Chapter Text
Friday night starts out as it usually does. They're all sitting around celebrating the end of a good month, varying levels of drunk. Ava’s talking to Earl about how she’s considering changing her hair color while Carl tinkers with the jukebox because Colt wouldn’t stop bitching about it playing the same damn Merle Haggard song over and over. Jimmy’s nursing a pleasant buzz, just leaned back and taking it all in, when he hears Boyd's phone chime. He watches Boyd pick it up, then sees that all too familiar, toothy grin spread out on his face.
"Well, friends, I hate to cut this little celebration short, but I’m afraid you’ll have to carry on without me from here. Duty, as they say, calls," he says, waggling his eyebrows as he holds his phone up to Colt in particular, then gets up and grabs his jacket.
Colt, who's been throwing back the most drinks out of all of them and yet still seems stunningly coherent, raises his glass with a smirk. "Go make your little Marshal scream, Boyd. I better not see him walking upright tomorrow."
"Oh, you can count on it, Colt.” Boyd grins over his shoulder. “I do believe I'm gonna be enjoying myself a nice piece of cream pie this lovely evening."
Colt wolf whistles and snickers to himself before going back to whatever he was doing on his phone and Jimmy looks down at the bottle in his hands, cheeks prickling with heat as Boyd grabs his coat and heads out the door. He hates the way he fucking blushes at their stupid trash talk. Sometimes he worries Colt or Boyd’s gonna catch him looking shifty and think it’s because he’s homophobic or something, but he ain’t. Jimmy’s straight, there’s no doubt about that, but he ain’t no bigot like his asshole parents. Both Boyd and Colt are into guys and they're absolutely shameless about it, and it don’t bother him. It did take him a little while to get used to how bold they are about it, talking about fucking guys even when they know he’s in earshot. He’s always hearing shit like that little business major who cried on Boyd's cock the other week or the closeted husband who gave spectacularly bad head, and stuff like how easy it was to get your dick wet in the army, but he’s pretty much used to it by now. None of it really bothers Jimmy, not even when they call him a twink or make comments about his ass, or buy him a whole set of new jeans because it's a goddamn shame to hide all that cake under cheap denim, son.
Even despite his Momma and Daddy and all their good Christian hate, Jimmy’s been chill about it for as long as he can remember. When he lived in Atlanta for a short spell after his folks kicked him out he got along just fine with the gay guys who came into the bar he worked at. In fact, they were some of his best tippers, and he even made friends with his lesbian neighbors who made the best peach cobbler he’d ever put in his mouth. Once, a drag queen had pulled out her jumper cables and helped him get his truck started after work after he left his lights on for his whole shift and Jimmy mostly just thought it was the most badass thing a person could do.
He’s just always figured he’s so chill about it because he's so comfortable in his sexuality or masculinity or whatever. He knows he’s straight, there’s no doubt about that. He's had a few girlfriends and gets laid plenty and he knows Boyd and Colt are no threat to him just because they like dick. He also knows it’d be pretty dumb and conceited of him to think they’d be into him just because he has one. So, he really doesn’t know why he gets weird about it sometimes, like tonight. It's not because he’s homophobic or uncomfortable with them talking about gay shit around him. He never really thought of himself as prudish either, but sometimes the things they talk about in front of him make Jimmy feel like a goddamn blushing virgin, his stomach getting all twisted in knots. It’s stupid because he’s a dude, he’s heard plenty of his straight friends talk all kinds of nasty shit about pussy and most of the time when Colt and Boyd talk their filth he just rolls his eyes or laughs along with them. But sometimes, like tonight, Jimmy just ends up feeling like some dumb kid who’s never heard a dirty word in his life. It’s pretty ridiculous. Unfortunately, his conflicted thoughts must show on his face though, because Colt nudges his shoulder with a scoff.
"Oh come on," he says, cuffing him over the back of the head, "Be happy for the man. You know what they say about pussy from a crazy bitch? Well that, but Raylan Givens. I’m sure you can use your imagination."
Jimmy pulls a face and jerks away from Colt’s hand on his shoulder. "I don't need to know that."
He really hopes that didn't sound as pathetic as he felt saying it, but it's unlikely seeing as how Colt bursts out into laughter and moves his hand to ruffle Jimmy's hair the way he always does. It's patronizing as fuck and Jimmy had tried to get him to stop doing it when he first started working for Boyd, but the asshole just wouldn’t quit and eventually Jimmy had just given up. It’s just something he puts up with now, like the rest of Colt’s annoying bullshit.
It’s quiet for a few moments after that, Colt watching him as he nurses the beer in his hand, and when Jimmy glances over at the door Boyd had walked out a few moments ago his thoughts pick back up again. He realizes he’s probably had too much to drink when he blurts out, "Does that Marshal really let Boyd.... you know?"
