fic: with all the madness in my soul (3/4)
with all the madness in my soul (3/4)
The stupid and dangerous thing is confirmed an hour later, when Harry’s tugging Louis by the hand into their motel room, Nick trailing behind and shutting the door behind them with a solid click. Once he locks it, he fits his hand against the small of Louis’ back, pressing him gently forward into the room as Harry leads the way.
Nick’s still not completely convinced, knows that this is too much like trusting Louis, and while Nick believes what he’d said at the diner, believes Louis doesn't want to turn them in, he still knows that trusting -- proper trusting him -- is something he can’t afford.
But Harry’s bent in towards Louis’ mouth, giggling happily at something that Nick can’t quite hear, and that’s enough for Nick. There’s something about the way Harry’s face lights up when he looks at Louis, and Nick realizes for what must be the hundredth time, the thousandth, that anything that makes Harry look like that, lit up from inside -- that’s what Nick wants. Nick wants whatever Harry does.
And even besides that, there’s something magnetic about Louis on his own that Nick can’t make himself look away. He’s pretty, all sharp teeth and soft curves, but there’s more to it than that. Nick finds he wants to pin him down, peer at him until he figures him out at the same time he wants to muss him up, take him apart. Nick understands why Harry’s drawn into him -- he feels it too.
When the two of them reach the wide bed, Harry gives Louis’ wrist one last tug, and they go tumbling down onto the duvet, both of them still giggling. Nick follows slowly, waiting at the foot of the bed. They’re on their sides, facing each other, still laughing, and there’s a long moment that Nick knows is the pause, the edge that they’re all waiting to step over. He toes off his shoes as he watches them, and they stop laughing, a sweet tension pulsing out from the now, and then -- and then Harry reaches out, not tentative but slow, purposeful. Nick thinks this is it, but then Harry turns up to look at him, the question clear on his face, and Nick realizes it’s up to him, that Harry’s waiting for him to give the go ahead.
He takes a breath, and nods, once.
Harry smiles at him, just for a moment, private and crystal clear, and Nick forgets about anything else, forgets about Louis, forgets where they are, forgets everything that’s not his boy. His chest pangs, too full up with awe and affection.
And then Harry turns back to Louis, fitting his hand under the sharp curve of Louis’ jaw, tilting it up as he leans in to kiss him.
Nick watches them carefully, steadily, studying the unhesitating way their lips fit together like they’ve done it before, like it’s what they’re meant to do. Louis’ small hand is fitting itself up under the hem of Harry’s shirt, pressing it up and exposing his stomach where Louis is stroking it softly. Harry murmurs a pleased noise and drapes one of his legs over Louis’, pulling him closer so their hips snug up together.
Nick makes himself step forward, then, because he’s worried if he stands too long just looking he won’t be able to make himself at all. He sits carefully on the bed, nearer to Harry, feeling a bit at a loss, but then the two boys are struggling to sit up without breaking their kiss, Harry reaching one arm blindly out towards Nick and drawing him in when he finds him.
Nick fits himself up around Harry, who’s now sitting with his legs splayed off to the side while Louis arranges himself so he’s kneeling in front of Harry, giving him a few inches of height over him. They’re still kissing, soft and happy noises coming from them both as they peel each other’s shirts over their heads, only getting a bit tangled before tossing them across the room.
Nick sits back to watch for a moment, the sight of Harry’s broad, pale chest fitting up against Louis’ tan skin forcing him to press the heel of his hand against his cock where it’s already getting hard in his trousers. They’re gorgeous together, and Nick forgets to move, so caught up in watching them, until Harry reaches out for him again.
After a long moment they pull apart, Harry sort of flopping backwards onto the bed, his jeans tight and low on his hip, the dark smudges of his tattoos standing out bright on his chest. Without waiting, he unbuttons his fly and pulls them down as far as he can without properly sitting up, leaving Louis and Nick to each pull one leg over his pale feet before Nick discards them somewhere over his shoulder.
“Fuck,” Louis says, “He’s beautiful.”
Nick realizes he’s talking to him and forces himself to answer. “He is, isn’t he?” And it’s true, staggeringly true -- Harry’s spread out before them, naked, arms and legs splayed wide, and he looks so beautiful, waiting for them to touch him and kiss him and take him apart. It seizes at Nick’s chest, the familiar but still arresting awe he feels whenever he looks at Harry clutching at him like a fist. Anything at all, he thinks -- anything at all that Harry wants in the world, that’s what he’ll give him.
“Can I --” Louis starts, looking over at Nick again, and Nick nods quickly, wants to see it -- Louis’ hands on Harry, working him over until he gasps and writhes.
Louis looks at Harry steadily, concentration etched on his face for an instant before he shifts off the bed, pulling down his own trousers and pants in one swift, sure movement.
The stretch of his gold skin distracts Nick momentarily, but even more so when Louis rearranges himself around Harry’s legs and easily fits his mouth around Harry’s cock.
“Jesus,” Harry swears, and Nick can tell he wants to thrust into it but he holds himself back, letting Louis carefully work his mouth around him, deliberate sucks and twists, his small hands wrapping around the length of Harry’s cock he can’t quite swallow.
They carry on like that for a bit, and soon Harry’s control starts to slip a bit, his hips starting to shift and wriggle, and Louis is getting sloppier, spit slicking down his chin and around Harry’s cock when he pulls off. It’s beautiful, Nick could watch it all day, but -- but he wants more, as well.
He fits his hands on Louis’ shoulders, pulling him off Harry and forcing him to sit up so he’s on the other side of Harry, the two of them arranged symmetrically and staring down at him. “D’you want to fuck him, Haz?” Nick asks quietly -- loud enough for all of them to hear, but still soft in the quiet of the room. “D’you want him to make you feel good?”
Harry groans, a broken sound from deep inside him, and thrusts his hips up helplessly, looking for any contact. Nick presses his fingers against the sharp bone of his hip, holding him down, pressing him back into the bed. “Answer,” he prompts.
“Yes,” Harry says, his voice desperate. “Please.” Next to Nick Louis lets out a soft noise, something between a hum and a whine, and Nick keeps a firm hand on Harry’s hip, but looks over at Louis. His legs are bent under him so he’s sitting on his heels, the line of his cock hard and pink, resting against the curve of his stomach. He’s so different from Harry, all soft and coiled up where Harry is sharp, languid angles. He’s quiet, too, something Harry’s never any good at being. Nick wants to find out if he stays quiet, or if he’ll get louder, stop biting it back once he’s desperate enough that he can’t help it.
Harry’s pressing up on his elbows, trying to rearrange himself to get at one of them, or maybe both, but Nick and Louis press him back down at the same time. “Stay,” Nick instructs. “Stay there.”
Harry groans again, but does as he’s told, laying back for Nick so he can run his hands across his stomach, skirting around his spit-slicked cock and grazing the tops of his thighs.
“Good boy,” Nick tells him.
Louis is still sitting silently next to Nick, biting at his lip until it turns white, his small hands twitching like they want to move, want to touch. Nick reaches over carefully and picks up his nearest hand, guiding it over to Harry. “Go on,” he tells Louis, his own bigger hand enveloping Louis’ as he presses it against Harry’s chest, down the curve of his ribs and down to his waist. “You can touch him.”
Louis turns to look at Nick and frowns, although not unhappily. He looks -- curious, mostly, like he wants to figure out Nick, and like he’s caught between wanting to protest and obey. He stays quiet while Nick pulls his own hand away, carries on touching Harry almost reverently, the edge of his thumbnail catching over Harry’s nipple and making him twist up into it. Louis glances at Nick, raises his eyebrows, and when Nick nods, leans in to press his lips against Harry’s, kissing softly and then more firm, Harry’s soft moans swallowed up in the curve of Louis’ mouth.
Nick takes the opportunity to palm softly at Harry’s damp cock, not enough to provide him any real friction, just to remind Harry that he’s there, he’s there. Harry gasps, and without breaking the kiss Louis’ hand snakes back down again, meeting Nick’s on Harry’s cock. He hesitates for a moment, but then his fingers twine around Nick’s, and they wank Harry like that, slowly, in tandem, until he’s whining and trying to get his feet firmly enough on the bed to press up into it. Nick pulls his hand back, then, as does Louis, and he sits back, so the two of them are perched around Harry’s knees again.
Harry’s mouth is red and kiss-bitten, and he’s got that look in his eyes when he goes desperate and begging for it, begging Nick to fuck him or put his mouth on him, anything.
“If you stay still,” Nick tells him slowly, “he’ll ride you. Only if you’re good, though.”
Louis sucks in a breath at that, and in the edge of his vision Nick can see him wrapping a hand around his own cock, stroking once and then just resting there.
“I will,” Harry promises, wetting his lips with his tongue, and Nick knows he wants to put them on something, wants something heavy and thick in his mouth. “Please, c’mon, I’ll be -- I’m good.” He stills his hips on the bed with effort, eyes wide like he’s begging Nick to notice how obedient he’s being.
“That’s okay?” Nick asks Louis softly. He’s fairly sure he knows the answer if the way Louis is flushed pink across the high cut of his cheekbones is anything to go by, but he wants to be sure, wants to be sure they can give Harry exactly what he wants.
“Yeah, yes,” Louis breathes quietly. “Jesus. Someone, um, has to. Like, get me ready, though,” he says, not shy, but just a bit breathless.
“D’you want Harry to do it?” Nick asks. “Or -- I can.” He’d like that, he thinks -- getting Louis ready, spreading him open with his fingers and pressing in, getting his arse ready for Harry to fill up, getting him ready to make Harry feel good. And he wants to touch, he admits to himself, wants to touch Louis’ skin for himself, see if he’s as warm as he looks like he is, if his skin radiates heat the same way it glows golden. See how he feels on the inside.
Louis closes his eyes just for a moment, his eyelashes fanning out over his cheeks, and then he opens them. “You, I think,” he says to Nick.
Harry groans approvingly beneath them.
“‘Course, love,” Nick says, the endearment slipping out without his meaning to, and he’s not sure which one of them he’s saying it to in that moment, but figures it probably doesn’t matter.
He presses up from the bed, leaving Harry and Louis to fold themselves together again, Harry wrapping his arms around Louis as he pulls him on top of him and into a kiss again, Louis’ hands moving all over Harry’s skin like he wants to memorize the geography of him.
Nick strips his own clothes off hastily and then rummages around through their various bags, taking a moment to find a strip of condoms and the bottle of lube before coming back to the bed, carefully fitting himself up behind Louis.
“Yeah?” he asks, stroking one hand slowly over the curve of Louis’ arse. Louis keens into the touch, arching up so Nick’s hand is forced to splay over him broadly. Nick steadies himself and then flicks open the lid of the lube, wetting his fingers before pulling Louis back by the hips so he can slowly fit one of his fingers inside.
Louis gasps and whines at the first touch, Nick just up to the first knuckle and Louis already moaning into Harry's mouth, not quite kissing anymore but still pressing his mouth there. Harry's trying to kiss back at Louis and see what Nick's doing all at once, and he doesn't know if Harry'll have any luck at it from that angle, but he thinks he'll put on a show just in case.
Louis carries on gasping and pressing back on Nick's finger, more so when Nick adds a second, crooking them and twisting them in turns, trying to open Louis up from any angle he can get at.
When he fits a third in and brushes them against Louis' prostrate he lets out a high, strangled noise, pushing back harshly so Nick's hand is straining against him, but then pulls away, from Nick's fingers and Harry's mouth both.
"I'm good, I'm ready, let's just --" he whines, twisting around aimlessly, trying to get at Harry as best he can. Harry just stays still, and Nick can tell he's trying his best not to move, trying to be good so he can get his cock inside Louis as quick as possible.
