This is a work of fiction. As such, characters can take actions that would probably be a less than stellar idea in the real world. Playing fast and loose with privacy, unprotected fluid bonding, questionable firearms safety. Be smart and safe out there. End of sermon.
As to my signoff: someone mailed me that it's "safe, sane, and consensual" and comes from a different subculture. So? The concept's still good no matter the context. As to the order, if it's not consensual it's no go, no matter the rest. Only then does the question of safe come into play, and as to sane, that's a judgment call where your mileage may - and probably does - vary a lot.
Notwithstanding the previous paragraph, I must say I'm disappointed with the lack of response. Feedback is appreciated and will be answered. ct@fangorn.xs4all.nl .
Thanks to Larry for his contributions and editing.
And always remember: Keep it Consensual, Safe and Sane out there...
CT
Copyright notice: (C) Copyright 2003 by the author, reachable as ct@fangorn.xs4all.nl. A non-exclusive license to display is granted to Nifty Archives and its mirrors. Copying and format conversions are allowed for personal use only provided this copyright notice stays intact. You are not allowed to repost or reuse this story outside the Nifty Archives without the authors explicit written permission except as allowed by the fair use clauses of copyright law and the Berne convention.
Disclaimers: This story features among other things love and intimacy, both emotional and physical, between men. This by definition makes it a gay story. If you are offended by or not interested in this, or if reading this is illegal at your age or in your locality, please leave now. I am not going to bail you out of jail for it unless you're cute.
This story is a work of fiction. Any similarity to actual people, organizations or places, living, dead or otherwise, with the exception of established companies, products and locations used as non- participating background, is purely coincidental. All trademarks are property of their respective owners. All the usual disclaimers apply.
Road Trip, chapter 5
5.1 Micha
"Noooooooooo!"
A scream suddenly startles me from a pleasant dream, and before I'm well and truly awake I'm already diving to the floor, grabbing the big Maglite flashlight from the nightstand on the way down. Fully awake by the time I hit the deck, I quickly scan the room. There doesn't seem to be any intruder.
I look at the other bed where I see Pete thrashing around, obviously still fast asleep and having a nightmare. I quickly get up from the floor and walk over to him. Turning on the light, I try softly calling him. "Pete. Wake up, Pete." He swings his arm at me, and I grab it before he hits me. Either I'm not getting through to him or what I'm saying is incorporated into his nightmare, but he doesn't wake up. I softly put my other hand on his shoulder. His skin feels hot and sweaty, and his pulse is racing a mile a minute. He flinches and curls up into a fetal position.
"Noooo... Please, no more," he whimpers. I increase my grip on his shoulder and start shaking him softly, calling his name. I'm not sure what he's having a nightmare about. Probably being beaten by one of his 'friends'. I hope that waking him up will stop it. After what seems like a long time, but probably is no more than a minute, he finally wakes up.
"Who... Wha... What?" He suddenly sits up, awake. His expression reminds me of a gazelle on Animal Planet — one that they do a telephoto close-up of just before a lion finishes it off.
"You were having a nightmare."
"Oh shit." He sighs. "Not again. Did I wake you? I'm sorry... Why are you holding that Maglite?"
I smile and try my best 'Maglite, what Maglite? Oh, that Maglite' look. Think Daffy Duck after Elmer discovers him wearing a bullet proof vest during duck season - 'Now how did that get there?'.
"Uhh. No worries. I may have overreacted a little when I woke up." I put the Maglite back on the nightstand. Overreacted indeed. I guess always having slept alone has made me more sensitive to unexpected sounds. I must be more careful. I could hurt Pete badly if he happens to be in the wrong place when he wakes me. Especially if those nightmares are a recurrent thing.
"Shit. I'm sorry."
"Don't be. It happens, nothing you can do about it."
"Still..."
Pete's sitting in bed, looking dejected. "It's OK, Pete, don't worry." He seems so vulnerable, sitting there.
"Could you... No, forget it."
"What?"
"No, I probably shouldn't..."
"Oh, c'mon, spit it out." Drat. I shouldn't lose my patience like that. Easy, Micha, don't bite his head off, I keep telling myself.
