A/N: I had written this awhile back... but held off posting it due to revisions. I'm still not completely happy with it, as it goes from funny to serious in one fell swoop, but ah, well... It's time for some BDS fanfic that's not Connor/Murphy or Connor/Murphy/OC... wouldn't you say? With that said, I bring you the first ever Smecker/Greenly fic in the existence of this site and only the second which prominently features Smecker... which is sad, really. He happens to be my favorite.

Rated for: slash, harsh language, allusion to sex

DISCLAIMER: Paul Smecker, Detective Greenly, and the Boondock Saints in general... not mine.

Please take the time to review. I want to know if this is any good...

Greenly lay on top of the bed sheets, still panting slightly. The sweat began to dry on his skin, leaving him feeling sticky and somewhat cold. "Shit," he muttered, flinching as he ran a hand over his bruised legs. That would hurt in the morning. Greenly guessed his ass wasn't much better.

He turned his head to glance at the man snoring next to him. Dead asleep. Asshole, Greenly thought.

Greenly would be sleeping too, if he didn't hurt so god damn much.

He resisted the urge to push a flop of brown hair away from Paul's haggard face... and then he wondered how the hell that idea ever got into his head in the first place.

He didn't dare.

Paul would kill him if he woke up.

He would also kill him if he found out Greenly thought of him as anything but "Smecker."

Smecker.

The hot-shot FBI agent. Narcissistic as fuck, and self-centered to boot. Flamboyant, homosexual... but not gay.

Gay was rainbows and lisps and San Francisco. Gay was parades and civil unions and interior decorating.

Smecker wasn't gay, and neither was Greenly. They would rather die than march in the Faggot Pride Parade.

Greenly did have a particular liking for drag, and he blamed it all on the man sleeping next to him.

As Greenly chuckled to himself, Smecker grunted, his brow furrowed in defense against the onslaught of dreams. Nightmares. "...Paul?" Greenly asked hesitantly, bracing for an admonishing slap of some sort. But none was given, as Paul merely rolled over and began to snore again.

Greenly was worried about him; the Saints case had taken a lot out of the FBI agent, and it was only getting worse as time wore on.

It was something he'd never admit to anyone. It would be a fucking glacial day in Hell before Paul Smecker willingly showed any sign of weakness. But Greenly knew; he might not be so hot with a crime scene, but sure as shit knew about people. He saw the hollowness in Paul's eyes, the quiver in his hands, the taut skin stretched over his ribcage signaling emaciation. He was wasting away to nothing.

Ah, but the arrogant sonofabitch still had that swagger in his step. In spite of it all, he kept up the swagger. Greenly couldn't help but admire him for that. Admire him, respect him... but not love him. He was a hard man to like, let alone love.

He doubted whether anyone had ever loved Paul Smecker.

Paul Smecker sure as shit didn't love anyone, ever.

Probably not even himself.

Greenly rolled over and sighed, wrapping the sheets around his middle. He was asleep within minutes.

It was hard sometimes. Hard to keep on going, hard to stop yourself from tearing out your hair and screaming to the heavens for an answer, an explanation, anything. It was hard to not give up on life.

Paul knew it. Greenly knew it, too.

They lived off of eachother's desperation. Fed on the anxiety. Drank of the bitter nectar that was their hopelessness.

Greenly needed Smecker, and vice versa, whether they liked to admit it or not. Each was key to the other's survival.

And sometimes, that small fact was the only thing keeping them going.

FIN