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Gordon stood before the cracked window, smoking and watching the portal storm slowly subside over the Citadel. It was clearly visible from the miraculously preserved sawmill house where he and Calhoun had stopped for the night.
The Mi-17 never took off. Alyx was probably still tinkering with the helicopter's innards, while simultaneously arguing with her father about the fate of the Borealis. Their argument was so heated that Gordon Freeman opted to slip out of the complex for some fresh air, where he was caught by Barney, who had returned from reconnaissance (and missed all the fun).
Calhoun hugged Gordon from behind, interlocking his fingers on his bare stomach. A protective and caring gesture. His slightly wet cock slid up his spine, sending shivers down his shoulders and back, as if the skin were trying to press even closer to him, even though that was impossible.
Cum was leaking between his thighs, but Gordon didn't try to wipe it away. He wanted to feel Barney's presence inside him for as long as possible. It was important. Almost as important as tomorrow's flight.
Gordon groaned softly as Calhoun unclasped his hands, stroking his half-erect penis, still throbbing from his orgasm. The cigarette burned his fingers, so he tossed it into a soggy ashtray carved from the bottom of a plastic bottle. He threw his head back, kissing the man with relish. His mouth tasted sweet after the bitter smoke.
Barney fondled Freeman until he was sweated, gasping and wincing each time his calloused fist slid across his straining cock. As precum began to appear on the tip, Calhoun's left hand gripped Gordon's chest tightly, like a belt, and his movements quickened. The sensations became ringing and blinding, like lightning striking his face. Holding on a little longer, Gordon came onto the rain-drenched windowsill.
A moment ago, Freeman had been victorious, feeling so strong. Now he was barely able to stand from exhaustion, and a sadness as quiet as the drizzle outside the window was extinguishing the fire of jubilation within him.
“This wreck can't lift three people. Besides, I'm needed here.”
Calhoun kissed his temple.
“Let's go outside, Gordon.”
His voice sounded soft, intimate, but at the same time there were sparks of fun in it.
"What? Just like that?" Freeman's eyes widened in surprise.
“Yeah. Everyone's asleep anyway, and we won't be visible because of the drizzle.”
Gordon allowed Barney to drag him out into the dark, starless sky. Today, he was letting him do whatever he wanted with him. And the autumn rain, as if angered by the insolent humans, poured down harder. Calhoun, oblivious to the cold, smiled broadly and spread his arms as if to embrace the world.
"In the city, the rain is mostly acidic," Barney said loudly, trying to be heard over the noise of the rain, which had turned into a full-blown downpour. "But here, never! Can you smell it?"
Freeman sniffed the air. It smelled of damp earth and pine needles. Or maybe it smelled of life — simple human life. As if the Combine and Black Mesa never existed… Just streams of cool water, himself, and Barney, spinning and giggling like a boy.
Rushing into the house, they settled down on the old sofa under a large, moth-eaten blanket. Barney held Gordon close; Calhoun's warmth enveloped his chilled body. Freeman enjoyed the change of feeling like an ordinary, loved person, not the center of the universe. He burrowed under the blanket so that only the top of his head was exposed.
"I'll miss you," Barney said quietly, then added even more quietly. "I can't bear it if you disappear again, Gordon."
“Everything will be fine,” Freeman muttered automatically, although he knew that this was far from true.
But these words seemed to calm Calhoun. He sighed deeply:
“Sleep, darling. You've done so much today. It's a shame I came too late.”
“You managed to do something.”
Barney chuckled, burying his nose in the damp hair, saturated with the smell of rain:
“You're damn right.”