wolfaway camp

“We can release our friend in the freezer when the sun rises. Until then, we should check in with Emma and Abi.”

“Right.”

“Kaitlyn!” Emma’s muffled voice rang from the door to Chris Hackett’s office. “Are you okay?”

“All good. Think you could let us in?”

The knob jiggled from the other side, followed by a sigh. “We’re locked in here. You’d have to take the storm shelter to get in.”

“I have a better idea. You two stand back.”

Dylan spoke up from somewhere behind her, “Oh shit — you’re gonna shoot it, aren’t you?”

“Yep. Cover your ears.”

Checking to make sure Dylan wasn’t in any danger of being hit — he was leaned against a wooden post, crouched slightly in anticipation — Kaitlyn moved into position, aiming the gun at the doorknob. “Okay. I’m gonna count down.”

“Three…two…one!”

With a blast of her shotgun, the doorknob shattered and clattered to the ground in pieces.

“Shit,” Abi yelped from the other side. A moment later, the door swung open, two perfectly intact camp counselors waiting to greet them.

“Well, there goes our hiding spot,” Emma lamented. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”

“I’m fairly certain we won’t be in any danger at this point.”

Dylan chimed in, “Still, it’s probably not a bad idea to bunker up in case we find out werewolves are immune to the unstoppable force that is the freezer door.”

Abi nodded. “Yeah. I’m going back to the surveillance room.” She turned back and disappeared through the doorway inside the office.

“Right behind ya,” Kaitlyn replied. She waited for the other two counselors to follow Abi, triple-checking to make sure nothing unwanted was lurking in the shadows.

Kaitlyn crossed the threshold into the surveillance room just as Dylan leaned back against the wall, sliding into a sitting position. He closed his eyes. “Okay, naptime.”

“Uh-uh. Not until we’re a hundred percent certain this isn’t infected.” Kaitlyn kneeled down in front of him.

“How are we gonna know?” Abi asked, still standing by the doorway.

“First, I need to check the wound.” Kaitlyn carefully unwrapped the bandage soiled by blood and rainwater, cursing their lack of medical supplies.

Dylan inhaled sharply through his teeth. “Fuck — warn a guy next time before you start poking around?”

That wasn’t good. “I haven’t touched you yet.” She inspected the exposed wound. Even while expecting to see the lump of flesh that had taken the place of what was once Dylan’s hand, Kaitlyn was deeply concerned with what she saw. The skin around his wrist was noticeably swollen and bright red, and a hint of yellowish-white fluid had begun to leak from the wound.

God. Fuckin. Dammit. The thing was infected.

“I don’t like that look. What does that look mean?”

She shook her head. “It means we should’ve gotten that fucking rotor arm so we could get you the hell out of here before this happened.”

Dylan stared at his arm. “Am I gonna die?”

Kaitlyn met his panicked gaze. “No. Not an option. Just keep your eyes open and keep talking. You can sleep when help arrives.”

Abi spoke quietly. “What if no one comes?” She flinched when Kaitlyn spun around to glare at her.

“Someone will.” She turned back to Dylan. “How are you feeling?”

“Tired. Um. Cold? My arm kinda hurts.” Dylan huffed a small chuckle at that last part. “Seriously, though. I could use a blanket or seven.”

Abi moved as if to go and fulfill his request. “It’s okay, I got it.” At least she was making herself useful.

Speaking of, Kaitlyn would need supplies to try to sterilize the wound as much as she could. “Keep him busy. I’m gonna get something to clean him up,” she directed toward Emma. Emma nodded, scooting closer to her injured friend.

Chris’s bathroom didn’t have much — prescription medication, a towel, hydrogen peroxide, some gauze…it was better than nothing. Kaitlyn focused on the background noise as she examined the pill bottles.

Emma’s voice was commanding yet comforting. “You heard Kaitlyn; we gotta keep you awake. Tell me something I don’t know. Like, I dunno…Pluto. Talk to me about Pluto.”

“You wanna know about Pluto?”

“Yeah.”

Dylan sighed in that characteristic ‘I have a lot of opinions about this’ way of his. “I, uh, I think it’s kinda B.S. that they let the little guy think he’s a real planet only to rip away that designation and demote him to dwarf planet.”

“Are dwarf planets not real?” Emma questioned.

“It’s not the same. They’re basically second-class citizens.”

“This seems like a sensitive topic for you,” she teased.

“Space is very serious business. The universe only allows us to exist because a very particular chain of events in a specific set of circumstances aligned perfectly to form life on the only habitable planet in the entire galaxy…and I’m gonna bite it before I figure out if any other planets were as lucky. I bet Earth’s the only place that has werewolves.” Kaitlyn’s chest seized at that statement. He was not allowed to die on her watch. None of them were.

Emma giggled. “Imagine, though, if we come into contact with our first aliens, and they’re all werewolves.” Her morbid sense of humor was well-matched to Dylan’s; plus, she somehow was managing to not be a nervous fucking mess despite everything.

Dylan was another story. “Okay, maybe it’s a good thing I won’t live long enough to witness that horrifying image you just planted in my head.”

“Dylan,” Kaitlyn called from her spot in the bathroom, her tone stern.

It seemed that Emma got the message. “Hey, don’t say that. You’re still talking. That’s a good sign, right?”

Aha! Kaitlyn had identified enough painkillers to hopefully stave the discomfort from his infection until he made it to an emergency room. She made her way back to the group.

While Emma had momentarily chosen to check the cameras, Abi was now sitting by Dylan, placing a blanket over his legs and torso. “Thanks,” Dylan said with a grin.

Abi grinned back. “Of course.” She looked up at Kaitlyn. “Find anything helpful?”

“Yeah, actually. Nothing top-of-the-line, but it’ll have to do.” Kaitlyn crouched back down and began the careful, painful act of washing the wound. Dylan grimaced, his lips curled in tight, while Abi held his good hand. “Almost done. I’m gonna redress it now.”

“Fantastic,” Dylan mumbled through gritted teeth.

