Bound Together: Gay Romance

  Bound Together

  Gay Romance

  Tommy Twist

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  Hephaestus Motorcycle Club

  One

  Sand drifts over my dirty feet as hot desert sun beats down on me. My poor skin is fried. If I were a bit more Irish, I'm certain I would be beet red and in a lot of pain after spending so many hours out on this road.

  I bring an old plastic water bottle to my mouth, thankful that I thought to bring it with me. My last ride, an old woman who was definitely on some crazy meds, just dumped me out on this road when we got to discussing politics at her behest. I hesitated buying this water bottle before we left the last city because it would be too heavy, but if I hadn't bought it I would probably be dead by now.

  The sun will go down soon, though. Actually that's not as good as it might sound. I would rather deal with this heat than the freezing night that's going to follow it.

  I'm on my way across the country, much to my mother's chagrin. Backpacking across America, from Florida to California, and I won't be taking that flight back home for another six months. That gives me plenty of time to wander down highways surrounded by sand and not much else. It also gives me plenty of time to die and decompose out here before anyone even thinks to search for me.

  Dad promised they would keep my bank account full while I'm gone, hugging me while Mom sobbed into a pillow and gave me the silent treatment. The last time she cried like that was when I told her I'm gay. Dad's always the practical one, if you couldn't tell.

  My finger slides against the fragile silver cross hanging around my neck. Mom gave it to me for my 12th birthday. I'm not exactly an innocent or godly person, obviously, and I'm been in my fair share of trouble. Still, having this around my neck always reminds me of home. As long as it doesn't burn my skin when I wear it, I figure it's safe enough. It keeps me from doing some of the more egregious things, so it keeps me out of trouble. Most of the time, at least.

  I've been walking along this highway for 4 hours now, promising myself that if another crazy old lady stops for me that I'll just refuse and die on this road rather than deal with the verbal abuse I got from the last one. My whole body is covered in sweat and my deodorant wore off an hour ago. Not the prettiest sight, but it isn't like anyone can see it. I kind of expected someone to show up and save me from this sandy hell, but the three cars that did come by didn't even slow down. I bet my thumb was little more than a tiny blur to them.

  Once the sun starts settling into the horizon, I pull my old sweater out of my backpack and tie it around my waist. I'll put it on once the chill sets in. I have a very long walk before I make it to the next city, and I don't have the luxury of stopping for breaks.

  My teeth are chattering and I can almost see my breath now. I look up at the sky while I walk, watching the stars. At least there's no light pollution out here, so I can see the constellations clearly. I've been thinking about majoring in astronomy when I do decide to go to college, since I've always been interested in space.

  The moon is waning and every star twinkles so much brighter than they do back home. I'm standing still, trying to find and name every star I can when I hear a low rumble from behind me. For a second I worry that it's a storm coming my way. Rain is rare here, but it's not unheard of this time of the year. The longer I listen, though, I realize it's not thunder but the roar of an engine.

  Turning to face the sound, I look down the long road to see what it's coming from. In this wasteland, sound can carry for miles.

  About a mile away, I spot the lights of what seems like a huge black motorcycle blazing towards me at top speed. No one one a motorcycle has stopped for me yet. I consider just ignoring it, but my body is desperate for a break from walking. My feet ache and my hands are shaking from hunger. Stepping closer to the road, I throw out my thumb and wait.

  Before too long, the huge bike is near enough for me to see the faded American flag bandana on the driver's head. His headlights hit me and I wiggle my thumb.

  He passes by me at top speed. A wave of disappointment courses through me, but then I hear the engine cut and turn around. He's stopped ahead, and dismounting his bike.

  Jogging up to the monster of a vehicle, I flash him the best smile I can manage. He's got a leather bag slung over his right shoulder, but it looks mostly empty. A patch on his left shoulder says “Hephaestus Motorcycle Club”, and underneath that is a string of outlined stars. Only one is filled in.

