Chapter Six – The New Day

Dawn came crisp and merciless, sunlight slicing through the valley like a knife. I awoke curled around Billy's back, my nose buried between his shoulder blades where the scent of woodsmoke clung stubbornly to his skin. Somewhere in the night, he'd stolen most of the second blanket, leaving me with a corner barely large enough to cover my hips.

Billy's stirring shifted the blankets, his thigh sliding against mine with drowsy intent, his morning wood rubbing against mine. "Mm. Someone's eager," he murmured, his voice thick with sleep as his fingers curled around my erection. The stolen blanket slipped further, revealing the pink scrape marks I'd left down his ribs from yesterday.

I caught his wrist, pulse thudding against my thumb. "We should..."

"Break camp?" Billy's grin was wicked as he rolled atop me, morning sunlight gilding the scar through his eyebrow. "Not until we’ve had breakfast," as his hips ground down, hot and insistent, drawing a groan from my throat.

Billy's lips brushed mine with a gentleness that belied the hunger in his grip, a fleeting tease before tracing downward, his tongue flicking against the hollow of my throat. Each kiss burned hotter than the last, igniting a trail of fire across my skin until his teeth grazed my nipple with just enough pressure to make my hips jerk, the fabric of my nightshirt offering no protection.

"Still rude, Biology Boy?" he murmured against my ribcage, his breath hot as his mouth travelled lower, gently raising my nightshirt, only to pause and swirl his tongue in the dip of my navel. The blanket slid completely away as he hooked and licked my balls, taking each into his mouth, sucking it, swirling it around and then popping it out like you would a cherry stone. The morning air raised goosebumps on my exposed skin as his attention had moved to the inside of my thigh, giving me a love bite that would certainly remain between us and no other audience, not that we had an audience where we were.

I barely had time to register the cold before his mouth enveloped me whole, no tentative testing, no gradual taking, just one smooth descent that stole my breath. The contrast of his scorching tongue against the alpine chill was dizzying. My fingers tangled in his sleep-mussed hair as he hummed around me, the vibration ricocheting up my spine as he took my cock as deep as he possibly could.

Billy pulled back just enough to smirk up at me, his lips glistening. "Brian really undersold you," he rasped before diving down again, his throat working around me with shameless greed. His hands pinned my hips to the rocky shore, thumbs digging into the bruises he'd left yesterday.

Every drag of his mouth felt deliberate, like he was mapping me, celebrating every contour of my shaft, enjoying the way I twitched when his tongue pressed just beneath the head, the way my thighs trembled when he swallowed me deep… again.

Billy's mouth was a revelation, hot, skilled, and utterly relentless. He took me deep with an ease that suggested years of practice, his tongue swirling in wicked patterns that had my fingers knotting in his hair. Every flick, every suction was calculated to wring the most desperate noises from my throat, his lips stretching obscenely around my girth as he swallowed me down to the root. The morning air was crisp, but Billy's mouth was a furnace, his cheeks hollowing as he pulled back with a filthy, wet sound that sent a fresh wave of heat pooling low in my belly.

"Christ," I choked out, my hips jerking involuntarily as he dragged his teeth lightly along the underside, just enough to tease, not enough to hurt. Billy smirked around me, his golden eyes flicking up to meet mine, full of mischief and dark promise. He knew exactly what he was doing, and the sheer confidence in his gaze was nearly as intoxicating as the wet heat of his mouth.

He shifted, his free hand roaming up my torso under the cotton fabric, to pinch at a nipple, twisting just shy of painful. The dual sensations, his mouth working me over and his fingers teasing my sensitive skin, threatened to unravel me far too quickly. I tugged at his hair, half in warning, half in plea, but Billy only hummed, the vibration shooting straight to my core. His throat flexed as he took me deep again, his nose pressed against my pelvis, and I could feel the way he relaxed his jaw, inviting me to fuck into that tight, willing heat.

I didn't hold back. I couldn’t hold back. My grip tightened in his hair as I thrust upward, chasing the pleasure coiling tight in my gut.

Billy moaned around me, the sound muffled but unmistakably pleased, his fingers digging into my hips as if to say more, harder. Spit slicked my length, dripping down to where his hand now worked in tandem with his mouth, stroking what he couldn't take. The sight alone, Billy, on his knees between my thighs, lips stretched wide, and eyes watering slightly, was almost enough to push me over the edge on its own.

Then he did something wicked with his tongue, curling it just so against the sensitive head, and I saw stars. "Fuck... Billy, I'm..."

My warning was cut short as my orgasm ripped through me, my back arching off the rocky ground as I spilt my creamy juice down his throat. Billy swallowed effortlessly, pulse after pulse, spurt after spurt of me, his throat working around me until I was spent, drained, oversensitive and trembling.

Billy didn't pull away when I finished, though, his lips lingering at my softening length as if savouring the taste. Only when I twitched from oversensitivity did he finally release me with a wet pop, licking his lips with deliberate slowness. His golden eyes burned with mischief as he crawled up my body, his knees bracketing my hips, the morning sun haloing his wild hair like a crown.

"You get to watch now, Loverboy," he murmured, as he stood up to tower over me, as I looked up as his calloused fingers trailed down his own abdomen until they wrapped around his erection. The shaft was flushed deep red, the head glistening with precum as he angled it over my face.

