by Clare London
=just passing through=
“Scot?” Jerry stood in front of him, reaching for his arms. “God, God, I’m sorry!”
Scot shook his head, trying to clear it. He hadn’t seen Jerry stand up or cross the small room, but now he was pressed against him, the smell of Jerry’s sweat in his nostrils, his grip tight on his arms.
“I really didn’t mean to upset you. I don’t know what the hell got into me.” Jerry pressed his lips against Scot’s cheek. They were oddly cool, considering the heat everywhere. “This is the best—you know it is, you know how I feel about you.”
Scot felt his gut stir uncomfortably. “I’m… Yeah. Sure.”
“I mean, it’s great, you and me. Isn’t it? And the sex! Never better.”
Scot nodded slowly. He didn’t have the same experience to judge by, of course. “Okay. Well, I’m sorry too. I overreacted. It’s the heat, I guess. Or… whatever.” He pulled as carefully as he could from Jerry’s grasp, though there was nowhere else to go in the room. He picked up a towel from the floor and folded it up. Then re-folded it. He couldn’t think what to do with his hands. Why did he feel so damned tense, like he wanted to kick someone? “I’m just antsy about the car. What’ll we do? We don’t know when the repair guy will come and Vincent doesn’t seem to know anything else about it.”
Jerry reached for him again, trying to pull him into his arms. “Why are you so worried? Another day or so won’t matter. There’ll be someone out soon. They have to have food delivered, don’t they? We’ll either get the car fixed then, or hitch a lift into town.”
“Another day or so? But we don’t have much money, and there’s a long way to go yet before we get to Vegas.”
Jerry laughed. Scot realized it was the first time he’d heard him laugh for a while, at least in that careless, relaxed way. “But we’ve been given an option—to help out, to pay our way for a bit.”
=stay=
When exactly had the voice returned? Had it ever left?
“You want to help out Vincent in the kitchen?” Scot tried to keep his voice steady. “Looked like you two were planning it already this morning.” It didn’t come off as enough of a joke and Scot knew immediately he’d misjudged it.
“Shut the fuck up.” Jerry’s anger was back, in his voice and in the sudden tension across his shoulders. “What help have you been so far? I’m trying to make the money last, and do the best for us, and that’s nothing to do with Vincent, okay? Yeah, I know we have to get going, to move on, the fastest we can. But I can’t make miracles happen, can I?” His expression grew sly. “And maybe you’ve taken a fancy to helping Oliver out, eh? With more than some yard repairs.”
What the hell? Scot’s head hurt. Sweat ran down between his shoulder blades and his own anger rose quickly in response, bubbling out of him. “What the fuck are you saying? You are way out of line!”
“Don’t be so naïve, Scot, you can see it as well as I can. He’s dripping with it—the come-on, the buy-one-get-one-free invitation. I saw the way he looked at your ass. The way he drooled over you in the hall, all the time he was spreading his cheeks for a bit of fondling up his hole—”
“You stupid jerk!” Scot lurched abruptly away, until his back slammed against the closed door out of the bedroom. He couldn’t remember them ever arguing like this. Was it because they’d never had the time, or was it because he’d never really disagreed with Jerry before? It had made for an easier life for both of them. “Who do you think you are? I choose what I want to do, okay? Not you. And I’m here with you, aren’t I? Leaving it all behind for you! Dammit, you’re fucking me, aren’t you? What the hell else do you want from me?”
Jerry had gone pale. “Stop it, Scot. I didn’t mean—”
“So what did you mean?” Scot was past compromise now. It had been a hell of a week so far. He’d been scared and angry at home, yet nervous of their escape—he seemed to have been painfully tense for as long as he could remember. Then they’d spent days in a shitty old car in revolting heat and dirt, and now they were in some weird old motel with even weirder staff. He’d spent the night stretched out under Jerry, gasping and groaning and coming more than he had for months, then trotted after him into the motel kitchen to see his boyfriend all but make out there on the counter with the cook. And to cap it all, the rental car was dead, he had no idea where in the fucking country he was, and they were stuck in a small room with nothing to do but fuck.