“Alright. Try not to walk on it,” Kaitlyn finished, trying her best to keep optimistic.

Dylan stared at his wrist as if seriously considering her words. “No promises.” Despite his frighteningly pallid complexion and the clear exhaustion in his eyes, he was still himself.

She walked over to Emma. “Any updates?”

Emma shook her head. “We’re in the clear. Looks like your freezer trick is holding up. How’s he doing?”

“Stable, for now. It’s…” Kaitlyn lowered her voice, “…he needs help. Actual help.”

“He’ll pull through.” Emma placed a hand on Kaitlyn’s arm. “We all will.”

“Kaitlyn!” Abi suddenly cried from behind them. “He’s not—he won’t wake up!”

Kaitlyn was swift to return to Dylan on the floor, hands lifting his head to face her. “Dylan, c’mon, you gotta get up.” No response.

“Shit,” Emma whispered.

“Is he…?” Abi choked out.

Kaitlyn moved her ear in closer to his nose and mouth, and sure enough, an audible stream of air brushed her cheek. “He’s still breathing. He needs to be in a hospital, not stranded in butt-fuck nowhere with no electricity or proper medical equipment. If we can’t get this under control he could go into septic shock, or worse—”

Abi was hugging her knees now, staring at the ground with tear-filled eyes. “How do we know he hasn’t already gotten to ‘worse?’”

“Like I said, he’s still breathing.”

Now was not the time to lose her nerve.

Dylan was going to wake up.

Help was going to come.

There wouldn’t be any more casualties.

Kaitlyn could will these prayers into existence all she wanted, but the reality was that time was running out just as quickly as the life draining from Dylan’s unconscious body.

“Hey, you survived,” Ryan says, not allowing an ounce of the considerable enthusiasm he feels at Dylan’s return to make it into his voice, “yay.”

This has become an ongoing bit between them, because Dylan finds it hilarious when Ryan says something like “yay” or “yippee” in the absolute flattest monotone he can manage.

Dylan laughs—it works every time—but he doesn’t open his eyes.

“Hooray for me,” he says weakly, his cheek nudging Ryan’s thigh.

“Did you get any sleep?” Ryan asks, dragging his fingers through his boyfriend’s hair. He wishes Dylan wouldn’t pull all-nighters like this. He doesn’t even need to, he always seems like he’s got a good handle on the subject matter for his classes. Ryan’s pretty sure Dylan is tutoring his less gifted classmates for free at these study sessions.

“Oh yeah, got a luxurious 30 minute chair nap before the final.” Dylan makes a face and Ryan mirrors it, tsking his disapproval. 

It’s not unusual for Dylan to grab a nap somewhere random on campus. He can sleep just about anywhere, in some of the most uncomfortable-looking positions. He and Schrödinger have that in common—Ryan suspects his boyfriend might be part cat. Unlike Schrödinger, though, Dylan usually complains about his neck being stiff after.

“Dylan, you cannot be helping yourself by staying up all night before your exams,” Ryan chides gently.

It isn’t really Dylan’s grades Ryan’s worried about. He’s made the Dean’s List every semester, despite always procrastinating way more than Ryan would personally be comfortable with. He’s more concerned that Dylan will burn himself out working harder than he has to.

And Dylan likes helping out his fellow physics students, Ryan knows that, but he still thinks he’s doing too much. If he hadn’t accompanied Dylan on a few of these late library nights and seen the absolute nerd herd he studies with, and if Dylan weren’t Dylan and devoted far beyond Ryan’s capacity for doubt, he might start to get suspicious. Dylan does this library long haul shit often enough that he has an overnight bag that he keeps in his car for the occasion, with a toothbrush, deodorant, a change of clothes, dry shampoo, and god knows what else. He’s such a dork. Ryan finds him almost painfully adorable.

“I felt alright for the final,” Dylan says, yawning halfway through his sentence, “thanks to coffee and Adderall. I’m just crashing hard now.”

He nuzzles into Ryan’s lap, moving his head a little closer to his hip, and Ryan feels a warmth spread through him that’s only about half caused by affection. He can’t feel the heat of Dylan’s breath on him through the layers of sweatpants and blanket, but just the weight of his head so close to Ryan’s dick is doing something for him. He tries to ignore it and rubs the back of Dylan’s neck, but Dylan’s soft groan in response does nothing for Ryan’s flimsy resolve to keep this g-rated.

“Mm thank you that feels nice,” Dylan murmurs. Then, a bit louder, as if he’s just remembered they don’t actually live here alone: “where’s K?”

“Work. Until 7.” 

It’s Kaitlyn’s last barista shift before the shop she works at on campus closes down for the semester. Which Dylan would know, if he remembered to check their shared Google Calendar.

“Oh,” he says, seeming to intuit Ryan’s mental scolding without him needing to say it out loud, “yeah. I knew that.”

“It would be a perfect time for a non-sleep-deprived boyfriend to rail me into the mattress…” Ryan taunts, “if only I had one. Too bad the only boyfriend I have thinks he needs to live at the Science and Engineering Library.”

Dylan scoffs. “Wow, he sounds like a loser.”

“He is.”

“He sounds pretty hot though.”

Ryan laughs, kneading the back of Dylan’s neck with his fingertips.

“He is.”

Dylan smiles in his lap.

“Trust me babe, I’m gonna fuck you so good, real soon. All I need is, like, a solid six hours of sleep, and a shower, and, y’know, probably more food by then, and some caffeine to go with the food…” he pauses and yawns again, “but once I’ve had all of that, oh man, you’d better be ready. One way ticket to Pound Town.”

“Okay, well… that’s a lot of requirements standing between me and Pound Town,” Ryan says, “can we work on that? What about… three hours and a snack?”

“Four hours and a charcuterie tray,” Dylan counters.

“A whole tray? I can’t just feed you some string cheese and ham slices?”

“Ryan, I take my craft seriously. An athlete needs fuel. At least, that’s what Kaitlyn says when she eats a whole pizza by herself the night before her hockey games.”

