Meanwhile, outside Deanna got a better look at the angry clouds, and knew Kapena had been right—those clouds were headed quickly and resolutely in their direction. They'd have rain before long. She could smell it, and took deep, cleansing breaths of it, hoping it would temper her anxiety about what was happening inside Peter's tent. She hoped it wouldn't come to blows. There was tension in the air—she could feel it even out here. She likened it to a live electrical wire snapping back and forth.

Needing something to do, she began to set up the tent she and Davy had brought, hoping to keep her mind busy by concentrating on remembering how Davy had shown her to do it. It was also a good distraction, one she really needed right now.

"Peter, this is . . . difficult," stuttered Davy after he'd taken a few moments to gather himself and regroup. He sat down on Peter's sleeping bag then with slow, quavering movements as if he were a man more than three times his age.

"I'm sorry, man," he began. "God, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to sound so abrasive. But this is all so . . . disturbing. You see, Pete, this is a real eye-opener for me, you know. I didn't know you had . . . inclinations in that direction."

Peter tried to look at the situation through Davy's eyes, and realized how leery he himself would be if Davy had said something like that to him, especially if his feelings didn't match Davy's. Even though he knew Davy well, and trusted him, it could still absolutely be on the creepy side. This had been a big pill for Davy to swallow.

"I don't . . . have those . . . inclinations," he said. "This isn't much of an explanation, or any help toward getting you to understand, but, the fact is, I don't feel like this about other men."

Davy's attention and interest were whetted at this. He cocked his head slightly. "You don't?" Now he was more flummoxed than ever.

Peter shook his head. "No. My sexuality is geared toward women, just like you. But for some reason, you flip a switch in me. You electrify me."

Davy hid a smile at Peter's rather eloquent way of expressing himself.

"Only me?" Davy couldn't help feeling flattered, even though it felt like it was bad form considering the subject they were discussing. Peter nodded, watching Davy's delving brown eyes, trying to read them.

"Sit down, Peter," Davy knew Peter was reluctant to, so he scooted over, carving out an opening, giving Peter plenty of room.

Peter did as told. "Yep, only you," Peter answered Davy's question as soon as he had seated himself.

Davy was soundless for a minute as he reflected on the past. Then he slowly turned his head to Peter, sitting beside him, and said, "So it wasn't the music."

Now it was Peter's turn to be confounded. "Say what?"

"The music . . . I thought that was what caused those strange . . . sensations in me. You know . . . the rhythm, the tempo, the instrumentation, the words . . . and of course, your bass." He said the last two words with an emphasis that could almost be called reverence. "There's that feeling of closeness too."

Peter digested every word with an eye toward safekeeping Davy's words in a guarded place in his heart. Sounded to him like maybe Davy was feeling affectionate, yet also getting aroused when the band played together, although there was no way he was going to say that out loud.

"Well, I was certainly in the dark about that!" he said. Much safer choice of words.

"But I didn't . . . have an inkling it could be you causing it. Now you really have me wondering."

"Maybe the music played a part, cuz I've had those feelings too when we're playing."

Now Davy was getting scared. He was in love with Deanna—he knew he was, yet, here he and Peter were, reminiscing about feeling lusty when they were near each other, playing their music. And he had to admit—Peter stood right next to him when they played. So close that their faces came within inches of each other when they turned their heads to smile when the music sounded exceptionally good. Peter didn't have to stand quite that close. And neither did he.

Or when they laughed together. Their humor was similar. Not quite as goofy as Micky's, and not as dry as Mike's.

And when Peter had given him some basic lessons on his bass guitar, Davy had briefly wondered why he seemed to be having some trouble catching his breath when Peter leaned in close to place his fingers just so on the fret board.

The memories were pouring in now. All the little things that he hadn't paid that much attention to. He'd been denying it to himself all this time.

Yeah, he'd let himself assume it was the music that had that intoxicating effect on him, but in looking back, he could see a definite connection to Peter that had been there since early on. It was a summary of all the time they spent together, all the good times they'd had.

Oh God, he had to talk to Deanna! How could he have let her leave the tent, and be by herself at a time like this, when she must be feeling, well, left out. In a huge way. He sure hoped not.

"We have to talk to Deanna before we talk anymore to each other," he explained to Peter. "She's out there wondering what is on our minds, and probably worrying too."

