Christian pushed the heavy canvas from his face and reached out to pat the earth beside him, disappointed to find an empty space where Syed should have been. Yawning, he struggled upright, half-heartedly straightening his sleep crumpled clothes. He grimaced at the sour metal taste in his mouth and, rubbing the stubble on his chin, staggered towards the Winnebago.
Sunlight flashed off the gleaming metal and he closed his eyes. Opening them, he blinked again, taken aback by the sight of Michael's bare buttocks.
"Good Lord."
Hearing his voice, Michael, washing up at the sink clad in only a short, tight, yellow vest and a pair of matching Marigold's, span round and exclaimed delightedly,
"Hello Christian!"
"Hello Michael. Damn, I've seen the infamous cock now. I no longer feel special."
Sitting on the sofa, hands wrapped around a cup, Syed smiled.
"You'll always be special to me! Coffee?"
"I'll get it." Christian, unconvinced by Syed's statement, reached across Michael and grabbed the coffee jug. Taking the clean mug that Michael handed him, he gestured towards his arm. "New ink? Sweet!"
Michael glanced at the intertwined initials, an R and M, bright jewel colours surrounded by fantastic foliage that adorned his upper arm, above the dark pattern of the Celtic band.
"Thanks! Rory says if our relationship all goes to shit, I can have an A put in front, to remind me which limb it is. He's so romantic."
Laughing, Syed moved to make room for Christian to join him. He frowned slightly, seeing the stony profile, saddened by the lack of a kiss.
"You okay, Clarkey?" He tentatively touched his shoulder.
"Fine. I'm very, very… Nice."
"Eh?"
Christian tipped his head to meet Syed's confused gaze.
"That's what you told me last night. You're a nice man, you said."
"You are a nice man! Isn't he Michael?"
Nodding, Michael pulled off the washing up gloves with a dramatic snap.
"An incredibly nice man."
The wooden doors at the rear of the Winnebago slid open, revealing Sam, a white towel wrapped around his head, pale green, clinging satin dressing gown, tied loosely at his waist. He raised one carefully plucked eyebrow.
"Who's a nice man?" He asked.
"Christian." Michael and Syed spoke together, whilst Christian snorted his disgust.
"Him? Oh, he's a ghastly old bastard. Aren't you doll face? Nice. Eeurgh, who wants to be called that nimby pimby little word? I'd rather be downright evil, which is handy, because I am!"
"See?" Christian nudged Syed's elbow. "Sam understands!"
Genuinely bewildered, Syed wrinkled his nose.
"I have absolutely no idea what you're on about. Why are you in such a crap mood?"
"Last night, before you went to sleep, you told me I was a nice man."
Syed rolled his eyes. "And this gave you the hump? You big daft knob."
Sniffing huffily, Christian stuck out his lower lip.
"I'd rather have heard that I was a magnificent sex beast, heroic warrior, your Superman or something…" He grumbled.
"Well you are! And sometimes, you're a petulant tit." Syed kissed Christian's cheek and chuckled. "I've just remembered, I had a dream about Mr. Kipling. He was at the bottom of Turpin Road, baking cakes for Dot on a barbecue"
Christian groaned and swung his legs up onto the seat, lying down, his head in Syed's lap.
"I'm a twat. Sorry. Morning. Oh dear, I've got a full on view of O'Riordan's giblets…"
"Aren't they marvellous?" Sam sighed, and fanned at his cheek with his hand. "Is there breakfast? I have a sudden yen for a big meaty sausage and two boiled eggs."
Avoiding Sam's groping fingers, dodging around as if he were engaged in an undersea battle with a lecherous octopus, Michael said,
"There's a campsite up the road with a diner and proper showers." Holding Sam back with a strong hand on his chest, he grinned naughtily. "We were meant to camp there last night. Whoops! I thought being out in the wilds would be more fun. Is Steve up? Rory's getting rid of any trace of our existence…" He went to the door and, impressed at the tangle of canvas and poles, envious at the frenzied lovemaking that he imagined had caused the chaos, whistled softly. "Dear me, what happened to your tent? Wild. You filthy buggers. Rory! Are you done? What? Okay." He turned, a flush on his tanned cheekbones, blue eyes sparkling, and grabbed an apron from the draining board, covering himself up. "Aw! He told me to fuck off, and while I was fucking off, to fucking put it away. I love it when he's arsey."
