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The blistering green flames of May engulfed the roadside view blazing past Pete’s window. He flicked his eyes mindlessly away from the eyesore of spring exploding on the median of the freeway towards the rest of his environment: Patrick was curled up against the window, pillow smushed up against the glass and eyelashes fluttering gently against his cheeks like newly emerged butterflies. Pete glanced upwards, catching Joe’s gaze from the rearview as he checked and rechecked his southern blindspot. He ripped his eyes away from the mirror as Patrick stirred gently in his seat, brows furrowing slightly. For once, Patrick’s hat was off and the allure of his slightly ruffled hair was almost too strong for Pete to resist. A soft sound came from Patrick’s stomach as he hummed and curled up further into his pillow. Pete wished he could hold the younger boy, and watch the world go by together until the-
“Who ripped in here? Fuck, this van reeks you guys!” Joe announced loudly, waking up Patrick and Andy in the process. Patrick’s eyes fluttered open as he stirred awake, almost being blinded by the sun in the process. Pete scowled at Joe through the rearview mirror, silently cursing him to have his lips sewn shut for all eternity and for the rest of forever. Pete had his thing going, maybe there was a good song lyric in there somewhere; not like it matters, since Joe decided to open his big, fat, ugly mouth. God how he wanted to rip that stupid lip ring out of his lip.
“Sorry, that was my stomach. I’ve been starving to death for like, 6 hours now,” Patrick mumbled sweetly as he stretched his legs and arms out, lightly brushing Pete’s cheek in the process. Patrick’s voice soothed Pete’s irritation immediately, and replaced it with tender fondness. Pete focused his attention on Patrick, feeling the need to take care of him, to make sure all his needs were met. He couldn’t believe he had let Patrick go hours without any nutritious sustenance.
“Joe!” Pete snapped, loud enough to make Patrick flinch. “You heard him, could you make yourself useful and stop somewhere to eat?”
“Jesus man, I’ll let you know if I see anything,” Joe replied loudly from behind the wheel.
Andy dramatically slammed his head down on the dashboard, covering his ears with his old decrepit pillow. God how Pete wished he could convince Andy to get rid of the ugly thing; that biohazard could give Patrick some disease.
“Shut up, both of you. I’m so tired I’m seeing double up here!” Andy shouted, muffled only slightly by his pillow. He groaned dramatically which turned to mock-crying.
“All of you, can it, please,” Patrick whined, curling back up into a ball in the seat.
“Don’t worry ‘Trick,” Pete cooed. “We’ll get some food soon, don’t worry. You’ll feel better soon dear,” Pete smiled sweetly as he leaned towards Patrick.
“Um, okay? Thanks?” Patrick replied, looking at Pete with his brows furrowed in confusion.
“Pete, you’re gross. Please don’t scare this singer away too, please!” Joe yelled. Patrick cracked a smile at his joke, almost making Pete a little bit jealous. It wasn’t that funny, come on. Pete opened his mouth to make an impromptu insult back at Joe, but before any words could come out Patrick shifted closer to him and tenderly laid his head on Pete’s thigh. Pete immediately forgave Joe again and tried to stay still as possible so Patrick was comfortable.
“Guys, there’s a small town ahead. Sign said there’s a Burger King and a Taco Bell,” Joe announced, looking back at Pete and Patrick for a brief second to make sure the pair heard him.
“I’d sooner put a gun in my mouth then go to Burger King,” Andy blurted out.
“Okay,” Joe sighed. “Taco Bell it is then.”
Patrick softly hummed and, unfortunately, moved his head up from Pete’s thigh, instead resting it on the window. Pete watched as the few buildings in the town faded into his view from the dirty van window. He begrudgingly picked his shoes up off of the floor and slipped them on without retying the laces.
“Am I going through the drive-thru or are we going in?” Joe asked, craning his neck backwards to get an answer from Pete and Patrick.
“It doesn’t matter,” Pete replied.
“Let’s just go in,” Patrick mumbled.
“Yeah, let’s go in,” Pete said louder so Joe could hear.
“Sure,” Joe mumbled, clearly irritated with his passengers. “Andy?”
“Don’t care,” Andy said, still muffled by his god-forsaken pillow.
Joe pulled into the Taco Bell parking lot and hit a curb on his way in, making the whole van jump up in the process. The movement made Patrick yelp and whack his head against the window he was leaning on, which prompted Pete to keep ripping on at Joe.
