#smmer

He's imagining slutty shorts, no shirts, tan lines, and sweat. Lots of sweat, please, dear god.

Which he gets. Especially the sweat.

Steve is wearing the cutoffs all right, while making Eddie and Dustin help him clear out the attic. It takes a week in July to get everything taken down and sorted through and then another week to clean the damn thing and get everything back upstairs. Eddie's back aches in ways he's always dreamt of coming with hot, steamy sex.

It's okay, though, because two weeks of the glorious summer is nothing. He's still got at least two months of tanned up Steve ahead of him.

And then, Steve signs them up for summer camp. Summer camp. Dear God, it must be love because he's going to help run a three week summer camp for 11-13 year olds. But at least he'll get to see the shorts, and maybe even some swimsuit action.

No. He gets stuck in the craft center, a musty cabin with all the nonathletic kids whose parents made them come. Normally, not a bad gig for him, but the constant sweat and stink and knowledge that Steve is out there pooling it up with some shrimps puts a damper on the whole thing. His only sources of sanity is the little glimpses he gets of a post swim Steve with his little rugrats trailing behind out the window.

What he thinks is going to be the last straw is pool cleaning day. So sexy in theory, but a complete nightmare in practice. They need to move all the chairs, empty the damn thing, scrub it down, and mess with all the nasty chemicals. It's terrible, it's awful, his nose is going to fall right off his face from the smell of chlorine, and Steve is still wearing a shirt.

He hates summer, he knew fall was the best season, he never should have doubted himself.

His eyes catch on the where the back of Steve's shorts have ridden up while he climbs out of the basin, where pale skin meets summer tan.