One Tent My Forbidden Stepbrother novel · Chapter 2 of 24
Chapter 2: Night, Boys
Dad lies back down four feet away and Blaine's hand finds Perry under the one thin sheet; they say nothing, and Dad says a clear goodnight to a tent he was supposed to be asleep in.
Blaine was on his feet before the light reached the water.
Perry's mouth was still wet, his heart was going hard against his ribs, and he had one second to look like someone who had fallen into a creek.
He put a boot in the current up to the ankle and sat down on the rock.
The headlamp swung across the rock and stopped on Perry's face.
"Perry fell in," Blaine said.
"I can see that." Dad stood at the edge of the pines in his undershirt and pajama pants, squinting at them both. "Is he hurt?"
"My pride is hurt," Perry said.
"Blaine couldn't sleep, so I came to get him," he added, which was true in every word except the order.
"Mm." Dad's beam travelled down to Perry's wet boot, then up to Blaine's bare chest, then politely away to the trees. "The creek is loud tonight. I couldn't sleep either."
"Sorry we woke you," Blaine said.
"You didn't wake me. I woke up and you were gone, and I thought, well, that's two of them."
Nobody said anything to that.
"Come on," Dad said, and turned up the path. "Back before the owls start."
They walked behind him in single file with a yard of dark between them.
Perry could feel exactly where Blaine was without looking.
In the tent Dad lay down on his cot, pulled his blanket to his chin and clicked off the lamp.
Blaine took the outside of the bedroll, nearest the flap.
Perry lay down against him because there was nowhere else to lie, and the thin sheet came over both of them.
Their arms touched from shoulder to wrist.
Neither of them moved.
Dad's breathing slowed.
It took him ten minutes, and then the first long wave of snoring rolled out of him, whistle and all.
Under the sheet, a knuckle brushed the back of Perry's hand.
He thought it was an accident.
It came again, slower, and then Blaine's fingers turned over and closed around his wrist.
Perry's whole body went tight.
Blaine's thumb pressed the soft inside of his wrist, right on the pulse, and held it there, counting.
He moved Perry's hand down across the sheet and laid it flat on his own stomach.
His skin was hot and damp, and the muscle under Perry's palm jumped once and then held still.
Perry kept going.
He slid his hand lower, over the line of hair below Blaine's navel, and found the waistband of the shorts.
Blaine didn't breathe.
Perry pushed his fingers under the cloth and closed them around Blaine's cock.
It was already hard, thick and heavy, and it throbbed against his palm.
Blaine made a sound in his throat and turned it into a cough.
Four feet away, the snoring rolled on.
Blaine caught Perry's wrist again, hard, a warning that was not a warning, and then he let go and found the front of Perry's shorts.
His hand was huge.
It covered Perry completely, a dry hot grip that tugged once, firmly, from base to tip.
Perry bit the inside of his cheek until he tasted blood.
They worked each other in the dark without a word.
Blaine kept time with the snores.
He stroked slow on the long swell of Dad's breath and tightened on the whistle, and Perry matched him because he could not do anything else.
His thumb found the slick at Blaine's tip and rubbed it across the head.
Blaine's hips lifted off the bedroll a quarter of an inch.
"Don't," Blaine breathed, barely a sound, his mouth against Perry's ear. "Not if you want me quiet."
Perry did it again.
Blaine's breath broke against his neck, hot and ragged, and his hand sped up in a short rough pull that made Perry see white.
The sheet was an oven.
Perry's thighs shook.
He turned his face into Blaine's shoulder to smother himself and tasted salt and river water and the faint bitter edge of pine.
"Per," Blaine whispered. "Per, I'm going to."
"Do it."
Blaine came first, with a shudder that went through the whole bedroll, hot and wet across Perry's knuckles.
He did not make a sound.
He held Perry's wrist in a bruising grip and rode it out with his jaw clamped against Perry's hair.
Then his hand tightened around Perry again, deliberate, and finished him with three long hard strokes.
Perry came with his teeth in the canvas edge of the bedroll and his eyes shut tight.
For a long time neither of them moved.
The sheet stuck to them both.
Perry's heart slowly came down out of his throat.
Blaine's lips found his ear again.
"Tomorrow," he whispered. "Not here."
"Where?"
"Somewhere I can hear you."
Perry shut his eyes and felt, for the first time in two years, the full weight of Blaine's arm lying across his chest.
Perry opened his eyes.
The tent was quiet.
Dad's snoring had stopped, and Perry could not say when.
"Night, boys," Dad said into the dark, mildly and quite clearly.
Then the snoring started again, long and slow, with the whistle at the end.
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