Current word count: 59287
Chapter 1
Voice To Make You Quiver
“Damnit,” Cody growled as the dealer hit him the last card he’d wanted to see. Fuckin’ nine. Another bust. He should have walked out the door five hands ago, instead, he gestured to Carla to deal, her hesitation a sure sign that she thought he should quit too. Fuck that. The voice in the back of his head had been snarling all night, pissed off and frustrated, his focus shot to hell. Eight hours on security, walking the casino floor bathed in bright lights, the echo of bells and blips reverberating around him, had left him edgy and itching to try his hand at the tables.
Rough chips.
Soft velvet.
Smooth cards.
It was touch he was aching for and since he couldn’t have it the way he wanted it, this would have to do.
Rhythm. Flow. The sound of the cards schucking on and off the table. The tap of his fingertip on the crimson-coated table, indicating a hit. A short sweep of the hand meant stand. He loved the soft click of chips being added to his stack, hated the sharper clack-rattle of their return to the dealer’s tray. Worse sight of all was busting on a double down and the sweep of all the cards wiped from the playing surface. If shit didn’t turn around soon, he was going to lose the remains of last weeks paycheck back to the house and be looking at doubt time if he was to have any hope of paying his bills.
And yet he couldn’t bring himself to stop, despite the lonely presence of six pathetic chips languishing beside the casino logo in front of him. Carla met his gaze, lips pursed like she wanted to say something, but his narrow-eyed glare cut her off and she delt instead. He’d hear about it later, when neither one of them were on the clock, he just hoped she’d keep it out of earshot of his old man, or he’d have more than just annoyed dept collectors to answer to.
Might be the best bet to just pull a double, then head up the cost and spend his day off hanging around the surf shop with Lucky, see if time on the waves with his best friend would help him sort out the chaos in his head.
Another bust. Four chips left. Sighing heavily, Cody shook his head, stepped back and took them with him: sad, pathetic, lonely, aching, lost, torn…as good as seeing Lucky right now would be, he wasn’t in the mood for the hawk-eyed scrutiny Thorn would subject him too. The man hit like a mack-truck too, something Cody was in no mood to experience a third time.
The first….okay, he could admit he’d deserved it, yanking Lucky into his arms and kissing the hell out of him like they were seventeen again and Lucky wasn’t collared by the two men who loved him. It had been pure exuberance, spur of the moment, fireworks overhead and Lucky laughing, wild and heady, healed and whole from the heroics that had nearly killed him. One part relief, one part I missed you, Lucky’s hair crushed between Cody’s fingers, Cody’s tongue plundering Lucky’s mouth, one brief moment to realize Lucky wasn’t urging him closer, but shoving at his chest, trying to push him away. Then his back was hitting the ground and Thorn’s rugged body was looming over him, sun shimmering over his shoulder, blinding Cody to the incoming fist that blackened his eye.
Wreck had infuriatingly made apologies for him, dragging Cody back to their bikes with his hand over Cody’s mouth, keeping his unchecked fury muffled behind his meaty flesh. Indignant, he’d struggled, growling and hissing, wanting the chance to remind them all that Lucky had been his long before Thorn and Cain had entered the picture. In the end, all he’d been able to do was squawk and endure twin looks of disapproval from his old man and the confusing guy his pops had put in charge of straightening him out. Most days, Wreck just glared at him and grunted, frustrating Cody to no end, especially when Wrecks upper lip curled up, nose scrunched like Cody was dog shit on his boots. It had been like that right from the beginning, no explanation of why, just constant judgement and an overwhelming sense of failure heaped on a steaming dumpster fire of disappointment and regret.
Stepping outside the casino, Cody sucked in a lungful of fresh air. Six months ago, he’d have been smoking at the tables like everyone else, but the constant acrid stench of it clinging to his hair and clothing from the dozens of other smokers in the room had put him off the things. Might be for the best too, considering how expensive they were and how little cash he had left in his pockets. Not enough to pay off Donnelly and get that fucker off his back for a while, barely enough to pay the interest on his pawn shop loan so he wouldn’t lose his Stratocaster, though, maybe it was time to let it go and be done with it. Wasn’t like he was any good, was just something he liked to fuck around with, and if he managed to learn a song, then cool, and if he struggled, was no one around to listen anyway.
