Chapter 17 - Cole
Cole sat on the cliff edge, hands locked so tight his knuckles blanched white. Ethan sat down beside him, the knees of their jeans brushing. He passed Cole a chunk of bread, fingers trembling just enough to catch Cole’s eye. Neither said a word.
Cole drank, not because he wanted it but because he needed something—anything—to slow the churn in his chest. He felt Ethan watching him, waiting for permission to speak, and Cole didn’t know if he wanted to bash his head on a rock or fall into the valley just to avoid what was coming.
Cole could feel Ethan watching, waiting for some sign that he was permitted to speak, and the waiting was a kind of torture.
Cole wanted to kill the silence, to shatter it with a outburst, but knew any sound from him would be a confession, a surrender, so he kept his jaw locked and mouth shut.
The silence stretched into epochs.
When Ethan finally spoke, it was a soft, broken “Cole?” The sound hit like a physical impact, a ripple through the muscle and bone of him, and Cole had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from answering.
He didn’t answer, didn’t even look over.
“I owe you a real explanation, I owe you… everything. After the other night. ” Ethan said.
He wanted to say he didn’t care, that Ethan’s explanations were just white noise, but the truth was that every word mattered. Every syllable burrowed under his skin and set up little colonies of hope and anger. “You don’t owe me shit,” he finally managed, and instantly hated the way it came out.
"That's not true," Ethan insisted, his voice strained, a raw edge that cut through the air. "I never meant to hurt you. I shouldn’t have put you in that position. I shouldn’t have let you think what we had was just a game.” Ethan paused for a moment then continued, “I haven’t felt alive in years, but when I met you, something just clicked. I wanted to believe I was over all my shit. That I could just be… honest, for once. With you.”
Cole grunted. He couldn’t trust himself to say more.
Ethan sucked in a breath. “I need to tell you what happened that night.”
Cole tensed, shoulders knotting under his jacket. He could still see it—the three bodies, tangled and exposed in the dark. Ethan’s bare skin slick with spit and tears and somebody else’s desire. The way Ethan had looked at Cole, caught and ruined and still wanting somehow.
"I was drunk. High. But I wasn't out of control," Ethan said. "I did it because… fuck, I wanted to know. If I could go through with it. If I could give up the last bit of denial. If I could ever be enough for you, I'd need to know if I was even capable."
Cole felt something deep in his gut, something ancient and rotten, curl up tight. "You think sucking off someone you barely know makes you worthy?" His own voice came out strangled, too harsh.
Ethan flinched, but he didn't back off. "I think…
I needed to know if I could do it. If I could be the guy who could give you what you really wanted.
Because you deserve more than a tease, more than some drunk fumbling in the woods.
" His voice dropped lower, steadier. "But it wasn't just about you.
For the first time in my life, I wasn't afraid of what I wanted—who I wanted.
I wanted to stop running from who I am. All those years of pushing it down, pretending.
.. It was like finally breaking through a wall I'd been pounding against for years.
And when it happened, when I finally let myself feel it all, I realized there was nothing to be afraid of.
That I'm gay. That I want this. That I want you, Cole.
Definitely you. Only you." He swallowed hard.
"“I needed to know if what I felt was real.
And it was. When I was with them, all I could think about was you.
You deserve someone who isn't afraid of what he wants. "
Cole pressed his hands to his face. The shame spiked so hard it made him shake.
Ethan’s voice was quieter now, as if afraid he’d scare Cole off. “I wanted you from the second I got here.”
Cole didn't trust himself to look up. He felt the air thin out, like the earth itself was going to collapse under them if he breathed wrong.
Part of him—the part that had been suffocating for decades—wanted to reach for Ethan's hand, to say he understood that kind of courage, to admit how much he admired it.
But the louder voice, the one that sounded too much like his father's, screamed that real men didn't feel this way, that whatever was stirring in his gut was shameful, disgusting.
He'd spent a lifetime building walls around these feelings, and now they were threatening to crack open.
His body betrayed him anyway, cock already half-hard in his jeans, the physical need cutting through years of practiced denial.
He could feel the wall inside him cracking, hairline fractures spreading through the foundation of his carefully constructed self.
Ethan hesitated, then said, “I’ll leave tomorrow, if you want. I’ll get up before sunrise, pack out alone, and you’ll never have to see me again. But I’d rather stay, if there’s any chance you can forgive me.”
