xxx Keith’s POV xxx

The boy scratches his face. “Good question. I try to keep track. Well, I know I’m legal -” I choke on spit when he says that because he’s playing into Cam’s hands. “- so ... eighteen, I think? No, no, wait.” He puts hand up as if we were on the edge of our seats to jump to conclusions. “Nineteen, I know it’s nineteen.”

Cam’s eyebrows raise and he smiles, tapping his fingers on the ground. He says nothing. I can’t get over how much hair this kid has! It’s an almost fro-ish level of frizzy and he has just so MUCH of it. He’s obviously cut it himself; the ends are choppy and straight across, un-layered and unprofessional. It hangs down to his chest; about the same length as Cam’s, give or take a few inches. I find his squinty eyes unattractive, but his nose reminds me of Coy’s, only kind of lumpy and not as sharp.

“So, do you people have names, or do I get to come up with my own things to call you?” He apparently likes this prospect, and points at Coy’s back. “Mom,” then at me. “Twizzler.” What? “Mousey.” That’s Phil. Then, Cam. There’s a pause here, a silence almost broken by the hot sizzle of Phil’s blushing cheeks. “Slinky,” he finally says. What does that mean?

Cam’s still smiling, very close to sincerely. He looks amused. “It’s Cameron. Cam.” He holds his hand out for the boy to shake and he takes it, pumping lazily just once.

“Nice to meetcha.”

“And that’s Keith.” Cam has taken the liberty of introducing us, apparently. I’m still turned around and watching them. Coy’s watching the road, but I bet all my money that he keeps looking at them in the rear view mirror. We’re near the center of Madison now, or somewhere close, driving alongside the river and train yard. “And that’s Coy,” Cam snickers. “Can’t believe you called him ‘mom’ ...!”

“Was that wrong?” The boy sounds concerned.

“No, no, GOD, it’s perfect,” Cam laughs. Coy glares at the street. “And that’s Phil,” he says offhandedly, offering no commentary on that one. The boy hums thoughtfully and only now do I realize that I’ve been referring to him as ‘boy’, despite the tiny gap between our ages.

“What’s YOUR name?” I ask, getting out of my seat. I drop and sit cross legged next to Coy’s seat, resting my head against his arm rest. “If you’re gonna be here for a few days, we should at least get to know each other, make sure you’re legit.”

The boy gets comfortable, scooting backwards to the corner Cam usually sits in, turning his face to the air conditioning vent – the eventual heat of the day has made even Coy say ‘fuck the environment!’ and turn on the A/C – sighing softly.

“Shelf,” he says in a dream-like state, sticking his tongue out to the cold air like a dog out a car’s window. “And I’m clean, don’t worry. Never killed anyone in my life, just got some bad luck.”

I can’t hide a snicker, though I don’t want to get on his bad side. “Bad luck indeed. Just ‘Shelf’? No last name? Like Cher?”

“No, not like that. I’m sure I have a last name, I just don’t remember it very well. It might begin with a P.”

Cam moves back to sit next to him, leaning against the trunk. “You don’t remember? How long have you been on the streets?” He doesn’t sound too insensitive here. Surprised? Me too.

“Oh, a while,” he says nonchalantly, his fingers drumming on the M of his Lomoni sign. He’s looking out the window. “It ‘asn’t been too bad.” He yawns loudly. “It could be worse. How do you guys know each other? All of you.”

He’s trying to steer things away from him? Interesting, but not a shocker. If you end up homeless, you had to have made some wrong turns in your life that you don’t want to broadcast. At this point he lies down, evidently tired of air conditioning and its wonders. He’s wearing just a sweat-stained white tank top so when he curls his arm under his head as a pillow, his hair falls and exposes his chest, sort of muscled, but marred with heavy tan lines from the tank top and his hair. Because of that and his lack of luggage, I figure he owns no other clothes. Golden chest hair curls at the stained hem, probably half a foot below his collarbone. He rubs at his mangled nose, waiting sleepily for an answer.

I don’t like talking about myself too much to other people and I decide right there that I’m not going to be too open with this kid, which also means not telling him about my leg, or lack there of. “Coy and I are boyfriends, I guess -” Coy hits me in the back of the head for that ‘I guess’ “- Cam’s the younger brother of a friend of ours, and he and Phil used to be dating until things got all screwy.”

There’s a silence there, and Phil is actually the next to speak with a contemplative look on his face. “That ... pretty much sums it up.”

Shelf’s eyebrows raise just a bit. “How interesting,” he says, and it’s hard to detect sarcasm, but who’s to say. “So you’re with big red up there?”

“It’s Coy.” I frown.

“Right, Coy. Hey, turn around, lemme get a good look at you,” Shelf says, snuggling his head into his arm, looking at the back of Coy’s head, oblivious to Cam’s eyes on him.

“I’m driving,” Coy says, surprisingly cold, but I guess no one likes to be referred to as ‘big red’.

“Your hair’s really red. That isn’t natural, is it?”

“No.” Coy’s definitely irritated now. “You should probably be more polite, considering what we’re doing for you.”