"Micha, could you hold me? Sorry, I shouldn't ask that of you. You need to sleep too, and these nightmares, they come sometimes. I've been told I can become violent when they're bad. I don't want to hurt you. Forget it."
I smile, and get into the bed, next to Pete. I pull him close to me, his head on my shoulder. "Don't worry. I'm holding onto you, I doubt you could do much damage before I wake up. In fact, I'm more worried... No, just don't worry about it."
He puts his left arm across my chest and as I reach back to turn off the light he snuggles in even closer to me. After a while I feel him relax, his breathing and heartbeat slowing down. Long after Pete's drifted off to sleep I lie there, watching him, trying to come down from the adrenalin rush, trying to plan for tomorrow. Finally sleep overcomes me too.
5.2 Pete
Morning. Light. Warmth. I am vaguely aware that I should probably be getting up, but instead my sleep-addled brain decides otherwise. A sense of well-being permeates me and I doze off once more.
Some time later I wake up again. The first rays of daylight have long since reached a truce in their battle with the heavy curtains in our southeast-facing motel room. No light shines directly into the room but through the gap between the window and the curtains the sun now fills our temporary abode with a dim, soft, diffuse light.
Awareness is slowly reasserting its hold over me and I start realizing that Micha is sharing my bed, holding me. My head rests on his chest, his arms are around me and mine around him. I feel completely safe, warm, loved, for the first time in years.
He smiles and gently kisses my forehead. "Good morning. Did you sleep well?"
So that's what he sounds like in the morning, his voice a bit gravelly. I like it. I could wake up to that 'Good morning' every day and not tire of it. "Yes. Better than I've slept for years. Did I have any more nightmares?"
"Yes, two. Don't worry about it, you slept through them."
"I... I didn't hurt you, did I?"
"No. You became restless and woke me up long before you started flailing your arms about. Easy enough to control. I hope that didn't add to your nightmares."
"I don't think so. I don't remember that, anyway. Thanks for staying with me. I had no right to ask that of you."
"Bullshit. You had every right to ask, just as I had every right to agree or refuse. You needed to be held, you asked, I agreed, simple as that. And make no mistake about it, I like sharing a bed with you. Anyway, I'm no mind reader and this is new to me, too. If you want to say or ask anything, do so. I'm not going to say I will do or answer everything, but I'm not going to be offended. I hope you won't be either if I do the same."
"No. I'll try not to. I hope I won't be. I ... Oh shit!" I've suddenly become aware of the sticky mess I've made on myself, on the bed, and worst of all, on Micha. "Oh shit, man, I'm sorry... I haven't for years... I'm sorry." I try to turn away but Micha is still holding me, and still smiling.
"Why? It's perfectly normal, although it does mean having 'the talk' a bit sooner than I expected. I know I'm clean. How about you?"
"I tested clean last year, haven't done anything with anyone for three years, Roger being first, last and only. But I guess we should get tested again just to be sure." Micha is looking at me intently. "What?" I ask. He smiles.
"Maybe. Body language often speaks louder than words. Anyway, that's what, two years? Most everything would've shown up, so I think we're pretty safe. We'll decide before we go much further. If we decide to go further."
"Then I think we should get tested. I'll go as far as you want to."
"That, Pete, isn't the kind of decision you should leave to others. Only you can set limits you're comfortable with. Letting others push you leads to misery, though I think I'm preaching to the choir here."
"Uh-huh," I nod. Micha's right I guess, but lying here in his arms I also know there isn't a thing I wouldn't do if he asked it of me.
I must've nodded off again. I wake up again realizing he's just asked me something. "Uh, sorry? I must've dozed off."
He grins. "I'd love nothing better than to stay here in bed with you all day, but a new day's calling, and we should probably get ready to move. Do you still want to travel around with me or has a good night's sleep changed your perspective?"
Changed my perspective? Oh damn, he doesn't want to dump me, does he? He must've felt me tense up.
"Don't worry, not trying to get rid of you, I just want to know that you haven't changed your mind. It'll be a major change for you, so if you have second thoughts..."
"No. Definitely not. There's nothing I want more than to get out of this hell hole of a town. Well, one thing I want more - you."
"Whoa there, taking it slow and easy, right? Let's get cleaned up first."
With that he pulls the covers off of us, jumps out of bed, picks me up and carries me into the bathroom.
