A/N: Finally I'm getting into a kind of rhythm with the updates for this story! I enjoyed writing this chapter, and I hope you guys will enjoy reading it. I've been thrilled to get a good deal of feedback for this; it really means a lot. These chapters continue to deviate slightly from my plans as I write them, but not in any way that will change the ultimate outcomes. I think at this point there will probably be 10 chapters total plus an epilogue, and my new goal is to update this every Sunday. Thanks as always for reading and to those who have left comments and reviews so far, I really appreciate it!
Standing behind the camp's main building well after midnight, keeping an eye out for counselors or coyotes, Kyle takes a moment to marvel at the sudden and thrilling unpredictability of his life. He'd spent quite some time imagining the potential horrors and humiliations of fat camp, and had even allowed himself to fantasize about it going well, but he never would have guessed it would lead him here, in the cool air of the desert at night, breaking curfew as he watches his bunkmate, who is sort of becoming his boyfriend, dispose of a plastic bag full of candy bars in exchange for the promise of a blow job. Mostly he just really never thought blow jobs would enter into this experience at all.
"Do it already!" Kyle says in a projected whisper when Eric lingers there with the bag of candy, staring forlornly into the darkness of the dumpster as if he's steeling himself to throw the One Ring into the fires of Mount Doom. "What's the hold up?" Kyle asks, though he actually does feel some sympathy for Eric in this moment. The candy is a kind of safety net that he's pitching away, his secret stash that he brought along to make him feel better, and worse. Kyle can relate, though he didn't dare a bag of contraband himself.
"Farewell, old friends," Eric says, and he winces when he lets the bag go. It lands with a echoing thunk that Kyle finds appropriate for this scene: that's the sound of the weight Eric might have kept on if he ate all that junk food, and it was a heavy, solid noise, like a shackle he's shed. Eric stands there looking depressed for a few seconds, then turns to Kyle and grins. "Shall we do it here?" he asks.
"What - the blow job?"
"No, the merengue. Yes, the fucking blow job!"
"Hell no, I'm not doing it here! We need to get back before we're caught, and who would want a blow job by a dumpster, anyway?"
"Me. I'm not picky about the atmosphere when there's a mouth on my dick."
"Well, I am! Come over here. I'll give you something else."
Kyle puts out his hand and Eric dashes forward to take it. It's been a little weird since yesterday, mostly because Eric hovers and stares at him even when they're standing shoulder to shoulder, but Kyle has enjoyed being able to tell someone what to do, still a little surprised every time Eric actually obeys him. He pulls Eric around the side of the building, away from the unsightly dumpster, and surges up onto his tiptoes to kiss him. It's a little awkward, not as easy as kissing in bed had been, and Kyle pulls back when Eric moans into his mouth.
"Don't make that noise," Kyle says, whispering again.
"What noise?"
"That moaning kiss thing, it's weird."
"You're such a little bitch," Eric says, but when they kiss again he just sighs against Kyle's mouth, quietly. Kyle allows it until he hears a car on the road outside camp, and he pulls away from Eric's lips, sliding down to hide against his chest. Eric is breathing kind of heavily, probably getting an erection, his big hand splayed on the small of Kyle's back.
"We should go," Kyle says. "But, like. Before we do, I want to say - I'm really proud of you."
"Actions speak louder than words, Kyle."
"I'm going to blow you!" Kyle says, and his face heats from a combination of embarrassment, anxiety and annoyance. "Just not tonight. Tomorrow, during free hour, like I said."
"How will I be able to sleep?" Eric asks when they begin to walk back to the cabin. They're holding hands, because there's nobody around and no reason not to. Bebe and Tammy break into fits of giddy laughter every time Eric so much as stands near Kyle, but they haven't officially come out to their fellow campers as a couple yet. Kyle isn't even sure he wants to apply that term to whatever's going on, or that Eric does.
"I'm sure you'll get to sleep somehow," Kyle says. "I'm exhausted, personally." They had another light jog with Wendy in the morning, and this time Kyle was able to run for almost five minutes, though he felt like he might die toward the end of that stretch. Eric only managed half that and called him a show off.
"Well, goodnight, my friend," Eric says when they come to the door of their cabin, and Kyle appreciates being called a friend rather than anything more serious, though he also senses that Eric is about to say something annoying. "I'll be counting the hours until your lips encircle my dick."
"Keep saying stuff like that and they won't."
"Goddammit, Kyle, you can't keep censoring me! It's like everything I say is wrong." He seems sincere on this point, frowning, and Kyle feels bad, though he won't take back his criticisms of Eric's obnoxiousness.
"Just - goodnight," Kyle says, and he pecks Eric on the lips. "Tomorrow will be fun," he says, not sure if he can entirely believe this. He's nervous about sucking a dick. Eric swallowed his come yesterday, just gulped it down like it was no big deal, and Kyle isn't sure he wants to do that. In fact, he's pretty sure he doesn't. Inside the cabin, he climbs into bed feeling a bit queasy, and Eric is making his usual sleep-whimper noises long before Kyle manages to drift off.
Their morning workout is a somewhat embarrassing aerobic routine with Token, and Kyle's legs are trembling toward the end, mostly from the squats. Even his ass muscles feel sore as he makes his way to the nurse's station before breakfast, freshly showered and increasingly nervous. They have team building exercises with Wendy after breakfast, then comes Nutrition class and lunch, and finally their free hour. For Kyle it's not free: he's made a promise he intends to keep, but he's scared that he won't be good enough at sucking dick to convince Eric that throwing away his candy was worth it. More than that, he's just scared, though still curious enough not to want to call it off altogether.
"What's wrong?" Stan asks as soon as Kyle comes through the door of the nurse's station.
"Nothing," Kyle says. "What - why?"
"You just look - startled."
"Oh. I, uh. We had a hard workout."
