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If there was one thing Texas was good at, it was wanting. He wanted to beat Oklahoma at the shooting range more than one in three times, he wanted these stupid politicians to start doing what he thinks they should do, he wanted to put California in his place, he wanted Oklahoma to stop staring at him during meetings, he wanted to go to his favorite bar, he wanted to figure out the best way to make Oklahoma shut up, he wanted, he wanted, and he wanted.
If there was one thing Texas was bad at, it was communicating what he wanted.
--
The best part of the shooting range was the earplugs. More often than not, Texas only wore the earplug in his left ear- the ear on the same side that Oklahoma was on every time they went together to the shooting range. It was a stupid thing to do, and he knew it was, but as personifications, their bodies healed faster, and the tinnitus wasn't that bad, anyway. Besides, if he had both earplugs in, he wouldn't be able to hear Oklahoma.
It was so he could respond appropriately to the jeers, he told himself. That was why he wanted to be able to hear Oklahoma.
"Oof," Oklahoma said, after Texas finished his third round of bullets, "were you aiming for the edge? Seems like it, with how often you hit it…."
Texas scowled. "Still did better than you," he said, though they hadn't added up their scores yet, and it was close enough that he could very well be eating his words within a few minutes.
They added up their own scores, then added up each other's scores, then debated who was right- because, as always, they disagreed on what each of them earned. Texas won, and he didn't fail to rub it in, conveniently forgetting that of the three rounds they did, Oklahoma won the first two.
This was as regularly scheduled as an impromptu event can be. Every Wednesday, without fail, they got into yet another argument about which of them was the better shooter. Every Wednesday, at six on the dot, they arrived together at the only shooting range they could agree on, which is in New Mexico, so neither of them had homeland advantage. They always played three rounds, and almost always, Oklahoma won with two of the three under his belt.
Texas was surprised that this time, after Oklahoma won the first two, neither of them made any suggestion of stopping, even though they knew who would be the winner of the day. No, they played the third round, as they did every Wednesday.
Texas wanted to ask why Oklahoma didn't ditch him after the second round, why they always kept up the pretense that they didn't expect this every week, how Oklahoma could presume that it was still up for debate which of them was the better shooter when he always won. But they left the range and went their separate ways with an almost friendly goodbye- Oklahoma only putting up one middle finger rather than two- and the questions were still locked up in Texas's chest, and he didn't have the key to open it.
--
"I hate him," Texas growled, as he walked with Louisiana and Florida to the Table meeting. His present company was by no choice of his own; the elevator was broken (Texas suspected California, or at least one of the other two west coasters), so the three of them were left to take the stairs.
Since neither Florida nor Louisiana had responded, he repeated, with more vehemence, "I hate him," and he meant it. He could almost feel himself shake with his still boiling blood. It had been well over twenty four hours now since he got the news, but, having passed his rival in the halls mere moments ago, all of the anger and bitterness had been renewed. All Oklahoma had to do was smile- he hadn't even said a word, and Texas wanted to throttle him.
"Maybe," Florida said, in the tone of someone who didn't care whether Texas lived or died, "you should ask if he wants to screw."
Louisiana snorted, and Texas hit his shin against the next step because he'd forgone paying attention in favor of giving Florida a horrified look. When he regained the power of speech, he said, with half the usual level of macho, "Wh-what did you just say?!"
"Screw," Louisiana said. "As in, have sex, or roll in the hay, or get laid, or fu-"
"I know what he said!" Texas snapped, and he reminded himself that he was a full-grown man and men do not blush, so surely the heating in his cheeks must be unrelated to that function.
Louisiana shrugged. "Well, you asked."
They walked in silence for a minute. Or, more likely, Texas walked in silence while Florida and Louisiana chatted, unheard by Texas so deep in his thoughts.
It wasn't as if he'd never considered the possibility before. Who hadn't? It wasn't sin if it was all in his thoughts. Besides, it wasn't about love, it was never about love. Most of his fantasies involved plenty of hitting, choking, and other forms of harming his lover- that is to say, the person he was fantasizing about; not his "lover" because it had never been and would never be about love.
It blurred together, though; if not in reality, then in his fantasizing. The roses were always covered in blood, the kisses always with poisoned lips, pain and pleasure mixing beyond recognition of either, abhorrence and affection becoming one and the same.
It took three stairwells for Texas to drag himself out of these thoughts. Fantasies were one thing. Considering the possibility that they could become true was quite another.