Shelf does this odd frowny-but-not-quite thing with his mouth that makes him resemble a bullfrog. “Sorry, sir.” He actually says this with very little sarcasm. He closes his eyes, but I doubt he’s asleep.

I move back until my chin can rest comfortably on Coy’s thigh. I look up at his angry face with baleful puppy eyes and he gives me a quick glance before returning to the road. “What’s wrong?” I whisper, chin-nuggin-ing his leg.

“This was a bad idea,” he says just as quietly. Despite his recent attempts to be a better driver, he drops one hand from the steering wheel and begins rubbing the side of my head, fingers scathing through my hair. I’m instantly self-conscious because not only did I not shower this morning – we were at the lake – but I haven’t dyed my hair recently and the blonde roots are beginning to show and I hate being blonde. I hate my damn eyelashes and eyebrows, I look like a retard. Coy, however, never seems to mind. He never minds anything.

“Then why’d you do it? We could have driven by ... is it just ‘cause Cam asked?” I murmur, rubbing my cheek against his thigh, warm due to the sun beating down on it. “You coulda said no.” Somewhere behind us, I hear Cam talking. I pay little mind.

“I know.” He brushes my hair away from my face, letting his fingertips touch my right eyelid, gently closing it. It seems odd, but touching my eyes has slowly become a habit of his over the years. I asked him about it, and he said that it’s a sign of trust that I let him do that, and I like that he knows I trust him. I’d trust him with my life. “But ... I dunno, I’m a sucker for kids in distress. He’s almost our age and here we are being pampered and he’s on the streets, I -”

“You just want to help ...?” My other eye closes instinctively at the calm, safe touch of his fingers. “You’re a saint, Mr. Russel. Is that why you picked me up? To save me from the horrors of a smelly house and absent parents?”

“Don’t you dare, my love isn’t pity and you know it.”

I smile softly. “I know, I know. I just wonder sometimes.” His fingers leave my eyes and I open them, looking up at his face, towards the road though his eyes are focused on me. “How someone like you ended up with a peg-legged, immature, spastic queer like me ...”

“To be fair, you weren’t peg-legged when I met you.” And then his eyes are back on the road, but he’s smiling cheekily.

I snicker under my breath, taking his hand in both of mine. I pull it down and kiss across each of his knuckles, smiling when he smiles. “I love you a lot, you know,” I tell him, mumbling into his hand. His nails are painted with a clear gloss.

“D’you love me enough to suck me off when I’m driving?”

I can’t help but laugh, embarrassing myself when I accidentally snort. “Shut up, you pig! Tell me you love me too!”

“Well, you can’t blame a guy for trying.” He brushes my hair back again, voice getting so kind and soft that it would make my knees weak if I’d been standing. “I love you, Keith.” His voice could charm birds out of the sky, charm planes into the sea. Even after five years of hearing him say it, whisper it, mumble it, scream it, moan it, and stutter it, it makes my stomach flip to hear him say he loves me. I know he loves me, he doesn’t NEED to say it, but it’s so nice.

Phil’s horrified face appears at the end of Coy’s armrest, cheek pressed against it. He’s crawled over from his corner. “What are you doing?!” he hisses frantically, making gestures with his hands. “You picked this guy up off the streets! Don’t you watch Cold Case Files?!”

“Phil, settle down, he seems -”

“He seems like street-trash, that’s what!” He’s whispering angrily, but thankfully, quietly. “Jesus, you lied to Cam about having sex with him to get him away from anonymous guys, but now you DELIVER ONE TO HIS DOORSTEP?!”

“C’mon, you’re over-reacting,” I whisper back, unable to ignore how incredibly close his face is to mine. I try not to pay attention. “He’s horny, but will he really -”

“I bet you he will.” Phil frowns. “I bet you anything he’ll have sex for this guy before we get to Lomoni.”

“Seriously?” Coy’s interested now. “What’re we betting?”

“How about kisses?” I grin. “If Cam doesn’t screw the blonde kid, Coy and I both get to kiss you.”

Coy grins too. “I’m cool with that. Phil?”

Phil’s gone beet red, blue eyes wide. “What? Kisses? I was thinking, like, lunch.” His eyebrows raise. “Why would you want to ... do ... that?”

My smile only widens. “Because.” I lean in. “You are a very good looking boy.” I’m pretty much telling the truth. He’s good looking in a cuter teddy-bear way as compared to a rough manly way. I’d rather cuddle him than fuck him, but he’s still good looking.

He blinks a few times, rubbing his hands over his pink face in hopes of paling it. “Thanks?”

“Anytime. So, do we have a deal?”

“Yeah, definitely.” He holds his hand out for me to shake and I take it. “I’m not worried, I won’t lose.”

“Well, that’s a little insulting.” Coy huffs cutely.


xxxxxxxxxxxxx

We drive for several more hours and I stay near the front with Coy, resting my head near his lap. We don’t talk much, both keeping an ear on Cam and Shelf’s conversations. They’re getting increasingly chummy, Cam more-so, talking about anything and everything. Their likes, dislikes, stuff like that. I notice that Cam doesn’t tell him he has AIDS, and Shelf tells nothing about how he ended up on the streets. I’m curious about that, actually. Why a young-ish, relatively good looking kid ended up homeless with a name like Shelf. It’s gotta be quite the story.

