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queerbutstillhere · 4 years

Note

another damijon prompt if you’re still taking them: damian likes country because it reminds him of jon and jon thinks it’s cute and confessions ensue????

(So another prompt that ran away with me. This was actually inspired by a thing that actually happened to me. Unfortunately there was no confession/kiss at the end. But the boys get that! Thank you for sending in a prompt!)

"Suffering has been stronger than all other teaching, and has taught me to understand what your heart used to be. I have been bent and broken, but - I hope - into a better shape."

Damian looked over at Jon, sat in the passenger seat of the Jeep Damian had found in the back of the garage. His feet were up on the dash, wind whipping his hair around due to the open windows. The teen had a tight grip on his book to keep the pages from going wild.

"Great Expectations?" Damian asked, having not seen the title earlier.

"Yeah. English Lit."

Damian hummed, reaching to grab his cup and accidentally bumped Jon's arm.

"Oh, sorry," they both said at the same time, then exchanged a grin.

"Anyway, that quote just kinda reminded me of you."

"I can see why."

"Yeah."

Jon marked his place in the book, it was getting to dark to read anyway, and shoved it into his backpack, reaching forwards to adjust the radio.

They were going on an impromptu road trip. Nowhere far, it wasn't like they had the week off from school or something. No they'd probably be back Sunday afternoon, and seeing as it was Saturday evening currently... They were taking an impromptu roadtrip to the Middle Of Nowhere, New Jersey. Why? Because Damian wanted to star gaze, properly, and you couldn't do that in Gotham or Bludhaven or Metropolis. They had been doing this since Damian got his (official) license. Sometimes without warning, he'd just show up, pick Jon up, and start driving. The younger teen never complained, he was always content to spend time with Damian, whatever they were doing.

Jon flicked through radio stations until he found the one country station that they could pick up at the time. Damian huffed an annoyed sigh but didn't say anything, because he wasn't really that annoyed. For the most part when they did this, they just drove in silence, just the radio, and the open road. It gave both teens a chance to clear their heads, to get away from their families and their responsibilities. They would camp out at whatever location Damian had dug up for them this time, spending the night under the stars, and then head back the next morning.

"Damian, pull over, I wanna get a picture of the sunset."

Damian obliged, slowing the car and pulling over to the side of the highway. This was technically illegal, but he hadn't seen a house for miles, let along a cop, so he just did it. Jon pulled out his camera from his bag, flicking through the settings for a moment before leaning out his window and snapping some photos, looking at them, correcting his settings and taking more. Damian just leaned against the steering wheel and smiled faintly at his friend.

He'd never get over the excited look Jon got when they did things like this. Like a little puppy.

"Okay, come here."

Jon set down the professional camera that had cost an entire summers worth of work at a farm, and instead pulled out his phone, snapping a few pictures of the sunset with that and then handing it to Damian. They took a few obligatory selfies.

"Are we good to go?" Damian asked. He was in no rush, he would be content to watch Jon take pictures for hours.

"Yeah, I'm good."

An hour (and a stop for dinner) later they arrived at this week's location. It was this open grassy field, that almost looked like an old pasture. Damian just parked and then grabbed the sleeping bags from the back of the Jeep, Jon grabbed their snacks and the duffel bag full of blankets and pillows and what not, and they started walking. Just across the field, with no particular destination. They climbed a hill finally and set up their things on top.

"Here, you can play music," Damian said, passing Jon his unlocked phone. After all, he had unlimited data and Spotify premium, might as well use it.

Jon grinned at him and took it, using one hand to scroll. The other one found its way into Damian's, interlacing their fingers. Damian looked down at the hands with a small amount of shock. Not much, though. Kent was very physical, and this wasn't the first time he had done this.

"Damiiii," Jon said, shooting a mischievous smile as Damian.

His face was lit up by the phone screen, and it was mildly concerning, the look he was giving Damian.

"What?"

"You've been listening to an awful lot of country," Jon practically purred out, gently bumping Damian's shoulder.

"Oh. Yes. Well," he shrugged and looked away, grabbing a blanket and pulling it into his lap, trying to unfold it with just one hand.

"I thought you didn't like country music?" Jon asked, setting down his phone and grabbing a corner of the blanket, unfolding it and pulling half of it over his own lap.

Damian shrugged again.

