Boar obscured the lower part of his face with his hands, but Pyro didn’t even attempt to hide how hilarious he found Drake’s misery.
“Make use of that dark back of your van, D. You need to loosen up sometime.”
Drake exhaled with exasperation. “Not. Interested.”
Tank ignored him, already opening the door of his truck. “See you in two hours. We’ll eat at Sally’s.”
Clover smiled up at Drake, trying to look like the picture of innocence. “Will you help me put on sunscreen?”
“Can’t believe this shit.” Drake shoved Clover toward the small store while the two other vehicles set off for their destination.
Clover followed him into the store, which fortunately was large enough to sell some clothing items. It was only one rack of touristy printed T-shirts, and they had no shoes on offer, which left Clover stuck with the women’s flip flops, but he supposed he could wear a T-Shirt with a UFO at the front. Were they that close to Roswell?
“Just get on with it,’ Drake said, walking off toward the aisle filled with snacks.
“Help me choose, though.” Clover didn’t need the help, but he wanted to engage the stubborn guy. Clover was sure he’d seen a spark of interest in Drake’s eyes before, and he would exploit it if it killed him. He presented the UFO T-shirt in one hand and a white top with a simple outline of an alien’s head and a speech bubble that read, I want to believe in the other.
Drake turned around with a packet of cheap fruit candy in hand, and scowled, as if the prospect of having any interaction with Clover pained him to the core. “Why, you’re color-blind too?”
Clover groaned and left the white T-shirt on the rack. “Now, that’s just mean. I don’t go around telling you to quit the funeral colors.” He approached Drake, making sure to catch eye contact. “It’s okay if my loose morals scare you,” he teased.
Drake’s Adam’s apple bobbed, and as he turned to the sodas, there was a flush climbing up his pale neck. “Take the white one.”
“We’ll look like night and day.” Clover got giddy at this small bone thrown his way and retrieved the white top. He stopped to get a pack of chips on his way back to Drake. His favorite flavor was on the top shelf, but he was so short that he was struggling to reach it even once he climbed to his toes.
The nineties pop music mocked him in the empty shop, so he stepped on the lowest shelf, stretching as much as possible, but his fingertips barely touched the chips. Frustrated, he wanted to ask someone for help, but a burly guy with a crew cut only stared at him for a second before walking off, as if he were embarrassed about watching an albino person for a bit too long.
Clover turned Drake’s way, surprised to see the man standing much closer than before. “Help would be appreciated.”
Drake’s lips stretched into a small smile for the first time since they’d met. “I prefer to watch you struggle.”
Clover didn’t know what to say to that. It was awful of Drake to say such things, yet he somehow didn’t seem malicious. What was Clover supposed to do about this conundrum?
“You do?” he whispered, but was so distracted he slipped off the shelf.
Drake took a loud inhale, still watching Clover in silence. But after two seconds, he did grab the chips off the high shelf, and handed them to Clover. “I picked out sunscreen. Is this the right one?” he asked, opening his mouth as little as humanly possible. It reminded Clover of those stereotypical big-headed aliens, but maybe Drake just feared normal facial expressions would end up giving him early wrinkles. Or maybe his little lisp was the result of a malformed tongue.
Clover licked his lips. The SPF was right, and so was the UVA star rating at the back. “Thanks.”
When Drake passed him the tube, Clover touched his fingers with a smile.
The man stilled, his shoulders going rigid as if he were expecting an attack. “We don’t want to deal with your burns. It’s always easier to prevent.” And yet, he watched Clover like an apprehensive cat.
“Drake, no need to be so tense. I’ve got no bad intentions. In fact, I could help you loosen up if you let me,” he whispered and stepped into Drake’s personal space, sliding his finger under Drake’s belt.
The trim, tall body didn’t move even by a fraction of an inch, but Drake’s lips paled when they pressed together. “What do you mean?”
“The tension in your balls,” Clover said, so close now he could reach Drake’s neck with his lips if he got to his toes.
When Drake swallowed, trumpets rang in Clover’s ears in triumph, but moments later, cool fingers dug into his cheeks so hard he barely held back a cry of pain. Drake forced him back until Clover’s shoulders hit the side of a block of shelves, his black-clad presence hovering over him like death himself.