Tailgate Hangout - 1. Chapter 1

“Hey Marshal!”

A sandy blond head appeared from behind the wheel arch of the big black truck. Complete with chrome trim and jacked up suspension, the vehicle had no trouble hiding all six feet five of Marshal Roman in his work jeans and cowboy boots. He tipped back his baseball cap and a soft frown became a wide smile when he recognised the speaker.

“Morning Dustin.”

“Dude, it’s nearly four o’clock, did you stop for lunch?”

Marshal looked out along the new fence which lined the field the latest crop of steers would be moved into when they arrived the following week. It wasn’t finished, there was a still was a whole side to complete and the second set of gates to hang, but progress had been good, and the bed of the pick-up was running low on long nails and fence posts. The young man leant one elbow on the post-holer and wiped his hat across his brow.

“Nope.”

“Jesus man, you’re crazy.” Dustin had jumped down from his own truck, a slightly dented white and dusty Ford he had inherited from his father, and came around the back of Marshall’s shiny tailgate, beer in hand. “Here, long neck bottle for a redneck, you’re burnt there Marsh.”

“Fuck it.” Marshall rubbed his hand over the back of his neck where his short hair had left him exposed to the sun and winced. “Ma does keep reminding me to put on more suntan gear.” Marshall rolled his eyes to think that his mother would tut and fuss over him when he got back, because like usual, he hadn’t remembered to put anymore lotion on since he’d taken his shirt off two hours previously.

“Never mind, cool it off with some ice later. Everything all sorted?”

“You’re still cool to pick up the ice right?”

“Oh yeah, and Casey’s fetching like half a crate of moonshine from his uncle.” Dustin winked and clicked his tongue. “Beer’s all set and I’ll bet you’ve got us some new country rock hip-hop mix tapes in that stereo of yours?”

Marshall sipped his beer and stared fondly at his truck. It was the thing he spent all his money on. Beer and gas and making sure he had the nicest damn truck in the county. Some people thought it was strange, but there was nothing else that Marshal needed that money could give him. He, like many other’s his age, had moved slightly away from parents to live in a double wide trailer, still on the land of the big four hundred acre ranch, and he had enough money in the bank to be sure of surviving in a crisis. There was nothing else that Marshal cared about, and unlike Dustin, who spent all of his spare dollars on trying to flirt with girls way out of his league, there was no one for a hundred miles who Marshal would want to take on a date. He had realised in his senior year that beer, gas and the best truck in the county were just going to have to be enough.

“You know it.” Marshal grinned, and took another swig. He had spent most of the last week working on a bunch of playlists to blast full of heavy bone shaking bass from the speakers mounted in his truck, because tonight wasn’t just any hootenanny. It wasn’t just any other night, because this was the first Saturday of Spring Break.

“It’ll be good to have everyone in town again for a bit.” Dustin was staring up at the sky, a totally spotless blue. “Casey told me that apparently Vaughn has brought a whole bunch of his friends back with him. They’re all staying up at B.J’s parents cabin. He brought pretty girls.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Aww c’mon man.” Dustin punched his friend’s shoulder, but without feeling. “Don’t be all down just because you’re busy leaning the other way.”

I told you before, there’s nothin’ wrong with girls…”

“You j’st don’ like ‘em in bed.” Dustin managed a fairly good impression of his friend. “Don’t sulk, after all, while I get frisky with some hot college freshman, you get to moon over Dolton all evening.”

Marshal drained his beer, handed the bottle back to Dustin, exhaled, then thumped his sternum, just hard enough to make him stagger.

“I do not moon.”

“You practically drool.”

There was a long moment of silence.

“I have to finish this section of fence. See you later alright?” Marshall took the hammer from the tailgate of the truck. “Don’t sweat it Dus, I’ll still be there.”

“Alright. See you before sundown bud.” Dustin hopped up into his truck and Marshall avoided looking at the way his friend’s shirt stretched over his excellent biceps as he popped the door closed. “And eat something for heaven’s sake. Tonight we’re all getting a bit drunk.”

