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The warm light of the lobby turned Ryan’s pale fingers orange as they wrapped on the cracked wooden counter, and Naim found his eyes following their movement. Back and forth, back and forth. It was late, and he was fucking exhausted, barely following the conversation that Ryan was having with the employee. Droning sounds, fan whirling, a familiar laugh, the clinking of keys, some shitty ballad tinning through ancient speakers.
“Naim,” Ryan’s voice shook him out of the trance and he had the sudden awareness of a hand on his lower back, gently pulling him closer, “You good? We’re all set here,” he smirked, dangling two sets of keys on thick plastic tags between their faces.
“Yeah. Good.”
The room, which had cost them almost all of their remaining cash, smelled like cigarette smoke and nondescript air freshener, but the door had a deadbolt and the windows were barred. In normal circumstances, maybe 6 months ago, Naim would have found those facts to be sketchy and unsettling. Now, they made him breathe a little easier. Because shit was fucked. Fucked. There was a small desk, which wobbled when Naim put his backpack down on it, a mini fridge, a microwave, a toilet with a leaky tap and a tiny shower, and one double bed which Ryan had thrown himself on as soon as the door shut behind them, his dirty boots dangling off the side. Naim sat on the matted shag carpet, rocking his head back against the wall. They should shower, they reeked. Week old sweat dried to his face, grime caked under his nails. He hadn’t even felt this gross when he crawled out of the burning mill. What was that? A month ago? It felt like yesterday and like five years ago at the same time. They’d been making do with what little cash Ryan had brought with him from the shoebox under his bed “Emergency grass fund” he had told Naim from across a basket of hot chips ages ago, giving him that dopey grin that made his heart do stupid flips. And of course, the oh-so-pivotal $50 Naim had snagged from his mum’s bag. That had bought them a few bus tickets and meals. Mostly, Ryan had been paying for everything, which was having a dual effect of making Naim feel like a piece of shit but also giddy in a teen girl sleepover way. Either way, it was over now, they had to figure something out or be stuck sleeping on benches and hitching rides from truckers or some other equally horrific thing.
The bed creaked as Ryan rolled onto his back, grunting as he tried to kick off his still-tied boots. “Stop, you dickhead,” Naim laughed, pushing up to his knees and crawling between Ryan’s feet, making quick work of the laces and helping him toe the shoes off, trying not to pull a face at the smell, “you’re so fucking impatient.” Ryan’s legs moved down on either side of Naim’s body as he sat up, looking down at him with an expression he couldn’t quite place. “What?” he asked, not stopping himself from running his hand up the denim, squeezing Ryan’s knee through his jeans.
“Good view,” Ryan cocked his head, thumb rubbing Naim’s jaw absentmindedly, “you nice and cozy down there?”
“Fuck off” Naim laughed, pushing Ryan’s leg to the side and falling to his back to look at the ceiling. “You need to shower, your feet are gnarly.”
“Oh, I need to shower?” Ryan asked, sliding from the bed onto the floor to lean over Naim, curls falling down between them, “You smell like shit, mate.” And then his lips were pressed against Naim’s, heavy and slick and so fucking nice. They kissed slow and deep. Naim’s hands ended up where they always do, locked into Ryan’s curls, tugging softly as he arched up to press their chests together. And then it stops, Ryan pulling back, eyes locking on his, “You make such cute sounds when I kiss you, fucking adorable.”
“No I fucking don’t.” Naim tugged on blond curls, trying to pull him back down.
“Oh? Must’ve been the wind.” Ryan let Naim pull him in, taking his top lip between his teeth as he tugged Naim’s mouth open to slip his tongue inside. And oh, Naim heard himself whine into it. Fine. Whatever. He liked to be kissed. Sue him. And it’s not like Ryan didn’t like it, his fingers clutched hard at Naim’s hoodie, at his waist, pulling him up and sliding back onto his knees so Naim was sat in his lap on the floor, never stopping the kiss. Who needs air when there’s this? When there’s them? And yeah, maybe they needed to shower. But Ryan tasted like cinnamon gum and stolen cigarettes, and he didn’t seem to mind a bit that the sweatshirt he’d pulled off of Naim’s back hadn’t been washed in three weeks. Didn’t seem to mind that Naim’s neck probably tasted like dirt and sweat as he licked up the column of it, sucking at the crux of his jaw while, grinding up against Naim’s ass. And Naim didn’t care either, teething at the lobe of Ryan’s ear, licking over the healed stitches at the helix. Why would he? Why would anybody care at all? This moment was one that he realized he’d unknowingly wanted more than any other moment.
