Roman had always known that his sister resented all of her brothers, but he had a feeling that, despite that resentment, he was her favorite of the bunch. It was exciting, being picked as number one; not that he had much of a competition—Kendall was disqualified from the get go on account of his being their father’s favorite and chosen heir, and Connor didn’t share their penchant for mean spiritedness, which made it difficult for someone like Shiv to have fun with. He was his mother’s favorite too, but it was more so in the way one has a favorite pet, an accessory: despite her frequent hugs and effusions, she was always rather cold when he needed more than a hug and a kiss on the cheek.

At their father’s sixty-fifth birthday, Shiv showed up alone.

“What, don’t tell me you saved a spot for Tom,” she said, cutting through his awkward dance around the subject. Logan had never been particularly fond of Tom, an employee of his closer to his own age than to Shiv’s whom she had inexplicably decided to marry. Roman had been too young to care when they’d met, and he’d been away when their marriage had started falling apart. What he knew about Tom was that he was always too chummy with him, but in a frustratingly innocent way. He wasn’t sure how to deal with a guy like that who didn’t want to get him naked.

Their father gave her the best of his diplomatic smiles as she kissed both his cheeks, and sent her away with the very same phoniness. It was then, when she was left adrift in the midst of a rotation of greetings and courtesies in which every cog avoided so much as looking at her, that Roman took his chance to swoop in. “I’m sure he’s still kicking himself in the balls for letting you abort that thing.”

The corner of her mouth twitched. “Aw, cheer up. Now you’ve got free reign to raid my panty drawer tonight.”

“Just the drawer? I was thinking I’d just peel them off you while you sleep.” Backhand stroke; if Shiv’s quiet “what” was anything to go by, it had worked. Now, for the winning shot. “To make you piss yourself, duh. You and your dirty pervert mind.”

“Of course. Silly me.” She narrowed her eyes at him, in a cross between a cat’s loving slow blinks and a carnivorous animal’s calculations. “Come here.”

Roman was taller than the last time they’d hugged, but Shiv’s heels were higher. He ended up hopping up on his tiptoes to rest his chin on her shoulder, taking in her familiar scent barely disguised by a light marine perfume.

“Get any taller and I’ll have your legs cut off.”

“Hey, I’m fine the way I am. Dad’s the one with the complexes. You’re lucky Kendall’s there to keep him busy, or he would’ve put me on growth hormones.”

“That might be the only way to make your dick normal sized.”

“You wish you knew the size of my dick.”

They sat next to one another at the lunch table, as cards with their names calligraphed on them instructed them to. Roman picked one up and traced the groove of the fountain pen with his thumb.

“Look, you’re babysitting me. Just like the old times.”

“I never babysat you. You grew up with a nanny around at all times.”

“Someone’s jealous Dad was only upper middle class when he had them.”

“Someone’s bitter they never saw their mother growing up.”

“At least my mother wasn’t sent to the loony bin. By the way, how are you holding up? Any midlife insanity creeping around the corner?”

Shiv flipped him off.

Neither of them ate much, Roman particularly intent on playing with his food and Shiv using polite conversations as an excuse to drag out her eating, giving up as soon as everyone else was done with theirs.

“Do you have any plans for… you know… when you get tired of that politics thing?” their father asked Shiv, lowering his voice for the first time since the first guest had arrived.

“Dad, I don’t think that’s going to happen. It’s my career. I’m doing a pretty good job, you know?”

“Of course, of course.”

“A pretty good job sucking dicks,” Roman whispered, and Shiv kicked his shin.

After lunch, while people were gathering their things and getting ready for the game, Shiv slipped into the hallway. Roman followed, kind of hoping they’d forget about them both and leave them behind. While he wasn’t bad at softball, a few years of being forced to run around and climb on things while being yelled at and insulted had soured group physical activity for him, and he didn’t want to be accused of ruining Dad’s birthday with his bad mood.

When he caught up with her, Shiv had disappeared into one of the bathrooms, the door not quite closed behind her. He walked in without knocking.

“Trying to spy on me?”

Roman sat on the edge of the tub, his heels lifted off the ground. “Totally. Nothing gets me off like watching a middle aged lady take a dump.”

“I was fixing my makeup.”

Roman snapped his fingers in mock disappointment. Shiv wiped the corner of her lip, where lipstick had smudged past its borders, then cleaned herself on Roman’s cheek. Roman whipped his head away from her touch. It might’ve been confusion that locked him in place when she walked past him, shut the door, and wound the key before pocketing it.

“Someone’s acting crazier than usual. I hear there are nice facilities for dementia upstate.”

“Why are you such an asshole?”

“I am fun and lovable.”

“You need to grow up. You can’t say things like that in front of Dad, make me look stupid—”

“Is that what this is about?” The Shiv he remembered had thicker skin; she loved their little back-and-forths, and more often than not, he’d be the one to get stung in the end. “It was just a fucking joke, he didn’t even hear it.”

“It’s not just that. You keep acting like a teenage bo., I’m trying to build a career for myself and you get to have everything handed to you. At least try to take it seriously.”

“Weh, weh, weh. So what, you’re gonna lock me in here? To do what, beat me to death with a hairdryer?”

“I don’t know. Shut up.” She sat on the closed toilet lid, a hand pulling at her face. For the sake of symmetry, Roman moved as well, shuffled closer to the door like it might magically unlock at any time and allow him to escape. “You don’t know how lucky you are.”

“Oh, trust me, I’m not.”

“You don’t see it but you are.”

“What, because Dad wants me to give some space filler job I don’t give two shits about just so I don’t embarrass him by staying home all day? That’s great. I can’t wait for that to be my life.”

“People take you seriously.”

People had not, at any point in his life, taken Roman seriously. He was treated like an ugly exotic pet at best, something expensive, something to watch their step around, maybe, but completely ridiculous in the spot they’d placed him; a bad choice of Logan’s he couldn’t undo without invoking the anger of a welfare org.

Shiv had come up above him, now, standing too close to him and looking at him like there was some venom on the tip of her tongue that she just couldn’t find a way to spit out. With the awkward silence filling the room, Roman had nothing better to do than to pick her apart with his eyes.

Her eyebrows were darker than they’d been during dinner, strokes of pencil now filling in the thin, carefully tweezered lines. When he was younger, and she would visit on less formal occasions, she would often have her face bare. The makeup wasn’t the only difference: some offputting chub had built up around her arms and her stomach, softening the angles of her wrists below her already strong hands. Roman reached out without thinking, dug his thumb into her forearm. She looked like Dad, somewhat.

“If you say what I know you’re about to say, I swear you’re leaving with a black eye.”

“What?” He twisted the flesh, the surface softness giving way to a firm, meaty core pretty soon. “Oh, yeah, sorry. Blah blah, go to the gym, menopause, fat whale, whatever.”

A smack on his ear made him flinch. “You didn’t put your heart in it.”

