Smile For The Camera, Baby - Chapter 47
info: Sal Fisher x Travis Phelps, Modern College AU, Gay Travis Phelps, Bisexual Sal Fisher, LOTS of yearning, Sal is a relatively popular TikToker who eventually expands into doing OF, Travis is a total hopeless gooner with religious trauma, Travis is no-contact with Kenneth Phelps and severed ties to the Phelps Ministry and pastoral family legacy to finally try and live as an out gay man (it goes terribly) and he's a film student. Also, in this fic, Sal doesn't wear a mask but he has noticeable facial scarring from being in a house fire when he was 4/5 years old, and I'm living out the personal headcanon that Sal has low-support-needs Ehlers Danlos Syndrome.
MDNI/18+ - NSFW content ahead
The metal door hissed shut behind Sal and sealed him away from the damp alley air, plunging him back into the pulsing digital bath of the arcade. He had kept his gait even, easing his hands into his pockets as he navigated the rows of blinking cabinets, briefly catching himself wondering what he would do if Polybius was a real thing before his brain got back on track.
On the outside, he was the same boy everyone remembered him to be: unbothered, laid-back, and in control of his life. Beyond the veneer, his heart was pounding as his thoughts drifted to Travis hyperventilating in the alley. He wanted him. Sal wanted him. The latter realization was... new. It was a strange evolution from what they used to be. Before all of this, Travis had hidden behind a screen and used a pseudonym. Even when they finally collided in that supply closet at the spring mixer, the mask had stayed on (much to Sal's chagrin), and his heart skipped when he remembered the blind kiss they had shared and the desperate way he'd clung to Travis's waist. He could still feel the phantom sensations from that night, the way Travis's hands felt clamped firmly over his eyes. Back then, it had been the one guiding the experience and dishing out healthy amounts of horny smugness, leading a panicking "Torrence" through the mechanics of losing his virginity.
But the boy in the alley today wasn't the Ghostface persona, and Sal wasn't entirely sure that he was the same confident cam boy he had been back then either.
As he walked past a Pac-Man cabinet, he saw his reflection in the glass and reflexively looked away--the hospital had been a montage of white walls and people who wanted to place their own pathological second and third opinions on the gnawing compulsion to stay thin. They saddled him with an OCD diagnosis, labeling his calorie counting as ritualistic instead of a symptom of something they were adamant only affected neglected twelve-year-old suburbanite attention whores.
They fed him.
They medicated him.
They forced him to get softer and softer till his clothes fit instead of being perfectly baggy on his objectively healthier-looking silhouette.
Health, however, did not change the fact that he felt fat. It was a word that had been treated with disdain on the secret corners of the internet he used to hang out on that even Larry and Ash didn't know about--the side of Tumblr that doled out meanspo like sugarless candy and mostly-faceless photos of sunken-in stomachs and boney hands wrapping around even bonier wrists. How many times had he earned blog terms over body checks and intake diaries? He knew what it was like to be a ghost even back then, documenting the way he wasted away like it was an art form unto itself. Now, with the extra ten pounds that had been sitting like a lazy king on top of his safe weight, he felt like a traitor to a cause he had honestly forgotten he had been a part of and despised the foreign version of himself that seemed to so easily succumb to the indignity of a hospital meal plan.
And then there was Philip.
Every time Sal's mind wandered toward the idea of being with Travis--not just here, but carnally, without the mask, without the whole song and dance of it--the memory of what he'd let him do blanched and shocked his system. What if Travis touched him and his body didn't recognize it as the love he saw in Travis's eyes? What if he flinched and went soft? What if he remembered everything but the present?