Kyle hasn't talked much with Stan since they looked at Eric's medical file together. It's been awkward during Kyle's past few injections, ever since Stan found out that he's plotting to do things with Eric. Sitting on the exam table after he's taken his insulin, watching Stan put the supplies away, Kyle figures there's really only one way to dispense with this unpleasant tension between them.
"Can I get your advice on something?" Kyle asks.
"Of course." Stan jots Kyle's numbers in his little notebook and looks up. He's got a cautious look on his face, as if he's afraid he knows what Kyle is going to ask about, generally. "What's going on?"
"Is it easy to give a blow job?" Kyle asks, his face already turning very red. "Or hard?" He regrets the word 'hard,' instantly, the heat on his face seeping down to burn his chest and the back of his neck. Stan stares at him for a moment before sputtering wordlessly, his face getting pink.
"Dude, I can't - we can't talk about that kind of thing."
"Why not?"
"Because, uh! I'm - and you're-"
"I know, but I've already accidentally seen you having sex, so is this really that bad? Please, I'm really nervous."
"Kyle." Stan lifts his hands and then seems to restrain himself, taking a deep breath. He walks to the exam table, and Kyle is glad to have him closer during this conversation, though the proximity of Stan also makes his cheeks even hotter. "If you're nervous, just say no. And if he bothers you-"
"But I want to try it! I'm just. It's weird, the thought of doing it for the first time. How did you, uh. How was your first time?"
"I can't tell you about that, Jesus!"
"How come? Please? I don't need details, just a general idea."
"I was drunk," Stan says, so harshly that Kyle flinches. Stan shakes his head. "Sorry, I don't mean to shout at you, just. Don't look to me like some kind of example, please."
"But you're the only person I can ask!" He has also considered asking Bebe and Tammy, or even Henrietta since she's the oldest, but it's impossible to get a moment alone with them since Eric has basically attached himself to Kyle's hip. Kyle studies Stan's eyes, trying to make his pleading expression sympathetic and maybe even adorable. Stan looks adorable himself, confused and exasperated by Kyle's determination to have gay sex.
"Goddammit," Stan mutters, and he groans. "Alright, well, I'll say this much. If he's expecting you to do that for him, he should return the favor. If you want."
"Oh, he has. Already. Now it's my turn. He went first."
Kyle makes himself stop talking. He feels mortified and brave at the same time, his heart beating fast. Stan looks like he might cry, but only for a moment.
"Another thing I should mention," Stan says, and he sighs. "Hooking up with someone who doesn't treat you like you're - like you're something special is not so great."
"Craig doesn't treat you like that?"
"We're not talking about specifics, remember?"
"Oh, yeah, but. Well, honestly, Eric treats me like I'm special, most of the time. He-" Kyle stops himself from mentioning the wildflower, since Eric picked it against Stan's express wishes. "He kisses me and all that," Kyle says instead, muttering this. "And he does what I say. Not the other way around," he adds, firmly, because he's tired of Stan's assumptions that Eric is pressuring him into things he doesn't want to do.
"Well, that's good."
"So do you just kind of put your mouth on it, or-"
"Jesus." Stan rubs his hand over his face. "You're killing me, Kyle."
"Sorry."
"Didn't you, like. Watch? When he was doing it to you?" Stan winces and slashes his hand through the air as if to tell Kyle not to answer that. "What are you so worried about, anyway? If he's a nice guy like you say, he won't mind if you're not great at it right away. Just go slow. Demand patience from this - this kid who is lucky enough to be getting blow jobs at fifteen."
"Eric is sixteen."
"Christ. Of course he is."
Kyle is beaming, and he can't force the smile off his face. Stan said that Eric is lucky to have him, sort of. Kyle believes this is true, and there's no one he'd rather hear that from more than Stan.
"Quit grinning at me like that," Stan says. "You're giving me the creeps."
"What - why? No, I'm just happy. Thanks for talking with me like I'm not just some dumb kid."
"You're welcome. But it makes my stomach hurt, thinking of you with that kid. He's - he's got mean eyes."
"I know, but only at first. They get different if you're nice to him. He's just got a lot of baggage. I don't think he's had that many nice people in his life, until now."
"You are a very nice person," Stan says, nodding. "Just don't feel like you're obligated to help anyone with his baggage. Ever, please."
"Oh, I don't. I'm not running a charity here. I like, um. It felt really good, when he, you know."
Stan's eyes change then, and Kyle can see that he's gone too far. He slides off the exam table and heads toward the door, turning back when Stan doesn't follow.
"Are you coming?" Kyle asks, and it feels like another line he's crossed, saying that word, though he just meant to ask if Stan will walk him to the dining hall.
"Nah, I - I have to get some stuff ready, um. I'm doing the evening workout for your group tonight, so."
"Oh, good. Hey Stan?"
"Yeah?"
"You should dump Craig if he doesn't treat you right. You're special," Kyle says, feeling very awkward, and then he bolts for the door.
At breakfast, Kyle is full of restless energy, his foot bouncing under the table. He eats quickly and partners with Eric, Rebecca and Henrietta during the team building exercise, which is a game called Minefield, designed by Wendy and involving lots of shouting as blindfolded team members cross the pretend minefield one at a time. Kyle proves to be kind of bad at listening during his turns with the blindfold, but it's hard to concentrate with the other team yelling at their blindfolded person. Eric's voice is the loudest, and their team wins most of the games. At some point Kyle realizes he's actually having fun, laughing with Rebecca and Eric when Butters trips a "mine" and shrieks girlishly at the siren sound Wendy plays on her phone to indicate an explosion. Even Henrietta cracks something resembling an actual smile as Butters returns to the starting line to be consoled by Tammy and Bebe. By the time they're heading to Nutrition class Kyle has almost managed to forget his blow job anxiety.
"From now on, we're always on the same team," Eric says when they sit at their table together in the Nutrition lab. "In the team building games. Right?" he says when Kyle looks to the front of the classroom, distracted by his hatred for Craig, who is writing a recipe on the dry erase board. "Kyle?" Eric says, jabbing him in the ribs. "You're on my team indefinitely, you hear?"
