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Catching him outside of his apartment is difficult. Lars likes it inside. The warmth of the heater, the familiarity of four walls painted off white. A lack of interaction only occurring in passing, when he has to leave for work, and when he returns, a routine Driver has familiarized himself with just so he can smile and nod at him. Remembering the days he checks the mail was difficult at first. Lars forgot to do so a lot, it seemed. So he wasn’t there at the same time every day, or even on the same day. Driver began to linger at his apartment number’s box daily, every afternoon, every evening, just for the chance. Lars commented on how he must be popular with all the mail he receives. A rare time he spoke. Driver excused it as sending letters back and forth with his family. Doesn’t have one of those, but Lars doesn’t need to know that. He smiled and said that it’s sweet. Went on about loving his brother a lot. Then left.
Driver enjoys summertime the most because Lars finally keeps his blinds open so he can see the pretty greenery outside. His cat also likes to linger on the window seal. It watches Driver watch Lars. Dancing while he cooks, folding his clothes, watching television. He spends so much time by himself. Driver can’t blame him, he enjoys the quiet darkness himself. But it’d make things easier if Lars was more social. It seems, to his discomfort, that Driver is going to have to be the one to step out of his comfort zone.
The pool opens in May. Driver waits for Lars to return home from the store. His usual Saturday chore. As soon as he gets out of his car, Driver steps outside in his swim trunks and sunglasses.
Lars greets him with a smile. “Oh. Hi. Are you going swimming?”
His brown bag contains his usual. Bread. Eggs. Cat food. Two chocolate bars. A few cans of chicken noodle soup. Ham. Cheese.
Driver grins and nods. “Yeah. You wanna come with me?”
“Oh, ha,” Lars blinks hard, shaking his head. “I, uh, don’t have a swimsuit. So. And, y’know. There’s a lot of people out there, so.”
It’s the answer he expected. Still a little disappointing. Driver nods. Then he leaves him to it. But he can feel Lars’ eyes lingering on him as he walks away.
“You have a tattoo.” Lars observes.
Driver pauses. Turns around. On his lower back, he’s got a scorpion in black ink. The tail wraps around the front of his waist with the stinger just below his belly button.
“Yeah.”
Lars stares. It’s not uncomfortable. Obvious intrigue and curiosity. “Wow. That must have hurt.”
“Not too bad.”
“It’s nice.”
Driver smiles. “Thank you, Lars.”
“Yeah. Okay, I’m gonna go inside now.”
“Okay.” He nods once more, watching him disappear behind the door.
Even though he’d prefer to go back inside, too, he allows himself to enjoy an hour or two at the public pool. Mostly kids are there. He sits in the sun, pondering other possible ways he could ‘accidentally’ run into Lars and have even more conversations. How he could break through. Get a long enough moment alone for Lars to consider them as friends.
When Driver returns to his apartment, Lars awkwardly fumbles out of his door. Driver pauses.
“Hi.” Lars holds a hand up.
“Hey.”
“Uhm. Are you thirsty?”
Driver eyes the big glass of lemonade sweating in his hand with the ice half melted. “Sure.”
“Here.” He holds it out, sniffing. “Lemonade is nice after the pool.”
Driver takes it gently, immediately taking a sip. It’s not that cold anymore and not sweet enough. It makes him smile entirely too much. “You make this for me?”
Lars shrugs.
“Thank you.”
“Yeah.”
Driver twists the doorknob.
“Did… you use sunscreen?”
He raises an eyebrow.
“Yeah.”
Lars lets out a breath of relief. “Good. Good, cause sunburns suck. I hate them.”
“Pool’s nice. Should get a suit. Go after the hype dies down.”
“Maybe.”
Driver smiles. “Thanks again for the lemonade.”
“Mhm.”
They linger. Driver takes another sip before waving goodbye. He rests against the door after shutting it, holding the glass up to his face and sighing blissfully. The condensation dampens his skin, beads of water rolling down his cheek, clinging to the edge of his jaw. He parts his lips with a shaky gasp, daring to drag his tongue around the rim of the glass. Maybe Lars taste tested it. Maybe a part of him lingered there, fingerprints and cells hidden beneath the limitations of the human eye.
