Title: Finding Home In The Strangest Place, Homecoming

Author: Scribe

Status: finished

Disclaimer: The characters belong to their original creators. I make no money from this. No disrespect is meant to the material, the people who created it, or the actors who portrayed the characters.

Archive: Here, yes. Otherwise, ask me.

Notes: pillion--a motorcycle or bicycle saddle for a passenger

Rating: eventually NC-17

Notes:


Finding Home In The Strangest Place 2: Homecoming
By Scribe

When they stepped out from under the boardwalk David's hand tightened on Paul's. Without any discussion, they both broke into a run, sprinting across the short space of sand to the stairs that led up to the boardwalk. They had to let go while they climbed, but David took his arm again when they were on the sidewalk.

Paul had never really liked being touched, aside from sex. *Hell, let's face it--I usually don't like it then.* But somehow it was different with David. His touch was firm, and just the right balance of friendly--not too personal, not too distant.

They hurried the hundred yards or so down to the pancake shop--one of the few bright islands on the boardwalk. A gust of warm, dry air blew out as David pulled the door open, and Paul felt himself relax minutely. He surprised himself by laughing breathlessly. The place was empty except for the cook, the waitress, and an elderly couple sitting halfway down the shop. The customers gave him disapproving looks, and Paul's smile faltered. He felt a blush starting.

David noticed, and followed the direction of his gaze. His eyes narrowed slightly, and Paul felt a sudden thrill of apprehension. He sensed an edge of danger in the other boy, and wondered how he was going to respond to this. David smiled at them, throwing his arms around Paul's shoulders. "Hell of a night out there, isn't it, folks?" The two blinked, then quickly looked back down at their plates.

David smirked, then gave Paul's head a quick rub. "C'mon. Let's take that back booth."

The waitress followed them down to the booth, carrying a pot of coffee and two mugs. As they slid onto the benches, she snagged two menus from the counter on the other side of the both and dropped them on the table, then started to pour the coffee. "Hiya, gents. Need a little time to look at the menu?"

"Nothing for me." David watched as Paul upended the sugar shaker over his cup, dumping a thick stream of white crystals into his steaming coffee. Then he emptied three packs of powdered creamer into the mug, stirred the thick looking brew, and drank half of it in two gulps. "Tell me, is that all you can eat on the breakfast stuff still good?"

She nodded. "Ten p.m. to ten in the a.m."

"Paul?" Paul was drinking the rest of the coffee, his eyes closed in bliss, throat working with each swallow. David's eyes unfocused slightly as they followed that soft pulse. Then Paul lowered the empty mug, giving David a questioning look as he licked a milky film from his upper lip. David hesitated, his breath catching for an instant, then said, "How's that sound? All you can eat on eggs, bacon, sausage, hash browns, toast, pancakes, cereal, ham steak..."

"Oh, wow, that sounds excellent!" Paul almost winced at the eagerness in his own voice, and tried to rein it in. He poked the menu, where the special was advertised in large, red letters. "But it's almost thirteen bucks for that."

"So? Tell her what you want." David indicated Paul's empty cup. "And don't just stand there, sweetheart. Give the man a refill. He's chilled to the bone."

Paul ordered more food than he'd had in the past two days. He tried to ignore the sympathetic looks the waitress was giving him. When she left he muttered to David, "She's gonna think I'm a pig."

"Nah. There's a difference between gluttony and honest hunger."

"You're not eating?"

David smiled. "I ate yesterday. I won't really need anything for awhile."
Paul regarded him with disbelief the concept of declining to eat when you had money was alien to him. David was looking past Paul toward the kitchen area. Now he said, "Hm. There may be some shit going down."

Paul peered around. The cook was holding his order slip, talking to the waitress. The middle-aged man glanced toward him, and Paul felt a cold twinge as the man's suspicious gaze raked over him. He suddenly felt even grungier. The waitress was shaking her head, but the man poked a finger at her, talking in a low, but vehement voice. Finally, the girl snatched back the slip of paper and stomped back to the booth.

She was flushed, obviously angry and embarrassed. "I'm sorry, sir, but..."

"But you suddenly find that they require payment in advance," said David.

Her flush deepened, and her voice was quiet. "I'm sorry about this. He's a paranoid bastard, but he's my boss."

"Don't worry about it." David pulled the bill Max had given him out of his pocket and handed it to her. "You just keep the change from that, darlin'. Compensation for having to deal with assholes." She flashed him a relieved smile, and went back. She pointedly showed the money to the cook, rang up the sale, and pocketed the tip. The man grimaced sourly and began to scramble eggs. David noticed that Paul looked even paler than he had. The boy's hand was trembling as he lifted the mug again. "What is it? Man, you can't let dicks like that get to you."

"I've never done anything like that." Paul's voice was thin with pain and outrage. "I've been hungry more often than I haven't, and I've NEVER pulled a dine 'n' dash. Some places make the employees pay for those, and I don't push my troubles onto someone else."

