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Noah’s head was aching like all hell and Chris’s monologue was helping none. God, he loved Owen, but the big guy would be the death of him—literally. He could still feel his ribs bruising.
Noah really didn’t want to bother with a challenge in this state, especially with his wacky assortment of a team. Really, the only competent one of them was Alejandro. Unfortunately.
Noah had many, many thoughts on the man, whether it be his not-so-subtle manipulations or his tendency to drop his mask when he thought no one was paying attention.
An untrustworthy, slimy asshole. A snake.
Speaking of, something Heather and Owen brought to his attention, said snake—or would it be an eel?—was nowhere to be found in the cramped bus of teenagers.
“The Ripper took Al!” He wailed, already frantic with panic. “Oh, what are we going to do?”
Noah grit his teeth and tried to make the pounding recede. “Relax, the Ripper hasn’t been around for a while,” he reassured, patting his shoulder. “Plus, it’s Alejandro; Chris wouldn’t let his favorite contestant die.”
Owen seemed to calm a little bit more, listening to the rules more aptly as their sadist of a host continued his (probably incorrect) spiel about London and the Ripper.
Chris wouldn’t let his favorite contestant die, especially not with how Alejandro has been stirring up drama and dominating every player across the board. Bridgette, Leshawna, DJ. Noah had an inkling that Harold’s “sacrifice” wasn’t exactly untainted by the eel, either.
An eel who stealthily stalked his prey, then slipped away when he had finished his objective. Noah should’ve known better than to believe anyone on this godforsaken show to be trustworthy. Except for Owen, but he doesn’t really count in that way.
“You know,” Owen piped up as Chris finished explaining the rules: don’t get caught, solve clues, catch the Ripper. “I’m getting like a feeling about this. Y’know what I mean?”
Tyler nodded vigorously. “Like, oh, what’s the word? Nostalgia? It’s like that one from season 1!” He rubbed his head in thought. “I mean, I wasn’t there, but I saw it on Playa Des Losers!”
Noah nearly pinched the bridge of his nose. “You’re feeling nostalgic for Chris’s challenges? God, maybe those hits to the head have done something irreparably,” he snipped.
“No,” Owen interjected. He paused, debating something. “Not like, er, nostalgia. It’s like that one feeling where it’s already happened. Is it Spanish? I bet Al would know!”
Spanish? “Owen, please do not tell me that you meant déjà vu.”
“Oh, yeah, that!”
“Ooh, so that’s what I meant. Noah, you’re smart.”
He’s surrounded by morons. “That’s French. The term is French.” Not to mention, if it’s already happened to them, it couldn’t be déjà vu, but he doesn’t even want to bother explaining that.
“Alright, how so?” He prompted instead. Maybe they could have something useful to the challenge. They’d need all the help they could get between Alejandro’s absence and Noah’s pounding head.
The bus came to a screeching halt, sending multiple people flying forward into the seats in front of them. Fuck, he might actually be sick by the end of this. His stomach was tying itself into knots so tight he was tempted to lean over and vomit.
Neither of his teammates seem to notice, mixing into the mass of people getting off of the bus. Noah reluctantly followed, tuning back in to hear the butt end of Owen’s explanation. “And they were actually alright at the end, but Chris made them watch the end of the challenge! I’m just glad they were okay, even though DJ got eliminated, which totally sucked!”
Oh, that one. Noah hadn’t cared much for season one, so he’d only watched a handful of episodes when he was bored. There was something about a horror one when there was an actual killer—that being the only reason he actually watched it. He’d been morbidly curious, sue him.
“Yeah, I guess,” he listlessly agreed. He couldn’t even stay annoyed with the big guy, seeing as he was trying to help with relevant information. As much as everyone wanted to ignore it, especially with how much he played up his ignorance, Owen wasn’t all that dumb of a guy. Most of the time. More oblivious and optimistic than anything.
He may as well assume the rules were similar, right? The missing contestants—Alejandro—were most likely were watching this from somewhere else. Hell, he was probably laughing at them currently as Chris was explaining things about stripping down old guards.
Fuck no, actually.