"Sure," Kyle says. "Why are you worried about it? It's not like there's a cash prize for whoever wins the most rounds of Minefield."
"But it's more fun when we're on the same side," Eric says, frowning a little. Kyle touches Eric's hand behind the lab desk, tickling his fingertips across Eric's soft palm. Eric makes a kind of half-swallowed noise and smiles. "Are you excited?" he asks, muttering this in a low voice. "You get dessert today, after lunch. Yummy dessert just for you."
"Gross!" Kyle says, but he's laughing, still in a good mood.
Craig of course manages to spoil this good mood as quickly as possible. He clears his throat loudly and stares at Kyle and Eric with stoic judgment when they turn toward the front of the classroom.
"If it's not too much trouble, gentlemen," Craig says, "I'd like to begin my lesson now. Do you mind terribly?"
Kyle and Eric say nothing, and Kyle's hands curl into fists. Craig didn't even give them a warning about the start of class, and it's not as if everyone else was silent until now. Craig continues staring as if he's waiting for an actual response.
"Go," Eric says to Craig, flat and unimpressed. Kyle is flooded with appreciation for him, resolving to swallow his come after all. "We're ready."
"How gracious of you," Craig says.
Shockingly, he starts the lesson without any further backlash, maybe because Eric was the one who spoke. If Kyle had been the one to attempt a sarcastic response he might have been dragged to the front of the room and spanked in front of everyone. He squirms in his seat, imagining that, and hopes that the class will pass quickly. He's eager to get on with their free hour now, wanting to lick Eric all over for not being intimidated by Craig. The meal they make after a lesson about how the body absorbs complex versus simple carbohydrates is zucchini over quinoa, and Eric makes theatrical gagging noises as he chokes it down. Kyle elbows him, not wanting to draw the ire of Craig, who is watching them expressionlessly from the front of the classroom.
"Quinoa is a trendy whole grain on the market today," Craig says as they finish their lunch, most of them eating more slowly than usual. To Kyle, the texture is like chewy sand, and the sliminess of the zucchini doesn't help. "Sadly, American demand for this health food is causing quinoa prices to rise in economies where the local people subsist off of this grain and cannot afford what is now being priced as gourmet health food. I don't recommend using quinoa in your cooking more than once a month, for this reason. Regardless, it is an almost perfect whole grain."
"An almost perfect whole grain," Kyle says on the walk back to the cabin, mimicking Craig's awful voice. "Jesus! I hate Craig."
"Yeah, he's pretty shitty," Eric says. Nervous excitement is flowing from him in radiation-like waves, or maybe that's just his body heat. Kyle might ask him to shower again before the blow job, but at the moment all he can really think about is the horror that is Craig and the incredible injustice of someone sweet, soft, and beautiful like Stan being at that guy's mercy.
"No, I mean, I really hate him," Kyle says. "Sometimes I lie awake at night because I can't stop thinking about how bad he is and how much better the world would be without him."
"Jesus, calm down. He's just some loser who eats hamster food and thinks everyone else should, too."
"It's not just that! He's mean. Why is he educating children when he clearly hates them? Huh?"
"I don't fucking know! But I will slash the bastard's tires if he's responsible for you being too pissed off to suck my dick."
"I'm not too pissed off. I'm ready. We're doing it."
"Are you sure? I've seen the damage you can do when you're mad. If you come at my dick with your Wolverine claws I'll be forced to defend myself."
"I won't hurt your dick." Kyle glances over at Eric, who actually looks a little scared. "Quite the opposite, actually," Kyle says, speaking softly, though there's no one else around. "I loved how you talked to Craig. How you just told him to 'go' like that, like he was being an asshole, because he was. Honestly, like. It made me want to suck you off so bad."
He barely knows what he's saying, but he loves the effect it's clearly having on Eric, his breath coming faster and his pupils dilating.
"Fuck," Eric says, and his steps quicken. "You really are like me."
"Like you?" Kyle is slightly insulted by this assessment. "How?"
"You're a dirty little boy, Kyle. Aren't you?"
"Shut up! I am not. I'd never even kissed anyone before you."
"Aw, so it's just me, then? I turn you into a sex maniac? That's cool, I'm into that."
"Eric, for fuck's sake. Stop trying to sound seductive or whatever. Let me do the talking. I'm the one giving the blow job."
"I can't believe it's really happening!" Eric says when they reach the door of the cabin, and for a moment he seems very innocent, like an underprivileged kid who's about to unwrap his first ever birthday present. "You'd better not be pranking me."
"I'm not." Kyle opens the cabin door and ushers him inside. "Get in there and take off your pants."
The lights are off inside the cabin, and Kyle doesn't put them on. The front windows are covered by curtains that give privacy but don't block out the light, and there's plenty of visibility as Eric shoves down his pants and then turns his back on Kyle before taking his underwear off. His ass is enormous and dimpled with cellulite. Kyle turns away, feeling as if he's gotten ahead of himself, and adjusts the thermostat on the wall. He's sweating, and he knows Eric will be, too, once Kyle reaches the bed.
Kyle turns around to see that Eric has shoved his unclothed bottom half under the blankets on Kyle's bed, which Kyle appreciates, though he also feels badly about Eric's insecurity, as if he's caused it somehow. He thinks of the condoms but doesn't actually want some latex in his mouth, especially after having chewed on what tasted like little plastic beads during lunch. He smiles at Eric, who is fidgeting on the bed.
"Are you hard?" Kyle asks, though he can see that Eric is, at least partly, tenting the blankets.
"Yeah." Eric spreads his legs under the blankets, then brings his knees together again. "You know, if you're going to blow me, you're probably going to have to do it from this side of the room."
"I'm coming! I'm just setting the mood." Kyle is a little worried about the fact that he's not hard at all. He's just too nervous to manage an erection yet. His Craig-related rage has drained away, and it seems too quiet in the cabin, and outside, too.