“Nobody’s gonna fuck you, you fat cow? I don’t know.” It had been easier when she’d been thinner, and his target had been some imaginary version of her pulled out of their shared nightmares, a grotesque flesh prison he could allude to as her imagination filled out the details. The real her was awfully mundane, and too close to their shared branch of genes to truly be repulsed by it. The meanest true thing he could say was, “I would kill myself if I looked like you.”

“Oh, Rome.” Some trace of condescension. “I know that. You wouldn’t last a day as a woman.”

It stung, for some reason. “Ugh, yeah. So gross.”

“You wouldn’t even get to leave your room, you’d give up as soon as the bra thing would come up. Too lazy to figure out how to put them on.”

“I’d figure it out just to spite you. I’d be so much better at being a woman and Dad would disown you ‘cause he wouldn’t need to keep you around as his only daughter anymore.”

Shiv gave him a look like he’d just whipped it out and pissed on the floor. “Wow. Is this… is this a fetish thing? Are you getting off to this right now?”

“Do I look like I’m getting off to it?”

“I don’t know. Maybe you’re hard and it’s just so tiny you can’t see the bulge.”

“Don’t call it that.” It was more of a reflex than real embarrassment; defending the size of your dick was just a thing you had to do, even if you were perfectly content with it and with people thinking whatever they wanted about it. Military school habits were hard to break.

“Oh, you’re telling me it’s grown since the last time I saw it?”

“I’m not gonna…” He scratched at his ear, his gaze hovering over anything except for her. “I’m not gonna dignify that with an answer. When did you even see my dick? Did you peep on me as a kid or something?”

“I changed your diapers.”

“Oh, okay. So you’re talking about a little baby’s dick. You’re so fucked.”

“You’re making it weird.”

“You said it, not me.”

“I was making a joke, Rome.”

He gave her an insincere nod, an exaggerated scrunched up pout complementing it.

“I don’t see you proving me wrong.”

“Do you want me to take it out right now? What is this, Moulin Rouge?”

“Yeah, you wish. You’d love to humiliate yourself in front of an audience.”

It was defiance, at first. A desire to win the game they were making up as they went, maybe to be the one to go too far, for once, to freak her out in a way that would actually upset her; prove that she was the squeamish one. The image she’d planted in his head made his mind fuzzy.

Every inch closer to the buckle of his belt, then every pull of his muscle to move his fingers and twist his twists, each shaky movement sank him deeper into a floaty, far away place within his own body, from which he watched the strange beast he inhabited push its jeans down with the briefs and pull its soft, modest length out, holding it like a bird fallen out of its nest.

“Oh,” Shiv’s voice came, clear despite the distance. “Well, it’s not really a fair state to judge it in, is it?”

Roman pushed a grunt out of his throat, leaving the interpretation up to her.

“Yeah. You could try getting it hard, see how much of a grower you are. Just out of curiosity.”

His fingers wrapped around it out of habit, a tentative squeeze. It barely moved. Like it didn’t want to exist, like it would’ve sunk back into itself if it could’ve. He usually went about it mechanically, his mind sunk deep in fantasies so that his lower half became abstract shapes, but now it was impossible to be unaware of the physical reality of his body. Roman gave it a tentative tug, eyes on the marble floor. Everything shades of white, Shiv’s reds and pinks and blacks drew him in, and he tried to resist but eventually he slipped and caught a glimpse of her staring at what he refused to look at, rapt; he focused on her breath to ignore the noise of skin rubbing.

Would she have done this with Kendall? Had she done it already? He pictured himself as Kendall, or rather Kendall as him, as he tucked himself in a corner and watched them. Pretending that body wasn’t his made it easier; he wasn’t sure he would’ve liked being excluded, though. Shiv’s attention felt like approval, like the half of their father she carried in her being proud of him, and everyone knew he wasn’t easy to please.

• Reel Around the Fountain - The Smiths
• There's No Home For You Here - The White Stripes
• Godhead - Garbage
• Big Black Car - Gregory Alan Isakov
• Music To Watch Boys To - Lana del Rey
• Relay - Fiona Apple
• The Bitter End - Placebo
• Greener with the Scenery - The Used
• Angel of Small Death and the Codeine Scene - Hozier
• Heart-Shaped Box - Nirvana

Chapter 1 - East coast

Connor had shown up behind the wheel of a mid-size luxury SUV, a dumb grin on his face.

“Where’s the driver?” Roman had asked.

“I’m the driver. Hop in.”

Roman had rolled his eyes. Every time Connor dragged him off to have some brotherly bonding time, he would avoid bringing any help, so excited to play the part of the prole for a weekend at most. Roman had thought that he’d reconsider after the food poisoning he’d been struck with last time, but he supposed it would be difficult to contract salmonella by going to the movies for a couple of hours.

“We could’ve bought the adjacent seats at least,” Roman complained when he spilled popcorn stumbling over someone’s legs.

“That’s not what I’m going for here.”

They drove past Dad’s house without slowing down in the slightest.

“Did you forget where I live?”

“Oh, we’re not going back yet.” He said it with a grin, but it chilled Roman to his core.

“What the fuck does that mean?” Connor didn’t reply. “Hey, what the fuck does that mean? Are you kidnapping me?”

“Rome, no.” Connor sighed. “I just… I realized I never showed you my house.”

“Your house? You have a house now?”

“I bought it a couple months ago.”

“And you’re locking me in your car and dragging me there instead of inviting me like a normal person because?”

“It was a birthday surprise.”

“Right, two months too late.”

“And if you want, I’m throwing in a little lake vacation, since you’ve been stuck in the city all summer. Look at you, you need some sunlight.”

That hadn’t really been Roman’s fault; his father had canceled his summer vacation after he’d gotten suspended from school for two weeks, and Roman’s excuse being ‘why is talking about dicks offensive if half the world has one’ hadn’t really worked, so he’d been stuck in New York, picturing Kendall and Shiv’s European vacation and simmering with envy. “Where’s your house anyway?”

“Not too far.”

Roman snorted and shimmied down in his seat. “Fine.” Then, “how did you convince Dad to let you take me on vacation, anyway?”

Connor grimaced.

“Of course.”

“It’s a short trip, I’ll talk to him as soon as we get there and convince him to let me take you camping.”

“Fuck off, you know I hate camping.”

“Would you rather stay home with Dad all summer?”

“Maybe I do.”

“Well, I’m the one driving, so.”

“So this is a kidnapping.”

Connor was keeping his eyes on the road, but his features were tense, his eyebrows knitted together.

“You’re a fucking weirdo.” Roman ignored Connor’s pleas and groans, asking him to understand, promising that it would be fun; he looked outside, and found that he was having trouble placing where they were exactly, since he never really paid attention to his surroundings when he was being driven around. Once the road stopped coasting the Hudson, they could’ve been anywhere in New York, and Roman would’ve been none the wiser.

“There are comics in the back seat,” Connor suggested.

“Fuck you.”

