2 - Stat

xxx

"I got here as fast as I could." Wade's eyes are typically wide in the buzz of the dim light. "I was at the bar with a buddy and I got talkin' to this guy named … I think it was Johnathan. Or somethin'."

"Yeah," Trevor says. "Right."

"We was talkin' about vegetables," the younger man continues, staring at Trevor as hands skim over his threadbare jersey. "He read about steamed vegetables and how they're different. A lot tastier than, well, normal ones."

Trevor shuffles him backward toward the bedroom. "Of course."

"But he was worried that they don't have the same nu-tri-tional value as the gross, normal veggies." He jolts to a stop when his legs meet the mattress. A less-than-gentle shove has him toppling backwards easily enough, scattering magazine pages and tissues.

"That's really enlightening, Wade."

To his credit, the unfortunate idiot had, indeed, arrived at Trevor's place as quickly as could be expected on a busy night. He reeked of alcohol and dollar-store cologne, but Trevor was just grateful that he hadn't shown up in fucking clownface.

Obediently, mindlessly, Wade wriggles up onto the bed, sparing the energy to deliberately kick off either shoe as he speaks. "We were takin' shots when ya called me. I was gonna drive, but a nice lady offered to call me a taxi. I told her it was fine, but then she said that if I didn't take a cab she'd run me over herself."

"Smart woman," Trevor agrees, fingers seeking the bottom hem of the jersey, tearing and fumbling clothing out of his path where it appears. The smaller male shifts docilely beneath him, his stare still bright and undeterred.

"She even paid my fare! There are some really nice folks out there, aren't there, Trevor?"

"There sure fuckin' are," he agrees absently. The boy's body is becoming visible in swatches, skinny from the meth and the searing desert heat. His muscles twitch as Trevor rakes his hands over tattooed skin. Wade jumps when he pulls the button of his pants clean off, his breath hitching as he considers. After a moment he babbles on.

"And the city is so bright at night. It's just too purdy for words." Warm, rough calluses weave over the younger man's hipbones and a squeak escapes him. "Not that I don't like it out here in Sandy Shores, too. The sand is nice. And the cactuses."

"Cacti," Trevor corrects, leaving Wade's shirt flung up around his shoulders and shoving his jeans out of the way with a hard kick. The denim hits the floor unceremoniously, making something skitter loudly out of the way.

"Yeah." Pale eyes peer up at Trevor through the semi-darkness. "What you said, Trevor. Eeugh!"

As desperate as his situation is getting, Wade's bizarre excuses for moans are a far better alternative to his babbling. He shifts against the stained bedspread, chewed-off fingernails scrabbling into the fabric near Trevor's knees but halting before they come close enough to spark an unanticipated bout of rage. The fact that he has enough mental faculties to remember Trevor's distaste for reckless grabbing is somewhere between a grim relief and almost endearing.

"Anyway, I don't know what to think of them steamed veggies. Nnng. If it was broccoli it might be good."

"Hey, Wade?"

The younger man shudders beneath him, his skin superheated where Trevor's hands have stilled. "Y-yeah?"

Alcohol and sweat rise above the stale scent of ashes and mold, filling Trevor's lungs with life.

"For the love of God, shut the fuck up."