"Do you want to see it?" Eric asks. He's very red across his cheeks and over the bridge of his nose. It's cute but not sexy, Kyle decides.
"Of course." Kyle walks to the bed, wondering if he should undress. He steps out of his shoes and sits on Eric's bed to pull off his socks. He can hear the blankets rustling, and when he looks up, there it is: Eric's cock, hard in his hand and getting harder as he strokes himself. His pubes are a sort of light brown that Kyle finds appealing. He's never liked the black ones, which look too grown up and sort of dirty in the porn he's encountered online. He looks up at Eric's face and stands to slide his track pants off. "Nice," Kyle says, feeling trembly and weird, though also a little aroused now. "Yours is, like. Super thick."
"That's right." Eric is still stroking himself, and Kyle can see him swallowing heavily. "Super thick for your pleasure."
"Ha. Yeah, so. Listen, I probably won't be good at this at first. But you can give me pointers."
"Oh, I'll give you a pointer," Eric says, stroking himself more fervently. "I've, uh. I've got your pointer right here, Kyle."
"Shut up," Kyle says, fondly, and he steps out of his track pants, walking to the bed in his t-shirt and boxers. Watching Eric touch himself has made him a little hard, but it's still odd to be in the presence of someone else's exposed dick, and even stranger to think that he'll soon have his mouth on it. Kyle drops onto the bed and stretches out along Eric's side, kissing his hot cheeks before dipping down to kiss his mouth. Eric grunts in an approving way when Kyle's tongue slides against his, and Kyle is glad he's not barking at him to get started already. He seems pretty into the kissing, actually, one hand cupping Kyle's face as his other arm slides across Kyle's back, pulling him closer. With his eyes closed, still kissing Eric's lips, Kyle reaches down blindly and feels his way over Eric's stomach, down to his surprisingly soft pubes, and they both moan when Kyle's fingers wrap around the base of Eric's cock. Kyle's eyes fly open and he sees that Eric is staring at him, wide-eyed with what seems like surprise, as if he really didn't expect Kyle to actually make contact with his dick. They breathe against each other, and Eric's eyelids lower slowly when Kyle begins to stroke him.
"Yeah," Eric says, his voice scratchy and low in a way that seems to speak directly to Kyle's cock, which is straining against the front of his boxer shorts now. Feeling bolder, he looks down at what his hand is doing and moans at the sight of his fingers encircling a thick cock, the tip leaking, Eric's big thighs trembling while Kyle strokes him.
"Fuck," Kyle breathes out, and Eric groans in agreement.
"Please," Eric says. "I'm gonna - gonna come just from this, if you don't - you won't have to suck it long, fuhh, Kyle, please-"
"Okay, shh." Kyle loves how jellified Eric is, how he whimpers a little when Kyle leans down to suck on his earlobe. "Gonna do it now," Kyle whispers, feeling powerful. Eric sighs and nods, his breath growing choppy.
The actual dick sucking task seems separate from Kyle's arousal, more scientific than hot. It's hot just to look at Eric like this, at the combination of his hugeness and vulnerability, his red face and his dick so hard that it's overflowing with a steady dribble of pre-come. When Kyle leans down to give it an experimental lick, just under the head, Eric groans and pushes his hips up needfully.
"Be still," Kyle says, squeezing Eric's thighs. They feel surprisingly good in his hands, and he squeezes again. "I won't be able to do it if you're wiggling around and humping the air."
"Kyle," Eric manages to say, staring down at him from under heavy eyelids. "Jesus, just-"
Kyle takes the head of Eric's cock into his mouth then, and he's disappointed by the taste and temperature of the pre-come: salty and lukewarm. He laps at it to get rid of it, and the pleasure of having the warm, full head of a cock between his lips comes to him slowly. Eric is doing a low groan thing, mostly staying still with the help of Kyle's hands holding his thighs in place. Kyle tries to move his head down further, his lips already straining around Eric's width. He gives up on that for the time being and just laps at Eric's shaft, licking it in orderly stripes from the base to the tip. Eric whines and trembles under Kyle's hands, almost sounding like he'll cry. Kyle hopes he won't. He likes this, he decides, the taste and the texture on his tongue. He's very hard in his boxers, though nowhere close to coming.
Eric, however, is right on the verge. Kyle can feel it, like they're connected, and he supposes they are. He takes a deep breath, as if preparing himself to go underwater, and attempts to get more of Eric's cock in his mouth, wrapping his hand around the base while he presses his lips downward. It's a weird sensation that makes him feel kind of panicky at first, then he remembers to breathe through his nose and it's fine, though still kind of a chore. He bobs his head a few times and Eric's shout takes him off guard. Suddenly there's hot come on Kyle's tongue, then on his lips when he pulls off with instinctual revulsion, then on his cheek. Without thinking, Kyle makes a slightly disgusted noise, wiping at his face. Eric is still trembling, come still dribbling from the tip of his cock, and Kyle likes the look of that very much. He runs his thumb through the sticky slit and grins when Eric whines, his thighs flinching.
"Goddamn," Kyle says when Eric peeks at him, going limp as his breath slows a little. "Did mine taste like this?"
"Like what?"
"Like - bitter? Sour? I'm going to rinse my mouth out, hang on."
Kyle is annoyed with himself for not having thought to put a bottle of water or juice on the bedside table for easy access, and as he's spitting water into the sink he begins to feel guilty for leaving Eric alone out there in the aftermath. He cleans his cheek, and when he returns to the room Eric has moved over to his own bed. He's lying on his side, his face partly hidden in his pillow, which he is clutching as if he's upset. Kyle wants to groan at this melodrama, but he restrains himself. He slides into bed with Eric, still hard, and hugs him from behind. It's not easy; Eric is big and sort of rigid at the moment, his eyes closed.