Peter, natural empathy practically oozing from him, understood. Poor Deanna had to be scared she was going to lose Davy, especially considering they were in here alone, talking about the very thing she might well feel threatened about.

Davy and Peter emerged from the tent, and no one appeared to be bruised or bloody, and that was one hell of a relief to Deanna. Davy had a slightly flat, vapid look of numb shock on his face, and that didn't surprise her. Peter's confession had knocked him flat, just as it had her.

Davy and Peter took over with the erection of the tent, and just in time, as it began to pour shortly after. Deanna couldn't figure out what mood Davy was in, but he didn't seem to be overly distressed, even though he still had the flat affect. Neither did Peter, but Peter always seemed to have a permanent smile on his face, so that didn't shed much light on where the guys stood currently.

Later, as they sat in Peter's tent, the three of them eating cold canned beef stew out of paper bowls because they had no fire to heat it up, they danced around the subject that was on all their minds.

"I thought it was the music, you see," said Davy to Deanna. "Playing music can do some pretty powerful things to certain people. They feel connected, linked, in a way. I'd heard about it before, but wasn't sure what it was all about. Peter and I would smile at each other, and I felt odd, but I didn't put a label on it. Maybe I was afraid to . . . "

Peter picked up the slack. "I think we all feel it when we play, but with David and myself, well, it was in a whole different category."

Deanna hadn't known how to feel before, but now everything was becoming more complicated by the minute. Was Davy admitting he was attracted to Peter?

What was she going to do with this?

Come on, guys. Just throw me out in the cold, now that you just realized you're gay.

She was beside her on the inside, but didn't let it show on the outside. She had to maintain some semblance of dignity and maturity, whether it killed her or not. And right now, it was killing her.

"I think it was brewing inside us for a very long time," said Davy.

"Years," agreed Peter.

How could they talk about it like this—so casually?

"Deanna," said Davy. "We need to talk about this alone. Peter, is it okay if we go to our tent?"

"Sure. But first, Deanna, um . . . I don't want you to think anything will change. I respect you and Davy are together, and I'm not going to try to . . . " but he couldn't find appropriate words to finish his endless stream of thoughts.

And no wonder. They were all still pretty much stunned over it all. Slammed up against a wall, and crumpled on the floor was how it felt.

Deanna nodded to Peter, then took Davy's hand, and they left the tent. Even though their tent was only feet away, they got pretty wet.

"Those are some big drops. Nothing like what we have in Malibu," said Davy, sitting down and pulling her down beside him.

"I know." They shared a towel, eyeing each other surreptitiously.

"Deanna, first, I want you to know that I still love you. And that I'm sorry I didn't realize I felt something for Peter so that I could tell you—warn you, before you and I got serious. I really, truly, didn't know."

Deanna spoke from her heart picking her words carefully. "I could tell, Davy, by the look on your face that you had no idea there were ah . . . sparks between you two. Peter just brought it out into the open, but regardless, it was there all along, and it was bound to surface sooner or later."

"Please don't tell me you don't want anything to do with me now . . . ?" Davy suddenly let his torment out, and without another word, he buried his face in her shoulder and began to cry softly. He was terrified—petrified of losing Deanna. They'd come so far, and he'd tried to nourish the relationship at every turn, with every gesture. Now this had emerged and he felt the threat to their love hanging over their heads, looming there like the clouds outside, and he allowed his tears to emulate the downpour.

Deanna held the back of his neck with one hand and the small of his back with the other, rubbing gently. She was caught off-guard by this very emotional display. Davy might be tough in many ways, but he was also susceptible. He was human.

"Of course I still want you, Davy," she crooned. He was shivering, and not from the rain, but from uncurbed emotion.

He'd held himself together until now, but seeing her effort to understand had broken him down. She was so sweet, so accommodating. He felt crushed in an instant, furious with himself, yet caring for these two people with explosive vexation that had him wailing from within. He was in love with her, and his feelings for Peter were conflicted. His affection and loyalty toward Peter couldn't be denied, but the other stuff . . . it filled him with consternation.

The future was looking pretty divergent right now. How could he possibly be in love with Deanna, and still harbor feelings for Peter?

"Let's go back to Peter's tent," said Deanna after Davy had pulled himself together enough to talk again without losing his voice to sobs.

"Why?" he asked.

