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With nearly four million square miles and so little of it taken up by cities, residents might be baffled to know how much of the continent is empty. One can roam through the New England forests alone for days before finding another living soul - those days become weeks when it comes to the Midwestern plains or the Southern evergreens. Despite having company with each other, it isn’t an unwelcome sight when Jake and Michael come across a group of backpacking young adults. Exchanged pleasantries turn into a shared meal, then turn into an offer to travel together as they head to the next town to restock. Jake casts a glance at Michael. Finding nothing to the contrary on his face, Jake accepts. With it being nearly a year since the Halloween massacre, and the two half a country away, Jake doesn’t need to worry too acutely for Michael’s safety. The groups set off together as one the next day.
Though a change in Michael follows this decision. Since the development of their relationship, at the very least, Michael would roughly squeeze Jake’s waist in passing, if not being more handsy. But now, in this group, his passive face becomes even stonier. He doesn’t even meld his scalding hot body to Jake’s when they sleep. And when Jake is engrossed in conversation with any of these young adults, he catches an unusually dark and predatory look in Michael’s eyes while he watches the interactions.
Luckily, Jake has managed to keep it on the down-low whenever he must talk Michael into lowering his knife behind one of their companions’ backs.
When they get to town, Michael’s spirits are finally out of the gutter - something that is perceptible to only Jake. However, when one of the girls suggests they hit up a club in town before parting ways, and Jake accepts, Michael’s face settles back into a stony scowl.
Music blares, multicolor lights flash through the gloom, and Michael sits entirely stock still and straight at a booth tucked into the corner, staring at the wall ahead, hands limply by his sides. Jake glances over his shoulder at this oddly placed statue, then sighs to himself. Maybe he should have considered Michael’s feelings more before agreeing to this. It isn’t as if he likes partying much himself; he did it enough while living on his father’s dime. But it had been long enough since then that he forgot why he disliked it so much, starting to miss it. The musty body heat, muddled stench of vomit and sweat, and sticky floor are reminding him. Fighting for a drink at the bar isn’t helping either.
“Y’know, I half expected your boyfriend to be a total party animal. Didn’t think he’d be just as weird and quiet in a club,” one of the girls from the group, Nea, says as she sidles up to the bar next to Jake.
“He’s n-” You’ve been living together for ten months, you sleep cuddled up every night, and you regularly have sex. That isn't just a fuck buddy. He is your boyfriend. Unable to argue with his inner voice, Jake moves past that. “Yeah, he isn’t a big people person. He’ll be happy going back to the two of us tomorrow.”
“Sorry for cramping his style or whatever,” Nea says as she leans her elbows on the bar. “Does he want a drink to make up for it?”
Has Michael ever had alcohol? Probably not. And Jake finds the idea incredibly intriguing. What would a drunk Michael be like...? A sober Michael murders with ease, so how much worse could he be intoxicated? “You know what,” he replies slowly. “I think he would. A rum and Coke would be great.”
“Same for you?”
“Yeah.”
Once he has drinks in hand, Jake slides onto the padded bench next to Michael until their thighs are touching. “Here,” he sets one glass on the table. “You don’t have to drink it if you don’t want to. But I thought you might like to try.”
Michael’s gaze only briefly flickers down to the dark liquor before returning to the wall.
“Listen,” says Jake after a few sips from his own glass. “I’m sorry. I know you don’t like people much. And the whole, being on the lam thin… I was feeling a little socially starved and I made you uncomfortable – possibly put you at risk – for myself. That was selfish. Really, really selfish. I’m sorry. You’re, uh, you’re my boyfriend. I should be more considerate.” Thank God for the dim lighting because Jake feels his face getting hot. He had some casual relationships in high school, but no one he’d ever actually consider a partner. He was too busy butting heads with his father for that. So, it isn’t a word his mouth is used to forming.
Michael glances at him. Then he lifts a hand and wraps his calloused fingers around his glass. He brings it to his nose and sniffs twice. His eyebrows twitch in disgust. Jake laughs. “It doesn’t smell nice. Just try.” Michael slowly brings the glass to his lips. He sips; it takes a few seconds for his lips to squeeze together. “A little burn?” Michael nods once. “But not much, right?” Michael shakes his head. “Want more?” Michael considers the glass for a while but, ultimately, gives no response. Jake laughs a little. “It takes some time to get used to.”
