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After that birthday banquet, TCO and TDL were set to head back to their city. But this wasn’t a journey that could be summed up in idle talk—with a drive time of over ten hours, TDL grew irritable enough to want to shut off the car radio more than once. Each time, he’d catch the stoic man in the driver’s seat, cigarette dangling from his lips, shooting him a frowning glance—warning plain in his eyes. Hours behind the wheel seemed to have barely touched him with fatigue, making TDL think back to their reckless younger years, when they’d gone road-tripping. TCO had always been like this, outlasting even him—the “F1 hopeful speed demon”—in drive time.
“…Tch.”
TDL leaned back in his seat, turning his head to stare at the scenery outside, done with this tedious man.
TCO flicked his cigarette out the window, sighed as if resigned, and shut off his beloved jazz playlist. The dreamy, soft music cut out, leaving the nine o’clock night eerily quiet.
“Off,” he said, short and flat, answering his partner’s unspoken demand. This car, bought shortly after he’d started working, was no spring chicken—an old clunker he’d never had the heart to replace. Now, it wasn’t just the engine struggling; the clutch was on its last legs. The highway was all but deserted, save for the occasional cargo truck rumbling past with its heavy load.
“How much longer?” TDL asked, unwrapping a stick of gum, tone casual but edged. He never should’ve agreed to come back to the old mansion with TCO. His resentment ran no shallower than TCO’s, after all—especially when those bastards had goaded him, saying he needed to outshine TCO.
Back then, he hadn’t understood what it meant. But that stubborn, unruly streak in his bones had made him take the bait without thinking.
“About three hours. But we’ll have to stay the night at that motel across from the gas station.” TCO rubbed his brow, eyeing the tiny sign next to a giant billboard, which read there was a gas station not far. He hadn’t been back to the mansion often, but this stretch of highway was burned into his memory. The scene looked exactly the same as the last time he’d passed through—though the trouble, alas, wasn’t with the clunker itself. A giant tumbleweed had suddenly materialized in his field of vision.
“Perfect. You always manage to drag me into some godforsaken mess.” TDL kicked the car in irritation.
The small gas station loomed ahead. TCO parked, got out first, and checked the car—relieved to find it had enough juice to get them home—before starting to pump gas. TDL hung back, spat his gum into a trash can by the vending machine, bought a soda, and chugged it.
“Y’know, you could just call a tow truck for your ‘precious’ car. Then we can hail a ride home.” TDL raised an eyebrow, watching TCO focus on fueling up.
“—Tow it where?” TCO was bent over, inspecting the sorry state of the engine, then the exhaust pipe.
“The junkyard.”
“…”
He sighed. Truth was, he’d promised TDL he could tear the car apart for parts once it bit the dust. When he finished, he drove to the motel nearby. This was technically the outskirts of their city—scattered houses, a few residents, mostly blue-collar workers from the factories on the edge. At night, the little taverns here were livelier than the bustling city. They’d been twice: once, local guys had drink them a whole bottle of tequila; another time, they’d gotten doused in beer. It had been fun, but the stench of vomit, booze, and smoke afterward made TCO resolve to skip the tavern tonight.
“Quit griping. Rest a bit.” TCO took the half-finished soda from TDL, drained it, and tossed the bottle. TDL stared at the vast starry sky—something you never saw in the city—lost in thought. He’d been swamped with his hacking work lately, too busy to notice such things. It dredged up old memories.
“TDL?” TCO called, tapping his red-haired partner’s shoulder. No response. He looked up at the sky too, and the memories came flooding back.
People who’d met them had wondered: How do two people with personalities as opposite as night and day stay together so long? But they knew—the truth was, they were two sides of the same self.
Years ago, he’d dragged TDL out of that old mansion, nothing but a single bag between them. They’d set out to wander—though “scavenge” might be more accurate. Two hot-blooded kids, pockets light with meager savings, bought a beat-up Jeep that looked like it had survived World War II. They’d roared across the country: Washington, then the West Coast, all the way to the westernmost edge. They’d blasted the latest rock, chugged beer under the scorching sun. TCO had swiped a street sandwich from some poor soul; TDL had clutched a few crumpled dollars. Hot wind, gritty with sand, stung their cheeks. Open your mouth, and you tasted dry dust. What else had they done? Oh, right—TDL bought a ukulele, TCO found a harmonica. They’d played off-key on street corners, and people had whistled their approval. It was a wild age, with wild souls—blood and hearts racing, untamed.
Somehow, things changed. They’d both loved rock, the freewheeling ’80s, unshackled spirits.
When they were young, they hadn’t known what freedom meant. But that music, those roads—they’d given them something they’d never had.