"Have I finally converted you? I thought you said it was the "saddest excuse for a musical genre in existence and didn't hold a candle to the classics or even Indie pop". Those were your words, right?"

"It reminds me of you," Damian said. And then stiffened. He had actually said that outloud.

"Awwwww." Jon squeezed his hand. "Cute."

Soon soft music was floating over them, as they laid on their backs, looking up at the sky and watching stars slowly appear.

Been flyin' solo for so long

Nobody's singin' the harmony

Up there just me and my shadow

No bass, no guitar, no tambourine

Damian glanced over at Jon, and found him already looking over, not at the stars above them.

"What?" He breathed out.

It was chilly enough that they were both wrapped in blankets, arms pressed together, hands still clasped.

"I like listening to Indie pop because it reminds me of you," Jon confessed. "And I read poetry because I know you like poetry, and whenever i go to Art museums I can't help but think of everything you would like, which paintings would be your favorites. When I see dogs or cats, I want to take pictures of them because I know you would love to see them, even just a picture. I eat vegan when I go out, and I don't like mint chocolate chip ice cream because you don't like mint chocolate chip ice cream."

"Jon-"

"Whenever I hear certain songs, I think of you, and when I watch new shows or movies, I can't help but wish you were watching them with me. I think of you whenever I see green clothes, or tea, or cows - and I see cows a lot - and whenever I watch copshows, I can't help but think about how you would be criticizing every minute of it. I watch The Office because I know you like it, and I like watching that really dumb knight movie because it was the first time I heard you laugh at a movie, and I knew it was real."

Jon had pushed up onto his elbow now, looking at Damian with such an intense, passionate gaze.

"I do all these things because I want you in every aspect of my life, Damian. I want you to always be beside me, and yeah sure, I'm only sixteen and maybe I'm too young to be saying that, but I've never been more sure of anything in my life. I want to be with you."

Damian blinked. His breath was caught in his ribs, and his words had died in his throat. He didn't know what to say to all that.

They sat in silence for a moment, One Man Band by Old Dominion fading out, some old country Tim McGraw song started playing next.

"I-" Damian started, and then stopped. Where did he even start, really? He huffed, shoving Jon lightly. "Damn you, Kent. How am I supposed to top that?"

Jon gave a relieved sigh and then laughed, falling onto his back.

"I dunno, you got time, I suppose. I'll just sit here and make up constellations by myself until you figure it out."

Damian looked over, and he immediately knew. He pulled his hand from Jon's, shed his blanket and sat up, turning to Jon. The other teen looked over, but Damian didn't wait. He gently put a hand on Jon's neck, pushing his chin up slightly, then he leaned down, pressing their lips together lightly. Jon made a mildly surprised noise, before his hand snuck up and an arm circled around Damian's neck, holding him in place.

The kiss was like a perfect story book first kiss. Damian never wanted to pull away, just to stay in lip lock with Jon Kent until he died. It was gentle, and sweet and almost timid, both boys afraid of doing the wrong thing and scaring their crush away. Finally Damian pulled away first, gently pecking Jon's lips once more before sitting back, smiling at him like a love drunk fool.

"Does that suffice?"

"It does," Jon told him, grinning back.

The younger teen sat up, reaching out and gently grabbing Damian's jacket, pulling him in for another kiss.

"Man, I'm glad we went on this trip," the superboy murmured against Damian.

"Me too. Me too."

#writing prompt #prompt ask #give me prompts and shiz #ask prompt #my prompts #ask me #send me asks #thank you for the ask!#ask me anything #damijon #damianxjon #damian wayne #jon kent

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occasionally-writing · 5 years

Text

Roadtrip Shenanigans

A/N: DAY 6! It’s another 2Moons2 fanfic. I hope you guys aren’t getting sick of me spitting stuff out for the fandom XD This is going to be a really soft ForthBeam one! I worked hard on it and I really like how it turned out!

Summary: When Beam gets told to meet Forth with a packed bag, the two go on a roadtrip that Forth planned out and Beam gets shown a beautiful surprise.