"Just a minute, love," Nick says to them both, swiping his slick fingers against his own thigh before reaching out to find a condom, tearing it open and rolling it onto Harry's dick. Harry groans and thrusts into it, but Nick's touch is light as he slicks Harry up -- he wants him to wait to fall apart until he's in Louis.
"Up, c'mon," he directs Louis, tapping at his hip where he's sitting between Nick and Harry. "On him."
For an instant he thinks Louis might argue, but he clearly thinks better of it, and the next moment he crawls on top of Harry, positioning himself over his cock and then sinking down onto him, slowly, until they're flush.
“Jesus,” Nick whispers, because he hasn’t even got anyone’s hands on him but he thinks he can almost feel it, secondhand from the way Louis and Harry are both gasping.
Louis tries to set a rhythm but seems to falter a bit, overwhelmed at the feel of Harry inside him, so Nick moves behind Louis and grasps at his hips, guiding him up and down on Harry's cock until he's got the pace of it. Louis' hips twist under his hands, and it's not long before his head is lolling back, resting against Nick's shoulder where he's pressed up behind him. His fringe is sweaty and plastered against his forehead, and Nick can see the way his thighs are twitching with the effort of keeping himself up, but he doesn't complain.
Beneath them Harry is gasping and meeting Louis' thrusts desperately, his hands roaming wildly over Louis and Nick both, and Nick knows he'll come soon, knows that's what the manic look on his face means.
"C'mon, come for us," Nick instructs him, peering at him over Louis' shoulder. "We want you to, Haz, c'mon."
"Yeah," Louis agrees, his voice a desperate rasp. His hand moves towards his own cock, hard and leaking precome, but Nick bats it away.
"Not 'til he does," he instructs, nodding towards Harry. Louis whines but keeps his hand away, and that must be all it takes for Harry to reach the edge because in an instant he's screwing up his face, his hips flying wildly, and then he's coming, silent, pressing up into Louis one last desperate time.
"Good," Nick tells him, "good boy, you're so good." Harry smiles weakly, preening under it, and Nick watches him, unflinching, as he reaches around to wank Louis' cock. Louis gasps but doesn't pull away, doesn't even pull off Harry's cock as Nick jerks him, and then he's coming as well, shooting hot over Harry's stomach, up to his chest.
"Jesus," Louis breathes after a long moment. He steadies himself and Nick reaches around to hold the condom on Harry's cock as Louis slides off, collapsing boneless next to Harry as Nick chucks the used condom towards the bin.
“You now,” he says to Harry firmly, pulling him up from the bed -- with some effort, he’s not being particularly helpful and Nick mostly has to manhandle him until he’s draped over Nick’s lap, arse up in the air.
He’s rougher opening him up, knows Harry likes the burn and pull of it when Nick’s fast and careless, and all over again he’s consumed with it all, how wild and feral and broke wide open he feels for this boy. Louis is pretty, and the way he makes Harry gasp and keen is wonderful, but it’s nothing compared to this, the way that Harry makes Nick’s chest feel like it’s splintering open, raw and perfect.
With a groan, he draws out his fingers and repositions Harry in front of him, thrusting into him so fiercely he sees stars.
He keeps Harry bent over, on his knees and forearms, thrusting hard into him, harder than Harry'd been with Louis, the way Nick knows Harry loves it. The slap of his thighs against Harry’s arse is only interrupted by Harry’s breathy gasps, begging for it, begging for more.
"C'mon, Nick," Harry encourages. "Fuck me, yeah, c'mon, do it hard," he begs, and Nick had thought that's what he'd been doing, but he screws up his eyes and thrusts harder anyway, nearly lifting him off the bed with the force of it as Louis watches them carefully, eyes hooded.
Harry’s hard again, and Nick can feel his own orgasm creeping up, a tight pinch in his toes and the base of his spine, so he pulls back, holds Harry’s hips so he can’t thrust back again.
“Turn over, love,” he groans, his throat dry and scratchy. Harry obeys easily, goes onto his back again and then hooks one leg up so that Nick can grasp at his ankle, holding him open. Harry makes a choking sound as Nick’s dick presses into him at a new angle, starting to look overwhelmed at it all, starting to fray at the seams, coming apart.
Louis is still watching them interestedly, his own cock only half-hard but a sharp look to his eyes, and Harry must notice as well because he whines and reaches towards Louis aimlessly, trying to draw him closer.
“C’mere,” Nick says to Louis, gesturing him over to kneel alongside Harry’s torso. He comes easily, and Nick swallows, trying to stop the snap of his hips.
“He’ll come again,” he tells Louis. “Help him, yeah?” He looks down at Harry, and he’s sweating and panting and beautiful, a wild light shining through his eyes that look close to overflowing, damp around the edges. “You want that?” he asks Harry. “Louis to wank you off while I fuck you, make you come again? You can do it, can’t you? Come again for me? For Lou?”
Harry’s babbling agreements, promising Nick that he can, yes, please, just let him, and Nick’s hips stutter as he tries to find the bruising rhythm he'd set. Harry’s hardly ever this pliant, usually at least pretending to put up a fight before begging for it, but now he’s just desperate, overstimulated and saying anything he can think of to get a hand on his cock.
“Actually,” Nick says, mostly to himself, and then beckons Louis to lean in closer. He taps him under the chin and then pulls him in softly, kissing him for the first time. Louis’ mouth is soft and clever and a bit sweet, and he nips at Nick’s lip when he pulls back a moment later. Nick takes the opportunity to smile at him, and then fits his hand in the back of Louis’ hair and drags him steadily down to Harry’s cock.
“God, yeah,” Harry chokes out, his whole body going taut like a bowstring as Louis’ mouth fits over him again, the careful suck and drag of earlier replaced by Louis desperately bobbing his head up and down, nearly choking himself on Harry’s cock.
Harry comes with a wild shout the next moment, his whole body snapping wildly and beautifully as he shoots off, half into Louis’ mouth and half onto his chin and neck after Louis pulls back an inch.
And that’s enough for Nick, the slide of the dampness out of Harry’s eyes as it trickles over his temple, the last few spasms of his body totally wrung out and ruined. Distantly Nick realizes Louis is groaning and jerking himself off, rubbing against Harry frantically, but it all turns into static, the image of Harry seared indelibly behind Nick’s eyes as he fucks into Harry one last time and then comes apart, dissolving right down to his molecules, folding himself down onto Harry, Harry, Harry.
-
Afterward, Louis’ hand is warm on Nick’s back, stroking slowly but surely up and down along his spine, but his eyes never leave Harry, not once. They’re gazing at each other so fiercely that Nick wonders if they can hear each other’s thoughts.
Nick squirms away from them, sitting up and rummaging around on the floor for his pants while the two of them carry on like that, silent and just looking, Louis’ small hand gently tracing the line of Harry’s jaw, down his neck and to his collarbone and back again.
Nick pulls on a spare shirt -- one of Harry’s -- not bothering to button it up properly, and fishes a cigarette from a pack he finds resting inside Harry’s upside-down hat on the bureau. The two boys don’t even glance up at him as he lets himself quietly out onto the balcony.
As he lights the cigarette, Nick can’t find it in himself to be jealous, although he thinks objectively he probably ought to. But he knows, knows that Harry’s his and the other way around, knows it like he knows the shape of the sky, massive and overarching. The most he can manage to feel is vaguely sorry for Louis, because however this story ends, it probably won’t be the way he wants it to.
-
When he eventually comes back into the room, they’ve pulled apart, Harry reclining up against the headboard, and Louis with a hand on the bathroom door.
“It’s alright if I shower?” he asks, and at first Nick thinks he’s asking Harry, but after a moment he realizes the words are aimed at him. For some reason, it makes him nervous -- reminds him that Louis is here, not just something to exist in secret between him and Harry but a real person, a factor out of Nick’s control. It douses him like cold water, and he’s instantly tense as he jerks out a nod.
Harry clambers off the bed as the bathroom door closes behind Louis, still stark naked, and winds his arms around Nick’s waist. “Hi,” he says, smiling up at him. “And thanks.”
“This was a bad idea,” Nick says, even though he knows how Harry’ll react to it. “Haz, he knows, he knows too much about us. It’s a liability.”
“Since when do you care?” Harry asks, drawing in his eyebrows in a frown and standing up to his full height -- he’s not small, but he’s still shorter than Nick, and Nick can tell he’s straining to gain another inch or two, conspicuously trying to hold himself as tall as possible rather than slouching as usual. “You’re the one who told me to call the bloody Sun in the first place.”
“The Sun’s not in our hotel room,” Nick hisses, exasperated. “That one is.” He jerks his head towards the shut bathroom door.
“He’s not going to tell anyone,” Harry says.
And it’s probably true, Nick thinks, because if Louis had meant to, he’d have done it by now. And the way he’d looked at Harry -- that in itself is enough, enough proof for Nick that Louis doesn’t actually pose a threat to them.
But someone has to protest, at least pretend to be the one making rational choices, so Nick tries once more. “We really shouldn’t just let him go,” he says, no weight behind the words at all.
“No,” Harry says simply, and it’s not angry, not a challenge -- just a fact. He slouches past Nick and sprawls backwards onto the bed, folding his arms up and behind his head, looking for the world like someone who has made up his mind with certainty, and has no concerns about that decision being challenged.
The horrible thing, Nick thinks as he throws his hands up dramatically, is that’s just about the situation exactly -- Nick won’t fight him on it. Probably wouldn’t fight him on much of anything, if he’s being honest. It feels comforting and dangerous all at once, because it probably is -- more of a liability than anything, far more than the strange boy currently using their shower, is how far gone he is for Harry. He would do desperate, terrible things as long as Harry will smile at him afterward, as long as he’ll be near Nick at all. He already has done desperate, terrible things, and he’s loved it, every second. He’ll do more, certainly.
The weight of it fairly crushes him, and he locks his knees underneath him to keep from swaying. “Fine,” he says weakly. “Fine, but I’m going for a drive, and we’re leaving in the morning, and he’s gone, then, yeah?”
“Alright,” Harry agrees. Nick feels a rush of relief that that’s the end of it as he puts on his shoes and finds the car keys. He turns back to Harry before he goes, and even though he suddenly feels antsy to get out of the room before Louis comes back, he has to pause to look at Harry, just for a moment, because he thinks he’ll never get his fill of that. He’s got the television on, the reflection of some courtroom program flickering blue and gold on his face as Nick bends down to press a kiss to his forehead and mostly getting eyebrow.
-
Without particularly meaning to, Nick stays out for the rest of the night. He drives east and then south under a clear sky full of stars, and stops after a few hours at a service station that looks nearly abandoned, just one yellow light on in the building illuminating the single person behind the counter. He pulls the car around back of the building and gazes out over the dirt and scrub grass that spreads beyond it. Aimlessly, he reaches under the driver’s seat, letting his fingers curl around the handle of one of the guns hidden there, and thinks about knocking the place off, of relieving the teenage clerk of whatever trifling amount is in the register just for the sake of something to do. But instead he withdraws his hand, and goes inside to pay for a pack of cigarettes, his own forgotten back at the hotel. He spends an hour back in the parked car, hidden round back, smoking them one after the other, gazing at the brick wall of the building and the sprawl of nothingness all around it.
He falls asleep, eventually, and when he wakes after a while with a crick in his neck, the sky is just on the edge of dawn. By the time he pulls into the parking lot of their hotel an hour later, everything’s gone pink around him, the first hot rays of sun just starting to claw over the horizon.
When he gets inside they’re both awake. Louis is pulling on his shoes, bouncing around trying to yank one over his heel without spilling the styrofoam cup of tea he’s got in his other hand. Harry’s sprawled in the only chair in the room, watching Louis fondly, and when Louis finishes jumping around and gets both his shoes on, Harry rises to walk him out.