My breath hitched when a thick drop pearled at the tip, quivering for a heartbeat before splattering hot across my cheekbone, and Billy laughed,  low and rough as he began stroking himself with agonising slowness.

I was mesmerised as I watched his hips jerk involuntarily as he resumed the lazy drag of his fist, the foreskin gliding obscenely over the swollen head with each upward stroke. I could see the muscles in his forearm flex with each movement, the tendons in his wrist standing out in sharp relief. Sunlight caught the sheen of sweat gathering in the hollow of his throat, the rapid flutter of his pulse visible beneath the stubble-darkened skin.

I could tell he was getting closer as he tilted his head back to look skyward, and then, he looked down again. "Christ... Steve," as his voice cracked, his hand sped up, the slick sounds of flesh on flesh punctuating each broken syllable. The head of his cock pointed towards my face, smearing precum across its tip. I caught the next drop with my tongue, swirling it slowly as Billy cursed above me. His thighs tensed, followed by his feet against my ribs, his entire body coiled like a spring about to snap… and then…

Then he came with a choked groan, his release pouring from his tip, a creamy, well-aimed waterfall, painting my face in thick, pearlescent streaks. His hips jerked erratically, each pulse spilling more across my cheekbones, my chin, the bridge of my nose. One particularly violent twitch sent a hot stripe across my lips that I licked instinctively, the taste salt-bitter and unmistakably… Billy.

Billy collapsed atop me, his spent cock still twitching against my sternum as he panted into my neck. "Fuck," he muttered against my skin, his breath scalding. "That was...," as his fingers traced through the mess on my face, smearing it further before bringing his fingertips to his own mouth with a satisfied “yum.”

Then, using both hands, he smeared his cream over my cheeks, forehead and nose, as if he’d decided I needed face cream. “You get to wear me today,” he said as he gently rubbed his seed into my skin, punctuated with the occasional kiss.

“Looking good,” he said as he examined my eyes up close, as the rising sun caught the glisten of sweat running down his neck. “Perfect,” was all he said, as he rolled off me, stretching like a satisfied cat. "Breakfast is served," he announced with a lazy grin, gesturing at my face.

I snorted, swiping at my cheek with the back of my hand. "You're revolting."

“And you look amazing,” he responded. "And you're still hungry," Billy countered, nodding pointedly at my renewed erection. Before I could retort, he'd sprung up with unexpected agility, his bare feet sending pebbles skittering into the lake. "Race you to the water!"

I was never going to catch him, as I pulled my nightshirt off, but I chased him all the same, my bare feet pounding against the rocky shore while Billy splashed ahead with that infuriating grace of his. Sunlight flashed off his wet shoulders as he dove into deeper water, his laughter echoing across the lake like the cry of some wild creature. My lungs burned as I plunged after him, the frigid water stealing my breath in a way that had nothing to do with exertion.

Billy twisted beneath the surface like an otter, his pale limbs flashing through the crystalline water as he effortlessly outpaced me. When he finally surfaced, he was a quarter of the way to the opposite shore, shaking water from his hair with a triumphant grin. "Marine biologist, my arse!" he taunted, floating on his back with shameless ease as I caught up. "Can't even swim properly!"

I flipped him over, treading water as the morning chill seeped into my bones. Billy's teasing grin softened when he noticed my blue-tinged lips. With three powerful strokes, he closed the distance between us, his body a line of heat against mine in the freezing water. "Christ, you're freezing," he murmured, rubbing warmth back into my arms with rough hands.

The tenderness in the gesture made my chest ache. I caught his wrist, pulling him closer until our legs tangled beneath the surface. "Warm me up then," I challenged, nipping at his jaw. Billy's breath hitched when my teeth found that spot beneath his ear, the one that made him shudder. For all his bravado, he melted against me like snow in springtime.

Once in shallow water, I started to warm up as I stood thigh deep with Billy wrapped behind my body, playing with my cock that had suffered the effects of the cold water. “I hope it's not died?” Billy joked.

“I’d be very surprised if it were,” I replied. “You might have to keep an eye on it, though, just in case it needs treatment.”

“Don’t worry, I will,” he responded, hearing a distant crack of branches. Billy went rigid, his arms around me, his artist's eyes sharpening with predatory focus. "Bear," he mouthed against my ear, his grip tightening on my waist. I followed his gaze to the tree line where a cinnamon-coloured grizzly stood frozen, watching us with mild curiosity, trying to decide if he liked naked men for breakfast.

"I bet he hasn't had a shag for a while," Billy whispered jokingly. “He looks so grumpy.”

"I don't plan to volunteer either," as we stayed where we were caught between awe, wonder and fear for an animal that had, justifiably, a fearful reputation.

The bear snorted once, a dismissive sound, before lumbering off toward the rapids with the casual indifference of a creature who’d seen enough idiots to last a lifetime.

Billy exhaled sharply against my neck, his laughter vibrating through my ribcage. "Guess we're not that interesting," he muttered, but his fingers stayed tangled in my hair a heartbeat too long, like he wasn’t ready to let go.

We waded back to shore in silence, the water sluicing off our bodies as we stepped onto sun-warmed rocks. Billy tugged on a pair of threadbare shorts over his loincloth, which he attached almost without thought.  His paint-splattered t-shirt, smelling faintly of turpentine, clung to his damp skin as he now stood fully clothed, leaving me naked with a recovering cock and balls needing warmth.

