Work Text:
It’s about two hundred miles into the walk that Ray starts thinking maybe he does want die. Not just because his legs ache, every muscle pulsing in agony, every step they threaten to cramp. Not just because the days rations are already gone and his stomach is gnawing away at itself. Not just because his sock is slowly but surely slipping down his ankle and bunching into a knot at the heel, rubbing him raw, chaffing horribly and forcing his gait dreadfully off balance. Not just because sound sleep is a distant memory and pain is a constant companion. And it’s too damn hot but he’s so damn cold and he’s so homesick but home isn’t something he can picture anymore.
No, Ray’s thinking he’s been wanting to die since he was 5 years old playing doctor with little Jimmy in the sandbox and he realized that what boys do, boys like him anyway, ain’t right.
Ray’s always known, though that young there is nothing to know, you just are what you are and do what you do till somebody tells you it’s wrong. And it didn’t feel wrong to get naked with Jimmy, felt right, felt natural as anything. Then came the trouble. Jimmy’s mom and the utter disgust in her face when she caught them. The gruff way she split them up and got them dressed.
She marched Ray to his front door and he watched his mom’s face change from welcome surprise at seeing him home so soon to white hot rage. His mom, so sweet and so gentle, handled him roughly then. Her voice was deafening to his little ears, louder than he heard her speak before as she paced in front of him. Oh how he trembled as he stood awash in her heat of her fury, awaiting judgement.
“It’s disgusting what you’ve done. It’s not right Ray, you have to be a good boy, a good man. That’s not what men do. What the hell has gotten into you, young man? You like showing off to other boys? How would you like it if I paraded you naked through the streets? That’s what I’m gon’ do if I ever catch you doing something like that again you understand? Let’s see how you like it then.”
She gripped his arms tight as she spoke, leaving red marks on his fair skin. There was a sheen in her eyes like she might burst into tears at any second. He didn’t get it then. It was just play, just fun, what is there to be angry about? But he knew to be ashamed. He had to be ashamed, what came natural to him brought his sweet mother near to tears so it must be some crime indeed. All crimes need just punishment, that’s what the Major always says in the newsreels at least.
Was he a criminal now? Should he be brought low and made to suffer for his lack of manhood? Would dying absolve him, make his slate clean? It would at least be still, no more thinking strange thoughts, no more shame, no more angry mothers. Just sweet nothing. A brilliant emptiness that might bring peace.
Maybe he carried it, all that shame and disgust everywhere he went from them on. Maybe he did play too rough with Jimmy after that because the softness was punished. Maybe even as the years passed and they grew up, with childish memories long set aside, he still thought Jimmy should pay since it was his idea to be naked to begin with. So he hit him with a rifle accidentally on purpose and never looked back.
God he wishes he had looked back. He might have seen his own reflection and known himself before it was too late.
Quiet is a dangerous thing on the long walk, almost as bad as the percussive crack of the carbines going off. The quiet lets him think and thinking has never brought Ray anyplace worth going.
“Penny for your thoughts,” Pete pipes up after a long stretch of silence.
“Need a dime at least for what I’ve got on my mind, Pete.”
“You drive a hard bargain but I’m listening,” Pete extends a hand showing a shining silver dime. Looks out of place in a hand coated in road dust and sweat but Ray grabs at it all the same. His fingertips brush Pete’s palm and if his heart flutters a bit at the warmth of Pete’s skin that’s nobody’s business but his own.
“C’mon boy, I paid ya, now let’s hear it. What thoughts plague thy pretty little head.”
Should be a crime that his pale skin gives him away with such an intense pink flush, he hopes like hell Pete mistakes it for the heat.
“I’m thinking I came here for the wrong reasons, Pete, that's God's honest truth.”
“Well that ain’t worth the money I spent. We all got reasons and all of 'em wrong. Can’t be a right reason to walk to death I’m thinking.”
Ray huffs a bitter laugh. “Every step I take that gets clearer but it didn’t feel so clear when I got to the drop off a few days back. I felt like maybe I knew what I was doing, knew what I was getting into. Turns out I don’t know shit. Think I know less and less every day that goes by.”
“The older you get the less you know. It’s called growing up, compadre.” Pete replies easily.
“I never got that saying, it’s like with age comes wisdom so how can you know less, y’know?” Ray shrugs a bit, feeling the heft of his pack against his shoulders. The familiar weight is a comfort and a source of irritation as they chafe at his shoulders.