"It's leaking in this tent," and she shook her head, spraying Davy with the evidence. So she'd been sitting there with the rain dripping onto the top of her head, letting him cry, without saying a word. A laugh escaped him.

The rain had stopped some time ago, and Davy and Peter, at Deanna's urging, had gone for a walk along the beach, conversing, exploring each other's minds, trying to unearth how this had all come about. And most importantly, how they were going to get a handle on it. At least, thought Davy, they were facing it head-on.

Peter was much more clear-headed and unburdened by the world than Davy. He didn't have a jaded bone in his body. He was able to lay things on the line, and making no bones about it, he told Davy what was in his heart. It was hard to listen to, but necessary. He told Davy of his attraction, his yearnings and longings in a diluted kind of way, but still leaving no room for doubt.

He didn't go into detail, but he knew that Davy was aware of the sexual excitement that he had experienced, wondering if Davy ever felt that way too, but would likely never let on about.

Davy wrangled with his inner battles, called upon his considerable dauntlessness to get him through this heart-to-heart with his best friend. He had to do it—for Peter, himself and Deanna. He had spunk and valor, and he was determined to use it. He had to use it. Otherwise he'd end up letting someone down. And perhaps most of all, he could easily let himself down if he didn't strive to be his own hero.

So he threw himself into it while Deanna waited in the tent, stewing, worrying and overthinking everything.

Just her luck. She had fallen for a guy who was attracted to another guy. This was precisely why she'd stopped dating before she'd met Davy. Something negative always happened, but this one beat out all the others out by a mile. Nothing common or ordinary about it. It was by far the most bizarre.

A shadow crossed the front of the tent, casting itself over her, and even though Deanna was lying facing the back of the tent, she knew instantly who it was. No one else made her skin prickle like that, put her senses on high alert, the feeling of anticipation trickling into her steadily. She took a deep breath, and felt internally, through no external sources, that it was Davy. No one else she knew had the kind of presence he had.

No matter how much time she spent with him, if they were separated, even if only briefly, she always got this feeling when he returned. Like a bottled-up kind of yearning. The warmth spread like warm desert sand being poured over her entire body as his shadow gradually covered her completely. The anticipation sizzled on her skin, and she turned over to see him standing over her, all alpha-like and sexy looking as hell.

The late afternoon sun played on his muscled biceps, as he was shirtless. His hairy legs tantalized her, the sculpted shape of them developed by riding fast, difficult horses for years, made her crave him, even though her thoughts were a tangle of disarray.

"Can you ever forgive me?" he asked. The silence immediately following his words pulsed in her head.

She sat up. "For that? What have you done wrong?"

Davy looked puzzled. "Nothing. But if I'd had any doubts at all about my feelings for you, believe me that I wouldn't have chased after you the way I did. I love you, Deanna."

"I love you too, Davy. But we have to face that there seems to be a . . . complication here."

"I know. What are your gut feelings about it? Because, frankly, I'm not wanting to mislead anyone. The fact remains though, that Peter and I have been 'flirting,' for lack of a better word, for ages. I don't know how that might affect you."

"Are you kidding?" Deanna raised her eyebrows. "You think I haven't noticed? It's something neither of you are good at keeping under wraps."

"Is it that obvious?"

"Not so much in public, but semi-public and in private, yes. The thing is, Davy—I don't want you to try to be anyone other than what you are. That includes you 'flirting' with Peter. I want the real Davy, or no Davy at all," she said it with conviction, because she meant it.

"Peter's cute," she went on. "I can see why you'd be so attracted. But there's so much more to him. He has nice qualities besides the physical. He's intelligent, sweet, and considerate. Everything a person could want in a man."

"But I'm another man!" protested Davy.

"Doesn't matter," she countered. "Who says a person can't be attracted to both sexes?"

"But it's only Peter, not any other male. He said he felt that way too. I am the only male who attracts him too."

"I get that. And the last thing I want is for you to start repressing your emotions toward him. I don't want to be influencing you one way or the other. I want you to be yourself. And part of you is attracted to Peter. I want the whole package, not just part of it."

"What are you saying?" he eyes bored into her own. He wanted her precise thoughts. He was demanding it in his own way, but he didn't have to demand. The message was received, loud and clear.

"What I just said, Davy. I don't want you changing your behavior around Peter just because it's the three of us here now. Do you have strong doubts about your feelings?"

"Yeah. But not about you. I was, and am, drawn so much to you. I dig Peter, but I didn't think it went any deeper than that."

