by Willa Okati
When he finishes at last, he draws back, licking his lips. "So, pet?" he asks in a throaty voice. "What about that camping trip now, eh?"
Daniel blinks to clear the floating stars from in front of his eyes. "Promise me you'll do that in the great outdoors, and I'm in."
"You will be," Rack promises, filling Daniel's mind with the thought of fucking underneath nothing but the moonlit sky. "I can promise you as much. Now!" He tucks Daniel back into his jeans, zips him up carefully, and gives the fly a pat. "You've got work to do."
"You want--" Daniel starts, but Rack laughs.
"I can wait, me. You need to pack, though. Couple of shirts, change of jeans, bathing suit, and your toiletries." He points at the empty knapsack.
Daniel stares at it, then back at Rack, and finally sighs, leaning back against the wall. "You forgot the cast-iron frying pan," he says.
Rack gives a whoop of victory and races off to the kitchen, presumably to fetch the pan. Daniel isn't sure what he plans to do with it if they're not taking food and the campsite provides meals, but if it makes him happy, what the hell? At least he'll be the one carrying the thing in his sack.
So, he guesses he's going camping. Hazily, Daniel reaches for the brochure again. Two nights out in the woods. Bugs, snakes, dead fish in the lake, hiking through the woods and getting disgustingly smelly and sweaty.
But then, there will be sex under the stars.
Ah, what the hell. How bad can it be?
* * * * *
They end up getting a late start. Much later than Rack would have liked, since it's nearing dusk when they set out. But what with one thing and other, including his lack of willpower when Daniel decided he was going to return the sexual favor come hell or high water, plus a screaming chase through the house while flinging washcloths at each other, they end up being late.
Turns out that they don't have to carry the knapsacks on their backs after all. Daniel's figured out a way to tie them to the back of the bike, and while they wobble and bounce, and the iron skillet makes alarming clanking noises, the whole thing seems to be sturdy enough.
Rack's driving, and as always, he's totally focused on the road -- or so it would seem. God only knows what's going through his mind. Probably a chorus or two of "Born To Be Wild", sung by a particularly raucous group of rough-hewn men.
Daniel decides he'd rather be what Rack's thinking about, and edges his way a little closer and then closer still, until instead of just holding on by the waist, he's molded to Rack like modeling clay. Rack doesn't seem to mind. On the contrary, he gives a wiggle backwards to indicate that he likes the move just fine. This close to Rack's ass, Daniel's cock begins to harden. He thrusts against Rack's delicious rear, rocking back and forth while the power of the cycle roars between his legs.
Rack half-turns his head around. If he had the helmet off, Daniel knows exactly what kind of look he'd be wearing -- a do you dare challenge. Okay, fine. He's up to the task. Pretty damn eager, truth be told.
Daniel slips one of his hands down from Rack's waist to the fastening of his jeans. They're old, splotched with paint stains, and washed so many times that they're paper thin. He reaches for the zipper and finds, damn it, a button fly. How many times has he told Rack not to wear those?
So a little more manual dexterity is required. Daniel can still deal. Careful not to catch anything sensitive, he undoes the buttons one at a time, not all the way, just far enough to push his hand inside and get a fantastic handful of cock. Rack's hard, too, probably from the vibrations of the road, but Daniel likes to think it's also due to his own influence.
The hand job he gives Rack almost causes a collision, and gets them more than a few shocked stares from other motorists who no doubt can't quite believe what they've seen, but it's worth it. Daniel loves the challenge of pleasing Rack on the bike. Limited mobility, cramped quarters, and still bringing his man off like a champ.
Plus, it's fun as hell to see Rack try to stay in control while his cock's being stroked, fingered, and having the piercings twisted and tugged.
When he comes, his head arches back, and Daniel can almost see that elegant line of throat that he loves so much. That's when they almost have the crash, but with a sharp jerk Rack brings his head back down and gathers his control. How he does that when his cock is pulsing out thick dollops of come, Daniel will never know. No tissues, so Daniel scatters his handful to the wind, then chances a fall by licking the rest off his fingers. Then he fastens Rack's jeans back up, giving him a pat when he's all done.
Rack half-turns again, and the meaning of the gesture is once again clear: just you wait until I get my turn.
Daniel shivers in anticipation of the pleasure to come. He loves it when Rack gets dominant on him. Although he's a mouthy little punk, he's also pretty damn good with his hands, and even better with his cock. Daniel imagines being taken underneath those stars Rack's promised him, on his back on a blanket in the woods. Alone? Could be. Or maybe they'd hear the groans of other couples in surrounding glens. That thought turns him on almost as much as the engine roaring between his thighs and the close proximity of Rack's ass.
Hmm. An exhibitionist streak. Not that he should be surprised, after all. Given everything they've done together, a little voyeurism is absolutely nothing to write home about.
Speaking of which, Daniel composes a post card for Luz in his head. He knows he'll mail her one, partially because she and Mei Li will be in stitches over his current camping predicament. Lesbians have much better sense.
