I Hate Summer (5 page)

I laughed at him as he mumbled something
incomprehensible in my ear
in his sleep
. I carefully untangled myself and got up.

This morning I wasn’t the first up, and I gave my dad and Jerry an absent wave as I dressed and went over to join them by the stove. They were discussing today’s activities and they greeted me absently with a mug of tea and a bottle of suncream. So far I’d avoided burning by wearing long sleeves and full trousers, while everyone else wore as little as possible against the baking sun. Today was a biking day, and once I was suitably protected from the sun, I dropped into a squat next to the dads to add my opinion on the route they were planning.

We ended up doing about thirty miles, and the back of my neck burnt despite the frequent reapplications of suncream. It was the two youngest Jacksons’ turn to cook, and despite their protestations, Jorja, Trystan, and I left them behind and hiked back up to the lake to wash up and cool off before dinner. We were flushed from the exercise, but it was a much more respectable temperature this time round and we lounged in the edge of the water. It was still warm and the sun was still up, but it was harmless even for me and it was a nice change to feel the sun on my skin.

I splashed water on my flushed neck as I watched Jorja flirt shamelessly with Trystan. He certainly seemed to notice, and he was strutting around like a bloody cat preening under her unsubtle gazes.

“So have you always been an early riser or have you just been sorting out your morning wood thanks to sleeping with such a hot guy,” Trystan said with a smug grin as he lay himself out in the edge of the water next to me.

Jorja giggled as she settled on my other side.

“What? It happens, babe. Nothing we can do about it,” Trystan said.

Jorja sniggered again and splashed water in his general direction as she turned a wry look my way.

“One, I’m not yer ‘babe’; two, that wasn’t what I was laughing at. You still haven’t told him?” she asked me.

“Huh? Told me what?” Trystan cut in before I could answer.

“Ide’s been leaving to be nice,” Jorja said with a smug grin.

I rolled my eyes and lifted another cup of water to my neck. “Yer a clingy sleeper, Trys.”

A look of realization slipped over Trystan’s face. “No shit? I know I am with girls… shit, sorry, Idrys.”

He looked genuinely concerned, which surprised me.

“No worries, I’ve been taking pictures of yer drooling face as blackmailing material.”

“I don’t drool,” he countered.

“Tell that to ma shoulder.”

“Huh, well I’ll try and stay on my side tonight if I can.”

It wasn’t like him curling up to me had woken me up or anything. On the contrary, I fell asleep in my bag by myself and I slept through ’til morning. And when I did wake up entwined with a straight guy like it was the most natural thing in the world, it was around the time I usually woke up, so I really had nothing to complain about. I hadn’t mentioned it because regardless of how cool this new Trystan seemed to be, I did not want to risk any of the old hostility returning.

Yet he stared at me now and seemed genuinely more bothered about pissing me off than getting cozy with a gay guy.

“Can I get a copy of those pictures, Ide?” Jorja quirked up from beside me as we all clambered out of the water to dress and head back to camp. Trystan shot her the finger. He did it again when he caught her blatantly staring at his arse as he pulled his jeans on. But nothing changed. He ribbed my sunburn with everyone else. Sat next to me at dinner, stole my toothpaste, and fell asleep next to me with a last moan at the heat.

“I
DE
,
IT
’
S
too bloody hot,” someone was muttering in my ear. Their actions were completely contradicting their complaints as they pressed their face in closer to my neck and slipped the firm sweaty leg that was between my calves higher up above my knees—so much for trying to stay on his own side.

“Open the door then, idiot.” I was still half-asleep as I tried to extract myself from the claustrophobic heat of the embrace.

An unintelligible curse filled my ear and then the heat peeled away. I reveled in the cool and the breeze that washed through as the sound of a zipper filled the night.

“Mmm, sorry,” Trystan murmured as he settled back on his side of the tent. He turned himself over and was breathing deeply again in moments. I wondered if he noticed his feet slide straight over and find mine. I let them be; the contrast of warm skin against the breeze wasn’t too bad.

“S
O
,”
THE
single syllable hissed into my ear was full of silken promise. “This was why you didn’t say anything, eh?” I could feel the lips that formed the words were only millimeters from my skin. A shudder wracked my half-asleep body as my senses were suddenly flooded with too much information.