"Well, that was cool," Kyle says, and then he feels like an idiot. Eric scoffs. Kyle kisses his neck, which is fragrant with dried sweat, though not really in a bad way. "You okay?" Kyle asks.
"Did you hate it?" Eric's voice is partly muffled by the pillow, his shoulder lifted toward his cheek.
"No, man, I liked it. Seriously." He pokes Eric's thigh with his persisting erection, offering it as evidence.
"I used to do that when I hated it," Eric says. "Run to the bathroom and wash it all off. I didn't want to wash it off, with you. Because I liked it."
"Well." Kyle is slashed open by that, picturing Eric at this house in Nebraska, tearfully trying to get clean. "I'm just kind of a pussy about bodily fluids. And it was my first time. Sorry."
Eric sighs and rolls onto his back. His face is less red now, more pink. Kyle kisses him tentatively, leaving his eyes open.
"It was probably the quinoa," Kyle says. "That made it taste weird."
"Pineapple's supposed to make it taste good," Eric says, and rolls toward Kyle, letting Kyle tug him closer.
"Well, maybe I can get some contraband pineapple from Kenny."
"Is that who you got the condoms from?"
"Yep. He lives in that old restaurant. Don't tell anyone."
"Jesus." Eric frowns, but he opens his lips when Kyle kisses him more deeply. Kyle's dick is starting to ache with the need for release, but he supposes he can wait, because maybe they're having a moment. "You didn't let that creep fondle you in exchange for the condoms, did you?" Eric asks, spoiling the moment. Kyle rolls his eyes.
"No, Eric. Truthfully, you're the only one who's ever fondled me."
He feels bad for using that word, though Eric did so first. They kiss some more, and Kyle rubs his cock onto Eric's thigh as subtly as possible. Eric grins and reaches into Kyle's boxers to wrap his hand around it, his grin widening when Kyle gasps.
"How do you feel about rim jobs?" Eric asks, stroking him. Kyle moans inadvertently. It's one of his top three fantasies based on what he's seen in porn, but the reality also seems impossibly gross.
"Not now," Kyle says. "Just keep going, like that."
"You like that?" Eric seems to recover then, sitting up on his elbow and pushing Kyle onto his back. Kyle nods and closes his eyes, spreading his legs.
"God," Kyle says. "This is so - let's do this every day. Tell Clyde and Butters they're not allowed to come in here during afternoon free hour."
"You're goddamn right I will."
"Eric-"
"Yeah?"
"Fuck, gonna -"
Kyle grabs for Eric when he comes, squeezing his big shoulders. He's so squeezable, all of him, and Kyle even likes the feeling of being partially crushed under Eric's weight when they kiss, Kyle's leg coming up to wrap around as much of Eric as it can. For a while they stay like that, and Kyle notices that Eric is hard again. He realizes they could waste multiple free hours like this, taking turns, one erection renewing as the other one goes off. Or maybe they could figure out how to come together after practicing for a while, like synchronized swimmers. They could do anything; they could even have anal sex, which is number one of Kyle's top three fantasies based on porn. The summer has just begun, and Kyle already feels a few years older than he was when his mother dropped him off here. Pretty soon he'll catch up to Stan, emotionally. Experience-wise, even, maybe.
Thinking of Stan, he sits up and stretches. Eric is still holding him loosely, and he lifts up Kyle's t-shirt to mouth at his doughy side. Kyle laughs and squirms away when it tickles. He glances at the wall clock and sees they've only killed ten minutes of their free hour.
"Tell me about your life at home," Kyle says, because he feels like he can picture it clearly but doesn't know many actual facts. Eric snorts.
"Like what?" he says. "It's boring, it sucks."
"When I first came here, you said-"
"Yeah, I know what I said. Maybe I was trying to impress you."
"Me? Why? You called me a vile ginger and said you hate Jews. Do you seriously hate Jews?"
"I don't know that I used the word 'hate,'" Eric says, and he grunts when Kyle punches his shoulder. "Alright, fine. I don't know shit about Jews, really. Or, I didn't, before. Now I know they give good head."
"Fuck you!" Kyle says, and Eric sits up to grab him when he starts to rise from the bed.
"I'm kidding, asshole!" he says, hugging Kyle to him when he struggles feebly, feeling tired and wanting a nap, not sure that he and Eric could both sleep comfortably on one bed. He glowers at Eric, but allows him to kiss the tip of his nose. "Now I know, hmmm," Eric says. "That certain ginger Jews taste really good, and keep their dick sucking promises, and-"
"Okay, stop. I know you're 'joking' or whatever, but you seriously can't make generalizations about Jews based on whatever I do. I mean, you do know that, right?" Kyle is sincerely asking. Eric seems kind of smart, in a way, but also phenomenally stunted when it comes to social interactions of all kinds. He thinks of Eric's mother, the former beauty queen with the pedophile boyfriend. She may not have been the best influence.
"I know, I know," Eric mutters, kissing Kyle's neck. "Look," he says when he pulls back. "I don't actually give a fuck about religion or whatever. And I really – really like you. Really. Seriously."
"I'm getting that," Kyle says, and he snorts. He leans back onto the pillows, relaxing again. Eric stretches out alongside him and they mostly fit, but Kyle is overly warm, pressed up against Eric and his perpetually overheated physique. "What's your mom like?" Kyle asks when Eric plays with his hair, his boner resting pseudo-casually on Kyle's knee.
"She's like - I don't know. Like a mom."
"Not all moms are the same. Mine gives me a hard time about my grades if I get anywhere close to a B, and she says I should do more extracurricular activities, and complains that I don't make more of an effort to have friends - does yours do stuff like that?" He figures this is a good start, as opposed to 'is your mother a bigoted imbecile?'
Eric sighs as if this conversation is annoying him, and Kyle supposes he might have waited until he'd brought Eric off again to expect him to be forthcoming about his relationship with his mother, but it's too late now.