Word Count: 1592

When Forth had told him to pack a light backpack and be out of his dorm by the time the sun was beginning to set, Beam had no idea what his boyfriend was up to but that didn’t stop him from doing what Forth had said. By the time he left his dorm and walked down the stairs to the lobby, Beam glanced up from where his eyes were trailing the floor to see his boyfriend sitting on his motorbike, glancing around before he too noticed him, a smiling growing on his face as Beam grew closer to him. Finally reaching Forth, Beam instinctively closed his eyes as his boyfriend leaned over and pressed a soft kiss to his lips. Pulling away slightly, Forth pressed a few more kisses to his cheeks and nose before he leaned back again, patting the seat behind him. Shifting the backpack he had on his back, Beam slowly pushed himself up the motorbike before he wrapped his arms tightly around Forth’s waist, burying his face in his back.

“Hold on tight, it’s going to be a bit of a far ride, okay?” Forth asked, tapping Beam’s hand lightly and grinning as he received a nod in response. Leaning into Beam for a moment, Forth kicked the kickstand back on his bike before he revved the engine, taking off slowly at first before he finally gained speed once he got out of the medical faculty parking lot. Peeking over Forth’s shoulder, Beam closed his eyes against the wind that was ruffling against his face and hair. Feeling Beam moved his face out of his back, Forth smiled softly and slowed to a stop once they hit a traffic light. “Doing okay back there?”

“Y-yeah...just drive safe. I really don’t want to die this way Forth,” Beam muttered, pressing a shy kiss to his shoulder as he tightened his grip around his boyfriend’s waist. Letting out a snicker and cackling more when he received a glare in return, Forth noticed the light turn green before he shot forward again, trying to hide his laughter when he heard the shrill shriek that left Beam’s lips as he was suddenly propelled forwards. Squeezing Forth’s abdomen as hard as he could, Beam kept his face buried in his boyfriend’s back for the rest of the ride until he felt Forth slowing to a stop and the wind was no longer whipping at his face and clothes. “W-why’d we stop?”

Hearing the sound of Forth’s bike engine being turned off, Beam slowly loosened his hold on his boyfriend’s waist before a hand pushed past his and their fingers were intertwined. Taking in a deep breath, Beam finally pulled his face away from Forth’s back before a gasp left his throat as he took in the environment around them. They were no longer on a cement rode but a dirt one and when Beam got off the bike shakily and gazed around, he couldn’t help but notice how beautiful the trees around them looked with a slight breeze ruffling their leaves. Feeling Forth move next to him and take his hand, Beam turned to look and blinked when he noticed the soft smile that was on his face as he stared at him. Flushing lightly at being caught looking so flabbergasted, Beam cleared his throat and moved his gaze away from Forth’s.

“If you’re wondering where we are, this is kinda like a date spot. The stars can be seen really well just up that hill,” Forth mentioned, turning Beam around slightly so he could see the slight hill that he had pointed out. Nodding softly, Beam smiled shyly at Forth and allowed himself to be pulled, both of them climbing the hill easily. Reaching the top, Forth briefly let go of Beam’s hand to take the backpack from his partner. Letting him do so, Beam continued to let his eyes take in the beautiful scenery as Forth got everything out and laid out the blanket that Beam was told to bring. “The snacks can stay in the bag and just in time too, the sun is finally going down. Come on, Wifey!”

“Shut up,” Beam sputtered out, kicking the ground with his toe before he moved towards Forth, who was grinning cheekily at him. Ignoring him as he sat down and then laid down, Beam stared up at the darkening sky and moved slightly when Forth laid down next to him. Staying silent as the sun finally disappeared and the stars began to slowly twinkle around them, Beam couldn’t help the breath that escaped him as he took in everything with wide eyes. Peering at him, Forth let his cheeky smile leave for something more soft and loving before Beam’s eyes finally turned away from the sky to look at him. “It’s beautiful…”

Smiling bigger at the praise of the location he picked for a date, Forth nodded and reached out, pulling Beam closer until his head was on his chest and Beam could hold onto one of Forth’s hands as they continued to stare at the night sky. Taking in the galaxies above them as he played with Forth’s fingers, Beam laced their hands together and moved his head back to look up at Forth, who glanced down at him as he felt his boyfriend move. Wiggling up a bit, Beam pressed their hips together before he was suddenly pulled up to a sitting position and was manhandled to be sitting in Forth’s lap. Flushing brightly, Beam pouted softly as Forth chuckled and tried all his might to force himself not to hide his embarrassed face in Forth’s chest.