“The more you learn the bigger the world gets, my boy, the bigger the world the less you know of it. Only a child thinks in absolutes. That there’s a way to know it all and see it all and do it all before you go. A man knows his limits through experience, knows his ignorance through his wisdom,” Pete nods sagely.
“You say you wanna be a songwriter but I think you’d make a fine philosopher, Pete. Shame you’re stuck with me as a student.”
“A shepherd’s only as good as his flock,” Pete shoots him a sideways grin, nudging his shoulder companionably.
Ray hums his agreement and thinks Pete’s a real man in a way he didn’t think got made anymore. He’s all hard muscle and soulful eyes, voice deep and resonant, but still so gentle. He’s worldly despite his youth, words of wisdom seem at home in his mouth. He’s so comfortable, sure and deeply rooted in his skin in a way Ray’s never quite managed. Even with hundreds of miles under his belt Pete still swaggers like he’s just out for a morning stroll down Main Street.
Hips swaying, shoulders loose, and he smiles as easy as breathing. He shines like the sun, like the walk has barely touched him while Ray feels like a shell of who he was days ago, if he was anyone at all. Pete makes him want to be someone, the kind of someone who deserves that pretty smile pointed in his direction. His feet ache beyond comprehension but Ray thinks he could walk to hell and back if he had Pete right there beside him.
It gets quiet again as they stroll in tandem. There are only Ray’s ragged breaths and the steady background murmur of boys chattering and weeping and dying step by agonizing step until Collie saddles up beside them.
“We’re getting close to your Ma aren’t we, Garraty?”
“Yeah, about fifty or sixty miles out I suppose.”
“You’re one lucky son of a bitch, Garraty,” he says wistfully.
Parker’s sad, he hides it well but Ray can hear the melancholy in his voice as he asks. It shakes Ray to see the sheen of tears welling in his eyes and to know he’s just tired flesh and bones like the rest of them. He’s been so stoic this whole time, Ray figured he was a stone man built of stronger stuff than letting a little homesickness get to him. He’s sick with thinking that he won’t see a familiar face between here and the end but Ray will get to see his folks and it ain’t fair. Ray’s too busy being scared to look in Ma's eyes as he passes her in the street to think much of fair and unfair.
She's been looking at him like she just can’t make sense of him since he was a little boy. He knows he hurt her coming here but he thinks if he sees her and there’s even the barest suggestion of her being disappointed in him yet again it’ll be enough to put him on his knees. No, he’s not quite sure he’ll survive seeing her. Not quite sure at all.
He faintly registers Pete saying something he doesn’t catch and then Parker pipes up, “You’re all crazy, I’m getting out of here.”
Abruptly, Collie rushes away from them and Ray can’t say he’s sad to see him go, the dark cloud of his intense energy receding with every step.
“He thinks we’re queer for each other,” Pete says suddenly, tone full of amusement.
“He what?” Ray snaps his head up, he’d been lost in thought sure but had he really missed that much? He grits his teeth as his next step lands off kilter due to the shock and his right ankle bends just a bit too far. Shit. He wishes he could retighten his laces.
“He’s not such a bad guy, Collie,” Pete says thoughtfully. “Maybe he’s even half-right. Maybe that’s why I keep saving your ass. Maybe I’m queer for you.”
“For a guy like me? I thought gay guys liked the willowy type.”
“Nah I like ‘em just like you Ray. All soft and yielding, I bet you’d go down sweet as anything.”
He was so ashamed he could drop dead right there. He’s also flattered, certainly more than any man should be from being called soft, but he was so horny he could feel himself chubbing up in his jeans just from hearing it. Even as blood rushed from his brain straight downward, he felt a creeping unease at the sharp conversational turn.
“So are you? Queer that is,” Pete plows on brazenly.
Ray shushes him quickly. “What the hell—”
Pete stops him in his tracks, voice chiding, “Oh, Ray. Just when I thought you were gonna tell me something real you’re back to bullshitting. Don’t bullshit me Ray, we’re dying men. Don’t you want to be a real boy for once in your life.”
Ray feels a dryness in his throat. Queer, not queer, that didn’t seem to matter now that they were all busy dying. All that mattered was Pete.
He sipped from his flask to ease his throat and forced a calm he didn’t feel,“I might be. Maybe that's why I'm here.”
“Walking? Cuz your queer? Killing yourself for it,” Pete doesn’t sound particularly impressed by the notion of Ray’s martyrdom.