He presses a kiss to Nick’s jaw when he slides past him in the doorway, and Louis follows him quietly. Nick thinks he’ll go without saying anything to Nick, but once he’s a few steps out the door, he turns back, carefully stepping in close to Nick.
“I won’t say anything,” he says. His hair is sticking up in the back, and he looks tired, but there’s also something else, something alert and honest and vulnerable and just a bit mad in his eyes -- there must be, Nick thinks, if he spends his time willingly going around with people like them, and once again Nick can clearly see what it is in him that Harry had been drawn to so instantly.
He tries to think of some way to say it, but fails. “Thanks,” he says instead.
“He’s something, yeah?” Louis asks, nodding at Harry, leaning against a wall several doors down, waiting for him.
“He is,” Nick agrees. Louis is quiet for a moment, like he’s trying to decide whether or not he wants to say something, but then he shakes his head, and with a last nod at Nick, walks down the hall to Harry. When he reaches him, Harry slings an arm happily over Louis’ shoulder, pulling him in tightly so he nuzzles into Harry’s side as they walk awkwardly, their feet tangling up as they go.
Nick smiles, just a bit, and then shuts the door to their hotel room behind him.
-
Later, when they’re back on the road, Nick thinks of asking what they’d done all night while he’d been away. But the sun is shining bright, hot and insistent, and Harry’s humming tunelessly over the noise of the engine, pushing his sunglasses up his nose and smiling at everything, endlessly happy, and Nick decides it doesn’t matter.
-
Realistically, it has to go to shit eventually. Nick knows it. He can’t tell if Harry does as well or if he thinks their luck will hold out indefinitely, that they can actually drive forever, never stopping. But Nick knows, and he thinks as long as one of them does, that’s enough -- he doesn’t need to bother Harry with it.
So when it happens, the first piece of everything falling away around them, Nick’s not sure if Harry notices. He does, though. It’s like something slotting into its spot, the signs and sigils becoming suddenly meaningful, setting him on edge.
The first piece is when they run out of gas. They’ve been coasting on the wrong side of empty for a while now, and Nick’s been scouring the landscape for anything -- a service station, a sign, anything -- but there’s nothing. Apparently they’re in a dead zone -- Nick hasn’t even seen a turn off in more than ten minutes, so they have nowhere to go besides further down the road they’re on.
He’s been watching the needle on the fuel gauge fall, and it eventually gives one last futile jerk upwards before falling all the way, and that’s when the car sputters to a stop. Nick doesn’t swear, but he thinks it fiercely, and guides the slowing car off the dirt shoulder. Not that it matters, he thinks -- it’s been ages since they’ve seen another car. They could stop in the middle of the road and it would hardly matter, it seems. The engine coughs and sputters asthmatically, and then falls silent.
“What now?” Harry asks neutrally, seemingly unfazed. He looks exactly as he usually does -- sunglasses slipping down his nose, bare feet kicked up on the dash.
Nick shrugs, and looks around. The road they’re on is paved, at least, and there are power lines running along one side of it, so they can’t be completely in the middle of nowhere. Likely if they keep walking, there’ll be somewhere with a phone to use soon enough.
And after that, Nick's not sure what.
“Up for a bit of a walk?” Nick asks, trying to make it sound like a fun lark rather than their only option.
Harry smiles easily at him, and then shoves his feet into his shoes and hops out of the car to follow Nick down the road.
-
They trudge along like that for a bit, Harry by his side, kicking aimlessly at the weeds growing on the side of the road as they go and sending up plumes of dirt and dust in the process. Nick’s sweating, his shirt sticking to his back and his hair drooping down under the unrelenting sun, but if Harry’s bothered, he’s not showing it -- he just carries on, swinging his long arms by his side as he lopes along happily. If Nick wasn’t so sickeningly fond of him, he’d hate him a bit for how totally unbothered by it all he seems.
When the sun finally begins to creep towards the horizon, the heat dissipating just an inch for the first time all day, Nick breathes a sigh of relief. It’s not actually much relief, but it hints at its coming, which is enough to get Nick to relax his shoulders as the sun carries on setting.
It’s almost properly dark when they finally come around a twist in the road and see a farmhouse set a little ways back from the road. There’s a large barn around back, although Nick can only see dust and dirt around them, the barren hills devoid of anything even vaguely resembling agriculture. The house itself is gray and old, starting to sag around the edges in a way that looks cozy and lived-in.
“I guess we knock?” Harry says, frowning, unsure, as they approach. Nick shrugs.
“Guess we’d better.”
There’s a long moment of silence after Nick raps on the front door, but eventually he hears movement inside, and then the porch light snaps on, an older woman with gray hair and a nightgown answering the door.
“You boys need somethin’?” she asks through the screen door. She sounds cautious and friendly all at once, like she’ll be glad to help them just as long as she gets the proper amount of carefulness in first.
“Hi, sorry to disturb you,” Harry says, hunching up his shoulders and putting on his best sweetly disarming voice. He raises his eyebrows apologetically, and Nick can see the wariness drain away from the woman’s face. “Our car’s run out of gas a while back.” He shrugs helplessly at it, and she nods sympathetically. “Would it be too much trouble to borrow your phone to call for help?”
Harry’s voice is slow and sweet, syrupy, and Nick knows before he’s even done asking that the woman will let them in. Honestly, she never really stood a chance.
-
She insists on making them coffee once she ushers them inside to the cramped, cozy living room. It’s done up in shades of brown and smells a bit like dust, a bit like vanilla.
“Thank you, this is really nice,” Harry’s saying sweetly to the woman. They’re both sat on the same end of the sofa, a bit away from Nick, and Harry leans in towards her conspiratorially like they’re a team. “We’ll call in a moment and be out of your way.”
“Take your time,” she says, clearly enraptured by Harry.
Nick twitches, tapping his foot and his fingers all at once, because he’s antsy to make the call and get out. Every second they spend here feels risky, but Harry’s invested now, won’t give up his game of plying her into complete submission, so Nick sits back and waits.
The woman says something that Nick doesn’t quite catch, something about pie, and Nick sighs and re-crosses his legs. Harry’s reply gets cut off by the sound of the front door opening, though, and Nick can’t help it, he leaps to his feet in anticipation of someone else turning up suddenly. Another person is another variable, and he doesn’t mean to be taken by surprise.
It turns out to be a good instinct, because he hears a man’s voice call out “Hey, darlin’,” and then the man it belongs to turns the corner into the room, done up in a Sheriff’s uniform.
They’re in the local bloody Sheriff’s house.
“Hey, Leonard,” the wife says, smiling and standing to greet him. Harry rises as well, so they’re all standing, everyone but the wife with a cautious expression on their faces.
“These boys need to call for a tow, ran out of gas a ways back,” she explains. The Sheriff frowns but nods, and takes off his hat and undoes the belt around his waist with his gun and handcuffs, setting them on a side table with a thunk.
“Well I’m sorry to hear that,” he says, a hint of suspicion still etched in his face, but he smooths it away in the next moment with a shake of his head. “We might have an extra can ‘round here if you like, could probably take you back to your car in the cruiser and lend you enough to get into town.” He gestures vaguely in the direction of where town must be.
“That’d be lovely, thanks,” Harry says quietly. The Sheriff freezes at that, the sound of Harry’s voice stopping him in his tracks, so conspicuously foreign in the little farmhouse.
“Hold on, I know--” the Sheriff starts, but he doesn’t finish the sentence, biting it off and flying into motion instead, going for the gun sitting on the side table as quick as lightning. Harry must’ve anticipated it, though, because he leaps at him across the tiny room, tackling him bodily out of the way before he can get to it. They hit a lamp in a tangle of arms and legs, sending it crashing, and the woman screams, but Nick barely hears it, too focused on getting to the gun himself while the Sheriff is distracted by Harry.
Distantly, he hears a punch land, the sick squelch of fist on flesh, and he takes a moment to hope it’s Harry doing the punching rather than the other way around, but then he’s got the Sheriff’s gun in his hand, flicking the safety off and turning back to the heap of them, leveling the muzzle with steady hands.
Harry and the man are tangled on the floor, and the wife is still screaming, pressed against the far wall like she’s trying to escape through it, but Nick ignores it, focusing steadily on the Sheriff. He can’t get a clear aim, though, because Harry’s so twisted around him, so he sort of shouts wordlessly, and then kicks at the pile with the toe of his shoe. “Harry, get off,” he yells above the noise of their struggle and the woman’s shrieks, and Harry does it without hesitating, landing the meat of his palm in the Sheriff’s nose with a crunch that debilitates him long enough for Harry to disentangle himself and get away. Long enough for Nick to take his shot.
The noise of it echoes, and a fan of blood spreads out on the patterned rug where the Sheriff’s body slumps in a heap, bleeding from his nose and the bullet wound in his chest.
For one horrible moment, the woman is silent, staring at Nick and Harry in wordless, nameless terror. Nick uses the space of it to shepherd Harry up onto his feet and pull him towards the door, wiping his fingers quickly and uselessly at the gash weeping blood above Harry's left eye.
When they make it to the porch, her screaming starts up again, a shattered, feral howl that chases them down the steps.
“We’ve got to run,” Nick instructs, and Harry just nods. In an instant they're off, running haltingly away from the pool of light that surrounds the farmhouse, across the dusty scrub grasses and into the darkness that seems to grow all around them.
-
They’re still running several minutes later, unpursued but frantic all the same, when all of a sudden Harry lets out a sharp yelp, startled and pained all at once, and he falls down to one knee before stumbling back to his feet.
“Fuck, ow, Jesus,” he moans, and when Nick doesn't know what he's done, but then he turns, and he sees it: a massive snake, several feet long at least, attached by the mouth to the back of Harry’s right ankle. He must’ve trod right on it in the dark.
“Get it off, fuck,” Harry yells, kicking his leg ineffectually. The snake is clinging fiercely, though, jaws clenching tighter around the meat of Harry’s ankle, ripping at his Achilles’ tendon.
“Hold on, hold still,” Nick shouts desperately, not sure what to do. He thinks snakes are supposed to bite once and let go, maybe, but this one isn’t, so he looks around frantically while Harry yells more and tries to shake it free to no end. Nick notes, with a sick thankfulness, that it hasn’t got a rattle on the end of its body.
Finally Nick spots a dried-out branch, barely bigger than a twig, but it’ll have to do. He grabs it and tries to poke at the snake, which only seems to enrage it further, its body twisting frantically in an aerial S-shape as it writhes.
It takes several false starts, made more difficult by the fact that Harry is howling in pain and refusing to stand still, but somehow Nick eventually manages to force the stick between the snake’s jaws and Harry’s ankle, and after a bit of frantic prying it finally pulls free, falling to the ground.
Harry tries to leap away from it, but the snake’s taken a chunk of his skin with it -- Nick can see Harry’s blood flowing in the light of the moon, silvery and thick, and when Harry tries to put weight on his foot he stumbles. Nick catches him under the arm and drags them several paces away, watching the snake warily. It stares back at them for a long moment, long enough that Nick is starting to suspect it’s got something supernatural about it, because its gaze is so steady and deliberate. But then it finally, finally slithers off into the night, and they’re alone.
“Can you walk?” Nick asks quietly, breathing heavily.
“Um,” Harry says, testing it out. He crumples a bit at the attempt. “Sure,” he lies.
Nick doesn’t believe him for a moment, and more than anything he wants to stop, wants to stop careening into the night and fields of snakes and whatever else is waiting for them, but he knows they can’t. If they stop, they'll choke, they'll die. He knows it.