"She doesn't nag me about not having friends," Eric says. "Probably because she doesn't have any herself. She's weird. I know, like. I can tell, now."
"What do you mean?"
"She's just kinda messed up, but you can't tell by looking at her. She came from this white trash family full of fat asses - fatter than me, even." Eric gives Kyle a defiant look, and Kyle shrugs a little. He's not going to pretend Eric isn't fat, if that's what he's anticipating. "But she was like, the beauty queen," Eric says. "She didn't eat. 'Cause she didn't want to be like them."
"Jesus," Kyle says. "My mom was always kind of heavy. Which is why it pisses me off so much when she rides my ass for being 'unhealthy.' Though I guess - I mean, I know there's a difference. How about your dad? When did he leave you guys?"
"Ugh, god. Why do you want to talk about this shit?" Eric nudges Kyle's knee with his wilting dick, as if to suggest a different use of their time.
"Because I like you, too," Kyle says, scooting down to try to meet Eric's eyes. He manages it after Eric ducks his gaze a few times. "I do," Kyle says, cupping Eric's cheek. "You're interesting, and funny, and I like talking to you, so. Talk to me."
"I am. You want me to talk about my fucking dad? Fine. He was never married to my mom. That other family he has is his real one. He cheated on his stupid wife with my mom and knocked her up. The end."
"You've never met him?"
"No. I looked him up on Facebook when she told me. He played for the Broncos. He's got some kid who's older than me. A son. They're fucking gingers, my dad and his kid, but not like you. The kid is gross-looking, with freckles and all that shit. Goddamn, I hate gingers. You're not one, really. Sorry I called you by an ethnic slur."
"Jesus," Kyle says, not even sure where to start with any of that. He tries to hug Eric, but Eric grunts and sits up, scratching at the back of his neck.
"I shouldn't have thrown that candy away," he says, mumbling. "I really want a Snickers right now. Fuck."
"How about another blow job instead?" Kyle says. Eric looks at him from over his shoulder, eyebrows lifting.
"You serious?"
"Sure, as long as you return the favor."
They spend the rest of their free hour alone together in the cabin, and Kyle wonders, dozing after a second orgasm, if Eric has already threatened Butters and Clyde with dismemberment to keep them away until their hour is up. When it is, Kyle dresses groggily and checks his blood sugar. For the first time since camp started, he's irritated rather than pleased to see that he needs an injection. There's no point in showering with the evening workout coming up after their wellness workshop, but Kyle doesn't want Stan to smell the sex on him, or the sex-related sweat.
"Do you have any, like, body spray?" Kyle asks.
"Yeah," Eric says. "But we can't smell like the same thing, and I'm already using it." He digs it out of his bag and shows Kyle the bottle. It's red and black with the word WOLFENHAMMER in gothic lettering.
"Jesus Christ. What does that even smell like?"
"Like the musk of a victorious warrior." Eric lifts up his t-shirt just enough to insert the bottle and spray some under his pits, then pulls open the front of his track pants and sprays some crotch-ward as well. The scent isn't bad, just the usual generic male body spray aroma, available on the shelves of Target.
"Why can't we smell the same?" Kyle asks when they leave the cabin together, Kyle still reeking of two people's come.
"Because, I don't know. That'd be like people who were dating wearing the same clothes. It's creepy and weird."
"Are we dating?" Kyle says, and he can't help smirking at the word. "Are we having a date later, in the cafeteria, over some baked fish and roasted carrots?"
"Oh, I'll take you on a date." Eric gives Kyle a look that makes him nervous, that predatory certainty showing in his half-smile. "To the Mexican restaurant. Plans are formulating."
"Ugh, really? I don't want to gorge and spoil everything." He's even noticed Eric slimming down a little bit, mostly around his jaw line, and his track pants are only recently saggy enough to allow for a spritz of body spray down the front.
"One meal won't spoil shit," Eric says.
"But we might get caught. I really don't want to go home yet." Kyle eyes the nurse's station as they approach it. Will Eric try to come inside? He supposes it doesn't matter, since Stan won't be there; this isn't one of their designated injection appointments.
"You won't get sent home," Eric says, and he touches Kyle's shoulder. "Relax. Leave it to me. I'll even pay for your tacos."
"I gotta go," Kyle says, indicating the nurse's station. "I need insulin. I'll meet you in wellness workshop - save me a seat?"
"I could wait outside," Eric says. He's looking at the nurse's station as if he knows it's significant but can't figure out why. Kyle has started to sweat again, increasing the come-stench.
"Nah, I might have to wait a while for one of the counselors or the nurse to show up. Go ahead, and tell them I'm on my way. I don't want to get in trouble."
"Fine." Eric looks around, then pecks Kyle on the forehead when he finds no one in sight. Kyle appreciates that he thought to check for onlookers, but also a little thrown by being kissed right outside the nurse's station, though it's not like Stan doesn't know what he's been up to with Eric. He watches Eric head for the main building, his steps looking a bit lighter or maybe just quicker than usual. When he tries the door to the nurse's station he's glad to find that it's not locked.
Inside, the lights are on but no one is at the nurse's desk or in the examining room. Kyle shuts the door behind him and wanders around aimlessly for a moment, enjoying the air conditioning. It occurs to him that they have soap in the little bathroom attached to the examining room, and he goes in to give it a sniff. It's nothing special, pretty antiseptic, but he closes the door and washes his dick with soapy paper towels, then cleans it off with damp ones, his face burning the whole time. He does his chest next, then his neck, and leaves the bathroom feeling slightly cleaner but still wishing he'd taken a shower before leaving the cabin.
He's memorized the internal phone number that will page Stan to the nurse's station, and he goes over to the phone on the nurse's desk to dial it, then stops himself. The fridge with his insulin and the cabinet with the meter are right there in the examining room, and they're not locked. Kyle puts the phone down and goes to the window across from the nurse's desk to check the paths outside. They're empty; no one is around. Instead of waiting for Stan to show up and notice that Kyle reeks of sex and a transparent attempt to cover it up with soap from the bathroom, he could just do the injection himself and head to the wellness workshop. It wouldn't be a big deal; he should really be allowed to manage his injections himself. He's not some little kid. He's sucked dick now, twice.