“You’ll find your clues in their uniform!”
The rest of that part was a blur, Tyler losing rock-paper-scissors and stripping the guard down with his teeth for some unknown reason.
“Quit throwing the game!”
“You try stripping a dude down with your teeth!”
“Uh, dude, no one said you had to use your teeth?”
As if having some huge enlightenment, he started using his hands until it was realized that the clue had been in the hat that Owen had been messing with. Noah was seriously wondering how people pulled off the entire leader shtick. Maybe he’d be as much of an artificial asshole as Alejandro if he had to do this all of the time, too.
“Pulled taut atop a southern spire.”
They were basically just giving him the answers at this point. Okay, so the southern spire it was. As he reiterated that to his team and gestured to move along, suddenly anxious of the lead Team Amazon had on them, Tyler spun to the north and took off.
Oh, God. Maybe he and Lindsay really were perfect for each other.
“That’s north!”
“Oh, right.”
In front of them was a torture rack. Lovely. At least he knew what “pulled taut” meant. It had to be one of them, and Noah was obviously not the candidate. Short, weak, and tense. And he was very fond of his ability to move.
Luckily, Tyler volunteered himself while mentioning something about yoga, pulling himself into some weird pose that a contortionist would pale looking at. How did he get his legs over his shoulder? Is that even actually possible without dislocating anything?
Noah didn’t bother with the specifics, simply taking Tyler’s enthusiasm with no other qualms. Maybe that was a bit cruel, but was he really going to put himself or Owen up for the running?
Plus, Tyler’s use on this team was certainly not his brain, so he might as well put the jock’s athleticism to use.
As they helped tie him down onto the rack, he thought about how much glee Alejandro would get out of this. Especially if it were Owen instead of Tyler. The guy would jump for joy at an excuse to torture Noah’s best friend or Tyler. Maybe not comparably to Chris but still enjoy it nonetheless.
“Quick,” he started, the quip already forming in his head. He nearly froze at Owen’s confused stare and his words from earlier appeared in his head “And they were actually alright at the end, but Chris made them watch the end of the challenge!”
“Tie him down before he changes his mind,” Noah amended, glancing around to find a camera almost directly above him. Owen only nodded, looking a bit upset at Tyler’s clearly uncomfortable position.
As Noah put his hand on the wheel Tyler started yelling in pain. Noah waited for a second.
“We haven’t even started.”
The other muttered something and went red in the face, clamping his mouth shut when they actually started stretching him out until an audible <>click!<> came from the compartment that opened.
<>If your teammate can still use his feet, bring him down for something to eat.<>
Banquet hall. Right. Easy enough.
Noah mentioned to Owen and he obliged, sprinting down the maze of a castle with him while they both huffed and puffed. Man, he really needed to exercise more often. Not like he was going to, though.
He wished he could borrow literally anyone’s athletic abilities because he felt like he was already running out of air just fighting his way down the stairs and through the hall. Like Alejandro’s or Courtney’s abilities. Maybe even Tyler’s!
“Hey, Noah, know what’s hilarious?”
Fuck. “We forgot Tyler!”
“That’s not hilarious?”
Noah stood in the doorway to the old room, trying to downplay the heaving in his chest. He steadied himself with the door.
“Sorry, dude, you just got so good at being quiet—“
Owen gasped with him at the empty table, the jock nowhere in sight. They were already at a disadvantage with numbers, then they just had to go and lose their only other teammate.
“Tyler!” They both yelled, horrified.
After they paused for a minute—Noah to finally regain his breath and Owen to grieve their not-dead teammate—they trudged back to the dining hall. They couldn’t give Team Amazon any more of an advantage. He wanted first class <>badly<>. His back couldn’t take another day of economy benches.
At the banquet hall they found their final clue in a jewel-embedded egg along with an army of angry corgis. Owen seemed to be having a great time with the corgis hanging off of him.
“Look, Noah, it’s a fur coat for animals lovers!”
Noah didn’t dignify that with a response, brain still mulling over the clue. Two stories, natural place for the Ripper, and—
“Psh. Easy-peasy. It’s—“
“Double decker bus?”