The most humiliating hurdle out of everything was the Seroquel. He was grateful for how it seemed to be an effective asset in keeping his brain quiet, but it was a notorious thief of release. Travis had an effect on Sal--evident in the heavy, thumping ache developing south of the border--but the odds felt entirely stacked against him. The times he had managed a quiet solo session in the hospital post-medication, he was almost never able to manage anything more than the precarious dribble of pre-ejaculate, and even then it was barely enough to blot on the corner of a square of toilet paper. It blunted every peak he chased, turning heated orgasms and crushing them down into nearly nothing, or just nothing at all. Travis was already fragile as it was--a boy built on religious trauma and the ethics of sex with men when he probably still dealt with rapture anxiety; if they got to that point and Sal couldn't climax (or worse, not be able to get it up to begin with), Travis would probably blame himself. He'd think he suddenly wasn't enough to satisfy the boy he all but worshipped.
Which? Both.
Sal reached the edge of the dining area and consciously slowed his pace down. Larry was visible in the distance, perching a fry on his top lip while he talked in a silly voice, and Ash was clutching her mouth and entirely red in the face. He forced a lightness into his face that didn't quite reach his eyes, smoothing down the front of his hoodie and tugging the sleeves down over his palms. It was his first real day of freedom--he didn't need to fuck it all up by showing how quickly he'd already fallen apart on every front imaginable. He slid into the vinyl booth across from Larry and Ash, though his movements were awkward and stilted. The ache from earlier was persistent and entirely unforgiving, forcing him to sit at a strange angle, legs pulled into a wide butterfly angle in an attempt to hide the tenting in his jeans.
Sal tried focusing on the laminate tabletop, tracing a petrified coffee stain with his fingertip rather than looking up at his friends. He was hyper-aware of the way the vinyl seat pressed into his thighs, making him feel less like someone seated and more like a carefully-packaged glass beaker. Every single part of him felt overcrowded--a victim to the cruelty of flesh, fat, and bone.
"Welcome back to the land of the living," Larry said, finally letting the fry down from his lip with an easy and uncomplicated grin. "Travis giving you a hard time, or did the guy melt into a puddle of holy water?"
"Holy water's a Catholic thing, Lar."
"Eh--potato, potahto. Catholic, Protestant." Larry shrugged. "Whatever his damage is, it's clearly a lot to process for a guy who grew up believing dinosaurs aren't real."
His grin faltered slightly as he studied Sal further--he was familiar with the body language and energy the boy was exuding. Hunched over, stiff, looking like he wanted to disappear into the vinyl and pointedly ignoring the tension in his lower body. Larry was a lot of things, but blind wasn't one of them. He let out a slow sigh, mulling everything over with the patience of Job. Not as the slightly older step-brother keeping the younger on the straight and narrow, but as the best friend who knew Sal's personal trajectory was strictly bisexual and wide open.
He leaned back, crossing his arms as his expression shifted into something casually amused.
"Look, man," Larry said, his voice dropping to a low murmur that stayed strictly between the three of them. "I'm super glad you're home, Sal, seriously, but I can feel the hormones radiating off of you. I am very well-acquainted with... things like that, but you look like you're about to have a stroke from how hard you're trying to pretend like you're not all hot and bothered."
Sal felt his face heat up and tugged the drawstrings on his hoodie to hide. "Larry, i-it's not--I'm not--"
"Sal, you have a boner. Don't make a whole existential crisis about it, okay?" Larry interrupted, his tone shifting into something more grounded. He leaned forward, bracing his elbows at the edge of the table. "I'm... yeah, I'm not crazy about whatever you and him have going on. I'm not totally ignorant to the history. I know the guy didn't just change overnight."
He paused and glanced toward the fire exit as it groaned open. Travis stepped back inside, and the atmosphere within the building shifted instantly. He looked like he had been struck by lightning and was still in shock. His face was a bruised, mottled red, his shirt was rumpled, and he was walking with the kind of carefulness that screamed of tension begging for anywhere to be spent, looking entirely dismantled.
Larry watched Travis for a long second and then turned back to Sal, his expression surprisingly earnest.
"But," Larry continued with a weary sigh. "You've been apart for an entire month with nothing but shitty mystery goo for food and people dissecting your thoughts. Going that long without seeing someone, especially someone who makes you feel like that, would make me seven kinds of stupid. So for the love of all things good and holy, just... go take care of it. I won't try to break it up this time."
