Break Bad

Back to the gallow's.

Author's Notes:
Little bit of smut in this chapter too. It's marked if you want to skip it.
Smut will be more sparse in the following chapters. Though it will still appear time to time.

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June 6th, 6:03Pm

The sun was setting over the Nevada desert, and the two spent most of their time talking on the Balcony.
Keith, again, was surprised how easy Lance was to talk to. At first he thought it was the vodka, but he'd hardly had more than three shots worth, and that was hours ago, yet still he droned on about his life.
While Lance was both fascinated and horrified by the many stories the older man had to tell. Still, he couldn't help but ask for another each time Keith finished.

"So, did he ever get caught?" Lance asked with a horrified stare. Keith pulled his jacket off the bed, and put it on.

"I doubt it. I wasn't the first he did that to, and I was too afraid to tell." Keith said, shrugging

"I...I'm sorry." Lance said as the man handed the other jacket to him.

"Don't be. Wasn't the worst way for me to experience it. The guy died not long after anyways."

Keith spoke causally, but Lance was unable to reply to the words. One shock after another had left his mouth agape. Still, for every story of an abuse, there was another story of the freedom of the road. And the endless highway horizon that Keith loved to chase. Keith's expression would go from apathetic, to far away. As if he were reciting the bad memories from paper, and reliving the good ones.

Keith seemed unbothered by it all. As he spoke of his first cigarette at ten, or his first drink at 8. He was as casual as if he were talking about the weather. That somehow only made Lance feel even worse for the man.

"Shit, Keith....I..."
Keith looked at him with an apathetic expression.
"Don't. It's fine, I'm fine. It's over, and it doesn't matter to me anymore."
His words were stern, but his eyes lacked the same focus as he said them. Lance simply nodded, feeling he had no right to press the issue. But he wanted to.

After another awkward thirty minutes of getting ready, it was almost seven, and Lance dreaded the ride home.

"You remember the story Lance?"
Keith asked, handing him the sip of whiskey, to make sure he still had a little alcohol on his breath in case his parents checked..
Lance drank.
"Uh, yeah. Dead phone, bar, hotel, more bars, hangovers."

Keith shrugged. "Good enough."
And he made his way to the door.

Lance stepped after him, and grabbed his shoulder. Again Keith flinched at the touch, but turned around.
"But, what if they don- I mean if I forget. Or the story falls through somehow?"

"Tell them it's none of their business." Keith said causally.

Lance's eyes went wide, and Keith rolled his own. Lance stuttered out a response.
"I- you want me to- how could i-"

Lance was cut off by Keith's hands on either side of his face, and suddenly Lance was pinned again the door. Keith's face was a few inchest from his, and slowly getting closer.

"I don't know about you, but I'd like to continue this. We've hardly even gotten started, and the last thing we need is some rich people prying into our personal lives."

Lance hesitated a moment, being drawn in by Keith's eyes. He found something about being pinned to the wall oddly exciting. Keith seemed to notice, as he smirked, and slowly leaned in. Lance turned his head so their lips could meet in the middle. It was warm, and soft, but quickly became hard and hot.