Even as the sky begins to get dark, I start to think that Coy and I may lose our bet. They’re sitting pretty close and Cam’s laughing a lot, even though Shelf doesn’t seem particularly funny. Jesus, put Cam anywhere near a decent boy and he’s schoolgirl hair curling blushing tittering puddy. Around those blonde boys, he was swinging his legs and combing his hair, and he had the balls to call me ditzy at that carnival. At least I have a steady boyfriend.

I start to nod off, blinks getting longer and more frequent until I’m snoozing on Coy’s leg, face pressed to his thigh, spine twisted at an angle that will make me sore later.

When I wake up, orange streetlight streaming through the windows is the only source of light. I blink several times and rub at my eyes, realizing that my pillow is no longer Coy’s legs, but the upholstery of his seat. He’s leaning in the open door, a big warm hand rubbing my cheek. “C’mon, wake up, darling.” He smiles gently.

I look blearily up at him, seeing almost only his silhouette against the blinding lamp. “Mmmmmnnn ...” I mumble incoherently. “Where are we?” I ask, flopping my head back down, staring at the blank screen of the stereo, searching for the time.

“Kingston, and we found a hotel already ...” He rubs his thumb over my bottom lip. “You sleep like a rock, my love. The boys are already upstairs waiting for us.”

I notice he’s using a lot of romanticky names for me. I smush my face into the seat, pushing my glasses against the bridge of my nose. “Cam isn’t waiting ...” I yawn, then, with my face still smushed, I reach my arms out, making grabby-finger motions. “Carry me up, m’sleepy, Coy ...”

He laughs his low, cute laugh. “You’re fuckin’ adorable, you manipulative little skank.”

The van creaks as he climbs in, then hoists me up into his arms. I groan happily, burying my face in the smooth, warm crook of his neck. I smile contently, wrapping my arms around his neck and my legs around his waist. He carries me like a baby in a snuggly into a building with flowered carpet that I assume is the hotel. It smells like chlorine, so I breathe deep into his neck because he smells like his cologne, the name of which I can’t remember right now. It’s so nice and boyish and musky. I don’t even wear cologne.

“You smell lovely.” I groan sleepily when we’re in the elevator. After I speak, I feel stupid. “Sorry.”

He rubs my back a few times, laughing. “Don’t be, you’re sweet.” He buries his face in my hair. “You smell delightfully fruity.”

It’s my turn to laugh. I tighten my arms and legs around him like a puppy octopus. The elevator doors bing and open. Coy totes me down a hallway that smells a lot like our apartment building and stops in front of a door that he knocks on. “Can I go to bed when we get in?” I mumble.

“Of course.” He kisses my head just as Phil opens the door, re-attired in sweat pants.

“What took you so long?” Phil steps out of the way to let us by. The room, from what I can see of it over Coy’s shoulder, is immaculately white. I see myself in the mirrored closet as Coy sets me down on one of the beds with the fluffy white duvets. I roll over onto my back and see Cam and Shelf side by side on the opposite bed, staring at the TV, eating mini bags of cookies.

“Jesus, I was hungry,” Shelf says as Coy lies down next to me. “I haven’t eaten in a day or so, not FOOD food.” He takes a swig of a mini bottle covered by his fist.

“Who’s sleepin’ where?” I ask everyone, distracted by Coy’s fingers running across my stomach coupled with the adoring stares he’s giving me, propped up on one elbow.

“I can share a bed with Slinky,” Shelf says around a mouthful of cookies. “‘S no problem.”

“It’s Cam,” Cam says quietly.

“Right, sorry.”

Phil, seated in a white armchair near the lighted desk, squirms. Cam blushes and Shelf doesn’t notice. Coy puts a finger to his chin in over-dramatic thought. “I’ve got an idea. Phil can have the bed ...” Said bed dips when Coy crawls off. He steps in front of the cabinet that the TV is mounted in – that earns disgruntled noises from both the boys watching it. He slips one of the drawers open and finds two pillows and a big, thick, caramel colored velvet blanket. “... And Keith and I can sleep in the bathtub. C’mon, lover.” He accentuates lover, flicking his tongue over his teeth on the L.

I laugh tiredly and roll myself off the bed, following him into the small bright bathroom on shaky legs. Behind us, I hear:

“Why d’you call me Slinky?”

“‘Cause you’ve got a panther-y body and panthers are slinky.”

“... Oh.”

I don’t know what to make of that, so I don’t say anything. I follow Coy into the bathroom, leaning against the counter to watch him bend over into the tub, fluffing and rearranging the pillows and blanket. I stare down his ass and thighs like a very hungry puma, which I’m sure must be frightening. The bathroom door is still open and from the other room over the sound of gunshots on the television, I hear Shelf talking, making no attempt to whisper.

“What’s the redhead’s name?”

“Coy,” Cam replies. “And he’s a fake redhead.”

“Coy, then. He’s got a nice ass.”

“I know. Fuckin’ kills me.”

Coy clearly hears this and stands, turning around, shooting me the best unamused expression in the world. I burst out laughing and shut the door with a smack of my hand before stepping in close to him, stretching his mouth out to the sides with my hands, trying to make him smile. “C’mon, it’s a compliment!”

