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Beckett’s eyes went dark, but he turned his head to the side, pressing one cheek against his shoulder. “I can’t.”
“You can,” Miles said, curving his neck, stretching his body out like he was a meal to be devoured. “You know you want to.”
Beckett pressed his lips together and moaned as he thrusted into his tight fist.
“Beckett,” Miles murmured, voice low and sensual. He was deep in the haze of lust with one goal and one goal only: helping Beckett finish; making Beckett feel as good as he had made Miles.
Beckett met Miles’s eyes, and his lips parted as he moaned.
“Come on me,” Miles said.
Beckett’s body went still, his balls quivering as he came on Miles, ropes of hot come landing on his abs and chest. Some even landed on his nipples.
Beckett groaned as his hand rubbed the top of his cock frantically and the last few drops drizzled on Miles’s lower stomach. Once he was done, he let go and hung his head, breathing deeply.
A minute later, Beckett reached over to his bag of things and pulled out a handful of tissues, then carefully wiped up Miles’s stomach. Afterwards, he pressed a quick, chaste kiss to Miles’s lips before getting rid of the tissues and lying down, arranging the sleeping bag over their bodies.
Miles leaned over and gave Beckett a similar kiss.
He started to pull away, but Beckett grabbed his arm and pulled Miles flush against him. Once again, they fell asleep in each other’s arms.
*
This time, when Miles woke up, Beckett was still in his arms, his cheek pressed against Miles’s chest and his hands around Miles’s ribs.
Carefully, Miles ran his fingers through Beckett’s short hair. So soft. He studied Beckett’s face. Sharp bone structure, the kind you’d see on a supermodel, but delicate eyes. Beckett really was handsome. How had Miles gone two years without constantly being distracted by his face?
Beckett’s eyes fluttered open.
“Morning,” Miles whispered.
Beckett smiled and tilted his head to kiss Miles’s bottom lip. “What time is it?” he asked.
Miles checked the time on his phone. “Almost eleven. We should get up, make breakfast.”
“Do we have to?” Beckett asked, burrowing his head against Miles’s neck.
“It’s our last full day here. We have to make the most of it,” Miles said, hiding his surprise at the fact Beckett wasn’t jumping out of bed and starting on the morning tasks immediately.
Beckett hummed and gave Miles another kiss, this time under his ear, before getting up. Without saying anything, he unbuttoned his pajama shirt and began getting changed.
Miles watched, admiring the view. Broad shoulders, toned muscles, strong legs.
Beckett had never changed in front of him before. He was different this morning. More relaxed. Happier. Not that he wasn’t usually calm and happy, but that morning it was as if there was a golden aura clinging to him, making him glow.
“Come on,” Beckett said once he was finished, unzipping the tent door.
Miles followed him out, and they both slipped into their flip-flops. Beckett started on breakfast while Miles got changed in his tent.
Once again, they cooked bacon and eggs, and this time Miles let Beckett help. He believed what Beckett had said: he really didn’t mind sharing. He had all the proof he needed when remembering how hard, how turned-on Beckett had been the previous night. How much he came.
After eating, they decided they’d go on a walk, before swimming at the beach again in the afternoon, when it’d be hotter and the sun would be out.
As they walked through the campground, Miles noticed many campers were packing up, folding up chairs and rolling their sleeping bags. That’d be him and Beckett tomorrow, and the thought made his stomach feel heavy. After this trip, would things go back to normal? Would Beckett never speak of sex or love again and continue to long for his secret crush? Would all the skin contact between them abruptly stop?
No more hand-holding. No more cuddling.
No more kissing. Or masturbating together. Or blowjobs.
