Smokin’ Aces. Hollis/Darwin. R. 630 words. Same verse as No Room in Heaven
The inside of the car stinks like week-old tacos and maryjane.
Virtuous Souls
They’re in the middle of a desert and every inch of Darwin’s skin is sweating and sticking to something.
The wet trickle down his spine’d be worth it if he were balls-deep in a squirming cunt; Darwin’s never bothered with a fuck unless things were gonna be sweaty. Killing he can do quick or slow, but if shit’s squared away neat it’s only because he’s aiming for a bigger payoff down the road. It’s practically a family fucking tradition that if the bullets fly straight and the bodies fall tidy, a goddamn orgy of violence is rounding the bend.
Getting his dick wet’s a different matter. Darwin doesn’t have enough fucking time in the world to coddle a girl just to get a hand down her pants. He doesn’t care too much for kissing either. Kissing gives Jeeves a raging pole, the great big pussy. But since the start of this road trip Darwin’s dick hasn’t had anything to do besides piss in the dirt. Even kissing is starting to sound worth the trouble.
Hollis probably kisses. He looks like the type. Probably graduated high school. Probably spent all those years hiding in his bedroom reading poetry about flowers instead of getting laid.
“What’re you thinking about, over there?” Darwin asks. The skin of his upper back peels off the hot leather seat when he twists to look at Hollis. The man doesn’t talk much. He just stares on down the road, still wearing a sweatshirt even though the A/C don’t work and the sun beats on the roof of the car like the Almighty’s own vengeance.
Darwin thinks Hollis is out of his fucking mind, but what can he say—he ain’t wearing it, but the Fed’s crusty black coat sits all wadded up on the backseat. There’s nothing smart about keeping it, but with a rinse or two the blood will be mostly gone and it fits nice. “Not finally dying of shock, are you? Shame if that’s the case. Virtuous soul like yourself.”
The inside of the car stinks like week-old tacos and maryjane. Darwin’s stomach growls. He licks his lips and musters up enough spit and snot to hawk one out the window.
“If you die, I’m driving.” Darwin had never lacked for food or fucking with his brothers around. Jeeves and his goddamn kissing. Lester and the way he’d fuck anything you put in front of him. “I promise to say some words though. Nice ones to thank you proper for not leaving me for the Feds despite your grievous injuries. Means a lot coming from the man who shot me full of holes.”
Hollis doesn’t say shit and flips him off with the stubs of his fingers.
Laughing makes Darwin’s bulletwounds start bleeding all over again.
“I like you,” Darwin tells him. Ain’t so bad after all. “My hand to the Lord I’ll give you a proper send-off when the time comes.”
The lines on the road are guitar strings plucked and quivering. Darwin blinks to get them to stay still. He gives up after a span of seconds and closes his eyes instead. Patterns dance in his vision, shifting fractals that remind him of the lace draped over Granny’s old television cabinet.
“Promise me you’ll do the same for me, Hollis.”
“The most I’ll do is bury you in the coat I shot you in, asshole.”
Darwin reaches out blindly to clap Hollis on the arm. He always thought he’d go to the crows.
“You care to know what I was thinking?”
“No.”
Opening his eyes, the road is flat again and the only shimmer is on the horizon. “Fair enough,” Darwin says.
If they both make it out of the desert, he’s going to fuck Hollis so deep he chokes on it.
*
End
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