“Hey Beam?” Forth quietly asked, moving his hand up his boyfriend’s side to cup his face, making him meet his eyes. Swallowing the lump that suddenly appeared in his throat, Beam closed his eyes as Forth kissed him again, deepening it slightly as his tongue teased his bottom lip. Letting out a hum, Beam shuffled closer to Forth and wrapped his arms around his neck, making them grow closer together before Beam finally pulled away, panting for breath as Forth pressed their foreheads together. Staring into his eyes, Forth couldn’t help but voice his thoughts with a gentle smile. “God, you’re so beautiful.”

“F-Forth!...D-damn you,” Beam sputtered out, feeling his face finally reach full potential for him to become the color of a tomato. Biting back the giggles that threatened to leak from his throat, Forth tightened his grip around Beam as the latter tried to escape from his lap, wanting to hide his face away from his boyfriend. Letting Beam turn around until his back was pressed against his chest, Forth nuzzled his face into his boyfriend’s neck and pressed a kiss to the skin, making Beam freeze and begrudgingly settle in his lap again, his arms crossed in a pout that Forth knew he had on his face. Feeling the chuckles that were bouncing around Forth’s chest, Beam huffed and smacked Forth’s leg. “Shut up.”

Cackling even more as the pout made itself known in his boyfriend’s voice, Forth took in deep shuddering breaths as he finally calmed down and pressed a kiss to Beam’s shoulder in an apology that Beam knew wasn’t real since he could still feel the smile that curved at Forth’s lips. Letting out a fond sigh at his boyfriend’s shenanigans, Beam relaxed against Forth’s chest and let a small smile rest on his face as Forth placed his chin on his shoulder and the two of them continued to stare up at the star filled sky. The couple were left in a comfortable silence until Forth noticed a shooting star and moved one arms away from Beam’s waist to point at it.

“Beam! Look! Shooting star! Make a wish!” Forth shouted, not even caring how loud his voice was. Shushing him quickly, Beam shot a tiny glare which made Forth grin apologetically before they both closed their eyes and made a wish. Once he was done, Beam snuggled back more into Forth and laced their fingers together in his lap when the arm Forth used to point out the star moved back around his waist. Letting out a hum as he playfully nipped Beam’s shoulder, Forth hugged him tightly before he pressed his chin back into his shoulder. “So? What was your wish?”

“I’m not telling you. Don’t you know that it’s bad luck to tell someone the wish after you make it?” Beam exclaimed, turning around slightly so he could flick Forth’s forehead. Burying his face in Beam’s shoulder as he whined, pleaded and begged for Beam to tell him, Forth continued to do this until Beam finally had enough and turned around to press their lips together, finally silencing his boyfriend’s whining voice. Pulling away once he was sure that he could speak without Forth interrupting him. “Stop all of that or else we won’t have you know what tonight like I know you wanted to.”

Observing the way Forth’s eyes dilated, it was Beam’s turn to snicker as he turned back around and grinned. Nodding against Beam’s shoulder, Forth finally quieted down his whines and let the atmosphere around them fade into another comfortable silence. Leaning his head back against Forth’s shoulder, Beam pressed a kiss to his cheek before he finally turned his attention back to the constellations above them. And to Beam, he had already gotten the wish he wished for as Forth’s arms tightened around him and he was practically smuggled into a warm and loving embrace.

#2 moons 2 #2moons2 #2 moons the series #forthbeam #day 6 of flufftober #my writing

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saintmccann · 7 years

Text

roadtrip - the west

Part 3 of 7!

If you haven’t read part one

If you haven’t read part two

Note: I’m really loving how this story’s turning out! Let me know if there’s any mini requests you have as it keeps moving along!

____________________

They've reached California.

The warm sun beats down on them as they speed past orange groves. The pungent scent of citrus and sunshine mixed with smog comes in through the cool air vents, lingering subtly. The sky is an immense, perfect blue, so perfect that it almost seems fake.

That describes California well.

They speed down freeways and byways, loops and clovers, swimming in a sea of metal and cement as they head towards the coast. She likes stopping at the little convenience stores, taking stock of how the food changes across the nation.

She hops into the car, throwing down a plastic bag.

"What’s it this time?" he asks, pushing his fringe out of his face with one hand, the other lingering lightly over the steering wheel.