“I don’t like him! He’s too ... uncouth,” Coy mutters, wrapping his arms around me, lacing his fingers at my lower back. He pulls me in closer and our hips bump, the clink of belt buckles absorbed to a thud by the sweatervest covering his. I look up at him and his mouth with his pinkish bottom lip and black lip ring. It’s late, which means a faintly chestnut-ish stubble is emerging on his chin and along his jaw, which is nice, but not something I want all the time. I’m not a fan of beard burn. I flick the light switch off, bathing us in darkness.

“But, you like Cam,” I say, putting my arms around his neck. “And so far, this kid seems like Cam’s well-built, squinty-eyed twin. Rude, insensitive, a bit loud. They’re two peas in a pod.”

We sway back and forth like we’re dancing. “Who says I like Cam?” Coy asks.

I thump my forehead against his chest, emitting an almost hollow ‘thunkit’ noise. I smile and he can’t see it. “Coy, you don’t have to lie.” I look down at his socked feet. It’s too dark to see a thing, but I touch my toes against his to make sure they’re there. “I can tell you like Cam. I don’t know how much, but I know you do. You don’t hate him like I do, as much as I wish you did.” I pause. “C’mon, I’ve known you forever. Cut me some slack.”

He fidgets, adjusting his grip on his own hands behind my back. He’s looking down now too; I can feel his breath. “I dunno.” Is all he says. What exactly that’s his response to, I can’t tell. Jealousy flares inside me. “Maybe I like him a bit. I dunno. Maybe it’s a big-brother kind of like.”

“Coy.” I touch the back of his neck under his hair with the tip of my pinkie. I start tracing out the words ‘I love you.’ “He wants to fuck you. The only brother-brother relationship that involves that is, well, mine.” I slip my pinkie under the neck of his shirt and pull the fabric out, then let it snap back. “You can tell me the truth, I won’t get mad.”

He raises his head and I take that as a signal to do the same. I can’t see him, so I tap my index finger against various parts of his face. His pretty lips are frowning a little, eyebrows angled up and desperate. “Can we ... not talk about this?”

He seems sad and more than a bit conflicted and I think I might be getting jealous, so I give in. “Okay. Lets go to sleep.” I try not to think about the fact that maybe Coy likes him, maybe Coy wants to fuck him, maybe he did want to suck his dick earlier today when he said he would, and maybe there’s too many maybes in this situation. I don’t know, and I don’t want to know. Coy shoves the shower curtain out of the way and steps into the now nicely padded bathtub, snuggling down into one of the big white pillows. He smiles up at me a little awkwardly and pats the sliver of space next to him. I step in, lying down next to him, mostly on top of him, with my head on his heart. Ka-thump, ka-thump, it says. It’s beating slow.

“I don’t like him.” Coy confirms queitly into the dark. He folds his arms around me, rendering me immobile. “Do you believe me?” He sounds hurt. Ka-thump, ka-thump, says his heart.

“You seem bent on denying it,” I say slowly, choosing words like apples from a bushel.

“Because I don’t want my boyfriend thinking I’m a frisky bored slut!” He’s looking down at me now, I know it. I can feel his irritated gaze, even with my eyes closed. “You do, don’t you.”

Ka-thump, ka-thump, ka-thump, ka-thump. It’s beating faster. “Calm down,” I say, speaking more to his heart than to him. Now, it’s to him. “No, I don’t.” I rest my hand on his chest, opposite his heart, and I rub gently, reassuringly. “I trust you, okay? Remember that. I know you won’t do anything stupid.”

Ka-thump, ka-thump. Slowing down once more. “Because I love you?”

“Exactly.”

It isn’t long before his heartbeat lulls me to sleep.


xxxxxxxxxxxxx

I wake up to the sound of someone peeing.

I’m frowning before I even open my eyes. Near our feet, back to us, is Shelf, taking a piss. I tap Coy’s arm to wake him up, which he does with a jerk. He sees Shelf and groans.

“Oh, for the love of – EXCUSE ME,” he says loudly, glaring. Shelf looks over his shoulder through scraggly blonde hair, doing his bullfrog face again.

“Sorry,” he shrugs. I grimace as he stops and after a second, turns around. “Forgot you were in here.”

“Get out.”

“Yessir.” He mock salutes and leaves through the door he left open.

“Oh, gross,” Coy laughs. “He leaves the door open when he pees.”

“So do you.” I get up on my knees and turn around to face him, straddling his hips.

“I live with you. If I shut the door, you’d just open it.” He smiles at me, running a hand through his hair, keeping it there, pinning his bangs back off his forehead. “Good morning, beautiful,” he says formally.

“Good morning.” I smile back and then we kiss. Our noses smush together before he tilts his head and that makes me giggle. He has wicked morning breath but I do too, so it balances out and neither of us can complain. Waking up together is good like that.

Ka-thump, ka-thump, ka-thump, says his heart.


xxx

We refuse to leave the bathroom until we’ve showered because we already didn’t shower yesterday. Coy offers to ‘save water’ by showering together, but I decline because I know I’ll get all riled up and we don’t have as much privacy as I’d like for sex, despite yesterday’s location for it. So in the end, I sit on the closed toilet seat in my underwear, singing to him while he showers. He washes pretty quick and is soon stepping out, nude, groping for one of the white towels folded neatly on the counter.