Colt's smirk is back in an instant. "Mmm, you didn't hear it from me, but he doesn't just let him, Jimmy boy. Our good Marshal begs for it."
Jimmy feels his face go red again and shifts uncomfortably in his seat. He starts picking at the label on his beer again just to have something to do with his hands that isn’t covering his face with them. Jesus, he needs to get it together. "That's. I mean. Ain't no way he—I just don’t get it.”
Colt tilts his head at him. “Don’t get what, Scooter?”
Jimmy scowls at the stupid nickname. “I mean, you gotta be fucking with me. Seriously, in what world would anyone actually like that?"
Colt's smirk gets wider. He takes a pull from his beer, lifts an eyebrow. "How would you know? You ever tried it?"
Jimmy jerks back, almost knocks his beer off the table. "What? No. Of course not. What the fuck?"
"Not even an itty bitty finger?" Colt prods, leaning in closer, and wiggles his pinky at him for good measure. The backs of Jimmy’s ears go pink. "Just out of curiosity?"
By then, Jimmy's face is so hot he knows he must be blushing like crazy, which is bad because it's only going to encourage Colt further. "No," he says, more forcefully. "I told you, I ain’t fucking gay. I don't do that shit. Don't be fuckin' weird."
But of course, all Colt does is roll his eyes and mutter something under his breath about straight boys, as if none of this is a big deal. As if Jimmy's the one being ridiculous. He probably is, but that doesn’t mean he’s going to give Colt the satisfaction of letting it go. Colt loves fucking with him, it’s practically one of his favorite hobbies. That bullshit about the Marshal begging for it? Yeah, that’s typical Colt. Jimmy’s not buying it.
"Playing with your ass doesn’t mean you're gay, princess. It just means it feels good. Christ, you're so pretty I forget you're such a dumb hick sometimes."
"Shut the fuck up," Jimmy says reflexively, and yet. Even now, even when he's embarrassed and kind of pissed and wildly uncomfortable, some sad, pathetic part of him warms a little at the backhanded compliment. Whatever. Doesn’t matter. Colt’s just fucking with him like always and Jimmy really needs to learn to stop letting it get to him so much.
/ / /
About a week later, Jimmy's working the bar as usual, wiping down the counters with Colt hanging out nearby in his usual spot, when the door opens and Jimmy looks up to see Raylan standing in the doorway. All the Marshal does is nod his head at Boyd and without even hesitating, Boyd stands up and follows him out the door. Predictably, Colt snorts and has a comment to make on it.
"Not sure which one of those two is worse, Boyd being pussy whipped like a goddamn teenager or his little Deputy coming all the way to this shithole just to get dicked down."
Jimmy shakes his head distastefully as he finishes wiping down the glasses and before he can think better of it he shrugs and adds, "I still don't get it."
Colt turns to him and narrows his eyes. “Well Jimmy, when one hillbilly really, really likes another hillbilly—”
“Shut the fuck up,” Jimmy bites out. “I meant, I just don’t get all the fuss. I tried it. It wasn’t that great.”
Colt chokes on his tequila.
"Roll that back for me, real quick," he gesticulates wildly. "You tried what, exactly?"
Jimmy’s cheeks heat up and he pretends to focus on a spot on the bar just so he doesn't have to look at Colt.
"You know. What we were talking about the other night. You said it didn't have anything to do with being gay or whatever. So. I tried it,” Jimmy shrugs again. “But it wasn't nothin' special. Don't know why y'all like it so much. It was weird as hell."
Colt sits there for a minute, processing. He lights a cigarette and takes a long drag. Jimmy keeps scrubbing his imaginary stain. After a moment, Colt shrugs and exhales a cloud of smoke.
"Shouldn't have trusted a straight boy to do the job right, I suppose."
That gets Jimmy a little indignant. He puts his rag down and straightens his back, puffing his chest out. "The fuck is that supposed to mean?"
Another shrug. "Don't feel bad, man. You straight boys aren't exactly known for your technique. Not your fault."
"Not known for technique my ass," Jimmy huffs, "Never had nobody complain before. What, you think I'm too dumb to shove my own fingers up my ass?"
That makes Colt laugh, like he thinks Jimmy's being cute or something.
"Settle down, Scooter," Colt smiles, holding both hands out, a little placating, but mostly amused. "I'm just saying, before you write the whole thing off after just one attempt, maybe you should consider the possibility that you just don't know what you're doing."
Jimmy scowls at him. "I know you think I’m just a dumb hick, but I ain’t that stupid, okay? Just admit nobody really likes that shit.”