5.3 Micha
A shower is just what we need. Neither of us has washed for a couple of days and with Pete being a bit enthusiastic in his sleep, things are getting rank.
Stepping into the bathtub, I set Pete down. Still holding him, I turn on the water and adjust the temperature, then switch from tap to showerhead. I feel him flinch.
"Sorry, Babe. You're healing well, but showering will probably hurt for another couple of days." I start to reach for the soap, but he keeps holding me, looking at me with a dreamy look in his eyes.
"You called me Babe. Nobody's ever called me that before." Pete starts crying, and I hug him tightly, holding him for what seems like forever, until he calms down.
"Yes." What more can I say? Still holding him with one hand I get the soap with my other hand and quickly wash us both. Pete's mind seems to be somewhere else entirely, although he is trying to be cooperative. Before long we're washed, rinsed and dried. As we walk back into the room he seems to come out of whatever thoughts he was in.
"Thanks."
"Sure, anything for you. Still, there's one thing I can't do for you, and that's to call your friend Mike and ask if your truck and belongings can be parked at his place. You do that while I put our stuff back in the car."
Pete sits down at the telephone while I quickly gather what items of ours, mainly mine, that we brought into the room, and put them in the car. He finishes the call just as I come back into the room.
"Good news, I can park the truck at Mike's place for now."
"Hey, great. Well, let's get moving then. I've already settled the room." We get into the car and drive off. Being back on the road again feels good after three days of being cooped up in a motel. Seeing this part of the Rockies by daylight is nice, too.
A good hour later as we approach the river bridge I feel myself going into high alert. This is where Pete tried to kill himself only four days ago. I moved him away, and I've no idea how he's going to react to being back at that place, back in the truck he drove there. Back, basically, in part of his old life, even if only for a short time. He's been very quiet for the last half hour.
I pull up next to the bushes behind which I've parked Pete's truck and shut the engine down. We get out of the car and Pete starts walking towards the bridge, a hundred yards down the road. I fall in step beside him and put my arm around his shoulders. Call me paranoid, but no way am I letting him out of physical contact within fifty yards of that river. Not now.
5.4 Pete
"You OK?" Micha asks.
We're standing by the bridge railing. I keep looking out over the river. "Yeah. I was thinking of how life's shaped by chance. If I'd woken sooner or later in that rubbish pile, if my truck hadn't broken down when it did, or if I hadn't been able to fix it when I did, if you hadn't decided to go driving in the mountains at night, if you'd driven faster or slower... We'd never have met, and I'd be dead, down there with the other debris, or washed away downstream."
I lean forward to look down and under the bridge. Micha tightens his arm around my shoulders and pulls me even closer to him.
"Don't worry, I'm not gonna jump now. You know, when it broke down I cursed that truck. I guess it too played its part and I owe it an apology."
"Dunno. Maybe. Can't hurt."
"It'd never broken down before. And it still got me to the bridge in time for you to find me."
"People have been trying to explain that kind of thing since the dawn of time."
"Gods and Demons running the world."
"Yes. Among other things. Karma. Probability. Quantum and Chaos theory."
"The Gods of accounting, inevitability and science."
"Yes."
"You don't believe in anything?"
"I grew up believing, or thinking I did. I don't know anymore."
"Why?"
"All have their flaws. The closer you look, the more inconsistencies appear. It's not confirmed by observation."
"Can you trust your eyes? Y' know, what I'm really afraid of is that I've jumped anyway and all this — you, me, us, the past days, loving you - is just my dying brain playing tricks on me and I'll wake up down there, blowing out my last breath. What do you think I'm looking for? Or maybe I'm dead already and this is God's idea of having a good laugh. 'What fools these mortals be.'"
"Perhaps. Or maybe we're just self-aware simulations running on the Playstation-20047 of some pimply-faced little green teenager from Alpha Centauri. That way madness lies. Greater minds than ours have gone nuts over that. Let's not worry about it. You think you're real, I think I'm real, you think I'm real, I think you're real, and we've got each other. How much more real do you, can you, want it?"
As I turn around to face him he pulls me into a hug and kisses me. Even if this is just a final hallucination, it's a good way to die. Eventually our need to breathe overcomes our need for contact and we reluctantly break our lip-lock.