  “Where ya headed, boy?” He's got a hint of a Southern accent, but only barely. The bandana holds back his short blond hair, and even though its dark his eyes twinkle with an emerald, playful green. I check out his bare arms and neck and smirk. If Mom were with me right now, she'd nearly faint and warn me against going anywhere near this man.

  “He's got tattoos on his neck, Adam!” I can hear her exclaim in her thick Jordanian accent. “He's bad news, and I forbid you from even looking at him!”

  I hold back a chuckle. “I'm headed to Phoenix, or as close as I can get.”

  “Hmm,” he sucks on his teeth and strokes his blond beard with one hand, looking down the road. “Well, I'm headed past there so I suppose I could drive ya in and take ya a little farther after you rest a bit. What's yer name?”

  “Adam!” I say, placing my hands behind my back and sort of bowing.

  “Mine's Chuck. Good to meet ya. Ever ridden on one'a these before?”

  “No, sir. To be honest I'm kind of scared.” I look down at the asphalt, blushing. It's probably too dark for him to see my face burning red. That's what I hope, at least.

  “Don't got a helmet for ya, unfortunately. You'll just have to trust me.”

  Well, I don't have much of a choice. I take one of Chuck's huge hands, and he easily helps me into the back seat. I swing my right leg across the bike. Chuck sits in front of me and settles in, revving the engine.

  “Hold on tight, and let me know if you need a break to catch yer breath or anything.”

  I wrap my arms around Chuck's torso, at least as much as I can. His stomach is rock hard, but he's still a huge man. The vibrations of the engine kick on and send an unexpected shock through me, starting right at my balls. As I squirm, I think I hear the driver laugh quietly, though I can't be sure. I bite back a moan and shift in the seat, trying to escape the sensation. No matter what I do, though, the vibrations keep hitting me and sending me closer to a state of bliss. Finally, I find a position that spares me from the feeling, just before I orgasm and make a real fool of myself.

  Unfortunately, the only position that works basically leaves me dry humping Chuck, with my dick pressed against his lower back. If he notices it, he doesn't mention it.

  He presses his foot against the pedal and we speed off down the road. I try to enjoy the breeze running through my short hair. I even get comfortable enough to look up at the sky above us.

  We pass a few hills in the distance, the lights of some faraway houses flying by in a blur. Chuck slows down to point out the lights of Phoenix while we're at the apex of a big hill. It's still very far away, but seeing it brings me a sense of relief.

  “Ya doing okay back there? I'm not scaring you, am I?”

  “No, sir! This is pretty fun!”

  “Oh? How about this, then?”

  We jerk forward, going much faster now. I'm too short to see over Chuck's shoulder and check just how fast we're going, but it must be at least 90. There's a turn coming up that gets my heart pumping.

  “Fuck, fuck! Stop, go
slower!” I scream, but he doesn't let up. We take the turn fast, just barely avoiding the metal fence on the side of the road. The turn makes my stomach leap and I grip Chuck's chest even tighter now. He chuckles and we slow back down.

  “Just wanted to show you could trust me, Adam. I knew what I was doing. Let's stop off at this diner coming up, so you can relax. Ya might tear my vest the way you're grippin' at it.”

  We drift into the parking lot of the diner at around 10 pm. Chuck steps off the motorcycle before offering me his large hand to help me down. My legs are still weak with adrenaline and fear, wobbling a bit as I stand on the firm cement ground.

  “I need some food and drink to keep me awake. We have another hour or two before we hit Phoenix, and then we'll stop near the edge of the city to sleep unless ya have an objection.”

  I shake my head. It'll be nice to get a room and sleep for a few hours.

  “Want anything to eat? My treat.” He grins at me. His face, now that I can see it better in the diner's lights, looks a little weathered from sun and wind. I can tell he's kind of young, though. There's one deep scar along his jawline. Chuck is maybe 25, maybe younger.

  “I couldn't possibly let you pay for me, Chuck.”

  “Now you listen here, mister. I'm not about to let you pay for food here when you're already doing me a favor by keeping me company. Ya understand? Now tell me what you want?” At this moment he looks like a concerned boyfriend, trying to coax me to eat. It's endearing, though it doesn't really fit the situation.