Dear Luz (and hi, Mei Li),
You'll never guess what Rack's up to now. He's dragged me off on the back of his bike to go camping with a bunch of other committed types (or types who ought to be committed, and I don't mean to each other). I haven't camped out since I was twelve and still in the Boy Scouts. I'm going prepared, but for some reason I don't think the Scout salute would be appropriate. Rack would have a better gesture in mind. I'll ask him. Two days away from the shop and the tattoo parlor is going to be so weird, but Rack says it'll be good practice for the road trip we're taking.
What with the insect repellent and the mosquitoes the size of Las Vegas, I don't think I'll say 'wish you were here'. If it weren't for Rack, I'd say 'wish I was there'. But for richer or poorer, in sickness and good health, right?
Signing off now. You two take care and don't drive the neighbors crazy with your lesbian antics while we're gone.
Yes, I know you'll get this after we return. Stop laughing.
Love,
Daniel
Rack nudges back at Daniel, knocking him out of his reverie. He glances up and sees that it's pitch-dark out and they're pulling into an all-night diner, mostly deserted, but brightly lit and bearing a sign declaring that this is "Joey's Place". Dinner? Sounds like a good idea to Daniel, whose stomach voices a definite positive opinion. They'd forgotten to eat before they left, and they'll definitely have missed the grill-out by the time they get to the site.
One thing does worry him, though. They're in a pretty rural area right now, and Joey's Place is the only business open in a small stretch of shops. How are the locals gonna take to two tattooed, pierced guys, one of them British and punked-out, walking into their Mayberry saloon and ordering up a couple of burgers?
At the thought of burgers, Daniel decides he doesn't care what they think. He's fucking starving.
Rack pulls the bike into an empty parking space and puts the kickstand down. Peeling off his helmet, he gives his head a shake and raps his knuckles against Daniel's visor. When Daniel takes off his own headgear, Rack grabs the back of his head and pulls him in for a bruising kiss.
"That's part payment for what you did to me on the road," he informs Daniel very seriously. "Only a dab's worth, though. When we get to our cabin in the woods --"
"No, out under the moonlight."
"Which-bloody-ever. When I get you alone, you're going to see a little payback, boy. Are we clear?"
Daniel salutes, and not just with
his hand. Rack kisses him again, hard and punishing, their tongue studs clattering together. Daniel wraps his arms around Rack, holding on tight, still tingling from the excitement of the ride and in anticipation of even better things to come.
When he draws back for air, he realizes they've gathered an audience. The handful of patrons inside Joey's Place are all staring out the shiny clean windows, two trucker types with their mouths hanging open. Disgust, admiration, or shock? Daniel can't tell.
Coughing slightly, he slides off the bike, followed closely by Rack who then, naturally, takes the lead and barges into Joey's Place as if he owns the joint. Spotting a sign that says "Seat Yourself", he dives into a comfortable booth by a window and is almost immediately taking out his cigarettes and digging for a lighter.
Daniel watches him go through this ritual almost indulgently. He can't remember how long he's been getting on to Rack about his nicotine habit -- hell, if Rack can ride him about the anemia, he can have his own hobbyhorse -- but it's not getting him anywhere. Rack's going to the grave with a cigarette clasped between his lips.
Rack inhales and lets out a plume of pale gray smoke, then gives a great sigh of relief. "That's better," he says. "Nothin' like a hard ride and an even harder ride to make a man want a smoke."
The leer he gives leaves no doubt as to the subject of his innuendo, and he's not bothering to lower his voice. The gum-chewing waitress coming tentatively over toward them gives Rack a doubtful look, then holds up her order pad like a shield. "What'll you have?"
"Beef," Rack says far too innocently. "A good thick slab of it."
The waitress, to give her credit, takes all of this in stride. "Chopped steak special?"
"Nah. Rather a hamburger, no, make that a cheeseburger, with all the trimmings. Mustard, ketchup, mayo, chili, whatever the hell you have, slop it on there. And fries. Extra-crispy now, mind. I don't fancy a lot of soggy chips. They don't go down well."
"And for your, er…"
"Same for my man here." Rack gives the waitress a sunny grin. "Oh, yeah, and two iced teas plus one black coffee. That's for me," he tells Daniel sternly. "You've already had your cup for the day. Me, I need to stay awake for driving. And oh, yeah, make one of those teas decaf if you've got it."
"Just regular."
"Damn. Well, you get a bit of extra caffeine today, then," Rack says, slumping back. Daniel sighs with a mixture of pleasure and irritation. He doesn't need to be mothered like this, and sometimes it gets on his nerves. Just because his iron runs low doesn't mean he needs a nanny.
"We've got herbal stuff," the waitress volunteers. "Want some of that?"
And Rack brightens right up. "Oh, yeah, missus. That'll do fine. A cuppa that for my mate, here."
He doesn’t mean 'mate' in the 'friend' sense, and Daniel senses that the waitress can tell this. But for all that, she gives them a cockeyed grin as she puts down their copy of the bill and walks away, shaking her head. Probably in amusement. Daniel hopes.