So they keep going, barely at a run, Harry limping along beside him, Nick trotting slowly so he doesn’t get too far ahead.
It’s slow going, but after a long while they somehow wind their way back to the road. Nick’s skeptical about starting down it, because it’ll make them easier to find if they’re on the road, of course, but they’re not any safer lost out in the desert, either, the snake had proven that, so he figures it’s the lesser of two evils at this point.
“Hold on, I need to--” Harry gasps out, gesturing down at his bloody ankle, his breath coming in short gasps from the exertion. They haven’t been properly running, but Nick’s a bit out of breath as well anyway, and the simultaneous need to stop and the need to keep going mixes in his stomach, giving him a stitch in his side.
“Yeah, okay,” Nick agrees, and they slump down in the dirt to rest.
“Shit,” Harry breathes, carefully propping up his injured leg. The gash over his eye has mostly clotted, at least. “You shot the Sheriff. Oh God, that’s brilliant.” He laughs and looks horrified all at once, the sound coming out hysterical, and reaches down to prod gingerly as the wound at the back of his heel.
Nick spits out a laugh devoid of any humor. “Yeah, brilliant.” Because it’s not, it's not brilliant, it’s the exact opposite of brilliant, the kind of careless shit they can't afford. The wife will call it in once she gets her senses about her, and every police officer in a hundred mile radius will be after them, hunting them down. And with Harry injured and no car, they’ll have an easy time of it. Nick feels suddenly, hysterically caged in, even though they’re in the middle of a seemingly endless desert. He rubs his eyes with the heel of his hand and forces himself to try and think, think.
Nothing comes.
“How d’you know if a snake bite is poisonous?” Harry asks quietly after a moment, and there’s something like genuine fear in his face, or at least the closest Nick’s ever seen him get to it.
“You’d probably know by now,” Nick says, not at all confident that it’s the truth. Maybe the snake had been harmless, but -- but maybe there is poison swimming through Harry’s system now, time delayed but ticking closer and closer to death. Maybe every beat of his heart is sending it through him, running him down like a clock.
If so, there’s nothing to be done for it.
Harry accepts the answer, though, just nods and furrows his eyebrows.
“We should keep walking,” Nick says decisively, hoping that if he says it firmly enough, like he thinks it’s a proper plan, it’ll turn into one.
“Okay,” Harry agrees readily. Nick tries to not watch him wince as he rises to his feet.
-
They backtrack, slowly following the road through the dark, picking their way back to their car. It’s just where they'd left it, empty and cool at the edge of the shoulder. They’re silent as they open it and begin rummaging through the contents of the back seat and the trunk, leaving behind everything besides as many of the guns as they can carry, tucked into pockets and waistbands.
Neither of them acknowledges it, but the trunk slamming shut when they’ve finished sounds like an ending, echoing through the air with finality.
-
They go, again, constantly, only stopping when Harry’s ankle gets too bad and he has to sit and grasp at it with his long fingers, like he's trying to physically press out the ache. It can’t be very effective, but every time he smiles at Nick as he rises again afterward, saying “That’s better,” even as he limps.
Nick doesn’t know where they’re going, doesn’t know what they’re looking for, just knows that they need to keep moving to stay alive, hoping that he’ll recognize it when he sees it.
And then he does.
Like an oasis, a small convenience store rises up out of the nothingness, a nearly empty parking lot sprawling around the squat brick building with a garish neon sign on top that just reads “SHOP.”
“There,” Nick says, pointing at it. “You need, like, bandages. We’ll find you some, yeah? And antiseptic, or something.”
Harry grins, a smile that turns into a grimace as his weight comes down on his bad foot. “And antivenom, yeah?” he asks, huffing out a pained laugh.
“Sure,” Nick agrees, lacing their fingers together and guiding Harry towards their goal. “Anything you like.”
-
It’s cramped inside when they push through the door with a chime, the one freckly youth behind the counter the only other living soul there. He glances up as they enter, and Nick can’t help but hesitate, waiting to see if they’ll be recognized, or if their dirty, mangled appearances -- they’re both filthy, sweating messes, and Harry’s leaving a trail of blood behind him as he limps -- draws any attention. He can shoot the kid easily if he does seem to know them, but that takes time and effort and all Nick wants to do right now is get Harry patched up. But the boy just nods aimlessly at them before looking back down at the magazine he’s reading.
Nick guides Harry through the store, his hand pressed against the small of his back, going up and down the aisles carefully until they find the medical supplies way in the back. They’re out of the clerk’s line of vision now, hidden by shelves of canned food and soda, and Harry slumps down to the ground gracelessly, his limbs going boneless as he grimaces.
Nick rummages frantically through the shelves, finally pulling down a box of bandages and gauze as well as a tube of antibacterial cream, and then sits down across from Harry. “Leg up,” he says, and Harry does it easily, thoughtlessly, shifting his weight back onto his hands so he can maneuver his foot into the cradle of Nick’s folded legs.
Nick rips the packaging open and sits there for a moment, a big flummoxed, because there’s a lot of blood, caked down Harry’s ankle and foot, a sticky sheen turning black beneath the wound that’s sluggishly gurgling out more.
“You’re supposed to pay for that,” Harry croaks out, eyes tight as he smiles, and Nick huffs out a laugh.
“Pretty sure shoplifting is the least heinous of our crimes,” he says quietly, and Harry just hums, letting Nick wipe up the blood with the gauze as best he can and inexpertly attach a bandage over it.
“Not a professional job, but,” Nick apologizes, shrugging.
“‘S’perfect,” Harry says, flexing the ankle and only wincing slightly. He scoots around so he’s next to Nick, leaned up against the shelf full of pain pills and surgical tape, the sounds of their breathing the only thing audible over the buzz of the fluorescent lights. It’s almost peaceful.
The sound of sirens is what shatters it.
If it had been like something falling into place when the car had sputtered to death, this is like a key turning in a lock. Nick knows instantly, can feel it in his bones, that they’ve been caught. The first scream of sirens sounds like the clatter of a deadbolt.
“Up, up,” Nick says, all his gentleness gone now as he tries to get Harry to his feet. He kicks the opened boxes of bandages out of the way as they head back to the front of the store, rushing as quickly as Harry’s limp will allow.
The clerk is gone when they get there, no longer at the counter, but then Nick spots him cowering in the cramped office just beyond it, gazing at them through the glass of the door. He’s on the phone, a look of terror in his eyes as he stares back at Harry at Nick like a caged animal.
“He must have recognized us,” Harry says under his breath, like he’s telling Nick a secret, but Nick can’t focus, the choke of the walls closing in on them stopping him from responding. While he tries to think, Harry gently slides one of the guns out of the waistband of Nick’s jeans and shoots through the glass window embedded in the door to the office until the boy slumps down to the ground. Nick scarcely notices.
“We could stay,” Harry says after a beat. “Make a stand. Could only be one or two of 'em out there, we could try and take ‘em.”
But Nick’s already shaking his head. He can hear a whole volley of sirens, now, closer, the whole cavalry coming down on them, and there’s no way they’re not wildly outnumbered. They have to try and run -- it’s their only shot.
“We have to go,” he says, and they make cautiously for the front door, Nick hoping without much actual belief that the police haven’t arrived to hem them in yet, that they’ll have time to get away.
He doesn’t believe it will be the case, but his heart still sinks when they get within eyeshot of the front windows and see a sea of armed officers in riot gear falling into place, forming a blockade, flanking around the whole of the building. They’re trapped.
“Fuck, shit,” he hisses, hurrying Harry away from the doors and ducking them down so they’re hidden behind a row of metal shelves.
“That’s not good,” Harry agrees, and his voice is calm but his eyes are wild.
They huddle like that for endless minutes, shoulders pressed together, time stretching out viscous and heavy in front of them, the din outside building as more and more forces arrive.
They must have set up some sort of sound system, because suddenly a voice is shouting in at them, amplified a hundred fold, the southern twang ordering them to lay down their weapons ricocheting around them, bouncing off the tiles and the ceiling and into Nick’s brain, jangling madly. You’re surrounded, it tells them. Surrender.
The word sends an electric current through Nick that jerks him out of his silence.
“What d’you think, love?” Nick asks. “Shall we surrender?” He feels mad with panic, but then Harry reaches out, gazing at him with those enormous eyes, and grabs Nick’s free hand, squeezing once.
“You’re out of your fucking head if you think that’s how this ends,” Harry says, voice hoarse and raspy. He grins, leans in and presses a violent, bruising kiss to Nick’s lips that’s more teeth than anything, and then yanks him up by the hand. “Let’s make our last stand.”
-
Nick barrels through the door first, guns out, and the scene in front of him when he does is bathed in neon, the green of the store’s sign, the red and blue of the police car lights, everything a blinding, flickering acid trip. There are at least twenty men with guns pointed at them, but none of them shoot -- not until Harry, pulled behind Nick by the hand, takes the first crackling shot, aimed perfectly over Nick’s shoulder and landing in the arm of the nearest officer.
After that, it’s a blur.
They swarm, everyone shouting and grabbing as Harry’s yanked away from Nick bodily by a set of hands. Nick shoots off a round of bullets that goes wild, hardly making any contact, and he only narrowly misses being hit by the retaliatory fire, a bullet grazing his temple like a fiery arrow. He gasps at the sharp pain of it, and when he brings his hand up to swipe at it, it comes away bloody.
There’s a booming blast from a gun off to his left that somehow rises over the cacophony, and when he turns to look, Nick is nearly sick at the sight of Harry, doubled over and howling, clutching at a spreading red stain that’s blooming in the middle of his stomach. His hands clench and he drops his gun inadvertently, and then he’s unarmed, and unsure what to do with himself.
One of the nearest officers uses the moment rush at him, nearly tackling him against the wall but just miscalculating his steps enough so that Nick can jump clear at the last second. He uses the instant before the officer makes another effort to whirl around, trying to find his boy, every mad beat of his heart singing Harry’s name, trying to find him, trying to get to him. His whole body is electrified, pure adrenaline, and he knows this is where he’ll die, and he wants to have Harry with him when it happens.
And then he spots him, pulled several feet away from Nick by the volley of police officers who have gotten between them, and even in the chaos, Nick swears he feels time stop for just an instant when their eyes lock.
Harry is a whirlwind, a storm, furious and screaming. There’s a massive police officer behind him, holding him by the shoulders, one arm over his throat, and he must be more than double Harry’s size but he’s still almost wrenched himself free in his frantic efforts to get to Nick.
He should be still and calm if he doesn’t want to bleed out through the hole in his gut. Nick knows it, in a far off way. The officer who had charged him is back, making another grab at him. Nick twists free, wrenching the man’s arm until he hears the shoulder pop sickeningly, but there are more, so many more, and he can tell they want any excuse to kill them both where they stand. There’s blood dripping down his forehead, stinging his eyes, and everything goes red but then he can’t feel it anyway, can’t feel the kick to his knee that sends his legs out from underneath him, or the officer yanking him up by his hair, twisting his arms violently behind him and locking them in handcuffs. He can’t hear anything, can’t feel anything, the only thing he can see is Harry, screaming and wild and beautiful, and Harry shouldn’t fight it, shouldn’t get his pulse up if he wants to live, but Nick can’t bear the thought of Harry going quietly. He wants to watch him fight until the very end.
There’s a heavy, shattering blow on the back of skull and as his vision swims he realizes he must’ve landed an elbow in the officer who’s got him handcuffed’s soft belly. He feels himself slump and collapses down, his knees bending at a wrong angle and scraping on the pavement, stained red with blood and flickering in the sick neon green light.
“Don’t you dare give up, love,” is the last thing Nick can gasp out, blood pooling in his mouth, before there’s a final resounding thud on the back of his head with the handle of a pistol, and his vision blacks out.
