A/N: As I've said many times re: this story already, this chapter is finally done! I'm going to stop making promises about the exact timing of updates, because this one seems to be cursed with life getting in the way every time. I do think it's about 65-70% finished at this point, and as of right now I have two more long-ish chapters and an epilogue planned. Thanks to those who are sticking with this and enduring the most recent hiatus, and please let me know your thoughts if you have feedback or questions!
Sitting in Mackey's office and waiting for him to arrive for their weekly individual counseling session, Kyle stares incredulously at the wall calendar, which features pictures of moss-covered forest glens shadowed by trees. Kyle has become very familiar with the mossy creek bed featured in June, because he often stares at it when he doesn't feel like making eye contact with Mackey. Today it's been flipped to July, and the picture above the days of the month is a mossy old staircase, but that can't be right.
"Is today July first?" Kyle asks when Mackey walks in, shutting the door behind him. It seems impossible that he's already been here for a month, though it also feels like a very long time since he's been home.
"Mhmm, no, it's actually the third of July." Mackey takes his seat across from Kyle, crosses his legs and rests the notebook he carries everywhere on his knee. "Tomorrow we're going to have a special Fourth of July party at the pool," he says. "With veggie dogs and turkey burgers and so forth. Did you lose track of the date?"
"Well, yeah. It's hard to keep track when we're not allowed to have phones, or tablets, or anything."
"I see. I know it's a little hard to get used to, but most of our campers find that disconnecting from the devices we tend to rely on to distract us from our innermost thoughts can help them look within and grow as people. Have you felt that way at all?"
"I guess," Kyle says, mumbling. "I mean. I feel like I'm living in this whole other world. Like time and gravity and everything are just - different, here."
This prompts Mackey to open his notebook and begin to write. Kyle supposes its pages are full of all of the secrets that the campers have told Mackey during individual therapy, and sometimes he wants to steal it and read Mackey's notes on Eric, though he would never actually do that, partly because he's afraid to find out what, if anything, Eric has told this man about their afternoons together in the cabin. Kyle still hasn't even come out to Mackey, and it irks him that Eric might have come out for him. He claims that he hasn't, but Kyle has caught him lying before.
"You mentioned gravity feeling different," Mackey says, still jotting notes. "Could that be because you've lost some weight?"
"Maybe," Kyle says, though that's not really what he meant. He looks down at his stomach, which has shrunk a little, the waistbands on his pants and boxers looser now. He still feels like an awkward fat kid, and the workouts are still hard and often humiliating, but he's started taking his shirt off when he fools around with Eric, mostly because he likes having his nipples sucked on and twisted. Thinking of this, he blushes and stares at the moss calendar. Eric still leaves his shirt on when they're alone in the cabin together, and during pool workouts. He's been dropping weight rapidly in the past couple of weeks, and he's started using the weight bench in the rec room voluntarily, between workouts. It wasn't entirely his idea; Kyle told him he finds weightlifting hot, which is true. They've been lifting together at the start of their free hour, then hurrying back to the cabin to fool around while they're both still endorphin-high and sweating.
"Kyle?" Mackey says, recapturing his attention. "Want to share your thoughts with me?"
"Oh, uh, no - I mean, yeah, I just. It's weird, how we're all starting to lose weight. I guess I thought it wouldn't really happen."
"How does it feel to be lighter?"
"Pretty good," Kyle says, embarrassed by the subject, which is absurd, considering it's the whole point of him being here. At least, that's what he thought the whole point would be. Sometimes he catches himself thinking he's here to learn how to have gay sex. It's certainly the part of his days here that he looks forward to the most, along with his talks with Stan in the nurse's station. They haven't discussed what Kyle is doing with Eric, but Stan knows that something is going on, and it's disturbingly arousing to think of Stan picturing him with Eric, worrying because Kyle is young and vulnerable. Kyle redirects his thoughts and stares at the moss calendar again, willing himself not to get hard here in Mackey's office. He's having a difficult time getting his mind off of sex lately. It's just so good, and suddenly he's having so much of it, though he still hasn't tried dick-in-butt sex or anything close. He's just begun to let Eric interact with his ass. It's thrilling and scary and it's fogging his brain again; he forces himself to meet Mackey's eyes.
"Are you okay today, Kyle?" Mackey asks. "You seem distracted."
"I'm fine. It's just the heat. It makes me sleepy in the afternoons."
"Oh, sure, mmkay, I get that, too. Well, let me ask you this - do you feel lighter mentally as well as physically? We've talked about some of your issues with anger, and I'm wondering if that's gotten any better, in your view?"
"I guess." The last time Kyle felt really angry, after Craig caught him in the nurse's station, he'd ended up crying on Stan's shoulder. He's never been a big crier, but the experience was cleansing, and sitting quietly in Stan's room afterward seems to have sealed that feeling into a lasting calm. Or maybe it's all the orgasmic releases that are keeping him from boiling over with anger at random intervals.
"You don't seem as introspective as usual today, Kyle," Mackey says. "Any reason for that, do you think?"
"I really am just tired." Kyle glances at the clock and sees they've only been at this for five minutes. He starts to feel itchy with the need to introduce some new subject to talk about, and annoyed when all he can think about is the fact that they haven't discussed his sexual orientation. It's still none of Mackey's business, as long as Kyle doesn't want to talk about it. He just wishes that he could be sure that he'd doesn't, and that he's not being cowardly as opposed to selectively honest.
"Let's talk about the last time you felt really angry," Mackey says. "Can you recall that?"
Kyle can, but he doesn't want to tell Mackey about Craig and the illicit insulin injection that he gave himself. He thinks back further and remembers the shrub and the cuts on his hands, but that was also Craig-related and he's discussed it with Mackey at length already.
"I guess what really pisses me off is when authority figures abuse their authority," Kyle says. "That's when I go into rage-mode, because it's so unfair."
"Okay, interesting, that's good." Mackey writes something down. "And how do you think this relates to your fear of your mother and her control over your life?"
"I don't think that it does, necessarily."
"You don't sometimes view her as an authority figure who's behaving unfairly?"
"Well. Yeah, I guess. I do. Sometimes."
"Mmmkay. Well, do you see where I'm going with this, Kyle?"
"Not really."
"Maybe, underlying all these outbursts over what you view as misused authority, is an anger toward your mother that you don't feel comfortable expressing to her, because you fear the consequences of confronting her with your true feelings?"
"Well, yeah. I mean, I can't yell at her when she pisses me off, because she'll ground me, or take away my tablet, or make me redo the wallpaper in the pantry. She has total control over my life, so I'm pretty much at her mercy until I'm eighteen, and even then they'll be paying for my college and she'll hold that over me-" He makes himself stop talking when he hears how worked up he's getting. Mackey is writing furiously in his notebook. "Doesn't everyone feel this way about their parents when they're my age?" Kyle says, practically shouting this and increasingly frustrated by Mackey's moving pencil.
"It's certainly a common feeling, yes. In many cases, kids your age have fairly dramatic confrontations with their parents over these feelings. My concern, based on what you've told me about your home life, is that you're not expressing these angry feelings toward your mother specifically, and that your repressed anger is going to continue to manifest in unhealthy ways when you redirect it toward other authority figures, mmkay?"
"Okay," Kyle says, barely withholding the urge to mimic Mackey's droning voice.
"How about this," Mackey says. "You don't seem very open to talking today, and that's fine, that's just fine. But we could use our time here together in another way. Why don't you write a letter to your mother? It doesn't have to be a confrontational letter, and you don't have to share the contents with me if you don't want to. Just start writing to her and see what comes. How about that?"
