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The receptionist at the bed and breakfast raises one eyebrow when she looks over their reservation. Two guys, one double bed.
Paul gives her his most charming smile that still manages to say I don't give a fuck what you think. Jacob would love to be able to smile like that but all he manages is to look vaguely guilty and uncomfortable. They've started their assignment over a year and a half ago and he still has that creeping panic that people will see right through them. They will look at them and know exactly what they are. If Paul feels the same he never says anything or lets it on in any other way.
The receptionist hands Paul the keys to their room and says something about breakfast and boat rides.
Jacob's still not too sure why they are even here. It all happened three weeks ago when they were over at Sarah's for dinner. She was telling them about going to see her family over the long Easter weekend and asked them if they had any plans. It came completely out of nowhere and Jacob, for whatever obscure reason, panicked and said they were thinking about going away for the long weekend as well. Paul saved him from the inevitable follow-up questions by asking Sarah about her family but the rest of the evening Jacob had to mentally check himself every time before opening his big fat mouth, not quite trusting himself.
Two days later he found Paul on the computer checking flights and hotels. He didn't really question it and before he knew it they had booked a hotel in Virginia Beach.
And that's why they are here now.
Jacob can't really remember the last time he had a proper holiday. The weather is not all that – it's windy and a little too cool for this time of year – but the beach is still nice. The air tastes of salt and seaweed and he feels ten pounds lighter the moment he steps out of the car.
There's a double bed in their room. He sees it but doesn't comment on it. They both unpack their suitcases quickly, walking around the bed as they put away their clothes, toiletries, as if ignoring the gigantic thing taking up half the room will magically resolve things between them.
Had this happened half a year ago Jacob knows he would have lost it completely. Now, however, he's strangely okay with it. Paul made the reservations. Paul picked a room with a double bed. It's a clear enough message alright, but by now there's no room to argue about it anymore. They may not have defined what exactly is going on between them but something is and it's enough of a thing to warrant a double bed. Denying it at this point just seems petty. So he just throws his clothes into the closet, messing up Paul's neatly folded pile before stowing away his bag on top of the closet. When he turns around, Paul is leaning back on his elbows on the bed, watching him and for a few, inordinately long moments, the only sound in the room is the vague screeching of sea gulls outside.
They take the car back into town and explore a little. Paul gets stuck in some strange, dusty looking shop that sells old movie memorabilia, posters and DVDs and Jacob leaves him to his own devices after the third exclamation of Oh my God! Some movie title Jacob has never even heard of!, opting for the book store across the street instead. He knows it's a bad idea. Book stores are like crack to him and he never manages to leave without buying something. That would be like walking into a church without dipping your fingers into the holy water font at the entrance – you just don't do that.
Paul catches up with him just as the clerk is working through his pile of books, putting them into a paper bag. Paul leans against the counter, watching the titles flash on the cashier's display. Most of the titles are educational stuff, two children's books that looked good, the new Douglas Coupland Jacob has been meaning to read for quite some time now.
“Italian horror films of the 1960s?” Paul asks, looking at him and Jacob suddenly wishes Paul would still have that same avoiding, almost gaze he had when they first met. The way Paul's looking at him now is making a blush creep into his face.
“I saw it and thought you didn't have that one yet,” he mutters, pulling the book out of the bag and handing it to Paul. Paul's entire face splits apart in a huge grin and Jacob can't help but smile in return.
They have dinner in quiet mom-and-pop place where the matronly-looking waitress falls head over heels in love with both of them, actually going so far as to pinch Jacob's cheek, all aflutter about how handsome they are. It's borderline embarrassing but the food is heavenly and they stuff themselves until Jacob feels like he will explode if he takes even one more bite of the pecan pie.
When they leave the restaurant there's a light drizzle outside, which turns into a biblical, gather-two-of-every-sort downpour by the time they arrive back at the B&B. The short distance from the parking lot to the house is enough to soak them both through to their underwear and the receptionist graces them with yet another disapproving look as they squelch their way up the stairs, leaving wet stains on the grubby carpeting.
He doesn't protest when Paul steps into the shower with him. He could ask him to wait but he doesn't really want to. There's a double bed behind that flimsy bathroom door, two tooth brushes in two plastic cups on the wash basin, his stuff all over Paul's neatly folded clothes in the rickety closet. That's the way it is now and he's okay with that. He likes Paul, likes him a lot and sometimes, when the time is right and Paul laughs and smiles at him, it even feels a little like he is in love with him.
They stumble from shower to bed and Jacob doesn't notice the storm raging outside until after.
The wind is lashing rain against the windows and the light overhead flickers as lightning cracks across the sky. Jacob shivers, burrowing deeper under the blanket, pressing up against Paul's side.
“Do your parents know?” He doesn't even know why he's asking. It just feels like something he wants to know. He knows trivial stuff about Paul, like his obsession with campy European horror movies or his intense disgust for chervil. He knows about Paul's first kill and he has seen him kill three other people, but suddenly that's not the kind of stuff he wants to know about him.
Paul's fingers are carding through his hair, rubbing against his scalp and his chest rises and falls under Jacob's head in a deep sigh.
“My dad found me kissing a boy in the garden behind the shed when I was eleven,” he starts, clearing his throat before he continues, “he slapped me around so much he cracked my cheekbone and broke my left wrist, dislocated my shoulder,” Paul says, his voice sounding monotone and flat, as if he's reading lines from a screen. “And all the while my mum sat in the kitchen and kept howling about how I have brought shame over the family.”
“I'm sorry.” It feels like a stupid thing to say but at the same time it feels like he should say something. He feels Paul shrug underneath him.
“Don't be,” he mutters, “it was a long time ago.” Paul is running his fingers through his hair again and Jacob closes his eyes, trying to sink into that feeling. It's nice and warm underneath the sheets and Paul's drawing strange patterns onto his back with his fingertips.
“Damn. I've totally killed the mood now, haven't I?” Paul whispers, his lips brushing against Jacob's forehead as he speaks and Jacob can't help smiling in spite of himself. He tips his head up, brushing his lips against Paul's, letting himself be pulled into the kiss.