He nearly blanched at Owen’s response, trying to find some sort of error in the other’s logic. It fit all the criteria perfectly. He took a moment to look at Owen, grateful that he didn’t have to make a fool of himself over a dumb riddle. But he would’ve gotten it. . . Eventually.
“So you do have a brain in there! You’ve been holding out on me,” he said, pleasantly surprised. Too bad Tyler couldn’t do things like that.
“Oh, I never hold out on you.” He continued on about sausage and Noah felt his perception of Owen drop right back down to where it was before. Then his odd idea of stuffing corgis into the sack helped very little.
“What are you doing?”
“Oh, we could need them,” the other responded joyously. “A corgi army could take out the ripper!”
Noah pursed his lips. “Do you just want the dogs?”
“Well, they can be good for more than one thing! Like Al or bacon.”
“Odd comparison but okay.”
As he watched Owen lift the last growling dog he wondered if he could get away with petting it. It snapped at Owen’s hand and the big guy yelped in pain.
Maybe not.
Alejandro’s eyes bore into his, a deep green that reflected some emotion Noah couldn’t quite get a handle on as Chris rearranged the rules to his liking. They lost. Biased asshole. Even after capturing the Ripper—Ezekiel—and bringing him back, they lost because Team Amazon brought Duncan. Duncan.
And he was on Team Chris is Really Really Really Really Hot as a “consolation prize.” Noah could not be as annoyed as he was then, confined to the benches of economy even though they did technically win.
Fuck Chris and his blatant favoritism for the rocking ship that was Team Amazon. It was a miracle they hadn’t capsized already, and McLean was keeping everyone on that unstable team so it was kept even tenser.
This is why he didn’t try at anything. It was always rigged. He was angrier than he should’ve been, staring daggers into the floor and stewing in his thoughts about dumping Chris out of the plane and stealing his giant quarters instead of feeling the uneven metal dig into his spine.
Beside him, Owen was eating a few of the remaining sausages from the challenge and lamenting over the loss of the corgis. Tyler was doing stretches across the cabin, grunting in pain. Noah didn’t think that he could undo whatever damage that rack did with just a few stretches—ancient torture method and all?
Duncan hadn’t shown face in economy which led Noah to believe he was just staking it out in the confessional or leeching off of his girlfriend’s—or was it girlfriends’? Those three were a mess—win in first class. Either way, Noah was glad that he hadn’t been present, especially as they weren’t very friendly.
Alejandro was muttering under his breath in Spanish, a few English phrases like “closet” and “rabid kidnappings” slipping out in between it as he stretched. He seemed to have more success than Tyler, who happened to take a tumble and slam his head into the bench.
At least Noah wasn’t the only one whose head hurt anymore. A slight laugh left his mouth as the jock curled up and held his head, then yelped in pain as he adjusted his arm. Noah felt a little bit bad, considering he willingly saved he and Owen from that state, but guilt didn’t take away from hilarity.
Sorry, Tyler.
Alejandro’s face snapped in his direction as soon as the restrained snicker left his mouth, lacking of any emotion but the twinkle in his eye indicated his amusement. Noah barely bothered returning it, watching as the other’s expression flickered. Whatever it was, he smoothed out his face quickly.
“Ow, ouch!” Tyler groaned from the floor as he stood back up, an unfortunate bout of turbulence hitting right then and sending him right back to square one.
Alejandro’s chuckle was poorly stifled, but no one else seemed to care. Carefully, he stopped his own set to walk over to Tyler, “Here, let me help, mi amigo.”
Tyler took his hand gratefully, then proceeded to use Alejandro as a crutch while the latter helped him over to the bench. He mumbled the entire time about sweaty monk yoga and how he was totally ready for the next challenge and, no, he was actually still in perfect shape.
Alejandro stepped back after he helped Tyler down, standing in front of them and clapping his hands like he always did to snag their attention. He cleared his throat and clearly upped the charm.
“Bravo, gentlemen, on your almost-win today!” He gazed over each and every one of them slowly, like he wanted to make them know he saw them. Fake ass. “I am impressed by how well you all fared, and I am disappointed that Chris’s… decision shall impact our team once again.”
