“Whatever. Just give me the food for me and my boyfriend. We don’t have to talk about it.”
Zane had rarely stayed anywhere long enough to experience this kind of reaction, not since he’d left home, and it struck him how alien this must feel to Roach.
Not that abuse was something Roach didn’t deserve after the horror he’d put Zane through and still hadn’t bothered to apologize for. But it shouldn’t have been happening for that reason.
Zane didn’t experience guilt often, but now it made its way up his leg, like a boa constrictor about to wrap around his neck and cut off the air.
Roach burst out of the kitchen so abruptly the door hit Zane’s shoulder, but he did hold two large takeout boxes. “Watch it!” he said with a growl because his own arm felt the impact as well. He pointed at the boxes with his chin. “Fucking ‘poutine’. It’s fries with cheese and gravy, but that idiot thinks he’s fucking Gordon Ramsay.”
Zane shrugged. “I was hitchhiking when a car hit a rabbit. I roasted it without salt, so a poutine is hardly the worst thing I’ve ever eaten.”
Roach frowned harder than before. “First of all, what the fuck? Secondly, I didn’t say it wasn’t tasty.” He pushed one box at Zane and started walking toward the motel.
Zane exhaled, petting the warm Styrofoam. “You don’t have to take their shit, you know,” he said, jogging for a few paces to catch up.
“Wrong. Because of you, I now have to take their shit.” Roach pulled out a set of keys when they reached a door with a crooked 8 on it.”
“You could piss into his coffee and then watch him wonder why it tastes funny. I’ve done that,” Zane offered, scowling when dusty air blew at him from inside.
Roach turned the light on, revealing yellowed wallpaper with a print of vertical stripes, and put his box of food onto a tiny table with barely enough space for two. “Why are you saying this? Aren’t you happy you fucked me over?”
Zane placed his own box, warm from the food inside, on the same table and sat in the old metal chair in front of it. “Why do you think that? Look at it this way: you finally know the guy’s a douchebag,” he said and opened the lid, letting out meaty vapors. Whatever it was called, the meal did smell nice.
Roach passed Zane a plastic fork he’d taken from the diner. “Who cares? I got free food for a year, and now I’ll have to pay for it like every other sucker. Fucking gay tax,” he grumbled and stuffed his face with fries.
Zane snorted, kicking him under the table. “You’ll get used to it.”
“I don’t wanna get used to it!” Roach turned around to the drawer again, mumbling something about lack of knives, but Zane had a feeling Roach just wanted to hide his face.
Which was pathetic, but also annoyingly sad. Wasn’t he a big biker bastard who didn’t give a fuck?
“Lesson one: people are dicks, and they will judge you because you’re gay. You just got to live your life and don’t let it get you down. At least until I kill you, so learn fast,” Zane said and dug into the unholy mixture of French fries, cheese, and sauce. Disturbingly delicious.
Roach took a deep breath but returned to his food. Without a knife. “Don’t think I’ll just roll over and die.”
“That’s the least you could do.” Zane stuffed his face with the cheese curds.
“I considered it.” Roach shrugged, poking at a fry. “Guess it’s good for both of us that I didn’t go through with it.”
Zane stilled, his mouth uncomfortably full of potato, cheese and gravy as he stared into Roach’s face. Roach refused to look at him and fed himself big chunks of the food, as if the air around them hadn’t gotten a bit frosty.
Weird. Despite the obvious fear for his own existence, the sting inside Zane’s chest was also for Roach. “Why? Because I killed your bullshit club? Boo hoo. And you can’t even take revenge on me now.”
Roach reached for the sheet on the nearby bed and wiped his mouth on it. “Just eat your fucking fries. Why are you even here? Go and do something useful.” He rose as soon as he’d shoveled down the whole portion and walked away toward the bathroom, leaving Zane with unanswered questions and a view on Roach’s back that was far too appealing.
He did not want this attraction, but what was he to do when it was constantly shoved into his face? Roach was like a wolf, strong even under dusty fur, and with sharp teeth Zane might have bared his throat to in another world. Another time.
For now, he’d settle for fucking Roach as often as he could. Guys like him were rarely so eager to bend over, always hung up on their masculinity and afraid of a good dicking. As if they were somehow less gay if they topped. Roach had known his place under Zane, and just thinking back to their fuck made Zane bite his lip.