“Yeah well it’s wrong. Or so they say. I think killing people’s children is wrong but the soldiers don’t mind it much so maybe I shouldn’t mind being queer.” Ray huffs a sardonic laugh and keeps his eyes on the asphalt. “Too late for that realization though, huh?”
Pete laughs too, his amusement easy and genuine. It makes Ray feel brave for once, brave enough to say more.
“Here’s a dime worthy confession for you, Pete.” I’m a big fat fucking fruit and I’ve known it since I was five years old and I been stuffing it down wishing it away, praying it away. “I know what I am. Always have. But I didn’t want to be this so I tried to be like the other guys. I even dated a few girls, I really tried. The most recent, Jan, she was a real peach. Long blonde hair, smooth skin, smart as hell and I almost got to thinking I loved her and I was fixed. Then she wanted to do it. Really do it, go all the way, and she told me all I had to do was not sign up for the long walk and she’d ride me into the sunset so to speak, and you know what? I signed up the next goddamn day miserable fuck that I am.”
It all comes out in one big shameful rush and the pause before Pete speaks is agony. He can feel the heat of Pete’s gaze on the side of his face but Ray keeps looking down, curling in on himself. Gathering the straps of his pack and crossing his arms over his body like that might protect him from Pete’s piercing gaze. Pick ‘em up and put ‘em down. Keep moving just a little longer. Just a few more miles down the road.
Pete chuckles again, “God you might be gayer than me.”
“Fuck you man,” Ray laughs with him.
“I’m just saying, a warm piece or a death march. Kinda an easy choice, you'd think, whether you like pussy or not.”
“I thought the walk would prove something, make me into something more than I am. Something better.” Failing that, at least it’d put me out of my misery.
“Well you ever had it from a man then?”
“I-I well no, I haven’t uh not really. Just silly kid shit, but I knew immediately.”
Well there was that boy in tenth grade, older, too old to Ray’s mind now. That older boy who worked the potato fields, who drove the tractor with a confidence that made Ray want. That boy with big eyes that followed him all over town. Big hands that gripped the steering wheel of his pick up so tight. Those shoulders wide enough to carry the whole world, Ray thought.
Made him feel small, like small might be good for once. Huge hands wandering his chest where he’s sensitive. It made him nervous. Made him so keyed up he could hardly speak. Just nodding absentmindedly as those big hands went down down down. Strong and sure where they cupped him over his jeans making him think he’d finish right there like the useless virgin he was.
Only he did something worse. A spark of pleasure went through him so quickly his body seized in pleasure. Then he thought of his Ma, her disgusted face after the Jimmy incident and a sharp revulsion overtook him. It came out in the form of projectile vomit coupled with a disgusted look and firm left hook from the boy in front of him. He told his Ma the bullies were back at it again. Not that they’d ever stopped but they preferred psychological torments over the physical.
He left that dark alley with a renewed disgust in himself and made a promise to get fixed or get dead. He met Jan not too long after.
“Killing yourself for a sin you haven’t even committed yet…you Catholic by chance?”
“Lapsed but yeah,” he can’t help but laugh at the smug look his confirmation brings to Pete’s face.
“Well, have you ever thought about how you’d do it if you got the chance?”
Ray glances over to see Pete’s gaze intent as he waits for Ray to find his voice again. He pauses but if he’s already headed to hell, he might as well keep going. One foot in front of the other.
“I have to say there’s a bit of a lack of imagination on my part there. I guess we’d be naked in my room. With the door locked. I’d touch him maybe, he touches me definitely. We like it. We cum. Simple guy with simple dreams,” he trails off thinking of the muscled arms that cradle him in those dreams. Holding him tight while plush lips feather down the sensitive skin of his neck and–
“Oh baby you’re a virgin through and through. Can’t even dream a whole dream,” Pete grips himself in one hand, adjusting as he walks. Tight blue jeans molded perfectly to those thick thighs and his ample bulge. Ray feels sick just for looking but he can’t stop.
“You old perv,” Ray replies, sounding far calmer than he feels, “chubby, virgin queers do it for you?”
“You do it for me. And I don’t like your tone,” Pete places his right hand on the back of Ray’s sweaty nape and squeezes just so. “Don’t talk about my boy that way, huh?”
A reprimand and assurance all in one gesture. He feels the tension in his neck and shoulders ease under the warmth of Pete’s palm. He lets his hands slip from their tight grip on his bag, arms swinging loose at his slide. Brushing against Pete’s side as they walk in tandem. He inches closer so Pete’s arm rests easily on his broad shoulders.