He let the insult ring for at least a couple of minutes before begrudgingly reaching for the bag behind himself and flipping open a random issue.

Much of the road, at this point, was surrounded by anonymous greenery, with occasional, frustrating glimpses of buildings when the trees and shrubs would get sparse. Roman focused on the comic, and for the first time in his life he was thankful for being a slow reader.

>When they finally entered a town, the clock read a quarter to eleven; nearly two hours since their departure. “Dad must be freaking out by now,” Roman said, wishful more than anything else. Realistically, he wouldn’t notice until the next morning, possibly even later in the day.

“I’ll give him a call.”

>They drove past low suburban houses and parking lots and rows of one-story buildings, and Roman’s throat closed into a knot at the emptiness all around him: he was two hours from home, in an small, isolated town with probably less than fifty thousand residents, and the sky was open and terrifying, and they would never get home before midnight. He felt nauseous.

Connor seemed to notice, and he talked to him softly as he pulled into the parking area of a motel: “Romey, hey, it’s alright. I’m here.”

Roman’s chest hurt. “Why the fuck did you buy a house in the middle of bumfuck nowhere?”

>“We’re not there yet.” He began searching his pockets, and Roman let out a hysterical laugh.

“We’re not there yet? Fuck you. I wanna go home, I don’t care if I’m grounded or whatever. You’re the adult, anyway. It’s your fault.”

Connor’s face looked wrong, unfamiliar, his guilty eyes burning into Roman. He didn’t know what to expect from him. He didn’t know his brother. “Roman,” Connor said, producing a plastic bottle from his pocket, “do you want something for your nerves?”

“Don’t drug me, you psychopath,” he cried, and he slapped his hand, making the pills rattle; it didn’t get past him that he was too weak to actually knock it off his grip. “I’m having a fucking reasonable response. I don’t know where the fuck I am and it’s the middle of the night.”

“But you’re with me.”

“And who the fuck are you?” His voice came out with a jagged edge, his throat tender and strained. He wanted to cry, but he could see himself in the rear view mirror and the idea that Connor could see his dumb tears only frightened him more.

He tried to calm himself down. He rolled down the window and breathed in the summer night air, trying to ignore the sinking feeling at how unfamiliar it smelled. He pushed down his sobs until his breath regained a somewhat regular pace, and only then he spoke again.

“Are you going to take me home tomorrow?”

Connor’s eyes looked guilty again. He tilted his head with a pained expression on his face. “If you really insist.”

“I do.”

“But if you change your mind we can go on a trip together.”

Roman groaned, rubbed his hands over his face. He was tired of arguing. “Why? Why me? Why not a fucking girlfriend, or a hooker, or some fucking friend, I don’t know.” It was like talking to an eight year old, an eight year old with a car, a license, and millions of dollars to his name.

“I just…” Connor stammered. He looked like a pathetic, sad dog. “I care about you, Roman. And I didn’t want you to spend all summer locked up in your room.”

“So you had to drag me out.”

Connor gave him a meek smile, evidently not grasping the sarcasm in his words. “Yeah, that’s pretty much it. I know you, buddy.”

Roman’s head hurt. He stepped out of the car with Connor, and left him to operate a payphone as he got a zero calorie soda from a vending machine opposite to it. It was way too sweet for his taste.

Connor gently touched his shoulder as they walked into the office, and Roman fought the urge to jerk away.

The only vacant room at the motel had a double bed. Connor suggested sleeping on the floor, but Roman cracked a joke at the expense of his elderly bones, so they ended up lying back to back, an uncomfortable silence hovering above them.

Roman couldn’t sleep. He was fucking exhausted, but he was nervous, and he didn’t have his pajamas, and…

“I usually jerk off before I go to sleep.”

Connor took a moment to reply, enough to make Roman think he’d fallen asleep. Then, “What?”

“I do it every night. It helps me relax.”

A rustling of sheets, Connor turning around. “I didn’t need to know that.”

“Well, you kidnapped me.” Roman felt Connor’s eyes on the back of his neck. It made his stomach twist. “I have my needs.”

“I didn’t kidnap you, this is a road trip.”

“I didn’t even get to pack my bags.” It was weird now, he was too uncomfortable to even think about his dick, but he was still pent up, itching for at least one element of his routine. “Can I shower?”

“Of course.”

Roman ran off and locked himself in the bathroom, a cramped little room that looked incredibly filthy, partly due to the poor lighting, provided by a single, dim little lamp in a corner of the ceiling.

“Do you want me to leave the room for a bit?” Connor called.

“Yes. Sure. Fuck.”

Only when he heard the door closing behind Connor did he manage to take off his shirt. He dropped it on a plastic stool next to the toilet, and did the same with the rest of his clothes. He stood on his shoes, convinced that touching the floor with his bare feet would give him tetanus, and let the water run for a minute before stepping inside the shower cubicle.

>He didn’t bother with normal fantasies anymore; surely not when he was in a rush, and his brother was waiting outside. He had no time to waste on pretty classmates and video game heroines, not like he’d done a few times after reading about Pavlov’s dogs, thinking he could make himself normal if he spent the better part of an hour trying to make himself come from those and finishing due to physical stimulation alone. It hadn’t worked, of course.

The thought of Connor waiting outside was itself disturbingly arousing, but he felt like that was too far, so he redirected his mind towards a collage of professors and friends of Dad - don’t think about Dad, focus on his friends, don’t think about Dad.

He was already close when he heard a noise from outside and thought of Connor again; he thought of him walking in, finding him with his dick in his hand, a disgusted frown taking over his face.

Roman came thinking of his brother, and vomit filled his throat before his dick was fully soft.

He called Connor in after making himself look presentable.

“So,” Connor said, his cheeks a little flushed. “Are you done?”

“Yes, god, we don’t need to talk about it.” Roman got under the covers and shoved a pillow between his side of the bed and Connor’s.

“Do you wanna… Cuddle?”

“What?” Roman searched his brother’s face for a trace of irony. “Are you fucking insane? Cuddle? Do you wanna put your tongue in my mouth, too?”

“Of course not.” Pause, then, “But maybe it would help you relax. I know a lot of people get cuddly after… Intercourse.”

“Intercourse is two people, you moron.” But Roman thought about it. He always felt gross after jerking off, like a disgusting, lonely creep. So he gave him a tentative, “Fine,” and put the pillow back against the headboard.

Connor slipped under the covers, quiet, like he was approaching a neurotic prey animal. Roman considered biting him if things got too weird.

Connor’s arms wrapped around him, so warm and so long, and his breath was stealing his air. Roman couldn’t move. That was the time to bite.

But then he considered the idea of spending the rest of the trip with a sulking thirty year old, no longer excited to buy him gifts and show him stupid places, or worse yet going home, and he forced himself to calm down. He measured his breath until it seemed to be at a regular pace, then he let himself slip into that quiet, warm place he’d go to when Dad was in a bad mood, or as a kid when Kendall’s friends would come over, and sleep found him peaceful in his brother’s arms.