Tonight, the rumble of the bike beneath his thighs didn’t bring joy, or even peace. The wind in his hair did nothing to settle his troubled thoughts or the growing unrest that left him tenser and more despondent with every passing day. In a year he’d had his life turned upside-down, lost his best friend in addition to a part of himself he’d never realized was some fake plastic façade, brittle and too easily torn down.
Without it, everything was too raw, too prickly and muddled up. It fuckin’ sucked, feeling like he was on edge all the time, wanting, yearning but never daring to put a voice to what it was he was in desperate need of.
Snarling, he rolled harder on the throttle, hurling through the darkness at breakneck speed, knowing he’d never be able to react in time to save himself if something were to dart out in front of him, but since fate had never give a shit about his feelings before he doubt it would be kind enough to send a deer his way so fuck it. Every bend and twist in the road was branded on his soul anyway, his body leaned before his mind caught a clue. Blurred stars glittered in the distance, wind stung eyes straining to track the movement of one plunging into obscurity.
Oh my god, so many wishes!
Happy Lucky was a squirmy Lucky, molded to his side, head pillowed on his shoulder, staring up at the sky where overhead, a meteor shower sent streaks racing through the heavens.
Wishes only work on stars, Cody grumbled good naturing, hating to dull Lucky’s enthusiasm, especially when an excited Lucky meant kisses peppering his neck and throat, all that wiggling leaving him with a warm, achy feeling low in his belly and a hard, throbbing cock Lucky would suck once they were alone again.
But that’s what falling stars are silly! Lucky exclaimed, the laughter in his tone taking the sting out of being teased for once again not paying attention to something their teachers had undoubtably gone over while Cody had been daydreaming or writing songs.
The salty tang of seawater and kelp lingered on the breeze, cool winds blowing in off the ocean, meaning Cody cuddled Lucky closer while his best friend went on and on about how meteoroids had started off as parts of asteroids and comets before they’d broken apart and went tumbling around in space. It was when they got caught in earth’s atmosphere and were drawn towards the ground that they became meteors, burning up and producing the streaks of lights people called falling stars.
So then what happens to actual stars? Cody asked, impulsively kissing the side of Lucky’s head. His hair smelled like honey and the clovers they were currently laying in.
They burn out. Right now, there are stars up there that are already dead, but it takes so long for their light to reach us, that we’re still seeing the ghosts of them, sparkling in the heavens.
A whole series of air brushings, sketches and tattoos had been born of that night, translucent forms emerging from cracked open, burned-out stardust fragments, some weathered, crooked, and stooped, others exuberant, translucent balls of energy overjoyed to finally be free.
Only, there was something else about that memory that was stuck on repeat in Cody’s mind, something that left him tense with shame and regret. Like how he’d started pulling away from Lucky not long after that night, at least, in the warm and cuddly physical sense. Instead, he’d accepted the affection Lucky lavished on him, while acting like he was above returning the sentiment, using his prospects kutte and his father’s position in the club like armor against his own desires.
The shadow shape in the bend of the S curve couldn’t be a deer, the proportions were wrong. Wasn’t bulky enough to be a black bear reared up on it’s hind legs. Downshifting, he slowed enough to make the determination that it was either human, llama, or someone’s Ostridge was wandering around looking to scare the shit outta someone.
Curiosity got the better of him and as soon as he could safely whip around, he went back to see what it was, half-expecting to spot nothing but a scuffed-up guardrail, only to find a vision in holey jean shorts, flip-flops, and a purple tank top with sparkly letters, the glitter spelling out wreck everything and leave. Judging from the backpack at the guy’s feet, at least one part of the slogan rang true.
“Where you headed?” Cody asked, gaze flitting to the man’s face, shimmering eyeshadow accenting brilliant blue eyes more interested in the machine Cody was sitting on than Cody himself.
“There,” the man replied, pointing towards the lights in the distance.