I swallow and stare at him. Soapish suds missed by the water slide down the curve of his hip. I clack my knees together and watch him throw the towel over his head, rubbing furiously at his hair. That, in turn, makes the muscles in his chest and arms shift and I find myself shutting my legs even tighter. How he doesn’t even care that he’s naked is beyond me. He isn’t even the least bit self conscious? Then again, I wouldn’t be either if I had a body like that. My eyes slowly slip from his arms and chest to his stomach and to his dick, where they stay. Christ almighty.

He lowers the towel and though my eyes are focused elsewhere, I think I see a flash of white somewhere near his face, meaning he’s grinning. He slips the towel between his legs, which certainly catches my attention. I look up at his face again, eyebrows raised, floundering for words. I should have left the room when he got in the shower, I know me. His grin is devastatingly wide and cheeky. He starts toweling off his legs – which involves bending over, for fuck’s sake – and ends with a swipe to the bottom of each foot. After this, he straightens up and looks at me.

“Can I help you with something?” he says innocently. You know what you can help me with, you fucking tease. I really want to say that, you have no idea how much, but I don’t. Impolite, you see. You know what isn’t impolite? Being spontaneous. I stand up off the toilet lid and take the one and a half steps between us and I grab his bare ass and I kiss him. He stumbles around a little, laughably unsure what to do with his hands. This is far from a morning kiss, this is a kiss with a pre-fuck level of hottness that is very hard to explain. He drops the towel completely and it pools damp around our feet and he puts his arms around me, nails digging into my bare back, pulling me closer to him, like that was even possible. Our bare chests are touching, his wet and warm, mine dry and cold. His cock presses against my stomach and he groans into my mouth, the icing on the fucking cake.

I step back quickly, body thrumming with pent up everything. Coy is breathing hard and I can feel my face burning red. “We can’t do that here,” I gasp, rubbing my throat anxiously, needing to keep my hands busy. I can think of a few other things I’d rather keep them busy doing, but there’s a time and a place for everything and it’s called not in a small hotel room with thin walls and three other boys.

“Right.” Coy sounds distracted and I’d be surprised if he wasn’t. He picks the towel up off the bathmat and rubs at his hair a little. “Right, later.”

“Right.”

The towel does nothing to hide the fact that he’s hard. I quickly shuck my underwear and clamber into the tub, pulling the curtain shut after me. I turn the water on and it’s kind of cold after Coy’s shower, which isn’t too bad of a thing. I notice that I don’t hear said boy leave the room, but that could be due to the sound of the water. If he’s in the room, I don’t care. If he’s gone, I don’t care. I wrap my hand around my dick.

I hear a hairbrush clatter noisily into the sink and I sigh angrily to myself. Even in a 50/50 situation, I usually lose. Coy says nothing for a minute or so.

“Keith?” he says quietly. I don’t stop.

“Nnnh?” I’m pretty close now.

“Are you jerking off?”

I still don’t stop, but I think my wrist is cramping. “How can you tell?” I sigh again.

“There’s a gap in the shower curtain at this end.”

I open my eyes, but I don’t remember ever having closed them. Sure enough, the shower curtain doesn’t quite meet the wall at the edge of the shower and there’s Coy’s grinning face. He waves.


xxx Coy’s POV xxx

Steam billows out of the bathroom as we do fifteen minutes later, wearing towels. Sun streams brightly in the wide window occupying the wall opposite the door, making the white duvets glow blindingly. Shelf whistles at us. He’s sitting cross legged on his and Cam’s bed, shirtless, wearing only his ripped jean cut-offs. Cam’s lying in the pillows at his side and I notice before anything that their legs are touching quite a bit. After seeing that, my reaction is to look at Phil. He’s curled up in his own bed wearing his grey sweatpants, headphones firmly in place. The duvet is bunched around him like a cloud; he’s lying on his back, staring tiredly up at the ceiling. He looks far from happy.

I stumble over to our suitcases to find some clothes, but Keith doesn’t follow. Still mostly naked, he walks up to Phil’s bed and perches on the edge. “How’re you doing?” he asks quietly. I listen while rummaging through my suitcase for a decent outfit.

“Fine.”

I pull my underwear on under the towel before dropping it. I don’t know if Cam and Shelf are looking. Keith puts his hand on Phil’s forehead, pushing his bangs back. Underneath his dark hair is a fringe of blonde at his hairline. Is that natural? “You don’t seem fine, you’re a bit warm. Do you feel alright?”

“No,” Phil says just as quietly, slipping the headphones around his neck. “But I think you know why.”

I glance over at Shelf and Cam, as does Keith, and I was right. They’re watching me dress. When I look at them Cam looks at the TV while Shelf just smiles. “So, how old did you say you were?”

“I didn’t say,” I grumble.

“He’s twenty-one,” Cam mutters, glancing at me, but certainly not at my eyes. “Don’t be so snippy.”