The wind bit harder. Cole wanted to shatter something, wanted to throw Ethan off the ledge for being so fucking honest, wanted to hold him so tight he’d never breathe again. He did none of these things. Instead, he whispered, “I can’t be what you want.”
Ethan’s hand slid over his, gentle and persistent. “You already are.”
Cole jerked his hand away, but not fast enough. The warmth of Ethan’s skin lingered. He didn’t know if he hated or loved the feeling.
For a while they just sat. Cole heard the whistle of the first night hawks spiraling over the basin. The sun was half gone, slicing the meadow into bands of orange and bruised blue.
Ethan shifted closer, almost imperceptibly. “Can I show you?” he asked. “What I learned?”
Cole opened his mouth, but no sound came out.
His mind raced between two impossible choices—the raw, animal need to say yes, to finally feel what he'd denied himself for decades, and the crushing weight of shame that had been drilled into him since childhood. He stared at the sunset, hands gripping his knees so hard they ached. Before he could decide, before he could run, Ethan leaned in and laid a hand on his thigh, feather-light, eyes steady and determined. Cole’s first instinct was to swat him away, but the urge fizzled quickly.
“I want to touch you,” Ethan said, eyes never leaving Cole’s face.
Cole gritted his teeth. “You shouldn’t.”
“Maybe not. But I want it.”
Cole said nothing.
Ethan moved his hand higher, to the thick of Cole’s thigh, and started tracing little circles with his thumb. Each spiral sent a jolt of electricity up Cole’s spine, right to the root of his cock. He knew he should pull away, should say something, but the urge was stronger than the fear.
“You can stop me anytime,” Ethan said. His voice was gentle, but it vibrated with need. “But I really, really want to.”
Cole's mind waged war against itself. The decades of denial, the shame, the fear—all of it crashed against the raw, primal need throbbing between his legs.
He'd spent his whole life building walls against this exact moment, but now his body betrayed him with every heartbeat.
The shame was still there—would always be there—but suddenly it felt distant, drowned out by the roar of blood in his ears.
He didn't know if he forgave Ethan, he didn't know what any of this meant for tomorrow, but right now, with his cock straining against his jeans and his whole body electric with want, he couldn't remember why that mattered and he couldn't bring himself to care.
Tomorrow could sort itself out. All he knew was that he needed release, needed to use Ethan's mouth, needed to stop thinking for just one goddamn minute.
Cole let out a shaky breath. "Fuck it. Do what you want. "
Ethan’s smile blossomed with pure joy. He slid his hand up to the crotch of Cole’s jeans, palmed the bulge, and gave a little squeeze. Cole gasped, hips jerking involuntarily. His cock was already half-hard, the humiliation of being so eager nearly knocking him flat.
Ethan leaned in, lips brushing Cole’s jaw. “You have no idea how hot you are,” he whispered. “I’ve wanted to do this for so long.”
Cole closed his eyes. The rush of blood in his ears almost drowned out the world.
His heart thrummed so hard it made his teeth buzz.
He wanted to bolt, to throw Ethan’s hand off and run until he couldn’t feel anything—but he sat there, panting, trembling, all the stories in his head about how this made him less, weak, a fraud.
But the truth was that he’d never wanted anything this badly in his fucking life.
Ethan worked the zipper down, slow and careful, then slipped his hand inside, fingers tracing over the waistband of Cole’s boxers, stalling for a heartbeat as if asking permission.
When Cole didn’t slap him away, Ethan pressed on, finding the thick heat of his cock, soft but swelling fast. The sensation was electric, just the touch was enough to make Cole dizzy.
They moved off the ledge and repositioned themselves to face one another amidst the wildflowers. Ethan settled in front of Cole, nestled between his thighs, and with a deliberate motion, he tugged down Cole’s jeans just enough to free his cock, letting it spring forth into the open air.
Cole heard himself moan, a sound he hadn’t known his throat could make, guttural and raw, ripped straight from somewhere below the stratum of shame.
The noise shamed him, as did the heat blooming in his cheeks, but nothing—not pride, not regret, nor even the shadow of his old man, growling in his ear that this was a perversion—could overpower the animal pull of Ethan’s hand and mouth on him.