"Alright," Kyle says, though he doesn't like the idea at all. It does sound preferable to talking about this more. He doesn't like to admit how terrified he is of his mother's judgment and how much he resents her ability to hand down punishments. It makes him feel very unmanly, weak, and childish. He sighs and accepts a piece of paper and a pencil when Mackey brings them over.
There's a table with two chairs near the big window that looks out on the desert, and Kyle goes to sit there, feeling uncomfortably observed, though Mackey is paging through a book and pretending to ignore him. He looks down at the blank sheet of paper and thinks of writing DO YOU KNOW I'M GAY? in huge letters. He feels, sometimes, like she must, but also that if she suspected anything she would have brought it up immediately. He can hear the clock ticking and feels pressured to start writing, as if this is a timed essay.
Dear Mom,
Well, somehow I have been here at fat camp for over a month. Time flies when you're dizzy with hunger and stumbling sweaty through the desert. Just kidding. I actually appreciate that you sent me here. I know you and Dad spent a lot of money on it. I know that it means you care about me and want me to be happy. I have actually made some friends here and I'm losing some weight. I feel better, but I'm also afraid that when I come back home everything will go back to "normal" and I'll just miss this place and these people and how everything felt different and special here. Not that being home with you guys isn't special. After talking to some of the kids here, I've really come to appreciate the loving and stable home you and Dad have provided all my life.
Kyle stares down at this first paragraph, feeling like he's being a kiss ass in a letter that he might not even actually send. He's talked with Mackey about how it's important to him to please his parents and how he resents the fact that his little brother doesn't seem to give a shit about their opinions and impresses them effortlessly anyway. Feeling bold, he doodles a cock and balls in the margin, then quickly erases it. He feels panicked when he can still see the lewd outline of the drawing after it's been erased, as if his mother is seeing this now, live. He tears that part of the paper off as quietly as he can and balls it up into his fist. When he sneaks a look at Mackey, he's staring at Kyle, frowning.
"Is everything okay over there, Kyle?" he asks.
"Um, yep. Just thinking about what else to write."
"Is there any significance to the fact that you just tore part of the letter off?"
"Well. Yes, but I don't want to talk about it."
Mackey frowns a little more deeply but looks back to his book. Kyle's face is on fire now, and he feels something familiar building in his chest: white hot anger, and a sudden need to violently reject Mackey's attempt to control him. He closes his eyes and turns his face toward the window, counting backward and trying not to begin composing drafts of what he'd like to scream at Mackey right now. The backward counting isn't working, and his fist is beginning to shake. He wants to throw the erased cock and balls drawing in Mackey's face and scream at him for being a bad psychiatrist, because he hasn't figured out what Kyle's real problem is, and it should be fucking obvious, considering how Eric practically sits in Kyle's lap during group therapy.
Kyle digs a tooth into his lip and makes himself return, mentally, to Stan's shady little room. He hears the whir of the floor fan and Stan's worried sighs, sees the guitar propped in the corner and the dark hair on Stan's arm that was almost touching the hair on Kyle's, almost. He opens his eyes and stares out at the desert while the rage recedes. When it has, he turns back to the letter to his mother.
I wonder what the house is like without me. Is dinnertime less tense? Are you and Dad able to relax without always coming to knock on my door, trying to catch me eating junk food in my room? Are you worried about me here, assuming I'm not doing well? Sometimes I feel like you have both insanely high expectations of me and also this constant suspicion that I'm going to screw my life up irreversibly if you stop monitoring me for a single moment. I am not that bad, Mom! Maybe I overeat, and I can be sarcastic and I don't make friends easily, but maybe I'm also dealing with things that you're not realizing or taking into account. You don't KNOW everything about me, Mother. I know you think you do, and maybe you've even guessed some things, but you don't know what it feels like to be me in that small town, at that school. When you grew up in Jersey you had loads of friends, and I know you say you're embarrassed about how you partied but you had an outlet for your stress and I don't have that! All I have is bags of chips and candy and secret frozen pizzas. Remember when you caught me eating a frozen pizza raw because I couldn't sneak downstairs to heat it up without getting caught, and I was so desperate to get it into me that I ate it anyway? You looked at me like you had found a dead body in my room! Yes, it was gross and weird, but why do you have to look at me like I'm such a huge disappointment sometimes? When I'm really not? It really hurts my feelings that I can't do anything wrong without you acting like it's a sign of the end times, Kyle's life is headed for ruin, etc etc etc ETC!
Kyle is breathing hard by the time he angrily dots the last exclamation point, but it's not an oncoming rage-spiral. He's not even upset, really. Writing that felt good. He glances over at Mackey and isn't surprised to see him staring again, smiling a little now.
"Looks like you had some things you needed to say?"
"I guess." Kyle puts the pencil down and flexes his fingers, which are sore from gripping it so tightly.
"Do you want to talk about what you wrote in the letter?"
"No. Not - yet. Maybe in the future. Not today."
"Mmkay, that's fine. Do you feel like you need to write more?"
"No. I think I'm done."
"Would you like me to mail the letter to your mother? We can seal it up right here and bring it out to the mail, I won't read it."
"No." Kyle folds the letter once, then again. "But. I want to save it. Maybe I could mail it, or show her - maybe. Just not now."
"That's fine, Kyle. Would you like to cut the session short for the day? I feel like we made some progress here."
Kyle isn't sure what constitutes 'progress' in therapy, but he does feel better when he leaves Mackey's office. As has become his guilty habit, he peeks into the laundry room as he passes it, but there's nobody in there, and the machines are quiet. Kyle has his free hour now, and Eric has his Mackey appointment in ten minutes. After lunch they'll skip the optional craft workshop as usual, lift some weights, have some sex. Kyle is grinning as he heads back to his cabin, feeling as if he told his mother off and she didn't get to tell him he was a disrespectful, spoiled child in return. He knows she loves him, but he feels like he's right about some of what he wrote. It's nice to have this feeling and not immediately double back and tell himself that he's ungrateful for feeling this way.
Even Nutrition class doesn't manage to shake Kyle's good mood, and the grilled corn and black bean salad that they make at their lab stations is pretty tasty. Eric is picking black bean skins from his teeth on the way to the cabin after their lifting session, and he grunts when Kyle reaches over to slap his arm.
"That is so gross," Kyle says when Eric picks at his teeth again. "Jesus, we're about to go-" He glances at the path behind them and finds it empty, but lowers his voice anyway. "We're about to go have sex, and you're digging bean hides from your teeth. You're not exactly putting me in the mood, here."
Eric snorts and gives Kyle a smug look.
"You're always in the mood."
"I am not!" Kyle says, although, really, he is. "And to think I was planning to let you try something new today," he adds, knowing the effect this will have.
"What?" Eric tugs at Kyle's arm. "Tell me. What are we gonna try?"
"I don't know if it will happen now. Not unless you wait until we're there and floss in the bathroom instead of giving me a full view of your makeshift dental work."
"Makeshift dental work?" Eric busts out laughing and puts his overly warm hand on the small of Kyle's back. "Man, you are in rare form today. What's got into you, prissy pants?"
"That's it. We're not doing shit now. You can spend your free hour reading Old Yeller."
"Oh, yeah right, I saw you getting a semi when I was on the weight bench! Jesus, I'm sorry I called you prissy. You're the one who can't deal with a little tooth picking."
"Any tooth picking is too much tooth picking. I'm going to be kissing you soon. I don't want to be thinking about what was just stuck between your teeth when I do so."
