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The motorway stretched ahead like a ribbon of grey silk, pulling them further and further from the city. Law had insisted they leave before dawn to avoid traffic, but Cora was unbothered, slouched behind the wheel of the old pickup as though time had never held sway over him. He drove with the window rolled down, one long arm dangling out with the sleeves of his shirt rolled up, cigarette balanced between his fingers. Sunglasses were perched on the bridge of his nose despite the dim morning light, and the wind tangled his messy blond hair into worse disarray.
Law thought he looked absurdly content and beyond handsome.
"You’re going to flick ash all over the leather," he muttered, not looking up from the road map spread across his knees. He didn’t need it; the map app on his phone would have sufficed, but something about tracing their route in Biro ink across creased paper soothed him.
Cora puffed smoke out the window. "It’s not real leather, it’s vinyl. Practically indestructible."
"Until it isn’t," Law countered. Then, quieter, "You look like a cliché."
The corner of Cora’s mouth twitched. "A handsome cliché?"
Law made a noise of disdain but slid the map aside long enough to reach for the Polaroid camera resting by his thigh. It was a huge, black bulky thing, and had been Cora’s idea; a silly whim bought from a second-hand shop two days earlier, but Law had warmed to the clunky device. He raised it now, framed the shot in the viewfinder, and snapped the shutter before Cora could turn his head.
The instant picture whirred out, developing in Law’s palm. He waved it in the faint draught of the heater, watching Cora’s shape emerge against the washed sky – the slant of his purple sunglasses, the cigarette smoke curling like a signature in the air.
"Another one for the collection," Law said, tucking it into a growing stack clipped to the sun visor.
Cora laughed, a rumble deep in his chest. "You’ll run out of film before we’ve even hit the border."
"Then you’ll have to buy me more."
Heading south to see Cora’s parents, they had decided, somewhat recklessly, to drive instead of flying. Cora had floated the idea with all the carelessness of a man suggesting takeaway for dinner: Why not a road trip? We’ll make it an adventure. Take our time with it. And Law – against his usual preference for efficiency – had agreed.
Perhaps take our time with it was said because Cora never liked family reunions, something that still knotted him into nerves no matter how old he grew. And perhaps Law agreed because he was someone who had lived much of his life in the shadow of schedules and control, and wanted to see what happened when he let the road lead them.
They were free, after all.
– –
By mid-morning, the motorway had spilled them into open countryside and slender, winding roads. Fields stretched on either side, green and gold under the pale sun. Law swapped seats with Cora at a service station, grumbling about overpriced shitty coffee that they served there, but he took the keys all the same. The big yellow pickup truck handled like an old beast, stubborn on corners, yet he found himself easing into the rhythm of it.
Miles passed in a blur. Cora sprawled in the passenger seat, legs drawn up absurdly long against the glovebox. He dozed with his head tipped forward with his hood tugged low, sunglasses sliding down the bridge of his nose.
Law stole glances when he thought he could get away with it. However, he didn't want to let the moment slip through his fingers, unsavoured.
With the camera laying between them on the bench, Law grabbed it with one hand and aimed without looking. It clicked and whirred loudly in the quiet of the cabin, but Cora remained blissfully asleep, head rolling against the window and lips parting around deep breaths.
The picture slid out from the device. He let it sit against the burgundy seat as the chemicals developed in the small rectangle. Eyes on the road, he resisted the urge to check it, telling himself that he only took the picture to tease his lover later – but when enough time had passed and the image finished developing, he tucked it carefully into the visor with the others.
He would look at it later, to linger in the peace of the moment. For now, he reached across and took Cora’s hand in his, thumb stroking over the bumps of his knuckles and smiling when Cora grumbled.
– –
They stopped at a pub just past noon, drawn off the road by the promise of hot food and decent coffee. It was a quaint place, with ivy growing up a rough stone exterior, and nestled just by a river that gushed between farmland. The place was quiet, although a few locals were sat at the picnic tables nearby with the cutest dogs that Cora just had to pet.
Drinks and food ordered, they sat on the terrace by the bumbling river, coats drawn against the slight chill. A hush settled over them, only broken by the murmur of current and the occasional call of a bird. Warming his hands around the steaming coffee, Law sighed and cast his gaze over his boyfriend, sat opposite.