“I’m your boy?” It’s not the first time Pete has said it and Ray wonders what it means to be Pete’s.
“Yeah Ray, you’re my boy. I’ve already decided. I’ll fill in the blanks for you, alright?”
Something about his commanding sure tone has Ray feeling like he should say more. Doesn’t want Pete to stop talking to him. Wants to see the picture Pete might paint with his words. He decides to share a truth, perhaps more shameful than the queerness itself. Exposing himself as a soft, wanton, willing thing in the face of Pete’s simple acceptance.
“I’m always on the bottom in my dreams ain’t that shameful?” He steals Pete’s words enjoying the way they roll off his tongue, “Can’t even dream a dream where I'm in charge, I think I’d freeze up if it were all up to me. A man who can’t lead is no man at all, my Ma says.”
“A man who doesn’t know his own mind is a shameful thing. It’s good to know what you want darlin’.” Pete pulls away and starts rifling through his pack as Ray sits with that in silence, head bobbing as he walks. The casual way Pete dismisses and dismantles the inviolable truths that have guided his life leaves him adrift in the conversation. So he picks ‘em up and puts ‘em down though it hurts something fierce each time his feet hit the asphalt. He waits for Pete to start the conversation back up. He hasn’t got a clue what to say.
Pete digs around in his pack for a few moments before triumphantly revealing Ray’s baseball from their game earlier. He chucks it back and forth between his right and left as he speaks again, “You’re queer whether you’re pitching or catching I figure. I think I’d like to pitch a good game for you, Ray. Make your dreams come true.”
Stebbins strays closer to them trying to avoid Barkovitch’s incensed yammering and runs smack into that particular proposition. He scoffs and puts on speed to get away from them again.
God Pete ain’t real. Maybe Ray already died and the afterlife is just more walking with this silver tongued devil offering to fill him up with something other than self loathing. Maybe being dead isn’t so bad.
“So what do you say? You wanna catch for me?” He tosses the ball.
“Yeah, yeah I do, Pete,” he replies breathlessly. Ray catches it but only just, hands shaky. He rubs the worn red stitches to ground himself but he’s trembling all over. His skin is oversensitized everywhere his clothes touch. He feels like a live wire. God he wants it. He’s not all too sure what it is actually, but he wants whatever Pete might be offering.
“I like that you call me Pete.”
It’s not what Ray expected him to say. The sharp turn was almost enough to make him think he’d been dozing again and he imagined the past twenty minutes. He stuffs the ball back in his pack as he searches for something to say.
“It’s your name isn’t it?”
“Well yeah, but with the others it’s McVries this and McVries that. With you it’s always Pete. Feels good, like that name is just for you. Intimate.”
“Yeah, just for me. I like that too,” he admits softly.
“So Ray, tell me something. You think the walk will make you a man?”
“I hoped so. Feels more than stupid now but the fool I was sure hoped it would.”
“Can I tell you a secret, Ray. You’re already a man you should be proud of. Hell I’m proud of the man you are and I just met you. Proud of you for what you did for Curley, the food you gave Hank, the way you keep me going even though I'm 100 miles past tired and more than ready to sit. I don’t give a damn what they say, what god says or what you say. Wanting a man can’t make you less of one yourself. Just can’t,” he shrugs then like it’s nothing to shirk society, religion and years of shame.
Ray wonders what it would be like to stop feeling ashamed of wanting something he’s been aching for his whole life. Finally let himself feel with no fear. He can indulge the conversation, know the thought experiment of it all to be cutting through to the core of him. Truer than he’s ever been. But believing it? No shame, no pain, just a man knowing what he wants and getting it? It ain’t real. It’s a warm thought though for the miles ahead.
“Helluva time for that pep talk, huh? Could’ve used a shrink like you before I applied to this shitty road trip,” Ray laughs but it ain't funny. Meeting somebody so vital while they all linger here on death’s doorstep is about the cruelest thing that could have been.
“Helluva time,” Pete returns quietly.
He turns to face Pete more fully and is shocked to find Pete looking at him already. He breaks eye contact, he feels too caught in Pete’s gaze. Too laid bare by his attentiveness. Can’t hardly think with the man looking at him so intently.
“And what about you?”
“What about me?” Pete counters.
“You ever made it with a man? What’s it like?”