This silences Eric, who gives Kyle a sort of moony look, as if he still can't believe that kissing will soon commence. The cloud of confidence Kyle has been sailing on since he left Mackey's office seems to buoy him even further off the ground; Eric thinks he's so fucking great. Kyle can't get over it and can't get enough of it, even when Eric is annoying the shit out of him, which is happening less often in the past week or so. Kyle likes picking at Eric just enough to start a minor disagreement, and he likes threatening not to offer himself up in the cabin, though Eric knows by now that Kyle is looking forward to it just as much as he is. It's fun to know where someone's buttons are located and to be given this amazing carte blanche permission to push them. He takes Eric's hand as they come to the cabin door, slightly put off by how sweaty Eric's palm is. It's forgivable, since he was just lifting weights, and it's true that Kyle had started to get a little hard as he watched Eric grunting with his legs spread around the bench.
"So?" Eric says, bounding over to his bed as soon as they're inside. They've started doing things there for the most part, because Kyle prefers his sheets not to smell like sex. "What are we trying today?" Eric is already taking off his pants and stepping out of his shoes. Kyle sighs and stretches his arms up over his head, showing Eric his belly when his shirt lifts.
"I was thinking," he says. "Just, thinking. Maybe you could, like. Finger me a little."
Eric freezes, his hands on the waistband of his boxer shorts. He looks almost afraid of how excited he is, and Kyle really likes that look on him.
"Yeah - yes." Eric swallows and nods, standing there with his sweatpants pooled around his ankles. "I could do that."
"I'm not going to return the favor, though," Kyle says. He really doesn't want to put his hand or any other body part between the cheeks of another boy's ass, sweaty or not, and Eric's is particularly intimidating.
"That's fine!" Eric says, backing into the bed. "I don't care, I'm generous like that, I'll finger you for free."
"Ha, well." Kyle takes his t-shirt off, still not quite comfortable with what's underneath. He touches his puffy tits, trying to make this seem seductive while Eric stares at him. "Don't just go right to it," Kyle says. "Work me over first, alright? I have to relax and stuff."
"Of course! Yes! No hurry!"
"And we'll need lubrication."
"Lotion! The bathroom, there's that hand lotion, or your sunscreen, or we could use Butters' lavender conditioner, it smells pretty good-"
"I'll get the hand lotion," Kyle says, withholding laughter. He tries to imagine how lost and stammery Eric would get if he was allowed to put his cock in Kyle's ass. Kyle has been thinking about it. He's scared by the idea, but also very curious, and after this summer there's no telling when he'll get his next chance to experiment with someone whose medical chart he's checked for STDs.
He feels a bit cruel and cynical, thinking of Eric that way, and when he returns to the bed with the lotion he straddles Eric, pressing his shoulders back against the headboard. He holds Eric's gaze for a moment before leaning in to kiss him, charmed by how quiet and nervous he gets when Kyle offers something new. Just two days ago, he let Eric lick his ass a few times, and balked when his tongue got close to the hole, though it did feel incredibly good. It's just all so weird, except for this: Kyle has gotten very used to the feeling of being held in Eric's lap, Eric's hands resting on his hips while they kiss. He sets a teasing, leisurely pace, drawing away from Eric's mouth and laughing when Eric grunts and lunges forward to kiss him again, his hands moving down to squeeze Kyle's ass. He's still wearing his briefs.
"Push me down and suck on me a little," Kyle says, muttering this into Eric's ear. He loves giving instructions but he's still too embarrassed to look Eric in the eye when he does so. He loves what follows, too: Eric pressing him back onto the bed and hovering over him, sucking and nipping at Kyle's neck until he whines. "You'll leave a mark," Kyle says.
"Good." Eric looks up into Kyle's eyes, bumping their noses together. "What are you worried about? All our friends know I ravish you in here every day." He reaches down and squeezes Kyle's cock when he groans, massaging him through his underwear. "That's right. They all know I spend my free hour making you come. Aww, you're blushing. I bet even the counselors know, Kyle."
This makes Kyle shoot out of his reverie, and he gives Eric a questioning look. Eric just grins and moves down to suck on Kyle's left nipple. Kyle gasps and arches, still surprised that this feels so good. It's something he never thought to include in his fantasies, but Eric is quickly becoming masterful at making him arch like this, digging his thumb into one nipple while he bites and licks at the other. Kyle takes a handful of Eric's hair and tries to guide his head a bit, but for the most part he's pinned and at Eric's mercy, which makes his heart hammer and his dick achingly hard.
Eric kisses his way down over Kyle's stomach, moving quickly when Kyle flinches a little. It tickles and makes him feel blubbery, but he forgets his stomach when Eric mouths his dick through his briefs.
"Are you really going to let me finger you?" Eric asks as he pulls the briefs down over Kyle's thighs and knees, allowing his sticky cock to spring free. "Or is it going to be like when I tried to rim you and you got the vapors?"
"I didn't get the vapors! It was just - an unexpected feeling. Not bad, mostly good, but just kind of crazy. Too crazy, maybe."
"Maybe I'd know what you meant if you returned the favor."
"Eric, I told you. I will never put my mouth on anyone's asshole. I'm sorry, it's just not who I am."
"Who you are?" Eric snorts but doesn't seem to care too much: he's pumping Kyle's dick, nudging his thighs apart with his other hand. "Damn, look how wet you're getting," he says, and he rubs one finger through Kyle's leaking slit. Kyle moans and spreads his legs even wider, his face very red from the lingering and strangely arousing thought that everyone out there knows what's going on in here. He gasps when he feels Eric parting his ass cheeks with his thumb and forefinger, feeling for his hole.
"I thought you were going to suck me?" Kyle says, his thighs twitching with the impulse to close.
"I did. I sucked on your nips, look how hard and swollen they are. Just like your dick - mhmm, god, you need it so much, don't you? Are you gonna get all whimpery when I put a finger in? I think you are, Kyle. I bet you're so fucking tight."
"Shut up," Kyle mutters, though it's not really an insult. He reaches down for his dick and then decides not to stroke himself. He's close already, and he doesn't want to come yet. He moans and closes his eye when he feels the pad of Eric's finger on his hole, testing around the rim.
"You gonna let me tame this tight ass?" Eric asks, though Kyle has told him he hates that kind of dirty talk. It's only half true. "Hmm? You want something nice and thick up there?"
"Jesus, stop talking," Kyle says, laughing. "I told you what I want, so don't be cute about it. Put the l-lube on, ah."
"You like this already, nnh, yeah. I can tell." Eric is running his fingertip in slow circles around Kyle's hole while he clenches and releases, gasping. "Yeah, you like that so much, Kyle. You're all shaky."
"The lube, I said! Get it!"
Eric grabs the bottle of lotion and Kyle presses his knees together, feeling overly vulnerable. He has to resist the urge to reach down and put his own fingers where Eric's just were, because he's still sort of tingling from that touch, anxiously wanting more.
"Aren't you going to take your shorts off and everything?" Kyle asks.
"Oh, yeah. Getting ahead of myself here." Eric wipes his lotiony fingers on his shorts before shoving them down along with his underwear. His cock springs free in a way that makes Kyle's mouth wet. He's discovered that he really loves giving blow jobs, now that doing so isn't entirely new. He'd never considered that having a dick in his mouth might be enjoyable sheerly for how much control it gives him over the person who is attached to said dick. "Having second thoughts?" Eric says, placing a hand on Kyle's knee.
"No." Kyle opens his legs again, feeling his blush spread across his cheeks and then down toward his chest. "But do you have to be down there?" Kyle asks when Eric reapplies lotion to his fingers, his breath coming in audible excited huffs now.
