The sun was shining high that day, it's sharp, burning rays baking off the rusty metal of the caravan, hotter then an oven. Only two people strayed inside, most other people out to escape the scorching heat; Wade lying across the couch, staring up blankly at the ceiling with cum splattered over his chin and Trevor pacing up and down across the floor like a caged animal, grubby shirt patchy with sweat stains.

"I still have too much fucking energy," he told him, rubbing a hand over his chest, beads of moisture moving slowly down the back of his neck. "You're gonna have to do it again."

Wade shrugged a little, the coarse fabric of the cushions prickling uncomfortably over his damp skin. It was so hot, the room seemed to be shimmering around them, each breath filling up their lungs with wet humid air.

"Nah fuck it," he snapped, sitting down heavily in a battered armchair. "There's only so many times you can try..."

The younger man reached over to the bottle of warm Faygo on the ground, taking a big gulp. He offered it to Trevor, who curled his lips up in disgust. Shrugging again, he put it down, shifting around on his back and stretching an arm over his head.

"Hey Trevor?" he said and the other man let out a grunt. "I been thinking maybe I could get some more tattoos or something..."

"You back on this again?" he snapped and Wade peered up at him, face creasing over with confusion.

"Were we's talkin' about it before?"

"Yeah before I skullfucked you about seven times..."

The dreadlocked meth-head rubbed his eyes and blinked, looking utterly bemused.

"Sorry...I musta forgot..."

The man smirked at him.

"Musta rattled something loose with my dick more like."

Wade's frown seemed to clear over as he nodded, accepting the explanation fully.

"Yeah...you musta..."

The man chuckled to himself. The topic still seemed to be weighing on the boy's mind, gazing over at him like he was the keeper of all worldly knowledge.

"Uh...they all say how with tattoos it has to mean stuff or else its bad or something coz like...if its permanent on your body it needs to be having...something to do with it..."

"You could be the next Shakespeare y'know Wade..."

"Uh...thanks," he replied a little uncertainly, a slight furrow appearing between his drug-dulled eyes. The other man's statement seemed to throw him off for a few long seconds, before he came around like a dog finding it's tail.

"No but...it's funny how they don't...they don't say it for piercings too and everything coz...coz piercings are permanent...but they don'ts really...really mean as much and people don't mind that or nothing...but...but tattoos man, they gotta have to do with all...all of everything..."

Trevor's eyes fell shut, head rocking back against the chair. He felt like the last threads of humanity were being snorted out of a prostitute's bellybutton.

"Piercings aren't permanent you brain-dead piece of fucking shit," he snarled and Wade blinked. "You can take them fucking out and it heals over..."

Wade looked honestly shocked at this startling new revelation.

"Oh wow," he said. "Y'know, the human body is really an amazing thing when you think about it."

Trevor let out a long groan, slipping down further into his sweat-soaked seat. The younger man stared up at the ceiling as he got up and started stalking across the floor again, muscles shifting with agitation beneath his sweat-slimy shirt.

"Y'know I heard that...that the body like...like when you get a tattoo...or like...chop your johnson off and get a ladypart instead, the body like...thinks it's a scar and tries to heal it. That's real messed up when you think about it...it's like...your body is like...like..."

"...fucking you over for shits and giggles," Trevor finished, wandering how the hell they'd gotten onto this topic.

"Yeah it's like 'hey I paid good money on you, why you messin' it up for?'"

"Fucking bodies man..." said the older man, shaking his head. "They're complete assholes."

"Yeah..."

There was a brief pause, the sounds of cicadas ringing in their ears, the heat-slick vapor hanging heavily around them.

"How many piercings you have anyway?" Trevor said, glancing over at him. "It might get me horny again..."

Wade's screwed up his face in severe concentration, lips moving soundlessly as he tried to do the addition in his head. He started counting on his fingers but got mixed up by the time he reached his thumb, trying again and getting stuck on his middle finger.

"Just point them out, for fuck's sake..."

The meth-head opened his eyes, still caught up in his mental arithmetic. Trevor sauntered over and Wade looked at him a little warily as he got down on his knees beside the couch.

"Maybe I can count them for ya?" he drawled out with a smirk. "Y'know, I don't think I've ever fucked you for real Wade...or seen what you have hiding under all this band merch shit..."

