untitled; an Undercover Blues exclusive story
The shack had nothing remotely like air-conditioning, and the continued delivery of electricity seemed something of a miracle. The fridge hummed and clicked though, proof of it still working, so Ryan took two stubbies of beer and carried them outside.
Jason was underneath the ute, legs sprawled out, partly twisted on his side, and Ryan could hear him muttering.
The water pump had gone the day before, gone with an almighty bang, on a day hot enough to fry eggs on the bitumen, and they’d pushed the ute back to the shack to avoid blowing the head gasket on it.
Blowing heads.
Ryan squatted down beside Jason’s bare legs, admiring the coarse golden hair and the promising stretch of his shorts, and pressed a stubbie wet with condensation against Jason’s knee.
“Blackie!” Jason shouted. “Geddoudofit!”
Blackie, monster dog and trouble maker, burst out of the scrub behind the ute, barking happily, and Jason scrambled out from under the ute.
He was covered in oil and sweat, sun-bleached hair full of gravel and dried grass, and his scowl turned to a smile when he saw Ryan holding out a beer.
“Thought you’d want a drink,” Ryan said.
There was desultory shade from the peppermint gum, and the first flicker of a sea breeze coming in off the ocean, on the other side of the sand dunes. The beer was cold and sharp, sliding down Ryan’s throat easily.
Jason drank his stubbie in four long gulps, then nestled the empty amongst the weeds and leant across and kissed Ryan.
He tasted of beer, lowering Ryan back onto the dirt, beer abandoned. “I’ve been thinking about you,” Jason said, and he sucked on the skin of Ryan’s neck.
Ryan slid his hands under Jason’s shorts at the back, finding bare arse to squeeze, and it made Jason grind against him, the promising rub of flesh through fabric.
“You making promises it’s too hot to keep?” Ryan asked.
“Fuck, yeah,” Jason said, pushing Ryan’s sweat-wet T-shirt up, no doubt spreading grease from the ute’s engine over Ryan’s ribs. “Wanna go for a swim?”