“Last one there is a rotten egg,” Graeme laughed and raced after Art.
It was maddening, and Ryan couldn’t remember when he’d been happier. He pushed up and scrambled after his friends, gaining ground on them, since he had the longest legs, then pulling ahead of Art. Graeme was surprisingly fast, though, and beat them both to the edge of the pier.
Like the beach, the pier was incredibly packed and crowded as well. It was one of the main attractions of Brighton Beach, so that was no surprise. The three of them had to leave acting like children to the actual children, who were running everywhere, laughing and screaming, crying and throwing fits, much to the annoyance of a few mothers, and generally enjoying themselves.
“I’ve never been to an arcade like this,” Graeme commented as they walked through a loud, flashy, expensive mass of games and devices.
“You’re kidding,” Art said, reflecting exactly what Ryan had been thinking.
“I told you, my family never approved of places like this,” Graeme said. He glanced around and said, “It looks fun.”
“Right, that’s it,” Ryan said, reaching for his wallet in his back pocket. “We’re playing games.”
It was like something out of a movie montage of reclaimed childhood. He cashed in far too much money for the tokens that the games all required, and the three of them set to work trying out everything from skee ball to the machines that pushed coins off a ledge.
Graeme was in heaven, which came as a surprise to Ryan. Considering how the day had started, he hadn’t expected to see Graeme laughing and getting so involved in the stupid games. They hadn’t even started drinking yet. Art noticed the change, too.
“See?” he said as they gathered tickets from the water pistol game they’d just competed in. “I told you this was a brilliant idea.”
“It was,” Graeme admitted.
“And now I’m going to cash these tickets in and win you a big, ugly stuffed dog or something,” Art said.
“Oh no, you don’t,” Ryan jumped ahead of him. “If anyone is going to win Graeme a prize, it’s going to be me.”
“You?” Art, leaned back and looked at him like the most judgmental drag queen to ever walk through Brighton’s flashing lights.
“You think you can do better?” Ryan challenged him, putting on the camp himself.
“Watch me.”
Graeme laughed as the two of them took the competition up a notch and started warring against each other to win increasingly larger prizes for him. It was absolutely the best time Ryan had had in a long time. There were no deadlines to chase, no high-fashion rivalries to trip him up, and most importantly of all, no expectations for him to live up to.
“Enough, enough!” Graeme laughed once his arms were piled with cheap soft toys. “I need the toilet anyhow. Stop winning prizes for me.”
“Never!” Art called out as Graeme turned to walk off in search of the men’s room.
As soon as he was out of sight, Art grabbed Ryan’s hand and pulled him off toward the arcade exit.
“Where are we going?” Ryan asked, glancing over his shoulder in case Graeme was watching them. Graeme was nowhere to be seen.
“I need some fresh sea air,” Art said, tugging him through the door and out onto the far side of the pier.
He didn’t stop there. He searched around the still-crowded area until he found a tiny gap between two booths. It looked to be some sort of service access, definitely someplace they weren’t allowed to go, but Art pulled him through anyhow.
As soon as they were on the other side, Art threw him up against the back of a snack booth and plastered his body against Ryan’s. He didn’t say anything, he just grabbed Ryan’s head and pulled him in for a fierce kiss.
“I’ve been wanting to do that all day,” Art panted as Ryan struggled to catch his breath and pull his soul back into his body.
He must have wanted it, because he did it again. Art pressed his full body and a particularly stiff part of his anatomy against Ryan as they kissed. It was so good and everything Ryan had been dying for. He’d been wanting to kiss Art for nearly two weeks, and was surprised he hadn’t already.
“You’re going to kill me,” he panted before grabbing handfuls of Art’s arse and taking charge of their next kiss.
“But you’ll die with a smile on your face,” Art gasped at the end of that kiss.
Art inched back enough to try to drop to his knees, but Ryan stopped him and pulled him back up just as Art reached for the fly of his jeans.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Ryan laughed, almost hysterical.
