Fallow smirks in that quiet way he keeps doing, eyeing me from the passenger seat. He has yet to offer to drive, and I haven’t asked. I could, but there’s a primal part of me that feels right chauffeuring him around, even if it’s under ridiculous circumstances. Plus, sometimes he takes off his boots and shoves his tanned, lithe feet out the window and the sight of it makes me so horny I feel drunk.
It’s not safe, but who gives a fuck. We could both get murdered tomorrow. I’ll stare at his surprisingly lovely feet instead of the road if I want to.
“It really does,” he says, finally answering my question. “Always has. Well, since I was old enough, at least. I don’t feel out of control very often, mostly because I’ve engineered my life to be exactly the way I want it, but when I do, sex is one of the fastest ways for me to feel normal again.”
I wasn’t expecting such a sincere answer, but it seems like a lot of things are happening recently that neither of us expected.
After a pause, Fallow keeps talking.
“Do you think that makes me maladjusted, little rabbit? Am I irreparably damaged in some way?”
I can’t help but laugh, because only he could ask that in a tone that implies he wants the answer to be ‘yes’.
“I think how much you enjoy murdering people is what makes you maladjusted, but everyone has their thing. Sex and violence isn’t exactly a revolutionary combination. You do you, boo.”
That gets a real laugh out of him, just like I was hoping, and we’re both grinning at the road as we drive.
More silence, until I realize there’s something else I want to ask him.
“Are you always going to call me little rabbit?”
Fallow considers his answer before he speaks.
“Probably. Why? Do you hate it? Do you feel emasculated?”
He drags out the word ‘emasculated’ like he’s teasing me. I’m sure it’s a ridiculous concept to him, as someone who seems to have let go of most people’s expectations of masculinity, despite being scintillatingly manly in some ways. But he also knows the world we both live in.
“No. I’m not that fragile. But if you say it front of my guys, they will definitely have thoughts and I’m sure you won’t want to hear any of them.”
I can feel Fallow’s gaze on me from the side, even while I refuse to turn and look at him.
“I can’t tell if you’re trying to protect yourself or trying to protect me, to be honest. It’s very sweet, though. You’re sweeter than I expected. For a bland ham sandwich of a man.”
“Okay, I’ll take little rabbit over ham sandwich, if I get a vote in this.”
“Noted,” he says, the smirk obvious in his voice. “You should be proud to be called rabbit, though. Rabbits—especially wild kinds—are tough as hell. They can see in every direction at once, run up to 45 miles per hour, and kick you so hard it’ll split your skin open. And their little teeth are so sharp that they can bite you down to the bone. You don’t want to fuck with a rabbit when the chips are down.”
I try not to smile, but I’m not that successful. His tendency to spit out random animal facts pissed me off at first. Mostly because I thought he was making fun of the situation. But the longer I spend with him, the more I realize he’s doing it absently, like he can’t really keep the words inside, and it’s become endearing.
I don’t know when I started finding the serial killer I’m fucking endearing, but here we are.
“I’m sure they’ll all accept that when I explain it to them, then,” I tell him, still smiling. “Where do you get all of these animal facts from, anyway?”
Fallow pauses, and this time I do turn to glance at him.
“You think you’re the only gangster that’s ever watched a documentary?”
“Fair,” I say with a shrug.
After that, our companionable silence returns. Fallow picks out things from the environment to tell me about sometimes, like a specific kind of bird or even a weird rock formation, that he apparently also knows about. It’s nice. It shouldn’t be, but it is.
We spendanother night at a motel. Fallow rides my dick until I’m gasping for air, just like all the other nights, and then falls asleep on the same bed as me, both of us pressed against the edge.
I don’t say anything. If anything about him is spookable, this is it. And I’m enjoying the companionship more than I expected. I’ve never pined for any kind of closeness. I’m a practical person, and I know the big picture of my life. But having him around me constantly, quiet except when he’s teasing me or fucking me, has brought me a level of peace I haven’t felt before.
We’ve moved into the real desert now, and it’s hard not to feel insignificantly small with the size of the sheer rocks that rise up around the road. It’s all constant twists and turns, up and down in elevation, and it seems to lull us both into a sense of security.
We continue to take our time, and I’m not getting nearly as many phone calls from the guys as I expected, complaining about a crisis. I’m sure they’re enjoying the excuse not to work very hard and dick around themselves. Win-win, as far as I’m concerned.