"Sorry Trevor," he replied uncertainly, as a rough hand went sliding in under his shirt. "Uh...I think you missed the piercings on my face...I think I've got a few there..."

"Shut the fuck up," he shot back with a hint of impatience creeping into his voice. Wade watched as his damp shirt was pushed up under the man's hand, the other brushing down over his belly.

"One," he whispered, as his hand toyed with his naval ring, sweeping up over skin that was rapidly breaking over with goosebumps.

"Two..." he continued, the smirk growing wider as he pulled at his nipple piercing between his fingers. Wade's breath hitched in his throat, shivering underneath the older man's heated palms.

"Th-those ones ain't very good though...coz...coz they get caught in my shirt sometimes and it pinches real bad..."

"Oh yeah?" he cut in, giving the pink pebbled flesh another tug with the little ring. "I bet you like it, you kinky fuck."

Wade shifted against the couch and swallowed hard.

"It was...uh kinda awkward to get those done...coz...uh...I got a bit...y'know...I bit like how I'm getting now kinda..."

"I'm sure the piercer didn't mind..." he said before pausing as the fabric of his shirt caught on something on his collarbone. "What the fuck is that?"

"Oh uh...thermals I think...they had to dig my skin out to put it in and stuff..."

"You're like fucking Iron Man, Wade...three, four..." he counted them and then pressed the pad of his finger down on the metal, making him flinch.

"What would that make you then?" he asked, wriggling around and trying to hold back the shudders rolling through his body.

"Uh...probably the Hulk I guess..."

"Who'd be Thor?" Wade asked immediately. Trevor looked up at him with frustration.

"You're ruining the foreplay you stupid fuck!" he snapped. "I'm trying to get off here and your spouting shit about fucking superheroes?"

"You brought it up though..." he pointed out in a tiny voice. "Maybe there's a kind of...like tattoo superhero, then you could be the Ink Man or something...?"

"Oh for Christ's sake," he rested his forehead down on the armrest. "I barely have enough tattoos to be Ink Man. And it sounds like some guy with a squid fetish."

"Squid Man," said the younger man with a beginnings of a smile.

"Squid Man," Trevor repeated with a sigh. Wade reached for the Faygo again.

"I think you do this on purpose Wade and I'm not fucking pleased with it."

"Sorry Trevor..."

"Oh fuck you."

The junkie blinked up at him, looking almost guilty. He took a swig from the drink, yet again offered it to the man who just grunted back, before placing the bottle carefully on the ground. His brow furrowed in a brief moment of concentration, before he reached up, pulled his hand back and then put one tentative finger on the lettering around the man's neck.

"One," he said.

"The fuck you doing?"

Wade hesitated slightly.

"Foreplay?"

"It's not foreplay, it's just fucking counting."

Not knowing exactly what to think of that statement, he moved his finger down to his shoulder.

"One I mean two, sorry two."

Trevor let out a low growl like he was a few seconds away from snapping his hand off.

"Fucking stop it," he snarled and Wade paused before pulling away. After a few long minutes, the younger man made to reach his hand out again, stopping for a second as if to reconsider. Gulping, he put it timidly on the other man's forearm. Trevor said nothing. Biting into his lip, he wriggled slowly around onto his side and curled his fingers around the older man's wrist. Trevor opened one eye and peered down at him from the scratchy confines of the armrest.

"Could you tell me a story?"

He sighed long and hard through his teeth.

"What dya want a story about?" he said, lifting his head up, the fabric sticking for a few seconds before tearing away like Velcro. Wade pulled his wrist in closer and with another irritated grunt, he climbed onto the couch.

"Move," he told him and Wade squirmed back into the cushions as the man slid his arm around his sweaty back, shifting him around until his dreadlocked head rested against his shoulder. "What fucking story do you want?"

"Maybe about something...cold?"

"How the fuck can I tell a cold story?" Trevor said with exasperation. "The fuck does that even mean?"

"I...I used to watch the Snow Queen on TV when I was little..." Wade suggested. The pungent smell of the other man's sweat nearly overwhelmed him as he pushed his face into his clammy white shirt. Trevor's face pinched up with thought, before shrugging a little.