She grins, holding up her prize. "What else? A ‘phat’ burrito and a Zip Coke. This is the Zipmart. The turkey wraps were Wawa, the Jamaican beef patties and hot dogs were 7-11, and the Bengal coffee and Krispy Kreme were all Motomart. I can't even remember all the other ones."

"Y/N, eatin’ her way through the USA?" he quips, turning the wheel under his steady hands.

"Have a Twinkie."

"So fuckin’ gross."

"You eat worse shit than this all the time."

"I can't wait til ya hit 30 an’ lose your metabolism. You'll have to buy Richard Simmons tapes and velour track suits from Lane Bryant and I'll be laughing my ass off."

"You're such a sweetheart," she says, with some sort of indelicate sarcastic snort. Her mouth is pinched up.

But in a few minutes and a few bites, she's happy again. She blames it on the insane sunshine and the fake blue perfection, palm fronds waving in the wind, white houses whipping past.

"Let's go to the beach," he says out of the blue, and she looks at him surprised, because he usually doesn't care where they go. She's always the one with maps and red markers and plans, always the one with a sense of direction.

"Sure," she smiles dreamily, fading off into a reverie of Orange County clichés. He watches her long lashes resting on her cheeks, her half smile, her toes tapping on the dashboard.

"We'll rent one-a-them beach shacks," he goes on, fueling her sleepy imagination. She tastes saltwater and oranges under her tongue. "We'll wake up real fuckin’ early and go to sleep late, we'll swim and walk through Venice Beach, we'll smoke some weed, surf a little."

"Nix the early rise," she whispers. "Keep the rest. Van, let's go see UCLA. We'll have a grand time."

Yes, he thinks, a great time. You'll get those freckles on your nose and shoulders, you'll get sunburned lips, I will wake up everyday to your smile, your rapacious eating, the sound of you turning pages, skin against paper. I love you.

However, he does not say this out loud.

Maybe she is thinking it also.

Neither one of them speaks; they open the windows and let the sun warm their blood, making it speed through their veins with anticipation.

"Good God."

They are standing inside a partly lit room. Light is streaming in from the windows.. In the middle there is one acid orange velour couch; to the side there is one mattress, and on the other side, there is a tv, a closet, and a microwave.

"Is that a ‘praise the lord’ kind of good God, as in ‘God is good,’ or is that a ‘good God’ as in, look at that orange, am I trippin’ or is this what I really think it is?" asks Van, raising one eyebrow with a slightly amused expression.

"It's a ‘good God’ as in, wow, we get a microwave too?"

"So it's not me mum and dad’s bed n’ breakfast. We'll survive."

"You better not kick, sleepwalk, snore, or unconsciously cuddle," she grins, inspecting the closet with a girly kind of curiosity.

His eyebrow goes up even further.

"You're letting me share the mattress?"

She stands there, shoulders at an awkward angle, blush rising.

"I didn't……I wasn't trying to imply…"

"Relax. I'm just messin’ with you."

She glares without subtlety, muttering something less than complimentary.

"What did you bring in from the car?" he says, eyeing the bursting army duffel with a bewildered look.

She blushes even more, fidgeting.

"Not much stuff. Just….some pajamas and such."

He sighs.

"Unbelievable. Let me see."

"No."

He snatches her pack, dumping it out. She crosses her arms defensively.

"Bunny slippers? A robe? First Impressions of Earth? Sometimes you leave no words to be said."

"Packing light is for girls," she mutters, remembering her mother's words from a long time ago. "Julian Casablancas has a lot to say about what we're doing."

She retorts: "Indirectly, Julian could apply to anything. You're misusing his lyrics."

"He won't mind."

They stand there, looking around, satisfied.

"Swim?" he hitches his thumb over his shoulder at the door.

She nods, pulling out a black bikini, and then stands there solemnly, looking at him. He realizes the situation.

"Want me to turn around? ‘Cause I can..."

But he is frozen, because she has already taken off her shirt, holding his gaze steadily, eyes pinning him down. He has forgotten to breathe, and is careful not to move, or say anything. Her face is serious and calm, expressionless, eyes burning a hole in him; she pulls off the rest of her clothes, standing graceful like a heron. Her warm skin is lightly freckled, a light layer of hair on her arms and stomach. He has to fight not to break eye contact.

She slips into the suit and disappears through the door, into the blinding sunlight, her form melting like a shadow, then gone.

He stands inside the cool darkness of the room, breathing again, silent.