His heart starts pumping hard as he approaches the medical cabinet and the adjacent fridge. He's watched Stan fetch his supplies plenty of times, and he knows exactly where they are. He won't even need the meter; he has his portable one in the pocket of his track pants, and the reading he took in the cabin will suffice. He touches the door of the little white fridge, which sits on a table beside the medical supply cabinet that takes up most of the little room's east wall. It's cool to the touch. Kyle looks behind him, at the front door to the nurse's station. No one is there. It's ridiculous for the counselors to make him feel like taking his insulin when he needs it is an illicit activity. He opens the fridge.
He's finishing up his injection when he hears footsteps outside. Panic twists in his gut and his muscles tense up as he withdraws the needle as carefully as he can, praying it's just Stan. He turns his back when the door opens, hiding the needle, and peeks over his shoulder. He feels like he's been plunged into an ice bath when his eyes meet Craig's.
"What the hell are you doing?" Craig slams the front door shut behind him and walks into the examining room, and for a moment Kyle is so overcome with fright that he expects to be struck. "Where's Stan?" Craig asks, surveying the room.
"I – he—" Kyle can feel his face getting red, and the sex small on his skin and clothes seems to intensify tenfold; he sees Craig's nostrils twitch as if he's noticed it.
"Turn around," Craig says, speaking slowly. "What have you got in your hands?"
"It's just my insulin!" Kyle spins toward Craig and thrusts the needle out, showing him. "I needed a shot and no one was here, and—"
"You know you're not supposed to take insulin without supervision. How many times have you broken in here like this? Did you pick the lock?"
"No! It was unlocked, and I never – never before, I just—"
"Give that to me." Craig takes the needle, holding the end of it between his thumb and forefinger as if it's a used tampon. "Does Stan know that you're taking insulin without supervision?" he asks as he goes to the fridge with it.
"No, it was me, Stan has no idea, please don't get mad at him, I just wanted to get it over with quick and go to my workshop, it's hard to wait until someone can—"
"Stop." Craig turns from the fridge and regards Kyle with a stoic calm that doesn't do much to conceal his pleasure at having caught Kyle breaking camp rules. "I could have Mackey throw you out for this," he says. "Breaking into the medicine cabinet is an extremely serious offense."
"I was just getting my insulin! It's not like I was stealing painkillers or something. And, if – if—"
"If what, Mr. Broflovski? Spit it out." Craig seems to know exactly what Kyle is going to say, which is infuriating. Kyle narrows his eyes, wishing he was taller. He feels very young and small, here alone in the presence of Craig, who could be forty for all Kyle knows. He's got some fine lines near his eyes, and his lips are thin. Kyle pictures Stan kissing those hateful lips and rage starts spooling into his belly, heating his skin.
"If you try to have me thrown out," Kyle says, speaking slowly, "I'll tell Mackey you're screwing one of his junior counselors."
"Oh, will you?" Craig's smile is tiny and threatening. "That's rather cruel of you, considering it might cost Stanley his job."
"Stanley?" Kyle snorts. Stan probably hates being called that; it doesn't suit him. "No, I – you're the one taking advantage of a younger person."
"Younger, yes, but he's a consenting adult, and there's nothing in the employee handbook forbidding us from dating our co-workers. And even if there was – I thought you were fond of Mr. Marsh? You would really be willing to humiliate him and endanger his position here by going to Mackey about what you saw when you were spying on us in the laundry room?"
"I wasn't spying! Jesus, what is wrong with you?" Kyle's face is burning as rage is builds, making him feel bigger and unstoppable, as if he's growing along with his anger. He'd love to tear into Craig like he's a brittle shrub, snapping bits of him off and shredding them.
"What is wrong with me?" Craig raises his eyebrows. "Nothing, I assure you. You may find this hard to believe, as you seem to have styled me as some kind of personal enemy, but I do actually care about your wellbeing as one of my students, despite your poor attitude and consistent disrespect. I'd be willing to keep this incident between us if you assure me it will never happen again."
Kyle opens his mouth, and he lets it hang open until his anger has receded enough to allow him to comprehend what Craig just said. He's still furious, because Craig is the one who has 'styled' Kyle as a personal enemy ever since the laundry room incident. He wishes Stan would rush in and come to his defense, though he also appreciates the idea of Stan being kept in the dark about Kyle doing an injection without him, if Craig is serious about not telling.
"I won't do it again," Kyle says, trying to force himself to calm down; he can't seem to get his jaw to unclench. "It was dumb of me, and I'm sorry. Just, please. I want to stay here. I need to."
"Then perhaps you'd better start acting like it. One more toe over the line and I won't be able to continue looking the other way. Can I trust you to convey yourself to your wellness workshop without supervision, or are you going to run off and resume doing whatever you please as soon as you leave here?"
"I'm not a bad kid," Kyle says, and he wishes that hadn't come out sounding so pathetic. Craig sniffs dismissively and points to the door.
"Prove it," he says.
Kyle goes for the door, waves of rage crashing into him again, and he knows as he reaches for the doorknob that he won't be able to hold it in. He turns back toward Craig, who is neatening the magazines on the table near the medicine cabinet.
"You should leave Stan alone," Kyle says. Craig turns and frowns, his usual air of placid judgment morphing into something much sharper that's pointed directly at Kyle.
"Excuse me?"
"He's – you're his boss! It's not right."
