" you asked with the beginnings of a smirk.
"A hands on approach?" he asked, a blush reaching the tips of his ears. "I mean, you're teacher, whatever you think is best." A clever abdication of responsibility from him.
You assessed his body language. The way his pupils were blown far beyond their normal size, his fingers tangling together in his lap, and him shifting his thighs a little further apart to accommodate, yes, that was definitely a bulge in his trousers.
"Alright then," you said. "Hands on it is. We have some fun, you keep quiet, you learn a little, and we both have some dirt on each other. Mutual benefit, and mutually assuring destruction."
You spat into your palm and hold it out to him to shake. He eyed it hesitantly.
"If you can't handle a bit of spit, you're definitely not gonna like whats in store for you," you warn him. He nods, seriously.
"You're right, it's just a bit of spit." He returned the favour and, there in your grimy little office, you shook on it.