I pulled on clean briefs and my nightshirt, the fabric stiff with dried sweat from days of hiking. The mundane act of dressing felt strangely intimate, like we were both postponing the inevitable question hanging between us.

Billy crouched by the smouldering fire pit, poking at the ashes with a stick. A curl of smoke rose between us like a signal flare. "So," he said, too casually. "Vancouver’s west. Ottawa’s... not." The stick snapped in his grip.

I stared at the broken pieces in his hands. Two days ago, I’d been alone on a trail with nothing but Brian’s idiotic bet and a dwindling supply of beef jerky. Now I was standing barefoot on a lakeshore with a man who’d seen parts of me, literal and otherwise, that no one had in years. The morning light caught the silver scars on Billy’s knuckles as he flexed his hands, waiting.

I opened my mouth to say something mature and measured. What came out was: "Fuck Ottawa. Come with me. Didn't the spirits talk to us last night, telling us we were supposed to meet and..."

Billy's fingers froze mid-motion, the broken stick fragments tumbling from his grasp. His throat worked silently before he managed, "You're joking." But his eyes...., wide, liquid gold in the morning light, betrayed something desperate beneath the disbelief.

"I don't joke about spirits or bear guides or gallery painters," I said, kicking a pebble into the lake. It sank with a quiet plop, ripples expanding like the ache in my chest. "Unless you've got unfinished business in Ottawa."

Billy exhaled sharply through his nose, almost a laugh, but not quite. "Just a blank studio collecting dust," as he stood abruptly, shaking ash from his shorts. "And you? What about Brian waiting in Vancouver with his stupid bet to settle?"

Brian is a dear friend whom I have known for years via Skype, WhatsApp and email. He has a partner whom he loves very much. Perhaps there’s chemistry between us. Perhaps we might even fuck each other, but that would be as friends.”

I paused, uncertain what to say next. “I, for the first time in my life, wasn't looking for a partner but... I found you and... I can't explain how I feel, but the very idea of you walking in the other direction seems impossible to allow."

Something wild flickered across his face, half hope, half terror, before he schooled it into careful neutrality. "You realise I haven't painted anything decent in eighteen months," he said slowly, toeing the sand. "Not since...."

I walked over to the water’s edge, gazing out, looking at the mountains that surrounded us, the lake not moving, silent, restful without a single wave, not changing colour from the rising sun as if it too were holding its breath.

"I tell you what, come with me to Penticton. We can talk all the way. Learn about each other. Maybe even fall in love more.... and I can be your muse on the way. Photograph me, sketch me. I know you have a sketch pad in your backpack with charcoal. Make love to me. I can make love to you. I can even teach you about Marine Biology, and perhaps you can teach me how to draw from the soul.... Please, don't leave me."

Billy looked at me. "So, you're suggesting, gratuitous sex, being a muse, my boyfriend, my tutor and fall in love more. All at five thousand feet."

"If you put it that way, yes."

"I can be a cunt sometimes," Billy rounded on me.

"So can I when I'm not being a bitch," I countered him.

"With a beaming smile, Billy looked me in the eyes, oblivious to our glorious surroundings. "Since you put it that way, how can I say no," with tears now welling in his eyes as we embraced and kissed as newfound lovers should.

"Make love to me, Steve," as his fingers found the waistband of my briefs, pulling them down under my nightshirt while I unbuckled the belt around my waist, letting it drop to the ground. "This time, I have lube in my first aid pack we can use," Billy declared.

We embraced even harder, kissing with a new and emotional passion as I undid his shorts, allowing them to drop to the grass, my fingers finding his cock hard and demanding under his loincloth.

I stepped out of my briefs, the grass still hosting the faint indentation where the bear had stood, crushed blades releasing a sharp green scent as I lay stretched out, inviting Billy to sit on me. Billy did so, his knees bracketing my hips, his thighs flexing as he reached behind himself, fingers slick with lube glistening in the morning light as he massaged my cock, throwing the tube toward his first aid box. My cock had recovered and was already flushed dark with need, free from the bunched fabric of my nightshirt halfway up my torso.

Billy's laugh was breathless as he positioned himself, the tip of my cock pressing against him. "You ready?" he murmured, his eyes soft, his fingers trembling slightly where they braced against my chest.

He sank slowly, inch by agonising inch, his body opening around me with a heat that stole my breath. The stretch was exquisite, the way his muscles fluttered around me as he took me fully, seating himself until our hips met with a quiet slap of skin.

For a moment, we simply breathed, Billy's hands flat against my sternum, mine spanning his waist. Then he began to move, rolling his hips in slow, deliberate circles that drew moans from us both. Unlike our frantic coupling against the rocks yesterday, this was something tender, almost reverent. Billy's head tipped back, sunlight gilding the sweat-damp column of his throat as he rode me with aching slowness, each upward drag followed by a downward plunge that had us both gasping.

My hands found his hips, not to guide but simply to feel the play of muscle beneath his skin. Billy moved like water, fluid, unstoppable, his body rising and falling in a rhythm that felt older than the mountains surrounding us. When he leaned forward to kiss me, his lips tasted of lake water and something indefinably sweet, like wild honey stolen from a cliffside hive. Our tongues tangled as our bodies joined, the wet slide of his cock trapped between our stomachs, leaving slick trails across my skin.