Cora had lit another cigarette, angling himself so the breeze carried the smoke away from Law. He looked good in his brown leather jacket, one that was aviator-style with the sheepskin collar and cuffs. His dark sunglasses reflected the cloud-strewn sky; Law, delicately sipping his dark roast, caught the mirrored image of himself there – small, serious, the inevitable contrast to the man sat before him.
"You’re staring," Cora pointed out.
"You’re reflecting," Law returned.
That made Cora laugh again, soft this time. He leaned close, enough that Law could smell the sharper scent of his aftershave beneath the musky tobacco. "Do you mind?"
"Smoking? Always." Law, however, didn’t pull away. "You…? Not in the slightest."
Cora grinned at him like he’d been told the greatest compliment in the world. Leaning forward to bridge the gap between them, he stole a kiss from Law’s lips – or rather, that wasn’t quite right. How could Cora steal what was so freely given?
A shared smile in the aftermath, and Cora leaned back, flicking ash into the tray between them.
– –
Back on the road, the miles unspooled. The afternoon turned golden, light pooling over hedgerows and tilled earth. Law drove until his shoulders ached, then handed back the keys. They passed through villages of stone cottages, over narrow bridges, and along roads that twisted like ribbons into hills. Sometimes they talked – about trivial things, about the route, about music spilling faintly from the truck’s crackly speakers. Sometimes they didn’t.
Cora hummed when he drove, sometimes along with the radio, other times when silence filled the vehicle. Law found his voice grounding, eyes slipping shut even when he tried desperately to stay awake.
– –
The first night, they pulled into a layby overlooking a wide valley. The air smelt of damp earth and heather and rainclouds that had long passed. Cora set up the tent in the flatbed of the truck with the ease of someone who’d done it often, while Law unpacked sleeping bags and muttered about uncooperative zips.
By the time the stars surfaced, they were lying shoulder to shoulder in their joined-up sleeping bags, the canvas flaps of the tent rolled back.
Above them, the sky was endless. Stars pricked holes in the dark, scattered so thickly that Law felt briefly as though he might fall upward into them. He didn’t say so, not wanting to appear childish. He only huddled closer to Cora's side and and let the quiet seep into him.
Cora shifted his arm tighter around Law's waist. His other hand found Law’s in the dark, atop his chest, rough fingers warm against his palm.
"Not bad, huh?" he murmured.
Law hummed. His throat felt thick. "It’s tolerable."
He felt Cora smile, adorable smugness filling the space around them. Then, Cora pressed a slow kiss to his temple, lingering just long enough for the warmth to spread through Law’s chest, a comfort far softer than the sleeping bag.
They fell asleep with the night wrapped around them, the occasional creak of the truck beneath, and the knowledge that morning would mean more road, more miles, and still each other.
– –
The days and hours blurred into a rhythm of half-forgotten service stations, more Polaroid photos, and roadside discoveries.
They found a ruined abbey on the third afternoon, its stone walls worn down to mere ribs against the sky. There was no sign saying they couldn't enter. So, with a carefully navigated fence – followed by Cora nearly losing his footing thanks to a rabbit hole in the field – they ventured towards the abandoned building. Law kept one hand tightly clasped around Cora's, his other rested on the camera at his hip; the latter, to stop it swinging too much on its shoulder strap, the former to stop Cora from landing face-first in a cowpat.
With a bright blue sky above them, and not a cloud in sight, they took their time exploring the ruin. Following the bare stone walls that were barely higher than shin-height, they mapped out what must have been a grand and imposing building, once upon a time. Cora's gentle timbre filled the serene hush with detailed explanations to its decline – having looked up where they were on his phone – and admittedly, Law wasn't taking the information in; he was more focused on the warmth of Cora's hand in his, and the silk baritone in his ear.
They only parted when Cora let go, rushing ahead as they entered what would have been the main chapel. Long legs striding, the blond quickly stood where the altar once had been, denoted by a large rectangular slab of worn stone. With the sun behind him, he looked absurdly like some scarecrow saint: arms stretched wide, coat open with his brightly coloured sweater beneath, a grin splitting his face.
"Come here!"