Then Colt’s leaning in closer to him, which Jimmy really should have recognized as the red flag it was instead of being drawn in by it. Colt takes the cigarette out of his mouth, blows smoke out the side of it, and says, serious as anything, "Oh, I assure you. They very much do. You, Jimmy boy, are just used to getting your hand around your cock, fucking it a few times, and squirting your load everywhere. You probably don’t even know you have a prostate, much less where to find it. In fact, I’d bet money you didn’t even use fucking lube."
Then he's leaning back again, kicking his feet up on another barstool and taking a pull from his beer. "It's all good though. It's not for everyone. Guess you'll just never know since you're too much of a pussy to really commit."
Jimmy, of course, takes this as a challenge. It pisses him off. Colt pisses him off. He’s been doubting and mocking and insulting him ever since he fucking showed up in Harlan, so all the insinuations that Jimmy can't do something, that he doesn't have the right technique or skill or whatever are the last fucking straw.
/ / /
So, Jimmy gives it another shot. He tries again and again, even drives over to Williamsburg to buy lube and googles what the fuck a prostate is, but he never can seem to get the angle right. His wrist hurts like fuck and he can’t figure out how to jerk off at the same time, which he really needs to be able to do because he keeps getting stuck on how awkward and embarrassing it is. Though eventually he can admit that with enough lube, it’s not quite as uncomfortable and weird feeling as it was the first time. Sometimes, it feels kinda nice even, but it’s nowhere near something he’d beg for, like Colt implied.
He's about given up, telling himself he's not really all that curious about it, and prays to God that Colt has forgotten about it by now, when his birthday rolls around and Colt, the absolute dickhead, hands him a shittily wrapped gift box with a shit eating grin on his face. Jimmy’s unfortunately already too drunk to catch the wink Colt shoots Boyd and as soon as he opens it up his face goes bright red and he slams the lid of the box back on top.
“What the fuck.”
Inside the box is an actual fucking dildo. A fucking pink one.
It's just a stupid joke, obviously. Just some gag gift that clearly everyone was in on because Colt laughs himself silly over Jimmy's reaction and so does everyone else. Ava peeks in the box and compliments the design in between hysterical giggles. Boyd takes it out and studies it, asking Colt about the brand, like he’s thinking about buying one for himself or something, and Jimmy’s so red he feels like his face is going to catch fire. He has half a mind to stick the damn thing down the garbage disposal. Or possibly just crawl in it himself.
The only upside is that everyone eventually gets drunk enough that their attention fades from Jimmy’s hilarious pink dildo to some story Boyd’s telling about when he and Raylan and Ava were teenagers, and Jimmy feels like he can breathe for the first time since he opened the fucking thing. Plus, despite Colt’s stupid gag gift, the rest of the night does end up being one of the best birthdays he’s ever had. It’s his birthday and he’s surrounded by friends and good music. There’s not much that can ruin something like that for him, not even Colt’s dumb ass.
Ava’s the one to help him out to his truck when he’s ready to leave, two sacks full of gifts in her hands, so Jimmy doesn’t even remember the fucking dildo until he gets home and dumps everything out on his bed and it bounces across the comforter. In the privacy of his own home, though, without everyone pointing and laughing at him—and with the benefit of being very, incredibly drunk—Jimmy’s feeling a little braver than before. He actually picks it up off the bed and turns it around in his hand, taking a good look at it. It's distinctly dick shaped, made of bright pink silicone with a notable curve at the end, and Jimmy wonders if that's for a g spot or for a prostate, and if there's even any difference. Something tells him that if there is, Colt would have gotten him the ass version. He's fucking meticulous like that, even for a stupid joke.
It definitely has to be a joke. But, joke or not, it is longer than Jimmy's fingers, and Jimmy finds himself thinking of the other night and Colt’s cracks about his shitty technique and well. The thing is, it probably would be… easier. And at least it isn't one of those super realistic skin toned ones with the veins and shit, so it wouldn’t be that gay if he did end up trying it. Maybe it's a little weird for him to be thinking about putting Colt's stupid prank gift up his ass for real, but on the other hand it would totally be worth it just to finally prove Colt wrong. To be able to tell him that this time he followed all his advice, used the stupid lube and did everything just right, and it still didn't make him feel amazing or whatever miraculous shit it’s supposed to do. Yeah. Jimmy’s going to prove Colt wrong and he’s going to look so stupid.
Unfortunately, things do not go Jimmy's way. Namely, he gets the stupid thing halfway up his ass, then he comes so hard and so fast that it makes him light headed before collapsing on the bed and passing out in a puddle of his own drool and come.
Definitely not one of his finest moments, but thankfully he’s too drunk to care and if he’s very, very lucky, he’ll be too drunk to remember any of this in the morning.
/ / /
Sadly, Jimmy has never been lucky a day in his life. He wakes up sticky and gross and and hungover as fuck, and the first thing he sees is that fucking dildo. Jimmy stares at it like it's his mortal enemy and curses under his breath.