"Uh...I dunno, there was once...uh...two kids just hanging around and shit and then one of the kids gets a mirror in his eye and he's like 'oh shit, there's a mirror in my eye,' cause he's fucking stupid..."

"What was his name?" Wade asked, squirming in closer.

"Uh...I dunno...Michael. His name was Michael and he was fucking stupid."

"Like the Michael on your arm?"

"Yeah whatever. So stupid fucking Michael goes and gets abducted by this evil fucking Snow Queen, cause the mirror in his eye fucks shit up and makes...good things seem bad and bad things seem good. Cause he's a dickhead."

The younger man stared up at him, completely enraptured.

"And so the other kid, who was a good fucking kid and a good fucking loyal friend was like, 'I don't care that you're being a dickhead with your stupid mirror in your eye. I'll fucking track you down and get you back you stupid fucking idiot.' And he did. He fucking walked across a shit load of snow..."

"It was a girl in the movie..."

"Shut the fuck up, it's my story," Trevor snapped at him. "So the good kid walks across all this snow to the Queen's castle and he goes 'hey I fucking found you, you asshole, you've been gone for fucking years, now come back and stop being stupid!"'

"But he still had the mirror in his eye..." Wade added and the older man glared at him.

"Don't interrupt me again or I'll rip the dreadlocks out of your skull."

He waited for him to fall into obedient silence, before going on.

"But the idiot's still got the mirror in his eye and he sees his good fucking friend as a terrible shithead and the fake fucking castle with the stupid fucking Queen as the most perfect thing in the fucking world..."

"This doesn't sound like the movie..." he said very quietly under his breath, shutting up when he saw the look on the other man's face. Trevor waited to be sure he wasn't going to cut in, before continuing once more;

"So the good friend kicked him in the balls and the dickhead cried the mirror out cause he was a pussy and then he was like 'shit, this castle's all fucking fake and fuck this fucking Queen, let's go fucking home Trev-I mean good fucking loyal friend.' And they lived happily ever after. The end."

Wade looked up at him, with an expression of vague confusion on his face.

"I thought the Michael on your arm was dead?" he said, shifting around against the man's side. "There's so many Michaels...old Townley Michael, little Townley Michael, Arm Tattoo Michael, Santa Michael, Michael with a mirror in his eye..."

"Too many fucking Michaels..." Trevor agreed, although there was a pained edge to his voice. "Fuck all of 'em."

"I was thinkin' maybe..." the boy said, turning his head around to look at him. "Maybe I'd get another tattoo..."

"Back to this again..." Trevor grunted. "Full fucking circle. Why dya want another tattoo, Wade?"

"Well, I was lookin' at your R.I.P. one and I remembered from back when I was a kid...when my brother died..."

A furrow appeared between his eyes as if he was trying to grasp at the faded string of a memory, that had been eluding his grasp for too long.

"I remember a lot before he died, but not a lot after...sometimes I forget that he's dead at all and that's like...not good...that's bad. So I'll have a little reminder so I don't forget."

The crease between the boy's glazed eyes seemed to deepen, a strange pensive look crossing his face.

"I...I didn't use to be like this," he said in a voice so quiet, it was almost a whisper. "I used to be able to remember..."

No-one spoke for what seemed like a very long time. The heat rolled down on them from all sides, mixing in with the wet slippery press of their skin together and the scratchy couch prickling into their backs. The older man looked down at the boy, still with the confused expression sitting on his face like the whole world was a sudoku puzzle in some strange foreign language he couldn't understand.

"Get the tattoo," he told him, sliding his hand into his rat-nest of hair. "And then you'd be Squid Kid."

He looked over at the older man and a tiny grin appeared on his face.

"Squid Kid..." he said slowly back, smile growing wider. "You should be a writer Trevor. You made a rhyme..."

Trevor just smiled back at him thinly in reply.

"Maybe I should, Wadey," he said. "Maybe I should. And pull your shirt down, before I pull your tit ring out."

He pushed the sweat-soaked fabric back over his stomach at once. Trevor smirked and gave his hair a ruffle.

"Good boy..." he said gruffly, as he pulled his head down more firmly into his chest. "Good boy..."

After what seemed like a long stretch of time, he croaked out; "I think I'm getting heatstroke Trevor..."

The man blinked up at the ceiling.

"Shit..." he replied in a slow voice. "I think I fucking am too."