( part four)
The stupid and dangerous thing is confirmed an hour later, when Harry’s tugging Louis by the hand into their motel room, Nick trailing behind and shutting the door behind them with a solid click. Once he locks it, he fits his hand against the small of Louis’ back, pressing him gently forward into the room as Harry leads the way.
Nick’s still not completely convinced, knows that this is too much like trusting Louis, and while Nick believes what he’d said at the diner, believes Louis doesn't want to turn them in, he still knows that trusting -- proper trusting him -- is something he can’t afford.
But Harry’s bent in towards Louis’ mouth, giggling happily at something that Nick can’t quite hear, and that’s enough for Nick. There’s something about the way Harry’s face lights up when he looks at Louis, and Nick realizes for what must be the hundredth time, the thousandth, that anything that makes Harry look like that, lit up from inside -- that’s what Nick wants. Nick wants whatever Harry does.
And even besides that, there’s something magnetic about Louis on his own that Nick can’t make himself look away. He’s pretty, all sharp teeth and soft curves, but there’s more to it than that. Nick finds he wants to pin him down, peer at him until he figures him out at the same time he wants to muss him up, take him apart. Nick understands why Harry’s drawn into him -- he feels it too.
When the two of them reach the wide bed, Harry gives Louis’ wrist one last tug, and they go tumbling down onto the duvet, both of them still giggling. Nick follows slowly, waiting at the foot of the bed. They’re on their sides, facing each other, still laughing, and there’s a long moment that Nick knows is the pause, the edge that they’re all waiting to step over. He toes off his shoes as he watches them, and they stop laughing, a sweet tension pulsing out from the now, and then -- and then Harry reaches out, not tentative but slow, purposeful. Nick thinks this is it, but then Harry turns up to look at him, the question clear on his face, and Nick realizes it’s up to him, that Harry’s waiting for him to give the go ahead.
He takes a breath, and nods, once.
Harry smiles at him, just for a moment, private and crystal clear, and Nick forgets about anything else, forgets about Louis, forgets where they are, forgets everything that’s not his boy. His chest pangs, too full up with awe and affection.
And then Harry turns back to Louis, fitting his hand under the sharp curve of Louis’ jaw, tilting it up as he leans in to kiss him.
Nick watches them carefully, steadily, studying the unhesitating way their lips fit together like they’ve done it before, like it’s what they’re meant to do. Louis’ small hand is fitting itself up under the hem of Harry’s shirt, pressing it up and exposing his stomach where Louis is stroking it softly. Harry murmurs a pleased noise and drapes one of his legs over Louis’, pulling him closer so their hips snug up together.
Nick makes himself step forward, then, because he’s worried if he stands too long just looking he won’t be able to make himself at all. He sits carefully on the bed, nearer to Harry, feeling a bit at a loss, but then the two boys are struggling to sit up without breaking their kiss, Harry reaching one arm blindly out towards Nick and drawing him in when he finds him.
Nick fits himself up around Harry, who’s now sitting with his legs splayed off to the side while Louis arranges himself so he’s kneeling in front of Harry, giving him a few inches of height over him. They’re still kissing, soft and happy noises coming from them both as they peel each other’s shirts over their heads, only getting a bit tangled before tossing them across the room.
Nick sits back to watch for a moment, the sight of Harry’s broad, pale chest fitting up against Louis’ tan skin forcing him to press the heel of his hand against his cock where it’s already getting hard in his trousers. They’re gorgeous together, and Nick forgets to move, so caught up in watching them, until Harry reaches out for him again.
After a long moment they pull apart, Harry sort of flopping backwards onto the bed, his jeans tight and low on his hip, the dark smudges of his tattoos standing out bright on his chest. Without waiting, he unbuttons his fly and pulls them down as far as he can without properly sitting up, leaving Louis and Nick to each pull one leg over his pale feet before Nick discards them somewhere over his shoulder.
“Fuck,” Louis says, “He’s beautiful.”
Nick realizes he’s talking to him and forces himself to answer. “He is, isn’t he?” And it’s true, staggeringly true -- Harry’s spread out before them, naked, arms and legs splayed wide, and he looks so beautiful, waiting for them to touch him and kiss him and take him apart. It seizes at Nick’s chest, the familiar but still arresting awe he feels whenever he looks at Harry clutching at him like a fist. Anything at all, he thinks -- anything at all that Harry wants in the world, that’s what he’ll give him.
“Can I --” Louis starts, looking over at Nick again, and Nick nods quickly, wants to see it -- Louis’ hands on Harry, working him over until he gasps and writhes.
Louis looks at Harry steadily, concentration etched on his face for an instant before he shifts off the bed, pulling down his own trousers and pants in one swift, sure movement.
The stretch of his gold skin distracts Nick momentarily, but even more so when Louis rearranges himself around Harry’s legs and easily fits his mouth around Harry’s cock.
“Jesus,” Harry swears, and Nick can tell he wants to thrust into it but he holds himself back, letting Louis carefully work his mouth around him, deliberate sucks and twists, his small hands wrapping around the length of Harry’s cock he can’t quite swallow.
They carry on like that for a bit, and soon Harry’s control starts to slip a bit, his hips starting to shift and wriggle, and Louis is getting sloppier, spit slicking down his chin and around Harry’s cock when he pulls off. It’s beautiful, Nick could watch it all day, but -- but he wants more, as well.
He fits his hands on Louis’ shoulders, pulling him off Harry and forcing him to sit up so he’s on the other side of Harry, the two of them arranged symmetrically and staring down at him. “D’you want to fuck him, Haz?” Nick asks quietly -- loud enough for all of them to hear, but still soft in the quiet of the room. “D’you want him to make you feel good?”
Harry groans, a broken sound from deep inside him, and thrusts his hips up helplessly, looking for any contact. Nick presses his fingers against the sharp bone of his hip, holding him down, pressing him back into the bed. “Answer,” he prompts.
“Yes,” Harry says, his voice desperate. “Please.” Next to Nick Louis lets out a soft noise, something between a hum and a whine, and Nick keeps a firm hand on Harry’s hip, but looks over at Louis. His legs are bent under him so he’s sitting on his heels, the line of his cock hard and pink, resting against the curve of his stomach. He’s so different from Harry, all soft and coiled up where Harry is sharp, languid angles. He’s quiet, too, something Harry’s never any good at being. Nick wants to find out if he stays quiet, or if he’ll get louder, stop biting it back once he’s desperate enough that he can’t help it.
Harry’s pressing up on his elbows, trying to rearrange himself to get at one of them, or maybe both, but Nick and Louis press him back down at the same time. “Stay,” Nick instructs. “Stay there.”
Harry groans again, but does as he’s told, laying back for Nick so he can run his hands across his stomach, skirting around his spit-slicked cock and grazing the tops of his thighs.
“Good boy,” Nick tells him.
Louis is still sitting silently next to Nick, biting at his lip until it turns white, his small hands twitching like they want to move, want to touch. Nick reaches over carefully and picks up his nearest hand, guiding it over to Harry. “Go on,” he tells Louis, his own bigger hand enveloping Louis’ as he presses it against Harry’s chest, down the curve of his ribs and down to his waist. “You can touch him.”
Louis turns to look at Nick and frowns, although not unhappily. He looks -- curious, mostly, like he wants to figure out Nick, and like he’s caught between wanting to protest and obey. He stays quiet while Nick pulls his own hand away, carries on touching Harry almost reverently, the edge of his thumbnail catching over Harry’s nipple and making him twist up into it. Louis glances at Nick, raises his eyebrows, and when Nick nods, leans in to press his lips against Harry’s, kissing softly and then more firm, Harry’s soft moans swallowed up in the curve of Louis’ mouth.
Nick takes the opportunity to palm softly at Harry’s damp cock, not enough to provide him any real friction, just to remind Harry that he’s there, he’s there. Harry gasps, and without breaking the kiss Louis’ hand snakes back down again, meeting Nick’s on Harry’s cock. He hesitates for a moment, but then his fingers twine around Nick’s, and they wank Harry like that, slowly, in tandem, until he’s whining and trying to get his feet firmly enough on the bed to press up into it. Nick pulls his hand back, then, as does Louis, and he sits back, so the two of them are perched around Harry’s knees again.
Harry’s mouth is red and kiss-bitten, and he’s got that look in his eyes when he goes desperate and begging for it, begging Nick to fuck him or put his mouth on him, anything.
“If you stay still,” Nick tells him slowly, “he’ll ride you. Only if you’re good, though.”
Louis sucks in a breath at that, and in the edge of his vision Nick can see him wrapping a hand around his own cock, stroking once and then just resting there.
“I will,” Harry promises, wetting his lips with his tongue, and Nick knows he wants to put them on something, wants something heavy and thick in his mouth. “Please, c’mon, I’ll be -- I’m good.” He stills his hips on the bed with effort, eyes wide like he’s begging Nick to notice how obedient he’s being.
“That’s okay?” Nick asks Louis softly. He’s fairly sure he knows the answer if the way Louis is flushed pink across the high cut of his cheekbones is anything to go by, but he wants to be sure, wants to be sure they can give Harry exactly what he wants.
“Yeah, yes,” Louis breathes quietly. “Jesus. Someone, um, has to. Like, get me ready, though,” he says, not shy, but just a bit breathless.
“D’you want Harry to do it?” Nick asks. “Or -- I can.” He’d like that, he thinks -- getting Louis ready, spreading him open with his fingers and pressing in, getting his arse ready for Harry to fill up, getting him ready to make Harry feel good. And he wants to touch, he admits to himself, wants to touch Louis’ skin for himself, see if he’s as warm as he looks like he is, if his skin radiates heat the same way it glows golden. See how he feels on the inside.
Louis closes his eyes just for a moment, his eyelashes fanning out over his cheeks, and then he opens them. “You, I think,” he says to Nick.
Harry groans approvingly beneath them.
“‘Course, love,” Nick says, the endearment slipping out without his meaning to, and he’s not sure which one of them he’s saying it to in that moment, but figures it probably doesn’t matter.
He presses up from the bed, leaving Harry and Louis to fold themselves together again, Harry wrapping his arms around Louis as he pulls him on top of him and into a kiss again, Louis’ hands moving all over Harry’s skin like he wants to memorize the geography of him.
Nick strips his own clothes off hastily and then rummages around through their various bags, taking a moment to find a strip of condoms and the bottle of lube before coming back to the bed, carefully fitting himself up behind Louis.
“Yeah?” he asks, stroking one hand slowly over the curve of Louis’ arse. Louis keens into the touch, arching up so Nick’s hand is forced to splay over him broadly. Nick steadies himself and then flicks open the lid of the lube, wetting his fingers before pulling Louis back by the hips so he can slowly fit one of his fingers inside.
Louis gasps and whines at the first touch, Nick just up to the first knuckle and Louis already moaning into Harry's mouth, not quite kissing anymore but still pressing his mouth there. Harry's trying to kiss back at Louis and see what Nick's doing all at once, and he doesn't know if Harry'll have any luck at it from that angle, but he thinks he'll put on a show just in case.
Louis carries on gasping and pressing back on Nick's finger, more so when Nick adds a second, crooking them and twisting them in turns, trying to open Louis up from any angle he can get at.
When he fits a third in and brushes them against Louis' prostrate he lets out a high, strangled noise, pushing back harshly so Nick's hand is straining against him, but then pulls away, from Nick's fingers and Harry's mouth both.
"I'm good, I'm ready, let's just --" he whines, twisting around aimlessly, trying to get at Harry as best he can. Harry just stays still, and Nick can tell he's trying his best not to move, trying to be good so he can get his cock inside Louis as quick as possible.