"Down here? Well, your ass is down here, so-"
"But you could reach it, you know! From up here."
"Up - oh." Eric moves from between Kyle's legs and stretches out at his side, snuggled up next to him. He's very warm, and Kyle feels more comfortable when Eric kisses him before reaching down between his legs again. "Better?" Eric asks, muttering this against Kyle's lips. Kyle nods, and gasps when he feels Eric's slick fingers picking up where he left off. It's weird, like submitting to a physical exam, and Kyle prefers this way, with Eric just feeling him and not looking, too.
"Make me come," Kyle says, able to hold Eric's gaze as he says this. "Before – you know. And then I won't be so tense."
"Aw, you're tense?" Eric seems sincerely concerned, and he slides his free arm under Kyle's neck, hugging him closer. "What do you want, a BJ? Hand job?"
"Just – your hand. I'm close."
"You're close, already?" Eric grins as if he's proud of himself for this. Kyle shrugs, a little embarrassed but not very. He moans when Eric takes hold of his cock and pumps him, and wonders what it would be like to have Eric's finger in him while his other hand worked his dick like this. He throws his head back, thinking about how strange and possibly good it would be to have a whole thrusting cock in his ass. The memory of Stan getting fucked over the laundry machine flashes through his mind and he's done for, spilling over Eric's fingers and groaning through his orgasm. Eric's panting mouth comes down to quiet his, and Kyle opens for him, lapping at his tongue. When Eric's fingers wiggle in between his ass cheeks again, Kyle spreads his legs and opens his eyes, less nervous now but still on edge when one fat fingertip prods him as if asking to enter.
"Go slow," Kyle says.
"Duh." Eric kisses Kyle's forehead, and they both groan when his fingertip pops inside. It stings a little, or burns, but whatever this odd sensation is, Kyle doesn't want it to stop. He feels hot all over and realizes he's sweating more than Eric is, which is unusual. "Okay?" Eric asks.
"Nnh, yeah, just. Don't put the whole finger in. Can you, like, fuck me with your fingertip?"
"Like this?"
"Yeah, uh-huh, just – faster."
"Jesus." Eric starts humping Kyle's thigh and that feels good, too: the weight of a hard dick rubbing insistently against him. Kyle's cock stiffens again, but only a little.
"God, that's so weird," Kyle says, laughing low in his belly. "Weirdly good," he says, to clarify. He peeks at Eric and laughs again at how enchanted he looks.
"Would you ever let me-" Eric says, and he clears his throat, licks his lips. "Put my. In there?"
"Suddenly you're too bashful to say the word cock?"
"Fuh – well – would you, though?"
"I don't know. Could you, um. Just like, rub the tip against it? Don't put it in, not even a little, but just, like. I want to feel it against me, just on the outside."
Eric nods frantically as he pulls himself from Kyle's side, hurrying to get between his legs again. Kyle's heart is pounding, and his cock fills in a dizzying rush of blood when Eric takes his finger out and pushes Kyle's thighs apart widely enough for him to kneel between them. It makes Kyle's joints ache like he's doing a yoga pose, but it feels good, too, and he locks eyes with Eric.
"Please," Kyle says, and he moans when he feels the fat, sticky head of Eric's dick pressing against his hole. "Fuck, yes, just – don't get carried away, please. Don't push in."
"I won't, Jesus! I'd never – like – never do something you didn't want. Seriously, that's the worst fucking thing you can do to someone."
Kyle moans sympathetically and nods, pressing down against Eric's cockhead. It's an intense, teasing, scary pleasure, and he's not surprised when Eric whines and comes. Being ejaculated upon like this is a little weird, and Kyle reaches for Eric, needing to be kissed. They both roll onto their sides to make out while Kyle humps Eric's stomach, his dick slipping up under the hem of Eric's rumpled t-shirt. He comes again when Eric reaches down to hold Kyle's dick against his belly fat, perfecting the friction.
"Fuck," Kyle breathes out, feeling like he's going to melt against the bedsheets. Eric is a boiling hot mess, too, Kyle's come all over his stomach. He's still holding Kyle's spent dick, stroking it with his thumb until Kyle whimpers and pulls away, too sensitive.
"That was the best thing ever," Eric says, scooting over to press his face to Kyle's cheek. Kyle is way too hot, panting, but he doesn't have the heart to move away from Eric's sweltering body heat. He cups Eric's cheek and nods drowsily, wanting to curl up someplace very cool and go to sleep.
"It was awesome," he says. "Thanks, just – thank you. You're awesome. This is so – I'm just really glad you're here." He's not sure how else to articulate that he greatly appreciates being able to trust Eric to do the exact weird sex stuff he wants and nothing more. He peeks at Eric and grins at the sleepy and slightly bewildered look on his face.
"I want to stay here forever," Eric says.
"Here in this sweaty bed?"
"No – yes – I mean, like, at camp. I don't want to go home. It fucking sucks there, and you won't be there."
"Don't think about that yet," Kyle says. He kisses Eric's face and smooths his sweaty hair down. "But I know. I'm already worried I'll get fat again as soon as go back."
"You won't. And me either. We're both gonna get super hot, right? My underwear are falling off already."
"I noticed. And yeah, you're right. This summer changes everything. I'm not going back to the way I was."
He's talking more about his shame over being gay than the fat that's melted off already and whatever else he'll manage to drop in the next two months. It's not going to be easy to go home and maintain this confidence that feels like it exists in the alternate reality of summer camp, but he has been changed, and having felt a dick press against his ass feels like a crude and yet important part of that transformation.
After his first partial fingering experience Kyle is more comfortable with Eric, as if that particular awkward intimacy was an important step in the bonding process. Even outside of the bed it feels increasingly easy to be with Eric, who is starting to look actually and not just potentially handsome, either because there is less chub along his jawline or because Kyle is falling for him for real. He still looks forward to his injections with Stan ardently, but this enthusiasm doesn't feel like a betrayal of Eric, just like a hopelessly unrequited crush that only hurts when Stan smiles at him the way he sometimes does, like he thinks that Kyle is special, too.
Two weeks into July, Kyle is walking to the nurse's station with Stan after his free hour to do an unplanned, late afternoon injection. He washed up well after rolling around with Eric in bed during their usual shenanigans, but he still has a whiff of sex on him and hopes it's not too noticeable. He glances at Stan, wondering if he would be able to detect the smell of Craig on Stan's skin, if Craig even has a sex smell. He seems naturally antiseptic.
"What?" Stan says when he sees Kyle looking at him.
"Nothing. How are you?"
Stan laughs. "You've already seen me twice today."
"I know, but we didn't talk about how you are."
"Oh, right. You want the report? Well, I'm fine. I miss the ocean."
"Really? I don't miss the mountains at all. I bet I'd miss the ocean if I was used to it, though."
Kyle hears the buzz of an unfamiliar motor and looks away. Ahead on the path, a golf cart is coming toward them, driven by Kenny. Stan snorts and waves to him.
"'Sup, guys?" Kenny says when he pulls up beside them.
"Headed to the nurse's station for his shot," Stan says. "Since when do they let you drive a golf cart?"
"I found it out back near the old restaurant. Fixed it up myself, so I figure it's mine, at least as long as I'm here. You guys want a ride? Or a driving lesson, perhaps?" Kenny winks at Kyle, who would be slightly perturbed by this if Stan wasn't with him.
"I'll take a driving lesson," Kyle says, glancing at Stan. "If it's okay?"