Sal's heart hammered inside his chest, the heat in his lap intensifying as Travis's eyes locked onto his from across the room. "Larry, we just got here, I can't just--!?"
"If you can't make it all the way to the apartments without spontaneously combusting, at least park in the alley behind the garbage dump," Larry added casually, fishing another fry out of the plastic basket in front of him. "Blind spot. Security cameras won't catch a thing. It's pretty secluded."
Sal blinked, wondering at the specificity of the advice just long enough to cause a stutter in his internal spiral. He looked at Larry and thought more about the dumpster suggestion, and then at Ash who was giving Larry a warning look. A realization began to form in the back of Sal's mind, overriding the panicked thoughts about the extra fat on his body and leftover anxiety.
"How do you know the cameras don't reach there?" Sal asked, his brow furrowing slowly as he looked between his two best friends. "And why are you so confident that we wouldn't get caught?"
Larry paused, gaze shifting toward a flickering cabinet across the room with a look of casual, pseudo-indifference. "I'm Nockfell's favorite nuisance, Sally Face. Remember?"
Sal looked from Larry to Ash, catching her in the middle of a very loud and deliberate silence. The unusual stiffness in Larry's usually slouched posture and the way Ash's blush was quickly gaining on Travis's complexion said more than any verbal or written confession ever could. The realization was a mercy that finally blew the lid off of the tension simmering in Sal's chest, and finally, he ceased being just a laundry list of side-effects and resumed being a friend catching his best friends doing something that they probably shouldn't. It was the first thing all day that felt louder than the medication or pre-fuck panic.
"Oh," Sal breathed, the corners of his mouth twitching upward in wild amusement. "Oh... Okay. So when did you two start fucking?"
Ash didn't try to deny it, but stifled a laugh behind both hands. The mom friend veneer cracked completely and found itself replaced by the entertainment of seeing Sal putting it all together.
"A while," she admitted through her fingers, her expression softening, "A little bit before the mixer earlier this year. I'm surprised it took you this long to catch up, Sal. We haven't exactly been super secretive about it."
Larry slumped further into the vinyl, the tips of his ears glowing bright pink. He didn't look like a guy defending a secret anymore, but did remarkably resemble the one time Lisa found out he'd been sneaking her marshmallow vodka and instead decided to lean into the skid instead of bracing against it. He reached into the pocket of his hoodie and pulled out a heavy set of keys attached to a Sanity's Fall lanyard.
"Yeah, yeah, it's elementary, my dude Sherlock, or whatever the fuck. Put it on a plaque," Larry grumbled, though the lopsided and undeniably fond grin betrayed the annoyed cadence. "Since you're so smart, take the car. It's just out front next to where you guys parked, and is a lot more comfortable than a brick wall covered in garbage juice if you guys can't make it two minutes up the road before you get too handsy. Just... clean up afterward, okay? I've already gotten a view of his butt, I don't need to see... y'know... more."
Sal stared at the keys.
If Larry and Ash were out here sneaking around and fooling around in places they shouldn't be, then maybe Sal didn't have to be the perfect Hallmark recovery story. He didn't have to be the textbook version of healthy, he just had to be Sal. Nothing less, nothing more.
"Car. No laying in garbage juice. Clean up." Sal repeated, snagging the keys. "Got it."
Ash reached into an inner pocket of her leather jacket, still wearing a mix of residual embarrassment and protective support. She reached over and tugged his wrist across the table before folding a little square packet into Sal's hand.
"Just be fast, okay?" she added, her voice dropping to a whisper as Travis awkwardly began sidling toward the table. "If your dad or Lisa start asking questions about where you two went, I'll tell them you're just out for an extra long smoke break or something. Keep your phone on because I'll absolutely text you if the parentals are getting restless and you need to get your asses back here immediately."
