Disclaimer: Yu-Gi-Oh! belongs to Kazuki Takahashi.
Non-sadomasochistic, sarcastic shounen-ai. I could get to
like this kind of fluff.
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The day went by pretty easily, since all he did was drive west and stop at a MacDonald's. When they got to the motel it became awkward, bouncing around each other and their schedules, but it wasn't bad. He usually took showers at night, and Devlin said he showered in the morning--and it turned out he took a freaking long time, too--so that worked. And they were both morning people, which was great.
The first night he learned that Devlin snored. Not enough to make the prospect of the next month a living hell--he'd learned to tune out Joey's sleep talking when the guy used to crash at his house, after all--but it wasn't something he'd expected.
"You know you snore?" Tristan asked as he stuck his toothbrush and comb back in his bag.
Devlin gave him a look. "I do not."
Tristan raised an eyebrow. "Yeah, ya do."
"Prove it," Devlin said, swinging his duffel over his shoulder.
Tristan raised an eyebrow. "Right, I'll get the tape recorder I brought along and get you on tape tonight."
"If I had a buck for every time I heard that..." Devlin said lightly as he walked out.
Tristan leaned out past the wall that set the bathroom into an alcove and gave the door a look.
The motels changed quality with each day--the second night they were stuck in a tiny family-run place in a town that made him finally understand what "a wide spot in the road" meant. The third night, they crashed at a Motel 6.
He'd thrown himself on the bed and was flipping through the channels when there was a yelp in the bathroom.
"Geez!" Devlin growled.
"What, roaches?" Tristan called.
"No, the water's liquid ice," Devlin said, looking out into the main part of the room.
"So turn on the hot water," Tristan said.
"This is the hot water."
Tristan stood up and walked into the bathroom. "It can't be that bad."
"Observe. I turn on the hot water," Devlin said, twisting a knob. Tristan clapped sarcastically, and Devlin grabbed his wrist and stuck his hand under the water. "Now, that water is?"
"Gah!"
Devlin smirked and let go of Tristan's wrist. "Like I said."
"Think we should call the front desk?" Tristan asked as he dried his hand on his shorts.
Devlin stuck his palm under the water again. "Think they'll care?"
"Good point." Tristan shrugged and folded his hands on the top of his head. "Oh well. Cold showers build character."
Devlin glared at him, shaking off his hand. "So does snow-shoveling and horrible camping trips, and I don't like those either."
Tristan grinned. "Don't tell me you have a stuffed tiger in your bag."
Devlin made an amusing face and shut off the sink.
He decided to take a detour the next day, and once they got off the highway they kept passing fireworks stands. Devlin spent lunch trying to talk him into buying Roman candles.
"I promised to wait at least a week before I get arrested," Tristan said, dipping his chicken strip in ketchup and taking a bite.
"Come on, it's the Fourth of July! You have to set off fireworks."
Tristan raised an eyebrow. "Because...?"
"You're a red-blooded American male," Devlin answered. He flipped a nugget in the air and caught it in his mouth, making it look easier than it was. Tristan figured it was the dice practice.
"And that's supposed to be logical?"
"Of course," Devlin replied. "Haven't you checked the statistics? We like explosions."
Tristan rolled his eyes. "I'm not buying fireworks," he said.
"Spoilsport," Devlin muttered.
Two days later, his mom called to make sure he'd gone to church. He'd skipped, since he didn't want to ditch Devlin for an hour or so, and he doubted the guy would want to go with him. He wound up spending fifteen minutes convincing her that he wasn't going to join a cult and start killing babies if he missed services for a month.
His dad refused to back him up on the issue, so it was a losing battle conversation-wise. Most of the time he spent glaring at Devlin, who was watching the TV on mute and snickering at his excuses.
After a brief lecture on personal responsibility--both physical and spiritual--he hung up and tossed the phone on the bed. He threw himself down next to it.
"She's gonna do this every week, I can tell already," Tristan groaned.
Devlin turned the volume on again. "So, tell her you're going."
"You don't know my mom," Tristan said, propping himself up on an elbow. "She's psychic when it comes ta these things. I'll wind up on the prayer list."
Devlin shrugged. "Then tell her you've become a Buddhist. They don't go to church."
Tristan glared at him. "You're a real help, ya know that?"
Devlin tilted his head and gave him a half-grin. "I live to please."
Tristan snorted.
The next night was Devlin's turn to pick the place to eat dinner. He wasn't exactly surprised by the choice.
"Chinese again?" Tristan asked.
"I like Chinese!" Devlin argued. "What, why don't you like it?"