He sank deeper onto me with unbearable slowness, his body opening around mine in a way that felt less like penetration and more like homecoming. Where yesterday had been frantic and rough, this was liquid grace, Billy's hips rolling in slow, concentric circles that drew gasps from us both. His thighs trembled against my hips, not from exertion but from the sheer effort of restraint, his movements achingly deliberate.

Sunlight caught the sweat beading along his collarbones as he rode me, each downward plunge followed by an upward drag that left us both breathless. I gripped his hips not to guide but simply to anchor myself, marvelling at the play of muscle beneath his skin. His cock lay flushed against his stomach, leaking steadily onto the dark trail of hair below his navel. When he leaned forward to kiss me, his lips tasted like wild strawberries crushed between teeth.

The bear's lingering musk mingled with the salt-slick scent of our joining as Billy moved above me, his rhythm faltering only when my thumbs found the dimples at the base of his spine. His breath hitched prettily, his hips stuttering before he caught the pace again. "Look at you," he breathed, his calloused palms sliding up my chest to frame my face. "Christ, Steve...," the rest dissolved into a moan as I arched up to meet his next downward stroke, sheathing myself to the hilt.

Time dissolved into the slide of skin on skin, into Billy's breath hot against my neck as we moved together in the grass. The world narrowed to the places where we touched, his fingers tangled in my hair, my hands gripping his hips hard enough to leave bruises tomorrow. Somewhere beyond our little bubble of heat and sweat, the sun climbed higher, but we existed in our own private eternity, where minutes stretched like taffy and seconds dripped like honey.

Billy's rhythm grew less controlled, his hips snapping down with increasing urgency as we chased that sweet, inevitable crest. His cock leaked between us, smearing wetness across my stomach with every frantic thrust. I could feel my own climax coiling tight in my gut, the pressure building with each drag of his body along mine. He gasped something unintelligible against my shoulder, his teeth sinking into my skin as if to anchor himself.

The sound that escaped me was raw, half-snarl, half-prayer, as I felt him tighten around me. His body was a vice, hot and perfect, and when his hand slid between us to fist his own cock, I knew neither of us would last much longer.

His strokes were rough, uneven, his breath coming in ragged pants against my throat. "Look at me," I managed, my voice wrecked. Billy lifted his head, his pupils blown wide, his lips parted on a silent cry as his orgasm hit him.

I watched with awe the beauty of his orgasm, shooting semen from the tip of his engorged cock. The swirl of the rope, the tumbling of the spurt and the spraying shower as it flew towards my face, again. A truly magnificent marvel as it landed inches from my eyes, feeling it drip from my chin, the warmth it provided left me… speechless.

The sight of him coming undid me; as his back arched, his throat bared, it was all it took to send me over the edge.

I thrust up into him once, twice, three times before stilling deep inside him as my own release tore through me. Billy milked me through it, his body clenching rhythmically around me until I was gasping from oversensitivity, fully milked. He collapsed forward, his forehead resting against mine as we both struggled to catch our breath, and then, he kissed me.

For a long time, we stayed like that, still joined. Billy's heartbeat thudding against my chest until, eventually, he shifted, wincing slightly as he pulled off me, rolling beside me, his fingers lingered on my hip, tracing idle patterns there.

The grass beneath us was crushed and damp, the scent of sex and sweat mingling with the alpine air. Billy's lips curled into a lazy, sated smile as he rolled onto his back beside me, one arm flung over his eyes, as I massaged his seed into my skin for the second time that morning.

“I’m not washing you off this time,” I said as Billy's other arm supported his fingers trailing down my sternum, sticky with sweat and his precum, before flopping onto the grass between us. "So," he said, voice hoarse. "Penticton."

The word hung there, half-question, half-commitment. A marmot whistled from the rocks above us, the sound sharp as a knife in the thin mountain air. I turned my head to find Billy watching me through half-lidded eyes, sunlight catching the stubble along his jaw where my stubble had chaffed him pink.

I caught his wandering hand, lacing our fingers together. "We'll take the hike easily. Stop when we want," as his thumb rubbed absent circles over my knuckle, the one I'd split open years ago during a foolish attempt at amateur boxing. Brian still mocked me for that, I remembered.

Billy sat up suddenly, shaking grass from his hair. "I'll need supplies when we get to Penticton," gesturing to his battered rucksack leaning against a tree.

"That won't be a problem. We just have to get there first," I replied, "but first, let's lie here and enjoy the spot where we made love for the first time."

Chapter Seven - Penticton

The first time we saw Penticton's vineyards stretching toward Skaha Lake, Billy stopped dead on the trail, his sketchbook tumbling from his backpack. "Fuck me," he breathed, not at the panorama, but at the way the afternoon sun turned my sweat-damp nightshirt translucent.

I kissed him there on the ridgeline, our backpacks digging into each other's shoulders, his charcoal-smudged fingers gripping my hips hard enough to leave marks. That became our rhythm, hiking until one of us saw something unbearably beautiful in the other, then collapsing into whatever flat space presented itself, to make love.