Decision was one damn way to put it. His eye ticked as he said it, digging his nails deeper into his hand and smiling brighter. Tyler and Owen were eating it right up, though. As they always did; Alejandro knew he could rely on that not changing.
“Thanks, bro! We did better than the girls, anyway!”
“You’re right, Al! How are we even going to know who to vote out? Nobody deserves to go!”
Noah would like to contradict that statement with the fact that Alejandro hadn’t even been present the entire challenge and that Duncan was a dirty scumbag, but he knew where running his mouth got him.
“You’re right,” Alejandro agreed, voice tight and eye twitching as he looked at the blond. “Not a single person on our team has ever deserved to go!” Owen laughed nervously, seemingly sensing the venomous undertone to the other’s flowery language.
Curiously, he turned his unrelenting gaze to Noah and smiled. “Especially you, querido. Your leadership today was utterly spectacular!” The strain in his voice had disappeared, smooth once again. “I’m forever impressed by your brilliance and leadership!”
Laying it on thick much? Noah tried to stomp down the boost it gave to his ego. He knew Alejandro wasn’t a fair player, but that didn’t mean receiving a compliment from him wasn’t great. He was an unjust, morally decrepit, manipulative player, not a bad one.
“Thanks,” he dryly remarked. Noah wasn’t going to pretend he was the best player on the team, but he certainly wasn’t the worst, either, if the jabbering jock was still in the running. “Almost filled in your shoes,” he snarked.
Alejandro paused, clearly trying to decide if that wasn’t meant to undermine his authority or trying to praise him further. Ultimately, he smiled brighter and gave Noah a pat on the shoulder as thanks. He probably thought he was gracing Noah with his presence or whatever.
With the loose grip on his shoulder still present, Alejandro leaned in closely and whispered, “Meet me in the cargo hold soon.” His breath tickled Noah’s cheek and neck and he began to wonder if he was reddening. Probably out of embarrassment, considering Alejandro probably enjoyed talking down upon him like a child.
Jerk.
True to his word, he left economy class quickly after with a meager excuse about needing to walk around some after his confinement. The others took it easily, forgetting that he hadn’t been trapped for almost the entirety of the challenge.
Noah excused himself after, wondering if he should just not go. There weren’t better things to be doing, really, but that didn’t mean he wanted to have a rendezvous with the least trustworthy person to grace this circus of a reality TV show.
He went anyway, focusing instead on the dust and mildew practically engrained in the plane’s structure and the shitty lighting. Chris blew all of his budget on that gold hot tub or whatever, if Jamaica hadn’t been evidence enough.
The door swung and creaked on its hinges loudly, reminiscent of a dying pig. The door handle was loose, jiggling under his hand. Cheapskate.
Alejandro had been lounging on one of the crates, pieces of white cloth peeking out of it. His smile was plastered brightly, yet it held no similarity to those he shot to Chris and Owen, laced with annoyance. Instead, it stretched widely across his cheeks, bringing out the sage of his eyes.
“Noah,” he started, patting the spot beside him on the crate like there wasn’t a completely empty crate to his other side. Noah took the empty one, trying not to wonder exactly what this entailed. Did Alejandro know that he knew? That could be bad.
His smile faltered, just for a split second, as Noah sat down on the other crate, but he breezed past it effectively. “You were quite a formidable player today. If you were to exhibit that kind of performance in all of the challenges, I’d say you’d be one of the strongest players in this show.”
Noah thought about his words, then his aching calves. Not worth the cost, but the other went on without noticing. “Thanks,” he repeated, wondering really if he was getting embarrassed. It would explain the heat across his face. Last time he’d been this bad was when he tripped down the front steps leaving school.
He shuddered at the memory.
Alejandro leaned forward, weight braced on the elbow resting atop his knee. He got straight to the point, knowing him well enough that he wouldn’t stick around for flattery and skirting the subject. “How would you feel about the prospect of an alliance?”
His sparkling eyes were resting on his face, not quite making eye contact. Noah did not how to answer that. He’d been split down the middle in that simple question: refuse and have the charmer target him or be shoved into an alliance with a scumbag.