Tristan made a face as he pulled into a parking space near the front of the buffet. "I can never find anything worth eating in there."
That was the wrong thing to say, because Devlin then took it upon himself to convert him.
He wound up following behind while Devlin piled a plate full of things he couldn't pronounce. He recognized the rice, the spare ribs, and some funky looking mushrooms he'd seen at the grocery store before, and that was about it.
Devlin presented him with the plate. "Here. Eat this."
Tristan gave him a suspicious look. "Just remember, if you're trying to kill me, I'm the one with the keys."
Devlin rolled his eyes. "Just try it. You'll be fine--it's not like I'm asking you to eat sushi."
When they sat down at the table he gave the plate another dubious look. Devlin smirked at that, and so he glared and bit into an egg roll covered in bright red sauce. It wasn't nearly as bad as he'd expected.
He still didn't think it was better than pancakes, but he'd admit that Devlin had pretty good taste.
Half-way through the second week, he learned what took the guy so damn long to get ready in the morning. The latest motel had the sink separate from the bathroom, so he got a full show.
"What?" Devlin said to Tristan's reflection in the mirror.
"You wear makeup?" Tristan grinned.
"Nooo," Devlin drawled, "this black line down my cheek is a birthmark. Any more embarrassing anatomical questions?"
Tristan glanced upward before looking back at the mirror. "You actually buy that stuff?"
"You want another sarcastic answer?"
"I can't believe that nobody's given you crap for buying makeup," Tristan said. "And you're famous enough that you can't say you're buying it for your girlfriend; it'd be in the papers if you had one. You secretly a shoplifter?"
Devlin waved a hand at himself, mock-indicating the clothes he normally had when it wasn't 96 degrees outside. "I wear leather pants. If a guy in leather pants wants to buy Maybelline liquid eyeliner, you don't argue with him."
Tristan snorted. "I'll remember that."
Devlin cocked an eyebrow at him, still looking through the mirror. "Hey, if you want some eyeliner, all you have to do is say pretty please."
Tristan gave him a half-smirk. "I think I'll hold out. I don't know where your stuff's been."
"I'm hurt," Devlin muttered, adjusting his headband.
Tristan propped his chin on a fist. "You ready to go yet?"
"Look, you take half an hour fixing your hair when it just gets smashed by the helmet," Devlin accused. "So don't bitch about me."
Tristan brushed a hand over the top of his head. "Good point."
Then next day he just put some gel in his hair and shoved it out of his eyes. Devlin raised an eyebrow at the new look, but followed along and just pulled his into a ponytail at the nape of his neck. He was a little surprised at how much hair Devlin had when it wasn't fixed into all those waves.
They got weird looks at the restaurant they stopped at for lunch--normal hair still didn't change the fact that they were sweaty and covered in grime from driving on the bike in the sun and open air all morning. He figured he'd get inured to it in another week. Or he could ask Devlin to start throwing dice at them.
Two days after that, they wound up in another Motel 6.
Devlin looked up from the TV. "Hey, Tristan."
Tristan looked up from his stretched out position on the bed. "Yeah?"
"Where exactly are we going?"
Tristan raised an eyebrow. "West."
"Thanks," Devlin said. "I really needed a human compass. Do you have any destination besides west?"
"Nope," Tristan answered. There was a pause, and Devlin changed the channel. "The middle of the month's the 16th, right? I figure we'll turn around about then, unless the money starts running out. Then we'll go back sooner--but I don't think that's a problem. The budget looks good."
Devlin changed the channel again. "So, you set off with no idea of where you were going or if you'd have the money to stay away the whole month?"
"Yep," Tristan said. He looked over at Devlin, who was staring at the TV. "What's it matter?"
Devlin shrugged, not looking at him. "It just surprised me. I never thought you'd do something like that."
"If I had a buck for every time I heard that," Tristan said. He paused, then shrugged a shoulder. "I wanted to get away from Domino City for a while. Live life on my own, be a man, discover my inner chi...whatever it's called these days."
The room was quiet except for the low noise from the television, and he fell asleep. It wasn't until he woke up the next morning that he realized Devlin had never asked why he'd let him come along.
He figured that that was a good thing, since he didn't have an answer beyond the fact that Devlin was amusing and good to look at. He wasn't certain how that would go over--and Joey had always been the risk-taker, not him.
His mom did call the next morning, and he had to admit to skipping church again, which went about as well as last Sunday. The only difference was that Devlin was still under the blankets and had the second pillow covering his head, making vaguely threatening noises.
He took pity and finished the conversation outside.