Marshal waved his friend out of sight, then went back to his fence. The task no longer held his attention, because his brain was too busy thinking about Dolton. Dustin was right of course, because more than once he had been known to drool over his friend. It was something he had always felt a little guilty for, because he and Dolton had practically grown up together, and it wasn’t until girls, hormones and boys had made an entrance, that anyone had ever really been able to tell them apart from being twins. They had loved all the same stuff, right up until the day when Dolton had confessed his love for Cindy-Lou three doors down and Marshal had confessed his love for Dolton.

They had stayed friends, the crush had never really faded, and twelve years later the idea of Dolton coming home for spring break, the lung crushing hugs and drinking, the reminiscing and laughter about crazy shit they’d done as teenagers was enough to make Marshal’s heart race and for his jeans to get uncomfortably tight.

He stopped dealing with the fence as the light changed, the mad brightness of the day softening by degrees as the sun started to think about trying to find the horizon. There wasn’t a great deal left in the truck, so Marshal left the last few stakes and a canvas bag of fence wire and nails tucked into the long grass before shutting up the tailgate and heading back to the house. Tools went back to the workshop, and Marshal checked on the locks and alarms before getting back into the truck and taking the quickest shortcut to a long overdue shower.

Regardless of Dustin’s teasing, Marshal had no intention of looking anything other than his best, so he shaved, scrubbed and washed his hair with the slightly citrusy scented shampoo stolen from his sister’s bathroom in the main house. After that, all he had to do was choose clothes. It was an easy process, when all one owned was jeans, boots, and shirts in a variety of wearing through at the elbows. Marshal chose his best black shirt, open over a white wide beater, and plumped for the sheepskin lined flying jacket his father had bought him the first year they’d gotten a stock contract for the big rodeo out of state, even though it wouldn’t be cold enough to wear it until about three in the morning. Clean jeans and a second pair of cowboy boots completed the set. Marshal loaded up his truck with all the firewood and matches he needed, shoved three bottles of whiskey in the passenger foot well along with two six packs of beer and headed on out to the field on the hill.

By the time it got dark, the party was in a good swing. They’d built a good sized fire, and people were dancing to the music being played out of Nolan’s Ford, because music drained the batteries and it was better to take these things in turn. There were half a dozen trucks pulled up around the fire, people sitting on the tailgates sipping whiskey and beer. Dustin’s truck had been full to bursting with buckets of ice, and Marshal reckoned they had enough alcohol on board to get the whole town in the right state for a major hangover. Partying until the sun came out was not going to be an issue in the slightest.

The tall blond hung out on his tailgate, sipping whiskey and chatting over the music with friends. Dustin was already trying his luck with his favourite of the girls who served at Mama Bee’s, and Marshal wondered why he bothered when past experience told them that the best his friend could hope for was a quick kiss goodnight and quick feel if he got extra lucky. BJ had arrived with a whole bunch of cute preppy kids from his college, and they were all impressed that tailgate parties were a real thing, and not just made up by country-rock singers. They were drinking beer, and seemed generally shy around a bunch of guys and gals who worked hard six days a week and made up for that by partying hard when they could. Of course, partying out here meant that the stars shone up above and there was dust and grass underfoot.

A reasonably macho, clearly football player type wandered over beer in hand, looking the big black truck up and down.

“Sweet ride.”

“Thanks.” Marshall sipped from his jar, and clinked the glass with the young collegiate.

“So are you back for Spring Break too?”

“Oh hell no!” Marshall couldn’t help but laugh. “You wouldn’t get me in one of those fancy colleges. I live right here.”

“Oh…” The young man recovered quickly. “I went to school for the football, but I’m in the law program now. What do you do?”

“Today I laid most of a fence.” Marshal shook his head. City kids had very little concept of how things worked in the country, the idea that each day could be the same but different, and that every day was full of long hard hours, rain, shine, snow or otherwise. As the college kid continued to look confused, another car arrived, and Marshal’s view narrowed considerably as his friend stepped from the driver’s door.

