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In the back of Shorter's motorcycle, Ash held onto him tight. There they were, on a chilly night escaping the glittering lights behind them, driving down the Brooklyn bridge as they headed straight to Connecticut.
They had this thing. When they were too fed up with the city, the noise, the people—they would leave.
The hum of the engine was the only way Ash could taste freedom.
His arms wrapped around Shorter’s waist, his head resting on his broad back, watching the towers of the financial district glow in the distance—the Lower East Side as alive and young as ever.
Those kids who spent their youthful years in bars and clubs, lost in a city where countless opportunities lied, that was their freedom.
But Ash? His freedom was in temporarily escaping that hellhole of the city in which his autonomy and will were all stripped away.
Wherever. He would go wherever Shorter wanted to go.
“You alright, baby?” Shorter's voice broke through, his hand gripping the handlebars as he waited for an answer.
He always knew. When Ash’s mind wandered so much—thoughts that had no beginning or end. It scared him. Seeing his lively eyes turn to gemstones so rapidly…just like they always did. Ash had worn that look for as long as Shorter had known him.
“Hm? Yeah, I’m fine.”
“Ima speed up, ‘kay?” a grin playing on the corners of his lips.
He heard Ash faint laugh behind him, “Go.”
Shorter lunged forward, gripping the handles, “Hold on tight.”
Ash did. Shorter sped away. The breeze blew through Ash’s locks, his fingers shivering as they gripped Shorter's leather jacket. They go fast. They go so fast it feels like nothing is moving at all.
Ash is a fucking mess. He was before Shorter, and still is. The tears that stained his face when Shorter pulled up near the hotel he had just left were proof enough. Crying in his chest, “Is it safe to just be…to exist?” He knew the answer.
His party tie hung onto his neck with desperation. His feelings wavered as his eyes watered. Will Shorter ever stick around? Forever?
“Touch me.”
“What?” Shorter responded softly. Looking to his side, his eyes obscured by his sunglasses–the ones he refuses to take off even at night—and even more so by the darkness.
“Touch me, Shorter” he repeated, and Shorter felt his mind still.
Ash could read his eyes from a mile away. His dark brown eyes murmuring, “Is it safe?”
Shorter passed the test long ago. That’s why Ash was here with him right now. That’s why those eyes that looked at him like they’d burn to ash if he ever told them to. To shut down, to stop the highlight and tenderness, the warmth they held with every secret gaze of him if Ash ever told them to.
And when those eyes saw him, they shimmered like stars in the night sky. They would see right through him. Pierce right through him if they wanted to.
Shorter’s hand found Ash’s, still locked around his waist, giving it a little squeeze before his fingers curled gently around his, grounding him, holding him close.
On that motorcycle, driving away, each time, Ash felt like a star. Burning through the city, through everything that made them who they were, through Shorter. Ash is a star and he’s burning through him.
The taste, the touch, the way they love, it all comes down to the sound of the engine, the sound of Ash’s laugh and Shorter's grin.
It all comes down to making the sound of their love song.