"Just a minute, love," Nick says to them both, swiping his slick fingers against his own thigh before reaching out to find a condom, tearing it open and rolling it onto Harry's dick. Harry groans and thrusts into it, but Nick's touch is light as he slicks Harry up -- he wants him to wait to fall apart until he's in Louis.
"Up, c'mon," he directs Louis, tapping at his hip where he's sitting between Nick and Harry. "On him."
For an instant he thinks Louis might argue, but he clearly thinks better of it, and the next moment he crawls on top of Harry, positioning himself over his cock and then sinking down onto him, slowly, until they're flush.
“Jesus,” Nick whispers, because he hasn’t even got anyone’s hands on him but he thinks he can almost feel it, secondhand from the way Louis and Harry are both gasping.
Louis tries to set a rhythm but seems to falter a bit, overwhelmed at the feel of Harry inside him, so Nick moves behind Louis and grasps at his hips, guiding him up and down on Harry's cock until he's got the pace of it. Louis' hips twist under his hands, and it's not long before his head is lolling back, resting against Nick's shoulder where he's pressed up behind him. His fringe is sweaty and plastered against his forehead, and Nick can see the way his thighs are twitching with the effort of keeping himself up, but he doesn't complain.
Beneath them Harry is gasping and meeting Louis' thrusts desperately, his hands roaming wildly over Louis and Nick both, and Nick knows he'll come soon, knows that's what the manic look on his face means.
"C'mon, come for us," Nick instructs him, peering at him over Louis' shoulder. "We want you to, Haz, c'mon."
"Yeah," Louis agrees, his voice a desperate rasp. His hand moves towards his own cock, hard and leaking precome, but Nick bats it away.
"Not 'til he does," he instructs, nodding towards Harry. Louis whines but keeps his hand away, and that must be all it takes for Harry to reach the edge because in an instant he's screwing up his face, his hips flying wildly, and then he's coming, silent, pressing up into Louis one last desperate time.
"Good," Nick tells him, "good boy, you're so good." Harry smiles weakly, preening under it, and Nick watches him, unflinching, as he reaches around to wank Louis' cock. Louis gasps but doesn't pull away, doesn't even pull off Harry's cock as Nick jerks him, and then he's coming as well, shooting hot over Harry's stomach, up to his chest.
"Jesus," Louis breathes after a long moment. He steadies himself and Nick reaches around to hold the condom on Harry's cock as Louis slides off, collapsing boneless next to Harry as Nick chucks the used condom towards the bin.
“You now,” he says to Harry firmly, pulling him up from the bed -- with some effort, he’s not being particularly helpful and Nick mostly has to manhandle him until he’s draped over Nick’s lap, arse up in the air.
He’s rougher opening him up, knows Harry likes the burn and pull of it when Nick’s fast and careless, and all over again he’s consumed with it all, how wild and feral and broke wide open he feels for this boy. Louis is pretty, and the way he makes Harry gasp and keen is wonderful, but it’s nothing compared to this, the way that Harry makes Nick’s chest feel like it’s splintering open, raw and perfect.
With a groan, he draws out his fingers and repositions Harry in front of him, thrusting into him so fiercely he sees stars.
He keeps Harry bent over, on his knees and forearms, thrusting hard into him, harder than Harry'd been with Louis, the way Nick knows Harry loves it. The slap of his thighs against Harry’s arse is only interrupted by Harry’s breathy gasps, begging for it, begging for more.
"C'mon, Nick," Harry encourages. "Fuck me, yeah, c'mon, do it hard," he begs, and Nick had thought that's what he'd been doing, but he screws up his eyes and thrusts harder anyway, nearly lifting him off the bed with the force of it as Louis watches them carefully, eyes hooded.
Harry’s hard again, and Nick can feel his own orgasm creeping up, a tight pinch in his toes and the base of his spine, so he pulls back, holds Harry’s hips so he can’t thrust back again.
“Turn over, love,” he groans, his throat dry and scratchy. Harry obeys easily, goes onto his back again and then hooks one leg up so that Nick can grasp at his ankle, holding him open. Harry makes a choking sound as Nick’s dick presses into him at a new angle, starting to look overwhelmed at it all, starting to fray at the seams, coming apart.
Louis is still watching them interestedly, his own cock only half-hard but a sharp look to his eyes, and Harry must notice as well because he whines and reaches towards Louis aimlessly, trying to draw him closer.
“C’mere,” Nick says to Louis, gesturing him over to kneel alongside Harry’s torso. He comes easily, and Nick swallows, trying to stop the snap of his hips.
“He’ll come again,” he tells Louis. “Help him, yeah?” He looks down at Harry, and he’s sweating and panting and beautiful, a wild light shining through his eyes that look close to overflowing, damp around the edges. “You want that?” he asks Harry. “Louis to wank you off while I fuck you, make you come again? You can do it, can’t you? Come again for me? For Lou?”
Harry’s babbling agreements, promising Nick that he can, yes, please, just let him, and Nick’s hips stutter as he tries to find the bruising rhythm he'd set. Harry’s hardly ever this pliant, usually at least pretending to put up a fight before begging for it, but now he’s just desperate, overstimulated and saying anything he can think of to get a hand on his cock.
“Actually,” Nick says, mostly to himself, and then beckons Louis to lean in closer. He taps him under the chin and then pulls him in softly, kissing him for the first time. Louis’ mouth is soft and clever and a bit sweet, and he nips at Nick’s lip when he pulls back a moment later. Nick takes the opportunity to smile at him, and then fits his hand in the back of Louis’ hair and drags him steadily down to Harry’s cock.
“God, yeah,” Harry chokes out, his whole body going taut like a bowstring as Louis’ mouth fits over him again, the careful suck and drag of earlier replaced by Louis desperately bobbing his head up and down, nearly choking himself on Harry’s cock.
Harry comes with a wild shout the next moment, his whole body snapping wildly and beautifully as he shoots off, half into Louis’ mouth and half onto his chin and neck after Louis pulls back an inch.
And that’s enough for Nick, the slide of the dampness out of Harry’s eyes as it trickles over his temple, the last few spasms of his body totally wrung out and ruined. Distantly Nick realizes Louis is groaning and jerking himself off, rubbing against Harry frantically, but it all turns into static, the image of Harry seared indelibly behind Nick’s eyes as he fucks into Harry one last time and then comes apart, dissolving right down to his molecules, folding himself down onto Harry, Harry, Harry.
-
Afterward, Louis’ hand is warm on Nick’s back, stroking slowly but surely up and down along his spine, but his eyes never leave Harry, not once. They’re gazing at each other so fiercely that Nick wonders if they can hear each other’s thoughts.
Nick squirms away from them, sitting up and rummaging around on the floor for his pants while the two of them carry on like that, silent and just looking, Louis’ small hand gently tracing the line of Harry’s jaw, down his neck and to his collarbone and back again.
Nick pulls on a spare shirt -- one of Harry’s -- not bothering to button it up properly, and fishes a cigarette from a pack he finds resting inside Harry’s upside-down hat on the bureau. The two boys don’t even glance up at him as he lets himself quietly out onto the balcony.
As he lights the cigarette, Nick can’t find it in himself to be jealous, although he thinks objectively he probably ought to. But he knows, knows that Harry’s his and the other way around, knows it like he knows the shape of the sky, massive and overarching. The most he can manage to feel is vaguely sorry for Louis, because however this story ends, it probably won’t be the way he wants it to.
-
When he eventually comes back into the room, they’ve pulled apart, Harry reclining up against the headboard, and Louis with a hand on the bathroom door.
“It’s alright if I shower?” he asks, and at first Nick thinks he’s asking Harry, but after a moment he realizes the words are aimed at him. For some reason, it makes him nervous -- reminds him that Louis is here, not just something to exist in secret between him and Harry but a real person, a factor out of Nick’s control. It douses him like cold water, and he’s instantly tense as he jerks out a nod.
Harry clambers off the bed as the bathroom door closes behind Louis, still stark naked, and winds his arms around Nick’s waist. “Hi,” he says, smiling up at him. “And thanks.”
“This was a bad idea,” Nick says, even though he knows how Harry’ll react to it. “Haz, he knows, he knows too much about us. It’s a liability.”
“Since when do you care?” Harry asks, drawing in his eyebrows in a frown and standing up to his full height -- he’s not small, but he’s still shorter than Nick, and Nick can tell he’s straining to gain another inch or two, conspicuously trying to hold himself as tall as possible rather than slouching as usual. “You’re the one who told me to call the bloody Sun in the first place.”
“The Sun’s not in our hotel room,” Nick hisses, exasperated. “That one is.” He jerks his head towards the shut bathroom door.
“He’s not going to tell anyone,” Harry says.
And it’s probably true, Nick thinks, because if Louis had meant to, he’d have done it by now. And the way he’d looked at Harry -- that in itself is enough, enough proof for Nick that Louis doesn’t actually pose a threat to them.
But someone has to protest, at least pretend to be the one making rational choices, so Nick tries once more. “We really shouldn’t just let him go,” he says, no weight behind the words at all.
“No,” Harry says simply, and it’s not angry, not a challenge -- just a fact. He slouches past Nick and sprawls backwards onto the bed, folding his arms up and behind his head, looking for the world like someone who has made up his mind with certainty, and has no concerns about that decision being challenged.
The horrible thing, Nick thinks as he throws his hands up dramatically, is that’s just about the situation exactly -- Nick won’t fight him on it. Probably wouldn’t fight him on much of anything, if he’s being honest. It feels comforting and dangerous all at once, because it probably is -- more of a liability than anything, far more than the strange boy currently using their shower, is how far gone he is for Harry. He would do desperate, terrible things as long as Harry will smile at him afterward, as long as he’ll be near Nick at all. He already has done desperate, terrible things, and he’s loved it, every second. He’ll do more, certainly.
The weight of it fairly crushes him, and he locks his knees underneath him to keep from swaying. “Fine,” he says weakly. “Fine, but I’m going for a drive, and we’re leaving in the morning, and he’s gone, then, yeah?”
“Alright,” Harry agrees. Nick feels a rush of relief that that’s the end of it as he puts on his shoes and finds the car keys. He turns back to Harry before he goes, and even though he suddenly feels antsy to get out of the room before Louis comes back, he has to pause to look at Harry, just for a moment, because he thinks he’ll never get his fill of that. He’s got the television on, the reflection of some courtroom program flickering blue and gold on his face as Nick bends down to press a kiss to his forehead and mostly getting eyebrow.
-
Without particularly meaning to, Nick stays out for the rest of the night. He drives east and then south under a clear sky full of stars, and stops after a few hours at a service station that looks nearly abandoned, just one yellow light on in the building illuminating the single person behind the counter. He pulls the car around back of the building and gazes out over the dirt and scrub grass that spreads beyond it. Aimlessly, he reaches under the driver’s seat, letting his fingers curl around the handle of one of the guns hidden there, and thinks about knocking the place off, of relieving the teenage clerk of whatever trifling amount is in the register just for the sake of something to do. But instead he withdraws his hand, and goes inside to pay for a pack of cigarettes, his own forgotten back at the hotel. He spends an hour back in the parked car, hidden round back, smoking them one after the other, gazing at the brick wall of the building and the sprawl of nothingness all around it.
He falls asleep, eventually, and when he wakes after a while with a crick in his neck, the sky is just on the edge of dawn. By the time he pulls into the parking lot of their hotel an hour later, everything’s gone pink around him, the first hot rays of sun just starting to claw over the horizon.
When he gets inside they’re both awake. Louis is pulling on his shoes, bouncing around trying to yank one over his heel without spilling the styrofoam cup of tea he’s got in his other hand. Harry’s sprawled in the only chair in the room, watching Louis fondly, and when Louis finishes jumping around and gets both his shoes on, Harry rises to walk him out.