Roman woke up decidedly not well-rested, with Connor’s arm still around him. He wriggled away from his grasp and climbed over him, looking for his wristwatch on the bedside table, and was disappointed to find it was only seven in the morning.

“Good morning, buddy,” said Connor, tentatively.

Roman ignored him. He sniffed the shirt he’d slept in and grimaced. “I need a change of clothes.”

After breakfast, they drove through the town twice over before Connor gave up and asked for directions to a clothing store; when it became obvious that the highest quality one around was Walmart, Roman decided to veto it and asked for a mall instead.

“How long are we staying out, anyway?” he asked, more to himself than to Connor; he’d stopped expecting a reply when he asked this type of question.

“Let’s just stock up a little. You never know.”

He put a three-pack of briefs in his cart, and Connor took two more, which tracked, considering his lake vacation idea. They got bread with the expiration date marked as over a month later, canned meat, miscellaneous snacks, and several large bottles of water. Roman struggled to lift them into the trunk of the car. When they were back on the road, he took a candy bar and slowly crushed it from the outside, until it was a sealed packet of chocolate and caramel. He shoved it under his seat when Connor wasn’t looking.

top

Chapter 2 - Camping

They stopped at a sports supply store and bought two jelly folding chairs in obnoxious colors, camping cooking supplies, two air mattresses, and a large tent that was advertised as having a divider wall that granted each half a great deal of privacy. Roman was sure it wouldn’t be enough for what he needed, but it was better than waking up to Connor’s face every morning.

As Connor pulled into the entrance station and talked to the bored-looking woman sitting in the booth, Roman noticed a sign on the wall promising amenities such as restrooms with plumbing and wood for sale.

The concrete under the wheels dove into a gravel road, which split into lanes outlining rows of trees and tents and the few occasional RVs.

Connor had only taken Roman camping once before, and it had lasted about one day before food poisoning had forced him to take Roman and Kendall to a nearby hotel with hygienic services and edible food. What that meant for now was that Roman was completely unprepared to pitch a tent.

As much as Connor was playing the part of the working - or at least middle - class hero, their tent seemed to be the largest in their section of the camp, excluding the ones attached to caravans: there was an octagonal mat, over twice his height in diameter, many assorted poles of various lengths, and flaps upon flaps of waxy fabric that threatened to swallow him if he tried sorting it out.

Connor was at the reception, he’d said to make sure the payments were in order, but Roman had a half suspicion he was asking for directions to a grocery store in the area.

So he was left with a boneless sack of canvas and steel poles, and an urge to give up and leave on his own that was growing stronger every time the poles whacked his exposed shins.

Then there were steps on the gravel road, too quiet to be Connor’s. He turned around: a man not much taller than him, thin-lipped, with gray eyes that reminded him of Connor’s without being as eerily piercing as his.

“If you wanna kidnap me, get in line.”

The man laughed. It wasn’t a condescending laugh, like the ones he’d usually get from adults, but there was an artifice to it, a distance. His mouth settled into a smirk. “Not a fan of camping, are you?”

“No, but I’m serious. That man kidnapped me, he snatched me from a movie theater and dragged me off here. Do you know where we are? ‘Cause I don’t.”

The amused expression hadn’t left the man’s face. “And why are you not running off from this fearsome stranger who kidnapped you right now?”

“One, I can’t drive. Two, I don’t remember my dad’s telephone number. Three, he’s my brother. Family can kidnap you, you know? They told us all about it in health class.”

The man nodded at the pieces of tent scattered on the ground. “And you hate being here so much that you’re trying to set up camp for him.”

Roman shrugged. “I don’t wanna sleep in the car, so.” He watched as the man took a lap around the tent’s floor, pushing the pegs in the soft ground with his foot. “Hey?”

“You don’t have a clue what you’re doing, do you?”

“Well, I know how to pitch a tent, but this is a fuckin’... It’s got architecture. I don’t know.”

The man took one of the short poles and inserted it into an asterisk-shaped piece of plastic attached to the center of the tent. It clicked. “This is the roof. It’s a bit like an umbrella.” He said it plainly, without making it sound like Roman was a moron for not knowing it.

Roman still rolled his eyes at him, but he repeated the step with the rest of the poles until the roof of the tent gained a structure.

“Good, now the door.”

“What are you getting out of this? Do you have a fetish for pitching up tents or are you just into little boys? Is it the imagery that gets you off?”

The man’s face was frozen in that carefully calculated grin for a few moments, his jaw clicking, before breaking out in a laugh. “You have a sense of humor, don’t you?”

“Yeah, real mature for my age, that’s what everyone says.”

As the man worked on the tent, Roman scanned the trees looking for Connor; he’d cherished the few minutes of peace he’d gotten, but he didn’t want to be alone with this guy, and leaving the tent and the bags unattended didn’t seem like a great idea. He waved his arms when he saw his brother emerging from three parallel roads away. “Hey, Con!” he called. Maybe he’d forgotten their spot.

Connor’s face lit up and he quickly ran up to him, the gravel grinding under his sneakers. “Hey, is everything okay?” Only then he noticed the man standing next to Roman. “Hello?”

“Name’s Larry.” The man brushed the dirt off his hands before offering one to Connor, a cordial smile not unlike the ones Dad would offer to the people he would negotiate deals with, pretending to find their offers generous. Sometimes Roman would sit outside his office after the more informal of these meetings and listen to him explaining his moves to Kendall, why he would’ve tried to go for more, and why that would’ve fucked the deal; sometimes you need to play it safe, he’d say. “I’ve got a RV with my niece two lanes down, but I noticed that the kid was struggling so I came over to see if I could help.” He wasn’t looking at Roman, but his hands twitched when he mentioned him, like an aborted gesture to touch him.

“Roman, you had no trouble last time.”

Before Roman could mumble an explanation, Larry stepped in to save him the embarrassment. “It’s a complicated model.” He swung the door, which had rods along its borders to keep it rigid, to demonstrate his point. “Impressive, but not that easy to pitch up alone.”

Connor seemed nervous, his breath coming out his nose in impatient puffs. “Well, thank you Larry, but we should really start making dinner now.”

Larry didn’t seem insulted by Connor’s attitude. “No problem. My niece is about your age, you can play together after dinner if you want.”

“Sure,” Roman said. He was a teenager, he didn’t play. It was called hanging out, and he would’ve done it more if anyone invited him, but his friends never seemed to stick with him for too long.

After Larry left, Connor got quiet, pulled out the brand-new folding chairs from the trunk and gestured for Roman to hold out his palms so he could pour water on them. He didn’t say a word until they both had a dry ham and cheese sandwich in hand and were sitting on the chairs. The jelly groove of the seat was sticking to the exposed skin of Roman’s thigh. “Did he say anything weird to you?” Connor asked, and Roman had never seen him so serious before.