"I can't sleep with him," he said. "He'd find a way to make it seem like I found it attractive that his team beat mine."
Florida tilted his head. "His team? What, the snowflakes?"
"What?"
"Huh?"
Louisiana figured out the source of confusion first, and he grabbed Florida's arm with evident delight. "He thinks we're talking about Oklahoma!"
The baffled expression cleared from Florida's face. "That," he said, grinning, "is even funnier than California."
"Calif- how could you- how dare you even think-"
He couldn't get out a full sentence, not between his own rage and his companions' laughter. He had just enough time to admit to himself that sex with California sounded much less complicated than sex with Oklahoma- there would be no roses to shower in blood, the poison would be slipped into drinks, the pain would be pain and the abhorrence would be abhorrence- before he slammed down a wall in his mind, closing off those thoughts, because in the end, he would never have sex with either.
--
It was a widely recognized fact that Washington and Oregon didn't like California. Nonetheless, the three of them could be spotted together more often than not, bonding over, if nothing else, their shared love of gossip.
Texas had long since gotten used to interjecting himself into these conversations long enough to insult California (and maybe the other two too, if he thought of something clever), then dipping out to continue on his way.
This morning, when he descended the stairs to the first floor of the Statehouse, the trio was sitting at the kitchen table, each with coffee mugs cupped between their fingers, talking in hushed voices that could be distinguished by anyone who cared to listen. Texas knew that the only kind of secret California enjoyed was an open one, and he seemed to make it a personal mission to ensure that any secrets that weren't open would soon be so.
"-never guess who was with him," California was saying, as Texas started brewing a cup of coffee for himself (because of course the west coasters hadn't left any in the coffee maker).
"We're not going to guess," said Oregon, or maybe Washington. Texas always mixed them up. The one with glasses continued, "Just tell us."
California, unbothered by this scorn, leaned forward to say in the loudest whisper yet, "Arkansas!"
With mild surprise, the one in green repeated, "Arkansas?" He turned to Glasses and said, "Do you know who Arkansas is?"
Glasses shrugged. "One of those southern states."
Texas, despite being a southern state himself, wasn't sure he'd be able to pick Arkansas out of a line-up.
"They were all over each other," California said. "And the door wasn't even locked. It's like they wanted to get caught."
He picked up the newly full coffee maker and started pouring it into his custom made "everything is bigger in Texas" mug.
"Hm," Green said. "Some random guy with Oklahoma. Who would've thought?"
The name made him lurch hard enough that he spilled some of the steaming coffee onto his fingers. He hissed in pain and slammed the coffee maker down so he could go to the sink and put cold water on the burn.
All three of the west coasters had fallen silent, and were watching him. He leveled a glare at California, who he swore was looking at him judgmentally (even if a passer-by would sooner classify the expression as concerned).
"Oklahoma's not going out with him," he said, as if by proclaiming it he could make it true.
Glasses raised his eyebrows. "Oh? How would you know?"
"Because- because I just do!"
Green smiled. "Sounds like someone's jealous."
Texas sputtered for a moment before finding words again. Green's accusation was too close to the truth for comfort, even if it was a vast oversimplification of events. "Jealous? Over that bastard? We hate each other! How could I be jealous of- of Kansas or- or Alabama or whoever you said?"
With an eyeroll, Glasses leaned towards Green. "He reacted like that and he can't even remember the other one's name."
"But to be fair, neither can you."
"True."
California had yet to take his eyes off of Texas, and he was smiling that infuriating smile, the one that meant he thought he knew better than everyone else present. It was an expression that Texas was well familiar with, and one that never failed to make his blood boil.
"You're right," California said, and alarm bells rang in Texas's mind. "You wouldn't be jealous of someone who's just an enemy to you." The emphasis on "just" made the statement suspicious (though it would be suspicious anyway, because California never agreed with Texas). "I'll prove it for you."
In one swift movement, California grabbed Green's collar and pulled him in. Green had just enough time to make a startled noise before his lips crashed into California's, their chests pressed together. The kiss lasted a mere few seconds, and neither of them relaxed into it, and Texas would be hard pressed to say that either of them enjoyed it in any way. Everyone in the room seemed relieved when Green finally pushed California away.
"There," California said, opening his eyes and turning his attention back to Texas. "How did that make you feel?"
Texas dodged the question because he wasn't sure how to answer (other than by saying the obvious "It made me feel awkward"), and he said, gesturing at Glasses, "I think he's going to murder you." It was true. It was, as previously stated, a well-known fact that Washington and Oregon didn't like California, but rarely did either of them look at him with the fury that Glasses looked at him with now.