A knock on the door pierced the room, and sent Naim flying off of Ryan’s lap and to the door where he stuck his eye to the peephole. Outside, lined with the dark sky and lit by the flickering wall light, stood a woman in a black polo. He looked back at Ryan, sitting wide eyed with mussied hair still on that spot on the floor. “Go shower, for real,” he said, sliding the locks open and cracking the door.
“Hey, I forgot to give you guys this,” The woman said through smacks of gum. She shoved a thick-walled black bucket into Naim’s hands. “For ice. There’s a machine, like, down there.” She pointed to her left vaguely, shrugging. Behind him, Naim heard the shower start. “People nab them from the rooms, for some fucking reason, so we give them to you when you check in and you give it back whenever you check out, alright?”
“Yeah, right, thanks.” Naim said, but she was already walking back towards the lobby, leaving Naim watching a near-empty car park, two flickering street lamps and rows of failing wall lights framing motel doors proved a poor method of lighting the darkness. He clicked the door shut, slid and snapped the locks, and went to sit in the toilet.
They had been doing that, sharing the room when they got the chance to shower. One of them waited on the floor or the counter or the toilet while the other washed, and then they would switch. It made them feel better, safer. It also made Naim shake, still struck by the proximity. The water shut off, and Naim upheld his end of the bargain by flinging a towel over the top of the curtain rod. After a few seconds, Ryan stepped out, the towel tied around his waist. He watched as Naim slid his runners and socks off, stepped in, and shut the curtain.
Naim’s fingers were cold on his skin as he pulled off his t-shirt and jeans, pressing lightly on the bruises that littered his body in various states of healing. Ryan pulled his dirty clothes from their spots on the curtain rod where Naim had hung them, humming some song, and Naim worked up the courage to tug down his boxers, one foot after the other. It was stupid, that doing this still made him nervous. It wasn’t like Ryan had never seen him shirtless or whatever. Hell, he’d touched Naim’s dick. A few times, even. But in a humid room with a curtain between them, knowing the other boy was two feet away in a towel, combing his hair, he felt like his chest had been ripped open. Like his insides were exposed, red and pink flesh and muscle spread out on the tile, real and raw and vulnerable. He pulled the elastic of his underwear and flung them over the rod.
“Fuck, Naim!” Ryan laughed, and the curtain pushed in as, presumably, Ryan kicked at it, “That landed on my head, you cunt!” Naim started the water, immediately warm because Ryan had just used it. Fuck. Ryan had just used it. Stood right here, scrubbed his skin with cheap motel bar soap, the kind that left your skin dry. Ran his hands over his chest, his legs, his face, his–
“Why’d you get a room with one bed?” Naim cut off his own thoughts, grabbing the soap from the shelf on the tile wall, “We talked about not doing that.” And they had agreed. It wasn't that they hadn’t slept in close proximity—on park benches, the back of buses, in alleys a few times, shit like that. But this was a town the size of Bandee, and they’d agreed it would draw less attention that way, and, stupidly, Naim was scared of the idea of sharing a bed with him. That they hadn’t done.
Ryan stopped humming and sighed, “It was cheaper,” the water got cold for a second, Naim’s skin tightening over his ribs as he flinched, the soap stung a fresh cut on his hip from an unfortunate mix-up yesterday morning at the servo when he’d waited outside to stretch his legs while Ryan popped inside.
From the counter, Ryan kept talking, “Two doubles for an unknown length of time, paid by the week. It would have knocked us flat broke. She didn’t care when I switched to one, like, she didn’t slow down or make a face or anything.”
He had been kicking himself since it happened. They’d been so good about it, so safe. They’d been fine. He’d taken that for granted. Ryan had been getting on his nerves, a side effect of being around the same cunt 24/7 for a month straight, and he’d thought it’d be fine if he took a walk around the building while the parasite of a boy that he kissed sometimes (all the time) bought them snacks and soda, nicked them a lighter or two. Clearly, it wasn’t fucking fine. He was on his third lap around the building, resting his head on the brick wall, when Ryan rounded the corner, holding a plastic bag.
“Got the goods.” He’d said, walking up and getting in Naim’s space. Not abnormal. It was never abnormal, until it was.
“Great, let’s go then, we’re gonna miss the bus.” He’d said, pushing off of the wall and starting to walk away, but Ryan’s familiar hand had wrapped around his wrist, playfully tugging him back. And Naim was helpless to Ryan’s affection, always craving it, even if he was pissed off by his general existence at the moment.
“Wait, Naim.” Ryan’d said, pushing him against the wall, bracketing him with his arms, bare and muscled. And Naim was suddenly parched, licking at his own cracked lips. “I know, we’ve been pissing each other off the last few days, that you’re tired, that you probably wish you were alone–”
“That’s not–”
“No, it’s okay. It is. And that’s fine.” Ryan kissed his cheek then, pulled back an inch so their noses touched, “I just want you to remember that even when you’re fucking raving, and I breathe wrong and you want to snap my neck–” Naim laughed, wrapping his arms around that very neck, rubbed at the chain that lay there. “-that you like me anyway. That you want it to be me.”