Two weeks later, Driver gets a series of frantic knocks at his front door very early in the morning. A lack of sleep is evident in heavy dark circles and pale skin, but this is nothing out of the ordinary. Lars is sniffling, stumbling over his words, rapidly blinking and pointing across the hall.
“Lars? What it is?” His eyebrows furrow immediately, jaw clenched. At his sides, he balls his hands into fists, eager to defend, chase, attack.
“She won’t eat!” Is all Lars can manage before he’s shaking his head side to side, tapping the edge of his palm against the side of his head.
“Who?”
“Bella!”
Driver relaxes his face a little. The cat. It's Lars’ cat.
“Where is she?”
Lars, as resistant as he is, as reserved, reaches out and grabs Driver’s forearm, tugging him along. Driver can’t react or fight against it, he wouldn’t want to anyways, not with Lars, because his mind is too busy trying to comprehend being pulled into Lars’ apartment for the first time.
It looks even better from an inside view. Cleaned up, well taken care of, homey. The floor is covered in cat toys, the furniture littered with claw marks from kneading, cat hair clinging to Driver’s pants already.
It smells like vanilla, coffee, candle wax, and banana bread.
Driver relaxes quickly, despite Lars’ urgent calls for his beloved cat as he stomps around the living room. He pulls a chair from the kitchen table, wood loud against tile, and sighs when he finds her nestled up. An orange Maine Coon about half the size of Driver, eyes of amber. She squeaks a noise of acknowledgment, of recognition as Driver kneels before her.
“Hey, Bella.”
Lars holds his hand out. She softly sniffs his fingers, shutting her eyes. He brings her comfort, even when she clearly wants to be alone.
“You said she isn’t eatin’?”
“Yeah,” he sniffles, not bothering to hide his tears.
“How long?” He hums, holding his hand out now. Bella lingers momentarily before sniffing him. A proper introduction.
A milestone.
“Two days. And she loves to eat. Her favorite food is right in her bowl and she won’t eat it!” Lars huffs, slumping down on his bottom, running his hands through his hair. “Not even her treats.”
Driver nods. “She sick?”
“I dunno. I can’t… I can’t afford the vet.” He frowns.
“She like being picked up?”
“Just by me.”
“Can y’do that for me?”
Lars nods quickly. He hops up while Driver slowly stands. Lars scoops her up as she protests with a soft, low meow, but doesn’t fight against his hold. She’s like a baby, curling into his arms, paws up like rabbit feet.
Driver grins. “She sure is big.”
“Yeah. My big girl.” He smiles sadly, rubbing their noses together.
It’s a heart warming sight as much as it is upsetting. He’s silently praying this is a quick fix. Lars can’t take the pain of losing a pet. Especially not Bella.
“Got any tuna?”
Lars raises an eyebrow, pouting. “Yeah. Some in the cabinet by the fridge.”
“May I?”
“Okay.”
Driver heads into the kitchen, popping open the cabinet. He grabs one of the two cans of tuna and pops it open, helping himself to the rest of the kitchen’s contents. He scrapes the tuna into a bowl and adds a few drops of water from the faucet, breaking the fish up until it’s a fine paste. Then he warms it up in the microwave for a solid thirty seconds and smushes it up further.
When he’s finished, he sets the bowl on the floor. “See if she’ll try this.”
Lars swallows hard. He kisses the top of Bella’s head and sets her down in front of it. They both watch intently, silent, on edge, as she sniffs the food. Her little tongue flicks out to give it a taste before she slowly shovels it into her mouth, loafed up with her eyes closed, purring gently.
A sigh of absolute relief rattles out of Lars. He bounces on the heels of his feet, a wide smile spreading across his face. “You fixed her!”
“Think her little teeth hurt. Might need an antibiotic or somethin’. Not too sick.”
Lars rushes into Driver, wrapping his arms around his shoulders. Driver freezes, breathless.
“My Bella. Thank you, thank you.” He continues to cry, now from happiness, burying his face into Driver’s chest.
Driver swallows hard. He squeezes his fists, hesitantly placing a hand on Lars’ back.