“That all you got?”
“Yup.”
“Ever been on one of these?”
“Practically grew up on the back of one.”
“In that case, hop on. Someplace in particular you’re trying to get to, or will anyplace in town do?”
“What’s my chances of finding a motel down there for under forty bucks?”
“Depends on what you’re willing to risk to stay at one,” Cody replied. “Though I wouldn’t suggest The Rest Stop unless you’re up to date on all your shots, especially tetanus. Long as your hair is, you might wanna consider investing in some lice treatment too, just in case.”
“Are we talking worst case scenario or best?”
There was amusement in the man’s voice, resolve too, the combination making it painfully obvious he expected, and experienced, everything Cody mentioned and more.
“Best,” Cody replied honestly. “You hungry?”
“I could eat.”
“Waffle house?”
“Hell yeah. I’m Bellamy, by the way,” the guy remarked as he swung his leg over the back of the bike and settled on the seat behind Cody. The hand he placed on Cody’s abs made them clench and for a moment, Cody feared he’d embarrass himself, biting back the groan that threatened to burst from his throat. Fuck it had been too long since he’d been touched. Closing his eyes, he took a few deep breaths to steady himself, hoping his voice didn’t betray him when he gave his name.
“Nice to meet you, Cody, thanks for stopping. When I took this road, I didn’t consider how little use it got. Yours was the first headlight I’d seen in an hour.”
“How many did you see before that?”
“Three, none going as fast as you were, but none of them gave me a second glance, either,” Bellamy remarked over the roar of the engine. Having someone on the back meant he slowed it down considerably, for about a mile, until Bellamy learned in, lips brushing against his ear.
“Do not slow down on my account.”
Cody did shiver then, the growl in Bellamy’s voice slithering down his spine, urging him to roll on the throttle harder than before. The night whipped past, Bellamy’s body solid at his back, making him wish he wasn’t wearing his jacket or his cut, so he could feel the warmth seep through.
The way to the bottom was a twisting series of S curves, the speed a breathtaking rush, or maybe it was the way Bellamy’s knees tightened against his hips, and the thoughts that sped through his mind whenever the man chuckled in his ear. The best part was when they reached the bottom and Bellamy threw his head back and howled at the stars.
They coasted into that Waffle House parking lot with the kind of euphoria that typically came from chemical substances Cody couldn’t afford at the moment. Wasn’t until they’d stepped inside that he realized what a true treat this would be. The clubs were closing. The clock read two-thirteen, and they were no sooner seated than the gong on the door usher in the first shambling group of glitter high, mascara streaked, club kids with their colorful manes and sparkling fingernails.
In the light, it dawned on him that Bellamy fit right in, except for the flip-flops. Made him wonder if there were different shoes in the bag. In hindsight, he should have asked before ever allowing Bellamy on the back of his bike.
His headlight hadn’t done the man justice. Bright a blue as they seemed, they were brighter now, as the brilliant globe light dangling over our booth illuminated the smudged streaks of layered blue eyeshadow over his lid. Sky, ocean, twilight just highlighted the depths of his stare. The fact that it was firmly fixed on Cody made him squirm and avert his gaze, studying the chrome and red cushioned stools while they waited for menus.
​
“Betcha every one of them asks for hashbrowns and a stack of waffles to soak up all the Whiskey Sours and Eternal Nights they tossed back tonight,” Bellamy remarked. “Fuckin’ wanna be goths. Bunch of lightweights, every god damned one of them.”
​
Cody risked a glance at his face only to catch sight of the knowing smirk of someone who knew what their presence was doing to their companion.
“Sounds like a man who’s either drank them under the table, or made a fuckton off waging how fast they could get there.”
“Close.”
There was a teasing glint in Bellamy’s eyes, a sinful smirk on his face punctuated by the pink tongue he flicked out to lick lips shimmering with purple.
“Close huh, how close?” Cody asked, leaning towards him even as a buxom brunette with a brilliant smile slid their menus between them.
​
“Close enough to be the one sliding the drinks their way and pocketing all the tips they wished to bestow on me.”