"Nothing," California concluded. "You felt nothing. Because we-" he gestured in between them- "we hate each other. That's all there is to it. You and Oklahoma…." He trailed off and gave Texas a meaningful look, the haughty one that made Texas want to punch him.
Gov had put an enforced ban on fighting in the Statehouse, so Texas settled for pouring his coffee over California instead. It wiped that smug smile off his face, and made both of the other two grin (Glasses a bit more vindictively than Green), and as California shrieked, Texas had enough time to slip out of the room before California forced him to discuss his complicated relationship with Oklahoma.
--
Texas, unlike some states, was expected to be an active participant in meetings. Perhaps this was because of his population; perhaps it was because he was more vocal with his opinions than most. Whatever the reason, it made it very difficult for Texas to take a day off from the arguments. Not that he wanted to, most often, but during this particular meeting, he wanted little else than to sit in silence and stare down Oklahoma.
This wasn't the first time he'd caught Oklahoma watching him during meetings, but it was the first time Oklahoma hadn't looked away as soon as Texas looked over at him. There wasn't much opportunity for the two of them to get into a fight; Gov had been careful to place rivals as far from each other as possible.
(This was hard to do, especially in the case of states such as Massachusetts, who had more enemies than friends. Mass was, for today's meeting, put in a seat surrounded by Midwest states, in the hopes that he'd be unable to pick fights with states whose names he likely didn't know. If the rapidly heating discussion between Mass and a state Texas was almost sure was one of the Dakotas, Gov was wrong.)
Anyhow, Oklahoma hadn't looked away this time, so Texas was forced to stare him down. It wasn't a difficult task; while Texas couldn't see the color of his eyes clearly with the whole Table in between them, he could picture the soft hazel, the near-golden quality of them, always so warm, so quick to turn fiery when the two of them were fighting.
On the other hand, it was a difficult task for Texas to stay focused on looking annoyed, when he was spending so much time thinking about Oklahoma's eyes.
"Texas," Gov called, with a tone that implied it wasn't the first time he'd said Texas's name.
Texas glanced at him, then looked right back at Oklahoma, but too late- Oklahoma was grinning, clearly counting himself as the winner of their staring contest. "That did not count," Texas said, almost yelling to be heard across the Table, over all of the idle conversations.
Gov sighed. "Texas," he repeated, "we need a run-down of your new laws."
Texas gave Oklahoma one last glare, which Oklahoma responded to with a bright smile, before he turned away at last to address Gov.
--
Texas was tipsy by the point he realized he was not the only personification in the bar. His fingers stilled in the air, his shot glass half raised to his lips, as he watched Oklahoma duck through the crowd to get to the counter.
The bartender was a young woman named Lacy, who Texas knew fairly well, since he frequented this bar more than was safe. Gov had told the states that they shouldn't spend too long at any mortal establishment, and to skip around without making any friends or even acquaintances, but Texas hadn't found any place like this before or since. There was nowhere to turn where he wouldn't find a Texas flag, and the staff was made up exclusively of Texans. Everyone seemed to know each other, and the drinks were half-off for regulars- which, despite Gov's wishes, Texas soon became. It was a haven for Texans.
It was, in a phrase, the stuff of Oklahoma's nightmares.
But when Oklahoma reached Lacy, all she said, in that thick Texan accent (thick enough that even Texas himself made note of it), was "Another of your usual?"
"If you wouldn't mind," he said, and she started pouring a glass of Mexican martini.
As she worked, she noticed how Texas had frozen, and she asked, "You alright, Garth?" Oklahoma turned, and Texas threw his drink back so he would have something to ease the blow of Oklahoma's eyes meeting his.
"Yeah," he said, slamming his glass back onto the counter. "Another for me as well, if you would."
"Of course."
Oklahoma's initial surprise had passed, more quickly than Texas would have guessed. He himself was still reeling from shock. In the spirit of fairness, though, he had to admit to himself that it must be less surprising for Oklahoma to find Texas in his own state than the other way around.
"Anyone sitting there, Garth?" Oklahoma said, his tone mocking as he gestured to the seat next to Texas.
Texas opened his mouth, but he wasn't sure what he would've answered, because Lacy said cheerfully, "Not last I checked!" For the first time, he regretted becoming so friendly with her, friendly enough that she felt justified in announcing that the seat next to him wasn't taken.
As Oklahoma sat down, Lacy continued, "I don't believe the two of you have met. Garth, this is Russell; Russell, Garth."