"But it does, doesn't it?" she pressed.

"Still not sure. Not even after Peter and I busted our guts for the last hour, squeezing every drop of insight we could from each other. I don't dig this. I can't leave you hanging and wondering, Deanna, I don't know what to do . . . "

"Then let's make it simple. You don't have to worry about anything because I want you just as you are. If you want me, you still have me. But don't change your habits with Peter, please."

Davy sighed and sat down next to her. "Okay then, I won't. But I don't want it upsetting you."

"It hasn't yet, has it?" she asked.

"It hasn't seemed to. But you didn't know the whole story before."

"Well, I do now. I just want this to evolve however it would have anyway. Davy, listen. I wouldn't ever want to come along and start calling all the shots, telling you what you can and cannot do, being bossy. I love you for what you are, regardless if you are attracted to Peter or not."'

She couldn't believe how un-jealous she was being.

He seemed to finally get it, after experiencing a kind of dull haze ever since Peter had confessed. He felt selfish, even though he'd never done anything sexual with Peter, or even come close to it. But like she'd hinted at, he hadn't recognized the feelings before now. Those strange stirrings that had been so frequent that now it was hard to believe he hadn't realized it was more than mere fondness.

It had started to rain again.

"We're not gonna be able to fix that tear in the roof tonight. It's dark, and it's raining too hard. We'll all catch pneumonia. Besides, no one has a needle and thread, do they?" Davy searched Peter and Deanna's faces with his flashlight. They both shook their heads, squeezing their eyes closed against the brightness of the strong light.

"Sorry about that," Davy apologized, lowering the flashlight quickly as rain drops dripped from his hair and down into his eyes. Deanna shook herself to rid her mind of how appealing he looked when wet.

"Well, we'll all just have to sleep in Peter's tent tonight," Davy said simply, as he began grabbing their bags and suitcases, handing the sleeping bags to Peter and Deanna.

Deanna worked at laying out the sleeping bags so she wouldn't have to try to make conversation. What a day it had been. Searching for Peter on an unstabilized sea, finally finding him, hearing the news about the two guys, and now a leaky tent that couldn't be repaired—at least not tonight, and having to sleep in a small tent with the two of them, carnal thoughts hovering above their heads like something wicked that is restrained by a chain. It would take only one weak link to break the chain, and then who knew what might come about? Peter and Davy lashing out at each other would not be ideal while they were forced to be in close contact in the small tent. Of course, if it hadn't happened by now, it probably wouldn't, she reasoned.

Deanna doubted there was a shred of violence in either Peter or Davy that would be directed at each other, but it still made her tense. It was a very basic, animalistic instinct that men seemed to share in common with wild beasts.

Competition.

But the guys weren't competing over a woman. So what would they be competing over? To see who could resist who the longest? Could that set off male aggression? She had no idea.

In this case, she and Peter were competing for Davy. Not literally, of course, but it was a really odd, almost funny thought. Deanna did however, know very well what was on Peter's mind, because she'd heard him say it in so many words. He wanted Davy. And it should have felt like a bad scene, but didn't because there was something she found in it that was very close to humor. Good God, was she losing her mind?

They talked in the near dark of the tent for a while before settling in to sleep.

"So how'd you get to Molokai, Pete?" asked Davy, having been curious about it, but with other things coming up, had forgotten to mention it.

"Oh, some grimy guy with a crappy, flimsy little kayak, is that what you call them?"

Davy nodded.

"Anyway, I didn't know if we'd make it here alive or not. I lost count of how many times we almost turned over. The whole experience scared me half out of my wits. All he cared about was smoking his cigarette, and had to stop rowing now and then to light another one from the previous butt. It was traumatizing, with the waves. And getting past the coral to the shore was like tempting fate every time we narrowly missed it. Man, it would've been a gas if it hadn't been my life that was on the line!"

Davy shook his head. "Gotta be more careful, babe. We used Kapena. He's well known all around the islands. At least he's safe, and he's been doing it for years."

"Yeah, I noticed you came in a canoe. Looked a whole lot safer."

"Even with Kapena it was dicey, but I can't imagine what you went through," reflected Davy. He could just picture Peter drowning out at sea, and that caused a sharp ache in his chest.

"And I stole the keys to the jeep from your room. I'm sorry about that," Peter looked dismayed.

