horsey

his 87 chain

sid and geno wearing each other's jerseys

north vancouver's so hot right now, though it's not really supposed to be. only 25° or so but cloudless as fuck and the sun's just unrelenting in that way where it heats your shirt up to the point you gotta take it off.

sam cooks them both eggs and toast for breakfast, and packs two gatorades because he's smart. misa tries to get away with only eating an orange because he's "not even hungry" and packs a battery bank in case he needs to waste his full charge taking videos of "cool birds, like, unique to the area." he's so weird in an endearing way that makes sam wanna tease him.

when they get outta the car, sam's wrangling misa, blocking him into the corner because he "doesn't need sunscreen" but absolutely will burn up without it. he rubs it in pretty gingerly, except when he gets to misa's left shoulder and the little knot there from how he slept in a dumb position, twisted up in the crook of sam's armpit.

he's always taking care of misa. always, and he doesn't think too hard about holding it over him, except when he does, and his dick chubs up a little thinking about all the sick payback he could get.

tired as fuck and finally back at the airbnb, misa says as much, downing the second glass of water that sam sets in front of him. "you're always like, doing shit for me." gulp gulp gulp. "kinda like, my mom, or like, my girlfriend."

"like your girlfriend, huh?" sam mocks, sucking on his vape, swallowing hard on the artificial peach flavour. "you're kinda like my girlfriend, if you think about it. so needy, forgetful, head's always in the clouds. what would you do without me?"

he's grinning now, all wolfish, canines out, lowkey pressing his up n coming boner against the bar stool he's leaning into.

misa's eyes get big, like bottomless pits, and he considers for a second, then nods, tips into sam's side and rests his head on his bicep. "kinda like your girlfriend."

the air's so thick between them sam can hardly breathe, gets a little dizzy, thinks, "if you were my girlfriend, i bet you'd get on your knees and thank me for all the shit i do." and oh, he musta actually said it out loud 'cause misa's slipping off his seat and onto the tile floor, bowing his head forward a little.

it's a fucking sight, that's for sure. something sam's been thinking about when he jerks off for like, months now. heat's pooling in his belly, dick hard and tenting his shorts. he's on a power trip too, massive. he reaches down and undoes the clasp of misa's necklace, one with the cross pendant, and slips it into his pocket.

"don't need no god," he grinds out, rough, then hooks two fingers under misa's chin to bring him closer. "you have me."

"no god," misa repeats, muffled from how he's suckling on the polyester layer that separates them. "just you."

Geno was no thinking about food

he seems vaguely european (geno is eurotrash in his 20s you can't lie to me) and I loved it.

and twenty dollars are twenty dollars until a guy is talking misa up at some bar they’re not supposed to be at anyway so sam has to go rescue misa because he’s getting that glazed look in his eyes sam seems to be the only one to notice and his hand feels like a brand when it slips around misa’s waist and sam is the perfect amount of polite when he tells the guy to kick rocks

and then misa is running his tongue over his teeth and sam is almost positive he can already taste the shirley temple misa had when he turns to him and tilts his head as says: “wanna make out in the bathroom?”

Flower remembers the shame he felt when his parents found him in bed with another guy. He was fifteen. It still feels like it happened yesterday, that hasn’t changed. It haunts him, the memory. His parents weren’t supposed to be home for hours, he thought. They’d went out on a date to some fancy restaurant and always stayed out late. The guy had ridden his bike there, leaned it against the front of the house, that’s how they knew. His mother escorted the boy out while his father’s eyes burned into him.

Flower remembers his mother’s face and his father’s voice as he yelled, he remembers how small he felt sat on the edge of his bed, he especially remembers the feeling of his father’s hand when he slapped him across the face. His father ripped his gold cross necklace off and threw it on the carpeted floor, it broke the clasp.

“T'ai-je élevé pour que tu sois une péde? Hein?” his father’s voice boomed. Tears rolled down his freckled cheeks one after the other.

Flower remembers how he clenched his fists at his sides, but it wasn’t out of anger. They were right, they hadn’t raised him to be that way, it was more so out of fear. That night when he was fifteen wasn’t the first time his father had hit him, and it definitely wasn’t the worst.

Once, when Flower was only about seven years old, he asked his mother if it was okay that he liked boys. He’d been taught from as early as he can remember that boys liking boys and girls liking girls was completely forbidden in the eyes of God. He thought to himself that surely they wouldn’t be mad at him, even if it was sinful, because he was their son and they loved him.

His mother looked at him with a scowl on her face but said nothing. The car was eerily quiet the rest of the ride home.