The thought of Dylan as any kind of athlete is almost laughable, but if there was a semi-pro league for topping, maybe he would qualify. He is tall, anatomically fortunate, and very determined. Plus, Ryan definitely wants to get fucked by him sooner rather than later, so he’s not about to laugh.

“Hm. All right. What if you fucked me real quick right now and then you can sleep as long as you want and we can get food delivered later. Pho or Chinese or something? You’ll sleep better anyway.”

He knows this is true, but isn’t sure it will be enough incentive. Dylan sleeps like the dead after he comes. They both do.

Dylan turns his head so he’s face-down in Ryan’s lap and lets out another groan, this one more protracted and decidedly less sexy. Then he turns his head to the side again.

“Baaaaabe,” he whines, “I’m so fried. It’s not that I don’t want to—believe me, I do. I just don’t think it’d be very good.”

“Well… what if I did all the work? I could be on top. You know, uh, ride you and take care of myself.”

Dylan is silent for a moment, processing this suggestion.

“Damn,” he says, “you want it that bad, huh?”

“Yes,” Ryan answers, and the blunt honesty of his need seems to finally crack Dylan’s defenses.

“Fine, but I’m literally just gonna lay there. Like, total starfish mode.” He’s trying to sound put out but Ryan sees him grinning. 

“I can work with that, as long as you’re hard.”

“Oh, I’m gonna be hard,” he sighs, “I’m halfway there already.”

“I love you,” Ryan declares. 

This is true—and mostly has nothing to do with how easily his boyfriend gets erections—but Ryan’s fighting kind of dirty now. Dylan might have a filthy mind, but he’s also such a romantic sap that being straightforwardly sweet to him turns him on more than pretty much anything.

“Yeah, yeah,” Dylan says dismissively, clearly aware of exactly what Ryan’s doing, “I know you do. You also love getting your way.”

“Mm-hmm, that too,” Ryan admits, patting Dylan’s head affectionately before sliding out from under both him and the blanket and standing up. “Now c’mon before you pass out right here.”

He grabs Dylan’s single hand in both of his and drags him physically off the couch and toward the bedroom as Dylan laughs at his eagerness.

Ryan releases Dylan’s hand only when he’s deposited him right next to their bed and he backtracks to close the door behind them

“Bed. Now.” He commands.

“With my clothes on?”

“I’ll take ‘em off in a second.”

Dylan lies on the bed and Ryan leans down and presses a kiss to his temple. “You work too hard, boy genius,” he says, “relax. I’ll take care of everything.”

“I am not a—wait, everything?” Dylan raises a skeptical eyebrow but Ryan thinks he’s starting to get into the idea. It’s not like Ryan’s never taken control before, he does that fairly often. But Dylan’s got a major service top streak, he rarely lets Ryan do it all himself.

“Yeah, everything.”

“Okay,” Dylan says with a quiet, wide-eyed intensity that Ryan sees only on occasions when he’s momentarily too horny even to make jokes.

Ryan grins down at him. “Don’t get used to it.”

“Understood.” Dylan moves his shoulders a little, adjusts the pillow under his head.

Ryan begins the preparations. He digs a condom out of the bedside drawer for easier cleanup, grabs some lube, and turns on the little space heater by the bed. They’ll generate their own heat soon enough but it’s still nice to have, and it’ll kick off automatically in half an hour. He sets the package of wet wipes they keep in the drawer a couple of inches from the heater, not close enough to be a fire hazard but close enough that they’ll have the chill knocked off of them for wiping up later. There’s no way he’s getting Dylan directly into a shower after this.

He strips his own clothes off in front of the heater and tosses them into the hamper before climbing onto the bed with Dylan, who is quietly watching his every move with drowsy, half-lidded eyes. Ryan grips the hem of his sweatshirt and the t-shirt underneath and Dylan sits up to allow him to pull them both off in one motion. They end up inside out and tangled together but Ryan just chucks them toward the hamper and moves on. He then quickly relieves Dylan of his pants, socks, and underwear. He’s a little glad that Dylan hasn’t bothered with his prosthetic hand today—he has yet to perfect a method for taking that off of him in a sexy way, but he’s working on it.

“Ah, shit,” Dylan says, “I might actually fall asleep just lying here. If I do, you have my full consent to keep going until you finish.”

He’s joking, there’s no way he’d actually fall asleep, but something about it, about Dylan doing nothing while Ryan gets himself off, being so passive that he could actually fall asleep… it’s not unappealing.

“That’s… kind of hot, actually. See how little you can do. Play dead.”

“Done,” Dylan says, settling back into the sheets, draping his left arm over his eyes to block out the light.

Ryan takes a moment just to look at him stretched out on their unmade bed, his reclining form long, pale, and perfect. He’s not quite fully hard yet, but he’s getting there. Ryan lays his head on Dylan’s chest and rubs slow circles low on his abdomen, in the sensitive space between his navel and his cock, watching him swell and lengthen in response. He avoids touching Dylan’s cock directly for the moment, trailing soft touches over his hip and then lightly dragging his blunt nails up and down his inner thigh, trying to build anticipation.

Dylan draws a shivery breath and Ryan thinks he looks ready. He finally gives him a few lazy strokes with his hand just to be sure before dripping a little lube onto Dylan’s cock and rolling on the condom. Then he generously drizzles more on the outside.

Ryan hovers over Dylan, unsure if he wants to be squatting with his feet on the bed or kneeling on his knees. He decides to start with kneeling and move to squatting if he needs more of a bouncing motion later. He straddles Dylan and scoots down a little to line them up. Dylan’s breathing slow and deep, eyes still obscured in the crook of his arm. He only hums softly when Ryan takes him in hand and positions him just right.

He takes a deep breath and tries to consciously relax his body, remind his muscles to be loose and pliant. It hasn’t been so long that Ryan needs fingers or a toy inside him first, but a few days is long enough for him to feel a little tight. He presses the lubed head of Dylan’s cock to his hole and sinks down slow, feeling the slight pop of his flared crown passing through the ring of muscle at his entrance.