“What? No. He was normal. Just because you wanna diddle me-”

“Roman, this is important.” He didn’t react to the joke he’d interrupted. “If he told you to talk to him alone, or if he offered you something…”

“Stranger danger ruined your brain.” Roman kicked back in the chair, nearly toppling it over. “I’m not fucking stupid, you know? I didn’t suck his dick for ice cream money.”

“Good.” Connor studied his face, and he sustained his gaze like he had something to prove. “But if he does anything weird you should tell me.”

“I know, Jesus!” Roman shoved the remaining third of the sandwich in Connor’s hand and brushed the crumbs off his shorts. “Just because I let you take me here you think I’m a fucking idiot. I’m not!”

“I don’t think you’re an idiot. I think you’re a kid, and kids-”

“Oh, shut up.” Roman marched inside the tent with a still deflated mattress only to realize that Larry hadn’t set the divider wall up; how respectful of him to stay out unless invited. Roman couldn’t reach the vertex even on his tiptoes, so he had to shamefully walk out and ask Connor to hang up the divider for him, rendering his previous outburst ridiculous. He couldn’t even slam the door on him. This sucked.

He tossed and turned for what felt like hours: it was early in the evening, and he hadn’t showered or brushed his teeth, and it was an unfamiliar bed and he couldn’t even jerk off because Connor, and probably most of his neighbors, would hear.

Roman woke up cramped and thirsty, Connor still asleep in his half of the tent. He zipped open the door as quietly as he could and stumbled out into the humid air, still imbued with the cold of the night. There were only a few people up, none close to their tent. He walked along the gravel road, looking for the plumbed bathrooms he’d been promised. His lower stomach hurt.

Eventually, he found a plain-looking wooden shack with a “WASHROOMS” sign and decided he’d be more disgusted with himself if he went another day without showering than he’d ever be by the mediocrity of the restroom. Only when he was under the shower he realized that he’d gone in expecting the comforts of a hotel, against all logic.

He found a nearly empty bottle of shampoo discarded in a corner and used it as body wash, but there was nothing to dry himself with; he resolved to using the T-shirt he’d been wearing earlier, and shuffled back to the tent with no socks in his shoes (they were sweaty and grossed him out) and his damp shirt in hand.

Walking into the tent, he was somewhat disappointed to find Connor still asleep. What a lousy excuse for a caretaker he was. Not that Roman needed someone looking after him all day, but he would’ve liked to be able to rely on someone for once.

“Need some clean clothes?” There was Larry again, drawn in by the smallest amount of distress like blood in the water.

“You’re a fucking creep, you know that?” But the attention felt nice; he would’ve died before admitting it, and he could see the game Larry was playing, his cards laid on the table since the first round, but it still felt nice.

“Careful, my niece is back there,” and he nodded towards a middle school-aged girl sitting under a tree, scribbling on a notepad. “Don’t teach her any foul language, or my sister’s gonna rip my balls off and make me eat them.” He lowered his voice at the last few words, like he was sharing a secret with Roman. All the steps, he’d done his homework.

“She’s what, thirteen? I’m sure she’s heard them all in middle school by now.”

“Twelve, and she’s homeschooled.”

“Really? Poor fucker. I would’ve killed myself if I was her.”

“Her parents are not that bad, they’re just a little uptight. They need to loosen up.” His eyes landed on Roman, fixed on him through heavy eyelids. It was pathetic of him, but it was fun to indulge him. Not like Roman had anything better to do.

Roman heard Connon stirring awake, and he quickly made his way over to Larry’s niece, gesturing for him to follow him. “I’m over here, Con,” he called when he heard the door zipper flying open. He pretended to be interested in whatever the kid was drawing (some sort of cartoon dog that looked vaguely familiar but he couldn’t name); establishing an alibi.

“You’re Roman,” the girl said, not looking up from her notepad.

“Yep,” Roman said, popping the ‘p’.

She nodded. “Good to know.”

Connor had told him they were two or three miles away from Lake Champlain, so they weren’t that far from home, but he hadn’t bothered to look out for any welcome to… signs; for all he knew, they could’ve gone back to New York.

He found Larry smoking at a picnic table, watching his niece soak in the brook that coasted the campsite.

“Did you bring swimming trunks?” he asked him.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Pervert.”

“I’d be more of a pervert if I asked you to play with her in your underwear.”

“I’m not going in there.” He eyed the cigarette, the lit end pointing toward Larry’s wrist, as if he were trying to hide it. “Can I try that?”

“Have you smoked before?”

“Yes,” Roman lied. He wet his lips, trying to make the gesture noticeable without being too vulgar. “Come on, man.”

Larry looked around himself before extending his hand, making Roman stretch over the table to suck in from the filter held between the man’s index and thumb.

Roman wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do, so he filled his mouth with hot smoke and held it there until it hurt. “Fuck,” he coughed, sputtering out

Larry laughed, smacked his back as if to congratulate him.

Roman tried to catch his breath. The inside of his nose was on fire. He rubbed his face, teary-eyed, and groaned, “Are we in New York?”

“Really?”

“I told you, my brother kidnapped me. Are we in New York?”

“We’re in Vermont.”

“Seriously? Fuck.”

“I saw you talking to Larry.”

Roman looked up from his Game Boy and, in the time it took him to process the question, his frog got tragically squashed by a car. “Sorry?”

Connor laughed, leaning over a little, and ruffled his hair. “It’s okay, buddy. He seems alright.”

“Does he, now?”

“I’ll have you know, he and I have been talking, and he seems like a decent man.”

“You’ve been talking.”

“Yes, and it turns out he’s well educated and a very

“So he wooed you with history trivia and now you’re fine with me being molested.”

Connor shot him a look and sighed. “He’s not a molester, Roman, I wouldn’t let you talk to a molester.”

“He’s not a molester yet. Give me two days with him and…” He made a popping sound with his mouth.

“You shouldn’t say things like that.”

“Try and stop me.”

Connor grabbed the Game Boy from his hands and walked away without saying a word.

“What the fuck?” Roman scrambled to chase after him, jumping when he lifted his hand up above his head. “I was joking!” he groaned, panting with every leap. “Give it back, asshole.”

“No,” Connor said, his tone unsure, and after a beat he added an even less convincing, “You’re grounded.”

What he lacked in confidence he made up for in stature and in having the car keys in his pocket, so the console was locked in the glove box and Roman was left with nothing to do but re-read the comics he’d gone over three times already and talk to the other campers. Neither seemed particularly appealing.

Roman found a secluded place during the third day, after a few hours of deliberate search; there, balancing himself on the knobby roots of a tree, he palmed himself through his shorts. He hesitated before touching himself directly: he didn’t have any lube or lotion on him, nor was there any place he could wash his hands that didn’t require him to walk all the way to the public toilets, very likely running into someone on the way and they would smell it on him, they’d know at a glance that he’d been up to some depraved thing. Not that he cared about their opinion of him, but he was pretty sure that public masturbation was a sex crime in all states, and he wasn’t keen on getting put on a registry because his dick wouldn’t calm down.