“Dolton! What the fuck have you done to your car?”

Marshal pulled his friend into an embrace, and was pleased to be hugged just had hard back by the beautiful dark haired man he had spent most of his life dreaming about. Dolton looked like he’d never been away, and smiled just the same.

“Marsh, dude, college is insane.” He patted the lid of the little sporty looking car, out of which his friends were now climbing. “The truck was too big, I had to trade it in, but this thing is great, nice and nippy and great for town.”

“I have no idea how you manage to live there.”

“Well fuck dude, you could practically fit my whole dorm room into your truck! Is it me or has it got bigger?”

Marshal rubbed the back of his neck, and then remembered why he shouldn’t.

“Yeah, I boosted the suspension just after Christmas. I swear he could climb mountains now.”

“Not that you people have anything round here except dust and corn fields.” A very pretty girl had emerged from the car and stepped into Dolton’s arms, her long ringlets bouncing when she moved. “Gosh, that is a big truck. You must be Marshal.”

Marshal shook hands with the girl gingerly, terrified that he might break her. With her manicured nails, high heels and mini skirt she seemed so delicate and precious. It was as though something like her should be in a museum, not standing on a tail end of a bit of dirt road in the middle of nowhere. He met Dolton’s eyes and gave him a look to say ‘You talk about me?’

“I am.”

“Dolton talks about you loads, especially when he’s drunk and missing home.”

“Remind me why I brought you again babe?”

“Because I have the most fantastic tits.” The girl kissed him soundly. “I’m gonna go find out what it is you people drink around here.”

Marshal watched her go in astonishment.

“Fucking hell.”

“I know right?” Dolton grinned. “Becky’s a proper hellcat and she smart and sexy and funny to boot.”

“Well, you always said there was a perfect woman out there somewhere.” Marshal smiled at his friend. “I got all the best music in the truck for you, give me a sec.”

The high of seeing Dolton again could not be entirely crushed by the presence of Becky, purely because she seemed, if very high maintenance, to be an actual match for Marshal’s oldest friend. The blond man pulled himself up into the truck as he plugged the six CD changer into the jack, turned on the engine with a roar and boosted the party into overdrive. He had the biggest truck, the best bass and the loudest speakers. The noise covered, just for a moment, the shattering of another piece off his rather broken heart. It had been lunatic to daydream about Dolton in the shower, to entertain romantic notions that he had somehow gone off to college and found that he really wanted to be back with Marshal above all else. But he had gone and done it anyway. Marshall took a deep breath, drained the last of his whiskey, swallowed, took another deep breath, and jumped down out of the truck.

And then the world changed.

There he was, standing by Dolton’s car, though Marshal hadn’t seen him step out, and it was like a hot wind in the dead cold of night the way the boy affected him. Marshal gaped, not caring who saw, as he took in the boy.

Never had Marshal been party to the sorts of boys who made the covers of gay magazines the pages of GQ. Skinny and feminine did nothing for him. Marshal had always liked his fantasy men big, rough around the edges, and frankly, Dolton shaped. This boy was nothing like that. He was short, not anywhere near six feet, skinny, slightly pale from not living in a state that liked hot and long hours outdoors. He had that hair that Marshal had seen on billboards, thick and perfectly styled, somehow both feminine and tough as boots, deep nut brown with what looked like purplish dip-dyed ends. He dressed like a city kid and he looked rather juxtaposed in skinny jeans and non-functional, practically sheer white t-shirt with unreadable bold black print. And then the boy looked at him and Marshal wished that he could duck behind his truck.

Thankfully, Dustin walked through his line of sight, and Marshal grabbed his friend by the collar.

“Hey bubba what’s up?” Dustin seemed slightly confused. “You seen that frickin’ racer mobil Dolton showed up in-?” There was pause. “Dude. Marsh, you OK?”

“Who is that?”

“Who?”

“The cute one standing by Dolton’s car.”