It doesn’t hurt, in fact it feels really goddamn good, but there’s an intensity to the sensation for sure. He can feel every inch gradually pressing into him, spreading him open. Dylan’s shaft glides in smoothly, and his slight upward curve puts him at the ideal angle to rub against Ryan’s prostate, the swollen, sensitive spot on his front wall, but he doesn’t move to make that happen just yet. He takes a moment to adjust and appreciate the stretch, the warmth, the breathtaking sensation of being completely connected and filled so full.

Ryan can tell being inside him is having an effect on Dylan too—he hears him suck in air through his teeth as he bottoms out and Ryan’s weight comes to rest on his hips. Ryan shudders a little and Dylan’s body jerks in response, almost like he’s having that dream everyone has sometimes when they’re just on the edge of sleep, the one about falling.

“God,” he breathes, “you feel so fucking good.”

Ryan’s face is alight with heat at the praise but he tries not to let on that he likes it so much. Normally, he’d tell Dylan he feels good too—and he definitely does—but he decides to keep up the bit instead.

“Shut up,” he says, giving Dylan’s side a playful swat with his open palm, “you’re supposed to be asleep.”

Dylan laughs out loud and it might be the best sound in the world.

“This roleplay sucks.”

Ryan clenches a little around his boyfriend’s cock, and Dylan curses under his breath.

“You love it.”

Dylan’s lifted his arm from his face to peek at him and he watches as pre-cum drips from Ryan’s tip down onto his abdomen, connecting the two points for a moment in a thin, shimmering line.

“It, uh, has its charms,” Dylan says with a smile, eyes lifting to Ryan’s face. “Should I pretend to snore?”

“No. You should do nothing and say nothing.” Ryan’s immediately afraid this has come out harsher than intended, so he runs his hands up Dylan’s stomach and over his chest and, in a much softer tone, he says, “just relax, babe. I’ve got this. I’ll take care of us both, promise.”

“Yeah,” Dylan says, “okay.”

Ryan drags his hands back down Dylan’s torso and then rests them on his own thighs. He rocks his body forward and back a few times, feeling the press of that curve against his front wall, the deep, tingling pleasure it sends outward through his own shaft. And he’s so hard—Ryan’s always so hard when they do this—even though he has no particular need to be when he bottoms. Dylan likes it though, likes to see how hard Ryan gets when he’s inside him. He likes the feeling of Ryan’s cock, rigid and needy and wet at the tip, rubbing against his belly with every stroke when Dylan fucks him in missionary.

He gyrates on top of Dylan, grinding the length inside him very slowly, feeling himself open up. Sure, maybe he said “fuck me real quick” earlier, but now that Ryan’s fucking himself on Dylan’s cock he doesn’t see much need to be in a hurry.

Ryan’s ridden Dylan in this exact position before but never with him just lazily pancaked out beneath him. Usually, his boyfriend would be touching him all over, squeezing Ryan’s ass and nipples, holding onto his hips and urging him on, running his single hand and the flat, soft plane of his inner wrist over Ryan’s abs and breathlessly telling him how gorgeous he is. In a softer moment, he might sit up and tenderly stroke Ryan’s face, kiss his forehead and cheeks and chin before passionately bringing their lips together. Either of those options would drive Ryan absolutely crazy, but something about this is working too—Dylan looking dazedly up at him, his hushed demeanor a product of both fatigue and awe, as Ryan takes exactly what he wants from him.

He’s working Dylan’s cock in precise circles inside him now, like a toy, focusing the pressure and the friction right where he needs it, pleasure rippling outward with each movement. This may not be enough stimulation to get Dylan off, but he’s got to be enjoying the visual and Ryan doesn’t mind finishing him off with his hands after if he needs to. Since they’re using a condom this time, he would even consider putting Dylan’s cock in his mouth if he’s feeling generous—which he often is after he comes. The plasticky latex flavor condoms leave behind is not his favorite, but it’s at least a possibility, unlike when they’re doing it bare. For now, he puts Dylan’s pleasure out of his mind completely, relegates his sighs and moans to enjoyable background noise. Ryan’s looking for what feels the best for him and him alone.

Ryan leans back and puts his hands out behind him, gripping Dylan’s legs for leverage just above his knees as he rides. His movements stroke Dylan firmly inside him in quick, decisive movements. He knows he’s getting close, but doesn’t realize just how close until it’s too late. Before he can even touch his own cock directly, Ryan’s orgasm barrels through him like a freight train, so hard he finds his eyes are watering. The onslaught of sensation has him bucking uncontrollably on Dylan’s cock, moaning with abandon, his head tipped back toward the ceiling. He imagines he probably looks like he’s howling at the—nope! He cuts himself off. That’s too loaded a metaphor for him to be thinking of, even now.

His immediate desire is to let himself fall forward into Dylan’s arms, but Ryan holds himself back, realizing he’s spattered his boyfriend’s stomach and chest with cum, and belly flopping onto that doesn’t seem like such a good idea. Instead he rests where he is for a few seconds, his chin falling toward his own chest, and Dylan bends his legs behind him, plants his feet on the bed with his knees up to give Ryan something to lean back against.

Only when he comes back to his senses does Ryan realize that Dylan’s beginning to go soft inside him. He’s somehow completely missed him coming too. The contractions that squeezed his insides so tight when he climaxed must have dragged Dylan along with him, wringing his release out of him as a welcome—if unintended—side effect. 

Ryan pushes up on his knees, lets Dylan’s flagging cock slide slickly out of him, and then flops down beside him on the bed. He takes Dylan’s face in his hands and kisses him softly, sweetly, a little thank you for humoring him—not that Dylan seemed to mind.

“Hey—babe,” Dylan murmurs between kisses, “—baby?”

“Yeah?”

“Little help here?”