"Let's do your shot first. Then – I don't know, we'll see. Where are you supposed to be right now?"
"Team building, but if I'm late we can just tell them I needed to sit for a while after my injection. Please?"
"Please, Mr. Marsh?" Kenny says, grinning, and Kyle gets the same hot flush of pleasure he experiences anytime he hears Stan's last name, as if it's some secret and intimate nickname. It happens when someone calls Eric by his last name, too. There's something so appealing about the sweet but sturdy cadence of 'Marsh' and the authoritative weight of 'Cartman.' Kyle has never liked the arrhythmic disorder of his own last name.
Kenny waits outside with the golf cart while Kyle takes his insulin. Stan seems a little nervous, pacing around until Kyle is finished.
"I really should get you back to the main building," Stan says. "For Wendy's leadership games, or whatever."
"I've never gotten to drive anything, though. My mom says go-karts at amusement parks are redneck deathtraps policed by inebriated teenagers. Please? It'll be fun. Unless, uh. Do you have someplace to be?" Kyle doesn't want to be left alone with Kenny, who isn't quite threatening but doesn't give Kyle the same feeling of cushy security that Stan does.
"I'm free," Stan says. He sighs and shakes his head. "You'll have to be careful, okay?"
"I won't wreck the golf cart, I promise."
They head outside to meet Kenny, and when Stan slides into the backseat, Kyle sits beside him.
"How are you gonna learn to drive from back there?" Kenny asks.
"I'll move once we get to - wherever we're going." Kyle is blushing now, annoyed with Kenny for calling him out for sticking to Stan's side and with himself for doing so without thinking. "Where are we going?" he asks when Kenny drives the cart away from the nurse's station.
"The golf course," Kenny says. "Naturally."
"Won't someone see us?"
"Nah, it's the hottest part of the day. All the authorities are hiding in the air-conditioned shade. This is when me and Stan get up to no good!"
"Ha," Stan says, staring at the back of Kenny's head.
"After dark, he gets up to no good with other people."
"Dude, shut up." Stan glances at Kyle and smiles warily. "He makes me sound like a bad guy."
"I know you're not a bad guy," Kyle says, resisting the urge to touch Stan's hand, which is resting on the plastic-covered seat, beside Kyle's thigh.
They reach the golf course and park near the old restaurant, where Kyle supposes Kenny is still living, though he doesn't see how that's humanly possible without some kind of temperature control. He slides out of the backseat and gets behind the wheel, gripping it nervously. His father has promised to start teaching him how to drive after this summer, and he's never had his foot on an actual accelerator, though he has operated a few arcade game cars.
"Now," Kenny says, sitting beside Kyle. "Give it some gas, but gently. Use the same foot to operate the brake and the gas."
"I know that part," Kyle says. He taps the gas, thinking of how intimidating it was to touch another boy's cock for the first time. This golf cart feels alive and potentially dangerous in a similar way, especially when it shoots forward with unexpected power.
"Whoa, whoa, careful!" Kenny says, laughing. Kyle brakes hard and they all jerk forward.
"Sorry," Kyle says.
"Ease down on the gas," Stan says, scooting forward to fold his arms on the back of Kyle's seat. "Just let it roll really slow until you get a feel for how much power you've got."
Kyle's cock responds to those instructions as if they were dirty words whispered into his ear, and he squeezes the steering wheel more tightly, attempting to reject the sudden haze of arousal. He wants to hear Stan say really slow over and over again, gently like that. When he steadies himself enough to do as Stan instructed, he manages to inch the cart forward smoothly before giving it a little more gas.
"There you go," Kenny says. "Drive over toward that flag on hole three."
Kyle can't help laughing as the cart picks up speed and bounces along over the manicured grass. Kenny laughs, too, and Stan gives Kyle's shoulder an encouraging pat. When he drives faster the dry wind feels good on his cheeks, and he manages to stop laughing like an idiot but is still smiling so widely it hurts, even when he brakes too hard at times.
"We should get you back to camp," Stan says after Kyle has been driving for five minutes or so.
"This is a better leadership exercise than Wendy's games," Kyle says.
"That's right," Kenny says. "Look at all the confidence we're inspiring in this young man."
"You sound fucking creepy, dude," Stan says, but he's laughing, and he lets Kyle drive the cart around for a while longer before pointing him back toward camp.
On the walk to the main building Kyle feels giddy from being treated like he was one of the guys, grown up enough to share another secret with Stan and Kenny. He arrives at the team building workshop as the games are winding down and sits against the wall, feigning diabetes-related weakness. When Eric notices him sitting on the sidelines he jogs over and sinks down onto his knees to give Kyle a concerned appraisal.
"What's the deal?" Eric says. "You're sick?"
"I'm fine." Kyle can't help but laugh at Eric's expression, which makes Eric frown more deeply. "Seriously, I'm just worn out. I took my time on the walk back."
"Why are you smiling like that?"
"I'm not. Am I?"
Eric grunts and moves to sit with his back to the wall, beside Kyle. He presses his shoulder to Kyle's and seems not to care when Wendy gives them a disapproving look.
"Did that counselor guy take care of you?" Eric asks after sitting in petulant silence for a few minutes.
"You know his name."
"Yeah, Stan the pathetic drunken hippie. Is he, like. Nice? When you're feeling sick?"
"Of course he's nice! You've met him. He's super nice."
"Super nice," Eric says, mimicking this. Kyle turns his cheek and rolls his eyes. Eric has been developing some Stan-related sensitivity, but it usually only manifests if Kyle spends too long in the nurse's station. "Do you guys, like, talk?" Eric asks, elbowing Kyle.
"Yeah, sometimes. A little."
"He seems kinda dim."
"He's not." Kyle thinks of Stan's impressions of Eric, which essentially amount to a fear that he's bullying Kyle, though they haven't talked about this recently and it's possible Stan has finally decided to trust Kyle's feelings on the matter.
"Well, he looks like a douchebag," Eric says.
"Dude, whatever."
"You're saying he doesn't look like a douchebag?"
"He just looks like a normal guy!"
Eric huffs as if Kyle has admitted that Stan is handsome. Kyle yawns and slumps against Eric's shoulder more completely, allowing the back of his hand to touch Eric's leg. They've gotten bold together behind the closed door of the cabin, but the subtle touches in public are a different kind of pleasure, partly secretive and partly a way to brag that they do other, actually secret things.
"I don't like older guys," Eric says. "Do you?"
"What, to date? I don't know. What are you even talking about? Did I miss anything fun in workshop?"
"Eh, not really. Butters got hit in the face with a bean bag, that was pretty cool."
Kyle laughs, and when Eric smiles at him he considers the discussion deftly avoided, but his heart is still beating hard. He's surprised by how guilty he feels, because it used to be kind of enjoyable when Eric got jealous of anybody who sat too close to Kyle.
The routine established in Kyle's first month at camp continues without much alteration other than the looseness of his pants. He begins to not only linger in the bathroom after his showers to inspect his reflection in the mirror but also to pause and glance at any mirrored surface he passes, often genuinely surprised by what he sees. His hair is still an overgrown mess and his nose could be better, but for the first time in years he doesn't feel like a shapeless blob stuffed into human clothing. He's actually developing arm muscles from the extracurricular lifting he's done with Eric, and he's equally pleased when he notices that Eric is, too. Eric still has plenty of arm fat to spare, but beneath that his biceps have gotten firmer, and his stomach is less of an obstacle when Kyle straddles him in bed. Though he was optimistic about shedding some pounds, Kyle never actually suspected that either of them would 'get hot,' and he's startled when he begins to catch himself admiring the light freckles that have appeared under Eric's eyes and over the bridge of his nose, brought out by the sun. His time with Eric is beginning to feel less like a project or an experiment and more like an actual thing. It makes Kyle feel squirmy and embarrassed at random moments, but it's exciting, like a good dream that doesn't fade away when he pinches himself.
