Fireside
*Story contains M/M relations and explicit sexual scenes.*
The coals that
glowed in the fire pit were as red as cherry tomatoes, but their heat was
dissipating quickly. Simon poked at them for what had to be the thousandth
time, his melancholy growing, while he did his best to convince himself the
mood shift had nothing to do with the fact that Jonas had left him alone at the
campsite – it wasn't the empty, gnawing solitude consuming his chest at all.
Nope. It was just the ambience. It had to be.
Together they'd watched the sun slip towards the horizon, transforming fading leaf and thinning branches into a Midas-worthy display: green had become goldenrod, brown had warmed to umber; even the lake had lost blue to caramel. As burgers had sizzled on the grill and lighting had accentuated every one of the bulges and ridges on Jonas' body, the hastily planned rendezvous masquerading as campout with friends, had seemed like a damn fine idea. But when the light had failed and the cold began to creep in, Jonas had decided that coals needed to become fire lest he be forced to find a way to admit to Simon's parents that "the boy had frozen to death on the north shore off County Line Four."
"Fifteen minutes," Jonas had said. "Thirty tops." But there was no way, Simon was sure of it, that he'd been waiting for Jonas' return for less than a half hour. Dusk had darkened to the kind of black that without the familiarity of the little blue hooded nightlights that Simon's mom kept tucked into the sockets back at the house, tended to coax one's mind into drifting towards coyotes and snakes. Not that Simon had a hate on for any of God's creatures, he just preferred to know when or if one of them might be sneaking up behind him.
He shifted closer to the embers and held his hands over top of them, trying not to consider that his father would have killed him for not bringing a rifle along. "You don't never know what you're gonna find in the bush, son." After all, they'd shot off their fair share of coyote trying to sneak into the chicken barn at the farmhouse. The little buggers were bold enough with people and lights. God only knew how brash they could get when they had the advantage of cover and camouflage.
If the moon had been full, Simon wouldn't have been so nervous. The sky was clear, the stars were beginning to make their debuts, and if the man in the moon had been grinning down full-faced, it would probably be bright enough to see for miles – even with the trees blocking most of the sky. Mostly though, light and lack of weaponry aside, Simon would just feel a fuck ton better if Jonas would get his ass back with the firewood. Hell, even without it. He'd live with the possibility of frost-inspired teeth-chattering as long as he could stretch out beside Jonas. A body beside another one did a damn good job of fuelling heat.
His fingers had just got to the point where a mind had to choose whether it could deal with the fact its knuckles were still like ice at the risk of losing palms to blisters when Simon heard the first branch snap to his left. He was still telling himself he hadn't when he heard the next. Panic seated, fight-or-flight activated but with a flailing see-saw between the two reactions, and Simon choked on a whine that would have embarrassed even the smallest, frailest child.
He was fumbling for the branch he'd been poking the fire with when the brush gave away with a grumble too quickly recognized. "Fucking flashlight," Jonas hissed. "Gave out just as I—" He stopped, amusement lightening his tone. "Or should I say grrrr?"
"Jesus!" Simon huffed, dropping his makeshift poker with one hand while the other gripped his twisting belly. He snapped back with disgust aimed more at himself than anything else. "Don't you know you're supposed to whistle when you're getting close to camp? So people don't have freaking heart attacks?"
Jonas dropped an armload of wood beside Simon. "No, actually. When I'm sneaking around in the dark I tend to prefer stealth." He grinned at Simon, a flash of white teeth catching moonlight, "Why? Did I scare you?"
Simon couldn't hold back a return grin if he'd tried. "No."
He waited for the light lunge, bit his bottom lip when it came as expected, and sank against Jonas as their bodies were pulled tight and Jonas growled into his ear, "Liar."
"Un unh," Simon shook his head and tried to focus on Jonas' eyes. "I was worriedabout you. Big difference."
Jonas snorted and released him. "Well don't. I can take care of myself just fine. Now let me get a decent fire going."
He moved out of the way while Jonas flipped the grill from the fire pit back and began to toss in wood. Simon tugged at the bottom of his jacket and laughed. "I should have worn a warmer coat. So you wouldn't have to fuck with the fire."
"Meh," Jonas dug the branches into the coals and stacked some heavier ones on top. "You'll be fine in the sleeping bag. This is just for now."
Twigs began to pop and glow as the embers did their job at transferring heat to such a degree as to inspire flame. "Good thing it's been dry," Simon nodded at the fire, watching Jonas manipulate the wood. "I can help—"
"I got it."
Simon didn't bother to argue the stacking process he'd been taught in damn near every kid's program he'd been in. With the life still left in the coals, he had no doubt the fire would catch regardless. Still, whenever the obvious 'city-ness' of Jonas came out, it always made him grin a little. Internally, of course. Nobody liked to look like a fool. Especially not when they were doing one a favour. After all, the settling frost didn't appear to be bothering Jonas in the least.
"You cold?" Simon asked.
"Nah."
"Was the wood hard to find?"
"Not so much."
"Heavy?"
"Not really."
"Those burgers were good though weren't they—?"
Jonas turned away from the fire just as a majority of the smaller kindle caught and flamed. The colour caused a cool silhouette of yellow around black. "You're rambling," Jonas said, crossing his arms over his chest and cutting Simon off mid-question. "Why?"
"I ... " Simon frowned and copied Jonas' arm cross, though his was accentuated by drawn in shoulders and the clutch of fingertips into biceps. "Just making conversation I guess."
To anyone else the sound Jonas made would have been considered derision. Not to Simon though. Simon knew the sound was merely frustration. "I'm sorry," he mumbled. "I'll wait until you're done."