Ryan lifts his head and sees Dylan is gesturing at his stomach, realizes he can’t move onto his side to take off the condom without risking Ryan’s cum, which is pooling on his abdomen, dribbling over onto the bed.

“Oh shit, sorry,” Ryan says, “lemme get that.”

He jumps up and grabs the wet wipes, which feel warm from sitting in front of the heater, uses several of them to mop up his own cum and then dabs at a smear of Dylan’s that’s leaked out of the condom and down onto his balls while he’s been immobilized.

Dylan snorts softly. “Thanks.”

“I did say I’d take care of everything.”

“That’s true,” Dylan nods, “I’ll get this though.” 

He shifts to the side and takes off the condom, tying it off and dropping it into the trash by the bed. Ryan hands Dylan a wipe for his dick, deciding it’s probably best to let him handle that cleanup job in case he’s still sensitive. 

Ryan does the same for himself, wiping away the excess lube between his cheeks, feeling just a hint of tenderness inside when he moves in a certain way. He doesn’t mind that, it makes him feel well-fucked, and he knows it won’t be enough to leave him sore later. He goes to the dresser and grabs some clean underwear and t-shirts for them both, pulling his on and tossing Dylan’s at him. He even remembers to crack the bedroom door so the cat won’t wake them up complaining if she rouses from her heated bed in the living room and decides she really needs to come in. Then he lies back down on the bed next to Dylan, snuggling into his arms, warm and content.

“Well, it looks like you stayed awake after all,” Ryan teases. 

“Jesus, you think?!” Dylan laughs, “watching you get yourself off like that was… so fucking hot. Pretty sure that ass of yours could wake the dead.”

“Thank you… I think? I don’t entirely get the implication there… not sure I want to…”

“Yeah, neither do I. Maybe ask Eight Hours of Sleep Dylan about it when you see him. He should be around approximately…” Dylan pretends to look at his watch, which he isn’t wearing, “eight hours from now. Are you gonna take a nap with me?”

“Yep.” Now Ryan yawns and Dylan does the same just after, as a reflex. “I think I earned it.”

“Yeah,” Dylan says fondly, almost like he’s proud, “you really did.”

Ryan eyes the window nervously before placing the towel on the ground near the wall and pulling Dylan toward him. At this angle, it’s unlikely they’ll be seen unless someone’s looking for them — which won’t happen. Probably. “Let’s get this show on the road, then,” he mutters in what Dylan knows is an attempt to sound flirty but comes off like Mr. H impatiently urging the counselors to speed up their meal prep. Real mood killer, thinking about your camp leader when you’re about to fuck his favorite counselor.

“Aye, aye, captain,” Dylan replies with a smirk, hands pressing Ryan’s shoulders flat against the wall. He leans in, and Ryan quickly closes the gap between their lips, his own arms curling around Dylan’s back. Dylan begins to trail his fingers down Ryan’s sides, stopping at the hips before venturing under the hem of his oversized band tee and tracing patterns on the warm skin of his torso. The soft shudder Dylan receives in response intensifies the warmth growing in his own body.

“You sure you’re ready?” Dylan teases when they break apart, reaching a hand downward and stroking the denim fabric of Ryan’s shorts. The poor guy is rock-fucking-hard. Yeah, he’s ready.

“Please, Dylan,” Ryan whispers, eyes closed and brow furrowed as if in concentration. Or perhaps he just doesn’t want to take too long and risk getting caught.

If only they were really, truly alone, Dylan would take his time touching and kissing and exploring every inch of Ryan’s body, as the man deserves. He wishes he could go all out with music and candles and mood lighting…but he hopes his hands can make up for it.

Dylan obliges Ryan’s request, sneaking his fingers beneath the waistband of Ryan’s underwear. Ryan’s breathing heavily, already instinctively thrusting himself into Dylan’s palm when he stops abruptly.

“Hold on.” He shimmies unceremoniously out of his shorts and underwear, and Dylan takes this opportunity to produce a bottle from his back pocket and pour lube into his hand. It also gives him time to — well, to put it bluntly, to admire Ryan’s cock. It’s certainly nothing to scoff at — not that Dylan would, anyway — and he plans to show that admiration as best he can in the few minutes they have together.

They waste no time picking back up where they left off, Dylan’s now slick hand firmly around Ryan’s length and slowly working its way down to the tip. The moment he reaches the head, it elicits a soft ‘fuck’ from Ryan, and Dylan thinks it may be the hottest sound he’s ever heard.

God, Ryan is hot. How cruel the world is that they can’t just run off into the woods and have a proper hookup, uninterrupted. Well, maybe without all the dirt and bugs.

On second thought, the radio hut isn’t looking half bad, especially considering the view he has of the man of his dreams coming apart right in front of him. “Tell me if you think I’m moving too fast, yeah?”

“That’s kind of the idea here, right?” Ryan asks as he grinds into Dylan’s hand.

Sadly. “I mean, sure, but I’d be failing you as a romantic partner if I received anything less than a five-star review on my incredibly efficient handjobs.”

“Your track record’s pretty good so fa—ahhh, holy shit,” Ryan cuts himself off, as Dylan has taken this exact moment to stop in his tracks; he focuses his thumb on the tip, circling it delicately until Ryan’s thighs spasm from the overstimulation. It’s a huge turn-on for him, catching Ryan off guard like that. “That’s… that feels…a lot,” Ryan manages to string together between breaths.

“Too much?” He already knows the answer. Ryan simply nods a bit sheepishly, almost as if afraid to admit weakness.

“‘Kay.” He lets the man squirm for a bit longer before backing off. Like he said, pleasure over punctuality.

Dylan resumes his steady rhythm, every pass sending small shocks of what he can safely assume is so much fucking pleasure through Ryan’s cock as it twitches in his grasp. His free hand is still resting on Ryan’s side, fingers caressing aimlessly. He moves them toward the inside of Ryan’s thigh, and Ryan lets out a small gasp. God, he’s so sensitive to every touch; each little sound makes Dylan even more aware of his own growing erection.