"You know each other?" Texas said, still trying to wrap his mind around the fact that Oklahoma was here, in Texas, in a bar lavished with Texan pride.
Oklahoma cleared his throat, but Lacy didn't get the hint, and she said, "Russell's here almost as often as you!"
Texas raised his eyebrows. "Oh? I'm surprised we haven't run into each other."
"Yes," Oklahoma said, drawing out the word. "What a coincidence."
He had the strangest feeling that it wasn't a coincidence at all. "And you come here quite a bit, it sounds like," he said.
Oklahoma shrugged. "I suppose so."
He meant to sound ridiculing, but came off mostly as sincere when he asked, "Why?"
Lacy had dropped off their drinks and gone to tend to other customers, and Oklahoma took advantage of the glass to hide his face for a moment. When he lowered it again (now half empty), he said, "I could ask you the same question."
Texas snorted. "No, you couldn't. We're in an uber-Texan bar in Texas, so-"
"Not about that. About Garth."
He inhaled sharply. He'd grown so used to being called Garth that he'd almost forgotten why he chose that name. Oklahoma guessed correctly in one, though, when he said, "Garth Brooks?"
With a frown, he said, "Well, Garth Brown. And the reason I chose that name is neither here nor there."
"I see. Complete coincidence, then."
It was with a desperate grab for dignity that Texas said, "Just because he's from Oklahoma doesn't mean you're the only one who likes him!"
"So you admit you knew he was from Oklahoma!"
"Ye- no- I mean, that didn't affect my choice at all!"
But when Oklahoma raised his glass to his lips this time, it wasn't to hide embarrassment, but rather to hide a smile, and Texas's frown was born more of irritation at himself than irritation at his companion.
--
The next time they saw each other, Oklahoma greeted him as Garth, and Texas responded by asking whether he'd been to any nice bars lately. The issue with this new kind of teasing was that Oklahoma didn't seem ashamed by the fact that he'd been exposed as a regular at a Texan bar, and Texas couldn't find it within himself to be mad that Oklahoma knew of his choice of name. After all, every time Oklahoma called him Garth, his lips quirked in the way they did when he was trying not to smile, and how could Texas get mad at that? He couldn't.
How had he let it get this far? He wanted to want to hold Oklahoma at arm's length, but more and more often lately, found himself unable to do so.
Besides, it was hardly more sinful to want to touch Oklahoma than it was to want to kill him. Oklahoma had always been among the few exceptions Texas gave himself for sin, and if he looked at it a certain way, it wasn't sin anyway, because it was all in his mind. But by this point, he was less worried about the religious implications than the social implications.
They ran into each other at that same Texan bar more than once after that. Texas had a regular schedule, going twice a week on Sundays and Fridays, and Oklahoma seemed to have caught on; soon Texas never went there without finding Oklahoma. They kept meeting up for the shooting range as well, Wednesdays as always, and before long, Texas was spending almost as many evenings with Oklahoma as without.
And he wanted, how he wanted, he wanted so much, and he wasn't sure what it was that he wanted anyway but that didn't stop him from wanting.
It felt like a mistake when Oklahoma came to Texas's house for the first time. It was Friday, and as usual, they'd found each other at that bar, and they got to talking about superhero movies, and Texas was perturbed to discover that Oklahoma had never seen Superman.
"Never?" he kept repeating. "Not even once?" He felt dizzy, and he wasn't sure if it was because of this new information, or the fact he kept taking sips of Oklahoma's drink, or the close vicinity of Oklahoma- their knees kept bumping together, and every time it sent a shock down up Texas's spine, to his head, making his mind fuzzy.
This fuzziness was what he blamed his next words on: "Then come to mine and we'll watch it together."
Oklahoma seemed just as drunk as Texas, if his slow smiles and heavy touches on Texas's back and shoulder were any indication. "Come to yours?" he echoed.
"Yes. Now. No excuses for this."
"No," Oklahoma agreed, grinning, "No excuses at all."
Texas kept his hand on Oklahoma's arm, half dragging him through the streets until they found an abandoned alley that they could hide in to snap out to Texas's house.
As always, the act of snapping made Texas's mind clear up considerably, and Oklahoma seemed almost confused to find himself in front of Texas's door, and it became clear that this was a mistake.
But if there was one thing Texas was good at, besides wanting, it was refusing to admit when he'd made a mistake.