“Damnit Joe, you’re gonna lose your license one of these days,” Pete grumbled as Joe parked their van and took the key from the ignition.
Joe shrugged off the comment and unlocked all of the doors. “Whole lotta talk coming from the guy with a suspended license,” Pete scoffed, throwing up his middle finger.
“Besides,” Joe continued. “That curb jumped right out in front of me.”
Patrick snickered and threw open his side door, stepping out onto the wet pavement with his old sandals on. The rest of the band followed suit, and they all walked towards the entrance covered in promotional posters. Pete skipped ahead of the rest of them and held open the door only for Patrick, and then let it swing shut on Andy and Joe. Pete giggled to himself as he heard Joe grumble and open the door again for him and Andy.
The hot, oily, musky smell of low-grade frozen taco beef brutally attacked Pete’s senses when he strode into the eatery. Anything can be tasty if you season it right, he supposed. Patrick waltzed up to the menu board to get a better look at the options, while Joe and Andy followed him to pick out food for themselves as well. Pete lingered for a moment, gazing at Patrick’s smooth jaw that framed his round, baby face. Most other guys would poke fun at Patrick’s soft, girlish features– his pink cheeks, his high and quiet voice, or the way his eyes squinted up when he laughed– but Pete thought he was gorgeous; precious, even. Patrick was a thing Pete wanted to keep in a glass display case; a perfect illustration of beauty, frozen in time forever. Patrick would never grow old to him, Patrick would never fade away in his memory for as long as he lived. Pete was so lucky to be able to travel with Patrick, so lucky to be with Patrick almost every weekend at shows, or in the van together. Whether they were sleeping, talking, arguing, or singing Pete wanted Patrick in any way he could have him. He lingered on every single word Patrick spoke to him; held onto his words taughtly like they were a dole of doves waiting to fly away and disappear into the summer skies forever. Suddenly, a meteor crashed through the white, fluffy clouds in Pete’s not-so clear-headed consciousness, which came in real life as a harsh blow to Pete’s shoulder from Joe.
“Dude, the menu’s not a fuckin’ novel. Do you know what you want yet or not?” Joe hissed in Pete’s ear.
“Uh,” Pete began absently-mindedly, staring directly at the acne-ridden cashier in front of him. “Whatever he said.” He threw a thumb towards Patrick and watched as the sweat-drenched employee gave them their cups and read out their total. Pete quickly fumbled for his wallet, produced his plastic, chipped debit card, and flung it at the woefully underpaid cashier. The cashier swiped it through his machine and stared at the screen before turning back to Pete.
“You’re uhh… a dollar short man,” he said in a lethargic, monotone voice. He probably had the opening shift, poor kid. Joe rolled his eyes dramatically and pulled out his own wallet, slapping a single Washington on the sticky countertop.
“I don’t think I can… take this,” the cashier said, staring at the crumpled up bill.
“It’s not a tip, just take it,” Joe said shortly, not even making eye contact with the kid. The cashier shrugged and opened the cash register to place in the single dollar.
“And will that be for here or to go?” he asked, looking around at the tables. “We haven’t put down the chairs yet, but feel free to… or just eat outside, I guess.”
Andy groaned and leaned on Joe’s shoulder to whisper something in his ear.
“We’ll pull some chairs down.” Joe answered as the cashier handed Pete his receipt.
The cashier didn't even nod before quickly slipping back into the kitchen.
The staff were occupied with drive-thru orders, so the boys had some time to twiddle their thumbs and make disgusting soda concoctions at the fountain drink machine. Andy was the worst offender, winning against Joe with his abomination of unbranded sugar-free lemonade, diet Pepsi, Mountain Dew, and root beer that he drank happily. Pete found a mildly sticky table and started taking down the tall chairs that were upside-down on top of it. Patrick grabbed a fistful of sauces and brought them over to the table and spread them out like a child being told to “shuffle” cards. Patrick sat down and started making little piles with the sauce, then knocking them down, making more piles, knocking them down, over and over for no apparent reason.
Pete watched, flicking his eyes from Patrick’s hands, to his face, to the soft, messy hair that framed his cheeks and bled out into sideburns Pete found oh-so endearing. Pete’s eyes danced over Patrick, catching on his pillowy lips. If he were to just lean in a little closer–
Pete impulsively slid his fingers toward Patrick’s jaw, twirling the ends of his hair that billowed out around his neck and speckling gentle touches across his jawline. Patrick sharply jerked his head away and swatted at Pete’s hand, knocking over another sauce packet pile in the process.
