#which is what my autocorrect always wants to make of Bastian

[goodmanjacob]

prompt number 1

17/02/25

imagine how jacob feels the first time he climbs to the mountaintop in dresden with bastian. what does he see? what does he feel like physically? what does he pay attention to once they reach their goal?

*

They could have taken the easy, the ordinary route. They could have visited the touristy places. The official climbing spots. But hard as they were already - all rules and prohibitions and  regulations - when had Sebastian ever been ordinary?

When had they ever chosen the easy way? Out or in or through didn’t even matter. They were both anything but easy. Not before they’d met, it seemed, and definitely not after, when life had almost gained a new lightness, a new softness, a new playfulness. And Jacob had become more reckless, too, hadn’t he? If only to show off and challenge Sebastian and laugh death in the face because for a few precious moments, Jacob had seen heaven, even though he was destined for hell. So much about trying to be a decent man, a good man. So much about leaving danger and bloodshed and that consuming fire behind. Sebastian had pushed him from day one. Where that would lead him, though, Jacob didn’t know.

They could have taken the easy way up.

But where was the fun in that?

“If this is your idea of a vacation, it fucking sucks.”

As if Jacob had ever been on vacation before.

As if he hadn’t planned this whole thing to make it perfect. Perfect for Sebastian, at least. The trip of his dreams. Because, frankly, it didn’t look as if that dickface had ever been on vacation before, either.

And neither Jacob nor three fucking apps could make out what the old man watching over the area had said. Whether he was a forester or ranger or whatever the fuck equivalent there was here, Jacob didn’t know. What Jacob did know was enough, though. Whatever the job description, he was the guy in charge. The man who could either cause trouble or turn a blind eye. And usually, Jacob’s German was just enough to find his way to the nearest hotel and order a coffee – which Sebastian had forced him to do, smug, unbearable smart-ass fucker he was, once he’d caught up on the fact that Jacob had understood more than he’d let on. The fuckwaffle had gotten a nickname in return. One that, to Jacob’s surprise, they both seemed to like. Bastian. That sounded soft and warm. Like home. It suited him, but Jacob wasn’t ready to admit that just yet. That would be fucking sentimental and pathetic.

No, Jacob’s German wasn’t the best - learnt not from books but from soldiers - definitely not like Sebastian’s, eternally showing off and definitely teasing about it - but neither was this fucking guy’s. And usually, Jacob’s German was enough, but whatever language this guy had spoken, it sure as hell wasn‘t anything Jacob had ever heard in his entire life. Nor had the apps.

The old man hadn’t understood a single word of English, either. A predicament, really, if not for a more universal language; one that Jacob had learnt early on. Because the old German had understood the meaning of a wad of cash. Colourful, bright fucking play money. But if that was all it took, Jacob would reach even deeper into his pockets to ensure that the stupid fucking dickface had the time of his life here. The stupid fucking dickface that was – what exactly? His lover? Fuckbuddy? Friend with benefits? It had become hard to tell lately.

It had to be something though, because despite Jacob’s endless protests before their trip, he’d let Sebastian put a collar around his neck in front of everyone without complaint, right after they had gotten out of security check. Because despite his protests, he'd let Sebastian drag him through gallery after gallery, through botanical gardens and endless, ancient streets until his feet hurt. That meant something, didn’t it?

“You just wanna get a good look of my ass,” he yelled down, knuckles white and sore and aching. But this, at the very least, Jacob could appreciate. The burn. The challenge. The fucking risk. The exhilarating feeling of being first, of being champion, of being victorious, of leaving the world behind. Outgrowing an old self and pushing his limits, if only to impress himself. He could even agree, if he was honest, that the best climbing hall couldn’t provide the same kind of thrill.

“Bastian.”

But camping?

Why anyone would do this of their own volition and out of free fucking will was beyond Jacob. He’d spent almost two decades of his life eating gravel. He’d spent almost two decades with dust in his hair and sand between his teeth. First on the streets, before Faulkner had plucked him. Then, later, when he’d been supposed to become a man, whatever the fuck that had meant.

And a man he’d become. Whatever the fuck that meant.

The old man was long gone, taking over hell without a doubt, and waiting for him. The mansion was sold and the inherited fortune well invested in a business and life that was haunted by ghosts, but it was Jacob’s, at least.

“I really don’t get it.”

It wasn’t that Jacob couldn’t live without the amenities and luxuries Faulkner’s inherited wealth und his own company provided.

“You really not done eatin’ dirt? We have a perfectly nice hotel room.”

Jacob could live with very little, and he had. He‘d eaten abandoned half-finished meals on park benches. He‘d fished expired cans of chili out of garbage containers behind grocery stores.

He‘d known hunger. He’d known thirst. He’d known exhaustion and cold and rain and the elements.

He‘d slept on hard cots in the barracks, fucked open and bleeding, carrying shame like a comforting blanket. He‘d missed Faulkner and his deceiving smiles during those long nights. He‘d missed a decent bed and a proper hot shower, too, stuck at the other end of the world with only memories and regrets and horrible suspicions to keep him warm.

No, Jacob didn’t need much. He could survive with the bare minimum and less, for as long as he still had his teeth and fists.

But why would he, nowadays?

“You know that, right?”

Whether Bastian could hear him or not, Jacob didn’t even know. He was always close behind. But the words were grunted out between huffs and groans and pants, as Jacob pulled himself up.

“If you don’t like it, just tell me. I’ll get us another. I’ll buy the whole fucking hotel if I have to. But what I really don’t fucking understand is why you wanna stay up there and drink goddamn awful instant coffee and eat a can of nasty ravioli on top of a mountain.”

Especially when Jacob could nurse a bottle of booze while getting his brains sucked out.

Why settle for dust and grime and sweat, when they had that perfectly nice hotel room with a clean bed and a nice shower? Heated, private, comfortable.

This wasn’t a job. This wasn’t a necessity.

This was this stupid fucking idiot‘s idea of fun.

And the worst part was, as he continued to climb, with burning muscles and covered in sweat, letting Sebastian know exactly what he thought of this, he realised that he’d do it again.

This whole fucking trip. From the humiliation of the collar in public to the man who spoke as little German as he did, from the horrible food to Bastian teasing him until he’d ordered the goddamn coffee, receiving only a pitiful smile in return from their waiter.

He‘d do it all again. In an instant.

“We could be back in two hours. The hotel is just a ninety minutes ride away if we take the Autobahn. Seventy if you let me really push the rental. And we’d have a soft, warm bed to fuck. And a fucking minibar.”

They could have taken the easy routes.

They also could have stayed in the comfortable, luxurious, clean hotel room in that godforsaken giant museum of a city, too.

But no. Bastian wanted the outside, wanted to see fucking nature, wanted adventure and fresh air and a view. I could give you a fucking view, he’d teased, but of course that had been pointless. Sebastian had already been hooked, had already been restless, and not even Jacob’s dick could keep him from climbing that goddamn mountain range. And staying there for the night.

Bastian had wanted a view.

And a view they had, once they reached the top, with aching muscles, sweaty and out of breath. Bastian was obviously lost in the scenery, the clearest, bluest sky and the tree tops far beneath, inhaling the cool spring air as if he’d never taken a single breath before in his entire life.

And Jacob, at the very least, had a different view to admire. More fascinating than the sky and the trees and the fucking mountain range. Something infinitely more precious. Something rare and beautiful. Something he’d never seen before. Something that made it all worthwhile, the dust and the thirst and the blisters on his hand. Spending the night on top of a giant rock while likely being eaten alive by local insects.

It was Bastian’s smile.