Chapter 23
Chapter Twenty-Three
Toby
Things To Do Today:
Find food
Stay alive
Harry
Harry’s watching me when I wake up.
There’s something evaluating in Harry’s gaze, like I’m a complex problem he’s trying to solve. I guess I understand it. He’s trying to figure me out, just like I’m trying to figure him out.
Now that Harry’s opened up about his boarding school experience, he suddenly makes more sense to me.
I mean, I knew, in theory, about the atrocities that happened in some English boarding schools, but listening to Harry describe his experiences in a flat, emotionless voice shook me.
I couldn’t help imagining him as a vulnerable child with no parents to protect him, at the mercy of a sadistic headmaster, along with cruel teachers and older students.
I might have been raised without the material possessions Harry took for granted, but at least I always had my mother’s love as my one constant.
I never thought I’d have sympathy for Harry Matheson, but I definitely do now. And I understand him so much more. Which must help our survival chances out here.
“Good morning,” Harry says.
“Morning,” I reply.
We eye each other cautiously.
What are Harry and I now? Enemies that mess around. Instead of fuck buddies, do fuck enemies exist?
I push myself up and extract myself from the blankets, trying to avoid Harry’s gaze.
How will we relate to each other in this new regime of honest feelings we agreed to last night?
As we pack up, it seems like silence and exchanging perfunctory comments with each other is the answer.
We set off downstream because we’re still following the notion that all rivers must lead somewhere.
It’s sunny today, and my mood lifts. As we round a river bend, a chirping sound fills the air. A jay hops along the riverbank, its vibrant blue feathers a stark contrast to the muted greens and browns of the surrounding foliage. Without thinking, I whistle back, trying to mimic its song.
“What are you doing?” Harry’s giving me a weird look.
“Didn’t you know? I’m a fairytale princess who attracts woodland creatures with my kind and gentle personality.”
Harry raises his eyebrows. “And what am I in this scenario? The handsome prince?”
“You’re my annoying talking animal sidekick,” I reply.
Harry’s lips quirk up. “I’ve been called a lot of things, but that is definitely the first time I’ve been called that.”
I throw him a grin before whistling again. The jay comes slightly closer.
Suddenly, I hear a sound that falls somewhere between a drowning cat’s last meow and a rusty gate hinge in desperate need of oil.
I spin around to stare at Harry. “What are you doing?”
“I’m whistling.”
“That doesn’t sound anything like a bird,” I say.
Harry looks affronted.
“I’m sorry. Does me insulting your bird-calling ability offend you?” I ask.
Harry’s about to instantly deny it, but then he pauses.
“Slightly,” he says finally. “Although admittedly, not much of my ego is tied up with my bird-calling ability.”
“That’s probably a good thing,” I say.
Harry’s lips give another upward twitch.
“Do you find me funny?” I ask curiously. I want to take advantage of this honesty thing we’ve got going on, and I’m fascinated to know what Harry actually thinks about my sense of humor.
He rubs his jawline, his fingers rasping against the stubble like he’s contemplating how to answer me. “You can occasionally be amusing. When you’re not using humor as a defense mechanism,” he says finally.
“Why don’t you like me using humor as a defense mechanism?” I ask.
Harry shrugs. “I suppose I find it somewhat unsatisfactory that I’m not being presented with your authentic self. It leaves me feeling rather…cheated, in a sense.”
His words stop me in my tracks. The idea that Harry wants to see the real me flabbergasts me. The sincerity in his voice, the raw honesty of his admission, make me feel exposed.
“I can teach you to whistle if you want,” I say, trying to cover my confusion.
“Really?”
“Yes. I’m sure you’re not beyond hope.”
“Well, you’re a natural teacher with those inspiring words,” Harry says.
“It’s all about the shape of your mouth and the way you control your breath. Watch me.” I pull my lips together to demonstrate.
Harry follows my instructions, his lips forming an awkward shape. “Like this?”
“Close enough. Now, place your tongue lightly against the back of your teeth and blow gently.”
Harry takes a deep breath and blows, producing a weak, sputtering sound like a deflating balloon.
“That was…a valiant effort,” I say, trying to keep a straight face. “But let’s try again. This time, relax your lips a bit more and focus the air through the center.”
Harry tries again, this time sounding more like a goose with a severe case of laryngitis. But hey, at least he’s now in the bird family.
As we continue walking along the riverbank, Harry practices, and his whistling begins to sound more like a tone-deaf pigeon, which is definitely an improvement.
Unfortunately, spending so much time watching Harry Matheson’s lips isn’t doing good things for my libido.
We stop to fish, and having him quickly haul in three good-sized perch doesn’t help because, apparently, I have some weird kind of fetish for people who are capable of providing food for me.
After we’ve lit a fire and cooked the fish, Harry relaxes back on his elbows, tilting his head to the sunshine and closing his eyes.