"Yeah…" Syed grinned and stroked Christian's forehead, smoothing out the furrows with a gentle touch. "I know what you mean."
Syed felt his spine moulding comfortably into the leather seat. He flexed his hands on the wheel, stretching out long fingers, one by one. The empty road ran straight before him, mountains, blurred grey, soft on the far horizon. The slow pulse of the engine, the fullness of is stomach after the huge breakfast he had eaten, the sound of muffled laughter and singing from within the Winnebago, all combined soporifically, and he blinked, shaking his head to force concentration. A red pick-up truck appeared from the right, powering across the barren yellow dust to join the road. He had a sudden urge, at the sight of another being in the desolate spot, to toot the horn and wave, glad, when he saw the stern face of the driver, thin mouth set in a grim line, shotgun propped on the passenger seat beside him, that he had managed to resist. 'Definitely gay' he decided. He shifted his buttocks, adjusting his posture to keep himself alert. Rolling his neck from side to side, humming cheerfully, he almost snapped a vertebra as the partition behind him scraped open and Sam shrieked, "Voted off! Fuckers!"
He clambered over to sit beside Syed, pulling ineffectually on the safety belt, making it click and recoil several times. Irritated, on the point of letting go of the wheel and doing it for him, Syed was relieved when he gave up, lounging precariously, feet tucked beneath him. With a pang of guilt, imagining a string of accidents, a coyote suddenly running in front of the Winnebago, a buzzard strike, him having a random spasm, Syed suggested,
"You should put that on really. Do you want me to stop?"
"Aw, bless you!" Sam tried again, successfully; smirking suggestively as he slowly slotted the metal clasps together. "There. I'm in. All safe. Christian was worried you might be lonely, or asleep."
Syed laughed.
"Nearly, the latter. What are you lot up to back there? It sounds hilarious."
"Michael's pissed, and that what's his face he hangs round with, at least, I think so, it's hard to tell. Stevie and Christian are getting that way. We seem to have ended up playing some sort of X Factor, Voice, Britain's Got Talent, fusion game. I was Nicole, and Tulisa, and Cheryl. I've just been Jedward. I was awesome, but they chose to save Ste's Wagner… Listen." Sam reached behind him and pushed the partition open further. Syed smiled, heart swelling with love and pride as he heard Christian singing.
"Who are they meant to be?" Sam frowned, as Christian and Rory harmonised tunefully.
"That's 'Not the Boy Next Door, isn't it?" Syed asked.
"Oh yeah! They're doing the Glee version. They'll never get the high bit…" Sam nodded appreciatively, as they did. "…Or maybe they will."
In the distance, in a broad Irish accent, Michael said,
"You remind me of a young Dolly Parton."
Sam and Syed laughed, and Sam began to fidget, eager to leave and join in with the others.
"Anyway. You're alright?"
Unsure from his tone if he meant generally, or driving, Syed said yes, as both applied.
"Good. You should be. He's a fantastic guy."
"Oh! I know."
"He's such a miserable pain in the arse when the pair of you start mangling each other's brains, so, for all our sakes, don't stress about shit that doesn't matter, don't be a twat, don't put up with him being a twat, do what you do, and have a fabulous future." Sam tutted, as if he found his own attempt at seriousness distasteful. With a flourish, he freed himself from the belt. Syed flinched as Sam leaned close and picked up a strand of black hair, pensively twisting it around. He shrank into his seat as Sam's breath brushed, sweet and warm, against his neck. Tucking the strand carefully and tidily behind Syed's ear, Sam murmured a line from the song that Christian and Rory had just been singing, deliberately misquoting it, "I can have my dreams, but I can't have you…" He sighed, and gazed longingly at Syed for a moment. "Shame. Ah well, different strokes."
Surprised at Sam's attempt to give him advice, and strangely touched and grateful, Syed struggled for a response, preferably one that entailed no physical contact, only managing to bleat lamely,
"Cheers."
"Welcome. You need to take the next left. It's a dirt track. Should be a sign that says 'Thunder Lake'. It's not much further."
"Where are we going again?"
"To my friend's ranch. Araminta and Kev. She's a right old bitch and he's a dickhead. You'll love them!"