"I'm not pissy because you bothered me, Simon. I'm pissy because you're sneaking around again."
"Wait ... wh—?"
"What's on your mind?" Jonas stepped forward, caught Simon's hand and pulled him closer to the fire. "You wanted to be alone together. And I got this nagging suspicion you didn't just want to get laid. We could have done that in my apartment. In a bed. With heat." He smiled down at Simon and wrapped both his hands around the one he'd grabbed. "You're frozen, you barely ate those supposedly 'good' burgers, and you've been pussy-footing around me since we left this afternoon. I gave you a good half hour alone to get your words together and you're still walking around like the campsite is a minefield. Let's get it out, whatever it is. So we can deal with it and get on with spending some quality time together before I pack you up and take you home."
"I don't want to go ho—"
Jonas lifted an eyebrow, and squeezed Simon's hand. "You're freezing to death."
"And you said it would be okay once we got in the sleeping bag!"
"We'll be even better tucked into my bed," Jonas chuckled. "As pretty as those stars are, they look just as nice off my deck. You should know; you spent enough time on it."
"Aww, I want to stay ... " Simon let the whine fade. Growing flames licked away hidden expression and he was pushing his luck if the look on Jonas' face was being accurately read. "I like being here with you. It's like ... I don't know. Just the two of us, see? Like we're ... different. Not just guys that meet up to bang. Almost like it's a date or something."
"Ah."
The syllable may have been nothing more than breath, but it fell on Simon like an anvil. "No! I don't mean anything by that! Everything's good, everything's great. We're good. I'm not saying—"
Four warm fingers found Simon's mouth and stopped his words cold. "You're nineteen. There's nothing wrong with wanting to date. I get it."
Simon yanked Jonas away from his face, his heartbeat already accelerating. "That's not what I was saying! Please, Jonas – don't even think that. I'm perfectly happy with what we're ... what we ... how we ... "
The speech died in Simon's throat as he held Jonas' gaze. A little voice inside his head began to whisper warnings about winding one's self to the point of frenzy. "Don't go gettin' wound up." It was a sentiment forced down the throats of everyone Simon knew, by everyone that Simon knew – one of those goddamn niceties that ensured children didn't throw hissy fits, young men didn't start wars, and little old ladies didn't get into shouting matches at Bingo parlours. As if a display of emotion was some kind of sin. Simon always wanted to lose his mind when he heard it – had felt that way since he was a child. "Don't you know how awesome it feels?" he wanted to say. "To let a sensation just take you over? To wake you up? To make you feel alive!" And never in his life had he felt that to be truer than during the moments he spent with Jonas. Jonas made him feel good – heights he'd never been to before, sensations he hadn't even known he could experience, a sense of being accepted for who he was without asking why he was.
At the same time though, Jonas was a loner. He worked alone. He lived alone. No friends were beating paths from god-only-knew-where in the city to come visit. And there'd never been a single intonation that Jonas planned on changing any of that. So how did one turn around and say, "I want to hold you all the time. When I start thinking about you, I can't stop. You're so goddamn everything that I finally feel like I'm something just because you're around me."
One didn't.
One couldn't.
He was young, sure. But his mama hadn't raised a fool. He knew damn well that if he started digging in his heels about needing more, or dared to let words of affection slip too fast or too often, that's when the fear would come. That's when the retreat would start. And that concept was far scarier than the possibility there might never be anything more than what they had. Because at the end of the day, 'at least' was a fuck-ton better than 'not at all.'
Wasn't it?
"Was that it?" Jonas asked in Simon's pause. "Or you got something else in there?"
Simon didn't know a reply was coming until it was already settling in the air between them. "I want to tell my parents."
When Jonas pulled away, Simon was sure his heart exploded. "It's just—"
"About you?" Jonas asked. "Or about us?"
Simon's voice faltered. He choked out a "both" that he wasn't even sure Jonas heard.
"They gonna freak out?"
Simon shot a breath that should have been laughter but ended up as more of a desperate caw. "I don't care. I mean ... " He made a show of turning his eyes up towards the sky as if exasperated. Mostly it was just to stop the confusing tears that were gathering in the corners of them from getting any farther. He blinked hard, waited for the millions of pinpoints in the dark velvet of the sky to focus, and gave himself a second to ponder on the devil horns of the moon. "I mean, I care. I want them to understand. They need to know. But if they hate me for it, then ... " He let his shrug end the sentence for him.
Jonas settled slowly on to the rock they'd used as table and chair for dinner. The one they'd been considering as a hard, but relatively dry mattress. He tapped a spot beside him. "Come here."
Apparently, Simon thought, it was about to become therapist's couch as well. And while his mind raced to commend the rock on its ability to switch roles so effortlessly—a ridiculous thought, a flail of mental balancing to help ease off the pressure of reality—Simon's legs began to tremble so badly he wasn't sure he'd be able to pull off the half a dozen steps it would take him to get there.
While they made the journey without incident, Jonas had to catch him with an "easy there" when he tried to sit.
Simon's head was shrieking in silent rebuke. "Why?" it asked him. "Why would you ever, in a million years, think to say that? Are you insane? Or were you actually trying to get him to tell you to fuck off and not bother coming back?" The only thing his heart could do was pound its plea in time with blood flow: please don't leave me. Please don't leave me.
Only the night spoke out though. As the stars in the background glittered, though the moon hung in pensive silence, the rest of the world began a chorus of disdain. It whistled its surprise in the wind that stole through emptying branches. It chuckled mockingly with every falling leaf. A coyote began to yap, was followed in succession by a dozen of its hungry mates, the lot of them signing a prayer of triumph that the world would be retrieving a prized champion from the clutches of a foolish boy.