“Becky. That’s his girl man, thought you realised.”

Marshal rolled his eyes and wished that he could smack his best mate in the mouth of being too thick to put two and two together sometimes.

“The dude. There’s he’s talking to Dolton.”

Dustin turned to look.

“Fucked if I know. Another college kid.” Dustin’s brained seemed to suddenly catch up with his mouth. “You think he’s cute?”

“Never mind.” Marshal regretted instantly making his interest known. “I’m getting another beer.”

He filched a long necked brown bottle out of the ice with two fingers, broke the lid of on the side of the tub and gulped down about a third before turning around.

“Can I have one of those?” The boy was standing there, about a foot from him, with a little smile and bright green eyes like a new John Deere with fresh paint.

“Sure.” Marshal grabbed another beer and took the cap off without ever actually looking away from the boy with the amazing hair. By all rights, he should not have found the kid attractive. Like Becky he was obviously high maintenance, but there was something about him that had had Marshal’s damaged hearts spinning in circles. “So who are you here with?”

“Dolton brought me.” He shrugged. “We have comparative literature together. My parents were going away for spring break and I didn’t fancy having to host parties in the only open house. Dol promised that not everyone down south was a homophobic redneck jerk, so here I am.”

“Well I’m jus’ that middle bit.” Marshal felt himself blushing, and drank to cover his reaction. “I’m Marshal Roman.”

“Julius Costa.” The boy held out a hand. “But everyone I like just calls me Jules.”

In the easy silence as they both drank their beers, Marshal watched the boy watching him. Up close Jules was fantastically beautiful: cheekbones that could cut glass and a strong chin, no stubble at all, skin clear as lake water in spring and thick dark eyelashes. The green eyes got back to his face, and Jules was smiling.

“You’re the guy Dolton’s always talking about. The one with the massive truck.”

“Yes sir, that’s me.” The idea that Dolton thought and talked about him was somehow no longer relevant like it had been five minutes ago, no longer exciting. Marshal’s field of vision had shrunk considerably, and he wouldn’t even have been able to tell anyone what time it was or what song was playing on his stereo. All of his attention, and every response in his body, was focused on this unexpected pretty boy. “So what do you do? Apart from comparative literature.”

Jules shook his head and smiled.

“I have no idea. I still haven’t picked a major. I have the literature thing, I took a class on human biology first semester, did a bit of environmental geography and I signed up for a music module. I just went to college to get away from my parents.”

“You don’t know what you want be when you grow up?” Marshall frowned. They had moved away from the ice buckets, and now he found himself standing by the tailgate of his truck, so he hopped up and sat down.

“Sure I do.” Jules smiled. “I want to be happy. What do you want to be?”

“I’m a redneck stock contractor boy. I am who I want to be.” Marshal sipped his beer, trying to work out if what he’d said was offensive enough to make Jules walk off. Apparently not. “Come sit up here.”

The flat bed of the tail gate was around the same height as Jules’s sternum, and he gave Marshal a disparaging look.

“Oh right.”

The big blond jumped back down again, parked his beer, and before Jules could say anything, he wrapped his hands around the boy’s tiny waist and lifted him onto the truck. He weighed nothing in Marshal’s hands, but he was surprised to find firm muscle and flesh under his fingers, not a pasty soft sort of boy he’d been expecting. Sitting on the tailgate put Jules face near enough level with his own, the perfect height for kissing, and suddenly Marshal couldn’t move away. He was stuck staring at the boy, hands on his waist, breathing hard. Jules gave a little chuckle.

“You can let go now.” He scanned the party. “I think I quite like being tall. The view is good.”

Marshal stepped back, sticking his thumbs in his pockets.

“So tell me about this truck then.” Jules rapped his knuckles against the chrome tailgate. “Gotta cost a ton to keep this thing in gas.”

“Well, what else am I gonna spend my money on?” Marshal sipped his beer and leant against the truck, patting the black panel fondly. “Dimes make dollars, dollars buy gas and long neck beer bottles.” He chinked his drink against the truck gently. “Makes good sense to me.”