​
Chuckling, Cody nodded and gave the menu a cursory glance before deciding to just order the same god damned stack of pancakes he always did. “Guessing they didn’t bestow enough for a bike or even an old shitbox of a cage.”
​
Snickering, Bellamy shook his head, pleasing Cody with the fact that he was amused, rather than insulted. Went a long way towards showing that Bellamy didn’t take himself too seriously. In his experience, people who did weren’t much fun to be around.
​
“Might have, if I didn’t have this pesky little tendency to blurt shit out without thinking about it,” Bellamy said. “in all fairness though, I didn’t know it was the owner’s son I was calling a lying cunt when the bastard tried to claim I was short pouring his drinks.”
​
Laughing, Cody could almost picture how that went, especially when glancing over at the latest set that stumbled in, revealed a flamingo hair pin, a heart shaped purse with a broken arrow stabbed through it, and not the kind that would have come as an accessory wither. Then there was the rooster, the cocky yardbird that had one foot on the table and one on the bench, red platform heals all scuffed up, unlit cigarette dangling from his bottom lip, drawing all kinds of looks from the waitresses, from distain to disapproval.
Animated, talking with his hands, stage whispering and casting these eyerollingly unsubtle glances at the tables closest by to see if they were listening in, and if not, turning up the volume a little until he had their undivided attention.
​
“Bet you a side of sausage biscuits and gravy that this story spirals as out of control as a collage frat boy tryin’ to describe the size of his dick,” Bellamy hissed, giggling and laughing in a way that was totally for the speaker’s benefit. In the back of this head, Cody got the distinct feeling he was missing something, but he wasn’t alone with his dismal thoughts anymore, and Bellamy was a beautiful distraction.
​
Not as beautiful as Lucky.
​
Okay, so maybe the voice in the back of his head had a point about that. Even in leathers with his cheek bruised and blood running down his chin from a split lip, Lucky always looked soft, pretty, but there was a hard edge to Bellamy impossible to miss. Was in the way he carried himself, and the vibes he exuded. The kind of confidence Cody wishes he could fake.
​
“Look so I’m serious, this dude was not playing. Two days on the job, twenty-seven tickets, you’d think he was going for some sorta record or a promotion at least. He raced this dude half a block to his car, all so he could slap a boot and a tow ticket on it at five minutes past four,” rooster crowed.
“Come on man, that’s bullshit, everyone knows you got fifteen minutes of leeway,” gray hoodie scoffed.
​
“Yeah and no way in hell is someone gonna lose a footrace to a guy dragging one of those heavy ass things.” That was from kitty cat hoodie, the ears on the top a bit droopy. Must be tired kitty.
​
“He didn’t have to drag it, this fucker was so woke he he’d come with a pull cart so he could just drag a couple of ‘em long with him.” Rooster said. “I am dead fuckin’ serious when I say he was lookin’ to score the fasted promotion in the history of parking enforcement. This guy is no joke. Show up late to move your shit and see don’t it be gone so the yuppies can have a place for their overpriced convertibles.”
​
“Fuck them gentrified pricks, they don’t even belong in this neighborhood.” Kitty grumbled.
​
“Their money says they do,” the quietest of them remarked, never lifting his face from the blue sparkly notebook he’d begun writing in as soon as they’d dropped into their seats.
​
“Yeah, well fuck their money and fuck you,” the last of them, an almost mini carbon copy of rooster, snarled in the writer’s direction. That one still didn’t look up. Just flipped him off with his non-dominant hand, pen never once ceasing its path along the paper.
​
“It’s all the little dick energy man,” Rooster rambled. “The tow truck chain is like a penis pump, inflates the ego and casts enough of a shadow to hide what they ain’t got. Once they gets that car hosted up on the end of that hook, you could come running down the block, flapping your arms like a dementated goose, screaming about the thirty seconds you had left, and he still would only put it down if you were willing to slip him fifty-bucks. Funny how that’s the same fifty it’d cost you to get it outta the impound yard. “
​
“That might actually be funny if there was any truth behind hit, but there’s not, seeing as how there are only five tow trucks left in the whole city, and fifty-seven cars waiting to be towed. Nice storytelling though,” Bellamy remarked, grinning up at the waitress like she was the only one in the room. “Think I could have a chicken and waffles plate and a coffee carafe ‘cause as much as I’d love to see you come back to refill my mug every thirty seconds, I’d sure the loudmouth and his crew over there are gonna keep you busy with ridiculous requests and even more asinine posturing.”
