Chapter 10
Harvey spills all his secrets!
I don’t know exactly what we’re doing, but I like it, so I’m going to go with it.
I’m going to go with sucking his dick. His impressively thick dick. I don’t usually bottom, but I think taking him would require way more prep than usual. He’s stretched a few holes in his life.
I’ll go with him sucking my dick too. That’s fine with me.
He’s pretty good at it. We can just blow each other.
That could become part of our routine. Every night after the group bonfire, or in the morning before breakfast. It doesn’t matter to me.
This should feel weirder, but it doesn’t.
It feels more normal than kicking each other’s asses.
Better, of course. My black eye is gone, and the bruising around his nose has faded.
One afternoon, while putting stuff back in the shed, I idly wonder how many happy relationships have started this way, then I stop myself, because it would have to be zero.
It starts raining, so we sit under the pavilion on a picnic table to wait it out, but it doesn’t let up.
Then thunder rolls in. We’re both damp when we get back to our cabin, and we fall onto our beds at the same time.
When I look at him, I notice a thin gold chain around his neck.
How long has that been there? Has he always worn it?
I’m noticing things now, and I guess that makes sense.
I’ve been staring at that Boy Next Door mug nearly all day, every day, for weeks.
In fact, I’m a little over halfway through my time here.
I watch him take off his muddy shoes and place them by the door, and I do the same. He sits on his bed, watching me.
I sit on mine, watching him. “You want to get off, Hollywood?”
I know a few things about him now—he likes to watch, and he likes being told what to do. He also likes the illusion of control.
He gives me a half smile. “That’s it?”
“Sure, what else would it be?” I unbuckle my belt, unzip my jeans, and pull out my cock.
He watches the movements, face reddening, like he’s shy. How cute. I wonder how they hid all that flushing on TV.
I slide to the edge of my bed, spread my legs, and lean against the wall. His jaw clenches as he eyes my cock. I wait. He meets my gaze, and I raise my eyebrows.
“Take your clothes off first,” he says.
“After you,” I say.
We get up and both strip to nothing, and his eyes roam my body.
“Like what you see, Hollywood?”
He saunters over, close enough that I think he’s going to kiss me, but instead he drops to his knees, carefully, like it might hurt.
His light lashes flutter at me before he grasps my cock.
I barely get a moment to enjoy that small gesture before he slides it into his mouth. He sucks hard and bobs his head.
“Shit,” I mutter, then I grab a fistful of his hair, jerking his head up to stop him. He closes his eyes and groans.
“Not so fast,” I whisper. “Go slow.”
He does what I say. I still hold his hair as he moves his head up and down, slower, taking my dick in his mouth.
His tongue circles the tip, making my hips jolt forward, pushing my cock deeper into his mouth.
There’s something about looking down and seeing his redhead and my cock moving between his lips.
I don’t know if I could get any harder. I place one hand on his head to hold him still and carefully thrust just a centimeter more.
He stops bobbing and holds his mouth open.
I thrust again, and then again until I’m fucking his mouth.
And he’s letting me. He groans around my cock, and I drive a little deeper.
I feel his throat relax and roll my hips, going a little faster.
But I don’t want this to be all we do. We have an unexpectedly free afternoon.
I pull my dick out of his mouth. He looks up at me, lips red and wet with my precum and his saliva. Goddamn it, I could come just from looking at that.
“Get on your bed,” I say. “On all fours.”
He hesitates, staring at me with dilated eyes. Then he shuffles to his bed and gets on his hands and knees. I watch him, stroking my wet dick.
“I bet you like it from behind.” I snicker. “Bending over and just taking it. Don’t you, Hollywood?”
I said I’d do that at his party, and I meant it.
His breathing quickens, and he hangs his head between his arms, licking his lips.
Then he watches me, nostrils flared and expression heated as I climb onto the bed behind him.
He looks over his shoulder as I get up on my knees.
My cock is in one hand, and I trace a finger down his crack with the other.
I knew that son of a bitch had freckles on his ass.
How many can I count before I come? He shivers, back muscles tensing.
The tip of my finger slips over his hole. His whole body jerks, and he groans.
“I’m not going to fuck you,” I whisper. I switch hands, using the one that was stroking my cock—still slick with spit and precum—to push one of his freckled cheeks aside and slip the tip of my thumb inside him. He gasps. “Not with my cock, at least. Not yet.”