They don't talk about it. They don't talk about anything at all. Instead, they swim until they are so tired they cannot speak, and then lay on the sand, letting the last rays of the sun warm their bodies. They are exhausted, sand dry and sticky-eyelashed. Music is drifting over from the sidewalk above the beach, some loose and lazy ska and reggae. They are mellow and relaxed, languid. Her hand drifts lazily through the air, letting sand pound through her fingers onto his chest, thin rivers of gold sliding down his stomach.

"I see the ghost of Marilyn Monroe, Moriarty racing…….punk rockers, senator's daughters, surfers, drug addicts, animal right's activists……….California is one long, warm dream," she whispers, her voice like the sound of the pouring sand.

"Poetic."

"Are you mocking?"

"At least you didn't go all delirious on me with your California dreams or start singin’ Tupac," he grins, earning a light sandy slap. There is a moment of silence, after which he hears her quietly humming.

"California, knows how to party…."

She breaks into a girlish kind of laughter that makes him smile as she springs up, leaning over him, shaking her thick, sandy hair in his face, covering it, and he's suffocating in her hair, her neck, her smile, her gleaming eyes.

She gets up, slowly meandering towards the shack.

"I'm making dinner," she calls over her shoulder.

"Put a paper towel down under the mini pizza this time!,” he calls after her. “Only three minutes or the sauce will jump and I'll have to clean it again."

She rolls her eyes, moving in long, languid strides.

He gets up to follow her before long.

It is night, and they are both soundly sleeping. She is cold, and curls up; in his sleep, he childishly pulls towards her, unafraid and relaxed. They clutch the blanket, windows open to the ocean breeze, while the waves rhythmically sing outside in the night, advancing and receding in the infinite darkness beyond the water.

She wakes up before him, and pulls away a little, stiffly. It is morning and the first rosy rays of the dawn are breaking through, illuminating the room in a pale gold light. She studies him, eyes soft. His hair is thick and lightened by the sun, beginning to curl in on the edges; his thick eyelashes and plump lips make him look like a petulant child. All the harshness, the pain of concealing his emotion, the guarded teenage sarcasm are gone from his features.

She cannot explain her desire to kiss him, to place her lips between those slightly open ones and steal the breath that comes out. She is afraid and hesitant all of a sudden.

But she does it anyway.

When she pulls away, she sees his bright eyes watching her silently, the eyes of a little boy, hooded by those butterfly lashes. He does not say anything as she lays down, her hair splayed on the pillow, still looking into his eyes. They lay there for a while like that, not saying anything. He suddenly raises his hand, taking her chin in it, placing his thumb against her dimple, then tracing her ear.

He retreats.

"We should talk," he says simply, and for the first time, they both want to.

Days are pouring through a sieve. There are a few mornings spent between the jagged black edges of rocks on the Pacific coast, cold salt water and the sweet, pungent smell of cedar wood mixing in her hair. She stands wrapped in a blanket, on the edge of the water in the morning, watching the sunrise while he makes tea.

She lays in the scented groves, under the damp bark, letting tiny drops of rain drip on her mouth from the leaves. He covers her in ferns and refuses to touch her, afraid of what might occur now that they both know the gentle truth.

Her smile is sweet and benevolent these days.

During the day, they lie on the sand, watching the grey waves and picking driftwood.

"You can always tell who the Californians are" she says, the corners of her mouth turned up, eyelids half closed.

"That so?"

She sits up on one elbow.

"They always run into the water, surfboards under one arm, hollerin’ and whoopin’ about the waves, look at the size of that mother! Half a second later, they’re running out, teeth chattering, blue toenails, cursing."

He laughs.

"If you don’t die of hypothermia there's white sharks."

"Win win."

She drapes a strand of seaweed over his arm, pensive, and his smile slowly becomes solemn. His eyes memorize her, burn her into his memory as the grey wind whips her hair around her face. Her arms curl around her knees, and her mouth is very grave. They know everything is rather different now.

They've packed up and moved. The car moves through the sweltering August heat like a mirage, and they both feel the change in the air, the smell of an ending approaching. Through the long drive through Nebraska, she even found herself absentmindedly thinking about school supplies and such, ticking off a list in her head that would doubtless show up on paper. He can sense this in her, he's always been able to read her when she tries to hide something. Cornfields sweep past, mind numbing in their similarity, blazing under the hot sky; they stop once, because she wants to walk through one.