During our journey, Billy had filled seventeen pages with sketches of my hands, feet and more intimate bits and pieces of my body. Palming his throat now as we stopped, smeared with berry juice after we raided a blackthorn bush, he surprised me with a simple comment. "You've got sailor's fingers," he murmured, tracing the calluses from my diving gloves. "Like they're meant to knot ropes and touch kelp."

Pretty random and observational, but his way of saying, I was beautiful.

We rationed the lube but not the laughter. Billy howled when I admitted Brian's "underwear bet" stemmed from me drunkenly confessing I'd never been rimmed. "So that's why you nearly concussed me on that rock," he gasped between breaths, his thighs clamping around my head as I proved marine biologists could be quick learners.

Later, with my face buried in his sketchbook-scented hoodie and his teeth on my shoulder, he confessed Ottawa wasn't just about a dusty studio; it was where his ex had burned some of his paintings. The flames reflected in his eyes now weren't from memory but from our campfire, and when he kissed me, his mouth tasted like the wild mint we'd crushed making bedrolls. “They weren’t my best work. Early stuff, but lost all the same in a fit of cultural barbarism.”

Rain trapped us in a trail cabin for forty-eight hours. We emerged fluent in each other's bodies, the way Billy's right hip clicked if he came too hard, how my left calf cramped when I tried to suppress noises. His sketchbook gained water-stained pages of me mouthing curses into his palm during particularly inventive uses of climbing rope. I memorised the exact pitch of his moans when morning light hit his closed eyelids just so.

The afternoon we hit city limits, Billy paused under a ponderosa pine to press my hand against his chest. "Feel that?" as his heartbeat thrummed against my palm, erratic as a hummingbird's. "That's you rewriting my nervous system," as a chipmunk watched from a branch as I kissed the charcoal from his fingertips, our backpacks forming a precarious teepee against the tree.

Penticton's wineries glinted below us, but Billy's eyes held a darker intoxication, the kind that comes from learning someone's tells, from recognising which silences are contemplative and which ache to be filled.

The cabin I had rented for a week smelled like cedar and forgotten summers, the kind of place where dust motes danced in afternoon sunlight, and the porch groaned under the weight of too many shared silences. Billy claimed the battered armchair by the window immediately, his knees drawn up to balance his sketchbook, charcoal smudging his thigh where he absentmindedly wiped his fingers.

I watched him from the doorway, a towel around my waist, hair dripping onto the floorboards after our first proper shower in weeks. Steam still curled from the bathroom behind me, carrying with it the scent of the pine tar soap we'd found in the cupboard, something rough and nostalgic that made me think of childhood camping trips. Billy's eyes flicked up, tracking a water droplet as it slid down my chest, debating between drawing me or devouring me.

The bed took up most of the bedroom, an old iron-framed thing that didn't so much creak as sigh whenever we moved. We tested this thoroughly. Repeatedly. By the third day, we'd established that the headboard made a particularly resonant sound when slammed against the wall at precisely 3:07 in the afternoon, sunlight striping across Billy's back as he arched beneath me, his sketchbook abandoned on the floor with a half-finished study of my shoulder blades.

Between bouts of sweat-damp sheets and bitten-off laughter, Billy filled pages with the mundane, my hands shelling peas at the kitchen table, the way my toes curled when I stretched awake, the precise angle of my jaw when I came with my fingers twisted in his hair.

"You're worse than a fucking muse," he grumbled one evening, flipping to a fresh page as I sprawled across the foot of the bed. "Can't walk past you without needing to document some new obscenity."

He said it like an accusation, but his pencil moved feverishly, capturing the way the fading light gilded the scar on my knee, a souvenir from a rogue coral reef in Belize.

Rain pinned us indoors for twenty-four straight hours. We emerged fluent in new dialects of touch, the way Billy's breath hitched when I traced the sensitive spot behind his ear with my thumb, how he'd discovered I could be reduced to a shuddering mess by teeth on my inner thigh if applied with sufficient patience. The cabin's tiny kitchen table bore witness to particularly creative uses of honey stolen from the landlord's hives, and the shower's water heater never quite recovered from our experiments in hydrodynamics.

One morning, the Wi-Fi signal blinked like a dying firefly in the corner of my phone screen as I sat on the cabin’s porch swing, Billy’s laughter drifting through the screen door behind me. Three unread messages from Brian glared up at me, each timestamp a guilty punch to the gut: *You dead?*, *Bear eat you?,* and finally, *Seriously. Status check.*

I thumbed the call button before I could overthink it. Brian answered on the first ring. "Mother fucker...."

"Alive," I interrupted, rubbing my temple where Billy’s teeth had left a bruise last night. "And… not alone."

A beat of silence. Then Brian’s voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. "You met someone? Tell me. Tell me more."

Behind me, the screen door squeaked. Billy padded barefoot onto the porch, two mugs of coffee steaming in his hands. He raised an eyebrow at my expression, mouthing *Who’s that?* as he handed me a cup.

"I mouthed, it's *Brian*," in response.

Billy froze mid-step, coffee sloshing over his fingers. His lips formed a silent *oh* before he mouthed, *say hi*, with exaggerated eyebrows. I nodded, watching a slow smirk crawl across his face, like the sunlight creeping over a lake that dawn.

Brian's voice crackled through the phone, tinny with distance. "Wait, are you currently with someone? Because I swear to God if you put me on speaker..."

Billy set his mug down with deliberate care, then plucked the phone from my hand. "Brian," he purred, stretching the name like taffy. "It's Billy, you old bugger."