"You know what?" Simon finally sputtered. "Just forget I said anything. I'm being stupid. It's really not even a big deal—"
"You're not being stupid," Jonas sighed. He lifted his chin and set his jaw and all Simon could think of was granite: hard, impassive, cold – yet so damn beautiful. Simon shivered, drew his shoulders in once again and hunched over his own lap.
"Listen," Jonas reached for his hand and the tone in Jonas' voice made him want to shrivel up from the inside out.
"You should have kept your mouth shut," Simon's conscience tut-tutted.
Jonas tightened his grip with Simon's clutch. "I'm only going to say this once ... "
Simon closed his eyes against his mind's derisive tone. "Couldn't just be happy with what you had, could you?"
"If he hurts you, I'll kill him."
Simon frowned, suddenly confused and looked up to catch Jonas' eyes. They were dark, hard – coal without a touch of fire.
"I'm serious," Jonas said, emphasizing the words with a gritting of teeth that made his jaw flex even harder. "No one gets to beat on you. If he tries it, I'm going to make him pay for it."
"Wh—?"
"I know you're scared that your dad—"
Simon shook his head and cut Jonas off. "I'm not afraid of my father?"
Jonas huffed a breath of complete exasperation. "Then why have you been acting like a spooked kitten all night?"
"Not because I'm afraid of my father!" Simon laughed without mirth. "He might hate me for what I'm about to tell him but he's not going to hurt me. I mean, sure, he's kicked my ass before. But nothing I didn't totally deserve. Why would you ... I mean ... " He wasn't sure if he was going to pass out from relief or jump up and start dancing. "So, you're not mad at me? For wanting to tell them?"
Realisation dawned on Jonas' face so dramatically it was comical. "Wait a minute. You mean to tell me that you've been jumping around like a beetle in a frying pan because you thought I was going to be mad? Why the hell would I be upset that you wanted to tell your parents about us?"
Simon gripped Jonas' hand that much tighter. "I don't know? Maybe you'd think it was too serious? Or that I was expecting too much? It's not like you ... ever ... " Simon looked away and shook his head.
"Like I ever what?" Jonas prompted.
Another shrug. Another head shake. "It's not like you ever say you like me or anything."
"I say I like you all the—" Jonas stopped himself with a press of palm to mouth that worked its way up to a full rub of barely-there hair. "Simon," he started again, voice low and quiet. "I like you. The only reason I've kept my mouth shut and our encounters on the down-low is because that's how you were playing it. I don't need to remind you that you were the one sneaking around peeking in my windows, right?" He held up his palm to silence Simon when Simon made to reply. "You think I give a fuck if anyone knows? You think I care if your parents don't like me? People can suck my dick for all I care."
"I would prefer if they didn't," Simon interjected with a small grin.
Jonas eyed him. "If you want my opinion, you should have told your parents months ago – the minute you realised you wanted to come back and see me as a matter of fact. And you should have told them you were gay six years ago."
Simon tilted his head and pursed his lips. "Six years ago I was only thirteen."
"Un hunh," Jonas nodded. "And you probably already knew five years before that. So don't give me your shit. But my point is, it's your life – not mine. You do what you need to do. Don't ever think I'm going to be mad at you because you need to come right with someone. Especially not someone that's important to you. I'll just be back here keeping an eye on you while you're doing it. Because that's what I need to do."
Simon didn't say anything for a long minute. He just leaned his weight towards Jonas' wide shoulder and rested there. A small grin broke across his face. "So you like me, hmm?"
Jonas snort-laughed. "You don't need to hear it a million times."
Simon grinned, nudging into Jonas with enough of a shove to make them both rock. "How about just once more then?"
"Tell you what," Jonas wrapped his arm around Simon's waist and tugged him. "You come over here and I'll say it again."
The scramble onto Jonas' lap was an easy one. "Like this?" Simon whispered, resting his forehead against Jonas'.
Jonas cupped the back of Simon's head with one hand, drew Simon's hips that much closer with his other and leaned back, pulling Simon down with him. "More like this." And suddenly Simon didn't need to hear the words again – he could feel them: in the way Jonas' hands worked too hard at pulling out his shirt; the way they paused and just let heat transfer from back to palm when they finally succeeded, like the touch alone was worth the effort. In the way body movement became instinct as their hips sought friction against one another. In their kiss. Sex with Jonas was always fantastic. Blame it on his lack of previous experience, call it a case of obsession, whatever the driving factor was behind it, Jonas had an uncanny ability to blow Simon's mind with sex. This though, this moment, just felt different. As if with every kiss they consumed a little of each other, transferred some of one into the other and offered it back in turn. It was heady and consuming and nothing else mattered. Until Jonas rested swollen lips against Simon's flushed ear and repeated the words with a raspy voice, "I do like you, Simon. I like you a lot."
Only then did Simon realise that he'd desperately needed the confirmation. Just so he could tell himself later that he had definitely, most-assuredly, one-hundred-percent heard it for real. His cock throbbed in time to the gasp that fell from his tongue in response; his body shuddered as his mind digested the words and answered with a leak of fluid that spotted the front of his jeans shamelessly.
"Damn, kid," Jonas chuckled low and husky, "I do like how much you like what we do."
Before Simon's conscious mind understood what his body was doing, he'd already leaned into Jonas' neck and had both hands shoved between their bodies, desperately working at the fastenings of Jonas' pants. His own breath warmed him, radiating back from Jonas' skin with every word he spoke. "Need to feel you, Jonas. In me, in you, I don't even care. Just need to be together, okay?"