Law nodded but took a photograph, capturing the way the sun carved shadows through broken arches and illuminated his partner. His boots scuffed the haphazardly exposed stones as he made his way down the nave. The air was cool here, carrying the scent of moss and damp. Cora watched him all the way, arms finally lowering and hands shoved deep into his jeans’ pockets. He looked… sheepish, for some reason.
When he reached the altar, Cora caught Law’s hand in his, grip warm and a little clumsy as he fumbled Law's fingers into a particular position. Then, with mock solemnity, he intoned, "I, Donquixote Rosinante, take thee, Trafalgar D. Water Law—"
Law blinked, caught off guard, then barked a laugh, the sound startling even to himself. His face flushed hot. "What the hell are you doing?"
"Vows," Cora explained, utterly straight-faced. "Seems appropriate, doesn’t it?"
"You’re an idiot," Law muttered with a roll of his eyes, though the fondness in his voice ruined the bite. He shoved lightly at Cora’s chest, but Cora only swayed, still grinning.
"Idiot?" Cora repeated, clutching his chest as if wounded. "You mispronounced romantic. Why waste a perfect opportunity?"
"You need a ring, at the very least. An officiant, as well. And witnesses."
Cora tilted his head, considering. "Hm. You might be right. Maybe the venue could use an upgrade, too." He gestured around at the crumbling walls. "Bit of a draught. Weather would be a gamble."
Law huffed, trying not to smile. "Not to mention that your brother would pop a gasket if he tried to step foot in here."
"You’re right, as always," Cora nodded sagely, finger tapping on his chin. "And that’s less to do with the décor and more–"
"The fact that he’d burst into flames the very second he stepped foot on sacrosanct ground?"
Cora’s expression twitched like a lightbulb had triggered in his brain, alongside barely concealed glee. "Exactly." He allowed himself a moment to snicker. Then, expression evening out, he stuck out his hand between them, palm up. "Camera?"
Suspicious, Law unlooped the device from over his shoulder and handed over the Polaroid. Cora fiddled with it, squinting at the buttons, then pulled Law against his side and held the camera at arm’s length. He pointed the lens directly at them. "Say cheese."
Before Law could protest, the shutter clicked. The picture whirred out, and Cora caught it between his fingers. He waved it until the image began to bloom: their faces pressed close, Cora’s grin stretched from ear to ear, Law visibly flustered but the curl of a smile gracing his lips. Cora’s thumb obscured one corner of the frame, leaving a dark blur across the stone backdrop.
"It’s crooked," Cora whined, handing it over. "Sorry, Law. We could take another…? I’ll let you stay in charge of photography from now on, promise."
Law studied it, lips twitching despite himself. The photo had some flaws – off-centre, half-obscured – but he tucked it safely into the pocket of his long, blue coat regardless, careful as if it were one of his precious coins.
"It’s perfect," he murmured, out loud, grinning wider when Cora dipped down and pulled him into a kiss.
– –
It was on the fourth day when they approached the coast. Whilst they waited for their ferry to finish its turnaround operation and become ready for boarding, they wandered around the dock area.
The sea was steel-grey, waves thundering against jagged stone. Cora leaned so far over the railing to look at the rocks below that Law grabbed the back of his jacket, swearing at him. Cora only laughed.
They ate fish and chips on a bench overlooking the tide, the gulls shrieking above. Grease slicked Cora’s fingers, and when he tried to wipe them on Law’s sleeve, he was threatened bodily harm.
He tried to ignore how Cora, instead, sucked his fingers clean, one by one.
– –
Having boarded the boat with their truck and retreated to the upper passenger deck, they passed the evening hours with a few (unfairly) expensive beers, decanted into flimsy plastic cups. The sunset painted the sea in streaks of fire, night sky chasing the sun with an obsidian blanket. Most passengers had retreated indoors, but the two of them preferred the chill of the fresh air – and not just so that Cora could entertain his habit.
The curl of his smoke swirled against the light of the fading sun. Balancing his Sora book on one knee, Law took another photo, this one without asking.
"You’re obsessed," Cora teased when the film slid out with its familiar whirr.
"Documenting," Law corrected.
"Obsessed," Cora repeated, grinning wide enough to show his teeth. "With me, though, so it's okay."
Law rolled his eyes, but when the image finished developing – Cora haloed in gold, cigarette between his fingers – he tucked it carefully between the final pages of his novel, a prize to be cherished for when he finished the story.