“Yeah,” Naim stretched up, pressed their foreheads together, and Ryan’s hands found his hips, squeezed him, “I do.”
“Want it to be me that fucking does this to you,” Ryan whispered against his lips and kissed him hard, pushing him up against the wall. He pulled Naim's legs onto his waist so that he was holding him up, one hand under Naim's thigh, the other gripping tight on his hip. Naim scratched up Ryan's back, bunching up his singlet, gasping into his mouth. Ryan turned them around, carrying him, Naim’s back against nothing but hot summer air. Warmth and want ran through Naim's body, struck him bone deep.
“Just me,” Ryan whispered against Naim’s lips, and Naim nodded dumbly, diving back in for a kiss. But Ryan pulled back, and suddenly he was being slammed into the ground, his back cracking against the gravel, shirt rucked up. Hot white pain wracked his body as he groaned, pushing himself up on his palms. And the thing that looked like Ryan grabbed for his hips, lunging down after him. Dirty jagged nails on fingers modeled after the ones that stroked his hair when Naim rested his head on Ryan’s shoulder tore at his skin. Leaving bloody gashes in their wake. Naim kicked up, knocking the thing off balance, and scrambled back, then to his knees, then his feet. He tore around the corner of the building without looking back; heard the thing right behind him, chasing. He ran up the walkway, through the door, and into the fluorescent lights of the servo. And there he was. Ryan, his Ryan, real flesh and blood Ryan, filling a fucking cup with coke slush, holding a pack of bandages.
Naim pumped thin shampoo into his hand, spread it with his thumb, felt it pool between his fingers and fall to the floor, watched it wash down the rusty drain, “Okay.”
. . .
He felt better about them being on the bed now that they’d showered. Ryan lay like a starfish over the blanket, face down. “Come in here, oh my god Naim, it’s like heaven.”
“A motel doona is your idea of heaven?” Naim shoved their dirty clothes into the plastic bag they’d been keeping them in when they were disgusting beyond the point of deniability and they couldn't pretend it was acceptable to wear them. Eventually, they’d take the bag to a laundromat. Probably. Hopefully. God, preferably soon. Tomorrow even.
“No, jackass. A fucking mattress.” He said it slowly, like the sentence itself was dessert. Rain after a sweltering summer. “You’re gonna spoof your pants as soon as you lay down, I’m dead serious.”
“Do I need to put your dunders in the bag already?”
“Fuck off.” Ryan turned over and sat up against the wall, cross-legged in tracksuit and a white singlet, reaching his arms out, making stupid little grabbing motions, “Come here.”
Naim had been borrowing Ryan’s pyjamas since they stepped on the bus together. He hadn’t had anything other than the clothes on his back, his phone, a wallet (with the $50 and a debit card he’d withdrawn cash from,) and a lighter running out of propane. Eventually, they’d bought him multipacks of socks, boxers, and t-shirts for cheap along with a pair of cotton shorts. But when they got a chance to sleep indoors, he’d still reach for one of Ryan’s flannels or hoodies. He looked down at his feet, dug his toes into the carpet.
“I can just, like, take the floor or whatever.”
“Why the fuck would you sleep on the floor, jackass?” Ryan sounded as if Naim had just told him the sky had turned green and the grass purple. Naim didn’t look up, just shrugged. The bed creaked, and suddenly Ryan’s hands were on his biceps, “Look at me.” God, his eyes were blue. “I gave you a wristy in a bus, we can share a fucking blanket, mate.” And yeah, when you put it like that, he sounds stupid as fuck. Ryan’s thumb brushed his cheek, and he felt himself flush. Then the warmth of Ryan’s skin was gone and he was back to laying on the bed, a soft thud as he slapped the space next to him, “Well? Are you coming in or are you gonna make me look like a dickhead?”
“Fine, okay.” He groaned when his back hit the bed. It wasn’t so good that he’d come, but it was pretty fucking good. “Oh my god.”
“Yeah, right? Better than concrete?”
“Yeah, shit.” He rolled onto his side and found Ryan’s eyes trained on him, “Hi.”
Ryan’s eyebrows raised as he smirked, stupid sexy smirk, “Hey.”
“Hey.”
“Yeah, we’ve covered that I think.” Ryan said, inching closer. Or was it Naim? It didn’t matter. Their lips were sliding together. An involuntary whimper fell from his lips and Naim pulled back.
“Every time we kiss now I’m gonna notice that I make a noise and it’s gonna take me out.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll pull you back in.” Ryan said, stern and serious. And he did.