The golden light bathes his face, highlighting the sharp angles of his cheekbones and the strong line of his jaw.
With his guard down and his features relaxed, he looks younger, carefree, and impossibly more attractive than ever.
Suddenly, I have a pulse of want so sharp it’s almost painful.
Harry lazily opens one eye, and whatever he sees on my face causes his other eye to fly open.
I take a deep breath. We’ve agreed we’re going to continue this. No time like the present.
I reach over and stroke my hand up this thigh until it lands on his crotch. “Do you want to…?”
He quirks an eyebrow. “Is that your seductive technique?”
“Hey, it works for me,” I say.
“Sadly, I do think it is going to work for you today,” he replies. “Which will only reinforce a terrible technique.”
“I’m all about whatever gets me results,” I say as I crowd into his space, and his lips tilt into a smile.
“It’s a necessity, remember,” I whisper against his lips.
And it’s hard not to feel like this kiss isn’t a necessity.
How can Harry’s mouth, his infuriating mouth that can spew so much I disagree with, be so utterly captivating when it’s attached to mine?
We need this to ground us, to anchor us in the present moment, to keep the fear and uncertainty at bay, even if only for a little while.
Harry starts to kiss down my chest and stomach.
It’s a study in contrasts. The contrast between his soft lips and the rasp of his stubble.
The contrast between the cool air and his warm mouth.
Gooseflesh erupts across my skin and I’m hyperaware of every sensation—the brush of his long eyelashes against my skin, the slight scrape of teeth that makes me shudder.
Each kiss feels both too much and not enough, leaving me craving more.
He reaches the top of my trousers before he raises his gaze to mine, a question on his face.
“Well, I guess it is your turn,” I rasp.
“Um…it’s been a while, so you’ll have to excuse my technique.”
“Bloody hell, there’s always some excuse with you Conservatives,” I say.
I feel a puff of air against my skin because, yes, it appears Harry Matheson is laughing as he pulls down my trousers.
“Please don’t tell me I have to coach you through what to do with your mouth and tongue like I did with whistling,” I say.
Harry’s response is to take my cock into his mouth and twirl his tongue around in a way that almost makes me go cross-eyed.
“Okay, so definitely a better technique than your whistling,” I manage to gasp.
Harry pulls off me long enough to give me a grin.
I get a brief moment of “What the fuck?” because Harry Matheson, with his hair sticking at all kinds of odd angles, is grinning at me, his lips already wet and swollen from sucking my cock.
It’s safe to say this definitely wasn’t how I imagined life playing out a few weeks ago.
“At least with your mouth occupied, you’re not spewing out right-wing nonsense,” I say.
“In fact, this is really just me taking one for the planet. You know how they say that a butterfly flapping its wings in Iceland can cause a typhoon in China? Who knows what chaos Tory bullshit spouted in the Nordic wilderness could do to the world’s weather system? ”
He sits back on his heels, tilting his head to the side as he regards me. “I’m so impressed you’ve managed to portray being on the receiving end of oral action as an altruistic act,” he says.
“Well, I am a politician. I can twist anything.”
His laugh unsettles me. Because this is almost…fun.
But all the jokes I could make about the Conservatives in bed leave my head as Harry takes me back into his mouth and proves his ability to give blowjobs is infinitely better than his whistling technique.
And as much as I want to laugh and continue to throw out clever quips, I can’t.
Because, right now, with Harry’s talented mouth and skillful tongue, the world outside simply doesn’t exist. It’s just me, him, and this moment where he’s making me feel amazing.
After Harry has sufficiently proven his technique so I can never doubt the coordination of his mouth and tongue again, it’s my turn to blow his mind.
Then we lie tangled together, our breathing slowly returning to normal. The sun dapples through the trees, casting a warm, golden glow on our skin. I idly trace patterns on Harry’s chest with my fingertips. In this moment, everything feels peaceful, almost perfect.
“Live for the moment,” I whisper.
“What’s that?”
“I don’t know, it’s just something I’ve been thinking about out here. We spend so much time planning for the future, don’t we?” I shift, then settle myself back on his chest. “But being out here, our future is so uncertain. So I’m trying to just enjoy every moment I do get.”
“Why do I get the idea you’re going to use that as an excuse for the amount of sex we’re going to have?” he asks.
“Well, sex is definitely a way to enjoy the moment.” I nuzzle into his neck.
Harry puts his arms around me, his hands splaying across the small of my back, his chin resting on my head. He absently traces the curve of my spine with his fingertips. It’s a simple, unconscious action, and I try not to read too much into it.
It’s part of my strategy for survival. I can’t think too far ahead, or I’ll start to freak out.
I close my eyes and focus on the sensation of Harry’s skin against mine, the steady thrum of his heartbeat underneath my ear, and the peaceful stillness of the forest around us. It grounds me in the present moment.
That’s all I’m living for right now.