“You don’t wanna go somewhere and have those mad adventures they keep telling us college is all about?” There wasn’t any judgement in Jules’s question, and he sipped his beer thoughtfully.

“My kind a’ night is just like this. Dance in the dark, country, rock and hip-hop blasting out of the speakers, cold beer in hand. Hell, we could go float down the Flint River and catch catfish for the bonfire if you’d rather.”

Jules arched an eyebrow and tilted his head slightly.

“And wouldn’t you rather share that sort of night with someone from round here?”

Marshal looked around the circle of fire, dust, and tailgates. All his friends were there, dancing, drinking, tell stories and stupid jokes. Dustin was flirting and Dolton was hip-locked with Becky by the fire, moving to the heavy bass beat of the music. Casey was sitting on his own tailgate with moonshine in hand, chatting and drinking with a few of the newcomers and everyone was having a great time. There wasn’t a single person there who Marshal would have rather been talking too.

It was an odd thing to grown up gay in the sort of small town where that sort of thing might have been a major problem. But it hadn’t been, because the law of averages is a bitch, and Marshal was the only guy even remotely his age who didn’t like to chase tail in denim hot pants and plaited pig-tails.

“No.”

“Marshal?”

“Hmm?” Marshal turned to look at the pretty boy sitting on the tailgate, and found himself falling into a pair of green eyes overflowing with just as much star-struck wonder as his own.

“So you wanna show me what’s so good about small town nights while the man on the moon puts in some overtime up there? I like the sound of this catfish dinner thing.”

“Deal. They won’t miss us.” Marshal left his beer standing on a log by the fire. “Let me get Dustin to turn on his stereo and we’ll roll.” Marshal took a last look back at the boy swinging his legs over the edge of the tailgate, just to check he wasn’t dreaming, then nipped around the fire.

“Hey Marsh!” Dustin was tipsy and happy, one arm around Sara-Mae, the receptionist at the local Feed and Farm, drink in the other.

“I’mma bounce. Catch you later?”

“Where you goin’?”

Marshal turned to look back at the kid sitting on his truck. Never had he seen a boy like that, never had a boy like that looked at him that way. Jules was the hottest side ride he’d ever had sitting in the back of his truck, and Marshal wondered what it would take to have the boy scoot on over the bench seat and snuggle against his side.

“I’m out. See you sometimes around sun-up I expect.” He jogged back around the fire to his truck as Dustin reached back to start up the boom box which sat next to the toolbox in the back of his pick-up. “You ready?”

“Sure.” Jules was grinning, his teeth even, white and sparkly. “You might have to help me down first though cowboy.”

“I’m not a cowboy.” Marshal couldn’t help but grin. “I’m jus’ a redneck.”

He put his hands on Jules’s narrow waist, and the boy scooted forwards so that Marshal was standing between his knees. Warm hands landed on his shoulders, and there was less than six inches of space between them. Marshal didn’t think he’d ever been so turned on in his entire life.

“Jus’ a redneck…” Jules imitated his accent. “…will do great.” And then Jules kissed him.

His lips were sweeter than super-low honey, and his boy thrummed with energy in Marshal’s hands. The big blond thought that his heart might try and jump out of his mouth, but Jules’s tongue was in the way, and they were pressed together all up the length of Jules’s torso, his heart pounding just as frantically as Marshal’s own. There was no stopping, and they both took the kiss as far as they could until Jules leant forwards and slipped off the tailgate of the big truck. Marshal caught the boy and held him against his chest, had in the small of his back, pulling his t-shirt up.

“So where’s this river you were telling me about?”

Marshal laughed, running his fingers through Jules’s thick styled hair. It was amazing how well the boy fitted in his arms. Never mind being back for daybreak, because he had the best truck in the county and he could spent the whole night cruising around with the boy in his arms, getting to know his smile and his kisses better, running all over town and rocking the world just a little bit.

“Let’s roll.”