​
Giggling, she almost forgot to take Cody’s order before she left. Judging from the uproarious laughter that erupted from the back a short time later, she’d shared his comments with the rest of the staff.
​
“Hey what’s your problem man, whether it’s true or not it’s funny and we’re just tryin’ to have a good time,” rooster grumbled, but he took his foot off the table and the cigarette out his mouth, pinching it between two fingers as he glared their way.
​
“Now see, that’s debatable,” Bellamy remarked. “Cause when I look around at the faces of everyone else at your table, no one quite seems to be having as much fun as you an raggedy Ann over there hanging off your dick.”
​
Blank stares. Clearly this wasn’t a retro bunch, though green eyes in the kitty hoodie might have been, with the way he was holding back a laugh behind his hand. Writer was, Cody watched his shoulders shake, pen held a few inches off the paper.
​
“Why don’t you do everyone in the room a favor and stop trying to be the center of the world and focus on being a better person. Maybe lies wouldn’t roll off your tongue so fast when it matters.
​
“Do I fuckin’ know you!” the guy snapped, stalking towards the table.
​
Cody was on his feet in a heartbeat, ready to attack or defend, but Bellamy just remained seated, looking bored and gesturing with his head for Cody to sit back down again. There was this urge to resist, but only for a second, before he obeyed, earning a curt nod from Bellamy. Funny how that minuscule bit of non-verbal praise turned his insides to goo This shouldn’t be the time for entertaining thoughts of fucking on the table.
​
“Oh . . . you.” Was like the storyteller deflated on the final word, all the arrogance and distain melting away. Even the sneer curling up the left side of his face evened out as he shuffled his feet, backstepping and half glancing over his shoulder like he was waiting for someone to get the hint and come rescue him.
“Listening to the lies you’re telling your cronies makes the lies you told earlier tonight feel less like a personal attack and more like breathing really, something that comes so natural to you that you never pause to think of the effect it might have on somebody else.”
​
“Didn’t think he’d fire you.”
​
“You didn’t think, period. You just spat out the first thing that wouldn’t get you in trouble, like a kid caught with a cracking toaster and scorch marks on the wall. Somehow the poor cat did it and you were just about to clean up the mess, right. Nevermind that the next day you come home from school and the cat’s been consigned to the pound and labeled a menace.”
​
“I…I…” rooster stammered, frowning, skittering left and backing away more.
​
“Just save it,” Bellamy said. “I’m not all that sad about it, to be honest. See, if you’re old man hadn’t shit canned me, Cody couldn’t have come along and given me a ride, and I wouldn’t be sitting here about to get my grub on, head filled with visions of a different kind of feast I fully intend to indulge in before the night is through.”
​
Rooster gulped, eyes darting between Cody and Bellamy, lips starting to purse like he had something to say.
​
“You wanna make it up to me, how about you pay for our supper, and help keep the atmosphere cordial by letting your friends talk for a little while. They might appreciate the chance to say something that doesn’t revolve around kissing your ass so, let’s say you give them that, and spare the rest of our ears your banter, we’ve all heard enough for the night.”
​
As if to punctuate his statement, three ladies several tables down started clapping, and the guy in the next row growled out an ‘ain’t that the truth,’ that got the spandex and leather clad pair at the counter doubling over so far one of them jerked back with grits clinging to a long midnight strand. Some of the staff were laughing too, like the waitress, who carried out their food, and one of the cooks, in a red gingham apron, his hair tied back in a ponytail and encased in a hairnet, who carried a platter with food for two of the other tables.
​
“Just another reason to love Waffle House,” Bellamy remarked, rubbing his hands together in anticipation of that first bite.