"We can do 'in' later," Jonas grunted, rearranging hips and sucking in tummy to allow Simon space to move his hands and draw Jonas' cock out of the open V of his jeans. And the moment Simon was holding Jonas' body in his hands, Jonas redirected Simon to his own button fly. "You now. Just take your cock out for me before your pants are too wet to wear back home."
Simon didn't argue even though his palms itched to stroke Jonas harder. He merely lifted himself up and followed instruction. His body ached to be free of the denim, the tip of his cock slipped wet and slick in its trappings and he managed to loose five buttons faster than he'd ever done before. Damp underwear was drawn off his body and Jonas' grab, firm squeeze and low groan did things to Simon's body that made him wonder how in the hell he'd be able to wait for Jonas to catch up to him.
"Lie back down," Jonas told him. "Let me feel you up against me."
Once again Simon went along with directive but he couldn't stop the sound of frustration from getting mumbled into Jonas' neck when he found his place over Jonas' body again. Frotting was fine – as warm up. His body was well past needing to be coaxed though. He wanted more. So when Jonas reached between them and wrapped his hand around both their cocks, disappointment became a long moan of appreciation.
"There we go," Jonas sighed. "That'll work, hmm?"
Simon's answer was a grunt, a shove of hips, and a rush of hot air against Jonas' neck. Simon wasn't sure what felt better – the friction of palm assisted by his own precum, the way Jonas' cock pulsed against his, or the eroticism of the knowledge that two bodies were closer then they'd ever been before. He moved his hips in time to Jonas' grip and it was a beautiful feeling. Hot. Scintillating. It made his spine tingle and his toes curl in his boots. It inspired thought to go flying and left sensation to sit on the throne of his psyche. The temperature of the air lost all importance as body heat conquered frost and wind. Dark was pointless as Simon was lost in the steady twist and fade of colour behind his closed eyelids.
Jonas nudged a stubbled chin into Simon's cheek and teased him with a chuckled, "You better wait for me," while fluid dribbled its reminder that Simon was enjoying the touch at a far quicker pace than Jonas was.
Not my fault, Simon tried to pant but the sound was no more than a weak, "Nah-mm."
"Wait," Simon repeated silently. "Don't you dare," he warned his body without speech. "No!" he insisted as his body reacted to the manipulation. Yet every admonishment sent another gasp, another whine of heated need over Jonas' neck until the patch of skin under Simon's lips was wet with the condensation of breath.
It was the sounds of Simon's pleasure that drove Jonas forward. Simon could tell by the way Jonas' cock responded against him. He distracted himself by latching on to Jonas skin: sucking, licking, even biting around the trill of gratitude his throat continued to offer.
"Wait for me," Jonas rasped. "I want to feel you cum with me. I want to know your cock's feeling what I am."
Simon fought the wave of bliss the words brought him even as his body arched closer, seeking more in a frantic attempt to reach completion. "God, Jonas, fuck!"
The plea was more apparent than the praise. The need was real and the fighting of it all but impossible.
"Can't, Jonas, please. Need, fuck, ah!" Both fists grabbed Jonas' jacket, both feet dug into the stone beneath them, he opened his mouth to order himself to stop, as if somehow speaking it out loud might make his body pay more attention to his brain, but derision became a shout of relief as Jonas' free hand shot between them, pried t-shirts up in a collective slide of both fabrics and heat spilled in tandem.
"Damn," Simon whispered, his body trembling with exertion and the sudden rush of cold air. "That was ... damn."
Jonas laughed. "Good damn? Or bad damn?"
"Dunno," Simon shook his head. "Good probably. Can't really think."
Jonas hummed his approval and tugged Simon closer, lowering his chin to catch Simon's mouth in a kiss, breaking the kiss to murmur, "I like it when you can't think. You're fun when you forget how to reason."
Simon dropped his head to Jonas' shoulder, not caring the least at the squelch of skin pressing against wet skin or the creep of cold into the slivers of bared flesh. "Do we really have to go back?"
Jonas' hands stroked the nylon over Simon's back in a steady lift and fall – down the length of spine, over the swell of ass, lift back to shoulder, and start the process over again. It was soothing, relaxing, comforting. "No," Jonas answered. "We don'thave to do anything. But no one's expecting you back until at least noon tomorrow. I think we could get better use out of a nice warm bed than this rock, don't you?"
"And the couch," Simon grinned.
"And the countertop," Jonas agreed.
"The coffee table."
"The floor."
Simon laughed and rose. "I suppose no cloth?"
"Might be a rag in the truck," Jonas suggested, ignoring his own proposal and pulling his shirt down over the mess on his torso without even a grimace.
Simon shrugged and followed suit, untangling his legs and sliding off Jonas' lap when prompted with a light smack on his thigh. He curled his lip and shuddered as he yanked his jacket down over the seeping shirt. "The shower might be a good place to start."
As Jonas picked up the few items around the fading fire, the cooler, the half-gone six-pack, the still-bound sleeping bag, Simon shifted the coals flat and doused them in sand. By the time they were both seated in the truck Simon was more than sure his fingers had frozen solid. "Good thing we didn't set up a tent or anything," Simon said, gritting his teeth to keep them from chattering.
Jonas looked over his right shoulder with a half grin and turned up the heater.
Simon narrowed his eyes. "You had no intention of spending the night here, did you?"
Jonas cupped his hands together and blew on them once before shoving them under opposing arms. "Kid, I might look pretty tough but I'm still a city boy at heart. Why the hell would I want to sleep on a rock when I pay six hundred bucks a month to sleep on a mattress?"
"Well let's get the hell out of here then," Simon smiled. "And put your money to good use."
Jonas laughed, released the brake and shifted the truck into gear. He stopped mid-roll though, turning his body and holding Simon's gaze. "Listen, you want me to be there when you talk to your daddy you just let me know."
