Current mood:	hopeful
Current music:	the misfits.

Used Like Motel Beds.
Title: Used Like Motel Beds, part one

Disclaimer: Don't know, don't own, never happened, permission less.

Rating/pairing: R. Matt/Jeremiah.

FYI: I felt like posting. I can't call it chapters because it doesn't break? I don't think that made sense. But it's parts. Jeremiah is a slut and Matt isn't just another client. Strange twists. Angst and fluff. Read it. Review it. Love it. Direct orders.

Dedication: My home. He shouldn't have yelled. You are brilliant. I should've come back. I should've listened. I should've talked. I should've fallen asleep on you. I should've breathed. I should've licked you and nuzzled and made it okay. We'll be better tomorrow. I shouldn't push you into breaking things when you're hurt. And I should apologise to your face until you believe me. Like lions. Not just fairies. Okay, houston?


In my mind there is no doubt
That you’ve been in and out
Of many different backseats
Many times before

***
He lights a cigarette, his wide shoulders pressed up against the cold brick siding of a building downtown, shrugging his trench coat up around his neck. Holding the thin cylinder pursed between lips chapped from the cold air, he rubs his palms together, letting the friction warm his numb skin. He shifts his weight, scuffing the peeling toe of his sneaker against the worn cement, lifting his gaze to the smoky night sky beyond the cone of streetlamp light.

The warm orange glow makes his features gaunt, his longish black bangs dripping down over his defined cheekbones. He shifts again, catching his cigarette between two lean fingers, blowing a couple lungfuls of menthol tinged smoke into the icy air.

It smells like exhaust fumes and burnt charcoal, the latter a wives tale hint at snow, and the sudden drop of temperature makes him believe it. The clouds are moving in the sky, low and pink tinged, the moon filtering in and out of view with a wide ring of light echoing around the centered orb.

He straightens off the brick, taking a shuffled step forward on the sidewalk, his foot swaying at the last moment to avoid a crack in the cement.

don’t step on a crack or you’ll break your mother’s back…

He walks like a model on a runway strip, one Converse All-star tennis shoe in front of the other until the faded white toes are stuck out over the empty gutter. A cool night breeze makes his bangs slide over the left side of his face and ruffles a few signs printed on typing paper stapled to the telephone pole next to him.

He winces, stepping closer to the pole to rest his shoulder against the oily wood, his legs smarting and sore beneath him. He doesn’t bother to stifle his yawn, letting his jaw drop down and shoulders rise with the effort, his hip sticking out.

The circles under his Saint Bernard brown eyes are more predominant now that he’s standing directly beneath the orange light, his skin taking on a more slippery glow. Each breath is coming out silver whether or not he’s exhaling nicotine and most of his body has lost its feeling from standing out in the cold.

“God,” he says out loud as he spots a car turning down the street. “God, god, god…please,” he straightens up, quickly brushing his free hand through his dishevelled hair in an effort to make himself look more appealing. He takes a last drag of his half smoked cigarette before dropping the rest to the sidewalk, quickly stubbing it out with his toe.

The car slows while his heart rate quickens, his breath becoming shallower. Sidling up against the curb, the car is black and shining warmly in the streetlight, his reflection showing briefly in the passenger side window before it starts to lower.

The driver leans over so that eye contact can be made, the man’s arm already reaching towards the passenger door’s handle on the inside of the car.

He can feel the heat from the automobile flowing from the open window, instantly warming his cheeks. He steps up against the curb, bending over and laying his forearms crossed against the top of the door.

“Need directions?” he asks coyly, the lazy, friendly smile on his lips coaxing a knowing smirk from the driver, who’s fingers flirt over the inside door handle.

“Yeah, you know where the closest motel is?” there’s a soft click as the driver unlocks the door.

He steps back a pace, hooking his fingers under the handle and pulling the door back on its hinges, letting out a slight breath of awe at the incredible wave of heat that pours out of the car over his frozen body. “Sure do.”

The driver straightens, adjusting the seatbelt over his chest and making a loose gesture with his hand to indicate the other should get in. He does so quickly, sliding into the slick, comfortable passenger seat, his sore muscles practically moaning in relief. He shuts the door after him lightly, watching the driver’s hand float over the control switch on his own door, the automatic window sliding shut again.

“I’m Matt,” the driver says, as if he wants to get complimentary over with as quickly as possible.

“Jere,” the other says softly, like he might be embarrassed of his own name. He glances at the driver in the shadowed car for a moment, considering correcting the faux pas. He doesn’t think a swapping of names is appropriate in this situation, but he advises himself against it.

Matt pauses for a second, both of his hands curled around the top of the steering wheel. He stares at his knuckles, his teeth clicking against his lip ring. He seems nervous for a moment, glancing next to him at the person he’s just allowed in his car, catching the subtle shaking.

He doesn’t say anything, reaching one hand out to the heat control and cranking it up before returning his fingers to their clutch over the wheel, his shoulders pressing against the cushioned back of his seat.

Jere blinks for a moment, the hot air spilling into his lap from the vent. His skin is tingling now, the shivering not yet subsiding. He opens his mouth to say thank you, but the words feel stuck. He’s not sure why it’s suddenly awkward, but the air is thick between the two, and he swallows at the pressure in his throat.

“Jeremiah.”

Jere looks up fast, his eyes narrowing on the half hidden face of the driver. “What?”

“Your name,” Matt says, sounding cold and mechanical, moving his hand to the gear shift and moving it into reverse, “Is Jeremiah.”

Jere bites down on his lip, studying the driver in the sparse lighting as he shifts to see behind him, his one hand touching the side of Jere’s seat.

“Yeah…”

“That’s what I thought.”

“Do I know you?”

Matt shifts gears again, putting the car into drive smoothly. “How much is this going to cost me?”

Jere shakes his head to clear it, trying to put himself back into a business mood. “It, you know, it depends on what you want.”

“This is really strange for me…”

“Why?”

Matt shakes his head and Jere hushes himself instantly, lowering his head slightly. His legs are aching dully now but his skin is warming up and he’s grateful of that. Jere glances out his window, watching the empty city streets flash by in orange and blues and blacks, Matt stopping at a few relatively empty intersections. Jere glances at the digital clock in the dashboard, seeing that it’s past four in the morning.

Matt pulls the car into the parking lot of a Motel 6, quickly switching off the car and pulling the keys from the ignition. He reaches one hand up to pull the rear view mirror down, brushing his fingertips through his hair and wiping off his mouth, checking his reflection carefully.

“Okay, you stay right here, Mr. Rangel,” he says once he’s done, opening his door and getting out of the car.

Jere stiffens all over, turning his head quickly, his mouth opened, but Matt shuts the door in his face. He blinks, watching Matt walk towards the glass front doors of the motel into the main lobby.

He keeps one eye on Matt, talking to the woman at the front desk and getting out his wallet. Jere doesn’t know how Matt could be familiar with his last name. He has half a mind to get out of the car and leave- his fingers even float over the door handle- but he’s cold and tired and he really wants to sleep in a bed and take a shower. He really needs the money and he knows it’s too late at night to try and get picked up by someone else.

He’s still weighing the options when Matt returns to the car, tapping on Jere’s window with two fingers, his car keys held against his palm and jingling. Jere moves fast, unlatching his seatbelt and opening the door. Matt is already walking away, going back into the building, and Jere follows quickly, his hips swaying slightly with his prolific, one foot in front of the other routine. No matter how lethargic he feels, Jere knows the key to success in this business is to act anything but...