The silence on the other end of the line stretched long enough that a raven could have flown from Penticton to Vancouver. Billy held the phone inches from his face, eyebrows climbing toward his hairline as we waited for Brian's brain to reboot.

"Are you telling me, the cunning plan we hatched actually worked?" Brian eventually asked, his voice crackled through the speaker like a campfire spark. "Billy fucking Archer. You magnificent bastard."

The disbelief in his tone dissolved into wheezing laughter. "Tell me you delivered the down payment of the bet?"

Billy's smirk widened as he flopped onto the porch swing beside me, stretching his legs across my lap. "I did," as his toes dug into my thigh, as I snatched the phone back, but not before Brian's cackling devolved into something obscene.

Billy's toes curled against my thigh as Brian's voice squawked through the phone speaker: "Waitwaitwait, you're telling me you two met, how?"

I watched Billy's smirk deepen as he snatched the phone back. "Oh, it gets better," he drawled, stretching the words like taffy. His free hand crept up my bare chest, fingers skating over the fading bite marks from last night.

Billy tugged on a chest hair of mine, as the phone pressed to his ear with his shoulder, as he gestured wildly with his free hand. "So there I was, knee-deep in glacier runoff pretending not to notice this gorgeous jackass staring at me like I'd invented nudity. I wasn't even naked. I was wearing a loincloth," he said, winking at me as I choked on my coffee as Brian's cackling leaked through the speaker like a punctured air mattress.

"I swear to Christ, Brian," Billy continued, tracing the rim of his mug with a fingertip, "your boy here nearly faceplanted into a granite boulder when I stood up. Which, to be fair...surprised him, seeing me like I was."

Brian's wheezing interruption cut him off. "Oh my god, he didn't."

"He did!" Billy crowed, slapping my thigh. "And then....," his voice dropped in a conspiratorial whisper, "...get this. The man then says, I've never seen anyone wear a loincloth before. This is from a man who has been hiking the mountains wearing a bloody nightshirt with a belt tightened around his waist with frayed tighty whities clearly visible if he bends over."

Brian shouted down the line, "I told him about that risk, but he wouldn't listen. I got the comfort thing, but seeing a man halfway up a mountain in his tighty whities can be shocking," Brian interjected, laughing out loud.

I buried my face in my hands as Billy laughed in time with Brian.

"By the way, Brian, you didn't tell me he's quite an animal when you get him aroused," Billy continued. “I owe you twenty bucks if I remember correctly?”

“What, you’ve fucked each other?” Brian demanded, remembering the details of the bet.

“Fucked? He won’t leave me alone. I’m exhausted. What’s worse, he’s a fucking animal when he gets going,” Billy declared, much to Brian’s shock and laughter.

My palms pressed harder against my eyelids as Billy's voice dipped into that particular storytelling cadence, the one that meant he was about to embellish mercilessly. "So there's Steve," he purred into the phone, his free hand creeping up my thigh, "practically vibrating with restraint like some over-caffeinated monk."

Brian's wheezing laugh crackled through the speaker. I groaned as Billy's fingers dug into the muscle above my knee. "Then our marine biologist," he continued, thumb rubbing circles that felt suspiciously like Morse code for *you're fucked*, "decides the best way to handle a naked man in freezing water is to, wait for it, recite dolphin mating facts."

The coffee in my gut turned to acid. "I did not..."

"Oh, he *absolutely* did," Billy cut in, pivoting toward the phone with the grace of a shark scenting blood. "Right as I'm wading out, dripping wet, this bastard starts muttering about *Tursiops truncatus* copulation durations like it's a fucking TED Talk," as his fingers found the exact spot beneath my earlobe that made me shiver. "Took him three minutes to realise I was laughing at him, not with him."

Brian's cackling reached ultrasonic frequencies. I peeked through my fingers just in time to see Billy mouth *watch this* before dropping his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "Wanna know how I shut him up?"

"No, I don't," shouted Brian. "Enough. Save it for when you both arrive. I'm assuming you're both arriving?... and when?... and, is there something I need to know?"

Billy's fingers tightened around my thigh as he leaned into the phone with sudden, startling sincerity. "Brian?" His voice dropped, shedding all its usual mocking lilt. "We're an item. Properly. Like... love-you-at-dawn, steal-your-hoodie, fight-over-the-last-egg kind of thing."

The porch swing creaked as he shifted, his bare foot pressing harder against my hip bone like he needed the contact to ground him. Silence stretched through the phone. Then Brian exhaled sharply, not laughter this time, but something quieter. "Yeah?"

Billy's thumb rubbed absent circles on my knee, his gaze fixed on the distant mountains as if reading some invisible script there. "Yeah."

Another pause. Then Billy's smirk returned like the sun breaking through clouds. "But hey," he added, voice dripping with mischief again, "you can still blow him if you want. Old privileges don't expire, right?"

Brian's screech of laughter made me snort coffee out my nose. Billy dissolved into giggles against my shoulder, his whole body shaking as he wiped tears from his eyes. "Fuck, your face," he wheezed, poking my cheek where I knew my expression hovered somewhere between horror and amusement.