=easy, now=
Scot had always been nervous of Jerry’s anger. Now his own felt as scary. “You’ve always got to be in charge of everything, Jerry. The money, the car, who looks at my ass! You don’t think I can look after myself, do you?” The fury inside him was like a molten geyser, ready to blow. “You’re always the one to say where we go, when we go, why we go! What the hell do you know about me, anyway? Desperate, that’s what you think… I’m pathetic and desperate for anyone who passes. You think I’m going to drop my pants for that hot, half-dressed guy who barely looks legal, when it’s you who’s drooling over the stud in the kitchen and his sexy food, and his rippling, fucking muscles—”
Jerry lifted his hands, obviously trying to stop the tirade. He looked disorientated, almost nauseous. He tilted his head to one side as if listening to something and his eyes clouded over. “Scot, stop! I’m sorry. I’m sorry! I don’t think that way about you, okay? Calm down.”
But the words had been festering just under the surface of Scot’s daily conversation for some time now. The feelings had been repressed there, too. For how long? What is this really about? “Jerry, if you’re going to be like that, I’m out of here, right? I don’t need this.” Years of a hard, hideous home life, his useless parents, his fights to get through school without any money, without ever belonging to the right crowd.
=that’s all over=
He groaned. “You said it’d be different, if we left. No more people telling me what to do. No more telling me I’m always wrong, always stupid…”
In a single, awkward movement, Jerry stepped forward and clasped Scot to him. He pressed his mouth down on Scot’s lips, and thrust his tongue into his mouth, silencing him. It seemed to be all he could think of doing to stop the argument. His mouth was greedy and fierce, and Scot let Jerry’s breath steal into him, startling him, distracting him—and then gradually stimulating him afresh.
“I didn’t mean it,” Jerry muttered into Scot’s mouth. “I just… it’s just that it’s such a change, to be in control of my own life at last. To be in charge. Not of you, I don’t mean... shit, I just want to be with you.” He stopped talking, and began panting. He ran his hands up under Scot’s vest. Scot arched gently underneath the clumsy touch, his nipples tightening into hard, raised nubs.
“It was so good, Scot. Last night.” Jerry’s voice was thick and muffled. “I felt so good.” He pushed them both backward, up against the bed.
Scot’s knees buckled and he rolled onto his back on the newly straightened cover.
Jerry came with him, touching, pinching, stroking. kissing. “Make me feel good again, Scot. I need you. I want you so much… get these fucking shorts off, let me touch you.” He struggled with Scot’s clothes until Scot decided to help him. He pushed his jeans down, the boxers as well, then helped Jerry tug his shorts off.
Jerry knelt beside the bed, level with Scot’s hips, mouthing soft sounds into the naked skin of Scot’s groin. Scot was aroused now, as fierce and eager as the first time, as the last time. As any time! Jerry’s hands were on his waist, then pinching a nipple, then his tongue was reaching for the tip of Scot’s cock, licking the drops leaking out.
We’ve never done it in the daytime. Scot was dizzy with desire. It felt very different. Lots of things felt different at the moment.
“The day’s too hot to go out until after lunch,” Jerry murmured. “We can find some food later, right? And so now we need to keep ourselves amused.” His whisper sounded childishly hopeful as his tongue slid down the soft, warm skin of Scot’s s
haft.
Scot arched again, more fiercely. He couldn’t believe his desperation: the agony of suspense in his balls. The terrible need for Jerry. The need for sex.
=need=
Could he blame Jerry for lusting after Vincent? Or even Oliver, for that matter. They were gorgeous. Hot. Dammit, everything was hot.
=and me?=
Scot shook his head, blanking out the voice, and wriggled on the bed. Jerry climbed up on the mattress beside him, their naked bodies meeting at as many points as they could manage. Jerry kissed Scot’s chin, searching for his neck, his mouth, his tongue. He seemed just as desperate.
“What do you want, Scot? Tell me whatever you want. I just want to fuck you. What do you want?”