Kyle flees the nurse's station as quickly as he did after telling Stan that he's special. He almost wants to say that to Craig, to try to explain to him how lucky he is and how ungrateful, but he's too afraid that he doesn't really know what he's talking about. Jogging toward the main building, propelled by the adrenaline that's been pulsing through him since his eyes met Craig's, he feels young and stupid, like a scolded child. He wonders if Craig makes Stan feel that way. The last thing Stan needs is someone who talks down to him, who probably chuckles condescendingly at his insecurity and treats him like a dumb jock who's only good for sex. Kyle is still worked up as he pushes into the main building, his vision tunneled by the spike of rage that he hasn't been able to vent, and when he turns a corner fast he crashes right into Stan.
"Whoa, hey!" Stan steadies him by catching his shoulders, and when Kyle looks up into his eyes and sees the earnest concern there he's certain for a moment that his rage is going to dissolve into helpless sobbing, which sometimes happens. He bites it back, but he knows Stan will see that something is wrong. "Kyle, hey," Stan says, squeezing his shoulders. "What's the matter?"
Stan's worried expression seals it, and there's no going back: the first massive sob builds in Kyle's chest until it hurts, and he's got no choice but to let it out. He's not even sad, really, and the anger is quickly abating, but it's been such a long, weird day, and he's just now realizing how profoundly exhausted he is. Stan makes a soft noise, like Kyle's sobs are wounding him, and he pulls Kyle back around the corner, taking him down the hall that leads to the restrooms. It's quiet; all three groups of campers are in sessions. Kyle doesn't really know what to expect, and he lets out his breath with an embarrassing whine when Stan brings him into the corner near the Fruit Facts bulletin board and gives him a hug.
"That's alright, buddy," Stan says, rubbing Kyle's back and letting him cling hard. "You just let it out."
This makes Kyle cry harder, and it's with something like joy, or just the pure relief of having someone as good and solid as Stan to hold onto while he feels this way. He's not even sure he could put a word to it, but 'overwhelmed' might be close. It's everything: Craig, Eric, even Stan himself, and this feeling that he's at the very edge of a time in his life when everything will change.
"I'm sorry," he cries, because he's getting tears and snot on the shoulder of Stan's polo.
"Nothing to be sorry about," Stan says, still rubbing Kyle's back. If Kyle hadn't come twice in the past hour he'd probably be getting an erection just from this; Stan feels so strong, and he smells amazing. Only when he notices this does Kyle remember his own sordid scent, and he pulls back a little. He meets Stan's eyes nervously, afraid he'll assume that these tears are Eric's fault, blow job-related.
"I did my insulin injection without you," Kyle says. "Craig caught me."
"Oh, Jesus. Are you – what happened?"
"Nothing. I'm just so sorry. I should have called you. I don't know what I was thinking."
"Shit, well. Don't worry about it. I won't let Craig get you in trouble."
"I know."
For a few seconds they just stand there like that, Stan's hands resting on Kyle's shoulders while he regains his composure. Kyle realizes he's holding onto the hem of Stan's shirt and lets go, reluctantly.
"I can't go to workshop like this," Kyle says. "They'll know I've been crying." He especially wants to keep this from Eric, who will jump to conclusions and feel hurt. This isn't about him, really. Kyle enjoyed himself earlier. It's just weird to reenter the world as someone who has sucked dick, suddenly.
"Alright." Stan gives Kyle's shoulders another squeeze. "We'll tell everybody you had a complication with your medicine and that you needed to rest. Just – come with me. I'm off shift until the evening workout."
Kyle nods and follows Stan out of the main building, toward a row of little cottages that he hasn't noticed before. He realizes when Stan unlocks one of them that this is where he's been living: his private quarters. It's a small room with a twin bed, wooden dresser, and a kitchenette with a mini fridge, sink, and range stove. The door to the attached bathroom is open, a soggy-looking towel hanging on the knob. Stan picks some clothes up off the floor as they walk inside, and Kyle is overcome with the desire to take everything in all at once, and to study every detail. There's a floor fan, Stan's guitar, his sand-crusted hiking boots, an empty can of Red Bull. The room smells like chicken-flavored Top Ramen and aftershave, and Kyle wants to squeal with delight at being allowed in here, but he holds it in.
"I'm finishing up my notes for the workout tonight," Stan says. "We have to fill out this form that says our goals for the group or whatever." He picks up a clipboard from the bed and shows Kyle, who hurries over to examine it. "You can lie down if you need to," Stan says, gesturing to the bed.
"I'm – I'm okay. What if Craig comes?"
"Craig?" Stan snorts. "Nah, he never comes here. Just relax, alright? You need a break."
Kyle appreciates the confidence with which Stan declares this, and he takes a seat on the bed beside him, because there's no where else to sit. Kyle leans against the wall and watches Stan jot notes about the evening workout, which will apparently be a lesson in proper swimming strokes. Stan seems slightly anxious and sighs a lot. Kyle is perfectly content, sneaking looks at Stan's face while he writes. His handwriting is adorably boyish, small and precise but not neat.
"Do you want to talk about why you were crying?" Stan asks, keeping his eyes on his notes.
"Nah," Kyle says. "Not now, anyway."
He's enjoying the peaceful quiet of Stan's little room too much to fill it with chatter, and the sobbing did the trick already, draining the fury out of him. He thinks of Eric in wellness workshop, holding a seat for him, probably worried. Even that can't disturb his calm, and he feels young again, but not the way he did when Craig was barking at him in the nurse's station. This is much more comfortable: being cared for, looked after, and tucked into a pocket of cool quiet with someone who will protect him from the harsh glare of everything outside this little room.
"We're gonna play this game after the workout," Stan says after a long stretch of quiet. "It's really fun, it's called Categories. You stand on the end of the diving board and bounce, and after your feet leave the board someone calls out a category like 'cars' or 'colors,' and before you land in the water you have to shout out a type of car, or a color, or whatever they prompted, and if you can do it you get a point. It's harder than it sounds."
"Sounds awesome," Kyle says, and when Stan looks up and smiles at him he has to stop himself from leaning over to kiss him. It would be absurd, disastrous, but also so good, Kyle thinks, so very good, in some alternate universe where Stan might kiss him back.