Sal squeezed the foil square in his palm and then took the keys from Larry. The crushing self-consciousness didn't vanish, nor did the marionette awareness of himself and the Seroquel fog, but it all felt just a little more secondary than it had before especially as Travis was very politely got closer to the table, crossing his hands in front of his lap to try and hide the effects hormones were having on him.
Larry leaned back, looking relieved as he watched the pieces finally click together for Sal.
"For the record, don't think this means I've gone soft on the guy," Larry added, "I'm just looking out for you. Tell him that if you come back in anything but a daze, he's spending an entire weekend detailing the interior."
Sal huffed the first laugh that didn't feel like he had to force out and stood up, movements a little less cautious as he navigated the ache in his jeans. Travis had reached the edge of the table then, stopping just a few feet short. He looked like he was vibrating on a whole other frequency entirely, eyes darting between Sal and the floor as if he were unsure of if he would be met with a 'get lost' or a punch to the jaw. Sal didn't give him the chance to apologize or go down a spiral of his own, simply stepping out of the booth toward him, the Sanity's Fall lanyard jingling as he caught Travis's hand and held it.
Travis's fingers were cold against the back of Sal's hand as they laced their fingers together, and he looked down at their joined hands unsure of if it counted as a miracle or a religious experience. However, his breath was hitching in such a way that it was turning his face a more furious shade of red than before.
"S-Sal? I--" Travis started, his voice cracking over his words.
"Change of plans," Sal interrupted, not offering any explanation as he pulled Travis toward the front glass door of the diner. "We're leaving."
He barely registered the feeling of the cool Nockfell air hit his skin and the doors hissing shut. Sal didn't stop till they reached Larry's beat-up sedan, gravel crunching under his sneakers far too loudly than he would've liked. Now that they were away from the distractions inside, the internal noise from earlier began to claw its way back up his throat. The softness of his body, the quetiapine, the terrifying possibility that his body was defective or broken or too medicated or just too different now to actually be worth following through on the desperation thrumming through the blood in his veins.
What if I flinch?
What if I don't feel anything?
Travis, misinterpresting the silence and the way Sal's grip on the keys had turned his knuckles white, began to feel a cold knot of shame.
"Sal, I... I'm sorry, did I make things weird with your friends?" Travis stammered, his words coming out in a stumbling rush. "If you're mad at me or want me to go, I can--I can just walk back to the dorms. It's fine, it's not that far and I know I can be a lot, and you just got back, and the last thing you need is me being all... y'know... this... I don't want to ruin this any more than I probably already have."
Sal's brain stalled--he looked at Travis and the way the taller boy was shrinking into himself and vibrating with a potent cocktail of shame and unresolved tension. Travis was so genuinely ready to walk away if it meant making the other's day easier, entirely convinced that his existence was an inconvenience unto itself, completely blind to the fact that Sal was acting this way because he was fighting the very same war in his own head just to remain standing. The tragic irony of it all was enough to shatter the walls of Sal's internal monologue. The calorie calculations, the thoughts of little orange pill bottles, the fear of a numb and humiliating anti-climax--none of it mattered anymore, especially not with Travis standing in front of him looking so completely undone and begging for a reason to stay. If Sal let his anxiety win now, they would both end up walking away on empty.
"Fuck it."
Sal didn't offer any platitudes, nor did he try to say anything else to Travis. Instead, he grabbed the collar of Travis's shirt and pulled him down, cutting off whatever other self-depracating apologies were next in line by crashing their mouths together.
Travis made a muffled sound of shock against Sal's lips, his entire body going rigid for a fraction of a second before the reality of the contact short-circuited his brain entirely, and then the hesitation melted. It was quickly replaced by a starving enthusiasm--his hands, which had just been nervously hovering just moments before, finally landed on Sal's waist, pulling him flush against his body with enough intensity to bite back the late-spring chill. It was messy, uncoordinated--an entirely imperfect clashing of teeth and breath and tongues, but there was nowhere either of them would rather be. It tasted like cigarettes, adrenaline, and deeply, inherently like each other.