"Let it go, Paul. He isn't worth you raising your blood pressure. Believe me, jerks like that always end up running into something that's worse than what they imagined. You just concentrate on eating enough to cut into his profit."

Paul did. He worked his way through three platters loaded with delicious, greasy, rich food. He slathered his pancakes with butter, then drenched them in two kinds of syrup before finishing them with a sprinkle of sugar. David had laughed. "You're gonna be diabetic before you're thirty."

"If I live that long," Paul mumbled, carefully tucking a dripping morsel into his mouth.

David's expression grew serious. "You shouldn't talk like that."

Paul shrugged, almost angrily. "C'mon, David, be realistic. Look at me--people like me don't get old. We burn out, or someone kills us. The most I can hope for is that it'll be, like, an accident. You know--fast and painless. Maybe get hit by a car while I'm hitchhiking." He paused in his eating, drawing designs in the syrup with his fork--swirls that disappeared as the viscid liquid slowly flowed back in on itself. "That wouldn't be so bad, 'cept with my luck I'd just get knocked into a ditch with a broken back and lay there for a few days before someone 'rescued' me."

David turned his mug around. He dabbled his fingers in the cooling liquid, then sniffed them. "I love the smell of coffee. Sometimes I come in here just to smell it. "I kind of know what you mean. Life can be pretty pissy sometimes, but believe me, death isn't really any better."

Paul sighed and started shoveling down the food again. "Well, those are the only alternatives."

David gave him a slow smile. "Finish your food and we'll go back to my place. You look like you need some rest."

For the first time in a very long time, Paul experienced the luxury of leaving food on his plate. Not much, but there's been times when he would have dug into a dumpster for that piece of toast and bacon scrap.

The rain had lessened, becoming a fine drizzle. They went to the parking lot at the end of the boardwalk. It was almost deserted now, less than a half dozen vehicles, widely scattered. David led Paul to a gleaming Triumph motorcycle. Paul ran an admiring hand over the chrome. He'd always wanted a motorcycle, but he'd never had even a bicycle. "Nice bike."

"Thanks. Hope you don't mind riding pillion." David pushed up the kickstand, then threw a leg over the bike, settling on the seat. "Climb on." Paul hesitated a moment, then mounted the motorcycle behind him. David glanced back over his shoulder. "Don't sit way back there. You need to move in close and hang on. The roads aren't going to be particularly nice." Paul slid forward a few inches, fitting himself against David's leather-clad back and hooking his arms around the other boy's waist. David patted Paul's hands where they were clasped over his belly. "That's better." He kicked the motor into life, and they pulled out of the lot.

The drive wasn't far. Instead of driving inland, as he had expected, they drove along the shore, out to the edges of Santa Carla. David was a good driver, Paul thought, but a rather scary one. They sped over the wet, gleaming pavement, the wind from the ocean whipping them. It was so cold. By the time they slowed and pulled over, Paul's teeth were chattering.

They dismounted, and Paul looked around, puzzled. There was nothing here--nothing. He felt a wash of apprehension as David pushed his bike behind a clump of bushes. David had said they were going to his place. Why had he brought Paul to this lonely place? Paul remembered that scary edge he'd sensed, and he was frightened. Yes, he'd said that with the way his life was going he wouldn't mind death, but... But any death that occurred in a deserted place like this would be a hard one.

Still, he didn't back away when David returned. He waited to see what the other boy would do. "C'mon," David said, walking past him. "Let's get out of this weather."

At first, in the dimness, Paul thought that David had just stepped off the edge of the bluff. But he edged closer, peering over the rim, and saw the ramshackle set of wooden stairs leading down the side of the bluff. Thoroughly baffled now, Paul followed him. He passed rusted pilings that sported signs saying DANGER, HAZARD, NO TRESPASSING... He started down after David. Signs like that usually marked the most likely sleeping shelters.

He reached the beach and saw David standing just inside a large opening in the rock. So, this was it--a cave. He'd never slept in a cave before, but he was sure it couldn't be any more uncomfortable than some of his other crashes.

"You're gonna have to be careful, here." David started down, and Paul followed, picking his way carefully. "Don't worry, man. This is worth the trip, trust me."

They came into an open area, and Paul stopped short, staring. "Oh, my God."

"Nice, huh?" David stood in the middle of what looked like the remains of a posh hotel lobby. Arms outstretched, he made a full turn.

"It's unbelievable!" While David stripped off his coat, Paul wandered around the room, peering at the fat, overstuffed velvet couches and mahogany check in desk. There was even a registry book lying on the desk. Paul went to it and opened it. It was thickly coated with dust, and he wiped it off on his shirt as he flipped pages. He ran a finger down one page. "The last guest checked in here in..."

"1906--April 17th. Are you cold, Paul?"

"Yeah, kinda." David started to build a fire in the big fireplace that graced one wall. The stonework was cracked, but it was intact. "It was at 9:20, April 17th. Nothing after that."