"I've never done it before," she says rather defensively. He's still grinning.

"You're going to get lost. They're going to find your corpse years later, probably not too far away from other corpses of tourist who lived on the east coast."

"Well, at least yours will be next to it."

"Dream on."

"Van." she pleads, voice sweet now.

"Didn't you ever watch Children of the Corn?"

"They don't exist now. Crop dusting killed them."

"No way in hell," he replies, crossing his arms.

Minutes later, he's trudging through the rows.

"It's like a maze or some kind of scary dream," he hears her voice, seeing flashes of brown hair and bare arms through the green stalks. An odd sensation pursues him that she is only a ghost, rustling through the humming field next to him.

"Y/N?" he suddenly says, breathless.

He can hear words. Flashes here, there, silence. Laughter. The acid blue sky presses down on his shoulders, the sun burning. The silence seems to buzz, heavy, eerie, beautiful.

"Y/N?"

His worn black boots have picked up now, going faster down the row. He is in a forest, surrounded by pale green, row after row. Leaves slash at his arms, tracing fine, invisible lines. The earth crumbles soft under his feet, dark and hot. His mouth is dry, no words will come out.

She appears in front of him in the blink of an eye, suddenly and surprisingly there, out of nowhere. She is calm and quiet. His heart is beating hard, in the sound of the humid silence.

"I thought I lost you for a bit there," he finally says, through dry lips.

She nods as though she understands, and grabs his hand, pulling him through the rows back towards the small glow of light where they had entered.

"So see, that's why the Cubs suck," she says, very seriously, snapping her gum twice, swinging her legs, sitting on the hood.

"Because an old greek man put a curse on them?" he grins, shaking his head.

"Yep. Years later, we now have the Billy Goat Tavern, founded by this great man, where people can come devour overpriced heart-attack inducing burgers and talk about how much the Cubs suck."

"Ok, what else?"

"Hmmm…..oh, Jerry Springer!"

"But of course."

"And original Chicago hot dogs. Better than Llandudno," she says maliciously, smiling.

"Now why would you say that? You know it's just going to start a fight and make me yell at you."

"Hold on to that feeling until we get to Jerry Springer."

He finishes putting in gas, screwing the cap back on. "Anything else?"

"Gino's East. I want to eat the hamburger pizza and write my name all over the walls."

He smiles.

"Can I put ‘+ Van’ next to it and draw a heart around it?" he says, half jokingly, but he's afraid he might really mean it.

When she looks at him, he's surprised by the shyness in her smile as she nods, and he feels as though he has seen through something he was not supposed to for a second, and it made his heart jump a rhythm, causing some dull sort of ache.

"Chicago it is," he says suddenly, to get past the moment. "But so help me God, if you insist on singing the whole soundtrack all the way there I'll go to Minnesota to see the Butter Festival instead."

"C'mon babe, we're going to paint the town, and all that jazz."

"I'm warning you,” he drawled out, playfully.

She throws her arms up, flipping her hair and hopping down from the hood.

"Oh, she's gonna shimmy till the gutters break, and all that jazz," she sings, spinning under the gas station lights, one dramatic hand over the proverbial heart.

And she does not stop until they are two miles into the highway.

They stay at an old hotel there where everything smells of clean detergent and the towels are rough and embroidered with someone else's monogram; the shower stops working after Van takes one, leaving her with a sink and a few washcloths as her only option. He opens the windows, so the sound of the night wind rustling the trees can come in. There are no sounds from the cobblestone street outside, and the thin lace curtains slowly and sensuously swell and retreat in the breeze.

He helps her wash her hair, careful to keep the suds out of her eyes. She smells damp and fresh from her washdown, clad in clean cotton underwear and a slightly large cotton nightgown whose straps kept falling down her shoulders. Van remembers thinking she looks adorable, nightgown barely to the knees, cut like a childish smock, frustrating straps falling, wet hair plastered to her head. He leans over her, turning her head under the faucet, studying the slight ridge of the spine as she stands there, bent over. Gently, he towels her hair, making light jokes about drowning cats and bedtime prayers, feeling his heart pulsing, his whole body warm, alive, waiting.