Simon nodded, "I'll let you know." He looked away, shot a glance out at the half moon and the stars and told himself it was the heater kicking in when a warm flush worked its way from his head to his toes.
Together they'd watched the sun slip towards the horizon, transforming fading leaf and thinning branches into a Midas-worthy display: green had become goldenrod, brown had warmed to umber; even the lake had lost blue to caramel. As burgers had sizzled on the grill and lighting had accentuated every one of the bulges and ridges on Jonas' body, the hastily planned rendezvous masquerading as campout with friends, had seemed like a damn fine idea. But when the light had failed and the cold began to creep in, Jonas had decided that coals needed to become fire lest he be forced to find a way to admit to Simon's parents that "the boy had frozen to death on the north shore off County Line Four."
"Fifteen minutes," Jonas had said. "Thirty tops." But there was no way, Simon was sure of it, that he'd been waiting for Jonas' return for less than a half hour. Dusk had darkened to the kind of black that without the familiarity of the little blue hooded nightlights that Simon's mom kept tucked into the sockets back at the house, tended to coax one's mind into drifting towards coyotes and snakes. Not that Simon had a hate on for any of God's creatures, he just preferred to know when or if one of them might be sneaking up behind him.
He shifted closer to the embers and held his hands over top of them, trying not to consider that his father would have killed him for not bringing a rifle along. "You don't never know what you're gonna find in the bush, son." After all, they'd shot off their fair share of coyote trying to sneak into the chicken barn at the farmhouse. The little buggers were bold enough with people and lights. God only knew how brash they could get when they had the advantage of cover and camouflage.
If the moon had been full, Simon wouldn't have been so nervous. The sky was clear, the stars were beginning to make their debuts, and if the man in the moon had been grinning down full-faced, it would probably be bright enough to see for miles – even with the trees blocking most of the sky. Mostly though, light and lack of weaponry aside, Simon would just feel a fuck ton better if Jonas would get his ass back with the firewood. Hell, even without it. He'd live with the possibility of frost-inspired teeth-chattering as long as he could stretch out beside Jonas. A body beside another one did a damn good job of fuelling heat.
His fingers had just got to the point where a mind had to choose whether it could deal with the fact its knuckles were still like ice at the risk of losing palms to blisters when Simon heard the first branch snap to his left. He was still telling himself he hadn't when he heard the next. Panic seated, fight-or-flight activated but with a flailing see-saw between the two reactions, and Simon choked on a whine that would have embarrassed even the smallest, frailest child.
He was fumbling for the branch he'd been poking the fire with when the brush gave away with a grumble too quickly recognized. "Fucking flashlight," Jonas hissed. "Gave out just as I—" He stopped, amusement lightening his tone. "Or should I say grrrr?"
"Jesus!" Simon huffed, dropping his makeshift poker with one hand while the other gripped his twisting belly. He snapped back with disgust aimed more at himself than anything else. "Don't you know you're supposed to whistle when you're getting close to camp? So people don't have freaking heart attacks?"
Jonas dropped an armload of wood beside Simon. "No, actually. When I'm sneaking around in the dark I tend to prefer stealth." He grinned at Simon, a flash of white teeth catching moonlight, "Why? Did I scare you?"
Simon couldn't hold back a return grin if he'd tried. "No."
He waited for the light lunge, bit his bottom lip when it came as expected, and sank against Jonas as their bodies were pulled tight and Jonas growled into his ear, "Liar."
"Un unh," Simon shook his head and tried to focus on Jonas' eyes. "I was worriedabout you. Big difference."
Jonas snorted and released him. "Well don't. I can take care of myself just fine. Now let me get a decent fire going."
He moved out of the way while Jonas flipped the grill from the fire pit back and began to toss in wood. Simon tugged at the bottom of his jacket and laughed. "I should have worn a warmer coat. So you wouldn't have to fuck with the fire."
"Meh," Jonas dug the branches into the coals and stacked some heavier ones on top. "You'll be fine in the sleeping bag. This is just for now."
Twigs began to pop and glow as the embers did their job at transferring heat to such a degree as to inspire flame. "Good thing it's been dry," Simon nodded at the fire, watching Jonas manipulate the wood. "I can help—"
"I got it."
Simon didn't bother to argue the stacking process he'd been taught in damn near every kid's program he'd been in. With the life still left in the coals, he had no doubt the fire would catch regardless. Still, whenever the obvious 'city-ness' of Jonas came out, it always made him grin a little. Internally, of course. Nobody liked to look like a fool. Especially not when they were doing one a favour. After all, the settling frost didn't appear to be bothering Jonas in the least.
"You cold?" Simon asked.
"Nah."
"Was the wood hard to find?"
"Not so much."
"Heavy?"
"Not really."
"Those burgers were good though weren't they—?"
Jonas turned away from the fire just as a majority of the smaller kindle caught and flamed. The colour caused a cool silhouette of yellow around black. "You're rambling," Jonas said, crossing his arms over his chest and cutting Simon off mid-question. "Why?"
"I ... " Simon frowned and copied Jonas' arm cross, though his was accentuated by drawn in shoulders and the clutch of fingertips into biceps. "Just making conversation I guess."
To anyone else the sound Jonas made would have been considered derision. Not to Simon though. Simon knew the sound was merely frustration. "I'm sorry," he mumbled. "I'll wait until you're done."
"I'm not pissy because you bothered me, Simon. I'm pissy because you're sneaking around again."
"Wait ... wh—?"