He gets up and sets his hand on Michael’s shoulder. “I’m gonna be nice and hang out with them a little more; you can stay here and glare at anyone who comes close. I’ll be back in a bit. It’ll be really nice when it’s just you and me again,” he adds with more affection in his voice than he knew he was capable of – especially for a killer. As he walks off, Jake runs his hand down Michael’s bicep. It’s a comforting bit of physical contact – something he’s been unexpectedly starved of. He didn’t realize just how much he liked it until it was gone.
The thing about clubs and parties is that they’re really all the same, regardless of the price point. Drunk assholes comparing dick sizes, girls crying in the bathrooms and declaring their hatred for each other before becoming best friends again within the hour, music loud enough that one goes mute if trying to hold a conversation for longer than two minutes, and stickiness everywhere that might be alcohol, vomited alcohol, or drugs mixed into alcohol. The only thing that changes is whether or not it’s designer: clothes and drugs alike. All this to say, while Jake may have been craving some social connection, it only takes about half an hour before he’s vying for the peace, quiet, and solitude of the unpeopled woods. Drinking can only dull the annoyance so much. Even carving spears is more mentally stimulating than this odd, haphazard flailing passed off for “dancing.”
Forget being nice, Jake doesn’t even bother with a passing goodbye. Spending a few days with this group of trustafarians has been fun, but he isn’t ever seeing them again, and he’s done getting other people’s sweat on himself. He weaves his way through the crowd (with little to no apologies to anyone he bumps into) back to where he left Michael. “Sorry, you ready to go?” he has to nearly yell over the thumping bass.
Michael blinks twice sluggishly before he looks at Jake, moving as if he were submerged in molasses. That’s when Jake sees the four empty glasses on the table. “How did you get more?” As far as he’s aware, Michael is entirely mute. “Wait, what did you drink?” Not that it matters, it’s clearly too much of any alcohol for a first-time drinker.
Of course, there is no answer as Michael places a hand on the table, slow and heavy, using it to help ease his weight off the seat as he attempts to stand. His feet, however, don’t seem to understand how the floor works anymore. Before Jake can assist, behind him, Nea shouts over the music, “Jake, there you are! Come do shots with us! Some girl is selling coke in the bathroom; we can get that too.” Michael’s face scrunches up in a bigger scowl than Jake has ever seen before. That hand no longer tries supporting himself but, instead, wraps around Jake’s wrist and tugs him down. Powerless against Michael’s superior strength, all Jake can do is catch himself on an elbow as he falls onto the leather seat. Whatever else Nea had come to coax him into dies in her throat upon seeing Michael practically on top of Jake, crowding him against the bench of the booth. “Okay, lovebirds, I’ll leave you to it,” she says awkwardly, more to herself, quickly making her escape.
Without much finesse due to how Michael is pinning him down, Jake shifts onto his back, his rear atop Michael’s thighs. Even in the dim lights, the drunken flush on his cheeks is obvious, but intoxication doesn’t dampen the intensity in his eyes in the least. He stares down at Jake, scowl from before transformed into an emotion not even Jake can puzzle out. Not gently but not entirely rough either, Michael runs his fingers through Jake’s black hair, down his cheek, across the curve of his jaw, until his fingers come to slot around Jake’s throat. There isn’t any pressure, Michael just holds – holds in a way that nearly screams with uncharacteristic desperation You’re mine. To which Jake can’t help but breathe out a fervent promise, “I’m not going anywhere.”
The music is still blaring, the place still reeks, their position cramped in the booth is far from comfortable, with Michael half-seated, looming over Jake. But none of that matters. The outside world is all but silent to Jake now. He swallows thickly, and the jut of his throat bumps against Michael’s palm, its warmth soaking into Jake’s skin. They’re so close he can smell the alcohol on Michael’s breath. So close Jake can see the desperation in his eyes – the longing, the craving, the arrant obsession. It’s so intense, it’s almost enough to knock the wind out of Jake. In response, he wraps an arm around Michael’s neck and tugs him down, closing the distance between them.