Sal didn't break away even as his free hand fumbled blindly for the rear door handle, the metal feeling icy against his palm as the latch caught and yanked it open. The hinges gave a low creak that was lost to the sound of their mingled breathing. He didn't lead Travis inside as much as he dragged him in, their limbs tangling as they tumbled back into the backseat. The door slammed shut with a heavy thud, selaing them into a world of patchouli air freshener and old-smelling upholstery. Sal didn't give Travis a second to think, immediately hooking his legs around the taller boy's waist and pulling him down. They moved against each other in a desperate rhythm of denim grinding against denim in a way that was simultaneously relief and torture. Travis was making broken sounds into the crook of Sal's neck when he wasn't latched at the mouth to him, hands roaming frantically as they mapped the angles and curves of Sal's body as if he were trying to convince himself that he was actually here and that this wasn't one big, elaborate hallucination. However, as hands began to tug at waistbands and the air in the car grew thick and humid, the internal noise that Sal had tried to kill flared once more. He felt Travis's fingers dip below the hem of Sal's hoodie, ready to peel the layers away, and suddenly, all he could see was little round orange pills dancing in his vision.
"Wait--" Sal gasped, his chest heaving with labored breaths. "T-Travis, wait--"
Travis stopped instantly, his breath coming in quick puffs and his face a bruised red in the dim light filtering through the tinted glass. "Did I--Did I do something wrong? I-If I did, I'm sorry, I can stop--"
"N-No, it's not you," Sal said, his voice trembling with the kind of vulnerability he usually kept buried under layers of sarcasm. He looked up at Travis, eyes searching his face. "I'm on some pretty heavy med, Travis. It m-makes things quiet, but... I'm scared th-that if we do this, I... I'm afraid I won't be able to cum."
His voice broke on the last word, taking a deep breath as the confession hung between them. "I don't want you to think it's your fault or that you did something wrong or that you're not enough, because you're just... you're fucking everything, okay? It's just my brain is fucked."
Travis stared down at him saying nothing at first. The panicked tension in his shoulders dissipated a little, transforming into something quiet and steady. He didn't pull away nor did he look disappointed. Instead, he shifted his weight, bracketing his forearms on either side of Sal's head.
"Sal, I... I don't care about that," he whispered, the tenderness in his voice feeling mismatched against the interior of Larry's car. "I mean. I do. But like... I'm not doing this just for me. I want you. I wanna be with you. I've spent every single night going out of my mind wishing I could see you again. Even if... even if nothing happens and we just stay like this, it's still the best damn thing that's happened to me since meeting you."
He leaned down and caught Sal by the mouth again, feeling his face heat up at the contact.
"Besides," Travis added, averting his eyes as he tried to navigate the emotional weight. "I'm surprised we're even here at all. You've been out of the hospital less than three hours. I was prepared for hand-holding at most. I wasn't expecting to be crawling into bed with you so soon. Or... well, car, I guess."
He paused and gave a weak laugh, then looked back at Sal.
"You... You didn't bring a condom, did you? Because I-I'm not kidding, I was not prepared for any of this."
Sal managed a shaky laugh, the sound bubbling up his chest and breaking through the guilt before he reached into his pocket and pulled out the foil packet Ash had given him. Travis took it with still slightly trembling hands, his expression a mix of reverence and focus. Travis moved clumsily, his movements slow and deliberate as he shoved his shorts down and rolled the condom on.
He turned back to Sal, his breath catching in his throat as he looked at him.
There was no Ghostface mask to hide behind.
No more Torrence.
Just Travis, and his raw devotion to the boy beneath him. He reached for the fastenings of Sal's jeans, fingers brushing against the denim with a lightness that felt like a question more than the self-assurance that once inhabited Travis's body.
"Is this okay..?" Travis asked. "We can take it as slow as you need. I don't care if we never get anywhere, I just want you."