Shelf hums thoughtfully. I turn my attention to Keith and Phil and now that I have pants on I deem it safe to walk over. “What’s going on?” I ask quietly, making sure that the boys’ attention is back to the TV, blaring too loudly.

“Phil’s feeling sick,” Keith informs me.

“I am NOT!” Phil sits up, glaring angrily. He shoves Keith’s hand from his hair. “If you were watching someone you loved make googly eyes at someone else, you’d be pretty pissy too,” he hisses, putting the headphones back on. He clicks a button on his orange walkman and soon we can hear the muted sound of whatever he’s listening to, devastatingly loud for him. Whatever it is, it’s less screamy than usual.

“I thought you said you didn’t like him anymore?” I ask, but he can’t hear me and is purposely trying to ignore us.

“Ohman, I love that song!” Shelf looks at Phil with a big smile, leaning in to catch the faint tune he can hear from Phil’s headphones. “Gorillaz, right? November Has Come?”

Phil nods warily, eyebrows scrunched down.

“Yeah! Lee’s Music played this one all the time! Can I listen?” He points at the headphones.

Phil shakes his head and lies back down, turning his back on the four of us.

“Can I shower, please?” Shelf lets Phil’s rejection roll off him just as Phil ignored his asking. “I haven’t showered in ... god, I don’t even know how long it’s been.”

“Please do,” I say, standing up off Phil’s bed, making my way back to the suitcase for a shirt. “And when everyone’s ready, wanna get something to eat? You can’t be full on mini cookies.”

“Awesome!” Shelf seems so excited at the prospect of food, so he leaps up and dashes into the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind him. I pull a plain black polo over my head, watching Keith advance towards me with a worried look, one hand on his towel. His uneven footsteps are loud on the thin carpet. In the background, I hear the shower start. Keith steps in close, hand on my shoulder as he leans up and whispers to me. “What do we do about Phil?”

“Nothing,” I whisper back, nuzzling his cheek. “Let him be a big boy, okay? He can mope for a while, it’s none of our business.”

Keith glares at me without any real anger. He starts getting dressed and we drop the subject of Phil quite quickly. “What’re you gonna wear?” I ask, slinging a white tie around my neck. I step behind him and peer over his bare shoulder, poking my thumbs into the wing tattoos on his shoulder blades just to be a brat.

“I was thinking the blue -”

“Nah, you should wear your yellow robot shirt.”

“But I like the blue one! It’s got -”

“The yellow one has a robot on it!” I say that as if nothing could possibly top a t-shirt with a robot on it. I sneak a hand around him and pull the shirt out, waving it in front of him. “And you look so cute in it!”

“I do not, it’s too tight!” He tries to grab it from me, so I hold it high enough that he can’t reach. "Give it back! Coy!”

He leaps for it, little noodle arms flailing, bony fingers grasping. I chuckle, stepping backwards, bumping into the desk. He whines and stretches his arms above his head, but I move my own arms backwards and higher. He leans into me and stretches to reach it, which means he’s putting his weight on my chest, which makes me put a hand on the desk to steady myself.

I knock something over. Our struggle ceases and we both look at the damage, which fortunately, isn’t too bad. It’s just a bottle. I pick it up – it looks like one from the mini-fridge – and I turn it over. Keith watches. “Is that ...?”

“Vodka?” I say incredulously. “Yeah, vodka.” It’s a tiny little Smirnoff bottle, completely empty. Really empty, not a drop left.

“Wait, there’s more ...” Keith pulls the telephone-directory-flipbook away from the wall, and behind it is not one, but THREE more identical bottles. “Cam?” He turns around, still shirtless. “Were you drinking?”

“Nah.” Cam has moved to the spot where Shelf was sitting on the bed. “I stole a bit of pot from Phil -” Here he looks at Phil, who is currently deaf due to his headphones “- But I didn’t touch that stuff. I’d rather have the munchies than a hangover.”

“Phil?” I try. “Did you?”

He rolls over and looks at me, then at the bottles. I don’t think he heard what I said, but then I stop and go, wait, then how did he know to turn around? After a moment I realize he can see all of us in the mirrored closet. He shakes his head and rolls over again.

Keith and I look at eachother then, in unison, to the bathroom door. “Uh oh.”

Keith turns to Cam. “Was he drinking?”

“Shut up.”

“Was he?” I try.

“You shut up too. I’m sick of your lying bullshit, you tease. I do not want to talk to either of you, but I’ll stay because -” He throws his hand in the air, holding his index finger up. “- You’re hot -” I glare. He holds a second finger up. “- You buy me things -” Third finger. “- and ... well, him.” He juts his chin in the direction of the closed bathroom door.

I raise my eyebrows. “Are you and him ...?” I wave my finger between him and the bathroom door.

“No.” Cam shrugs, returning his gaze to the ever-captivation television. There’s a helicopter view of a high speed chase down a four lane highway and Cam smiles at it. “They always head for Canada,” he chuckles at the runaway car, swerving through traffic.

“Wait, so you’re not? Do you like him?” Keith pries.

Without taking his eyes off the TV, he answers. “Dunno. He’s just cool.” And he may or may not go pink. It’s tough to tell from here.