The two truckers pay up at the register and clear out, casting startled glances behind them. Daniel can't imagine why, oh, no, not at all. Rack takes another deep drag on his smoke and exhales contentedly. "This is the life, this is. We ought to have gotten away before for a bit of a vacation."
Daniel grins at him. He can't help it when Rack is in a good mood. It's infectious. "It is a good trial run for the tattoo tour," he says. "And so far so good, right?"
Rack waggles his eyebrows. "I'd say very good, love. An encore performance might send us crashing headlong into a tree, though, so watch where those naughty hands go wandering during the rest of the drive. Not that I don't love a good jacking-off, but there's a time and a place, yeah?"
Daniel notices three women in way too much makeup sitting in a booth near them, leaning forward in undisguised interest. Across the way, a lady who has to be in her seventies is adjusting her hearing aid and tilting her head at them.
He realizes they're the only men in this diner except for the fry cook, and suddenly feels more than a little nervous. This is like a private showing of that gay design show for these ladies, and they can't wait to see what Daniel and Rack will do next.
Knowing Rack, it'll be something outrageous which he should probably get mad at him for, but won't be able to.
As it turns out, his next move is pretty innocuous. "We should get there around ten," Rack says, glancing at his watch. Daniel gave him that for his last birthday, and it's a nice one. Has the phases of the moon on it and everything. If he wanted, he could tell what time it was in Afghanistan. "A bit late for check-in, but there'll still be someone manning the gates. Then, what do you say we do a bit of exploration on our own? Check out the lake, maybe go skinny-dipping."
Daniel gives it up. Sometimes you just have to go for broke, and their audience looks like they'd appreciate a little more gusto. "Or we could have sex," he suggests. "Really noisy sex that wakes up all the good little campers in their cabins."
Ooh, that gets a look of definite and lascivious interest from the ladies. Granny grins so broadly that her dentures click.
Rack looks surprised for a moment, then tilts his head back and laughs full-throated. "I think I like your plan better," he says, ashing his cigarette. "No holds barred?"
"Nasty as you wanna be."
"Oh, I've been corrupting you, I see."
"You started corrupting me the day you met me."
"True enough." Rack leans forward, and Daniel meets him halfway for a kiss that tastes like smoke but is sweet all the same. When they part, their waitress is there with Rack's coffee and both their teas.
Rack isn't phased at all. He grins at the woman with a "Ta, love," and begins searching among the multi-colored packets for plain sugar. Daniel stares glumly into his cup of herbal water, wishing for a Coke or something equally bad for him. Hey, Sprite! No caffeine. He could have one of those, couldn't he?
"I've changed my mind," he says with his most winning smile. "Bring me a decaf soda."
"Can't say I blame you. I wouldn't drink this stuff on a bet. And after a good hard ride, a man needs something to wet his whistle." And be damned if the waitress doesn't give Daniel a lusty wink before walking off, whistling to herself.
Daniel has to laugh. When he looks over at Rack, he can see his partner's eyes crinkled at the corners with good humor. They share a laugh together, but when it's over Daniel can still see fine lines. The sight moves him oddly, and he reaches out to touch them. They aren't as young as they once were, he and Rack, and while they're nowhere near old, time is still leaving its mark.
He grows oddly pensive.
Rack blinks under Daniel's touch, his lashes fluttering and tickling. "Here, now, pet," he says, voice soft for a change. "What's gotten into you?"
"Mortality," Daniel says simply, withdrawing his hand. Rack looks at him for a second, then touches the old scar across Daniel's hand and nods.
"Gets to us all, it does," is the only thing he says.
"It's just… I don't know what I'd do if I lost you."
"You'd go on living," Rack says simply. "Nothing else I'd want you to do. Find a nice bloke, maybe someone a little more conventional, because underneath all the ink and metal you're still a boy next door, but someone who'll treat you right."
"Rack, don't."
"What? I'm only bein' practical." Rack sips his coffee and nods in appreciation, but his eyes are serious. "Look, you. If I snuff it before you do, I want you to go on living. And I mean living, not just going through the motions from day to endless day. Fall in love, drink a few cold beers, take up smoking in my memory. Way I figure, I'll be up there dancin' around in green pastures and it won't be but a moment before we're back together again, so in the meantime, you live."
Daniel shakes his head, looking down. "I don't know how I could."
"Because I'm bloody well ordering you to." Rack takes Daniel's hand in his own and strokes the tattooed wedding band. "And the same goes for me, you know. It's a hard truth, but life is
n't easy, is it? We both of us have to go on living, come what may, because it's not life if you're standing on the edges. That's what I want, for you and for me. S'why I push you so hard and get us wrapped up in crazy trips like this. Living is what it's all about." He lifts Daniel's hand to his mouth for a kiss. "So you do what I say, now. Don't think about it unless it happens, but if that day should ever come, you mark my words."
The three women sigh. Granny nods and lifts her coffee cup as if in salute. Daniel gives them all a passing glance and a sense of fellow-feeling passes through the small crowd. They're all one when it comes to standing by their man when he treats them right, and they know when to hold them and when to fold them.
Rack's right. He usually is. They know it, and Daniel knows it.