After a long, hot shower and another intense staring contest with the goddamn sex toy, Jimmy decides to chalk the previous night up to a mild case of alcohol poisoning. Honestly, it was most likely all the booze that made him pass out the way he did and not the mind-melting orgasm that he definitely doesn’t remember having. It’s all a blur anyway, really. Not much use in thinking about shit you did when you were blackout drunk, Jimmy learned that one when he was fourteen years old. So, he goes back to work the next day, pouring drinks and talking shit and guarding Boyd's office, and thankfully, Colt is too hungover to notice how weird he’s acting.
Because goddammit, no matter how much he tries, Jimmy can't stop thinking about it.
All day, that stupid pink dildo is in the back of his mind, taunting him. He’d tried to convince himself he’d just blacked out because of the booze, but that wasn’t it. Unfortunately, Jimmy’s never been one to forget the shit he does when he’s drunk, so he remembers all of it and that’s a problem, because now he has to confront the fact that he has never come that fucking hard or that fast in his fucking life. Not even when he was a teenager, waking up hard and horny every single damn morning. No, this was like as soon as he got it inside him—Jimmy shivers just remembering how powerful it had been. Fuck, it was like his soul left his body. He hadn’t even touched his dick. He didn’t even know that was a thing you could do.
When he finally gets home that night and finds it still on his bed, Jimmy knows he has a decision to make. He thought about it all day and came to the decision that last night didn't count. He might remember some of it, but still, he was drunk out of his mind. Maybe he made it up. Maybe it was all a weird dream. Or maybe he was only so oversensitive and only came so fast because he was so drunk, meaning that it wouldn’t always be like that. Which means, he’d need to try it again sober, just to have accurate data. Then he could tell Colt he was full of shit.
Jimmy's hands move to his belt as he takes a step forward. There’s a funny feeling in his gut and he can feel his heart beating in his chest like a bass drum. He's just going to try it one more time and this time he'll be able to tell for sure that he doesn't like it and he can go back to Colt and call him on his bullshit. This time, Jimmy will be able to know for sure.
Taking a deep breath, Jimmy strips out of his jeans and shorts, yanks off his t-shirt and crawls into bed. He lays down on his side, studiously ignoring his dick as he lubes up the toy and pushes it against his hole. It's not very big and Jimmy had it in him just last night, so the tip of it slides right in, like his ass was fucking waiting for it, so smooth and firm and stretching him just so. As soon as it's in, all the breath leaves Jimmy's lungs. He shudders, clutching at his pillow, and gasps for air. It’s nothing, really, just an inch of silicone opening him up ever so gently, and yet.
"Jesus fuck," Jimmy gasps. He leaves it like that for a minute or two, letting himself breathe and collect himself, then he pushes it in just an inch more, and shit. He fucking moans with how good it feels, what the fuck. His cock twitches, smearing precome all over his belly, and his heart is racing, and no, fuck no, it's not supposed to be this good, Colt's not supposed to be right—
And that was a mistake because now he's thinking of Colt. Colt's stupid, smug, self-satisfied face and the shape of his stupid mouth when he's blowing cigarette smoke, and Jimmy's hand twitches and he ends up pushing the dildo in farther than he meant to and—
The noise that comes out of him is barely human.
“Oh my god,” his body jerks forward and Jimmy chokes on a sob as he looks down, watching with an equal mixture of horror and ecstasy as his cock just keeps coming, making a huge, sticky puddle of it on his stomach. “Holy shit. Holy fuck.”
He can’t believe he came just like last time, with no hand on his dick at all, just Colt's stupid fucking sex toy in his ass and Colt's stupid fucking smirk in the back of his mind.
God fucking damn it. This ain’t no good.
Jimmy closes his eyes, sprawled out on his rumpled sheets, come all over his chest and hair sticking to his face. There are still little twitches and tremors running through his body as he comes down from his orgasm. He can’t bring himself to pull out the toy, almost scared of what might happen with the added stimulation. Maybe if he just waits long enough, it'll go away on it's own. Disappear back to whatever hellish nightmare dimension Colt plucked it from.
Eventually, after what feels like hours, he makes himself get up. He tugs the dildo out with a soft whimper and a full body shudder, then stumbles into the shower on still shaking legs. He has to lean against the cold tiles for stability as he scrubs himself down, and by the time he gets out he feels thoroughly humbled and no less embarrassed.
There's only one saving grace in all of this. Colt has most likely already forgotten all about his moronic prank gift, and he certainly won't be expecting Jimmy to have actually tried it. Hell, aside from the gift itself, the whole butt stuff thing hasn't been a topic for weeks now, so as long as Jimmy keeps his mouth shut, he won't actually have to talk about it at all, and may yet escape with the last dregs of his dignity somewhat intact.