by A. E. Wasp
There was no turning back now. “Fuck. I’m gonna come,” Troy warned. Troy’s muscles tightened as Dmitri’s hand and mouth sped up. Back bowed, the chrome edges of the old countertop digging into his skin, Troy clamped down on Dmitri’s head as he came harder than he had in months.
Dmitri pulled off while Troy was still coming and the last few spurts shot across him as he leaned his head against Troy’s thighs as he stroked himself to a panting orgasm.
Troy couldn’t stop himself from running his hand around the curve of Dmitri’s head, from pulling the soft curls through his fingers as he waited to get his breath back. Dmitri slid to the floor, body leaning against Troy’s legs, head pushing against Troy’s hands.
“Damn,” Dmitri said.
“Umm-hmm,” Troy agreed. “You should let Angel write all your texts.”
Dmitri laughed. “She’d love that.” He held his hand out Troy. “Help me up.”
Troy shook his head. “Can’t. You broke me.”
Dmitri bit him through his scrunched up jeans around his knees. “You’re telling me all it takes to bring down America’s fighting forces is a good blowjob?”
“An excellent blowjob,” Troy clarified. “And looks like it.” He reached down and helped Dmitri get to his feet, pulling him in for a kiss as he did.
They made out against the counter until Dmitri pulled away with a groan that sounded much less pleased than his earlier ones. He rubbed his head with both hands. “I’m so sorry. But I think I really need to sit down.” He staggered over to the scarred wooden table, dropping heavily into one of the chairs, and leaned back awkwardly to zip his shorts back up.
Troy rubbed his shoulders gently. “How about that coffee, and a bacon sandwich now?”
Dmitri whimpered. “Oh, God, yes. You’re a saint. An angel.”
“I’m a Methodist. We’re not big on saints. And you already have one angel in your life.” Troy kissed Dmitri on the top of his head. “Just sit. I’ll be right back.”
chapter ten
Troy puttered around the kitchen, making bacon sandwiches for both of them. He’d wanted to be on the road early this morning, but damn wasn’t he glad Paul had needed that help on his car. He whistled as he worked, laughing at Dmitri’s pained groaning.
“Please tell me you’re not this cheery in the mornings all the time,” Dmitri begged as Troy slid the hot, greasy sandwich in front of him. “Thanks.”
Troy sipped his coffee and glanced at the wall clock. “It’s nine-thirty.”
Dmitri closed his eyes as he drank his coffee, bliss plain on his face. Troy was glad he’d sprung for the good stuff. The people in this town sure loved good coffee and good beer. Troy could get behind that.
“So where are you going?” Dmitri asked around a mouthful of bread.
Troy sighed, the mood in the room changing a little as he did. “I’m going up into the mountains. Do a little camping.”
“Yeah? I thought you were working this weekend.”
“I was. Vinny thought I could use a little break.”
Dmitri chewed thoughtfully, eyes on Troy. “Is it because it’s the Fourth tomorrow? Because of the fireworks?”
Troy sighed, and then looked away. He went to the counter, added more coffee to his half-full mug. “Yeah.” He kept his back to Dmitri.
“Angel and I talked about it last night, and we looked it up. I’m sorry for not thinking about the fireworks earlier. It just never occurred to me.”
“Don’t be sorry.” Troy carried the coffee back to the table and stood near Dmitri. “I’m sorry, I know it’s stupid. I just hadn’t expected to hear that sound again. It just - the firecrackers popping? Sounds just like gunfire.”
Dmitri wrapped a hand around Troy, pulling him against his body. “Yeah, that must have been terrible. I can imagine what it must have been like.”
No, you can’t, Troy thought. He could still smell the sulfur and explosive stink on his clothes and his hair, something he’d hoped never to smell again. He forced his fingers to unclench from around the coffee mug.
Dmitri looked concerned. “Do you have any friends you can call? Someone you could stay with over Fourth of July? This is just going to get worse.”
Troy pulled away from Dmitri’s hold and immediately missed it. He forced himself to walk away. “I’ll be fine. I think can take care of myself. I survived three years over there. I think I can get through a weekend in Red Deer, Colorado.” Seriously, who did Dmitri think he was? Butting in on Troy’s life? Did he think Troy was some kid?