It was still early, judging from the gray light working its way through the walls of the tent. Clearly it had gotten cold again at some point, because for the first time all week, my sleeping bag was actually over me. I was huddled on my side and although my nose was chilly and my sleeping bag wasn’t really doing all that much, I wasn’t particularly cold. Probably because of the body that was spooned tightly against my spine. Our legs were entwined as usual, but there was a hand tucked around my torso. Unbelievably—even for my sleep-addled head—the fingers of that hand were teasing ever so lightly against the faint definition of muscle that was the closest to a six-pack I could manage.

The fingers were nice. But that only registered somewhere deep in my brain because all my consciousness was able to do was try to compute the unmistakable mass that was pressed against my ass.

“It wasn’t this bad.” I concentrated on holding myself very still because I was almost certain that Trystan had just rolled his hips against mine, pressing his erection into my arse—which was far too suggestive and my brain was having trouble keeping up with the fact I wasn’t supposed to be getting turned on.

“Must have gotten cold; shut the door and go back to sleep,” I said, and I was glad that the faint notes of appreciation for his actions were hidden in my sleep-gruff voice.

But he
definitely
rolled his hips that time, and in response, my body released a delicious—and thoroughly inappropriate—wave of heat.

“I’m not really in the mood for sleeping,” he whispered against my ear. His words were slow and sultry as he continued to toy with my chest. It was
almost
enough to make me forget that it was Trystan whispering honey-laden seductions into my ear.

“Go back to sleep, Trys,” I grumbled and wished that his teasing wasn’t quite so convincing.

“Come on, you’re gay, right? You said I was hot; well, now’s your chance to blow me.”

I rolled over in the cocoon of his arms and fixed him with a cold stare that let him know what I thought of that suggestion.

“Ye think ’cause I’m gay I’ll fall at yer feet at the chance of a taste o’ yer cock?”

He grinned. “It tastes good; girls have told me before.” The light was flat and gray but it was enough to see the taunting twinkle in his eyes. This was just another game.

An irritated murmur escaped from my chest, and with a growl I grabbed his shoulders and rolled him down onto his back. I let a smirk tighten my lips as I slipped myself between his legs and pressed my hips down against his. I held his gaze as I rolled slightly against the pressure there and fully expected my presence to rid him of his excess blood problem.

It didn’t. He grinned up at me with those irritatingly sexy lips and those sultry brown eyes—half-closed with sleep still and looking far too much like postcoital enjoyment for my sleep-addled brain—and he fricking pressed up to meet me back.

The guy was playing gay chicken—with a gay guy.

So he really must be an idiot.

I resisted the urge to shake my head and laugh at him.

“So, ye want me to blow ye?” I dropped my head to whisper the words along his neck as I let my hands skim along the surface of his enviable torso. “Aren’t ye worried that’ll make ye gay?”

“I don’t want you to, I’m
letting
you,” he chuckled as my fingers caught on the waistband of his boxers.

I watched his face as I dropped my weight swiftly back over my ankles and tugged his boxers out of the way in one swift downward movement. A very satisfying—if faint—look of surprise flickered across his dark eyes as I dropped my head into the well between his hip and thighs. Beneath my ear, I could hear the thick beat of blood as it surged beneath his skin.

“Hmm?” I let the low rumble resonate out of me and watched a ripple of tension wash up his body in response. “Still not lost it?” It was pretty surprising that his erection remained firm against his stomach. If I shuffled my head forward a little, I’d be able to reach it with my mouth. I knew he’d be able to feel the faint pressure of my words as I spoke. It wasn’t like he was even screwing his eyes shut to block me out: he was staring down at me, and I could see his need to win battling against his surprise at what I’d done and where I’d put myself.

“It’s easy to pretend you’re a girl, especially in this light and with all the pansy teasing you’re doing.”

“Hoh?” Well, that I hadn’t expected. I chuckled darkly and enjoyed the ripple of tension the vibrations of my amusement caused. I let my tongue slide out to moisten my lips. “Well, ye let me know after if ye still think I’m like a girl, eh?”

“Ide…. Idrys, what are you… ah fuck—” Trystan’s words petered out into a spluttered gasp as I lifted myself up, pressed a hand against his hip to hold him still, and reached forward to wrap my lips around the head of his penis.