He unlocked the door and ushered Oklahoma in. "Take off your shoes," Texas said. Oklahoma had already been in the process of doing so, but once Texas said to, he put them back on, out of spite. Texas wanted to tackle him and force him to take off his shoes, but thought better of it, because he might do something unwise if his body was pressed against Oklahoma's in this moment.
"Big house," Oklahoma commented. "Do you live with people? Have a family?"
His voice was kept neutral, much too neutral for Texas's liking. They'd been enemies for upwards of a century, and Texas could count on one hand the number of times Oklahoma's voice was neutral when talking to him.
Mistaking his distaste for something else, Oklahoma said, "I won't tell."
Gov would indeed be pissed if Texas had been hiding a family here, but he was not.
"Everything's bigger in Texas," he said, "and if I had a family, the house would be twice as large to fit them."
This made Oklahoma smile, and all neutrality was gone when he said, "Ah, you just can't find a woman, is that it? No one wants you?"
Texas glared at him. "I could get any woman I wished."
"Wanna bet?"
"No."
It was a rare occasion for Texas to refuse a challenge, especially one posed by Oklahoma, and Oklahoma fell silent as he waited for an explanation.
Texas rolled his shoulders, trying to get rid of the stress stored in them, and he said, with as much dignity and rationality as he could manage, "I don't want to find a woman. Not a mortal."
"There are personifications you could be with," Oklahoma pointed out.
"None of them could handle all this."
"Probably true. I wouldn't wish you on any of them."
"Bastard."
Oklahoma grinned, which was a strange reaction o being insulted, but one that Texas had come to expect after so many years. "Shall we?"
Texas brought him to the living room, and they got settled on the couch, closer to each other than they had any right to be. Too used to the bar stools, Texas reasoned; they were used to their knees bumping together, to being able to lean into each other's space without any trouble at all.
Texas had forgotten how boring the original Superman movie was, and he spent most of his time watching Oklahoma. Oklahoma was similarly of the opinion that the movie wasn't very exciting, and he spent most of his time complaining.
"Oh, look, another office scene… he's talking to people again… doesn't he ever fly?"
"Shut up," Texas said, less so because he wanted Oklahoma to shut up, and more so because he wanted Oklahoma to know he was listening.
"Make me," Oklahoma shot back, giving Texas a glance. If he was surprised to find Texas already watching him, he didn't show it.
Texas leaned closer, just a bit, and he wanted to remove the space between them completely. "How?" he asked, hoping that his tone sounded as lightheartedly scathing as Oklahoma's, instead of curious, instead of desperate.
This was how he wanted, the only way he knew how to want: desperately.
"By doing something unexpected," Oklahoma said, not taking his eyes off of the boring movie.
Texas didn't think too hard about what he was doing until he had one hand cupping Oklahoma's chin so he could force Oklahoma to pay attention to him, wanting Oklahoma's warm hazel eyes on him rather than the TV, and he brought him closer, until their noses were almost touching.
"That unexpected?" Texas said, his voice rough.
Oklahoma scoffed, his breath hot on Texas's lips. "You haven't even done anything yet," he said, impatience mixing with annoyance in his tone.
This certainly felt like something to Texas, and he would be disappointed to learn that Oklahoma didn't think it counted, if not for "yet." He hadn't done anything yet.
He closed the gap, tilting his head and guiding Oklahoma's mouth to his own. Oklahoma wasn't soft or gentle, nothing like anyone Texas had been with before, no mortal, no personification. His hand closed around Texas's wrist, tight enough to almost cut off circulation, his other finding its way to Texas's waist to pull him closer, and he let Texas lead for a mere moment before responding with such enthusiasm that Texas had to struggle to not drown in the wave of affection.
When Texas pulled away, he was breathless, and he had to remind himself how to speak. "Was that unexpected?" he managed, wincing at how wrecked he sounded from a mere kiss- but it wasn't a mere kiss, because this was Oklahoma, who Texas wanted to antagonize and endear himself to and hate and love and be with, in any capacity, as enemy and lover and everything in between, for as long as he would be allowed.
Oklahoma, as his gaze raked over Texas, allowing himself to look more closely than ever before, grinned savagely. "Not particularly," he said, his grasp on Texas's waist tightening, and Texas wanted to kill him, wanted to ruin him, wanted him.
Texas was good at wanting, and bad at articulating what he wanted, but for now, it didn't matter, because all of it was reflected in Oklahoma's eyes- those gorgeous hazel eyes that drove Texas insane in a million different ways, those eyes that were as fiery now as they were when the two of them fought.