I look at Keith, but he’s pulling the yellow robot tee over his head with a disdainful glare in my direction. It’s definitely too tight on him, but that’s never been a bad thing. There’s just a quarter of an inch of skin showing between the hem of the shirt and the top of his chunky spiked belt. He grins at me and half-spins, wiggling his butt. “Not bad?” he teases.

I shake my head, tipping it to the side. “Very nice.” I take him by the hand and I raise it above his head so he pirouettes for me. “Ooh, very nice indeed.” He loses balance and stumbles against my chest, giggling like a drunken little girl. He kisses me, but our lips don’t quite line up.

We don’t feel comfortable sitting on either bed with either boy, so we share the armchair near the desk, Keith’s bony little butt digging into my thigh. “So,” he huffs, swinging a leg over me, playing with my tie. “Are we really just going to leave blondie when we get to Lomoni?”

“Sure.” I give him a wary look. “Why wouldn’t we ...?”

“‘Cause.” He tugs my tie playfully. “You might get attached to him.”

“What? Why?” He always finds the worst in me. “He’s just like Cam.”

“Exactly.”

I frown at him and he gives me a snooty look. Cam’s staring. “Don’t bring that up again,” I hiss.

“You just don’t want him knowing.” Keith leans in. “You like him.”

“I do not.”

“You do,” he tells me, with the most irritating tone of finality. Why does he want to be sure? He’s so fucking sure. “And you’ll pay for it later, understand?”

I give him a challenging smirk, usually knowing what that means. “Alright.”

Shelf emerges from the bathroom, just having tied a towel around his waist. His hair is wet but still impossibly knotted and his chest is pale but his arms, neck, and face are a dark golden brown. He looks at Keith and I on the armchair and he holds up my prickly round hairbrush. “Can I use this?”

“Do you have lice?” I ask instantly and in a stupid primal male way, I hook my fingers in Keith’s belt loops and I tug him closer.

“Not sure.”

“Ticks?”

“Dunno.”

“Then I’d rather you didn’t.” I’m going to apologize after that just to be polite, but I can’t have Keith thinking I like him, so I say nothing.

“Fine,” he yawns. Still mostly naked, he plods through the room as Keith and I did, but he sits down next to Cam instead of Phil, like we did. He flips the towel out from underneath him so his bare ass is on the sheets and the towel is lying across his lap. Cam stars. I go back to cradling Keith.

“Want me to brush your hair for you?” Cam asks, shy like the schoolgirl he is. He holds up a blue comb that was on his bedside table.

Shelf gives him a lazy look of appraisal. “Alright,” he decides. He lifts his hips and moves forwards. The towel falls away momentarily and the look on Cam’s face said he saw his dick. He shuffles in behind Shelf and sits back on his haunches. The comb gets stuck the second he digs it in.


xxxxxxxxxxxxx

The five of us agree on going to Ihop for breakfast, Phil being the most indifferent, Shelf being the most enthusiastic. We saw an Ihop last night on the way into town, so we double back to go find it. We checked out of the hotel and packed our things, coming to the conclusion that there was nothing in Kingston to keep us another night. It’s cold out this morning; it’s only eleven and Keith’s bundled up in one of my sweaters and I’m wearing a hoodie, as is Phil, and Cam and Shelf don’t wear anything warm at all. Shelf’s hair is fluffy and clean, bouncing on his shoulders like a beauty queen’s, even the dirty matted dreadlocks gone. He seems happy about it.

The Ihop is nice and warm, but busy. We sit thigh-to-thigh on a little red bench and wait for ten minutes to get a table. Shelf’s salivating watching the pretty waitresses shuffle by us with plates stacked high with pancakes dripping with butter and whipped cream and fruit. I’d be surprised if this wasn’t the best day he’s had in a long time. Soon we’re lead to a booth nearly surrounded by other booths and Cam makes a comment on how many annoying families are here. We squish into the booth – Cam and Shelf on one side, Phil, me, and Keith on the other – and go through the menus, pointing over-zealously at things that sound good. Keith wants to eat everything because he loves pancakes more than he loves sex, or so I believe. Both are top priorities, definitely. He settles on fruit topped pancakes and has two side orders of hash browns. I get the same, only with a side order of scrambled eggs. Shelf and Cam are talking, but it’s too loud in here for me to be sure what about. Phil is sullenly flipping the paper ‘Ihop specials’ cube around with his index finger.

A cheery waitress with curly brown hair and freckles takes our orders. Shelf just outright asks her for ‘six of the biggest pancakes,’ not bothering to pick some thing specific from the menu. She gives him an odd look but agrees – we think she’d be less skeptic if she knew he was malnourished. Six pancakes is no doubt a feast to the homeless. Cam gets a boring eggy something, Phil gets a farmer’s omelette.

The waitress leaves and the five of us are left sitting in an awkward silence, though Phil can barely be counted as a person because he won’t talk to us. He hasn’t said a word since he growled at us in the hotel room and I can tell Keith’s worried about him because he keeps asking questions in his high, gentle, kid-calming voice, which Phil just shrugs at. I try to get Keith talking to me or Shelf or even Cam to give Phil a break.