Brian's laughter faded into something softer, the kind of pause that meant he was rubbing his temples like he always did when we'd pushed him past reasonable exasperation. "Alright, you delinquents," he sighed, the phone crackling with what might have been him knocking back the dregs of his coffee. "Let us know what date you're arriving on Vancouver Island. Rob and I will meet you at the ferry."

Brian continued, blissfully unaware that Billy had turned horny as fuck. "Anyway, text me your ETA once you know, and we'll meet you at the ferry. And for fuck's sake, try not to break each other before you get here."

The call cut off with a finality that suggested Brian had dropped his phone, and Billy climbed off the swing chair and dropped to his knees on the porch, looking up at me as he undid my shorts.

"Billy, you can't, not here. We might be seen."

"Seen, are you having a laugh? Steve, we haven't seen anyone for practically a whole week, and I want you now. Here. This minute."

Who was I to argue with him? Not when his teeth grazed my hipbone as he yanked my shorts down to my ankles, not when the air hit my bare skin, and my cock twitched against his cheek as my tighty whities followed, pooling at my ankles on top of the shorts.

Brian would’ve howled at the sight, the cotton fabric stretching over my erection before Billy peeled them off with a slow, deliberate drag that bordered on obscene. His exhale against my exposed flesh was warm, damp, and loaded with intent.

"Still think we'll be seen?" Billy murmured, his breath skating up my shaft as his fingers kneaded the sensitive skin behind my balls. Somewhere beyond the porch, a Steller’s jay scolded us from the pines, but Billy’s focus never wavered, his tongue flicked out to catch the bead of precum already gathering at my tip. The groan that escaped me was less sound and more seismic event, rattling through my ribs as his lips parted around me.

He took me slow, achingly so, his throat working around my length in a way that he had done it before. "I gasped when he pulled off to grin up at me, lips slick and swollen. "No one’s that good without..."

His mouth cut me off, swallowing my words along with another inch of my cock. Billy’s fingers dug into my thighs, his nails leaving crescents as he hollowed his cheeks. The porch swing creaked beneath us, its rhythm matching his bobbing head, and I fisted my hands in his hair, not to guide him, just to feel the silk of it between my fingers as he worked me over. Sunlight dappled his shoulders through the cedar boughs overhead, catching on the sweat-sheen along his collarbones where I’d bitten him last night.

He pulled off with a filthy pop, dragging his tongue along the vein beneath my cock like he was savouring the taste. "Brian might find out one thing about you he doesn't know," he rasped, thumbing the head of my dick. "You do make the best noises."

Then his mouth was on me again, his nose pressed to my pelvis as he took me deep, his throat fluttering around me in a way that made my hips jerk.

Billy's tongue curled around the base of my cock just as footsteps crunched on the gravel path below the cabin. His eyes flicked up to mine, wide, startled, before his lips stretched into that wicked grin I'd learned meant trouble. He didn't stop. If anything, his suction intensified, his fingers digging into my thighs as the footsteps grew louder.

A woman's voice called out, "Hello? Park Ranger Service!"

Billy's throat vibrated around me in silent laughter. My grip on the porch swing's chains turned white-knuckled. The ranger's boots scraped on the bottom step. Billy's eyelashes fluttered, his nostrils flaring as he took me deeper, his nose now buried in my pubic hair.

"Anyone home?" The ranger's shadow stretched across the porch boards.

Billy pulled off with an obscenely wet sound and whispered, "Say something, or I'll make you scream," as his tongue swirled around my tip just as the ranger's head appeared at the top of the stairs.

The park ranger's broad-brimmed hat crested the porch steps first, followed by a face weathered from years in the mountains. Her gaze landed on Billy, still kneeling between my spread legs, then flicked to my bare thighs, the glistening head of my cock inches from his lips. For one excruciating heartbeat, time suspended like sap dripping from pine bark.

Billy's tongue darted out to lick the bead of precum from my slit.

"Morning, ma'am," he said, voice thick.

Her eyes narrowed, her face blushing a deep red. "Bear activity reported in this sector." She spoke like she hadn't noticed my erection bobbing near Billy’s chin. "You two secure your food properly. Keep your doors locked and... sorry for disturbing your... activity."

Billy's fingers kneaded my inner thighs. "Oh, we're very secure," he murmured, lips brushing my shaft with each syllable. "Thanks for letting us know, though."

I wasn't sure if I died, but I certainly wanted the ground to devour me then and there. The ranger's retreating footsteps echoed like gunshots across the porch boards. Billy's tongue traced the vein along my shaft with agonising precision, his eyelashes fluttering in mock innocence as he peered up at me. "What?" he murmured, lips brushing my skin. "She's gone."

The swing creaked violently when I tried to shove him off. Billy just laughed, the vibrations travelling straight to my groin. His teeth scraped lightly, a warning, before he took me deep again, his throat working around me like he hadn't just risked public indecency charges. My hips jerked involuntarily, and Billy's fingers dug into my thighs, pinning me in place while he set a ruthless pace.

Somewhere beyond the haze of pleasure, the ranger's truck door slammed. An engine coughed to life. Billy moaned around me, the sound vibrating through my bones, and I came with a choked-off curse, my fingers twisting in his hair hard enough to hurt. Fresh cream spurted from me, answering Billy’s demanding tongue as he swallowed greedily, lips sealed tight until I was shaking with oversensitivity, then pulled off with a satisfied pop. “Nice, very nice,” he declared.