“Ide, fucking…. Nnn,” he gasped as I circled his head with my tongue and slipped my lips down lower onto his shaft. A strangled groan shuddered from his chest as he hit the back of my throat and continued. I sucked gently as my tongue danced up and down his flesh.

He clamped one of his hands over his mouth to muffle the worst of his moans.

“Oh God, you really need to stop,” he whined again, but despite his protests, his other hand was working its way into my hair. I gave my own little moan of pleasure as that hand pressed my head farther down. At the same time, his hips jacked up into my mouth, thrusting his erection way past my nonexistent gag reflex.

I’m good at blow jobs. I mean, you always hear that guys give better head because they know what they’re doing, and it’s true to an extent. But unfortunately—or fortunately depending on which way you look at it—for Trystan he chose the wrong gay guy to tempt with a blow job, because I like giving head. And I like it for all the reasons the beautiful man below me was suddenly exhibiting. I loved the slight thrill of being dominated; I loved a hand tugging almost uncomfortably at my hair, and I loved the buzz of knowing the way the body below me was jacking up into my mouth was because of what I was doing. I could feel my blood thickening with desire and lust as it curled round my body to pool between my legs. The knowledge that this was a onetime thing and that it was utterly one-sided actually made things worse, and I groaned into Trystan’s erection as my cock completely solidified.

I found a rhythm that he liked and I used it to my advantage; I pulled off as far as his hand would let me and drove back down until the crisp mat of dark hairs that framed him was pressed against my pale stubble. All the while my tongue danced over his flesh, one of my hands still pressed against his hip—though I wasn’t bothering to try to hold him down—the other one I’d dropped to play lightly with his balls. He was putty in my hands. His head was thrown back, exposing his throat, and his eyes fluttered open and closed in lustful bliss. His grip was tightening in my hair and I could feel his cock swelling between my lips before suddenly he was jamming his length as far inside the heat of my mouth as it would go and was shuddering as he pumped his release against the back of my tongue.

Trystan was wrong. His cock didn’t taste any better than any other cock I’d tasted—flesh is flesh, after all. But his cum was up there with my favorites. It was rich but not too sickly; a hint of bitterness—like dark chocolate—lingered against my lips as I cleaned him up and sat back on my haunches.

“Can’t believe you did that, you whore,” Trystan panted with his eyes half-closed. His face was a mixture of bliss and irritation, and I shot him a grin in return as I licked my lips suggestively.

“Yeah, well.” I lay back down on my roll mat and tugged my sleeping bag back over my shoulders. “Ye just remember I’m not a girl from now on, eh?”

“Fucking faggot,” he muttered. He rolled over onto his side to face the opposite wall of the tent.

I didn’t let my sigh slip from between my lips. Between my legs, my cock was still hard, but my erection wouldn’t last long now that the heat of the moment had passed. It wasn’t as if I hadn’t known what would happen, but I couldn’t help but feel a bit irritated with myself when I was half asleep and my legs unconsciously reached out to find the absent heat they had grown used to.

Well, at least the first three days had been fun.

I woke up the only inhabitant of my side of the tent, which shouldn’t have been surprising; after all, it had only been three mornings, and I had screwed up so perfectly last night. Still, I stifled a groan as I army-crawled out of my sleeping bag and into the blissfully overcast morning. My eyes drifted over to Trystan’s sleeping form of their own accord as I leaned down to zip the tent back up. Trystan was curled up almost against the wall of the tent. I wanted to tell him off because he was making the inner lining touch the waterproof outer and it would get damp, but I was silent as I zipped my tent up and hid the sleeping Trystan from my sight.

I had fallen asleep justifying what I had done. Not that I was bothered by giving a blow job. The facts were that Trystan had woken up with a hard-on and he had come on to me—but I still should have said no. Instead I’d let myself be baited like an idiot, and then I had done something that was going to make the rest of the week awkward. We were both adults, and it wasn’t as if I’d raped him, but he had still told me to stop and I hadn’t. Yeah he’d come and yeah he’d got into it in the end, but he’d still asked me to stop and the smug satisfaction of calling his bluff had faded to a throbbing background sense of guilt.