Through all the splits, fights, make-ups—countless messy scripts—these two misfits had glared at each other and decided: You’re stuck with me.
TDL shot TCO a sharp look. He wanted to get back, wrap up that big order. TCO kept urging him to find a “real job,” but hacking was the best work he’d found. TCO had seen his screens: dark web homepages, content that would need ten layers of mosaic. He knew convincing TDL was a lost cause—for now.
TCO folded his arms, watching. He knew TDL was griping about him—he always was. It was just a matter of whether it stayed verbal or turned physical.
“Done staring?” he asked.
“TCO.” TDL finally snapped, punching him in the shoulder—not too hard, but only because he’d gone ten hours without food. If he could, he’d deck TCO in the jaw, dislocate it, and catch an ambulance home.
“The world’d be better off if you kept that mouth shut.”
“Suppose it would.” TCO was too tired to snap back. He pulled TDL toward the motel desk. If they waited much longer, this godforsaken place would only have that tavern left open. A middle-aged woman sat behind the counter, idly polishing her name tag. TCO rapped the desk. “One double room.”
“Check-out time?” She didn’t look up, muttering.
“Ten tomorrow morning.” TCO pulled out cash.
“Third floor, first door on the right.” She tossed them a key.
They exchanged a glance, then looked away, heading up to inspect the room. It was clean enough, save for a faint whiff of mildew and smoke. The dampness, laced with cold, made TDL frown. The peeling wallpaper screamed “historic.” The shower’s old-fashioned head made TCO feel like he was back ten years. He checked the amenities, made sure nothing would blow up, then flopped onto the bed.
TDL didn’t hesitate, slipping on disposable slippers and sprawling beside him.
“Tired?” TCO asked, glancing at the redhead.
“Nah. Wanna do something else.” A sharp, mocking smile curled TDL’s lips.
He narrowed his eyes, red irises darkening. He knew what “leave at ten” meant—with TCO’s usual hatred of delay, they’d be hitting the road by six a.m.
TCO raised an eyebrow. His little plan was always transparent to TDL. Just as he knew his partner had half-agreed to this “invitation.” The last time they’d had such a “moment” was two weeks ago. They were both so busy—he wasn’t letting this slip.
He kicked off his shoes, put on slippers, and pressed TDL into the mattress, kissing him hard. His tongue traced TDL’s teeth; their lips met, and the air shifted from cold to smoldering. He tasted the faint sweetness of soda on TDL’s tongue, filling their mouths. But this teasing wasn’t enough—TDL bit down hard on his tip of tongue, and blood flooded their mouths.
There we go. TDL’s eyes fluttered shut, savoring the blood of the man he loved and hated.
TCO, used to this, let the sharp pain spark a long-dormant rebellious nerve. If TDL wanted a fight, he’d give it. He deepened the kiss, claiming every breath, and the thrill of asphyxia made TDL’s pulse race. TDL fumbled with TCO’s jacket, trying to tear away the mask, to reveal the monster beneath—the same as him, the same kind of madman. Rust and iron tinged the intimacy with cold. They were lovers, but not in any way the world understood.
When the kiss broke, TCO loomed over him, TDL’s face flushed from lack of air. There was a flicker of mockery in TCO’s white eyes—not intentional, but TDL always took it as amusement at his embarrassment. TCO stripped off his clothes; TDL followed. The night was long, and the windows behind the curtains glowed with distant lights, but neither cared about the view. They stumbled into the bathroom, still kissing, still clinging. TCO free a hand to turn on the shower. Cold water poured over them, but it didn’t stop them. As the water warmed, the tiny bathroom fogged up. TCO pinned TDL against the wall, his back pressed to cold tile. Their nights together were always like this—fights with more teeth than tenderness. TCO bit down on TDL’s lip, and TDL knew it was bleeding. He retaliated by digging his nails into TCO’s lower back, leaving bruises that would bloom purple.
Pain was their finest aphrodisiac.
“Fuck—TCO, are you a dog?” TDL gasped, all but nailed to the wall. Hot water and cold tile seared his senses. TCO bit at the soft flesh of his shoulder, then reached for the body wash, squeezing some onto his hand to lather over TDL. He didn’t want to waste energy on games, but TDL loved derailing his plans. He squirmed, kicking, and TCO felt nails rake down his back—raw, stinging under the scalding water.
He knew what came next: TDL would slather more body wash over his fresh wounds, making the pain burn brighter. Predictable, but always effective. He could picture that smirk, even as he worked the lather into TDL’s skin—savoring every inch of warm flesh. The price, it seemed, was worth it.