Somehow, in their nearly year together, despite all the rounds of sex, this is the first time they’ve kissed. A fact Jake only realizes when Michael stays stock still against his lips. Rather than say anything, Jake keeps kissing him. Slowly, Michael copies until eventually they’re properly making out. How have they never done this before? It feels so good, having their lips slide and press against each other. At some point, Michael’s hand leaves his throat and comes to rest on his cheek instead, drawing Jake further into the kiss.
Jake licks at the seam of Michael’s lips. It takes another lick before he parts them, and Jake dips his tongue into his mouth, rubbing it against Michael’s. He can taste the sweet Coke, the subtle burn of residual alcohol, and a flavor that is wholly indescribable and addicting. When Michael reciprocates the action, the exhale Jake lets out is dangerously close to a moan.
The thumping of his heart melds with the bass. The heat Jake feels might be the room, or it might be underneath his skin. The tingling, light feeling in his body could be from drinking or the growing strain in his pants. A scene that was once obnoxious and utterly contemptible has now blended into a perfectly wanton cocktail for them. Jake no longer bothers hiding his moaning.
When Michael’s free hand sets to work removing the obstructing clothing between them, only then does Jake break their kiss. “Not here,” he hisses breathlessly. Michael casts a glance over his shoulder at the throng of intoxicated people, oblivious to the couple tucked away in a corner. He looks down at Jake. It’s hard to say “No” to the lust blowing Michael’s pupils wide, the black nearly engulfing the green of his healthy eye. Especially when trekking back to their camp in the woods could take an hour, likely more. But so many people around… Michael looks to be considering this as much as Jake is. Finally, he tugs Jake up onto his lap, his broad chest against Jake’s back. His long, hard length presses into the space between Jake’s thighs, sending a small shiver up his spine. There is no feeling quite so volatilely alluring as being desired by evil.
Almost unkindly, he smooths a hand down Jake’s front. Jake bites his lip. That roughness always causes a dizzying throb between his legs. The hand goes for his belt before Jake grabs his wrist. “Michael.” Was he not clear enough a moment ago? But Michael brushes him off. He opens Jake’s belt. However, pulling down his pants, Michael is careful to only expose Jake’s ass, leaving the rest covered. Just enough to get access to what he wants. And keep Jake’s erection straining against the pants’ metal zipper. Then he slips his hand between their bodies and opens his own fly, easing out his arousal so it can settle in the cleft of Jake’s cheeks.
“Michael…” Jake’s protests are getting weaker. Between the dim lighting and the strategic removal of clothing, any bare skin is next to unnoticeable. And everyone else is so busy, focused on their own enjoyment, who would care enough to catch them? The excitement of doing something so dirty in full view of the public has Jake’s skin tingling with electricity. Not to mention the mixture of alcohol and lust… Does he even want to say “No” anymore? Did he even want to say it to begin with?
In the forest, what little they have is within arm’s reach, so the oil that has become their lube is near enough whenever things get hot and heavy. They don’t have anything like that here. Michael only had to try going in dry once – the fight Jake put up and the thorough lashing meant Michael never attempted it again. He looks around at the bags and coats left on the other side of the booth by the group they came in with. On the table, someone left out a small travel-sized pot of Vaseline. Michael seems to decide this is good enough as he reaches over, pressing his warmth and cock further into Jake, and grabs it. It takes nearly the entire half-empty jar to suitably coat his member (an awkward thing to do with their bodies so smushed together), but once he has, Michael wastes no time in lifting Jake’s hips and penetrating him slowly.
The burn of the stretch without any prep has Jake gripping the edge of the table and gritting his teeth, though his cock leaks in his pants. Once fully seated, that massive length touching wonderful spots impossibly deep, Michael experimentally rocks his hips. Jake bites down on his tongue in an effort to keep in any noises, brows scrunching up. Are they really doing this right here, where anyone could see? Sure, when they’re in the woods, theoretically they could be seen there too – but the likelihood of that actually happening is rather low. Here, on the other hand… Michael thrusts more meaningfully, and Jake chokes on a breathy gasp. Here, anyone could see if they cared to look. Jake has partaken in some sloppy makeouts and over-the-clothes action at swanky parties. This is further than he’d ever dare take it. At a harsh snap of Michael’s hips, Jake has to slap a hand over his mouth to keep himself quiet (not that he could be heard over the thundering music anyway) as hot licks of pleasure course up his spine.