A scumbag who was looking at him with genuine anticipation, his knee almost knocking against his. Noah’s mouth was starting to feel drier than reasonable, and there’s definitely heat creeping up his neck. His three layers were beginning to feel too tight.
A shift and his leg was almost flush with the Hispanic’s. The anticipation had faded slightly and been overruled by a slight dread. The tension between his brows was abundantly clear with his down-turned looks.
He realized that Alejandro had not proposed the offer to put Noah on a difficult ledge, and suddenly that looked like a much greater option than what the charmer’s expression was screaming. Heat was radiating into his leg, as alive as the eyes adorned with shaky, alive hope.
He wanted to be in alliance. That was it, even as much as Noah’s gut was yelling about his terrible, disgusting tendencies and how Noah would be the next one hurdling out of a plane. Slowly, he let a sigh escape his lips and nodded, dread coiling in his gut like a snake—or an eel.
“It’s an honor to have someone as capable as you,” he muttered, loud in the emptiness but faint leaving his lips. Their knuckles brush, once, then twice, and Noah let him latch their hands together, like so many times they’d done before but somehow so different. The familiar sensation of heat crawling through his body from where the other had touched him.
His free hand lingered at the nape of his neck, and Noah felt himself slowly, traitorously, sink into the grip. Lit with hope, but lacking of clarity. Hope, such a childish emotion for the manipulator to bear. He recalled everything from their previous interactions:
Lingering with him in Jamaica on the beaches before departure, assuring him of Owen and Izzy’s recovery quietly.
Recounting their victory with excitement after Newfoundland in first class, so close that he could smell mint and pine.
Paris, bracing him on his shoulders and looking up at him, even after the challenge had ended with that same weird look.
In the Amazon, sitting by him as he fell asleep promising safety from the mutants with their hands interlinked.
Nights awake in economy, talking terribly about their competition and revealing all their odd dislikes and favorite series. Heads pressed together when they’d huddle together.
He’s in love with me. It didn’t even register as a question in his head, factual as the color of the grass and the expanse of the sky. He thought of all the people the other had played with his charm, taking each down with no remorse whatsoever. He is in love with me.
Noah wasn’t a dumb person, nor unsure, and he knew that he was right, sure of it immediately. Not out of want to boast, simply just there. There like the heat creeping up and the leaky walls and eyes like jewels and full lips and asshole-ish tendencies and—
The hand tugs his hair gently, a permission the other almost never would ask aloud, sighing as their lips connected. Everything was tingling, but that was suddenly the least of his concerns. It was perfect, bodies slotting into place easily as hands roamed.
He pulled back, in need for breath, and exhaled shakily at the sight of the other, bruised lips and cheeks flushed beautifully. Hands caressing his back and face, unaware that Noah has been aware of how he worked, of his deceit and tricks and underhanded tactics.
Alejandro’s eyes locked with his, bright. Swelling, alive, and very much what he’d presented himself to be to everyone else. A loving, longing gentleman. He smiled. “Is that a yes?” He jested, planting his last kiss on his jaw.
He recalled Leshawna jumping off of her platform in Germany and DJ’s departure after the track suddenly malfunctioned. “As long as we vote for Tyler. He’s injured and moronic, almost as much so as his girlfriend.”
Alejandro paused before schooling himself. “If we must,” he agreed, complicit as ever. His breath fanned across Noah’s face, licking his lips as he stared. He wasn’t dumb enough to propose voting Owen, and they both knew Chris wasn’t letting Duncan go.
Noah smiled, feeling the worry seep out of him. He would have to talk to Owen and Tyler later, warn them before the ceremony about Alejandro and turn the tides in his favor. Between he and Owen, it should be enough to convince him. He was a dunce.
The Spaniard placed a final, gentle peck on his lips, contentment obvious. Noah savored it, placid in his hands. He almost hoped that Alejandro wouldn’t get voted out or that he couldn’t convince Tyler, if only so he had another chance of obtaining this.
Maybe he would miss the asshole if all went according to plan.