“Yeah. No worries.”
It’s weird to be touched, even if it is Lars. Driver doesn’t know the last time he’s been hugged. Maybe as a kid by his mom. It feels good. Warm. Safe. Feels so good that it scares him.
Lars is entirely blinded by a rush of endorphins, he must be. Has to be. But he’s not letting go, even as the moment passes.
Driver can’t move any more than he is, can’t reciprocate the way he wants to. Tears well up in his eyes. He clears his throat.
“Should get going.”
“Oh.” Lars hums, pulling away so fast, it nearly startles Driver. “‘M sorry. I didn’t mean to, I didn’t want to.. oh, I’m sorry.” He awkwardly laughs.
“Don’t be.” Driver grins. “Make Bella an appointment, yeah?”
Lars nods. “It won’t be too expensive, right?”
“Don’t worry about it.”
“Okay. Thank… thank you. A lot.”
Driver won’t face him, not daring to let anyone see him cry, even though he just watched Lars bawl his eyes out.
Bella, with a full belly, curls around Driver’s ankles, brushing up against his legs. He runs his hands over her soft fur, patting her side.
“See you around.” Driver mumbles, leaving before he considers waiting around.
That morning, Driver sits in his living room in the dark, staring at his bare hands. Flexing his fingers, studying the lines in his palms. He brings his knuckles to his nose and inhales slowly, deeply. Can practically taste the lingering smell of Lars and his home.
Lars is on him. On his clothes, on his arms, on his hand. His hands, his vulnerable, bare hands. He’s in his lungs, on the unwashed glass sitting beside the sink, right across the hall.
Driver tugs off his shirt. Balls it up and shoves it against his face, huffing and nuzzling the fabric.
Vanilla. Coffee. Candle wax. Banana bread.
It’s intoxicating, a consistent, dull buzz behind his eyes. Causes his limbs to go loose, thighs falling apart by instinct.
It’s wrong. It’s filthy. It’s perverted.
Some tears that Lars had shed landed on Driver’s shirt. Those damp spots, Driver takes into his mouth, a depraved moan filling the silence. He slips his hand into his pants, rutting against his palm. It’s all he’ll allow himself. Above-the-underwear touches, depraved and desperate for skin to skin contact, all by his own volition.
He thinks about Lars’ smile. Those puppy-like, downturned eyes, rosy cheeks all chunky, puffed up to the corners of his eyes where they crease like a river parted. Pretty, pink lips pulled into a thin line underneath that soft mustache. Hair brushed back and tucked behind his ears.
Driver moans, back arching.
Vanilla. Coffee. Candle wax. Banana bread.
His soft, delicate voice. Like velvet. A warm summer afternoon. Hot coffee on a cold morning. Cool rain after hanging out with your best friends. The first dip into the pool. Yellow and purple.
His thighs twitch. Teeth sink into his shirt. He comes dry, hard, writhing against the couch with hushed pants and small whines. Hot tears streaming down his cheeks, heaving.
It saddens Driver, the next few weeks. They go by like normal. He isn’t invited into Lars’ apartment again, no matter how many times they bump into each other. Even though he left an envelope of money in his mailbox for the vet visit. It’s okay, though. Things like this can’t be rushed, right? Driver just got lucky. He needed him in distress.
Distress.
Driver’s ears perk up.
That’s it.
So. When Lars leaves for work one morning, and Driver waves him goodbye, he finds his way into his apartment uninvited. Bella rubs against his legs again as he searches the apartment for something he can take, break. Anything to have Lars knock at his door again.
A series of events occur.
Lars can’t get his television to work. Driver comes over and takes his time, an entire hour pretending to tinker just to slyly replace a part he snatched that morning. Fixes a leaky washer. Replaces smoke alarm batteries. Finds his favorite sweater.
“You’re my lucky charm,” Lars beams.
Driver touches himself every night that week. And just maybe, he spoils himself. Steals a shirt Lars wouldn’t notice, would never ask about, that smells just like him. Way better than his scent being transferred to Driver’s clothes.