Alcohol was a bad idea. Getting an already unprincipled Michael drunk just makes him irredeemably more brazen.
Regardless of how visible the movement is, Michael thrusts with abandon. His strong hands dig rivets into the flesh of Jake’s hips, holding him still and fucking into him thoroughly. The tinny flavor of blood coats the inside of Jake’s mouth as he chews on his lip, attempting to keep the noises from flooding out. His breathless gasps and muted moans find their way out anyway. This is dirty, this is so fucking dirty. They’re gonna get caught. Thrown out. Arrested, even. One of Michael’s hands rests over Jake’s clothed member. He grinds up against Michael’s palm. God, knowing all that just makes his cock ache even more. They shouldn’t be doing this; Jake wants to do it all the more for that reason.
Michael is relentless, fucking into Jake’s warmth. Little grunts and groans and huffs against the shell of Jake’s ear make his scalp tingle and arousal throb hotly between his legs. At some point he wasn’t aware of, Jake started gripping the edge of the table until his knuckles were white, fingers numb. He lifts a hand off the table and affectionately strokes Michael’s soft curls. He cranes his neck, breathing out in a hoarse whisper against Michael’s flushed cheek, “More.”
Michael damn near growls and scrapes his teeth over Jake’s earlobe, sending a shudder down his spine with a low moan. But the request isn’t fulfilled – rather, Michael stills his hips entirely. Jake chokes on a disappointed sob as his insides insistently spasm around the suddenly still cock. Before Jake can demand to be fucked into next week, Nea throws herself onto the bench opposite them without regard for the bags she lands on, letting out an exhausted “Wooo,” as she does.
A chill casts across Jake’s skin, his heart heavy against his ribs. Feng Min joins with two drinks in her hand, passing one off to Nea. Both are sweaty, disheveled, and visibly drunk. “You guys want a drink?”
“Nah, we’re okay.” Jake surprises himself with how level his voice comes out, if a little rushed. Their position isn’t entirely out of the ordinary: lovers engaging in a little too much PDA, seated in laps and making out, is normal in a club like this, after all. If the girls see anything off about the couple, they don’t make it known. Something Michael seemingly decides to test as he shallowly rocks his hips up, more grinding than thrusting now. Jake’s breath catches in his chest. That chill did nothing to dampen the hot lust between them.
“The DJ is really good; you want to come dance?”
Jake has to swallow down moans before he can answer. “We’re waiting on food, actually.”
Like a neon pink prairie dog, Nea’s head pops up. “I’m starving. What did you get? I’d kill for some onion rings right now.”
Schooling his expression is a Herculean effort for Jake, made all the worse by Michael’s unnervingly accurate grinding right against his prostate. His toes curl in his shoes as pleasure fills his veins. If only he could drop his head back against Michael’s shoulder and lose himself to it. He wets his bloody, swollen lips. “Just nachos, sorry.”
“Fuck,” whines Nea. “I hate tomatoes. And they always make my mouth kinda sting, like sour candy.”
Michael palms at Jake’s member through his jeans, a pleased hum against Jake’s ear upon feeling precum soaking through the denim. Jake feels his cock twitch eagerly in response, but still he tries to keep his face neutral. He can’t help the way his hips cant and twitch, though.
“I’m pretty sure that means you’re allergic to them,” says Feng Min. “Wait, there aren’t tomatoes in nachos, are there?”
Michael gives a harsh thrust that lurches Jake’s entire body and sends sparks up his spine. This time, he can’t hold back his shaky moan and only hopes the deafening music hides it.
“Salsa, dumbass,” Nea retorts with an exaggerated roll of her eyes.
Michael presses his cock in deeper. Jake swears he could choke on it, it’s so deep inside him. Every little grind of his hips and sudden thrust is overwhelming under these circumstances. He feels his insides twitch, and Michael groans next to his ear, a sound that goes straight to his dick. Jake isn’t actually about to orgasm in front of these two strangers, right? It sure as hell is getting close, though, as Michael continues massaging the deepest parts of him. He isn’t even sure how he’s stopping himself from moaning wantonly.