"Christ," I wheezed, staring at the cedar beams overhead. "She saw everything."

Billy wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, grinning like a fox in a henhouse. "Saw what?" He gestured to my still-exposed lap. "You're decent now and…let’s be honest…. she loved it."

I couldn't get angry with him, not when his tongue was still tracing lazy circles around my softening cock, not when his fingers kneaded the tension from my thighs with the same reverence he reserved for charcoal sketches. That was Billy's avant-garde approach to life: park ranger be damned, pleasure was sacred. And damn if it wasn't the thing I loved most about him.

He rested his chin on my knee, grinning up at me with the smug satisfaction of a man who'd just rewritten public decency laws. "See?" His thumb brushed the inside of my thigh where the ranger's shadow had fallen minutes earlier. "No arrests, no bears, just," as his teeth grazed the sensitive skin, "…perfect timing."

I yanked him up by his hair, tasting myself on his tongue as he collapsed into my lap. The swing chains groaned in protest. Billy's laughter vibrated against my chest as he straddled me, his arse pressing against my spent cock through his shorts. "You're insufferable," I muttered into his neck, nipping at the pulse point I knew made him shiver.

"And you're hard again already," he countered, grinding down with deliberate slowness. His sketchbook lay abandoned on the porch railing, pages fluttering in the breeze. I stood as Billy wrapped his legs around my waist, stepping out of my shorts and tighty whities. The screen door squeaked as I carried him inside.

The sunlight striped across the hardwood as I pushed him onto the rumpled bed, his knee between my thighs, before I could protest. "You were saying?" he murmured, peeling his shorts down with agonising precision.

"You're insatiable," I said, watching Billy squirm beneath me, his fingers twisted in the sheets.

"That I might be, but you're a fucking menace," he responded.

"In that case, you can deal with this fucking menace," I said, knowing full well he wanted to fuck me senseless.

"In that case, Loverboy, on your fucking knees."

The bedsprings sang their familiar rusty protest as Billy pushed into me, his breath hot against the nape of my neck. Unlike our frenzied first encounters, this was slow combustion, his hips rolling in that liquid rhythm that made my toes curl against the sheets. His left hand splayed across my sternum, pinning me gently to the mattress while his right traced nonsense patterns down my spine.

"Look at you," he murmured, teeth grazing my shoulder blade. "Taking me so sweet." The words vibrated through my ribcage as he bottomed out, his pelvis flush against my arse. Billy made love like he sketched, with obsessive attention to detail, cataloguing every hitch of my breath, every involuntary twitch of muscle. His thrusts weren't relentless; they were curious, varying angles and depth like a cartographer mapping undiscovered terrain.

Sunlight pooled in the hollow of my throat where Billy pressed an open-mouthed kiss. "Tell me," he whispered against my damp skin. His fingers found that spot just beneath my ribs that made me gasp. "Tell me how it feels when I...," as he shifted slightly, the head of his cock brushing that electric spot inside me. My hips jerked backwards instinctively, drawing a low chuckle from him. "There we go."

His free hand slid between my thighs, calloused fingers wrapping around my cock in counterpoint to his thrusts. The dual sensation short-circuited my higher brain functions, Billy moving inside me while his thumb swiped lazily across my slit, smearing precum in slow circles. It was worship and wreckage, the way he could reduce me to a shuddering mess with nothing but focused attention and that infuriatingly precise rhythm.

The bedframe creaked as Billy draped himself over my back, his chest pressed flush against my spine. His lips found my earlobe. "Brian's wrong about you," he breathed, punctuating each word with a thrust. "You're not... predictable... you're... devastatingly... beautiful," the last word dissolving into a groan as my muscles clenched around him.

Billy's fingers dug into my hips, his rhythm stuttering as his thrusts lost their meticulous control. "Fuck, fuck...," he said as his voice cracked mid-curse, his hips jerking forward in short, desperate movements. I felt him swell inside me, his cock pulsing as his orgasm ripped through him with the same intensity he did everything. All-consuming and unrestrained.

I love feeling him shoot his load, I love the warmth of his seed as he floods me, and again, I was officially in heaven as he continued to flow deep inside me as he collapsed onto my back, his breath hot and ragged against my shoulder blades.

His fingers, still trembling from his climax, found their way between my legs again. "One more," he murmured, voice thick with satisfaction. "Just one more," as his thumb circled my oversensitive head, the pressure just shy of painful, while his other hand pressed against my lower abdomen, massaging that spot that made my vision blur. My body arched off the mattress involuntarily, a choked-off moan escaping me as pleasure crackled through my nerves like wildfire.

Billy chuckled against my spine, his lips brushing each knuckle of my vertebrae as he worked me through it. "There we go," he purred, his voice rough with enjoyment, as I shot my load with enough force to land on the pillows.

"Just like that," was all he said, his satisfaction complete as his fingers didn't stop until I was shaking, until my thighs quivered and my cock twitched helplessly against his palm, spent and aching.

He rolled off me with a groan, collapsing onto his back beside me. The bed creaked in protest. Sunlight streamed through the windows, casting stripes across his chest where sweat still gleamed as his fingers found mine, twining together lazily.

"You're gonna kill me," I muttered, rubbing my thumb over his knuckles as we lay together on the bed that had seen so much action during our week of rest.

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