"That's because the earthquake struck at about five a.m. on April 18th. This place used to be a real ritzy resort, but they made the mistake of building it right on top of the San Andreas Fault. The earth just swallowed it up. That was nasty." He took matches from a box on the mantle and struck one. He stared into the flame for a moment before tossing it into the paper and kindling. "Very nasty."

The flame caught quickly. In a few moments, there was a roaring fire. David pulled a sofa close before the fire and flopped on it, patting the cushions beside him. Paul peeled off his sopping jacket and draped it over the desk before going to sit beside the other boy. He pulled off his shoes, exposing pale, naked feet, and put the drenched boots on the hearth. The damp leather immediately started to steam. Paul wiggled his toes, sighing happily as the heat began to leech the chill from them.

He looked around again. "This is so cool. Do you really live here?" David nodded. "All by yourself?"

"All by myself."

"What about your parents?"

David's eyelids lowered, and his voice was flat. "Dead. Dead a long time ago."

"Then how did you manage to keep out of the clutches of child services?" Paul asked curiously.

David rubbed his face. "There wasn't exactly any child services around at the time, and I didn't exactly stay out of everyone's clutches. Even freedom has its tradeoffs."

"Yeah?"

"Tell me about yourself." Paul was silent. "If you want to. You don't have to worry about anything you tell me getting to anyone who'd going to hurt you."

*They all want you to 'talk about it'.* Paul thought. *They all want the notes to put in your file. It's not like it's going to make any difference, but they like to have a record. But he sounds like he actually wants to know.*

Paul started to talk slowly. He told him about his mom leaving when he was four, and his dad drinking himself to death by the time he was seven. He told him about the one year spent with the aunt and uncle who had four other kids, and too much temper and not enough money. He told him about being turned over to the state when he was not quite eight, and the next ten years in foster and group homes.

"I know some of those foster families are okay--I've heard about 'em, but I never got one of those. The best I got was tolerance. I ran away the first time when I was twelve. I never managed to get far, and they always caught me again after a couple of days. I got labeled 'incorrigible', and they put me in the group homes. And I kept running away, and I got put in the stricter homes. The next step would have been reform school, so this time I RAN. I put a few states between me and them. I'll be of age in a few months. I don't guess they're so hot on my trail now." He picked at the drying fabric of his jeans, pulling it away from his leg. "I'm relieved, but it's kind of a bummer, too. It means that no one else in the world is gonna even PRETEND to give a damn about me."

David looped an arm around his shoulder. "Paul, why don't you stay here for awhile? At least till you reach the majority, and you don't have to worry about anyone hauling you back."

"You wouldn't mind?"

"Mind? Hell, I WANT you to stay."

Paul stared into the fire, thinking. He already knew that he liked it here, and he liked David--a lot. He felt drawn to the other boy, more than he ever had with anyone else. Not looking at David, he reached down and put is hand on David's thigh, squeezing. The denim was warm from the fire's heat, but the flesh beneath it was cool. Cool, but solid.

David was silent, watching Paul. The other boy still didn't look at him, but his hand slid higher, then over, covering his crotch, rubbing firmly. David said quietly, "That's nice, Paul. Real nice. But it's not necessary."

Now Paul DID look over, questioning. "You don't want to?"

"Yeah, I want to. I haven't knocked your hand away, have I? But you don't HAVE to. Don't pay me, Paul."

Paul pulled his hand away, blushing. "You know what I do, man."

David nodded, but corrected him. "I know what you've DONE, but you don't have to anymore. You can, if you dig it, but from now on, you have food and a place to stay. You don't have to worry about that. You also have a friend, if you want one."

Someone who didn't want something from him--what a novel concept. "I'd like that."

"You're tired--too tired to be working out major stuff right now. Put your feet up and stretch out." Paul did. David took hold of his shoulders and turned him, pulling him down so that the boy's upper body lay on his lap, his still damp head resting on his thigh. Paul had tensed slightly when David did this. Then the other boy began to run his fingers through Paul's long blonde hair, combing out and loosening the damp clumps.

Paul's eyes drifted shut. It was like being petted. David kept it up until his hair was dry, spreading over his lap in a shining wave, haloing the other boy's pale features.

Paul's chest rose and fell in the slow, steady rhythm of deep sleep. David studied him. While he slept the lines of tension had melted away. With only one good meal, the pinched look of hunger had faded. With more food and rest, the shadows under his eyes would disappear also. He looked very young, and very beautiful. With his long, pale gold hair, he resembled a young prince from a fairy tale that his mother had read him so very, very long ago.

David settled a little more comfortably, freezing when Paul made a sleepy murmur. But his new friend didn't wake up. Instead, he turned on his side, nuzzling his face against David's shirtfront--against a shirtfront that he had not noticed did not rise and fall, like his own.

David cast a glance back toward the entrance. It would be safe to stay here--the sunlight couldn't penetrate this far. He looked down at the sleeping boy, and thought he felt a tightening around his long still heart.

He bent and dropped a soft kiss on Paul's cheek, murmuring, "Welcome, brother."

END: HOMECOMING