"It's alright. Forget about it. At least you sent the jeep back," Davy smiled.

"We called Mike and Micky before we picked you up at the airport," Davy changed the subject upon seeing the regret returning to Peter's face. "Mike was cracking me up. I asked him how things were going, and he said, 'Well, considering ah've got Micky to contend with . . . alone, how do you think things are goin'?"

Peter tried to envision that in his mind. Mike making mostly futile efforts to keep Micky's energy level down enough to survive it. Because when Micky got weird and wild, it was truly a matter of survival. And there was no one else there to subdue the wild beast, buffer the craziness, but poor Mike, who leaned more toward the quiet side. Nope, those two weren't a good match to be left alone together.

"Bummer for Mike," said Peter. "Oh, and by the way, David, you don't do a southern accent very well."

They all laughed. "And you do an even worse British one!" Davy shot back.

Davy and Deanna had also called everyone else. Deanna's mother was still fretting, although she was running out of steam. She had more or less accepted that Deanna would come home when she was ready. Derrick had sounded like he had the blues, and Deanna knew why, yet she pretended not to notice, and just gave him a run-down of their activities. Cassie, of course, was glad to hear her best friend was sounding the way she used to—looking forward to good times, instead of always being bored and lethargic, only interested in her writing class. And the nice bonus was Deanna was very excited about her romance with Davy; that part was so obvious that there was no way Deanna could possibly have hidden it from Cassie.

With two sleeping bags spread on the floor and the suitcases and supplies shoved into the corner, there was barely room for the three of them to lay next to each other when it was time to call it a day.

Of course, it had to be the bigger tent that had the leak. Being squished together like this brought home the fact that there was an eerie unrest amongst them. Good or bad aside, it definitely let its presence be known.

The third sleeping bag was on top of Peter, and Davy and Deanna had a blanket over them. Everyone undressed under the covers, presumably putting their night clothes on. Deanna pulled her clothes out from under the blanket and threw them on Davy's own pile of clothes in the corner, making the mistake of looking down at him as she leaned over him.

There was frank desire burning bright in his eyes. Oh Heavens . . .

It would have been perfect. It had started to rain harder outside, and it could have been a very romantic setting.

If not for Peter. She gave Davy a look as if to say "Oh well," and laid down, curled up into his side as he lay on his back, and prepared to go to sleep. Peter was silent, but with the tent being so small, he was less than a foot and a half away from Deanna—too close for true comfort.

Her face was nestled up near Davy's neck, and she couldn't help herself as she kissed it, just because it was right there, so accessible. He grunted softly, a sign that the kiss had affected him in a way she hadn't intended. She hadn't meant to tease him, but a bolt of desire hit her unexpectedly at the sound. It was pure sensuality.

Davy turned on his side to face her, brushing her hair back so he could kiss her neck in turn. Uh-oh. This could lead to something that could catch Peter's attention with very little action, yet she didn't have the heart to push Davy away or tell him no.

He kissed her like he meant it, leaving no fragment of doubt behind. The waves of desire hit her full force, and suddenly she feared she'd give in whether common sense tried to speak up or not.

"Do you need me, baby?" Davy whispered into her ear a little later, after lots of kissing, when it seemed apparent Peter was asleep. Oh God. He was a long, slow drink for her unquenchable thirst.

"Yes . . .but—"

"I can be quiet," he whispered against her skin. She doubted that. But even if he could be quiet, she could in no way trust herself to be able to keep from making at least some noise.

Davy was naked. It wasn't just his chest that was bare, as she had previously thought. Not even underwear remained. She knew that when he pulled her up tight to him. It was a shock, but a very pleasant and arousing one. He licked her neck, then kissed her fervently, sucking her lips and groaning into her mouth. She hoped the sound of the waves drowned it out to Peter's ears. He was probably asleep, but what if he wasn't?

A warmth cramped her belly, and the fear of Peter maybe being awake dissolved. That was when she knew it would be a major undertaking to resist Davy. He would have excited her anyway, but the added spice of having Peter less than two feet away felt like a very naughty taboo—out of bounds. Yet she found herself responding, and kissing Davy back with even more wildness than he'd felt in her before, and that, in turn, fueled his fire until white hot flames were engulfing the two of them.