“Yeah, I’ve made it with plenty of men. Oldest profession in the world they say. But real? Just for me? Only a handful of times.”
“I’m sorry, Pete.”
“Nothing to be sorry for. We all gotta eat. Ain’t nothing sorry about needing to eat. Nothing sorry about needing a man either though I doubt that it’ll land in your thick skull.” His tone is blasé as always but there’s something to the haunted look in his eyes. The pinched set of his mouth. Ray can’t say he likes it one bit.
“I’m still sorry man, whether you want it or not. I’m sorry.” He thinks of Pete too young, too broke, too hungry and deciding to…. it’s-it’s….
Pete shakes his head. Dislodging old memories or shaking off Ray’s unwanted sympathy. He can’t say, Pete’s expression far too complicated to parse.
“Stop thinking on it. Why think on that when all I can think about is laying you down in a field of flowers, somewhere the trees bend low enough to keep off the sun and hide us from the world. Wanna lay down with me, Ray?”
He’s smiling then, perfect white teeth on display, it’s a sweet look on him. Like butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth. There’s a whiplash to it. Darkness in one breath, sunshine in the next. He wonders at the way Pete's mind works, it must go a mile a minute. Certainly too fast for Ray, it scares him some but he’ll try to keep up for Pete. Can’t stop trying for him. So he leaves it and keeps walking.
“Think if I lay down I might never get back up.”
It’s too morbid for the moment. He knows Pete's painting him a pretty picture, a sweet escape to rest his weary mind in. He wonders where Pete rests. Wonders if he’s giving him enough. Wants to give him everything he’s got though it ain’t much.
They keep walking.
Reality rushes back in that brief moment of quiet. The road. The way the pavement pummels his ruined feet. The red hot, aching tightness in his back. The beginnings of a cramp in his left calf. The rub of the blister that popped 20 miles down the road and skin rubbing raw and wet against his sock. The sweat rolling down him in bullets as the Maine sun beats down. The constant dull murmur of shuffling feet and conversation of the boys around them.
Pete doesn’t look tired at all, like he could manage another 200 miles no problem. Ray’s starting to think he likes the pain, no way a man can smile that much on the long walk and not like the pain at least a little. Maybe the pain is all he knows.
The pack has thinned enough that they’re all a bit spread out but what if they hear? What if they’ve all been hearing and they know and they know and they know.
Pete drifts closer, slinging an arm over Ray’s shoulder and drawing him in so he can whisper in his ear, “I bet you’d look so gorgeous with my dick in you.”
Pete’s so close Ray shivers at the caress of Pete’s breath on his sweaty skin. Bringing him back to this moment, their moment. The weight of Pete’s arm is enough to distract him from his aches and his worries. At least for a while. Under Pete’s solid grip he starts to realize he’s trembling still. Would he look pretty like that? He can hardly imagine.
“Look at you already shaking for me,” Pete marvels. He guesses he isn’t the only one that noticed the tremors. Pete’s hair tickles against Ray’s neck as he moves in further and Ray giggles a bit as Pete leans his head down to rest on Ray’s shoulder a minute. Pete leans his face down dangerously close to Ray’s pits and he shys away.
Pete takes a hard sniff anyway, “You smell so good.”
Ray’s been walking for days, he’s covered in approximately 200 layers of sweat and road dust. A shower and soap are nothing but a distant memory, a concept so far removed from his reality it may as well not exist. He highly doubts good is even remotely close to the right adjective here, but he lets the man have his pleasures, strange as they may be.
“You’re insane, man.”
“Pheromones baby, look it up.”
“Yeah let me just pull my dictionary outta my ass, smart guy.”
“And what a fine ass it is,” Pete says absently. “Can I jerk you off Ray?”
Ray slows then, brain stalling as he struggles to process.
“Warning number 47.” He speeds up, even as his brain keeps moving in slow motion.
He wants to be touched. Of course he does. Will he ever stop craving hands on him, pressing into the softness of him and hoping they shape him into something real.
“No, I don’t want them to see but…tell me about that field of flowers?”
Would they see? Are the cameras on them, the mics picking up every word uttered? Does he care? Should he? He could die a few miles down the road here who gives a shit if he likes cock and lets his friend jack him off. A dying man deserves to have some pleasures right? Except he does care and suddenly it’s all feeling a bit like his mama really did get the last laugh parading him naked down the street for all to see except he did it to himself.
“Sure, what do you wanna know about the field?”
“Is the grass soft?”