His shoulders sag, and he groans again as I push a little more of my thumb inside him. “You’re tight, Hollywood.”
I jerk myself with my free hand. His weight shifts on the bed and grabs his dick. I wonder if we can get off at the same time. I remove my thumb, lean down, and lick over his hole.
He gasps. “Fuck… Fuck!”
“Like I said. Not yet.”
I lick over it again, and he moves back and forth, trying to get my tongue inside him. His shoulder and elbow move faster as he jerks himself harder. When I slip my tongue into his hole, I don’t think I’ve ever heard him swear so much before.
I remove my tongue and replace it with my index finger, sticking it halfway in, causing a deep groan to vibrate through his body.
“You son of a bitch,” he whines.
“That’s not very nice.” I slide my finger all the way inside, and this time, I groan right along with him, feeling his tight heat. “Got anything else for me?”
“You’re a-a tease,” he grits out.
I squeeze my cock harder and pump my finger in and out of him. “Mmmm… what else?”
“Smug and arrogant,” he pants, his body rocking, his ass pushing against my hand. I remove my finger and spit, then slowly slide two inside.
“Aw, fuck!” His arm moves fast as he jerks himself. The muscles on his freckled back ripple.
I want to put my cock in him so bad, but instead, I curl both my fingers inside him. He whines and moans. I’m gonna make him come.
I pump my fingers in him as I stroke myself faster.
He makes a noise, bends his back, and clenches his hole as he cries out a string of curses.
My balls tighten, and then I explode like a block of TNT.
I shoot a rope of cum across his back. I stroke and squeeze my cock, squirting out more that dribbles down his freckled ass.
If that’s some kind of fetish, I’ve got it.
I look at the mess and catch my breath. His body goes limp, but he doesn’t move.
“Holy shit,” I say. I need a moment to take in this scene. He has my cum on his back. His hole is wet from my tongue. I did this to him, and he let me. He glances over his shoulder as if reading my mind.
We’re inside a twilight zone. But I like this dimension. Messing around feels much better than fighting.
“Don’t move,” I say, slapping his ass. I get off the bed to find washcloths. I hand him one, and I use the other to clean him off. His skin prickles, and his body shivers when I clean around his hole.
“Sensitive?” I ask.
He sits up on his heels, eyes wary as he looks at me.
“You okay?”
He wears that just-fucked look. I bet I can make him come hands free.
He glances at my cock “Yeah. Are you?”
I toss the cloth into the laundry basket, get on his bed, and kiss him.
He eagerly responds. Why does it feel so good?
I don’t think it should. Because whatever this is can’t last beyond here.
It will be over at some point, won’t it?
We should treat this sort of like a deserted island.
What happens here, stays here. Once we’re back in civilization, we’ll come to our senses and see that the Good Angel and the Bad Angel have different wings.
We’re friends with benefits.
Friends with blow job benefits.
I doubt this is what Canyon had in mind when he put us together so we’d get along. But I can’t stop myself—gotta make the moments last before they’re over. Every day carries the same mystery and suspicion. I don’t know when they’ll stop going by.
We try blowing each other in the canoe, but it’s awkward and puts too much weight on one side and might tip over.
So, instead, we jerk each other off behind a tree.
We barely get our pants zipped up when Timber shows up.
I’m getting good at figuring out what Austin likes; every flutter of his light lashes, every gasp and groan is a clue. I pay attention.
But some things hang between us that neither of us addresses.
Or at least I don’t. One is that we’re both going to leave here, and neither of us has said what that’s going to mean.
Sometimes it feels like this is just a way to get each other off to deal with this place and pass the time.
Other times, it doesn’t. The other thing is what we said to each other in that shed.
Maybe those words were meant to stay there, never to be uttered again.
I don’t know, but I can’t forget them. We have a history of being physical instead of using words.
Now the physical stuff feels good. Really, really good.
I don’t want it to be over, but I have to accept it might be in just a couple of weeks.
They’ve flown by since Austin got here. I’ll be sad to leave, and that just seems crazy.
But it really has been a good experience.
It’s an interesting way to live—with no television, no junk food, and no smog. Who knew hippies could be cool?