Peter wasn't, in fact, asleep yet. When he'd first heard something, he'd thought Davy and Deanna were just shifting around to get comfortable, but when he opened his eyes into bare slits, he saw Deanna with her face buried in Davy's neck, and he heard Davy make a small noise that sounded very interesting.

They weren't getting . . . frisky, were they?

Peter stayed completely, utterly still, although his pulse picked up its pace measurably. If they were to look over at him in the near-dark, they wouldn't be able to see how his eyes were open only a tiny crack. Soon the two were kissing, and Peter found himself getting impossibly aroused.

Things began to happen under the blanket that covered them, and when he heard sucking noises, he knew what it was. Davy's head had slipped down, under the blanket. Deanna's back was arched, and Peter knew he was kissing her breasts. Now Peter's hard-on was straining against the sleeping bag.

Chances were, they were going to do more, and Peter was suddenly aware he was going to hear it all. He hoped and prayed it would happen, even though it made him feel slightly ashamed.

He found himself listening intently, wondering what he'd hear next. A little later, he knew oral sex must be in progress, as the both of them were moaning softly, and he could hear the wetness of tongues and lips, and distinct suctioning sounds. They were both under the blanket, so he couldn't see a thing, but the blanket was alive with rippling activity, the sounds more than sufficient to drive him ever nearer to the edge.

Peter was afraid he'd explode if he so much as brushed his cock against anything. And he didn't dare touch it with his hands. The only other times he'd gotten this horny were when he would allow himself the luxury of fantasizing about Davy. And he didn't do that often because of the guilt that wracked him afterward. This was something he'd never been so close to, mentally or physically. Davy making love just scant inches away from him!

Davy was now easing himself over Deanna, his head back in view, above the top of the blanket, resting on his forearms, kissing her, and then Peter saw the blanket that was over them was moving. Davy's butt was moving, meaning he was either dry humping her, or was in the process of entering her.

The movement of Davy's hips increased in speed, and then there was no further doubt in Peter's mind that Davy was inside Deanna. He looked down at the blanket with his eyes only so his head wouldn't move. He could see the outline of Deanna's legs and knees, spread wide, and the motion of Davy's body pumping into her, his breathing labored and harsh. More liquid-like sounds told Peter how wet she was, and he felt the pre-come beginning to soak the head of his cock.

Davy and Deanna were both burying their heads into the pillow so their moans would be muffled. Even so, Peter could hear them, and it made him ache. He ached with the need to feel Davy's hands on him. He even imagined Deanna touching him too. Probably because of that, he didn't feel as much jealousy as he would have guessed. Imagining what Deanna was feeling had him too preoccupied to even think about jealousy.

Davy moved faster now, his hand going down, beneath the blanket, leaving Peter wondering what he was doing. Deanna's increased moans told him Davy was stimulating her with his fingers. Peter was so close to blowing his wad that his balls were drawn up tight, the skin of his cock tightening more each second. There were tissues in the corner where they'd piled all their stuff, but he couldn't get to them without alerting Davy and Deanna, and that would be totally humiliating because they would probably guess what had precipitated it.

Only minutes later, Davy went into fifth gear. He was driving into her fast and smooth, his expertise showing. Deanna's body was moving up to meet him. Peter wondered if the blanket might slip off—that was how vigorous they were. He wanted to see—that would be the ultimate trip. To see it in the flesh, the real thing. Not a mostly forced, fake porn scene on a movie or TV screen. And with it being Davy, well . . . all the better! The best. Yes, he had to admit it—the very best.

When Davy reached climax, it would have woken Peter if he hadn't already been awake. Even with the pillow as a muffle, Davy's cries and drawn out moans could be heard, and Deanna's were nearly as loud, having a pleading quality to them that aroused Peter so that he continued to balance on the very edge, in imminent danger of losing his grip and sliding right down the cliff.

Peter was able to hold off long enough to come when they did; all three of them within the same few seconds. So even if Peter let a few moans escape, chances were they hadn't heard him because of their own noise. Davy's hips continued to move in long, slow movements for a while, sporadically, getting the last bit out of it, kissing Deanna lovingly, and then rolling off her and holding her as they evidently went to sleep.

Peter was left with his hands overflowing with his own come, and not knowing what else he could do without attracting attention, he wiped it onto the sleeping bag and just hoped he'd be successful in scrubbing the stain out in the morning. Now he was going to have to sleep with that wet spot all night. But it was worth it—more than worth it . . . and then the scratching noise started.