  “Chicken strips, I guess. And fries. And a soda!” I grin up at him. “I only ever really eat kid food, I guess. Is that weird?”

  “Nah, that's what I'll be havin' too. I'll order, you go ahead to the bathroom if ya need to. I'll sit us in that corner, okay?” He points to a booth next to two huge windows and beneath a dim light. It's probably got the most privacy in the whole building.

  “Okay!”

  With a skip in my step, I push past the bathroom door and do my business. I unzip my jeans and try to piss, but my cock is rock hard. Damn. I don't want to deal with this in a public bathroom in a strange diner. I decide to just grit my teeth and bear it, thinking about some hard math problems to make me go flaccid and allow me to do my business.

  As I wash my hands. I check myself out. I still look a damn mess from sweating all day. Running my fingers through my gross hair, I sigh. There's no chance of me looking good until I get a shower. I am so glad Chuck picked me up. He seems like a good guy, and he hasn't judged me yet. I feel safe with him, too, as weird as that is. He gives off the gay vibe, too, but I'm not even going to try to ask him if he is.

  Rounding the corner, I find some man standing next to the booth, in front of Chuck. They seem to be having a conversation, and from the look on Chucks face things aren't going well. His lips raise in a disgusted grimace that he barely tries to hide. This is the first time he's really seemed to be the badass motorcyclist that he is.

  The other man is wearing tattered jeans and a heavy leather jacket. His hair is bright red, his skin as black as the night. His shoulders are somehow even broader than Chuck's, and one of his hands is clenched in a tight fist. He seems as if he might throw a punch at any second.

  Chuck's eyes flick towards me, and something in them tells me to stay back. The other man notices his gaze and turns his head to me just slightly. His eyebrows is pierced. He has a fierce look of disgust on his face as he sees me, but then he turns back to Chuck.

  They talk for a few more minutes, and Chuck hands him something in a small envelope. They shake hands before the black guy turns around and walks up to me. As he comes close enough, he leans in towards my ear. He smells of whiskey and cigarettes and something else, something sweeter. “Be careful with that one,” the man whispers. He pushes past me, leaving me confused. I don't know what his words mean, and I don't really want to. I shudder as he exits the building, and then I sit across from Chuck in the booth.

  There's an uncomfortable silence. “Did you order yet?” I ask as I fidget with the cross on my neck.

  “Yeah. Food should be here soon.”

  More silence. It's maddening. What can I talk about? Should I ask about the guy? Should I ask what was in the envelope? Wait, I know! “So, what kind of bike is that?”

  Chuck looks up from picking at his fingernails, then out the window. His bike is under a streetlight. Its black paint shins.

  “That's a Triumph Bonneville. It's not the biggest nor the best, I s'pose, but it's a classic and not too fancy. Plus it isn't too heavy to pick it up if it falls, which is good 'cus it falls often enough.”

  “Is that your only one?”

  “Nah, I've got an old Harley I'm working on fixing back home. That one's a real beauty. Bright red, too. I think you'd look good on the back of that one.”

  See what I mean about the gay vibe?

  I blush, my fingers fidgeting with the zipper on my sweater. “Where's home, anyway? You live around here, in Arizona?”

  “Nah,” he shrugs. “I'm from California. Heading back there, actually. Had to drop off some stuff for the boss.”

  “Oh, I'm headed to California too!” I say, ignoring the bit about a boss.

  “Yeah? Maybe we'll be riding partners the whole way, then. Wouldn't mind taking the scenic route with ya. It's nice to have a handsome guy like you on my bike.”

  “Haha, maybe! We'll see!” Is Chuck trying to flirt with me? Well, let me tell you, complimenting me totally works.

  The server finally arrives with our food. Both of us scarf down our fries first, dipping them in ketchup before doing the same to our chicken. Chuck drinks 3 sodas by the time I finish one of mine. Then he orders a second plate of chicken. “Ya want anything else? Maybe a dessert?”