Feng Min copies the eye roll. “Excuse me for growing up Asian.”
Now Michael squirms his hand beneath the waistband of Jake’s pants. His palm is blazing hot when it finally makes skin-to-skin contact with Jake’s arousal. He rubs lazy circles across the sensitive, swollen head, making Jake’s hands ball into tight, white fists with the effort of his restraint. God, Michael is such a fucking menace, and Jake is barely holding himself together.
“Whatever. Doesn’t matter ‘cause I hate ‘em anyway.” She stops when the music changes. “Oh, this song is sick. C’mon!” She downs half her drink in one mouthful, springs to her feet, and hauls Feng Min right back out to the dancing throng.
The second they’re away, Jake lets his cracking façade slough away. His eyes roll up before closing as he drops his head back against Michael’s shoulder, who, for his part, stops the agonizingly slow grind and begins thrusting earnestly into the deepest and most pleasurable spots – with zero thought for how obvious the action may be. “You filthy fucking pervert,” moans Jake, voice rough with pleasure.
In response, Michael clamps his mouth on the side of Jake’s neck. He bites down and sucks hard enough it hurts – Jake both tries to squirm away from it and into it, torn between the pain and ecstasy – until there is a dark purple mark blotching Jake’s neck, surrounded by welts from teeth. Between the hickey and hand-shaped bruises on Jake’s hips, Michael’s obsessive ownership of him is abundantly clear.
Bunching his fists full of the cloth of Michael’s pants, Jake shoves his hips back into each stuttering thrust. He isn’t even sure if they’re being subtle at this point. Whether it’s the booze or the lust, he isn’t sure he cares anymore. What else can be expected when removing wild animals from their forest? Michael’s hands grip the soft flesh of his abdomen dangerously tight, as if they could pierce through the flesh at any moment. Jake would more than willingly let Michael touch his deepest innards anyway he wants. Jake moans louder than he should without a thought for who might hear.
Michael reaches his climax first. His huffs and raspy grunts right against Jake’s ear are a symphony. The searing heat of Michael’s cum filling him is euphoric. Michael’s hips buck, graceless and staccato. The feeling of his stiff member slowly softening inside is one Jake relishes because it is only his to feel. Through his jeans, he puts his hand over top Michael’s, using the man’s larger palm to jack himself off as Michael vocalizes his overstimulation through scratchy, whining pants.
When the hot pleasure of his orgasm crashes through him, Jake can’t help but repeat “Michael, fuck, Michael,” as he spills inside his jeans. Later, he’ll bitch about it while scrubbing them. Right now, he rides the ecstasy high of doing something so unequivocally dirty. He moans as the mind-numbing pleasure ebbs away. Exhausted, he sinks against Michael’s chest. His bones feel as stable as wet sand; his pulse pounds in his ears, throbs in his spent cock and the soles of his feet. Holy fuck, he can’t believe they actually did this.
“Fucking pervert,” he pants out with an echo of a weak moan as Michael slips his cock out.
As a taunting response, one that says You gladly let me, Michael grabs his chin to turn his head and plant a fervid kiss on his scabbed lips. Now that Michael has learned about this, he’ll likely be going after it as often as he does sex.
“Come on, we really gotta go.” Best to get lost before anyone could call them out. Trying to be discreet, they fix their clothes – Jake pulling his shirt down as far as possible to hide the dark stain on the front of his crotch – and exit without a word of parting to their temporary companions. Really, Jake couldn’t even begin to explain what fallacious thoughts were going through his mind when he agreed to group up with them. There isn’t anything wrong with them as people – they seemed perfectly decent after all. Just that they were, well… other people.
The hike back out to the forests is made wildly uncomfortable by the semen oozing out of Jake’s used hole, soaking his boxers. Eventually, with all this grumbling about this and tugging at his clothing, trying to keep it from sticking to his sensitive areas, Michael finally just picks him up. He settles Jake against his chest with one arm, lightly swats his bottom as a reprimand for all the complaining, and carries him the rest of the way to their camp for some well-needed sleep.
They return to their unorthodox yet oddly domestic life, trekking through the woodlands of America together, just the two of them. As it should always be.