The only part of camp that Kyle truly dreads are the weekly group therapy nights. He doesn't mind public speaking but still barely feels comfortable being honest about his feelings when he's alone with Mackey, and though he's friendly with the other kids he doesn't actually feel close to anyone but Eric. Even between the two of them there are still some walls up, and Kyle wants to hear Eric publicly confess his pain and vulnerabilities even less than he wants to do so himself. Fortunately, there seems to be little chance of that happening. Eric rarely speaks during group unless he's making some attempt at a witty remark to diffuse the tension, and he often seems to be struggling not to fall asleep. Mackey doesn't pressure Kyle to talk much when the others are around, and he can usually pass the hour trying to avoid eye contact and idly daydreaming about Eric, Stan, or both.
The first unavoidably significant group therapy session happens in mid-July, on a hot, quiet night that feels just like all of the previous hot, quiet nights at camp have so far. At the start of the hour, Kyle isn't paying attention enough to see where things are heading. Henrietta is complaining about her shallow mother's obsession with conforming precisely to every social expectation placed upon her. Kyle has heard this before, and he only starts listening when Bebe, who is usually one of the quietest in the group, chimes in.
"My mom takes it a step further," she says. She seems tired and almost like she's talking in her sleep, her eyes unfocused. She's lost at least ten pounds since the start of camp, her hour glass figure now less like that of a reclining beauty in an oil painting and more catalog-model standardized. It's not necessarily an improvement, but what does Kyle know about women and how they should look.
"How do you mean?" Mackey asks when Bebe goes silent after saying that.
"She thinks it's beneath us to be like everyone else," Bebe says. She seems to be gaining steam in a way that makes Kyle nervous; he hates it when people get worked up and cry during group. "We have to be the best. And I'm not talking about my grades. She doesn't care if I get B's. She just wants – she wants beautiful family photographs. When I gained weight last year, she didn't even care why. She just threw a Mackey Youth Center Brochure on my bed and told me to tell all my friends I'd be spending the summer with my dad in Toronto."
"Your dad's Canadian?" Eric says. "I bet he's a hippie."
"Eric, please." Mackey shoots him a look and Eric shrugs. "Bebe, you mentioned that your mother didn't care about the reason for your weight gain? Would you be comfortable sharing that reason with the group?"
Bebe hooks her thumbs together and stares down at her hands. She doesn't blush – Kyle has noticed that about her, enviously – but her shoulders hunch when she's nervous or unhappy. She and Butters don't stand up to teasing, good natured or otherwise, as well as the rest of the group.
"These rumors started about me," Bebe says. "At school. I don't know if it was girls or boys who started them, and by the end of the year I was starting to think it was a combination of both, girls who I thought were my friends and guys who I thought really liked me – respected me, I mean, but that turned out to be a joke. Everyone said that I'd slept with these three guys on the basketball team, like I'd done some kind of – orgy with them, and after that was a big hit they started a new one that I'd slept with this history teacher, too. I just felt so – fucking – defeated, like. What could I do? It was total bullshit, I've never slept with anyone, but they wanted to believe it all, so they did, and the ones who said to my face that they didn't believe the rumors were all laughing about it behind my back, I found out. So I just thought, fuck it. I work so hard to look perfect, to keep my hips from getting too wide, to keep my stomach flat – what's the point? My mom acts like a woman's greatest happiness lies in maintaining her looks, but it didn't work that way for me. It screwed me, if anything, because girls were jealous and guys who wanted me and weren't allowed access to me hated me for it. So I started eating everything I could get my hands on. I put on twenty pounds in two months. I felt worse, disgusting, because I saw the way my mom looked at me, but—"
Bebe stops talking and lifts her head to look around the circle. Her shoulders curve in toward her chest a bit more, and she takes hold of her elbows.
"Sorry," she says, and she fakes a pained little laugh. "I'm talking too much."
"Bebe, please don't apologize," Mackey says. Kyle can't help but be annoyed by how glad he seems to have Bebe's personal problems out in the middle of the room for everyone to dissect. "This is something that I'm glad you brought up, and I admire and appreciate your honesty about how your mother's apparent lack of interest in the cause of your emotional eating has hurt you. I think it would be fair to say that everyone here would list their parents' attitudes as one of the causes of their weight issues and body image insecurities?"
"Oh, sure!" Butters says loudly. He seems to want to rescue Bebe, whose eyes have started to water. "Gosh, until I came here I thought I had the best parents ever. I still love 'em, but man alive can they make me feel like a big, fat failure, and that only makes me want to eat more. Strange how that works."
Butters knocks his fists together and glances at Bebe, who is dabbing at her eyes with her knuckles. Tammy drags her chair over to put a supportive arm around her, and Bebe smiles vaguely in appreciation, staring at the floor as tears start to roll down her cheeks. Kyle thinks the bullying at school is the more interesting angle here and doesn't appreciate Mackey trying to bring everything back to the issues that Kyle sort of shares with this girl. Mostly this is making him appreciate his mother's gentler approach to the subject of his weight problem.
"Bebe, have you ever tried talking to you mother about how you feel?" Mackey asks. His voice is soft but Kyle finds the question harsh and uncalled for, considering Bebe's closed-off body language.
"I—" she says. "I just feel like. Everyone in my life. Back home. Has been so cruel to me this year. And that's—" She breaks off there and cries onto Tammy's shoulder. Butters makes a sympathetic noise and reaches over to rub Bebe's knee.
"Can I talk about my family issues a bit more, Mr. Mackey?" Butters says, raising his hand.
"Well, sure, Butters." Mackey sounds disappointed; Butters talks a lot during these sessions, more than Henrietta and Rebecca combined. "What would you like to discuss in particular?"
"I was thinking about how we talked about me sometimes not liking myself too much? And that's on account of my parents being tough on me, which is true, but I think it might also be 'cause of how my uncle made me feel when he messed with me that time."
"Messed – messed with you?"
"Yeah, like we talked about! Remember, he—"
"Sure, Butters, of course I remember." Mackey sits up straight, resting his notebook on his knees. "I just, ah. I wasn't sure you'd want to talk about that with the group."
"I know." Butters sighs and looks over at Bebe, who gives him a shaky smile. "But me and Bebe were talking about this, and I think it's a kind of step forward if I can talk about it without being ashamed, because it sure wasn't my fault."
"I'm confused," Clyde says. "What did your uncle do?"
"He, uh." Butters glances at Bebe again. Kyle's heart has started beating faster; he really doesn't want to hear this, but he supposes that's unfair, if Butters needs to say it. "Well, I won't get into specifics," Butters says. "But he did some sexual stuff to me when I was a kid. I didn't even know what was going on, and when I figured it out later I thought, I don't know. That it made me messed up and bad in some way, but now I know it's him who was messed up and bad, and I'm not half as bad as I thought I was."
"That's really admirable, Butters," Mackey says. "You've done some amazing self-realization work so far at camp this summer."
"I have sort of an academic question about this," Rebecca says. "I hope you won't find it insensitive or feel like you have to answer."
Kyle glances over at Eric, increasingly uncomfortable. This is the kind of tense discussion that he'd normally be trying to cannonball into with an inane comment that would derail things, but he's gone silent and sort of glassy-eyed. He looks pale, but maybe it's only the bad florescent lighting.