It still isn’t enough. Not the water offered to him after sweating from working on the air conditioning. Not the coffee shared when Driver delivered Bella’s meds he offered to pick up. Not the hugs, not the smiles, no, none of it was enough to sate Driver’s depravity.
He feels himself slipping. Growling into his pillows as he humps his mattress, clawing at his arms watching Lars perform the mundane, staring at himself in the mirror, brushing his teeth until they bleed, sitting in the shower until the scalding water melts the skin off of his back.
The softness is fading. Desire grows. It’s agonizing.
There’s a knock at the door.
Driver rips the door open. Sweating, wide eyed. His jaw clenches as he takes in the sight of Lars standing before him.
I know you by your knock on the door.
I know you by your footsteps on the floor.
“Hi,” he smiles.
The man can only nod. The leather of his gloves squeaks as he squeezes the door frame.
Lars blinks hard, three times in a row, then scrunches up his nose. “I’m going to visit my brother. He lives far. Where it’s cold and stuff. Can you watch Bella for me while I’m gone?”
“How far is he?”
“Oh. Y’know, up North.”
“How long y’gonna be gone?”
“About a week!”
“When you leaving?”
“Tomorrow morning.”
Driver nods. “Yeah. I’ll keep an eye on her.”
Lars’ smile grows. “You’re really nice. Thank you.”
He turns around. Driver shuts the door, then grabs his keys, and leaves. Buys himself a nice rental car that Lars won’t recognize. Makes some calls. Waits, sleepless, pacing his living room until the sun rises. He watches Lars kiss Bella goodbye and lock everything up. Watches him get in his car as he follows far behind, getting into his own as Lars pulls off.
Driver follows him. All the way, pauses at every stop Lars makes. Rents a room in a hotel just a few miles from Lars’ brother’s house.
That entire vacation, he spends inside that room. Watching, watching, watching.
Lars goes out a lot more with his family. Diners, walks, church. Bundled up in layers and scarves and gloves. So soft, so sweet. Plays in the snow. Seems happier here. Like a husky. Just not as loud.
Driver barely eats. Sleeps maybe an hour every night, if he can manage to stop thinking about his boy. Oh, his boy. Has to be his. All his. Has to take up smoking to take the edge off. He’d drink, if it didn’t mean he couldn’t enjoy his drives. Would be too tempted to pay a visit to Lars and introduce himself to the family as the rabid dog he is, maw foaming and teeth bared. How dare you touch what is mine?
It’s a long, slow week. On the last day, Lars decides to leave at night.
Driver couldn’t be happier. His deceitful plan sets into motion. He drives a few miles behind him, headlights off. Curls his gloved hands over the smooth steering wheel, humming to Delta Dawn softly playing from the radio.
Four hours into the drive, Lars makes his first stop at a gas station in the middle of nowhere. Driver parks on the side of the road.
Once Lars disappears inside, Driver makes his move. In the dark, a shadowless figure, he slips through the night, approaching his car. He pops up the hood, tugging a set of wire cutters from his belt, and clips a set of wires. Just as quiet as he can be, he shuts the hood, and calmly walks back to his own car.
Lars walks out of the gas station with nothing in his hands. Must have been a bathroom break.
The journey picks up, but as Driver expects, does not last very long. To Lars’ dismay, his car breaks down just a few miles down the road. He pulls over on the side of the road, hopping out of his car with a concerned expression on that pretty face.
Driver squeezes the wheel, grunting. His headlights flicker on.
Lars jumps, screwing his eyes shut from the bright light. He tries to adjust his vision, failing to make out the figure in the car behind him.
“Excuse me!” He calls out, wrapping his arms around himself. Snow is falling, delicate, sticking to the ground inch by inch. “Can you help?”
It should never have happened like this. It should all be gentle. Just like Lars. Driver should have self control. But he’s had it. He’s had so much for so, so long.
Driver steps out of the driver’s seat. He wields the wire cutters in his right hand, staring ahead with wide, dilated eyes.
Lars can’t make him out until he takes a few steps forward. His worry turns into a pleased smile. “Hey! It’s you!”
Slowly, his eyebrows furrow. His smile falters. “Wait. What’re you doing out here?”