Of course, he could’ve simply not done it; he could’ve also staved off the boredom and frustration with his current state by digging a hole in the ground, running in circles, or hitting his head repeatedly with a rock. The rush of endorphins from orgasms made it a better deal than every other option, so he settled for his off-track tree. He pictured Larry, thought of his large hands around his much smaller wrist, and he was hard.

He unzipped his shorts but kept his dick in his briefs. It was uncomfortable, but the thought of nature-filth getting on his dick and dick-filth getting on his hand was worse. Thanks to days of repression, he was already close.

Then, a noise behind him made his breath hitch. Quick steps getting closer. For a split second, Roman considered getting caught: he pictured Larry discovering him all flushed and still hard and taking advantage of him right there, pushing him to the ground, tearing off his clothes as if unwrapping him. The quiver of arousal didn’t wane.

“Romey?”

Roman’s hands slammed into the ground. He crossed his legs to hide his hardness and swallowed, coughed. “Yes?”

“Oh, there you are.” Connor entered his field of vision, and his skin crawled for a brief second. “It’s almost time for dinner. I couldn’t find you, I was starting to think someone had kidnapped you.”

“Someone has.”

“Oh, shut up.” Connor smiled, tense and tight-lipped. He offered Roman his hand to help him up, and Roman deliberately took it with his left. “The next time you go get some alone time give me a heads-up first.”

“Ew.”

Roman’s boner was almost fully gone now. He let Connor help him up. Along with disappointment, there was a sort of relief that he’d been found by him and not by Larry. He decided not to dwell on it too much.

On the second-to-last day of their stay at the camp, Roman sank to his knees in front of Larry. He wanted it. He was ready for it, he’d been fantasizing about Larry and his dick for nearly a week straight.

When Larry’s hands rested on his head Roman thought he was about to fuck his mouth - he’d said he wouldn’t, but people tend to break their promises once their dicks get wet; it turned out to be nothing more than a caress, a steady hand on the back of his head.

At lunch, he ate his sandwich in small bites.

“What’s wrong?” Connor asked, soft.

“Nothing’s wrong. I’m just not hungry.”

“I didn’t put any sauce or cheese in it, it’s just plain lettuce and ham.” Roman didn’t question why Connor would bring that up, didn’t wonder if it was that obvious which foods he’d been avoiding for the past few years; he was too focused on taking as little as he could with each bite, to make them nearly imperceptible to his tongue.

The truth was, he couldn’t hold anything in his mouth without feeling the urge to spit it out.

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Chapter 3 - The South

Nashville left Roman sorely disappointed by what passed for a city in the South: aside from a few buildings of a passable height in the distance, the empty sky still loomed over them for most of the drive.

Connor parked in a road coasted by trees and two-story houses. “Do you wanna walk a little?”

Roman glanced at the neighborhood, monotonous and residential; no corner shops, no cafes, nothing but neatly trimmed front lawns. “Here?”

“Yeah, I know someone who lives here. Come on, my ass is taking the shape of the seat.”

“Fine.” He followed Connor on wobbly baby deer legs and there was that knot in his throat again, now that he didn’t have the car glass to separate him from the fence gates and lamp posts and swings: he was so far from home, and it was real, and he couldn’t go back and his stomach hurt. “Can we get some real food now that we’re in a city? Or have they just not discovered salads yet in Kentucky?”

“We’re in Tennessee.” Connor sighed. “But yes, we can have whatever you want for dinner.”

“Finally.”

Roman was left to wait outside a red brick bungalow, Connor saying it would only be a minute as he was greeted by a man with timid eyes and a goatee. He couldn’t make out what they were saying, but he flashed a tight grin and waved when Connor pointed at him.

“Was that a drug deal?” Roman asked as soon as Connor walked out.

“No, why would you think that?”

“Oh, so you just had to stop and say hi to this guy you’ve never mentioned before who lives in Tennessee.”

“We went to college together.”

“It looked like a drug deal.”

“Shut up.” Connor ruffled Roman’s hair, a gesture that was more stereotypically fatherly than anything his father had ever done. “Don’t think about bad stuff like that.”

“I live with Kendall.”

“Right, right.”

They got back in the car and Connor drove them to a barbecue joint, which Roman protested until he saw the salad options on the menu. He ordered a farmer’s salad and pushed the pieces of turkey it came with on Connor’s plate.

On a road surrounded by flat, grassy fields and low trees, a sign welcomed them to Mississippi. Roman tried to recall the United States map he’d had to memorize years ago, then, just to be sure, he snatched a physical one from the pile of folded papers on the passenger seat.

“Is your ranch in fucking Texas?”

Connor hesitated for a moment. “No.”

“Then what kind of route is this? I thought we were going West.”

“We are, it’s just… Roads are complicated. You wouldn’t know, you fly everywhere like a spoiled-”

“Are you taking the long way around?” Roman traced his finger over the map, an efficient line from Vermont to Arizona, broken in Arkansas and continuing its voyage westward parallel to the lines of latitude; he then tried a gentle curve, going over Tennessee, which they had just left, and even then Mississippi seemed like a useless diversion. Finally, he went for the most charitable question: “Did you take the wrong exit?”

“I…” Connor shot him a glance, then looked back at the road, his fingertips tapping the steering wheel. “Yes,” he finally admitted, tail between his legs.

“Great.”

“But- but it’s fine, it’s just a couple extra hours.”

Even at night the humid heat wouldn’t ease its grasp, clinging to his skin, seeping out of stone walls and pavements it had nestled into during the day.

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I wrote most of this in the summer of 2023. I eventually lost interest in it, which is a shame! I might finish it one day. The concept came about when some friends and I talked about writing something inspired by Lolita but with a different dynamic. I love writing road trip stories, so I took most of my inspiration from that section of the novel. All of the locations I described are real: I traced the path on a map and researched towns, facilities, satellite pictures and street pictures from the 2000s (one of the first locations is Naugatuck, CT). I'd love to one day move this to AO3, but it wouldn't feel right to upload it when the third chapter is nowhere near done and I'm not actively working on it.
Plus, a lot of the vibes of this became look at your face like you're killed in a dream, which is, unsusprisingly, my longest work on this account to date. The research and planning process for that one was similar, but it takes a departure from canon (the reason for Larry here is that I wanted it to be as canon-compliant as possible, so I couldn't shove Jeryd in to make him be the big bad. It also didn't really fit his character). Other differences: Connor goes South, Jeryd goes North; TBOMS is from Roman's perspective, LAYFLYKIAD is from Jeryd's.

Yes! I made a playlist for this! That's how long it was in the works.