He presses a kiss to Nick’s jaw when he slides past him in the doorway, and Louis follows him quietly. Nick thinks he’ll go without saying anything to Nick, but once he’s a few steps out the door, he turns back, carefully stepping in close to Nick.
“I won’t say anything,” he says. His hair is sticking up in the back, and he looks tired, but there’s also something else, something alert and honest and vulnerable and just a bit mad in his eyes -- there must be, Nick thinks, if he spends his time willingly going around with people like them, and once again Nick can clearly see what it is in him that Harry had been drawn to so instantly.
He tries to think of some way to say it, but fails. “Thanks,” he says instead.
“He’s something, yeah?” Louis asks, nodding at Harry, leaning against a wall several doors down, waiting for him.
“He is,” Nick agrees. Louis is quiet for a moment, like he’s trying to decide whether or not he wants to say something, but then he shakes his head, and with a last nod at Nick, walks down the hall to Harry. When he reaches him, Harry slings an arm happily over Louis’ shoulder, pulling him in tightly so he nuzzles into Harry’s side as they walk awkwardly, their feet tangling up as they go.
Nick smiles, just a bit, and then shuts the door to their hotel room behind him.
-
Later, when they’re back on the road, Nick thinks of asking what they’d done all night while he’d been away. But the sun is shining bright, hot and insistent, and Harry’s humming tunelessly over the noise of the engine, pushing his sunglasses up his nose and smiling at everything, endlessly happy, and Nick decides it doesn’t matter.
-
Realistically, it has to go to shit eventually. Nick knows it. He can’t tell if Harry does as well or if he thinks their luck will hold out indefinitely, that they can actually drive forever, never stopping. But Nick knows, and he thinks as long as one of them does, that’s enough -- he doesn’t need to bother Harry with it.
So when it happens, the first piece of everything falling away around them, Nick’s not sure if Harry notices. He does, though. It’s like something slotting into its spot, the signs and sigils becoming suddenly meaningful, setting him on edge.
The first piece is when they run out of gas. They’ve been coasting on the wrong side of empty for a while now, and Nick’s been scouring the landscape for anything -- a service station, a sign, anything -- but there’s nothing. Apparently they’re in a dead zone -- Nick hasn’t even seen a turn off in more than ten minutes, so they have nowhere to go besides further down the road they’re on.
He’s been watching the needle on the fuel gauge fall, and it eventually gives one last futile jerk upwards before falling all the way, and that’s when the car sputters to a stop. Nick doesn’t swear, but he thinks it fiercely, and guides the slowing car off the dirt shoulder. Not that it matters, he thinks -- it’s been ages since they’ve seen another car. They could stop in the middle of the road and it would hardly matter, it seems. The engine coughs and sputters asthmatically, and then falls silent.
“What now?” Harry asks neutrally, seemingly unfazed. He looks exactly as he usually does -- sunglasses slipping down his nose, bare feet kicked up on the dash.
Nick shrugs, and looks around. The road they’re on is paved, at least, and there are power lines running along one side of it, so they can’t be completely in the middle of nowhere. Likely if they keep walking, there’ll be somewhere with a phone to use soon enough.
And after that, Nick's not sure what.
“Up for a bit of a walk?” Nick asks, trying to make it sound like a fun lark rather than their only option.
Harry smiles easily at him, and then shoves his feet into his shoes and hops out of the car to follow Nick down the road.
-
They trudge along like that for a bit, Harry by his side, kicking aimlessly at the weeds growing on the side of the road as they go and sending up plumes of dirt and dust in the process. Nick’s sweating, his shirt sticking to his back and his hair drooping down under the unrelenting sun, but if Harry’s bothered, he’s not showing it -- he just carries on, swinging his long arms by his side as he lopes along happily. If Nick wasn’t so sickeningly fond of him, he’d hate him a bit for how totally unbothered by it all he seems.
When the sun finally begins to creep towards the horizon, the heat dissipating just an inch for the first time all day, Nick breathes a sigh of relief. It’s not actually much relief, but it hints at its coming, which is enough to get Nick to relax his shoulders as the sun carries on setting.
It’s almost properly dark when they finally come around a twist in the road and see a farmhouse set a little ways back from the road. There’s a large barn around back, although Nick can only see dust and dirt around them, the barren hills devoid of anything even vaguely resembling agriculture. The house itself is gray and old, starting to sag around the edges in a way that looks cozy and lived-in.
“I guess we knock?” Harry says, frowning, unsure, as they approach. Nick shrugs.
“Guess we’d better.”
There’s a long moment of silence after Nick raps on the front door, but eventually he hears movement inside, and then the porch light snaps on, an older woman with gray hair and a nightgown answering the door.
“You boys need somethin’?” she asks through the screen door. She sounds cautious and friendly all at once, like she’ll be glad to help them just as long as she gets the proper amount of carefulness in first.
“Hi, sorry to disturb you,” Harry says, hunching up his shoulders and putting on his best sweetly disarming voice. He raises his eyebrows apologetically, and Nick can see the wariness drain away from the woman’s face. “Our car’s run out of gas a while back.” He shrugs helplessly at it, and she nods sympathetically. “Would it be too much trouble to borrow your phone to call for help?”
Harry’s voice is slow and sweet, syrupy, and Nick knows before he’s even done asking that the woman will let them in. Honestly, she never really stood a chance.
-
She insists on making them coffee once she ushers them inside to the cramped, cozy living room. It’s done up in shades of brown and smells a bit like dust, a bit like vanilla.
“Thank you, this is really nice,” Harry’s saying sweetly to the woman. They’re both sat on the same end of the sofa, a bit away from Nick, and Harry leans in towards her conspiratorially like they’re a team. “We’ll call in a moment and be out of your way.”
“Take your time,” she says, clearly enraptured by Harry.
Nick twitches, tapping his foot and his fingers all at once, because he’s antsy to make the call and get out. Every second they spend here feels risky, but Harry’s invested now, won’t give up his game of plying her into complete submission, so Nick sits back and waits.
The woman says something that Nick doesn’t quite catch, something about pie, and Nick sighs and re-crosses his legs. Harry’s reply gets cut off by the sound of the front door opening, though, and Nick can’t help it, he leaps to his feet in anticipation of someone else turning up suddenly. Another person is another variable, and he doesn’t mean to be taken by surprise.
It turns out to be a good instinct, because he hears a man’s voice call out “Hey, darlin’,” and then the man it belongs to turns the corner into the room, done up in a Sheriff’s uniform.
They’re in the local bloody Sheriff’s house.
“Hey, Leonard,” the wife says, smiling and standing to greet him. Harry rises as well, so they’re all standing, everyone but the wife with a cautious expression on their faces.
“These boys need to call for a tow, ran out of gas a ways back,” she explains. The Sheriff frowns but nods, and takes off his hat and undoes the belt around his waist with his gun and handcuffs, setting them on a side table with a thunk.
“Well I’m sorry to hear that,” he says, a hint of suspicion still etched in his face, but he smooths it away in the next moment with a shake of his head. “We might have an extra can ‘round here if you like, could probably take you back to your car in the cruiser and lend you enough to get into town.” He gestures vaguely in the direction of where town must be.
“That’d be lovely, thanks,” Harry says quietly. The Sheriff freezes at that, the sound of Harry’s voice stopping him in his tracks, so conspicuously foreign in the little farmhouse.
“Hold on, I know--” the Sheriff starts, but he doesn’t finish the sentence, biting it off and flying into motion instead, going for the gun sitting on the side table as quick as lightning. Harry must’ve anticipated it, though, because he leaps at him across the tiny room, tackling him bodily out of the way before he can get to it. They hit a lamp in a tangle of arms and legs, sending it crashing, and the woman screams, but Nick barely hears it, too focused on getting to the gun himself while the Sheriff is distracted by Harry.
Distantly, he hears a punch land, the sick squelch of fist on flesh, and he takes a moment to hope it’s Harry doing the punching rather than the other way around, but then he’s got the Sheriff’s gun in his hand, flicking the safety off and turning back to the heap of them, leveling the muzzle with steady hands.
Harry and the man are tangled on the floor, and the wife is still screaming, pressed against the far wall like she’s trying to escape through it, but Nick ignores it, focusing steadily on the Sheriff. He can’t get a clear aim, though, because Harry’s so twisted around him, so he sort of shouts wordlessly, and then kicks at the pile with the toe of his shoe. “Harry, get off,” he yells above the noise of their struggle and the woman’s shrieks, and Harry does it without hesitating, landing the meat of his palm in the Sheriff’s nose with a crunch that debilitates him long enough for Harry to disentangle himself and get away. Long enough for Nick to take his shot.
The noise of it echoes, and a fan of blood spreads out on the patterned rug where the Sheriff’s body slumps in a heap, bleeding from his nose and the bullet wound in his chest.
For one horrible moment, the woman is silent, staring at Nick and Harry in wordless, nameless terror. Nick uses the space of it to shepherd Harry up onto his feet and pull him towards the door, wiping his fingers quickly and uselessly at the gash weeping blood above Harry's left eye.
When they make it to the porch, her screaming starts up again, a shattered, feral howl that chases them down the steps.
“We’ve got to run,” Nick instructs, and Harry just nods. In an instant they're off, running haltingly away from the pool of light that surrounds the farmhouse, across the dusty scrub grasses and into the darkness that seems to grow all around them.
-
They’re still running several minutes later, unpursued but frantic all the same, when all of a sudden Harry lets out a sharp yelp, startled and pained all at once, and he falls down to one knee before stumbling back to his feet.
“Fuck, ow, Jesus,” he moans, and when Nick doesn't know what he's done, but then he turns, and he sees it: a massive snake, several feet long at least, attached by the mouth to the back of Harry’s right ankle. He must’ve trod right on it in the dark.
“Get it off, fuck,” Harry yells, kicking his leg ineffectually. The snake is clinging fiercely, though, jaws clenching tighter around the meat of Harry’s ankle, ripping at his Achilles’ tendon.
“Hold on, hold still,” Nick shouts desperately, not sure what to do. He thinks snakes are supposed to bite once and let go, maybe, but this one isn’t, so he looks around frantically while Harry yells more and tries to shake it free to no end. Nick notes, with a sick thankfulness, that it hasn’t got a rattle on the end of its body.
Finally Nick spots a dried-out branch, barely bigger than a twig, but it’ll have to do. He grabs it and tries to poke at the snake, which only seems to enrage it further, its body twisting frantically in an aerial S-shape as it writhes.
It takes several false starts, made more difficult by the fact that Harry is howling in pain and refusing to stand still, but somehow Nick eventually manages to force the stick between the snake’s jaws and Harry’s ankle, and after a bit of frantic prying it finally pulls free, falling to the ground.
Harry tries to leap away from it, but the snake’s taken a chunk of his skin with it -- Nick can see Harry’s blood flowing in the light of the moon, silvery and thick, and when Harry tries to put weight on his foot he stumbles. Nick catches him under the arm and drags them several paces away, watching the snake warily. It stares back at them for a long moment, long enough that Nick is starting to suspect it’s got something supernatural about it, because its gaze is so steady and deliberate. But then it finally, finally slithers off into the night, and they’re alone.
“Can you walk?” Nick asks quietly, breathing heavily.
“Um,” Harry says, testing it out. He crumples a bit at the attempt. “Sure,” he lies.
Nick doesn’t believe him for a moment, and more than anything he wants to stop, wants to stop careening into the night and fields of snakes and whatever else is waiting for them, but he knows they can’t. If they stop, they'll choke, they'll die. He knows it.
So they keep going, barely at a run, Harry limping along beside him, Nick trotting slowly so he doesn’t get too far ahead.