Maybe he was in a good mood? TCO thought. He wasn’t biting as hard today.
Or maybe I’m just too damn hungry, you bastard. TDL flipped him off mentally.
Once the suds were rinsed away, they stumbled out of the steamy bathroom, wrapped in thin towels. The cool air cleared TCO’s head a little. He picked up their scattered clothes, fished a small bottle of lube from his black jacket’s inner pocket.
TDL scoffed, watching him pile the clothes on the coffee table. He stepped in, yanking TCO down by his damp black hair, kissing him to stop whatever plan was forming. Kisses were always the quickest way to derail TCO.
“Such a hassle.” TDL muttered. TCO always fussed over the details—even this. It grated. He didn’t use to be like this. Back then, he’d been wilder than TDL. Lube could’ve been anything: Vaseline, olive oil, even blood.
He’s a madman. So am I. Two beasts, rutting and tearing, drowning together.
His thoughts wandered—maybe from exhaustion, maybe from the rare sight of that starry sky. He didn’t notice TCO had reclaimed control until he was tossed onto the bed, still damp, but no one cared. TCO bit his ear, heavy breaths hot against his skin, and murmured low:
“Arf.”
A response to his earlier jab. TCO always knew how to rile him up, even here.
What the hell? Is he saying I’m getting fucked by a dog? TDL’s first instinct was to kick, but TCO dodged, grabbing his thigh, sliding a hand to his waist. TDL shifted, planting a foot hard in TCO’s side, earning a muffled hum. Better. He hooked his legs around TCO’s waist, watching as TCO squeezed lube onto his fingers.
“Don’t be mad, TDL.”
TCO’s voice was a useless murmur of comfort as he pressed a finger inside. TDL’s walls tensed, then yielded, pulling him deeper. To distract his fiery partner, TCO nipped at his Adam’s apple, while his free hand toyed with a nipple—pebbling it quickly. He liked to tug, but too hard earned him a headbutt. TDL always found a way to protest his excesses. Annoying, but… a strange kind of ritual.
A second finger slipped in, eased by lube and slick. He heard TDL’s breath hitch—finally, the telltale sound of surrender. The fingers curled, and that sweet spot pulsed, soft as water. TCO kissed him again, rolling the nipple between his fingers, and TDL’s hips arched in time with the rhythm. He never hid how good it felt.
“Fuck… TCO, can you hurry the hell up—”
TDL’s complaint was cut off by a kiss, and a third finger joined the others. He felt himself stretch wide, the squelch of lube and desire loud in the quiet.
“Fuck me…” he gasped, breaking the kiss.
At his blunt demand, TCO withdrew his fingers—then sank deep, all at once.
TDL nearly lost his grip, but TCO purred in his ear:
“Your wish.”
Then came the storm. TCO drove into him, hard, hitting that spot over and over. Pain and pleasure tangled, drowning out TDL’s gripes about TCO’s slowness. He loved this—loved the way his hips felt like they might split, loved how TCO’s cock filled him, how his walls clung, how they pulsed when he pulled back, as if begging him not to go.
His own cock stood hard and red. TCO’s thrusts never faltered, but he wrapped a hand around TDL’s length, stroking in time. Pleasure coiled, front and back, until TDL was unraveling.
“Ah… you bastard—”
He panted, TCO’s weight pinning him down, tongue tracing his ear. Beneath their breaths, their hearts beat as one.
What a damn dog. TDL thought, bitter.
When TCO’s cock throbbed, spilling inside him, TDL came too—spent, starving, his strength draining with the sticky warmth between his legs. He could barely feel his lower half. TCO, though, had enough energy to fetch a warm towel from the bathroom, cleaning him gently.
“Where you going?” TDL mumbled, burrowing into the sheets. TCO wasn’t climbing in—he was pulling on his jacket, discarded earlier on a chair.
“Grabbing snacks from the tavern downstairs.”
Just the basics. The tavern wasn’t known for meals, but they had bar snacks. He wanted to bring back something for TDL—plus, he’d been craving that fruit pie the owner had raved about last time.
TDL watched him gather his things, key in hand, and opened his mouth, then hesitated.
“TCO—”
“What?” TCO turned, waiting.
“…Nothing. Go on.”
TDL looked away, red eyes avoiding TCO’s gaze, rolling onto his side.
TCO frowned, trying to read him. TDL seemed… distant, today. Maybe he was thinking of the past. Maybe he’d wanted to say something. In the end, TCO shut the door, leaving him to rest.
TDL never said it.
He never said how grateful he’d been, back then, that they’d fled that cage.
But he never needed to.
They both knew.