Anyway. Second story, same picture, slodwick's "A Picture Is Worth a Thousand Words" challenge.
HTML can be found here, Out in the Middle of Nowhere.
Fluorescents make me look green, the penalty of being so fucking pale, and out here, it's this or pitch black, so I just wait, trying not to stare at my hands like they belong to someone else, and that someone not really human. It's creepy, frankly. Maybe that pot we smoked on the walk is hitting me harder than I thought.
We should have thought of gas a thousand or so miles ago, and that's why we're here, hoping for a gas can and that these people take visa, though the place looks so ancient I'm not pinning my hopes on us getting out of here with anything but beef jerky and a bottle of water. If we even have that much spare change between us.
He's been really quiet for the last hour and keeps giving me suspicious glances, like it's totally my fault we ran out of gas, and okay, right, so I wasn't paying attention, but hell, it was the first time that Brian had let me drive this entire trip, and okay, maybe I got a little excited. Who could blame me?
Brian's been circling the station like he expects gas cans to appear magically just because he says so, and it's really not my fault we don't have one, Mr. I Must Pack My Entire Wardrobe for a Road Trip and Have No Space For Lesser Things, Like Gas Cans. Frankly, I'm kind of surprised *I* fit in the car.
"The car's not very fuel efficient, is it?"
That was probably the stupidest thing I could have said, bar none.
Brian stares at me over those ridiculous sunglasses. It's fucking *night*. No one can have a hangover so bad they need sunglasses at night. "Fuck. You."
"It smells." I mean, it does. There's nothing sexy about a gas station in the middle of nowhere. "Brian--" It's hard to apologize to Brian, because Brian doesn't take them well, and by not well, I mean, shitty. Looking around, I try to find something to distract him. The clerk's not cute enough, and anyway, I may be an understanding boyfriend, but I'll be damned if I'm going to start pimping for Brian, either.
But Brian's forgotten all about me, going off into the shadows like he just saw someone leave a dimebag unattended, and I sigh and search my pockets. I really need some water, badly. A dollar fifty. That'll get me a bottle. Going inside, I try not to notice the clerk keeps staring at my ass and grab the cheapest thing I see. Going up to the counter, I glance outside, and damned if Brian isn't filling up a gas can.
"You want to wait for him to finish?" the clerk asks, blinking out the window. I nod, opening the bottle and hoping to God we didn't blow the rest of limit on that sex toy shop on the strip. "You two from around here?"
I shake my head. "Summer road trip." It's been damn cool so far--this is the most relaxed I've seen Brian since we met. Going back is going to suck. The real world always does. Fuck.
Huh. So maybe I didn't watch the gas level for more than one reason.
Leaning into the counter, I watch Brian. Vaguely, I'm aware that the clerk's stopped breathing. No surprise there. Brian stripped down to a wife beater when the pot started working on him, and right now, he's filthy and sweaty and disgustingly hot. Huh. So gas stations can be sexy with the right motivation. That's new.
I wish the clerk would stop watching his ass, though. That's just rude.
"Hey. He's done." And has been, for awhile, I realize. Right, me and the clerk need to get back to the matter at hand. Brian's too hot and he's too fucking aware of it. "Hey. Bill please?" Jesus, show some respect.
"Right." He doens't even pay attention to the gas, just hits the register, never even looking at me. "Uh, one dollar, seven."
Far be it from me to remind him to charge us for the gas. I go for my change. "Thanks. Night." And keep your eyes to yourself, asshole.
Going back outside, Brian lounges against one of the stations, looking me over like a new trick that's not quite up to par. "You done?" When I'm close enough, he takes the water from me like it's his god given right to have any water bottles he wants, and fuck if he doesn't almost drain it. I watch because--well. It's Brian and water. He knows I'm watching, knows I can't help it, and I'd hate that if I could make myself think around "Ooh. Hot."
That's pretty much how I spend half my time around him. The other half is "God, yes, Brian".
"You ready?" I ask, because the clerk is *still* staring, and okay, this is getting ridiculous. It was bad enough in Vegas, where I actually caught people following him around and shoving keys in his pockets at all hours. When I'm standing *right there*. Assholes.
He tosses the bottle aside, and I open my mouth to remind him that littering is just wrong, but he's got his hand down my pants, and how the hell does he do that so *fast*? I didn't even feel him undoing the buttons.
"Brian." See? It's Pavlovian. Brian looks sexy, I lose the ability to think. Considering that's pretty much all the time, it's a wonder I make it through the day. Jesus.
"Come on, Sunshine." He pushes me backward, leaving the gas can just sitting there, and I want to say, but what about the car, but I'm good for only one really stupid remark a night.
"I've never fucked in a gas station bathroom." Though I think that's about to change.
Brian grins at me, licking across my cheekbone before pushing me toward the bathroom doors.
"I've always said a thorough education is key to a successful life."
*edited to fix the center thingie. I must be more tired than I thought