“Pete, what the fuck? Why do you keep touching me?” Patrick hissed under his breath.
Pete shrugged and stared down at the sauces on the table, and began mentally beating himself up for making Patrick the slightest bit angry. Joe and Andy soon returned with their atrocities in plastic cups. Pete could smell Joe’s drink; God knows what he had in there.
The four boys again heard the monotone voice of the cashier calling Pete’s name as he plopped a tray of food down onto the fake marble countertop. Patrick scurried away from Pete to retrieve the tray heaped with whatever cheap food they ordered on a whim at eight in the morning. Patrick brought it back to their table and stepped back up onto his squeaky, swiveling chair. Pete began to rummage in the food for whatever he ordered –nobody could really tell who’s was who’s , because of the non-descriptive wrappers– and eventually started making four piles of which things he thought belonged to each of them. Andy’s was easy to spot, though. His food, of course, had no meat and was skinnier and more wimpy than the others. Pete nonchalantly tossed the two feeble meatless burritos at Andy as Joe grabbed his two “Mexican Pizzas” and hoarded them to his side of the round table. Whatever was left was all for Pete and Patrick. Pete reached out his hand for the first quesadilla at the same time Patrick did, and mindlessly brushed his rough, calloused fingertips along Patrick’s round knuckles. Pete felt his heart skip a beat, then quickly sink to the pit of his chest as Patrick sharply pulled his hand (and the quesadilla) away.
Pete watched, entranced as Patrick ripped open the quesadilla bag, putting a piece up to his mouth before pausing; his gaze darted sideways to eye Pete, shooting an eyebrow up in confusion. Patrick promptly looked away as Pete’s eyes stayed steadfast on his figure, pinkness blooming through his cheeks and teeming at his ears as he shoved the quesadilla piece into his mouth.
“Pete, are you good?” Joe asked –with a mouthful of food– again ruining the moment Pete was having with Patrick. Pete didn’t respond, prompting Joe to kick him from under the table to get his attention.
“Pete’s in La-La Land, let him be. Pretty sure this is how he comes up with lyrics,” Andy added, motioning with his hands for Joe to pipe down.
Pete shrugged. “Yeah, I’m alright,” he mumbled, keeping his focus fixed uncomfortably on Patrick as he innocently ate his quesadilla. Patrick’s eyes darted around the room like someone else would tell him how Pete was feeling right now. Pete smiled dumbly at Patrick as he hurriedly put his nutritious meal down and excused himself to the bathroom. Pete hadn’t touched any of his food so far, so he pushed out his chair and gave a curt nod to Andy and Joe.
“Ladies, if you’ll excuse me I have to use the lavatory.” Pete mocked the motions of tightening a tie and watched in triumph as Joe rolled his eyes and Andy shoved his second burrito down his gullet. Pete spun on his heel and dashed towards the bathroom. He ran up to the door and turned the knob vigorously, but it wouldn’t open.
Patrick had used his common knowledge for once and locked the door of a public restroom. Pete was persistent though, and wouldn’t let this mishap stand in the way of him and Patrick’s love. He unhesitatingly reached his finger out towards the knob and shoved his nail in the key slot, wiggling it around until he could fling open the door, letting it crack against the wall.
Patrick was standing in front of the toilet, ass out, with his pants down to his knees. Patrick screeched and jumped to pull his pants back up as soon as he heard the door hit the wall. He looked at Pete– wide-eyed and terrified– and screamed some less than family-friendly remarks at him standing in the doorway.
“Close the fucking door Pete!” Patrick yelled through gritted teeth as he synched his belt.
Pete closed the door behind him.
“What the fuck is wrong with you!” Patrick screeched; Pete had closed himself in with Patrick.
Pete gave him a shit-eating grin and took two steps towards Patrick, who was still fighting with his belt.
“What? I closed the door, right?” Pete mocked.
“No! Get out, Pete!” Patrick cried, stepping backwards and hitting his ass on the wall.
“I think I’ll stay,” Pete murmured, stepping even closer to Patrick and leaning into his ear. “I would love to see you with your pants down ‘Trick.”
Patrick paused, a not-so-subtle hint of red tinting his cheeks. “Really?” he stuttered out. “I mean, if you want, I guess, but not here,” Patrick whispered slowly, pausing as he looked around at the dingy bathroom. “This isn’t the best place. I’m okay with not getting a UTI again.”