“Softest grass you’ve ever felt. I’d find us a nice blanket to lay on because I’m a gentleman, mind you, but yes the grass is soft.”
“Would it hurt me? To lay down for you when we–?” He can’t make himself say it.
“Depends honey, the key is time, preparation and patience. Still some men like it and some don’t. For a tight little virgin like you it’ll hurt some but the hurtin’ doesn’t last forever. And I know the special place inside to make a man see stars. I’d take such good care of you, baby. You gonna let me?”
He’s skeptical, preparation and stars seems like a pipe dream. What little Ray knows of it sounds uncomfortable and unsanitary. But seeing stars, now that’s unrealistic. Seems like the kinda thing that just hurts, and if you’re sick enough you like the hurt. Ray thinks he might be that sick. Can’t be sure though.
Ray can’t tell what Pete sees in his face that makes him ask but maybe he’s reading minds now, “Do you want it to hurt, baby? Can’t imagine it without the hurtin’ can ya?”
“I-I um, yeah I think I do, seems like one of those things that has to ache just because, y’know?” It has to, he needs the hurt almost as much as he needs the rest. The hurt might mean it’s real. Everything else in life hurts, why shouldn’t this?
“How bout this? I’d be sweet to you. Spread you out nice and easy on my hand first. Think you can take three fingers, honey? We’ll make it fit, gotta stretch you good if you wanna take all this,” he palms his dick with his left hand. Ray’s eyes wide imagining three fingers in him, Pete’s muscled forearms working as those hands move inside him to get him ready.
“I’d lay you flat on your back cuz I need to see that sweet face while I fill you up. And then I'd spank those thick thighs till they’re nice and red for me just like your cheeks are now,” he coos as he reaches his hand across his body to cup Ray’s chin. Thumb and forefingers on either side of his face and squeezing slightly. Ray feels so embarrassed he might cry. Or cum. He’s not sure. He’s not so close yet but he ain’t that far either. Pete’s silver tongue in his ear, the heat of him slung across his shoulders, the way his hands felt cupping Ray’s cheeks possessive and sure. His underwear and jeans rub at his half hard cock with every step.
If he could just get a hand on it he might—
“Warning, number 23.” “Warning, number 47. Second warning.”
Pete drops his hand from Ray’s chin. The arm on his shoulder grips him tighter as Pete speeds them back up to 3 mph. “Come on baby, they’re singing our song. Gotta pick up the pace.”
“Pick up the pace he says, like it’s not your fault I’m all—”
“All what?” Pete asks smugly.
“All worked up,” Ray breathes quietly, the embarrassment potent enough to kill him if the blue balls don’t get him first.
“That blush is so pretty baby I wanna know how far down it goes,” he lifts his fallen left hand again. Resting it on Ray’s chest. Ghosting over his sensitive nipples making him quiver. “Sensitive here? I’ll remember that.” He’ll remember that, like they’ve got all the time in the world. Like they aren’t walking with an armed guard straight to the gates of hell.
Ray can feel the flushed heat all through his chest and imagines being in that field stripped bare while Pete takes him in. Pete’s eyes devouring him and loving what he sees. Ray has never thought much of himself, but he thinks Pete might see him differently. He sees the beauty in everything, he could find it in Ray. Might even help Ray see it too.
He drags that hand softly down Ray’s body as they walk. Gently caressing the softness of him and coming to a stop at his waist band. Ray tilts his hips back not wanting Pete to feel his effect on him but it’s useless. When he glances over Pete’s staring right at it.
“What if I wanted…wait how’d your girl say it?” He pauses, “What if I wanted to ride you into the sunset huh? Would you be sweet for me? Lie still and let me take what I need?” He lets his hand drift down further and Ray’s whole body tenses but Pete just strokes a finger across the harness about his waist that carries his rations and water. What a tease.
“Anything Pete. I’d do anything. Just ask.”
“Then keep walking with me darlin'. We’ve got two hours to walk off these warnings. Stay sharp.”
Bang. Someone behind them gets their ticket punched. Ray flinches with his whole body like it’s the first time. He just can’t get used to it. Who was is? Barkovitch? Abraham? He doesn’t look back. Can’t. Pete lets his arm drop from Ray’s shoulder. He can feel goosebumps rising as the wind whisks away all the warmth Pete lent him. It got real quiet after that. Just boots hitting the pavement, pain screaming through his muscles and an aching in his chest that won’t quit.
God what the fuck has he done.