"Are you comfortable with the term survivor?" Rebecca asks, speaking to Butters. "Or is that akin to defining yourself based on one bad experience? I've always wondered, if you're willing to talk about it."
"Well, gosh, I don't know," Butters says. "A survivor sounds like a strong person, so that'd be okay if someone called me that. I was so young that it kinda feels like it happened to somebody else. But then then the smallest, most out of the blue thing will make me think of it and start to feel all weird and different."
"Did you ever confront your uncle?" Henrietta asks.
"No, but I told my mom about what happened and she threatened to cut off his wiener if he ever came near me again."
"What's the statute of limitations on prosecuting someone for sexual misconduct with a minor?" Rebecca asks, as if she's going to take on the case herself. Kyle is tempted to tell her that she's missing the point, though he'd really like to stay out of this discussion. Before he can decide whether to speak, Eric's chair makes a noisy sliding sound against the floor. Kyle turns to see Eric leaving the circle, heading for the door.
"Eric?" Mackey says. "Where are you going?"
"Bathroom," Eric says, and he leaves. Kyle feels his face heating in an incriminating way and turns back toward the group with trepidation. Bebe and Tammy are giving him questioning looks, as if he should explain this.
"I once saw a guy masturbating in a library," Clyde says. "He looked right at me."
"Oh geez!" Butters says. "I didn't know that, Clyde."
"Well, I've never told anyone."
"Um, hello, what?" Henrietta says. "That's disturbing and shit, but you really can't compare it to being abused by a family member."
Kyle zones out during the discussion that follows, preoccupied by Eric's sudden exit and continuing absence. Five minutes pass, then ten, and Kyle can see that Mackey is also concerned about Eric's whereabouts when their eyes meet. Kyle raises his hand, interrupting Rebecca and Henrietta's increasingly impassioned debate on post-traumatic stress disorder.
"Can I go check on Eric?" Kyle asks. "I think he might be sick or something."
"Mhmm, yeah, I think that's a good idea." Mackey glances at the doorway and sighs. "Guys, can we rein it in a little?" he asks as Kyle heads away from the circle. "I think we're sort of steamrolling the emotional issues here with moot theoretical dialogue, mmkay?"
Kyle checks the boys' bathroom and isn't surprised when he doesn't find Eric there. He walks the halls of the main building nervously, wanting to discover Eric and comfort him if needed but also afraid to find him in a sodden puddle of tears. It would ruin something, maybe, though he doesn't want Eric to be alone with whatever he's going through. He pauses when he hears Eric's voice, muffled, from the end of the hall. He's not sobbing, but he doesn't sound particularly composed. Kyle turns a corner and sees the side exit door propped open and exposed the the desert night, which looks like a blank black wall against the glow from the building's interior. Eric is sitting with his back to the door, on the cement stairs near the dumpsters where they threw away his candy. There's an outdoor light glowing over his huge, hunched frame, and Wendy is sitting beside him, speaking to him softly, her arm tucked around Eric's back. Despite their almost comical size difference, she seems like the larger of the two of them, a kind of grown-up force field that has wrapped protectively around him while he sniffles and mumbles and swipes the heel of his hand across his eyes.
Creeping away as quietly as he can, Kyle feels both jealous and relieved. Wendy is more qualified for this particular breakdown, and Kyle is off the hook, but he wants to help Eric, too, later, if he can. He also wants to find Stan and again be whisked away to the peaceful seclusion of his private room, to just sit there in silence rather than go back and listen to the group's further thoughts on victims of sexual abuse and how they should feel about what happened to them. He realizes that this longing for Stan isn't entirely spontaneous when he recognizes Stan's voice in the distance, coming from behind a half-closed door: Craig's office.
Kyle freezes, then moves toward the wall. He can hear the smug clip of Craig's voice, too, and he presses himself to the wall, wanting to have at least some idea of how things actually function between these two, beyond the laundry machines. If they catch him, he can tell them that Mackey gave him permission to search the building for Eric, and Mackey can corroborate his story if necessary.
"I'm sure you fit right in with that crowd," Craig is saying when Kyle scales back his anxious excitement enough to actually listen.
"They're pretty cool," Stan says. "What?" he says when Craig scoffs. "Like you know all about bikers."
"One look at those people is enough to tell me everything, so, yes."
"Oh, yeah, you figure everybody out at first glance." Stan pauses, and Craig makes no rebuttal. "What did you think about me the first time you saw me?"
"Hmmm. Well, I had you pegged, didn't I?"
"Pegged?" Stan sounds less amused now.
"As someone who needed - guidance. Oh, don't look at me like that. You're adorable. I thought you looked like a closeted, unsure, beautiful college boy and that I wanted to sleep with you as soon and as much as possible. Is that what you want to hear?"
"You're an asshole."
"I'm not, I'm being honest. Come here."
"Fuck you, there are still people in the building."
"I'm not asking you to crawl over here on your knees, Stanley, I just want to give you a hug. You get so upset over nothing."
"It's not nothing when you tell me I'm obvious. Like I'm in gay heat or something, Jesus Christ. I don't want people knowing."
"Knowing that you're gay, or knowing that you've been sexually frustrated for so long that you vibrate like a metal detector when a willing dick strolls by?"
"Okay, yeah, it's all a big joke to you. You're such a sympathetic gay guidance counselor, good job."
"I'm not your gay guidance counselor, good grief. I'm just teasing you. Come here and let me tell you how I really feel. I don't want to shout it across the room."
Kyle can hear his heart thudding like a car alarm that he's attempting to ignore as he listens to Stan take a few shuffling steps inside the office. He should go now; Mackey will be wondering about him, and it's disrespectful to Stan to eavesdrop like this. He glances down the hallway to make sure Wendy and Eric aren't approaching. There's a creaking sound from inside Craig's office, like a chair bearing too much weight.
"You're so sweet," Craig says, murmuring this quietly. Kyle can barely hear now, but he can't seem to make himself leave. "I was so angry when I was your age."
"I'm angry," Stan says, mumbling. There's a sort of soft clicking sound, and Kyle feels like someone has thrown a spear through his chest when he realizes they're kissing. He recognizes Stan's sigh, and when the chair creaks again he pictures Stan sitting in Craig's lap, letting Craig stroke his cheek. Rage flushes through him in a miserable heatwave, but before he can get really worked up a kind of resigned sadness snuffs the flames. Of course Stan is kissing Craig; Kyle has seen them doing more with his own eyes. It sucks, and Craig is not worthy, but Kyle has no right to get mad at either of them about this. He moves away from the wall and stops when he hears Craig speak again.
"Don't go to that stupid bar tonight," Craig says. "And let that idiot Kenny entertain himself. Stay over with me."
"It's too - I don't want Wendy to find out." Stan's voice sounds different now, apologetic and soft, and Kyle doesn't like it.
"You've got to come out to your friends sometime," Craig says. "You're not a lifelong closet case."
"I know, but - it's - she got me this job, and if Mackey found out-"
"You're an adult, Stan. Act like one. I'll admit this arrangement is slightly unprofessional, but more on my behalf than yours. You're not breaking any rules. Don't worry. Just let me take care of you. You need taking care of, don't you?"