“Shelf.” I look at him, he looks up at me from where he was fiddling with his napkin. “Have you seen any of Cam’s drawings?”

“Uh, no, not yet.” He smiles a bit, kind of crookedly. He has abnormally small teeth and an overbite. “Is he any good?”

Keith’s attention has been successfully caught. “Yeah~” he says cheerily. “Really good. Cam, you should draw Shelf before he leaves! It’d be like a souvenir, and he’d be a great model, huh?”

“Shut up,” Cam snaps. This appears to have struck a chord with him, god only knows why. He looks squinty and angry, staring across the table at Keith. What set him off? The drawing? Shelf leaving? The modeling? He’s flipping his fork between his fingers. I really wouldn’t be surprised if he was just looking for something to get mad at.

“Sorry ...?” Keith’s taken aback, which means he was actually just trying to be nice. “I said you were good, no need to get all pissy.”

“I’m not PISSY,” he says, rolling his eyes, though he clearly is. He turns to Shelf. “You see, he’s a whiny little whore, so he calls other people whiny little whores to divert their attention from him.” He smiles angelically, sweetly, for the first time. He’s obviously mocking Keith so I kick him under the table, but he ignores me. That smile has me stunned into submission, not by its beauty, but just by its rareness. “Isn’t that right, Keith?”

I put my hand on Keith’s, resting in his lap. He digs his nails into my palm. “Shelf, did you know that Cam is a diseased prostitute?” Keith says with pounds of false sugar.

“SHUT IT, maggot,” Cam says loudly, over Keith’s words. A family at the next table is looking at us.

“He has AIDS because he’s a slut who had rough unprotected sex with a dozen older guys, complete strangers to him, in one night.”

“Keith!” I squeeze his hand. He shakes me off again. What the fuck is he doing?! He should know better than to provoke Cam like this, he isn’t known for taking things in stride.

“- Then he came home crying crocodile tears and he cut himself like the sad, pathetic emo he is.” His voice is practically honey now.

I hold my breath. This has gotten Phil’s attention and he’s looking at me behind Keith’s back, the most prominent deer-in-the-headlights expression on his face. He’s as horrified as I am, he knows how badly this could turn out. Cam deliberately kept the AIDS from Shelf, because yesterday when his alarm went off, he lied to Shelf and told him it was for something else, then made us stop at a rest stop so he could take his pills in private.

Cam stands up in his seat, looming over the table. He throws his fork at Keith before he starts yelling.

”THIS GUY FUCKED HIS BROTHER!!” His finger points straight at Keith and my stomach leaps into my throat with bile. The entire restaurant is looking, I swear; waitresses, chefs, the young and the old, all staring at Cam’s accusing finger. “THE ONE WITH THE BLACK HAIR AND THE GLASSES, HE GOT FUCKED UP THE ASS BY HIS OWN GODDAMN BROTHER A THOUSAND TIMES AND HE FUCKING LOVED IT!”

Time has stopped completely. It’s only been a few seconds, Cam’s talking quickly, but it seems like a lifetime. Keith’s eyes are wide, his hands over his mouth, over his face. He’s shrinking back into himself, wide, wide eyes staring glassily at the table cloth. He’s collapsing in on himself like a dying star.

“I HEARD YOU TALKING AT THE LAKE!” Cam’s screaming at the top of his heathen lungs as several waitresses gather around our table, politely asking him to be quiet. They all look ... disgusted. What? Looking around the restaurant ... everyone is. Upper lips twisted in disgust, parents’ hands over children’s ears, siblings looking at one another in horror. Only seconds have passed, only seconds. “SINNER! SINNER! SINNER!” He’s chanting now, slapping a foot down on the table with each syllable. Silverwear leaps, his wet dirty shoelaces slap against the table. “SINNER! SINNER!”

Several people chant back and it’s too far. I shove a waitress in the tits to get to Cam and I grab him. He’s as light as a feather so I get him at the knees and lift sharply slamming him down on the tabletop. Shelf and Phil leap back. Cam hollers and thrashes, continuing his shouts of “SINNER! SINNER!” albeit brokenly, the gap between ‘sin’ and ‘ner’ becoming longer as he fights to get away from me. I grind my teeth together, hauling him back up. I clamp my hand over his mouth, yanking his greasy hair in my fist as he squirms like a tied pig, trying to bite me.

A man in a suit has joined the gaggle of unhappy blue and white waitresses. I can’t hear him. I start beating Cam up, I spit in his face. He’s laughing, yelling more about Keith, jumbled words about how I was jealous and how I jerked off to it. I land a good punch to his jaw, and something cracks. I dig my nails into his skin and pull, I punch him in the nose, in the mouth. My heartbeat is deafeningly loud in my ears and I don’t remember how to breath. No one humiliates Keith.

A meaty male hand grabs the scruff of my neck and I spin around, not in shock or shame. He’s still talking but I don’t hear, I can’t. The waitresses have Cam, four of the bigger ones keeping him from throwing punches. The others are addressing the other customers, apologizing. I look at our booth with three broken plates, scattered silverwear, a flattened specials cube, a rucked up tablecloth, and only two boys in their seats.

Keith’s gone.







next ~ <3

previous ~ <3

back to archive ~ <3