Sal gave a small, tight nod, giving Travis the green light to begin peeling the denim away. He didn't rush, moving with a cautious sort of reverence, treating Sal's body like something precious rather than something carved out of lines of medical code and diagnoses. He kissed the skin of Sal's hips as he went, groaning and trailing heat wherever his lips touched, lingering on the pale skin that hadn't seen the superliminal sun in weeks.
When their bodies finally came back together, the grinding from before had evolved into something heavy and deliberate, tearing sounds out of Sal as Travis bottomed out inside. Sal pulled Travis down, locking his legs around the taller boy's waist to anchor them together. Travis settled into him with a long, open-mouthed exhale, resting his forehead against Sal's while they got used to the feeling of being in and around each other.
The pace started agonizingly slow, each thrust forward a reclamation of the space Sal hadn't realized how much he missed till right now, but when Travis finally committed to the friction and shifted his weight to find an angle to reach for the blue-haired boy's core, Sal's composure vanished. He threw his head back against the seat, eyes rolling back as he choked back a keening sound between his clenched teeth.
"F-Fuck, Travis...!" Sal gasped, not expecting the sensation to be so intense. Another sharp moan involuntarily escaped him, slacking his jaw as the noise left his teeth. "Sorry, s-sorry, I... I didn't--I'm t-too sensitive, I--"
Travis didn't pull back, but leaned down till his breath brushed against the shell of Sal's ear.
"Don't apologize for that," he said, his breath hitching as he started with a slow rhythm. "I love the way you sound, Sal. I missed your voice so fucking much, I missed hearing you like this. I'm never getting enough of you like this."
Sal felt himself melting, the walls that had been built up over the last month dissolving into the heat of Travis's earnest praise. The sweetness, the fondness, the way Travis was looking at him like he was the only thing left in the world. He reached up, tangling his fingers in Travis's hair and pulling him down for another messy kiss.
"You're so--God, why are you so good to me?" Sal tried to say, but as Travis pulled back almost fully before bottoming out again in one solid, wet collision, the sentence turned into a strangled, tearful cry. The sheer girth was making his vision swim. "T-Travis--Travis--fuck--I ca- I can't--haah... nngh... shit!"
Travis's hands tightened on Sal's hips, holding him steady against the rhythmic rocking of the sedan. He didn't have the poetic grace of a Biblical king, and his breathing was coming in ragged hitches that betrayed how close to the edge he already was, but even so, there was a desperate sincerity within every inch of him.
"I've been going out of my fucking mind, Sal," Travis choked out, his voice shaking as he pistoned into him. "I've spent too much time by myself just--fuck--just thinking about you. Please don't stop. You s-sound so fucking pretty when you're like this, I'm serious. It's all I wanna hear."
The admission was as blunt as it was heated, stripped of any hesitation or Sunday school shame. Travis leaned down, burting his face against the side of Sal's neck and sucking on the flesh, bruising it as he picked up the pace. He wasn't being careful anymore, each thrust growing shallower and messier than the last, aimed right at Sal's center till every old persona was burned away. Sal wrapped his arms around Travis's shoulders, abandoning any attempt at a coherent sentence. He was vibrating as his body caught up to the buzzing desperation in his head. The chemical haze was still there, a quiet hum in the back of his mind but Travis was a much louder force, heavier, and beckoned him, anchoring him to the present. The extra pounds and the quietiapine side effects were easy to forget when he was receiving this much stimulation.
"T-Travis, please..." Sal managed, breaking into a high, needy whimper as the friction turned into a searing heat.
Travis didn't say anything, only groaning into Sal's skin in an act of pure worship as he adjusted the grip he had on Sal, sliding his hands down and pushing Sal's legs back, plunging back in with relentless energy, determined to make sure Sal wasn't able to think about a single thing other than the two of them in that dog day afternoon.
"Fuck... Sal... fuck, fuck, fuck..."