"What's on your mind?" Jonas stepped forward, caught Simon's hand and pulled him closer to the fire. "You wanted to be alone together. And I got this nagging suspicion you didn't just want to get laid. We could have done that in my apartment. In a bed. With heat." He smiled down at Simon and wrapped both his hands around the one he'd grabbed. "You're frozen, you barely ate those supposedly 'good' burgers, and you've been pussy-footing around me since we left this afternoon. I gave you a good half hour alone to get your words together and you're still walking around like the campsite is a minefield. Let's get it out, whatever it is. So we can deal with it and get on with spending some quality time together before I pack you up and take you home."
"I don't want to go ho—"
Jonas lifted an eyebrow, and squeezed Simon's hand. "You're freezing to death."
"And you said it would be okay once we got in the sleeping bag!"
"We'll be even better tucked into my bed," Jonas chuckled. "As pretty as those stars are, they look just as nice off my deck. You should know; you spent enough time on it."
"Aww, I want to stay ... " Simon let the whine fade. Growing flames licked away hidden expression and he was pushing his luck if the look on Jonas' face was being accurately read. "I like being here with you. It's like ... I don't know. Just the two of us, see? Like we're ... different. Not just guys that meet up to bang. Almost like it's a date or something."
"Ah."
The syllable may have been nothing more than breath, but it fell on Simon like an anvil. "No! I don't mean anything by that! Everything's good, everything's great. We're good. I'm not saying—"
Four warm fingers found Simon's mouth and stopped his words cold. "You're nineteen. There's nothing wrong with wanting to date. I get it."
Simon yanked Jonas away from his face, his heartbeat already accelerating. "That's not what I was saying! Please, Jonas – don't even think that. I'm perfectly happy with what we're ... what we ... how we ... "
The speech died in Simon's throat as he held Jonas' gaze. A little voice inside his head began to whisper warnings about winding one's self to the point of frenzy. "Don't go gettin' wound up." It was a sentiment forced down the throats of everyone Simon knew, by everyone that Simon knew – one of those goddamn niceties that ensured children didn't throw hissy fits, young men didn't start wars, and little old ladies didn't get into shouting matches at Bingo parlours. As if a display of emotion was some kind of sin. Simon always wanted to lose his mind when he heard it – had felt that way since he was a child. "Don't you know how awesome it feels?" he wanted to say. "To let a sensation just take you over? To wake you up? To make you feel alive!" And never in his life had he felt that to be truer than during the moments he spent with Jonas. Jonas made him feel good – heights he'd never been to before, sensations he hadn't even known he could experience, a sense of being accepted for who he was without asking why he was.
At the same time though, Jonas was a loner. He worked alone. He lived alone. No friends were beating paths from god-only-knew-where in the city to come visit. And there'd never been a single intonation that Jonas planned on changing any of that. So how did one turn around and say, "I want to hold you all the time. When I start thinking about you, I can't stop. You're so goddamn everything that I finally feel like I'm something just because you're around me."
One didn't.
One couldn't.
He was young, sure. But his mama hadn't raised a fool. He knew damn well that if he started digging in his heels about needing more, or dared to let words of affection slip too fast or too often, that's when the fear would come. That's when the retreat would start. And that concept was far scarier than the possibility there might never be anything more than what they had. Because at the end of the day, 'at least' was a fuck-ton better than 'not at all.'
Wasn't it?
"Was that it?" Jonas asked in Simon's pause. "Or you got something else in there?"
Simon didn't know a reply was coming until it was already settling in the air between them. "I want to tell my parents."
When Jonas pulled away, Simon was sure his heart exploded. "It's just—"
"About you?" Jonas asked. "Or about us?"
Simon's voice faltered. He choked out a "both" that he wasn't even sure Jonas heard.
"They gonna freak out?"
Simon shot a breath that should have been laughter but ended up as more of a desperate caw. "I don't care. I mean ... " He made a show of turning his eyes up towards the sky as if exasperated. Mostly it was just to stop the confusing tears that were gathering in the corners of them from getting any farther. He blinked hard, waited for the millions of pinpoints in the dark velvet of the sky to focus, and gave himself a second to ponder on the devil horns of the moon. "I mean, I care. I want them to understand. They need to know. But if they hate me for it, then ... " He let his shrug end the sentence for him.
Jonas settled slowly on to the rock they'd used as table and chair for dinner. The one they'd been considering as a hard, but relatively dry mattress. He tapped a spot beside him. "Come here."
Apparently, Simon thought, it was about to become therapist's couch as well. And while his mind raced to commend the rock on its ability to switch roles so effortlessly—a ridiculous thought, a flail of mental balancing to help ease off the pressure of reality—Simon's legs began to tremble so badly he wasn't sure he'd be able to pull off the half a dozen steps it would take him to get there.
While they made the journey without incident, Jonas had to catch him with an "easy there" when he tried to sit.
Simon's head was shrieking in silent rebuke. "Why?" it asked him. "Why would you ever, in a million years, think to say that? Are you insane? Or were you actually trying to get him to tell you to fuck off and not bother coming back?" The only thing his heart could do was pound its plea in time with blood flow: please don't leave me. Please don't leave me.
Only the night spoke out though. As the stars in the background glittered, though the moon hung in pensive silence, the rest of the world began a chorus of disdain. It whistled its surprise in the wind that stole through emptying branches. It chuckled mockingly with every falling leaf. A coyote began to yap, was followed in succession by a dozen of its hungry mates, the lot of them signing a prayer of triumph that the world would be retrieving a prized champion from the clutches of a foolish boy.
"You know what?" Simon finally sputtered. "Just forget I said anything. I'm being stupid. It's really not even a big deal—"
"You're not being stupid," Jonas sighed. He lifted his chin and set his jaw and all Simon could think of was granite: hard, impassive, cold – yet so damn beautiful. Simon shivered, drew his shoulders in once again and hunched over his own lap.