– –
By the fifth day, the stack of photographs began to bulge against the visor clip. Law sorted through them one evening, sprawled in the tent while Cora rummaged outside for the camping stove. There were photos of Cora smoking, of Cora laughing, of Cora asleep. A few of the scenery, though Law was reluctant to waste the film on empty hills when Cora filled the frame so well.
When Cora ducked back in, hair windblown and cheeks flushed from the chill, Law slid the photos back into a neat pile.
"Do you know where the matches are?" the blond asked. Law loved how his nose went rosy in colder climates, and lamented the fact he wouldn't see it happen for a while, what with the warmer climate of the south.
"What happened to your lighter?"
Cora pouted. "You told me off for using my lighter last time."
Ah. Yes. Cora had very nearly ended up with an asymmetrical sweater, when he lit the camping stove with his sleeve catching too close. The matches they'd bought were a little safer, with longer handles to keep Cora's hand (and clothes) safe.
"Which is why," his boyfriend continued, holding up a hand as though swearing an oath, "I want to use the proper, long matches. Perfectly safe. I just…" His smile turned sheepish. "…can't remember where we put them."
Law sighed. "Glove-box."
Cora flashed him a grin, boyish and bright. He leaned down to plant a swift kiss against Law’s bare ankle, before retreating again, leaving the canvas rustling in his wake. Law heard the crunch of boots on grass, then the creak of the passenger door. It was quickly followed by a triumphant "Aha!" and the slam of metal. The truck rocked on its suspension, shivering the tent pitched on the flatbed.
Law turned back to the photos, sliding them into the plastic sleeve he kept tucked in his rucksack. Yet, as he set it aside, he realised he wasn’t hungry; not for food, at least. What gnawed at him was something else entirely.
Restless. That was the word.
It had been days on the road, nights folded into one another. They hadn’t gone without touch – Cora’s hand in his, the warmth of him pressed close in sleep, trading lazy kisses whenever they got a moment – but back home their rhythm had been different, urgent, electric. He thought, wryly, that it was a miracle they ever left their apartment with how often they’d had each other half-undressed against doorframes or tangled in sheets. Even with both of their full-time work schedules, they were barely able to keep their hands off one another.
Here, on the road, he was beginning to feel the absence like a physical emptiness.
The flap of the tent swayed again in the breeze, offering a slice of the dusky sky beyond. Law could hear Cora humming to himself, metal clinking as he fiddled with the stove. The domesticity of it was endearing – too endearing.
Law stretched out across the sleeping bags, eyes tracing the dark seam of the tent’s roof as an idea stirred. His fingers slipped to the camera nearby, still within reach, and a smirk ghosted over his lips as he turned it over in his hands.
Sliding his t-shirt over his head, he tossed it aside, the cool air skimming across his skin and making it rise into gooseflesh. His muscles shifted and flexed with the movement, lean lines defined in the dim light. One hand pushed at the waistband of his sweatpants, thumb dragging lazily over the soft trail of hair leading down from his navel until it pressed against the base of his cock, shaft still held firm by the elastic of his underwear. The faintest touch was enough to spark heat, blood quickening.
He raised the Polaroid with his other hand, angling it so the shot would capture the taut line of his stomach, the tease of flesh, the suggestion of more. He knew his face would be cropped just out of frame, leaving only the deliberate provocation. He knew his angles, knew his lines.
He pressed the shutter.
The camera whirred, spitting out the glossy square. Law didn’t even wait for the image to form. He slid forward, arm slipping out through the tent’s opening, the picture clutched between his fingers.
"Cora-san," he called softly.
A questioning hum answered him, followed by a few crunching footsteps in the grass. Then the photograph was plucked from his hand.
"I’m not in the mood for food," Law murmured, voice almost careless in tone. "Maybe something else."
Silence followed. Law bit his lip, half-smile curving at the corner. He could imagine the look spreading across Cora’s face as the image bled into clarity.
Then came the sharp sound of breath sucked in, a clatter of metal hastily abandoned, and the scrape of a boot as a cigarette was definitely was stamped out.
The tent shook as Cora shoved his way past the zip, sweater already yanked half-off over his head. His eyes were wide, his face flushed scarlet even in the low light, and the truck rocked a little as he clambered inside.