The friction reached a fever pitch, the air in the sedan thick enough to choke on. Travis’s movements became shorter, more frantic, his fingers digging into the upholstery of the back seat as his entire body went rigid. With a final groan that vibrated deep in Sal’s chest, Travis bottomed out one last time, his breath hitching in a sob of relief as his orgasm tore through him, the condom's reservoir catching every bit of evidence of just how happy he was to be with the boy beneath him.
Sal was right there with him, head thrashed back, spine arching off the seat as his vision fractured into white sparks. He was so goddamn close to the edge that he could feel the electric pulse of an orgasm beginning to flicker--a desperate heat that screamed one more minute, just one more fucking minute. However, as Travis’s rhythm slowed to a trembling halt and he slumped forward, the heavy, grounding pressure began to fade. The Seroquel hum, which had been momentarily drowned out by the roar of adrenaline, started slowly to creep back. The peak didn't break, it just... stalled.
Sal’s breath hitched, a soft, wounded sound escaping him as the high-tension wire in his gut stayed strung taut, but threatened to slacken. He felt a sudden, sharp spike of distress--the fear of being broken, of being trapped just inches away from the finish line.
"Wait--no, Travis, Travis, please, j-just keep... p-please..." Sal started, his voice thick and wavering.
Travis didn't let him spiral. He looked up, his eyes glassy and blown out, seeing the way Sal’s face was crumpling with frustration. Without a word, Travis shifted. He slid out, the slick sound of the condom drawing a shaky whine from Sal’s throat, and immediately moved downward.
He didn't hesitate, shifting between his legs, and ducked his head down.
Sal’s eyes went wide, his hands catching in Travis’s hair. "Travis? You don't have to--"
Travis didn't need to answer with words. He took Sal into his mouth, his movements awkward and unpracticed, but driven by the same devotion from just moments before. It was clumsy and he probably used his teeth a little too much, and he didn't quite know where to put his hands, but the heat and the sudden, wet suction were enough to shatter Sal all over again.
Sal’s world narrowed down to the feeling of Travis’s tongue and the desperate, frantic hum of cars going by.
It was too much.
It was perfect.
"Oh, God, Travis--yes, yes, f-fucking shit.. right there--don't- don't stop, fuck..."
Sal’s fingers tightened in Travis’s hair, pulling him closer as the dam finally broke. The orgasm tore through him violently as he arched up off the seat again, chasing his release as he spilled thick and heavy into Travis's mouth. Caught off guard by the sudden rush, he let out a sharp, muffled gag. His eyes watered, his throat reflexively seizing as he tried to handle the unfamiliarity of it all, pulling back just a second too late, coughing as his vision swam, and accidentally spat the mess onto the floor mats near Sal’s feet.
The silence that followed was heavy, broken only by their ragged breathing. Travis froze, his face turning a shade of purple-red that rivaled that of a bruise. He looked at the floor, then up at Sal, feeling utterly mortified.
"I-I’m sorry," Travis gasped, wiping his mouth with the back of a trembling hand, his voice heavy with embarrassment. "I didn't mean to--I’m so sorry, Sal, I... I’ve never--I didn't know--Larry’s gonna kill me, I ruined his car, I--"
Sal, still coming down from the high, let out a soft laugh that was more of a wheeze. He reached down, his fingers gently brushing the side of Travis’s flushed face, pulling him up until their foreheads rested together.
"Travis, hey. Look at me," Sal whispered, his voice sounding more like the old Sal--grounded, gravelly, and deeply fond. He glanced down at the painted floor mat and then back at the boy who had just more or less been driven to his knees for him. "Larry’s spent the last three years smoking weed and spilling bong water and God knows what else in this thing. I think he can get over it."
He pulled Travis into a soft, lingering kiss, the taste of salt and cigarettes still between them.
"You did good," Sal murmured against his lips and chuckled, feeling Travis’s heart start to slow its panicked tempo. "Seriously. The fuck did they feed you at those Nockfell Bible camps growing up?"