"Listen," Jonas reached for his hand and the tone in Jonas' voice made him want to shrivel up from the inside out.
"You should have kept your mouth shut," Simon's conscience tut-tutted.
Jonas tightened his grip with Simon's clutch. "I'm only going to say this once ... "
Simon closed his eyes against his mind's derisive tone. "Couldn't just be happy with what you had, could you?"
"If he hurts you, I'll kill him."
Simon frowned, suddenly confused and looked up to catch Jonas' eyes. They were dark, hard – coal without a touch of fire.
"I'm serious," Jonas said, emphasizing the words with a gritting of teeth that made his jaw flex even harder. "No one gets to beat on you. If he tries it, I'm going to make him pay for it."
"Wh—?"
"I know you're scared that your dad—"
Simon shook his head and cut Jonas off. "I'm not afraid of my father?"
Jonas huffed a breath of complete exasperation. "Then why have you been acting like a spooked kitten all night?"
"Not because I'm afraid of my father!" Simon laughed without mirth. "He might hate me for what I'm about to tell him but he's not going to hurt me. I mean, sure, he's kicked my ass before. But nothing I didn't totally deserve. Why would you ... I mean ... " He wasn't sure if he was going to pass out from relief or jump up and start dancing. "So, you're not mad at me? For wanting to tell them?"
Realisation dawned on Jonas' face so dramatically it was comical. "Wait a minute. You mean to tell me that you've been jumping around like a beetle in a frying pan because you thought I was going to be mad? Why the hell would I be upset that you wanted to tell your parents about us?"
Simon gripped Jonas' hand that much tighter. "I don't know? Maybe you'd think it was too serious? Or that I was expecting too much? It's not like you ... ever ... " Simon looked away and shook his head.
"Like I ever what?" Jonas prompted.
Another shrug. Another head shake. "It's not like you ever say you like me or anything."
"I say I like you all the—" Jonas stopped himself with a press of palm to mouth that worked its way up to a full rub of barely-there hair. "Simon," he started again, voice low and quiet. "I like you. The only reason I've kept my mouth shut and our encounters on the down-low is because that's how you were playing it. I don't need to remind you that you were the one sneaking around peeking in my windows, right?" He held up his palm to silence Simon when Simon made to reply. "You think I give a fuck if anyone knows? You think I care if your parents don't like me? People can suck my dick for all I care."
"I would prefer if they didn't," Simon interjected with a small grin.
Jonas eyed him. "If you want my opinion, you should have told your parents months ago – the minute you realised you wanted to come back and see me as a matter of fact. And you should have told them you were gay six years ago."
Simon tilted his head and pursed his lips. "Six years ago I was only thirteen."
"Un hunh," Jonas nodded. "And you probably already knew five years before that. So don't give me your shit. But my point is, it's your life – not mine. You do what you need to do. Don't ever think I'm going to be mad at you because you need to come right with someone. Especially not someone that's important to you. I'll just be back here keeping an eye on you while you're doing it. Because that's what I need to do."
Simon didn't say anything for a long minute. He just leaned his weight towards Jonas' wide shoulder and rested there. A small grin broke across his face. "So you like me, hmm?"
Jonas snort-laughed. "You don't need to hear it a million times."
Simon grinned, nudging into Jonas with enough of a shove to make them both rock. "How about just once more then?"
"Tell you what," Jonas wrapped his arm around Simon's waist and tugged him. "You come over here and I'll say it again."
The scramble onto Jonas' lap was an easy one. "Like this?" Simon whispered, resting his forehead against Jonas'.
Jonas cupped the back of Simon's head with one hand, drew Simon's hips that much closer with his other and leaned back, pulling Simon down with him. "More like this." And suddenly Simon didn't need to hear the words again – he could feel them: in the way Jonas' hands worked too hard at pulling out his shirt; the way they paused and just let heat transfer from back to palm when they finally succeeded, like the touch alone was worth the effort. In the way body movement became instinct as their hips sought friction against one another. In their kiss. Sex with Jonas was always fantastic. Blame it on his lack of previous experience, call it a case of obsession, whatever the driving factor was behind it, Jonas had an uncanny ability to blow Simon's mind with sex. This though, this moment, just felt different. As if with every kiss they consumed a little of each other, transferred some of one into the other and offered it back in turn. It was heady and consuming and nothing else mattered. Until Jonas rested swollen lips against Simon's flushed ear and repeated the words with a raspy voice, "I do like you, Simon. I like you a lot."
Only then did Simon realise that he'd desperately needed the confirmation. Just so he could tell himself later that he had definitely, most-assuredly, one-hundred-percent heard it for real. His cock throbbed in time to the gasp that fell from his tongue in response; his body shuddered as his mind digested the words and answered with a leak of fluid that spotted the front of his jeans shamelessly.
"Damn, kid," Jonas chuckled low and husky, "I do like how much you like what we do."
Before Simon's conscious mind understood what his body was doing, he'd already leaned into Jonas' neck and had both hands shoved between their bodies, desperately working at the fastenings of Jonas' pants. His own breath warmed him, radiating back from Jonas' skin with every word he spoke. "Need to feel you, Jonas. In me, in you, I don't even care. Just need to be together, okay?"
"We can do 'in' later," Jonas grunted, rearranging hips and sucking in tummy to allow Simon space to move his hands and draw Jonas' cock out of the open V of his jeans. And the moment Simon was holding Jonas' body in his hands, Jonas redirected Simon to his own button fly. "You now. Just take your cock out for me before your pants are too wet to wear back home."