Stan grunts as if he's annoyed by this, but then they're kissing again, more fervently by the sound of it. Kyle creeps away feeling ill with a combination of irrational anger, unwanted arousal and knifing jealousy that's all churning together in his stomach. He returns to the group therapy room and is surprised to see Eric seated in the circle again, looking tired. Wendy is sitting on a card table against the back wall, taking notes while Tammy talks about her recurring dreams of regaining the weight she's lost. Kyle sits beside Eric and is worried when Eric won't look at him. He tunes out Tammy's voice and tries to imagine what the rest of Stan's evening will be like. He'll go back to Craig's place, probably. They'll drink wine. Maybe Craig will light a fire. He probably has some stupid gas fireplace that comes on with the push of a button. Kyle glances over at Eric again, wanting him to look back. Eric doesn't seem like he's been crying, but he doesn't look happy at all, his arms crossed over his chest and his jaw set in a hard line as he stares intently at the floorspace in the center of the circle.
When Mackey dismisses the group they all walk back to the cabins together, chaperoned by Wendy, who is chatting with Tammy about pre-sleep relaxation methods. Eric walks beside Kyle but doesn't say anything, and Kyle isn't sure where to start.
"That whole therapy session was fucked up," Henrietta mutters, and Kyle turns back toward her, surprised that she's speaking to him. She usually ignores him based on his affiliation with Eric, who she still despises.
"It was-" Kyle isn't sure what he should say, with Eric listening. "A little weird, yeah."
"Is Clyde straight up retarded?" Henrietta asks, not even bothering to whisper. "A homeless guy grabbed my boob on a bus once, but I'm not going to like, compare that to some kid getting molested by his-"
"Can we fucking stop talking about it already?" Eric says, so loudly that everyone in the group goes quiet. "Jesus Christ," he mumbles after he's glared at Henrietta. "If I have to hear any more therapy talk tonight I'm gonna slit my fucking wrists."
"Dramatic much?" Henrietta says.
"Guys," Wendy calls from ahead on the path. "Chill."
Kyle wants to take Eric's hand, but maybe that would be too conspicuous. He doesn't want the other kids to guess why Eric is upset, though maybe it's a stretch to think that they would. When they reach the cabins he wishes the girls a listless goodnight while Butters takes a turn hugging each of them. Even Henrietta allows him to hug her, which is a first. Inside the cabin, Kyle sits on his bed to take off his shoes and socks, keeping the corner of his eye on Eric, who heads directly into the bathroom. Kyle hears the shower come on, which is weird, because Eric already showered after their evening workout.
"What's his problem?" Clyde asks.
"He hates group," Kyle says. "Don't you?"
"No. I like group."
"Me too!" Butters says. "It's kinda a lot to take in sometimes, but I always feel better after."
"Well, good for you two. Seriously, though, uh." Kyle glances up from his dirty socks to look at Butters, who is pulling off his t-shirt. He's getting pretty fit, and Kyle is jealous, his chest suddenly feeling very saggy. "I'm glad you're feeling better - about everything," Kyle says when Butters meets his eyes. Butters grins and itches his left nipple in a way that Kyle finds slightly disgusting, though he generally enjoys male nipples.
"This is just a real special place," Butters says. "I only thought I'd be learning how to not be so chunky, but I think the other stuff's more important, you know what I mean?"
"Sure." Kyle pulls off his track pants and tosses them in the cabin's communal hamper. Sometimes he thinks about the fact that Stan washes his dirty boxer shorts, and he both loves and hates the idea. Poor Stan, in the hands of Craig, lured back to Craig's lair, being told that he needs taking care of. It's true, probably, but Kyle feels like he could do a better job, even at age fifteen, than creepy old Craig. He hears the shower shut off and looks toward the bathroom door. "I'm gonna brush my teeth," Kyle says, though Clyde and Butters are both preoccupied with dressing for bed and probably know why he's really going into the bathroom, anyway.
The bathroom is full of steam, as if Eric's brief shower was very hot. He's still behind the shower curtain, but doesn't seem alarmed at the sound of the door opening and closing. He must have guessed who has entered.
"Can I come in?" Kyle asks.
"Uh, you're already in. You can't come in the shower, if that's what you're asking. I'm fucking naked, Jesus."
"Eric, I-" Kyle stops himself from protesting that he's come in Eric's mouth, thereby making nudity sort of a technicality. "Alright. I, uh. Respect your boundaries, I do. You want me to get out?"
"No. Just. Give me my shirt. It's there on the counter."
"I see it." Kyle passes Eric's t-shirt around the edge of the shower curtain. "Do you need a towel?"
"I've got one. What are you doing? Did you want to have shower sex or something? Because I'm not into that. The shower is a man's solitary sanctuary."
"Fine - no, I just. Felt like talking, sort of, but not in front of Butters and-"
"Well, I don't feel like talking. I've had it with goddamn talking. Like talking about your bullshit in front of a bunch of assholes is some magic spell that makes everything better? Yeah, no, that's stupid. Fuck talking, and fuck Butters and his fucking superiority complex."
"That's not-"
"Whatever, shut up."
"Okay!" Kyle is annoyed by that particular command but glad that Eric is talking to him, even if he's only willing to talk about how he doesn't want to talk. Eric steps out from behind the shower curtain wearing his t-shirt and holding a towel around his waist. He stares at Kyle, looking vaguely defiant but also kind of broken. Kyle is beginning to feel damp from all the steam in the room. "Can I hug you?" he asks, and Eric snorts.
"What kind of stupid question is that?"
Eric steps forward and grabs hold of Kyle, pulling him to his humid, t-shirt covered chest and hugging him hard. Kyle squeezes Eric with equal vigor, relieved. The towel falls away from Eric's waist and sort of hangs between them, trapped there. Eric is breathing a little heavily, his nose buried in Kyle's curls. He smells good, feels good, and Kyle leans up onto his tiptoes to press his face to Eric's neck, which is not as pillowy as it was the first time Kyle nuzzled him there.
"You're losing some weight," Kyle says. He can actually net his fingers together on Eric's back, almost.
"Yeah, no crap, that's kind of the point."
"I mean you fit. In my arms." Kyle laughs at how stupid that sounded and kisses Eric's neck.
"That's pretty cool, I guess," Eric says. "And super gay."
"Fine, I'm super gay. I'm the gayest gay in gayville, I don't care."
"Your Jew fro is pretty out of control here," Eric says, rubbing his face there like he wants to burrow into Kyle's hair for the night.
"Don't call it a Jew fro." Kyle calls it that himself, and so does Ike, but that's different.
"Sorry, Jesus. I meant that, like, affectionately."
They kiss until Kyle starts to worry about Butters and Clyde hearing their kissing noises the way Kyle listened to Stan and Craig's. He reaches down to re-wrap the towel around Eric's waist as he pulls away.
"I went to look for you," Kyle says. "During group, when you were gone."
"Yeah, well. I ran into that Wendy chick. She's not that bad when she's not, like, telling me to do some yoga move that squishes my balls."
"She - you guys talked?"
"A little." Eric grins, and Kyle knows what's coming. "Are you jealous?"
Kyle rolls his eyes and leaves the bathroom without responding, because yeah, he is, but he's not exactly worried that Eric is going to leave him for Wendy, and he's glad she was there for him when he needed an authoritative arm around his shoulders. Out in the cabin, the lights are out and Clyde and Butters are either asleep or faking it. Kyle climbs into his bed and rolls over to look at Eric, who flashes Kyle a glimpse of his dick before pulling on a pair of clean boxer shorts. Kyle snorts and tugs his blankets up to his ear. The air conditioning is blasting, the interior of the cabin settling into cold-mode for the night. Kyle expects to sleep well, though when he closes his eyes he can't stop envisioning Stan on Craig's living room floor, naked and stretched out in front of a lame gas fireplace, being fed grapes or some dumb shit, not getting the taking-care-of that he really needs.