| Salvation |
| "Do you want fries with that?" You grit your teeth and paste on a smile because you hate saying that, you really do. It makes you sound like some damn cliche and you growl as you remember how Joey howls every time you say it. "Yeah, sure, whatever." "That'll be $6.48 at the second window. Thank you for-" You hear the buzz in your ear piece that tells you the customer has all ready driven away from the speaker. Fucker. You didn't even get to finish your speech. Running a hand through your all ready tousled hair, you sigh and try to remind yourself why you haven't quit this fucking job all ready. 'Money. I need money,' you think. 'Everything comes at a price. Obviously, my dignity will sell for $6.48. Fabulous.' When the customer pulls up to the window, you glance at the computer screen and in you sweetest voice say, "$6.48 please." The man grunts and grabs a few dollar bills and two quarters from his pocket. You sigh inwardly and wish he would hurry the hell up. You have fries to cook and burgers to burn. Time is money. Or something like that. Plus, his daughter in the passenger seat is giving you funny looks and you really hope you don't have something in your teeth. Squeezing your lips just a little bit tighter together, you watch the man reach out to give you the money. Just as he does though, he pulls it back. "Wait a second. Jennifer, we have forty-eight cents in here don't we?" 'Oh for fuck's sake,' you think. 'Not another one of these guys who has to have exact change.' "Sir," you speak up, "I can give you change." "No," he says. "I *know* I have forty-eight cents in here. Give me a minute. Jennifer, start looking." Closing your eyes, you mentally count to ten, and when you open your eyes and see the man digging for pennies in-between the seats you shut the window on him and go to retrieve his food. 'Why did I agree to work the weekend before Christmas?' you wonder. 'Why, why, why? I always get all the freaks.' As you're shoveling fries into the paper container, you hear a door in the back open and see your manager, Chris, walking out and whistling. 'Bastard,' you think. 'You had to ask *me* to work this week, didn't you? Why you little piece of-' "How are ya JC?" grins Chris, and he smacks you on the back so hard you almost think he did it on purpose. 'I guess the real question is, would they find the body?' You grin conspiratorially at Chris, and he gives you a weird smile back. He looks almost, nervous. 'That's right, Chris. Be afraid. Be *very* afraid.' "Well, I'm off for the day!" he says, and you nearly drop the bag of food you're holding. "Excuse me?" You must have heard wrong. There's no way he would leave now. Not when you're so busy. He wouldn't leave you all alone with... *him*. "I'm going home," he says slowly, and you wish you could just smack the smug grin off his face. "I have family coming over. Big reunion. Dani picked up the kids about an hour ago and she'll kick my ass if I'm late." "But what about the restaurant?" you ask, if you can really call this fast-food hell hole a restaurant. "Don't worry," he says, walking away and talking over his shoulder. "Justin's working the grill, and if there's any trouble, Lance is in the back." You fume because that's exactly what you *don't* want to happen. Being alone with Lance is too frustrating, too awkward, too ... tempting. You've all ready built up a profound argument in your mind on why Chris leaving is such a bad idea, complete with several good points and examples to back them up. You know if you had time you could draw him a quick pie chart to show your point visually. But then you remember that this is Chris; a thirty-year-old man who's married with two kids, has a bachelor's degree in psychology, and yet works as the manager of a fast-food "restaurant" for a living. So, you stick to the only method you know that usually gets you your way. You bitch. "Chris, you bastard, you can't leave now! You're in charge." He's all ready at the door before he acknowledges that you've even spoken. Shrugging, he gives you a charming smile and a wink. "Now Lance is in charge. Merry Christmas!" And he's gone. You don't think you've ever despised your boss as much as you do right now. Scowling, you grab the bag of food and stomp to the window. Snatching the money from your customer's hand, you toss it in the register with a sigh and hand him his food. "Hey, can I get a straw?" he asks curtly, and you nod, grabbing an open one off the counter and hanging it to him. "Merry Christmas," you force out, and start to walk away. "Hey!" he yells. "How about some ketchup?" Your patience is wearing thin, but you manage to hand him a few packets of ketchup without squirting them all over him. As you're closing the window, he yells again. "Hey! There's not enough ice in this drink! Can I get some more?" Oh, that's it. Looking behind you quickly, you throw open the window and glare at him. "What the fuck do I look like, a waiter? Get out of here asshole." Slamming the window shut on his shocked face, you start to walk away before remembering something. Opening the window and giving him a cheery smile, you say sweetly, "Oh, and merry fucking Christmas." ~*~ You check your watch for the millionth time in the last hour and groan quietly, letting your head rest on the cool counter top. It's 11:30 and you're so tired you can barely keep your eyes open. The place is deserted, and you sigh because at least *some* people have lives. You're just a dirt poor college kid who can't get a decent job that has to do with something you actually *like*, like photography. You hear footsteps behind you and turn to see Justin, a young college freshman, yawning and making his way out of the kitchen. His parents have more money in one bank than you will ever earn in your entire life, but he told you when he started working here in hell that he wanted to earn his own money. After overcoming the initial shock of passing up virtually *free* money, you have to admit that's pretty fucking cool. He's a good kid. "Going home J?" you ask, and he yawns in response, giving you a sleepy smile. "You know it man," he says. "I gotta get up early tomorrow. I'm having breakfast over at Brit's house." He groans. "I really hope her mother cooks or else my stomach's going to be kicking my ass for weeks." You grin and chuckle. "Good luck." He laughs and slips on his coat. "Thanks Jace. I'll check ya later." You wave good-bye and turn to look out the window, the corner of your lips turning up into a slight smile when you see it's just started snowing outside. ~*~ You can feel someone shaking your shoulder softly, and your head lolls around sideways for a few seconds before you open your eyes. The first thing you see is a pair of smiling, green eyes, and you can literally feel your breath being sucked from you as you stare back. You can feel a slight weight on your shoulder, and you realize that his hand is resting there, rubbing slightly. It makes you shiver, and you're glad for once that you can blame it on the cold. "What time is it?" you ask, yawning loudly. Lance smiles at you and stands up, his hand dropping from your shoulder. You long for the contact. "A little past midnight," he whispers. "I'm gonna close up and head home. Do you need a ride?" Nodding, you give him a smile of thanks and grab your coat. You wait outside, snuggling into the warmth of your jacket as he locks the place up. Placing his hand on your lower back, he leads you through the snow and to his car. You aren't sure what kind it is, but it looks expensive. Like Justin, Lance is also very well off, and you know he didn't have to work a day in his life if he didn't want to. Yet, he does. You admire that in some strange way. Hell, you just admire him. The ride to your apartment if quiet except for the soft Christmas music coming from the car speakers, and you like that. You like the intimate feel it radiates off, and every once in a while Lance will shoot you a small smile that would melt your heart. Now you aren't so sure you're mad at Chris for leaving anymore. When you reach your apartment, you smile shyly at him and zip up your coat. "Um, do you want to come in?" you ask. "Maybe for some coffee?" You wonder why you always have the urge to impress him, to make him think you're so sophisticated even though you're older than he is. You don't think you'll ever understand love. "I don't really like coffee," he admits, and your heart sinks. He doesn't want to come in. His eyes light up and he bites his lip. "Got any hot chocolate?" You laugh, in humor and relief, and give him the first real smile you've had all day. "Of course," you say, and you wonder if you imagined the wink he just gave you. You hope you didn't. ~*~ You watch Lance from the kitchen as you pour yourself a cup of hot chocolate. He's sitting on the sofa, his hot drink held out in one hand. With the other, he's flipping through a collection of what you think are your best pictures. You built a fire to keep you both warm, and you can't help but be swept up in his beauty as the flames dance across his face. Grabbing your cocoa and making your way into the living room, you sit beside him and watch him scan the photos. You hope he thinks they're okay. Photography is your life, not to mention your major, and you love it more than anything else in the world. Looking at Lance's focused face, you smile. Well, almost anything. "JC," he says softly, breaking the silence and looking up at you with those wide green eyes. "These are ... amazing." You smile and take a small sip of cocoa. "Thank you," you say. "Do you really like them?" "I love them," he says, and you can tell he's sincere. "Have you heard about that contest the local art museum is holding for photography?" You nod, because you have heard of it, and after seeing last year's winners you honestly think your stuff isn't good enough. "You should enter something. I really think you'd win." Blushing slightly and glad the lights in the room are dim, you shake your head. "No way. I'm not good enough." Suddenly, Lance is a lot closer than you had realized, and he cups your chin and forces you to look at him. Running his thumb slowly over your bottom lip, he smiles at you. "You *are* good enough," he whispers. His face his merely inches from yours, and you can feel his warm breath fanning across your face. "You are amazing." He kisses your forehead softly. "You're incredible." He kissed between your eyes. "You're so talented." He kisses your nose. "You're beautiful, inside and out." When his lips touch yours, you see his eyes flutter shut before you close your own. Sighing softly into his mouth, you shiver at the feel of his soft lips on yours and pull him closer. Lying down on the couch, he stretches out on top of you, one hand resting on your hip and the other diving into your curly brown hair. Your hands slide underneath his shirt and rub circles on the warm skin there, and when his tongue traces the outline of your lips you dig your fingernails into his back. Pulling back to pant for breath, he smiles at you before kissing you again. Your leg rises into a ninety degree angle as