Simon didn't argue even though his palms itched to stroke Jonas harder. He merely lifted himself up and followed instruction. His body ached to be free of the denim, the tip of his cock slipped wet and slick in its trappings and he managed to loose five buttons faster than he'd ever done before. Damp underwear was drawn off his body and Jonas' grab, firm squeeze and low groan did things to Simon's body that made him wonder how in the hell he'd be able to wait for Jonas to catch up to him.
"Lie back down," Jonas told him. "Let me feel you up against me."
Once again Simon went along with directive but he couldn't stop the sound of frustration from getting mumbled into Jonas' neck when he found his place over Jonas' body again. Frotting was fine – as warm up. His body was well past needing to be coaxed though. He wanted more. So when Jonas reached between them and wrapped his hand around both their cocks, disappointment became a long moan of appreciation.
"There we go," Jonas sighed. "That'll work, hmm?"
Simon's answer was a grunt, a shove of hips, and a rush of hot air against Jonas' neck. Simon wasn't sure what felt better – the friction of palm assisted by his own precum, the way Jonas' cock pulsed against his, or the eroticism of the knowledge that two bodies were closer then they'd ever been before. He moved his hips in time to Jonas' grip and it was a beautiful feeling. Hot. Scintillating. It made his spine tingle and his toes curl in his boots. It inspired thought to go flying and left sensation to sit on the throne of his psyche. The temperature of the air lost all importance as body heat conquered frost and wind. Dark was pointless as Simon was lost in the steady twist and fade of colour behind his closed eyelids.
Jonas nudged a stubbled chin into Simon's cheek and teased him with a chuckled, "You better wait for me," while fluid dribbled its reminder that Simon was enjoying the touch at a far quicker pace than Jonas was.
Not my fault, Simon tried to pant but the sound was no more than a weak, "Nah-mm."
"Wait," Simon repeated silently. "Don't you dare," he warned his body without speech. "No!" he insisted as his body reacted to the manipulation. Yet every admonishment sent another gasp, another whine of heated need over Jonas' neck until the patch of skin under Simon's lips was wet with the condensation of breath.
It was the sounds of Simon's pleasure that drove Jonas forward. Simon could tell by the way Jonas' cock responded against him. He distracted himself by latching on to Jonas skin: sucking, licking, even biting around the trill of gratitude his throat continued to offer.
"Wait for me," Jonas rasped. "I want to feel you cum with me. I want to know your cock's feeling what I am."
Simon fought the wave of bliss the words brought him even as his body arched closer, seeking more in a frantic attempt to reach completion. "God, Jonas, fuck!"
The plea was more apparent than the praise. The need was real and the fighting of it all but impossible.
"Can't, Jonas, please. Need, fuck, ah!" Both fists grabbed Jonas' jacket, both feet dug into the stone beneath them, he opened his mouth to order himself to stop, as if somehow speaking it out loud might make his body pay more attention to his brain, but derision became a shout of relief as Jonas' free hand shot between them, pried t-shirts up in a collective slide of both fabrics and heat spilled in tandem.
"Damn," Simon whispered, his body trembling with exertion and the sudden rush of cold air. "That was ... damn."
Jonas laughed. "Good damn? Or bad damn?"
"Dunno," Simon shook his head. "Good probably. Can't really think."
Jonas hummed his approval and tugged Simon closer, lowering his chin to catch Simon's mouth in a kiss, breaking the kiss to murmur, "I like it when you can't think. You're fun when you forget how to reason."
Simon dropped his head to Jonas' shoulder, not caring the least at the squelch of skin pressing against wet skin or the creep of cold into the slivers of bared flesh. "Do we really have to go back?"
Jonas' hands stroked the nylon over Simon's back in a steady lift and fall – down the length of spine, over the swell of ass, lift back to shoulder, and start the process over again. It was soothing, relaxing, comforting. "No," Jonas answered. "We don'thave to do anything. But no one's expecting you back until at least noon tomorrow. I think we could get better use out of a nice warm bed than this rock, don't you?"
"And the couch," Simon grinned.
"And the countertop," Jonas agreed.
"The coffee table."
"The floor."
Simon laughed and rose. "I suppose no cloth?"
"Might be a rag in the truck," Jonas suggested, ignoring his own proposal and pulling his shirt down over the mess on his torso without even a grimace.
Simon shrugged and followed suit, untangling his legs and sliding off Jonas' lap when prompted with a light smack on his thigh. He curled his lip and shuddered as he yanked his jacket down over the seeping shirt. "The shower might be a good place to start."
As Jonas picked up the few items around the fading fire, the cooler, the half-gone six-pack, the still-bound sleeping bag, Simon shifted the coals flat and doused them in sand. By the time they were both seated in the truck Simon was more than sure his fingers had frozen solid. "Good thing we didn't set up a tent or anything," Simon said, gritting his teeth to keep them from chattering.
Jonas looked over his right shoulder with a half grin and turned up the heater.
Simon narrowed his eyes. "You had no intention of spending the night here, did you?"
Jonas cupped his hands together and blew on them once before shoving them under opposing arms. "Kid, I might look pretty tough but I'm still a city boy at heart. Why the hell would I want to sleep on a rock when I pay six hundred bucks a month to sleep on a mattress?"
"Well let's get the hell out of here then," Simon smiled. "And put your money to good use."
Jonas laughed, released the brake and shifted the truck into gear. He stopped mid-roll though, turning his body and holding Simon's gaze. "Listen, you want me to be there when you talk to your daddy you just let me know."
Simon nodded, "I'll let you know." He looked away, shot a glance out at the half moon and the stars and told himself it was the heater kicking in when a warm flush worked its way from his head to his toes.
The End
Copyright © 2012 AF Henley
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