• Family Happiness - The Mountain Goats
• Dramamine - Modest Mouse
• Famous Prophets (Minds) - Car Seat Headrest
• Orange Ball of Hate - The Mountain Goats
• Deformative - Black Eyes
• Doll Parts - Hole
• Alpha Double Negative: Going To Catalina - The Mountain Goats
• Every Single Night - Fiona Apple
• Seven Bridges Road - Eagles
• Tallahassee - The Mountain Goats
• Can't Find My Way Home - Blind Faith

Caught in the rain, Jeryd smelled like a wet dog. The large umbrella Roman had bought him had come too late, now shielding his damp hair as Roman tried to arrange his body, to bend himself so he could avoid the water without sticking too close to him.

“Hey. Come here,” Jeryd said when he yet again bumped his head on the umbrella, nearly tripping over his own feet, and pulled him close to himself.

“We’re in public.”

Jeryd bounced the umbrella in his hand. “My face is covered.”

“Wow, that’s great for me. Roman Roy spotted clinging to a mysterious gentleman like a little diva. My father would rise from his grave just to drag me back in with him.”

“You seriously overestimate your own importance as a public figure.” He watched Roman kick the gravel, getting mud on the tip of his Oxfords. “But sure. How about you put your hand over mine, how does that sound?”

“Sounds like you’re way too excited about holding hands in public. What are you, ten?”

Jeryd chuckled, reached for his hand. His thumb dug into Roman’s palm just enough for it to hurt. He guided him to the umbrella handle, then, wrapped his fingers over his own hand. “There. Was that so difficult?”

What annoyed Roman the most was, he was playful. It seemed to amuse him, trying to herd Roman into doing whatever he wanted, to get a rise out of him and watch his reaction, letting him shoulder all his worries and indulge in all his whims. Down time from the top job in the country.

Jeryd yanked his hand, laughed at his surprise. “That’s no way to hold a leash. I might act out and get myself in trouble.”

“Good thing you won’t.”

“You never know. Animals are unpredictable.” His voice now a low growl, he leaned in, so close to Roman’s ear. “You got a scary dog right there. You should put a muzzle on it. Wouldn’t that be safer for everybody?”

Roman swallowed. He could feel Jeryd’s breath on his throat, coming out from between sharp teeth. “You wouldn’t let me,” he said, barely above a whisper. “You wouldn’t… I can’t.”

Jeryd smiled, proud like a father. “That’s right.” He patted Roman’s back, nearly making him topple on jelly legs. “Let’s go home now, alright?”

Roman nodded and followed his lead.

He was more of a wolf than a dog, both in looks and in size. Thick old-man-gray fur Roman loved to bury his face in, coating a body longer than Roman was tall, with knobby legs—now covered in fluff for the cold season—and a straight tail that wagged at praises and pets. A brush of charcoal shaded the top of his head, blending down his cheeks and his neck. He was at least dog enough to not get animal control called on them, as of yet. Must’ve been the blue eyes, just as unsettling as they looked on his human face.

Most days, he would curl up by Roman’s side on the couch and rest his heavy head on his lap, letting out soft, content whines, exhausted by the day he’d had—as it turns out, most days are exhausting when a third of the country you run full time is still trying to kick you off your rightful spot.

Sometimes he would bathe Roman, something he’d been vehemently opposed to at first, but that he’d learned to tolerate if only not to hear Jeryd’s guilt-trips, which he didn’t even bother trying to pass off as genuine. “Come on, let me do something nice for you!” with a pinch of “I’m just trying to involve you in my life. You could be my puppy,” cheeky enough to sound like a joke, barely masking his very real excitement at the idea.

And the thing was, Roman liked being taken care of. That had been what had initially drawn him to Jeryd, along with their synchronicity—a silent promise to look after him, guide him, a display of strength meant not as a challenge, but as reassurance.

Since Jeryd had revealed himself to him, a lot of questions had begun floating in Roman’s head, all of which Jeryd evaded every time they slipped out, long-winded and vague. A few times he’d used his dog form to do so, snout unapt for speech as his excuse.

Roman, after coming up with a query skimmed of all unnecessary dancing-around, finally managed to confront him over the kitchen counter. “Have you ever thought about what you are?”

Jeryd’s mouth was currently busy tearing through a raw Italian sausage, ripping open the skin with his canines and greedily sucking out the meat. He made sure to swallow before he spoke. “At times.”

“So, what’s up with it? When did it start?”

“I’ve always been like this. I’m a man and I’m a dog.” He pressed his fingers together, the thin coating of old blood making a sticky noise when they parted. He licked his thumb clean.

“Are your parents also dogs?”

“Not that I know of. But they don’t know I am one either, so who’s to say.”

“You never told them?”

“It seemed improper. It’s a private matter.”

“So you only tell people you’ve fucked? Is that your version of a home run?”

“Is that what we’re doing? I was thinking of it more as a third date type of thing.” He soiled his now clean hands once again to squeeze out a nugget of meat left loose in the skin sac, then tied a knot at the end. “I thought you were a romantic.”

“You have terrible people skills if you seriously believe that.”

“I became president one way or another.”

“Think of all the heavy lifting we must’ve done to make that possible. To put a stupid dog in the white house.”

“You’re so rude to me.” Jeryd’s hand closes itself around Roman’s wrist, lathered viscid juice on his skin, pulled him close. He kissed him, and Roman forgave the taste of raw meat.

::

“It smells like a kennel in here.”

“Are you sure it’s not just you?”

“Hilarious.” Shiv kissed his cheek and hung her coat.

Roman peeked into the elevator, as if there were crevices a six foot tall man could hide in. “Did Wambsglans get lost in the lobby?”

“He’s sick.”

“He’s always sick when you two come over. I think he does it on purpose. Stand naked on the balcony the night before so he’ll catch a cold or something.”

“Believe me, I was not looking forward to having dinner with Franco either.”

“Thank you for gracing us with the gift of your presence, then.”

Jeryd and Shiv were stiff when they greeted each other. A formal handshake, fake, tight smiles. Cold war in his living room. Roman caught Jeryd smelling her as he followed her through the corridor.

“Man, watch out.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” At Roman’s unamused glance, he added, “It was a sniffle. A man’s not allowed to be sick, now?”

“Uh-huh, I heard there’s something going around.”

Jeryd petted his head and smiled before they sat at the dinner table.

It took until the second course for anyone to speak up, break the tension that had crystallized over the dishes and bottles and wine glasses. “So you got over your fear of dogs,” said Shiv, not looking up from her plate.

“I guess. Why does it matter, why are you asking me that? You planning on dumping your mutt here for the weekend? I’d neglect it, just so you know.”

“There’s a dog bed in the living room.”

Fuck, he’d forgotten to hide it somewhere. Plenty of free guest rooms and it sat there; Jeryd hadn’t been raised rich, so he liked to pretend Roman’s place was cozier than it actually was. Roman cleared his throat. “That’s, uh, mine. I act like a dog when I suck his dick because Kendall made me go all weird.”

“Rome, it’s full of dog hair,” Shiv laughed. “It’s a bit disgusting, honestly. Don’t you ever wash that thing?”