Every once in awhile, she comes close without noticing, her skin brushing almost unnoticeably against his, as they do a sort of delicate dance around each other. She is surprised at how those hands that can make such raucous sounds on guitar can be so delicate. She knows her body is humming too, singing, sending out warm waves, invisibly beckoning.

They lay down next to each other, the dark of the room illuminated only by one golden orange streetlight, barely casting shadows of the trembling leaves on their wall. Outside, a wind from Lake Michigan whispers secrets from the north.

They each know that should they even touch a second, the least significant touch, that it would be impossible to stop. So they lay there, keyed and nerves taut, bodies buzzing silently like the flickering streetlight, unable to sleep, thinking only about things that made it even more unbearable. The tiny space between them on the white sheets expands like an ocean, then shrinks to a millimetre, like a hallucination. He is close enough to feel the golden down on her arms raising, close enough to hear each shallow breath, too afraid to move.

He squeezes his eyes shut.

"I can’t sleep."

Her voice makes him jump, sending a shock through his nerves before his body quiets down again. He takes a deep breath, trying to calm down.

"Can’t either."

The sound of sheets rustling. Another hissing whisper, each word heavy.

"I’m cold."

"Should I shut the window?"

"Please?" she says, and he sees the dark outline of her arm as she props herself up on her elbow.

Then he sits up. She blinks her eyes, and he is right over her, his dark form inches away, and her whole body stops working and the ground drops away, the ceiling explodes in stars as the poor girl freezes. In an instant he is by the window, and as the blood rushes back into her veins, she realizes he has just simply vaulted over her to get to the other side. She can hear the queer sound of her breath, strangled, rattling in and out of her body almost silently.

She watches the muscles of his back tighten, the edge of skin that rises from the soft cotton at his waist as he reaches up to pull the window down. She concentrates on the strange warmth curling inside her, eyes tight shut.

She hears him crawl in on his side.

Her hand moves of its own accord into no man’s land, the few inches of white sheet. Years later, she would remember how it had moved without her consent, as though her body had refused to be denied any longer. It rests between them, powerless to do more.

He hears it move, watches it incredulously, centimeters away from his. Every thought suddenly flees, leaving only a calm quiet in his head. Everything is slow, as though underwater. He hears his heart, feels the cotton on his skin, smells her hair. His fingers close around her wrist slowly, daintily, circling it. He feels the little round bones, the blood rushing through her veins, her pulse.

The crime.

She buzzes with electricity. Her body purrs, velvety.

Very slowly and painfully her hand moves to his chest, landing on his heart, feeling its wrecked pulse tearing through to her palm. Her lips curve shyly in the darkness.

"Are you scared?" he whispers, no need for explanations. Under his shut eyelids, new universes and northern lights bloom soft in the darkness.

"No," she replies, voice small and still.

He hear her body rustling, and he instinctively turns towards her, eyes still shut.

"Open your eyes," she says softly, each word like a petal.

He does, and sees her dark, gleaming ones, wide and floating in her face, glittering.

Her hand has forgotten herself on his chest, seeming attached there by that current. It drops softly to the sheet and slides back to her side.

He studies her features.

"Why not?" she says, feeling the blood rushing to her cheeks. She cannot believe she is asking for this.

"I don’t want to hurt you again," he answers, his voice strangled. She can see the rise and fall of his chest. The feeling inside her begs, and she feels it move between her hipbones, little ripples of warmth spreading. He continues. "I don’t want you to regret this later."

She trembles.

"Can I touch you?"

She freezes at his soft words. This is different, different than the mere teenage physical attraction that has moved them to act before, clawing at each other, frenzied. This is terribly different and she can feel everything reverberate inside her like an echo.

She is too scared to hear the sound of her own voice. She nods.

And so he does. She watches his hands in wonder, how they move like instruments, with such exact precision. How his head falls forward, gentle, lips parted, how she arches and coils and curls in response, how stars bloom and explode silently under her closed eyelids, colors and circles, ragged breath. She hides her face in her palms, and bites down hard on her knuckles.

Then, it’s over.

Rapidly, he turns away from her, afraid she’ll see the look of pure happiness crawling up in his eyes. I love you, he wants to say.

They lie sleepless all night, not saying a word.

#vanfiction #catb fanfic #catfish and the bottlemen #catfish #catfish fanfic #vanfic #van fiction #van fic #roadtrip fic #roadtrip #road trip #van mccann #part 3

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