Driver’s boots crunch against the ground. He pants, trembling, licking his lips. He drops the wire cutters on the asphalt. They’ll be buried in snow soon enough.
Silent. Wordless, he stops right in front of him.
A frown now entirely replaces his smile. Lars chews his bottom lip.
“Lars,” Driver breathes.
“Yeah?”
“I can give you a ride home.”
“What.. what about my car? Is Bella okay?”
“Your car isn’t gonna start. Bella’s fine. Fat and happy.”
Lars sniffles, hot breath forming a cloud in the cold air. “How d’you know it won’t start? Can you look at it?”
Driver clenches his jaw. “Y’know I work with cars. Can tell.”
“Oh. Yeah.”
“Yeah.”
“Why.. why are you here?” He asks again, rocking on his heels.
“I wanted to make sure you were okay.” Driver admits.
“Oh.” Lars bows his head, staring at the ground. “Okay.”
Driver licks his lips, balling up his fists, then extends his fingers, over and over. His usual tic.
“That’s a long drive just to check on me.” He comments.
“Does it scare you?”
Anybody should be scared of Driver right now. He’s about as white as the snow. Dark circles deep set, cheeks hollow, eyes heavy. Frame crooked, head tilted. Chest rising and falling fast, upper lip twitching.
Lars lets out a soft laugh. “Why would I be scared? I mean, it’s, it’s really nice to check on me. Y’know. I’ve never.. had someone be as nice to me as you are. Well, besides Bianca. But y’know, she couldn’t drive and stuff, so.”
“I care about you.” Driver nearly barks, voice low, raspy.
His smile returns. “Thank you.”
Driver holds his hand out. “Come on. It’s cold out here.”
Lars nods. His gloves are more like mittens, soft and comfortable against the little bit of exposed skin that Driver’s own gloves don’t cover.
He helps Lars into the passenger seat, going as far as buckling him in. When he takes his seat, he quickly locks the door, firmly gripping the wheel.
“Mm. Warm,” Lars sighs. “My stuff!” He suddenly gasps. “What, what about my stuff? My blanket? I need my blanket.”
Driver almost forgot. Wordlessly, he exits the car and retrieves every bag and personal belonging Lars packed inside, carefully filling the back seat up.
“Which one has the blanket?”
“That one!” He flings his arm over the seat to point.
Driver unzips it. A blue, knitted, small blanket is neatly folded right on top. He hands it over, and Lars practically snatches it, rubbing the material against his face.
“Better?” He readjusts himself.
“Mhm. You always make it better.”
“Do you need me?” Driver can hardly contain himself.
The question catches Lars off guard. He peeks over the hem of the blanket. “Uhm..I..
Driver clears his throat. “Nevermind.”
He pulls off of the side of the road, back on track. “I’ll take care of your car. Don’t worry.”
“Mm. Thank you.”
“Yeah.”
“I’m really tired.”
“Get some rest. We’ll be home soon.”
“Are you okay?”
All signs point to no. He nods.
Lars hums. “You look sick.”
He is.
“Just not used to the cold.”
“Oh. Okay.”
Silence falls over the car. Lars curls up with his blanket against the window, falling asleep within fifteen minutes. The snow is a nice change of pace, although Driver can’t say he’s a fan of driving in it.
He’s a fan of having Lars in his car. Even if it isn’t really his. Turns the radio down just to listen to his breathing. Looks over every few minutes just to remind himself this is all real.
Lars wasn’t mad or upset or uncomfortable. All he recognized was that Driver was looking out for him. Protecting him.
He has to protect him.
Two hours into the drive, they pause at a stop light. Driver’s the only one on the road, but he stills. Even when red turns green.
He reaches over the console.
Brushes his knuckles against Lars’ cheek. Warm. Soft. Unbelievably soft.
Driver growls underneath his breath. Rips his hand away when Lars stirs, pressing on the gas. He doesn’t entirely wake up, though. But Driver doesn’t touch him again.
They make two stops for Lars. Once so he can use the bathroom, and another so he can buy a snack. Driver follows him inside and waits outside of the door, stands a little too close at the register, glaring at anybody who walks by, following them with his eyes until they’re gone.