Pete grinned and leaned in even closer, his chapped lips brushing against the shell of Patrick’s ear. Patrick squirmed and jumped a little, a shiver running through his whole body. “You’re so fuckin’ weird, man,” Patrick mumbled.
“Only a little,” Pete giggled, leaning in to place a light kiss to Patrick’s temple.
Patrick sighed and leaned his head against Pete’s chest. “Let’s make this quick, we can’t have another incident with a fangirl and a camera,” Patrick mumbled, shaking his head.
“Yeah, I still miss that $2,000 I had to give her to not upload it to her LiveJournal,” Pete reminisced.
Patrick shook his head, “I hate this job sometimes.”
“So you hate me?” Pete whined, grabbing the sides of Patrick’s face and pulling him close.
“Yeah,” Patrick replied without hesitation. “A little.”
Pete smiled mockingly and suddenly closed the distance between him and Patrick, pressing the younger boy to his lips and holding the back of his head so he couldn’t jerk away. Patrick didn’t seem to mind, maybe he was just sick of dealing with the ants in Pete’s pants, maybe he actually was just as down bad as Pete is. Either way, Pete couldn’t tell, nor did he care. He savored the feeling of Patrick’s body close to his; he tried to remember every little detail of it. Patrick reached up his hands and slowly threaded his fingers through Pete’s hair, tugging lightly and making Pete whimper between kisses. Pete traced down the small of Patrick’s back, dipping his fingertips teasingly underneath Patrick’s pants and waistband, snapping the elastic back and making Patrick jump under his touch. Pete slowly pulled away and gazed down at his beloved Patrick; his lips were slightly parted and shiny with a small amount of spit as he quietly panted under his breath, trying to recapture every little breath Pete stole from him between kisses. Patrick’s eyes were still closed, light eyelashes resting perfectly on his flushed cheeks. Pete took this as a sign that Patrick was patiently waiting for Pete to kiss him again, so he grabbed the younger boy by the sides of his face, cupping his hands around Patrick’s hot cheeks and gently pressing his lips against him. Patrick whimpered lowly against Pete’s tongue, sending a shiver down Pete’s spine. Pete thought this moment would last forever–or at least a little longer than five minutes–but suddenly, the door swung open again, the sound making Pete jump out of his skin and grab onto Patrick like he would protect Pete from the doorway monster.
“Umm…” the teenage cashier standing in front of Pete and Patrick looked around uncomfortably. “I think I’m going to… ask you two to leave, please,” he said, breaking his monotone facade with a voice crack while avoiding eye contact with the pair. Poor kid needs a raise, Pete thought. Patrick stood frozen in Pete’s arms with his baby blues so wide Pete thought they’d pop right out of his skull. Pete slowly took his walk of shame with a catatonic Patrick towards the door the kid was still standing in, silently cursing him out for ruining the moment between him and Patrick. Andy and Joe were still sitting at the sticky table in the middle of the place; Joe looked mortified, while Andy looked like he was trying not to piss himself laughing. Pete scowled at them as he brought Patrick to the table, maybe they told the worker, or something. Pete shoveled what was left of him and Patrick’s food into the brown paper taco-bell branded bag and speed-walked towards the door.
Pete threw open the van’s side door and slumped into the back row of seats, Patrick following timidly behind him. Andy and Joe filtered into the front seats after apologizing to the cashier.
Joe breathed in deeply and adjusted his rearview mirror. He looked over to Andy; Pete could see the fury bubbling in his gaze. Joe placed a hand on the back of his seat and turned around to face Pete and Patrick.
“Care to explain?” He said, calmly looking between Pete and Patrick.
Patrick looked like he wanted to sprint out into the middle of the freeway at 5 p.m. sharp and get run over by the nearest oncoming semi truck. He tugged his hat further down over his face.
“Well?” Joe pressed on, irritation seeping out through his voice.
“Well, I dunno,” Pete started nonchalantly. “We were just–“
“Nevermind, I don’t even want to hear it,” Joe blurted out, turning his body back around and facing the front windshield.
“Joe, maybe they were just talking– or something,” Andy commented quietly.
“I don’t know man,” Joe shook his head with disappointment. “I don’t know.”
A smile creeped up on Pete’s lips; he almost felt proud of himself. He looked over at Patrick; a small smile was dusting his own lips as well, entangled in his rosy cheeks and blue eyes peering back at Pete. He gently punched Pete’s shoulder and returned to looking out the window, a smile still teeming at the corner of his mouth.