Jeryd didn’t like having his things touched. He’d spent a few days rolling around in the bed so his scent would set. He didn’t like having people around in general, for understandable reasons, which was why the staff would now only show up to keep the house clean and cook, on a precise schedule, and not be allowed to touch any of his toys or collars or furniture.

“It’s mine,” Jeryd interjected, and Roman’s heart jumped for a moment. “For my dog. I bring him over sometimes and he’s spoiled.”

Roman relaxed. Jeryd wasn’t stupid, alright. He shouldn’t have doubted him. “You happy now, Monk?”

“Sure, I was just curious.” Arms crossed defensively, Shiv’s eyes darted between the two of them. “And that’s fine with you?”

Roman shrugged. “I guess I got over it.”

“You never told me, why were you so scared of dogs in the first place?” Jeryd asked, eyes narrowed, something between a researcher and a psychoanalyst.

Roman’s fork clinked against the ceramic plate. “I don’t like… I don’t like it when I can’t tell what someone’s thinking. Like, is this thing staring at me because it wants treats or because it’s about to gnaw my arm off, or is it gonna start humping my leg? I need to know that.”

“And my dog is well trained,” Jeryd concluded. He took a sip and smiled from behind the glass.

“He’s a dick.”

“He obeys me.”

“He sure does!”

Shiv watched them through narrowed eyes and went back to her dinner.

As soon as she was out the door, Jeryd shed his clothes along with his human skin like he’d been itching to do so.

“Stressed out?”

Jeryd licked his palm, nuzzled his leg. A restless energy animated his body, paws shifting frantically.

Roman took Jeryd’s muzzle in his hands, scritching his fuzzy cheeks. “Aw, did mean ol’ Shivvy piss you off?” he cooed in a babyish voice. “Poor little doggy. We should call animal protective services.”

Jeryd made an annoyed noise, wriggled out of Roman’s hold and padded toward the couch. He wasn’t allowed on the furniture at home, not in this state; out of the two people in the world who were aware of what Jeryd was, he seemed to have a stark preference for Roman’s handling of him over his wife’s.

Roman lay down on the couch and made room for Jeryd between his knees, allowing for the position they’d found that worked for them—Jeryd flat on Roman’s chest, head tucked on his shoulders, hind legs in the space between his own. The pressure was comforting without being suffocating, his warmth soothing him into the first stress dream-free naps he’d managed to accomplish since he was a kid.

This time, though, Jeryd’s legs didn’t bend, he didn’t curl up and lie down; all his weight funneled in four rough paws, he stepped on Roman’s chest and stood there, cutting his breath short, claws scratching his skin.

“Jeryd,” Roman wheezed, hands tentatively reaching around his legs. “Move.”

Jeryd tilted his head, animal eyes vacant and simple. He whimpered, then stepped in place, punching gasps out of Roman.

“Cut it out.” He heard himself urgent with panic, now patting at Jeryd’s side in a desperate attempt at communication. “You’re hurting me.”

There was no trace of humanity in Jeryd’s face, no complex thoughts; he didn’t look cruel. He was just a stupid dog, a big animal with fangs and claws and no idea of how fragile a human body was, no understanding of language. How long would he stay like this? Could he even turn back now? Roman hadn’t known it was a possibility, for him to go full dog, body and mind. Needles pricked his fingers, he was dizzy.

He managed to push Jeryd off him, and he landed on his shoulder with an ugly thud, none of the grace of cats and certain birds as he scrambled to his feet. Body stiff, he let out a low growl, eyes locked on him in a terrifying stare.

“Sorry, I’m sorry.” Roman tried to make himself small—it had always worked for people. Not a threat. Just an accident. Jeryd barked, and Roman’s arms flew around his neck in a protective stance. Jeryd’s jaws snapped.

He would die like this, soft flesh bled dry with no effort, torn under teeth made to slaughter.

Jeryd leapt, and Roman screeched, and nails scratched open his thighs and a tongue lapped at his face. A sob trapped in his throat ached like a noose.

Fur made way for skin, and human shins pressed into his thighs as open palms pushed his shoulders into the couch. “You really are scared of dogs.”

Roman’s chest shook with something that vaguely resembled a laugh. His head still felt funny, filled with a a dull weight that made it swirl. Absentmindedly, he felt for the wet scratches on his thighs, hissed at the sting. “Fuck is wrong with you?”

“Just wanted to test a theory.” Even as a man he wasn’t that elegant, not all curled up in Roman’s lap as he was, trying to fit his large body into the nook of Roman’s. It wasn’t right, they should’ve switched places already; Jeryd-as-a-guy was the one who held him, not the other way around.

“Are you fucking with me because I invited Shiv over?”

“In part.” His bluntness at direct questions was always a comfort. “But I was curious.”

“And what’s the verdict, Milgram?”

“Please. Zimbardo.”

“Wow. Hardcore, aren’t you?”

Jeryd laughed, ruffled his hair. He rolled off his lap and dragged him onto his, and Roman had grown too accustomed to his naked form to find it odd; he was just glad he could relax, with Jeryd’s hands holding his listless body in place.

“You’re afraid of dogs.”

“Yeah, no shit, Sherlock. I literally told you that an hour ago.”

“But you’re not scared of me.”

“No, I…” he trailed off. Jeryd was terrifying, [he can hurt him but r can read him. he likes that he’s scary. it’s thrilling] “You’re scary but, in a good way? Most of the time. When I know you’re not actually going to kill me.”

“Oh, come on. Where’s the fun in that?” Jeryd’s hand grazed his thigh, traced the contours of his scratches, trailed upward until Roman grabbed his wrist.

“Don’t do that. I’m still mad at you.”

“Alright.” “I’m sorry about my actions.”

“Do you feel guilty or are you regretting it ‘cause now I don’t wanna fuck you?”

“Is there a difference?”

There had to be, but Roman couldn’t explain it. The tips of Jeryd’s fingers dipped in his scratches, in his hot, pulsating flesh, and Roman squirmed against Jeryd’s embrace. An embarrassing heat rose between his legs.

“There it is.” All proud of himself, he licked up his neck.

“I haven’t changed my mind, you know.” He said it through gritted teeth, trying to hold back the wet noises in his throat.

“I’m not going to force myself on you. Although I could.” Hitting all the right spots, making his head swim with a ridiculous amount of arousal. “I’m just making you regret your decision.”

Roman groaned when Jeryd’s hand settled on his throat, squeezed it gently. “You’re a real piece of shit, d’you know that?”

“Nearly half of America seems to agree with you. You should work on our propaganda department.” He got up, then, crawled off the couch and kneeled as if demanding scraps.

“Blowjobs are included in sex, just so you know.”

“You have a perverted mind.” He grabbed the back of his knees and maneuvered him into a sort of sitting position with ease, his legs on either side of Jeryd and his side reclined on top of the armrest. Ignoring his painfully hard dick, his mouth found the gashes, kissed his raw skin; he lapped up the blood, pressed down to squeeze out more, each touch sending stinging pain through Roman’s body.