Home finds them in the morning. Driver carries all of Lars’ luggage inside.
“Bella!” Lars beams, not even bothering to remove so much as his scarf before kneeling down to take his cat in his arms. She purrs, nuzzling into him happily.
Naturally, Driver refills her food bowl and gets her some clean water.
“Were you a good girl while I was gone? Huh?” He coos, pressing kisses all over her face. Lars sighs happily, straightening up. The heat is already getting to him, so he starts tugging off his boots, gloves, and all those layers.
“I missed you.”
Since Driver’s back is facing him, he figures Lars is talking to Bella. When he turns around, though, Lars is staring at him expectantly.
Maybe sleep deprivation is really getting to him.
“Yeah, she missed you, too,” Driver gestures.
“No. I mean, of course I missed my Bella. But, I… I missed you.” He repeats.
Driver sucks in a sharp breath. “Yeah?”
“Yeah!” Lars nods. “I liked being with my brother and his wife. They’re really nice. I just got so used to seeing you. And.. yeah, it’s. You come over a lot. I know it’s just ‘cause everything in here breaks all the time,” he huffs a nervous chuckle, scratching the back of his head, then blinks hard. “I guess you missed me, too. Since you came all the way out just to make sure I was okay. And I wasn’t!” He chews his bottom lip again. Driver swears he sees his eyes dilate.
“In the car,” Lars continues, playing with his hands. “You asked me if I need you.”
Driver nearly whimpers.
“Maybe it’s dumb. But I do. Last night really proved it. Already knew that, though.” He mumbles the last part.
The tears don’t even form before they’re falling. Thick, hot, salty. Driver smiles as he sniffles, trembling where he stands.
“Hey, don’t cry.” Lars pauses, then takes his face in his hands.
It only makes Driver cry harder. He melts into his touch, gripping onto Lars’ shirt to keep himself standing. Leans into his hands, nuzzling against his palm.
“Oh, hey. Hey. It’s okay.”
“Am I good, Lars?” He cries.
“Of course you are.”
“Can you say it?”
Lars grins. “You’re good. You’re really good.”
Driver whines, burying his face into the crook of Lars’ neck, squeezing him as tight as he can.
The man winces, then falls into it easily, wrapping his arms around Driver. He shushes him gently, rubbing his back.
“It’s okay. Everything’s okay.”
“Lars — “
“Shh.”
“I can’t,” he pulls back, sniffling, aggressively wiping his tears away. “Please. Y’can’t hate me.”
Lars is bewildered. “Why would I ever do that?”
Driver sighs.
He presses his lips against Lars’.
Everything feels like fire. A bolt of lightning. A ripple of waves crashing against his body, knocking him off balance as he treads the sand.
He’s waiting to be pushed away. Slapped, yelled at, anything of the sort, even from someone as soft as Lars.
But he isn’t.
Lars gently pulls away, just an inch. Speaking into his mouth.
“You like me.”
“I’m so sorry.”
Lars tears up now.
And he kisses him back.
Their faces are wet and hot. Slippery. Soft. The brush of stubble. Their mouths move slowly, navigating precisely and nervously, the only kind of innocence you can find in the first of something.
They only stop when they can’t breathe, and even then, too desperate not to separate, press their foreheads together.
“Why are you cryin’?” Driver sniffles, gently wiping away some of Lars’ tears.
“I’m just happy.”
“Yeah. Me too.”
“Were you crying because you were happy at first? Or was that something else?”
Driver shakes his head. “Was scared.”
Lars smiles. “It’s okay. I get scared, too.”
“But not of me?”
“No.”
“You would be, if — “
“Stop.” He pouts.
“‘M sorry.”
“You need sleep.”
“I’m alright.”
“You drove the whoollleee way here. And I know you don’t feel good!” Lars declares.
“Don’t make me go home,” he pleads, thoughtlessly, absent of control.
“You don’t have to. Take a nap here. I’ll make it cozy.”
Driver smiles, kissing him again. Can he just do that now? Whenever he wants? He’s going to until he’s told otherwise.