“I think we’ve spent too long away from each other,” he laments. Not that the pent-up horniness isn’t good for getting off, but the frequency at which they’ve been doing this leaves much to be desired.

Upon hearing that, Ryan responds with another kiss, his tongue meshing together with Dylan’s. Sensing the growing tension in Ryan’s body, Dylan quickens the motion of his hand, not wanting to lose any momentum. His lips are still locked with Ryan’s, both of them suppressing moans now. He doesn’t want to let go, but he comes up for air to check on his partner. “How are we doing, sailor?”

“Close,” Ryan replies breathlessly, eyes still closed. His own arms are holding fast around Dylan, as if hanging on for dear life. His hips rock eagerly into the hand wrapped around his dick, desperately chasing climax. Dylan helps him along as best he can, pumping fervently but not so aggressively as to ruin the sensation. He keeps his face close to Ryan’s, planting little kisses all over.

“You’re cute when you’re all hot and bothered, you know that?” He ventures, suddenly feeling the urge to fill the space between Ryan’s panting with that weak attempt at dirty talk.

Ryan seems turned on by that, too, surprisingly. “So are you when you—fuck—” He’s really struggling to finish his sentences now.

Dylan’s hand freezes. “Yeah? You think I’m cute when I fuck?”

“Not when you don’t let me finish,” Ryan exhales, frustration at his delayed orgasm overtaking him.

Dylan brushes his lips along Ryan’s jawline, and he nips right below the ear. “Let’s get you finished, then,” he purrs, and he’s back to stroking Ryan, intent on giving the man what he’s oh-so-patiently waited for. He pays extra special attention to the spots where he knows Ryan’s really going to enjoy it, and this time, he doesn’t let up.

Within seconds, Ryan finally lets go, spilling out into Dylan’s cupped hand, and immediately lifts an arm to stifle the sounds escaping his mouth. He leans his head back against the wall, legs shaking uncontrollably as Dylan works him through the orgasm. Dylan pulls Ryan in slightly closer with his free hand to stabilize him; he doesn’t mind soiling his t-shirt if it means keeping the man from falling on his ass.

He can’t help but grin at Ryan’s attempt to conceal his pleasure. The chances of anyone hearing them all the way out here at this time of day are slim to none. Still, it’s endearing — at least, as endearing as one can be while you’re surreptitiously jerking them off in a dusty old cabin full of power tools.

“Fuck me,” Ryan mumbles as he comes down from it, panting. He lazily drops his forehead against Dylan’s.

“Dangerous words to say to a man whose hand is still on your dick. Unless you’re saying you fell asleep and missed it? It was like thirty seconds ago. We can try for another if you really want.”

Ignoring Dylan’s snark-tinged rambling, Ryan opens his eyes. “What time is it?”

Rather than answering his question, Dylan presses his lips against Ryan’s one last time, savoring what’s left of the precious few minutes they’ve stolen away. The end of summer can’t come soon enough. But Ryan sure did, he jokes to himself.

“My watch is on the desk,” Dylan quietly replies, noting the mess coating his forearm and thanking his past self for having the foresight to remove the watch beforehand. He guides Ryan down onto his knees, helping clean both of them off.

When he’s done, Dylan retrieves his watch. He turns around and Ryan’s right behind him, all dressed and everything. You’d have a hard time believing this man was losing his mind at Dylan’s touch minutes ago. The only indicator he’s been touched at all is the residual flush in his cheeks, plus the state of Dylan’s shirt.

“Two-fifty-two,” Dylan reads. Not bad.

Ryan eyes him up and down. “You might wanna change.”

“Oh, shit. Good thing I have spare clothing in here then, huh?” Dylan walks over to the corner shelf and strips off his shirt. Rather than finding a replacement, he spins around, hands on his hips.

“Babe, I don’t think we have time for both of us to—”

“That’s fine,” Dylan interrupts, feeling a bit self-conscious about Ryan thinking he needs to return the favor. It’s not like Dylan never gets a turn. Sometimes it’s good for one guy to have all the attention. “Just thought you’d enjoy a little eye candy.” He swings his hips seductively, certain he looks like a complete fool but not caring in the slightest.

Ryan rolls his eyes and shakes his head, a hint of a smile on his face.

Something in Ryan’s previous statement has just registered to Dylan, and it distracts him from his antics. “Babe, huh?”

“Uh…yeah. Is it okay if I call you that? Not around the others. Obviously.”

“Sure.” Dylan grins. “Whatever you want, babe.”

“Cool.” Ryan hesitates before walking over to a still shirtless Dylan and cupping his face in one hand. “I’ll see you later, then…babe.”

They embrace, and wouldn’t you know it, they manage to sneak in another impassioned kiss.

Too soon after, Ryan’s gone, and Dylan’s left alone with a painfully evident need of his own.

He slides down the wall and unzips his pants, finally releasing some of the built-up pressure surrounding his erection. As he touches himself, he replays the sounds of Ryan’s own pleasure over and over again in his mind.

As far as the others, Laura and Max had secretly gotten married and are now planning on opening a refuge for exotic animals.

Abi and Emma had started dating immediately after the charges were cleared, to everyone’s surprise, and now they’re living together in California while Abi finishes her art degree and Emma’s influencer career flourishes.

Nick is back in Australia working at some catering company with his high school sweetheart, whom he’d reconnected with after months of isolation from pretty much everyone.

Jacob and Kaitlyn are living together, not quite dating, but definitely showing signs of something happening. They’ll never admit it, but Dylan knows Kaitlyn’s secretly-has-feelings-for-someone face, and she wears it often when Jacob is around.

And Ryan…well, he’s doing pretty well, too. In fact, judging by his latest social media update, which happens about three times a year, he’s gearing up to move in with his boyfriend, Felix, whom he’s been with for six months. The post is a picture of Ryan sitting on his couch surrounded by cardboard boxes, having a very serious staring contest with Poe, a stray tuxedo cat the couple had found hanging around Ryan’s college dorm one night. Dylan smiles at the cat’s familiar face, as he’s seen it often in the pictures Ryan sends him. He and Ryan have semi-regularly been texting ever since Ryan had scribbled his number on a piece of scrap paper for Dylan two years ago. After their last night at Hackett’s Quarry.