"Thanks."
"Sure."
"Let's go get the truck."
"Yes." Micha hands me the keys, and we walk back to where the cars are parked, his arm still around me. I realize I'm holding him, too.
Opening the door of my truck, I notice bloodstains in the upholstery. "I must've been a mess," I say, to no one in particular. A momentary sadness passes over Micha's face.
"Yes, you were. I'm amazed how quick you're healing."
"Practice." I climb in and put the key in the ignition. The engine fires up on the first attempt. I run my hands over the wheel and gear selector and quietly thank it. It's served me well. "Where do you want to go first?"
"Your place. Lead the way."
As we drive back, the land already feels different to me. Living here, it just was. Now I'm wondering where I'm going to end up, if it'll look like here, and when I'll see the Colorado Rockies again. Before long we've reached town. A couple of turns and we've arrived at my apartment. Micha parks his car in the visitor space next to my parking space.
I open the door. A stale smell permeates the air. Damn, I must've left some food out. Micha is standing behind me. I turn around. "OK, Mich, what can I take?"
"There's quite a bit of space in the trunk, and we can also use the back seat. I suggest you take clothes for cold and warm climate, books, whatever you think you'll need on the road and for the first weeks once you're settled down somewhere, that kind of things. Don't worry too much about it, we can always get whatever you need if you didn't bring or don't have it. Oh, and whatever's valuable or personal plus the system unit of your computer. Monitors and stuff are cheap enough to be replaced, no need to bring those now. Put the rest of the stuff in the truck. I don't know what's yours and what comes with the house, so how about you do the packing and I'll carry it out to the cars?"
"Sounds good to me." I don't have much anyway. Thirty minutes later I'm making a final check if I've forgotten anything and Micha's outside putting the last of the boxes in the truck. Nothing left here. I go outside and pull the door closed behind me. It's goodbye. "Let's go."
A couple of stops around town later my life here is pretty much wrapped up. The lease on my apartment has been cancelled, my mail has been forwarded at the post office and cards have been written and mailed to people who might look for me. We are getting out of here. The road is empty, and at the city limit I stop. I've always dreamt of doing this. Getting out of the truck, I take one last look at the town I grew up in, the town that almost killed me, and give it a heartfelt one-finger salute. Grinning, I get back into the truck, gun the engine and set off in a cloud of dust, Micha following behind me.
5.5 Micha
I follow Pete out of town and down a twisty mountain road. A couple of miles later we turn onto a small dirt road. At the end of the dirt road we turn left through a gate and down another dirt road. Along the road are various signs, some more humorous than others. "Forget the dogs, beware of the owner" is one of them. "Gun control is hitting what you aim at" seems to be a favorite, and the remains of practice targets are clearly visible. As we reach the small house at the end of the road, Pete pulls up behind the house, and after I've turned my car around I park next to his truck. Four big Dobermans are running around our cars, but they quickly retreat after a whistled command. The back door opens and a man holding a shotgun walks out onto the porch.
"It's safe to come out of your car now!" he shouts.
Pete and I get out of our cars and go up the steps to the porch.
Mike greets Pete but keeps a leery eye on me, and the shotgun, while somewhat safely pointed up, remains in my general direction. "Who's he?" he asks Pete.
"Mike, meet Micha. Micha, Mike."
"Hi." Mike gives me a suspicious look but flips the safety catch of the shotgun back on. "You know, Pete, I was really startin' to get worried about you. Hadn't seen you around for some days."
"Yeah, a lot has happened. But I've met Micha, so good came out of it."
"I hope so. You deserve some good luck. Now, how long do you need to park that truck here?"
Pete looks at me, then shrugs. "I really don't know. Micha's gonna help me find JJ and get settled somewhere. Couple of months maybe?"
"Then you better go park it in the barn. The door's open and I think there's space to the right of the door 'bout halfway down. It's safer for it and safer for me."
Pete gets back in his truck and starts driving down the yard towards the barn. As I turn around to walk down to the barn myself, Mike motions me to stay.
"Are you for real?" he asks me.
"Well, I'm here in front of you, breathing and speaking. That's about as real as it gets, I guess."