“Fuck me,” Scot whispered in reply. He grabbed a handful of Jerry’s soft hair, smelling the faint traces of both motor and cooking oil in the strands that brushed through his fingers. He pressed Jerry gently back down toward his groin, spreading his legs in blatant invitation. “Just fuck me. As hard as you like. That’s all I want, too.”
***
Scot came awake with a yawn and a stretch of his naked limbs. From the open window, the noonday sun shone on his face and he frowned at the warm caress on his cheek. A small trail of moisture beaded his upper lip and he could feel sweat tickling between his shoulder blades. He’d slept deeply from exhaustion and a listlessness caused by the incessant heat, but he’d woken more quickly than usual. His hand rested across Jerry’s leg but he drew it back, clutching it around himself instead. Jerry never stirred. Scot let out his breath slowly and quietly. His body was aching and felt bruised, and his dreams had been unusually disturbed. And not just because he slept so rarely in the daytime.
He let his eyes drift half-closed again. He didn’t want to admit it, but he knew he was listening for something more than Jerry’s occasional snoring, or sounds from the outside yard.
The voice. Connor Maxwell. Or he assumed it was him.
Beside him, Jerry made a snuffling sound like a puppy.
Scot couldn’t ignore a stab of irritation. He didn’t want Jerry to wake: he didn’t want to face more argument, or confusion or—God help him—more fucking. And that worried him. He and Jerry were only just starting out, yet they were fighting already, tangled in misunderstanding, suspicious of each other around other guys. What was wrong with him, was it his fault? Was this what it was like, being with someone all the time?
=doesn’t have to be=
Scot tensed up. Back off! He wanted things to be good with Jerry. He wanted them to have more in common than the place they were born, their desire, hot and repressed and fierce when let loose. He wanted someone—
=for your own. Who wants you as you are. Waits for you, wishes for you, comforts you=
Comfort? Scot’s eyes prickled and he rubbed them quickly. Comfort wasn’t something he ever expected. His parents’ care had been erratic, and unreliable when he really needed it. And there’d been no one of his own peer group that he’d ever been close to, until Jerry.
=No=
Scot frowned.
=not him=
He shook his head, angry that he’d let the voice back in. Maybe he was sick. Or maybe some of his teachers had been right when they said he was stupid. He knew all he’d wanted was to be listened to, to be challenged, to be guided. But they’d called it anti-social behavior. There’d never been any understanding between him and authority. And his classmates found him too abrasive, too complex. Too weird.
He shivered despite the heat. He was very hungry, having missed breakfast and probably slept through lunch, but he doubted there were any other places to eat around here. They hadn’t passed anywhere else in the car for miles. How did this place get by? They must have supplies delivered from somewhere, because there’d been plenty of food in the kitchen, and the bedroom had everything it needed. And the staff didn’t look like they were missing out on anything.
=not all of us=
For the first time, Scot wanted to laugh. He didn’t know how, but he heard a thread of amusement in the voice, a hint of ruefulness.
“What’s happening here?” he murmured softly. He could pretend he was just musing aloud. “Who are you all? Why isn’t there anyone else here, no one coming or going at the motel except for us?”
Or was it something else? Scot felt suddenly, inexplicably frightened. Maybe there were plenty of things going on—delivery guys, other guests, stores and supplies—but he didn’t see them. Like he was sick, or insane, like some people had told him in the past—
=stop that! You’re not sick or insane=
He shook his head, still keeping his voice low. “What the hell do you know?”
=you’re special, Scot=
He snorted. Yeah, that’s what the school counselor had once said. Just before he left school for the final time.
=stop it. Believe me=
He felt a nagging pain in his temple. How come he accepted the idea of someone talking to his mind? That was insane. But the voice in his head was low and soft, tugging at something inside him that he’d never admitted was there. Perhaps he hadn’t wanted to: perhaps he’d been afraid to.