he lays down between your lips, and you pull your lips away from his to give you a chance to catch your breath. While he pants in your ear, you nibble at his earlobe, enjoying the low moan that comes from the back of his throat. When he looks at you, you swear you can see flames in his eyes; and not the kind from the fire. Nothing is said as he stands up and helps you off the couch. You walk behind him as he leads you down the hall and into your bedroom, your hands clasped tightly together. You land on the bed with him on top, kissing up your neck, and you quickly give yourself a reminder to buy Chris some flowers or something. All coherent thoughts fly out the window when Lance leans back on his knees, stripping off your shirt and then his own. Running your hands up his flat stomach, you tweak his nipples and listen to him moan before pulling him back down on top of you. Needless clothing is quickly shed, and when his naked body stretches out on top of yours it takes all you have in you not to scream. You both kiss and explore each other's bodies for a few more minutes before he leans up on his elbows and looks at you questioningly. You smile and nod your head to the side. "Top drawer. Under the magazine." Leaning over you, Lance digs through the top drawer of your night stand, pulling out a magazine followed by lotion and a condom. Tossing the magazine on the floor, he shuts the drawer and is back on top of you before you even missed him. As he kisses you and drives you nuts with his tongue, he slicks up two fingers and slips one inside of you. Gasping into his mouth at the cold wetness, you shiver and instinctively push down on his finger. He quickly adds another and stretches you out until you're so close to coming right there. As if he senses that, he pulls out his fingers and slips on the condom. Spreading lotion over his shaft, he positions himself at your entrance. Bringing his lips to yours once again, he kisses you passionately as he pushes inside. You gasp and grunt, pushing down on him as he enters and trying to help him get as far in as he can go. You're by no means a virgin when it comes to this, and you can tell he isn't either. He goes in at just the right speed and the pain doesn't last long. You wrap your legs around his waist as best as you can, and kiss him again as you meet his thrusts. Never one to last very long, you whole body shudders as he hits your prostate over and over again. He seems to know you're close, and picks up speed. Throwing your head back into the pillow and biting you lip, you push down as hard as you can, clamping down on him. He cries out softly and moves faster, his body glimmering with sweat. Opening your eyes, you make eye contact with him before thrusting down once more and coming all over your chest and his. He pants into your ear, and whispers something incomprehensible just before he explodes inside of you. You whisper his name over and over again as he lies motionless in your arms, trying to regulate his breathing. He pulls out of you carefully, peeling off the used condom and walking into the bathroom to throw it away. He comes back with a washcloth and cleans you both off before climbing back into bed again. As you both cuddle back together, you sigh happily. "Chris is *definitely* getting some fucking roses from me," you whisper, and he laughs into your chest. You think that deserves a card too. ~*~ When you wake up the next morning with a large, goofy grin on your face, you know you've fallen completely. That, or last night was one fucking *great* dream. As you run a finger down Lance's cheek as he sleeps soundly, you smile because last night was as real as it gets. You hold him for a while longer before deciding to get your lazy ass out of bed and make breakfast. Untangling yourself from his arms, you crawl out of bed and quickly get dressed in boxers and a T-shirt. As you're putting on your slippers, you notice your beloved camera sitting next to the window. Picking it up, you check for film before popping off the lens cap. Opening the window curtains for some natural light, you make your way back over to the bed. Adjusting the lens on Lance's face, you smile and snap a few pictures. Stepping back, you zoom out and take a few snapshots of Lance's bare shoulder and up. Pulling the covers up to his chest, you walk around him as you snap pictures of your sleeping beauty from every angle. Smiling when you're finished, you kiss him gently and leave the room to call the museum. ~*~ A month later, you're standing in the main exhibit hall of the museum, your eyes wide and unbelieving as you look at the winning photograph. It's a black and white photograph of a back of a man's head and shoulder as he's lying in bed, as seen from the eyes of the person lying next to him. You can see the outline of the muscles on the man's back and arms perfectly, and the low sheet leaves the imagination wondering. Looking down at the name of the winner, you read: 1ST PLACE, JOSHUA SCOTT CHASEZ, ORIGINAL PHOTO, "SALVATION." You feel strong arms encircle your waist, and you smile, leaning back into Lance's embrace. "You're amazing," he whispers into your ear. "I knew you would win. I just don't get one thing though." "Oh? And what's that?" "Why did you call the piece salvation?" You smile, and squeeze him tighter. "It's simple Lance. You saved me in many different ways. You saved me from loneliness, my own negative thinking, and most importantly, a life in fast-food." He laughs deeply and kisses your ear. "Anytime Josh," he says with a smile, "anytime." THE END |