It’s slow going, but after a long while they somehow wind their way back to the road. Nick’s skeptical about starting down it, because it’ll make them easier to find if they’re on the road, of course, but they’re not any safer lost out in the desert, either, the snake had proven that, so he figures it’s the lesser of two evils at this point.
“Hold on, I need to--” Harry gasps out, gesturing down at his bloody ankle, his breath coming in short gasps from the exertion. They haven’t been properly running, but Nick’s a bit out of breath as well anyway, and the simultaneous need to stop and the need to keep going mixes in his stomach, giving him a stitch in his side.
“Yeah, okay,” Nick agrees, and they slump down in the dirt to rest.
“Shit,” Harry breathes, carefully propping up his injured leg. The gash over his eye has mostly clotted, at least. “You shot the Sheriff. Oh God, that’s brilliant.” He laughs and looks horrified all at once, the sound coming out hysterical, and reaches down to prod gingerly as the wound at the back of his heel.
Nick spits out a laugh devoid of any humor. “Yeah, brilliant.” Because it’s not, it's not brilliant, it’s the exact opposite of brilliant, the kind of careless shit they can't afford. The wife will call it in once she gets her senses about her, and every police officer in a hundred mile radius will be after them, hunting them down. And with Harry injured and no car, they’ll have an easy time of it. Nick feels suddenly, hysterically caged in, even though they’re in the middle of a seemingly endless desert. He rubs his eyes with the heel of his hand and forces himself to try and think, think.
Nothing comes.
“How d’you know if a snake bite is poisonous?” Harry asks quietly after a moment, and there’s something like genuine fear in his face, or at least the closest Nick’s ever seen him get to it.
“You’d probably know by now,” Nick says, not at all confident that it’s the truth. Maybe the snake had been harmless, but -- but maybe there is poison swimming through Harry’s system now, time delayed but ticking closer and closer to death. Maybe every beat of his heart is sending it through him, running him down like a clock.
If so, there’s nothing to be done for it.
Harry accepts the answer, though, just nods and furrows his eyebrows.
“We should keep walking,” Nick says decisively, hoping that if he says it firmly enough, like he thinks it’s a proper plan, it’ll turn into one.
“Okay,” Harry agrees readily. Nick tries to not watch him wince as he rises to his feet.
-
They backtrack, slowly following the road through the dark, picking their way back to their car. It’s just where they'd left it, empty and cool at the edge of the shoulder. They’re silent as they open it and begin rummaging through the contents of the back seat and the trunk, leaving behind everything besides as many of the guns as they can carry, tucked into pockets and waistbands.
Neither of them acknowledges it, but the trunk slamming shut when they’ve finished sounds like an ending, echoing through the air with finality.
-
They go, again, constantly, only stopping when Harry’s ankle gets too bad and he has to sit and grasp at it with his long fingers, like he's trying to physically press out the ache. It can’t be very effective, but every time he smiles at Nick as he rises again afterward, saying “That’s better,” even as he limps.
Nick doesn’t know where they’re going, doesn’t know what they’re looking for, just knows that they need to keep moving to stay alive, hoping that he’ll recognize it when he sees it.
And then he does.
Like an oasis, a small convenience store rises up out of the nothingness, a nearly empty parking lot sprawling around the squat brick building with a garish neon sign on top that just reads “SHOP.”
“There,” Nick says, pointing at it. “You need, like, bandages. We’ll find you some, yeah? And antiseptic, or something.”
Harry grins, a smile that turns into a grimace as his weight comes down on his bad foot. “And antivenom, yeah?” he asks, huffing out a pained laugh.
“Sure,” Nick agrees, lacing their fingers together and guiding Harry towards their goal. “Anything you like.”
-
It’s cramped inside when they push through the door with a chime, the one freckly youth behind the counter the only other living soul there. He glances up as they enter, and Nick can’t help but hesitate, waiting to see if they’ll be recognized, or if their dirty, mangled appearances -- they’re both filthy, sweating messes, and Harry’s leaving a trail of blood behind him as he limps -- draws any attention. He can shoot the kid easily if he does seem to know them, but that takes time and effort and all Nick wants to do right now is get Harry patched up. But the boy just nods aimlessly at them before looking back down at the magazine he’s reading.
Nick guides Harry through the store, his hand pressed against the small of his back, going up and down the aisles carefully until they find the medical supplies way in the back. They’re out of the clerk’s line of vision now, hidden by shelves of canned food and soda, and Harry slumps down to the ground gracelessly, his limbs going boneless as he grimaces.
Nick rummages frantically through the shelves, finally pulling down a box of bandages and gauze as well as a tube of antibacterial cream, and then sits down across from Harry. “Leg up,” he says, and Harry does it easily, thoughtlessly, shifting his weight back onto his hands so he can maneuver his foot into the cradle of Nick’s folded legs.
Nick rips the packaging open and sits there for a moment, a big flummoxed, because there’s a lot of blood, caked down Harry’s ankle and foot, a sticky sheen turning black beneath the wound that’s sluggishly gurgling out more.
“You’re supposed to pay for that,” Harry croaks out, eyes tight as he smiles, and Nick huffs out a laugh.
“Pretty sure shoplifting is the least heinous of our crimes,” he says quietly, and Harry just hums, letting Nick wipe up the blood with the gauze as best he can and inexpertly attach a bandage over it.
“Not a professional job, but,” Nick apologizes, shrugging.
“‘S’perfect,” Harry says, flexing the ankle and only wincing slightly. He scoots around so he’s next to Nick, leaned up against the shelf full of pain pills and surgical tape, the sounds of their breathing the only thing audible over the buzz of the fluorescent lights. It’s almost peaceful.
The sound of sirens is what shatters it.
If it had been like something falling into place when the car had sputtered to death, this is like a key turning in a lock. Nick knows instantly, can feel it in his bones, that they’ve been caught. The first scream of sirens sounds like the clatter of a deadbolt.
“Up, up,” Nick says, all his gentleness gone now as he tries to get Harry to his feet. He kicks the opened boxes of bandages out of the way as they head back to the front of the store, rushing as quickly as Harry’s limp will allow.
The clerk is gone when they get there, no longer at the counter, but then Nick spots him cowering in the cramped office just beyond it, gazing at them through the glass of the door. He’s on the phone, a look of terror in his eyes as he stares back at Harry at Nick like a caged animal.
“He must have recognized us,” Harry says under his breath, like he’s telling Nick a secret, but Nick can’t focus, the choke of the walls closing in on them stopping him from responding. While he tries to think, Harry gently slides one of the guns out of the waistband of Nick’s jeans and shoots through the glass window embedded in the door to the office until the boy slumps down to the ground. Nick scarcely notices.
“We could stay,” Harry says after a beat. “Make a stand. Could only be one or two of 'em out there, we could try and take ‘em.”
But Nick’s already shaking his head. He can hear a whole volley of sirens, now, closer, the whole cavalry coming down on them, and there’s no way they’re not wildly outnumbered. They have to try and run -- it’s their only shot.
“We have to go,” he says, and they make cautiously for the front door, Nick hoping without much actual belief that the police haven’t arrived to hem them in yet, that they’ll have time to get away.
He doesn’t believe it will be the case, but his heart still sinks when they get within eyeshot of the front windows and see a sea of armed officers in riot gear falling into place, forming a blockade, flanking around the whole of the building. They’re trapped.
“Fuck, shit,” he hisses, hurrying Harry away from the doors and ducking them down so they’re hidden behind a row of metal shelves.
“That’s not good,” Harry agrees, and his voice is calm but his eyes are wild.
They huddle like that for endless minutes, shoulders pressed together, time stretching out viscous and heavy in front of them, the din outside building as more and more forces arrive.
They must have set up some sort of sound system, because suddenly a voice is shouting in at them, amplified a hundred fold, the southern twang ordering them to lay down their weapons ricocheting around them, bouncing off the tiles and the ceiling and into Nick’s brain, jangling madly. You’re surrounded, it tells them. Surrender.
The word sends an electric current through Nick that jerks him out of his silence.
“What d’you think, love?” Nick asks. “Shall we surrender?” He feels mad with panic, but then Harry reaches out, gazing at him with those enormous eyes, and grabs Nick’s free hand, squeezing once.
“You’re out of your fucking head if you think that’s how this ends,” Harry says, voice hoarse and raspy. He grins, leans in and presses a violent, bruising kiss to Nick’s lips that’s more teeth than anything, and then yanks him up by the hand. “Let’s make our last stand.”
-
Nick barrels through the door first, guns out, and the scene in front of him when he does is bathed in neon, the green of the store’s sign, the red and blue of the police car lights, everything a blinding, flickering acid trip. There are at least twenty men with guns pointed at them, but none of them shoot -- not until Harry, pulled behind Nick by the hand, takes the first crackling shot, aimed perfectly over Nick’s shoulder and landing in the arm of the nearest officer.
After that, it’s a blur.
They swarm, everyone shouting and grabbing as Harry’s yanked away from Nick bodily by a set of hands. Nick shoots off a round of bullets that goes wild, hardly making any contact, and he only narrowly misses being hit by the retaliatory fire, a bullet grazing his temple like a fiery arrow. He gasps at the sharp pain of it, and when he brings his hand up to swipe at it, it comes away bloody.
There’s a booming blast from a gun off to his left that somehow rises over the cacophony, and when he turns to look, Nick is nearly sick at the sight of Harry, doubled over and howling, clutching at a spreading red stain that’s blooming in the middle of his stomach. His hands clench and he drops his gun inadvertently, and then he’s unarmed, and unsure what to do with himself.
One of the nearest officers uses the moment rush at him, nearly tackling him against the wall but just miscalculating his steps enough so that Nick can jump clear at the last second. He uses the instant before the officer makes another effort to whirl around, trying to find his boy, every mad beat of his heart singing Harry’s name, trying to find him, trying to get to him. His whole body is electrified, pure adrenaline, and he knows this is where he’ll die, and he wants to have Harry with him when it happens.
And then he spots him, pulled several feet away from Nick by the volley of police officers who have gotten between them, and even in the chaos, Nick swears he feels time stop for just an instant when their eyes lock.
Harry is a whirlwind, a storm, furious and screaming. There’s a massive police officer behind him, holding him by the shoulders, one arm over his throat, and he must be more than double Harry’s size but he’s still almost wrenched himself free in his frantic efforts to get to Nick.
He should be still and calm if he doesn’t want to bleed out through the hole in his gut. Nick knows it, in a far off way. The officer who had charged him is back, making another grab at him. Nick twists free, wrenching the man’s arm until he hears the shoulder pop sickeningly, but there are more, so many more, and he can tell they want any excuse to kill them both where they stand. There’s blood dripping down his forehead, stinging his eyes, and everything goes red but then he can’t feel it anyway, can’t feel the kick to his knee that sends his legs out from underneath him, or the officer yanking him up by his hair, twisting his arms violently behind him and locking them in handcuffs. He can’t hear anything, can’t feel anything, the only thing he can see is Harry, screaming and wild and beautiful, and Harry shouldn’t fight it, shouldn’t get his pulse up if he wants to live, but Nick can’t bear the thought of Harry going quietly. He wants to watch him fight until the very end.
There’s a heavy, shattering blow on the back of skull and as his vision swims he realizes he must’ve landed an elbow in the officer who’s got him handcuffed’s soft belly. He feels himself slump and collapses down, his knees bending at a wrong angle and scraping on the pavement, stained red with blood and flickering in the sick neon green light.
“Don’t you dare give up, love,” is the last thing Nick can gasp out, blood pooling in his mouth, before there’s a final resounding thud on the back of his head with the handle of a pistol, and his vision blacks out.
( part four)