  I look up the the server. “I'll just have a vanilla shake if you've got one.”

  “Sure thing, dear, I'll be back in a second.”

  We don't talk about anything while we eat. Chuck watches me eat some of my shake while he waits for his chicken to cook.

  “You want some?” I offer, holding out the spoon. He takes it from me, his fingers brushing against mine. He gets this goofy grin on his face once the treat hits his tongue.

  “Ain't had one of these in years.”

  “Really?” I ask. “How come?”

  A dark look passes over his face, but then it's gone in an instant. “Just swore off of it.” He doesn't tell me why. The tone in his voice is enough to stop me from pressing.

  “You ready to go? We'll ride through Phoenix unless ya got somewhere specific yer staying, or ya need to pick up something from a store.”

  “Riding through is fine. I think I'm about ready to get out of Arizona.”

  He laughs and shakes his head. “Never liked it much here, either.” He looks down at me, his face towering over mine. “Ya look cold, though.”

  “I'll survive.”

  “Tough guy, eh? Alright, come on.” He takes my hand and helps me back up onto the small back seat. I balance myself until he kicks his leg over the bike. It wobbles before he can sit down. “See?” He grunts, kicking the stand for the motorcycle. “Damn thing's broken so bad a gust of wind could knock it over. Gonna fix that when I get home.”

  “Did it happen while you were on your trip?”

  “Yeah, some punk beat the shit out of it. Or, tried to. I gave him a stern talkin' to.”

  Something tells me he didn't talk to him so much as beat the hell out of the punk. Even though Chuck has been gentle with me, he has a faint scent of blood still on his clothes and his muscles have to be used for something. He's not a pacifist, I know that much. I'm not stupid.

  TWO

  Phoenix is beautiful at night, even if you pass through it at breakneck speed. Chuck refuses to slow down through the city, weaving in and out of the cars, leaving their honks far behind us. We even weave in front of a police car, who doesn't even flash his lights at us.

  Growing more confident in his driving, I allow myself to
look around and enjoy the sights. The tall buildings and the night life. Maybe it isn't as interesting as Vegas, but the junkies and gangs out at night are much more intriguing when you're passing by them too fast for them to touch you.

  In almost no time at all, we're passing through the suburbs and pulling into a small motel. It looks nicer than most motels, at least.

  We walk into the lobby, but no one's there. Chuck sighs and rings the bell. I rub my eyes as we wait, yawning and leaning against my new friend.

  Finally, a huge man with big coke-bottle glasses steps out from the back room. His gut barely fits through the door. Both of his arms are tattoo sleeves, mostly with religious tattoos.

  “Chuck! Good to see you again, man.”

  “You too, brother.” They shake hands and do that strange man-hug from over the counter. Chuck's big hands slap against the attendant's back before they part.

  “So the delivery went so well they let you bring home a boyfriend?”

  Chuck gives a strained laugh and I blush, looking at the ground. “Nah, I'm just a hitchhiker,” I say, quietly. Boyfriend? Does everyone think Chuck is gay?

  “Ahh,” the attendant replies. “Well, I hope you two weren't looking for two rooms. We're all booked and so's Charlie's place down the road. There's some kind of convention in town using the May Hotel, and everywhere is booked. I have exactly one room, but it's the biggest one in the place. Two beds, too.”

  Chuck sighs. I look from him to the attendant. I trust Chuck. Why shouldn't I trust him? I shrug and say “That's fine by me.”

  Chuck looks back at me, confused and then resigned. “Fine. Give the boy the key, I'll pay and chat with you a bit.”

  The fat man hands me the key and tells me where I can find the room. Stepping outside, I run up the stairs, excited to throw my bag off my back and get a shower. Opening the door, I assess the situation.

  Two twin-size beds, they look comfortable enough. One bathroom with a big tub and shower. A TV with a few channels. Checking my phone, I use the free Wi-Fi to check the news and catch up on some of the blogs I like to read.