"You–" His gaze locked onto Law, sprawled bare-chested across the sleeping bags, camera still in his hand, and groaned. "You brat."
Law only laughed, unrepentant. He tossed the camera to the side and held his arms open in invitation. "And you love it."
Cora’s sweater landed forgotten in the corner as he crawled across the sleeping bags, long frame bending over Law, all heat and urgency. The faint smell of tobacco clung to him, familiar and grounding, even as his hands trembled slightly when they settled against Law’s waist.
Law arched into him, smirk still playing at his lips, though his pulse had picked up sharply. He could feel the hunger vibrating through his lover, matching his own. The road, the tent, the long days – all of it slipped away until there was only this: the closeness, the warmth, the want that had been simmering too long.
The Polaroid photo was waved in his face, Cora now braced with his elbows either side of Law's shoulders. Law trailed his eyes over his own body, framed in a white rectangle, and let his smirk burn into a full grin.
"I'm keeping this one," Cora hissed, but nevertheless threw it towards his discarded sweater.
When Cora kissed him, hard and unrestrained, Law let the laughter melt into something deeper, tugging him down, closer, until there was no space left between them at all. The kiss was fierce, teeth clashing, but beneath it was the kind of hunger that came from days of restraint.
And Cora’s weight atop him was solid and overwhelming in the best way. He let himself be swallowed by it, moaning when Cora let his lower body drop onto Law's hips. Calloused hands slid up his ribs, thumbs brushing pert nipples, wide palms mapping familiar territory as if rediscovering it after too long apart.
Law tipped his head back, breaking the kiss long enough to breathe, his chest rising fast. The light from the shitty battery-powered lantern flickered over Cora’s flushed face, the curve of his mouth, the bare vulnerability in his eyes.
"Think the suspension can handle us?" Law whispered, mischief flaring. His hand curled against the flexing muscles of Cora’s back, sliding down to paw at that firm, perky ass, pulling his hips closer still.
Cora only smiled crookedly, forehead pressing against Law’s as though he needed the contact to steady himself. "Only one way to find out."
– –
The road carried them further south, warmer air clinging to their clothes. Villages gave way to open fields, then to stretches of motorway again. They stopped less often now, both eager to reach their destination, but still lingered where the view demanded.
On the final night before they arrived, they camped in a meadow away from the road. The grass was high around them, the sound of insects rising in chorus. They lay tangled in the sleeping bag, the tent flap rolled open to let in the night air, although the insect net was firmly zipped in place.
Law rested his head on Cora’s chest, listening to the steady beat beneath. His hand curled idly against the fabric of Cora’s shirt, tracing nothing in particular.
"You’re quiet," Cora murmured, fingers combing through Law’s dark hair.
"I’m thinking."
"About tomorrow?"
Law made a noncommittal noise. He didn’t like to admit nerves, but the truth was there: he'd met Cora's parents before, but seeing them again – along with Cora's demon-made-man of a brother – was hardly something to take lightly. It mattered. More than he wanted to say aloud.
…But there was also part of him that never wanted to let this road-trip go.
Cora seemed to understand, because he pressed a kiss to the top of Law’s head and said nothing else.
They fell asleep like that, the world muted around them.
– –
When morning came, they packed the tent and rolled back onto the road without much fanfare. The sun was already warm, haze rising off the tarmac. Cora drove this last stretch, cigarette in hand, sunglasses shielding his eyes against the bright southern sun.
Law watched the scenery blur past, the final pages of their small adventure. He thought about the stack of Polaroids tucked away in his bag, each one a captured moment, proof that the days had happened and were theirs.
He thought about Cora’s laugh, about the quiet press of his hand at night, about how much space the man filled without ever crowding.
"You do realise…" His lover's voice cut through the fog of his thoughts. He tilted his head to glance over, frowning at the blond's teasing smirk. "…we're going to need to drive the truck back, when we're done at my parents'."
Law blinked. How had he not realised that? For his sudden mourning of a road-trip coming to an end, there was the return to be enjoyed too. And, perhaps, they could make a few diversions en route – places further east or west they'd both wanted to visit, sights they'd wanted to see, together.
And for once, Law allowed himself to stop thinking beyond the present. The road ahead was long enough, the man beside him more than enough, and the journey still theirs to finish.