Dylan remembers well their first conversation from right after they’d been released.

-

“That was a crazy first date, huh?” Dylan was doing what Dylan did best, which was flirting inappropriately with his crush to distract both of them from their trauma. Or whatever it was his therapist had told him.

Ryan snorted. “Ha, yeah. I guess you could say that.”

“This is yours, by the way.” He handed Dylan a crumpled, folded up piece of paper.

“Don’t tell me…your number?” Dylan couldn’t help himself.

“Ding ding ding,” Ryan deadpanned.

Dylan’s face grew hot. “Oh. Thanks, man. I’ll keep in touch.”

“You better. I went through a lot of trouble to get that for you.” Ryan’s grin was the most gorgeous thing Dylan had seen in these past months — maybe ever.

-

They had kept in touch, and things looked hopeful for a while — but when the group had their first get-together around New Year’s, something had changed. Dylan couldn’t look at Ryan, much less talk to him at first. He didn’t know if it was nerves, or guilt about making Ryan cut off his hand, or the feeling that he was coming on too strong; whatever it was, he had gotten way too drunk that night and spent most of it stuck in Emma’s bathroom and subsequently sleeping it off in her guest room while the rest of the group had their fun.

He’d woken up the next morning to Emma informing him that Ryan had offered to drive him home — and he’d declined, stating that he already had a boyfriend. Stupid Drunk Dylan. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Not too long after that, Ryan had finally been convinced — mostly by his sister — to accept a generous offer to attend a prestigious animation school in Denver. Then he moved on campus, and he met Felix, and now they’re cohabiting happily with a cat and everything.

Dylan is happy for them.

Before he can comment on Ryan’s post, the image is covered by a text notification. It’s that cute boy from the library asking if Dylan can meet for coffee on the weekend.

He accepts.

Staring back at the picture of Ryan, Dylan’s smile fades. He momentarily entertains countless scenarios where he’d said something, or not said something, or just fucking kissed the guy. Then, he pushes those thoughts away.

“Ah, perfect timing!” Emma smiled as Kaitlyn entered the room. The campers were already in the process of lining up to leave. Good. “Remember what I told you about teamwork when you go down to the boathouse! It’s all about communication and cooperation! Now fly free, my beautiful butterflies,” she finished with a flourish of her hands, imitating the fluttering of wings.

After the group of kids had been walked down to Ryan (he was in a good mood, which meant he’d live to see another day), Kaitlyn went back to visit Emma. They both had an early lunch on Thursdays, so they’d spend time chatting and catching up on counselor drama.

Emma was cleaning up props that had been strewn about when Kaitlyn returned; she moved in a dance-like fashion, humming as she worked.

“Hey, Em.”

Kaitlyn almost felt rude interrupting, but Emma glanced up at her with that same enthusiastic grin. “Hey cutie. Come by to get a taste of today’s lesson?” She strode toward where Kaitlyn was standing.

“Something about teamwork, right? You teaching them to trust fall?”

“How did you know?” Emma purred.

“I did a bit of theatre in high school.” It wasn’t technically a lie, but the truth was that Kaitlyn had done summer pantomime workshops while Jacob was at football camp, or whatever they called it. She may have been a tad embarrassed about that little tidbit of Kaitlyn Lore.

Emma frowned. “Oh? And you didn’t pursue it in college?”

“Didn’t have time for it,” Kaitlyn stated plainly. Now this was a lie. College was a pipe dream for her, and she was content fixing cars and working at run-down summer camps to make ends meet for the time being.

“Well…you’ve got time now.”

Kaitlyn cocked her head to the side and smirked. “You want me to fall into your arms like a poor damsel in distress?”

A light giggle escaped from Emma’s mouth. “I mean, I wouldn’t say no to that. Buuuut…” she pursed her lips and looked off to the side, “…we could try something different, since we’re alone.”

That didn’t sound ideal. “I didn’t take you for that kind of woman, Emma Mountebank,” Kaitlyn declared, feigning shock. Part of her was sure Emma was just being Emma, but another part of her knew that camp counselors were ticking time bombs of repressed sexual energy. Perhaps this was an extremely forward proposition. Don’t flatter yourself, bucko.

“Cute,” Emma remarked, “but I was thinking something more along the lines of…intimacy coordination. Basically, making sure two actors portraying a romantic duo are comfortable and have clearly set boundaries during the performance.”

“Oh, so like, kissing and things like that?” Kaitlyn sensed an odd thumping in her chest at that thought.

And because she’d uttered it, of course Emma pounced on the idea. “Precisely! Would you like to take this rare, once-in-a-lifetime-opportunity to learn how to ‘stage kiss’ from an expert?”

Stage…kiss? Now the thumping had gotten louder. It was at this point that Kaitlyn realized she and Emma were standing only about a foot apart now. She was close enough to smell Emma’s recently-washed hair; Kaitlyn couldn’t quite place the exact scent, but it was woodsy and comforting, appropriate for a camp counselor, she reckoned. “Better make it quick.”

Almost too obediently, Emma brought her hand up, holding it inches from Kaitlyn’s face. “Can I…?”

Kaitlyn nodded encouragingly. Was Emma really just going to straight-up kiss her?

As Emma leaned in, Kaitlyn closed her eyes in anticipation. She’d kissed plenty of girls in her time on this earth, but it had been a while since one had made her stomach do cartwheels like it was currently doing.

Emma’s hand cupped her face. Then, her thumb pressed gently on Kaitlyn’s lips…and she kissed it before pulling away. Kaitlyn tried not to feel a bit of disappointment. It was supposed to be a “safe” alternative, after all.

When Kaitlyn looked back up, Emma was staring at her, seemingly satisfied. Or perhaps amused by the awkwardness of it all. 