"Now don't you get smart with me. I don't know what you've done with Pete, but he seems happier than I've ever seen him since JJ left town. Are you two involved in some way? You're not gonna hurt him or dump him like that bastard Roger did, are you?"
"I love Pete, and he loves me, and we're taking it from there. Trust me, I'm not gonna hurt or dump him. I gave Pete my word on that."
"You really think you can find JJ? You know, I tried to find him myself a couple years ago. He seems to have disappeared, couldn't find a trace of him."
"I hope I can. The networks have grown since, and I've some skills and some friends who can help. Still, while I'm hopeful, it's far from a sure thing. Might be more than a couple of months, too. Anyway, if you hear anything or just want to catch up on how we're doing, please don't hesitate to call. Here's my card. That cell phone and email will reach me just about anywhere in the civilized world."
"Thanks. Don't worry about time, I figured that out already. Why'd you think I made him put that truck in the barn? But you take care of him now, you hear? I tried to do what I could, but in this town I gotta be careful, especially living out here by myself. Rumors start and stuff can happen, you know."
"Yeah, I know. And I do want to thank you for doing what you could and being friendly to Pete. I doubt if he'd've survived until now if you hadn't."
"I wish I could've done more. Ah, Pete's almost back here. Y'all want to stay for lunch?"
Mike asks that last question loud enough for Pete to hear it. I look at Pete and he nods. I turn back to Mike. "Sure, we've got a long drive ahead of us, bound to be better on a full stomach." We follow Mike back inside and over lunch we continue talking.
All good things come to an end, though, even a late lunch with friends. As the sun starts getting noticeably lower, we finally leave Mike with promises to keep each other updated. With Pete's guidance, we make our way via small mountain roads onto hwy 40, heading for 13 and 789 into Wyoming and I80. Once we're on the highway he turns to face me. "What was that talk with Mike about while I was parking the truck?"
"It was about a number of things. Mainly about his concern for you, and trying to figure me out, to make sure I wouldn't hurt you. Mike's tried to be a friend, but he's scared."
"Scared? Mike? He's one of the strongest, most self-reliant people I know. He ain't scared. And I don't think he ever wanted much to do with me either. But at least he didn't hate me."
"Think. The dogs, the guns, leaving practice targets with well placed groups around, your car in the barn out of sight... Yes, he is scared. In this town, a man in his 40's, never been married, living out here alone... I understand his reluctance to be publicly identified with you, even if it might've made your life easier, or perhaps harder. Still, I think he looked out for you when he thought he could safely do so, and I think he's genuinely concerned about you."
"He didn't show that when it could've done some good. It's easy for him to be concerned now that I'm leaving."
"Please don't judge him just now. It's a shame what people will do, or not do, out of fear."
"You don't seem to have fear. You could've run away. Hell, you didn't even know me. I could've been some psycho who would've fucked you up. You weren't even phased when I blew a load on you, and you didn't know if I was clean."
"Sure I have fear. I fear myself more than anything. I fear fucking up. All I or anyone can do is try to do what seems right at the time, and that often enough turns out to be wrong in hindsight. I don't fear others, or events. Maybe a healthy apprehension, alertness, at times. That keeps me focused and alive. But there's nothing I can do except deal with them, so fear would serve no purpose. And as to you being clean, I took some liberties. If you know your way around the databases, medical records aren't all that private."
"You what? You broke into my medical records?"
"Technically, I didn't exactly break into your medical records, though I doubt a judge would appreciate the difference. Yes, I did some checking. I had to have some data to help me decide how I could best help you. You were in no condition to tell me yourself."
"I guess. So what did you find out? Another discarded kid screwing up? I guess I didn't tell you much news when I gave you my life story... "
"Just data. Computers are good at regurgitating data, not the story behind it. The emergency room visits, medical history, university records, biographic data, police reports. It paints a picture but doesn't tell the story behind it. That same data could support a very different scenario. Anyway, I found your last two STD tests, both clean. And when I took you to a doctor - a trusted one, paid in cash, no records there ever - that first night, I had you tested just to be sure; that was before I got to the records."
"You WHAT!?"
"You had open wounds, and I was going to take care of you for at least a couple of days. I had to know if or what precautions I should take. I also got tested myself then, so I know we're both clean."
"Still..." Pete turns away from me and looks out the window.