What’s more, he knew he’d always heard it. Or voices like it. And that was before he and Jerry had started this wild adventure, even before he’d known Jerry—even before they’d fucked. Voices had plagued him all through his adolescence, distracting him, confusing him, keeping him apart from his peers. Weird, the other kids called him, and to be honest, Scot had agreed with them. He couldn’t talk to anyone about it, couldn’t explain or get the voices to cease. In his mind, he believed it was a symptom of a young man growing up in the wrong place, with the wrong desires. When he was at his most unhappy—when the misery twisted inside him like a wet, wicked blade—he withdrew into himself, searching internally for sense and a love he got nowhere else. That’s when he’d found other voices. They’d kept him company, even while he hated and feared them. When he found Jerry, and sex, and escape—well, the voices had faded for a long while.
Until now.
The voice—this voice – had emerged instead. As soon as they came to this damned place, it became the strongest one he’d ever experienced. How long had he been here? Just a day. But this particular voice had become familiar in the dark and the light, in sympathy with his own needs and emotions. It didn’t have to speak, but somehow he knew it was always there. Angry alongside him; frightened with him; physically aching with him. Sometimes it made him want to laugh, sometimes it terrified him. But it was the same voice he heard every time, in this random motel.
He’d once hoped his voices would leave for good when he found real companions and friends. But despite thinking he’d be leaving everything behind when he left town with Jerry, it seemed this voice had come with him.
Or he’d come to it.
He shivered again, resisting the urge to put his hands over his ears because he knew it wouldn’t make any difference. Now the voice was something from deep inside him. Too close. It was asking something of him, though what it wanted, he had no idea. And now, of course, it had a name. How could that be?
“What are you?” he cried softly.
For once, the voice was silent. And as Scot turned away from the window, reaching instinctively across the bed for his lover, the voice laughed.
But the laugh was bitter.
Chapter 6
The day’s stay at the motel had stretched to two… then three, or four. The hours seemed to blur into a warm, continuous stream of lethargy.
“So hot.” Scot groaned. He lay naked on the top of the bed covers. A single drop of sweat trickled down his left side. The fan was whirring bravely, but this day was starting as steamy as the ones before. “I can’t even bother with breakfast this morning. Is the damned weather like this all the time out here?”
Beside him, Jerry leaned over and trailed a hand over Scot’s thigh. He grinned when the muscles across Scot’s stomach tensed up. He was also naked: somehow that d
idn’t seem to be anything out of the ordinary these days. He caught Scot’s hand and tugged it over to his groin, wrapping the fingers around his swelling erection.
“Again?” Scot murmured. The word was plaintive, but he knew the smirk on his face contradicted it. “More sex again? We did it twice last night. We did it an hour ago, when the sun came up. I’m pretty sore, Jerry.”
Jerry snorted. “It’s not only me who’s insatiable. I’ve never known you so eager, and so…”
“So tasty?” Scot grinned slyly. Surrender was always so sweet and… easy. He teased his hand up Jerry’s cock, and trailed a thin strand of pre-come onto his fingers as he reached the head. Gently, he massaged it until Jerry winced with the growing sensitivity. Scot rolled over on to his stomach and batted a lazy foot against the coverlet. Then he slid his sticky fingers into his mouth, and pursed his lips around them. He looked up at Jerry through half-lidded eyes. The look he surprised in his lover’s eyes was feral and almost shocking. But I’m not shocked by it any more, am I? Scot felt his taste buds respond, damp saliva rising in his mouth.
“Let me suck you,” Jerry whispered. “Come here.”
“Surprised you can find room for me, considering your enthusiastic appetite for Vincent’s cooking,” Scot protested. Even if the meals were ‘all you can eat’, Jerry was taking full advantage, three times a day. He’d told Scot they still had enough money to pay for it all, but he’d also started going into the kitchen before meals. He explained to Scot that Vincent needed the help.
Yeah, right.
The whole issue of their money was a mystery to Scot. He’d never had much of his own, and what he had, he’d handed over to Jerry when they left town together. In fact, he’d left all of the financing of the trip to Jerry. He wondered idly how much a room cost here. Jerry didn’t tell him, and there was no rate displayed anywhere. He’d never been presented with an account, nor seen Jerry handle one. Still, he assumed Jerry wouldn’t let a debt go unpaid, he was pretty strict that way. It must have been settled up to date.