“Kaitlyn — truth or dare?”

Her response is easy; she doesn’t have much faith in the quality of possible dares she could be given.

“Truth.”

“Booooo!” Jacob crows, following it up rapidly by flapping some pretend wings and making chicken noises; without missing a beat, Kaitlyn throws a pebble that pings him right in the chest, earning an exaggerated wounded noise.

“Okay, uh… did you ever regret taking the job here?” Ryan asks.

She quirks a brow, amused.

“Seriously regretted? Only once, that night Jacob ‘helped’ Nick in the kitchen.”

“Low blow, Kaity,” the boy retorts, sticking his tongue out at her.

“Do not get me started on that, Jacob,” she snaps back. “There was slimy, half-mixed uncooked egg in the middle of my cake. You’re lucky I’m even still willing to talk to you after that.”

With a grimace, Kaitlyn shakes herself and glances around the circle in search of a target now that it’s her turn to challenge someone… and immediately finds herself captivated by the green-clad girl across the fire ring, still laughing at the bickering of the old friends.

“Emma,” she blurts without thinking. “Truth or dare.”

Across the way, hazel eyes snap up to meet her own, and a delicate eyebrow arches with a clear note of challenge.

“Dare,” Emma says confidently, tossing her ponytail over her shoulder.

Kaitlyn’s mouth felt dry suddenly.

“I dare you… to kiss me.”

Off to the side, someone squeaks — Abi, it can only be Abi, there’s no one else in their group capable of making such a high pitched squeak — and Emma’s other eyebrow jumps upward ever so slightly, like she’s almost surprised enough to put a chip in her calm, cool, and collected facade, before her face settles into a look that seems impressed.

The girl is up on her feet in a heartbeat, and then— she’s there so fast that Kaitlyn’s breath catches ever so slightly as she leans back in order to see the other girl’s face.

“Shaking things up, are we?” Emma accuses.

Wavy blonde hair falls thick on either side of Kaitlyn’s face, like a curtain between them and the rest of the world, narrowing her focus to nothing but the smell of woodsmoke and the goosebump feel of strands tickling her neck— and the press of Emma’s lips against her own.

“What?” Kaitlyn squawks, indignant. “I’m just not talking with my mouth full, dude!”

“You sprayed fry bits at me like ten seconds ago,” he answers, deadpan. “Try again.”

They go back and forth as such, squabbling and picking at each other in the typical manner of those with so much shared history, with Jacob pulling progressively more and more exaggerated kicked puppy-esque expressions and leaning precariously out of his chair in order to force her to look at him. And finally, his obnoxiousness pays off when Kaitlyn’s resolve snaps.

“Okay fine, stop,” she growls. “I asked Emma out!”

Silence. Then Kaitlyn winces, like the words she’d just said had a delayed register in her brain.

“Oh,” Jacob says with an indecipherable expression on his face, and that is a rattlingly unfamiliar concept to her in the face of their many years of friendship. “Um, okay.”

“Okay?!”

“What do you want me to say?!”

“I don’t know!” Kaitlyn practically shouts, throwing her hands up in the air. “I kinda expected you to start yelling at me or something!”

Jacob’s brows pinch, a deeply unhappy look on his face as he suddenly drops his gaze back down to the tabletop. He starts picking at a napkin with his nails, making tiny little tears in the paper.

“I’m not gonna yell at you,” he mutters, eyes rolling. “I don’t want to yell at you, Kaity..”

She huffs, slumping back down into her own seat like all the wind left her sails, disarmed by his unexpected reaction.

“I mean… it would be kind of justified? Kinda feel like I’m trampling on a cardinal friendship rule right now..? No dating your friend’s exes and all that… and I knew you first–”

“Is it dating?” he asks, and he looks up with sudden focus. “Not just a… a fling or whatever?”

“I mean, yeah,” Kaitlyn shrugs. “I asked her out as a date date, like the first of many hopefully so..?”

The boy’s lips quirk, a tiny little hint of a smile breaking free. All it does is make Kaitlyn feel more conflicted, and more confused. She’s been privately plagued by battling feelings of excitement vs guilt and a thousand things somewhere in between, for the whole week she managed to keep this news an unintentional secret from Jacob… in the sense that she had never purposefully chosen to hide it from him, but she had certainly done her best to avoid having to break the news until now.

“Kaitlyn,” he said, with an odd and uncharacteristically serious look on his face, before he just started squinting at her. “I can’t believe I’m saying this to you of all people but I don’t own Emma you know—”

“Yeah no shit, shut the fuck up you little—”

They both cut off abruptly, Jacob laughing as this time it’s his turn to dodge a balled up burger wrapper, and despite the emotional weight on her shoulders Kaitlyn can’t help but grin as she settles back into her seat. As the laughter finally fades out, leaving them again in an uncertain silence, Kaitlyn starts drumming her knee under the table as the worry comes rushing back.

“Seriously though, Jake,” she says. “Are you actually cool with this happening or are you just pretending you are to spare my feelings?”

“And here I thought you didn’t have those,” Jacob snarks — a vain attempt at deflection — then winces as her foot collides with his shin. “OW, Jesus Kaitlyn I thought we had an agreement that you wouldn’t do that anymore with the steel toes on!”

“Be honest!”

“Okay, okay, fine!” Jacob exclaims, throwing his hands up. “It stings a little bit, yeah!”

Kaitlyn wilts ever so slightly in her chair.

“But,” he says quickly, before she has a chance to cut in. “You’ve been my friend for like, my entire life. And.. and I’d like to think Em and I were friends first and friends again now, and I’d kinda like it if you both stuck around. So… yeah, it stings but I’ll get over it.”

He shrugs a little, like his answer is the only option that makes sense, and not blowing Kaitlyn’s mind slightly.

“That… is remarkably mature of you,” she squints suspiciously. “Have you been reading self help books, or–”

“Shut up before I dump this ketchup on you, bitch.”

🐦‍⬛