Dmitri held up his hands in surrender. “I completely think you can take care of yourself camping, a thousand times better than I could. I just don’t think you should have to. Wouldn’t it be better to go with a friend?”
It would, actually, but he didn’t have any friends here yet, and there was no way to say that without sounding like a big loser. “No. I think it might be better if I’m by myself.”
Dmitri shook his head as he swallowed the last bit of his sandwich. “That was perfect. Thank you.” He brushed off his hands on his pants and stood up. He glared at Troy through bloodshot eyes, hands on his hips. “What if something happens? What if someone has fireworks up there and you have one of those attacks, and you’re by yourself? What if you get bitten by a rattlesnake? What if a bear rips the door off your truck and eats you? People in sleeping bags are the soft tacos of the bear world you know.”
“What?” Troy laughed despite his irritation. He was finding it hard to stay irritated at Dmitri.
“Aren’t you afraid of bears?” Dmitri looked scandalized.
“Not particularly. I’ve got a bear box. And anyway, I don’t eat that much fresh food when I’m on the road.”
“Is the box for the bears or do you hide it in from the bear?”
Troy blinked, not sure where to start with that.
“What if something happened?” Dmitri pressed on. “No one would know where you were. No one would even know where to look for you up in the middle of the woods like that. You could just disappear, and I would have no idea what to tell your parents when they called me and asked where you were.”
“My parents don’t even know you exist.”
Dmitri clutched his chest in mock outrage. “You haven’t told them about me yet? Are you embarrassed by me?”
Troy knew Dmitri was joking, but he paled a little at the thought of telling his parents he was gay. They operated on their own little ‘don’t ask, don’t tell’ policy. Not wanting to live celibate, but not wanting to be accused of ‘flaunting’ his lifestyle had played a large part in his moving on so soon after getting back to the States.
“If it makes you feel better, I told Vincent I would text him a picture of my license plate and let him know where I was camping. Will that be okay, Dad?”
Dmitri raised his eyebrows and smirked over the lid of his coffee cup. “I want to come with you.”
Troy looked at Dmitri’s hungover body in his khaki shorts, polo shirt, and obviously non-hike friendly flip-flops. “Do you even camp?”
“You do.” Dmitri smiled and reached out for Troy, pulling him closer by the belt loops. “Come on, let me come. It’ll be fun. I promise I’ll find a way to distract you from fireworks.”
Troy ran his fingers through Dmitri’s curls. “Yeah? What did you have in mind?”
“S’mores.”
“S’mores?”
“I love s’mores, and I never get them. Can we have a campfire?”
He looked like a kid, eyes shining with anticipation. Troy gave those silky curls a tug. “Yeah. We can have a campfire.” He bent down to kiss the smile off Dmitri’s face.
Dmitri smacked Troy lightly on the butt. “Great. It’s not a camping trip unless there is marshmallow toasting. I think there are some in my cabinets. I’ll pick them up when I get home and get my stuff together.”
“What stuff? What you need?”
“You know,” he waved his hand. “Camping gear. Hiking boots, water b
ottle. A mess kit? Compasses and map? I don’t know, my parents always packed. It always felt like they were packing more stuff than Hannibal had when he crossed the Alps.”
Troy looked across the room at the small backpack leaning against the wall. “I have an extra sleeping bag and a water bottle you could use. We’ll swing by the grocery store pick up some extra food. You will just need some clothes. Something warm for the night.”
“That’s it?”
“That’s it. We’re just going up for a few nights. We don’t even have to hike if you don’t want. I want to take some photos. Do you have any books you’ve wanted to read?”
“You can just decide to go camping and hop in your truck and go? No checklists and special food and arguments?”
“Yep. It’s not that big of a deal. I keep the truck packed. The stove and all my cooking supplies are in it. I’ve got the bed, been sleeping in it for years. I usually go up overnight every now and then when I’m not working.”
Dmitri stood up, keeping a hand on Troy’s belt loops. “That is so sexy.” The kiss weakened Troy’s knees; he wasn’t completely recovered from his first orgasm, but working on number two was starting to seem like a fabulous idea.
“Wait,” Dmitri said, pulling away. “You were able to reserve a campground on Fourth of July weekend. On the same day?”
Troy laughed. “I don’t need a campground.”
“What do you mean? Does your family own a cabin or something?”
“I just drive my truck up into the woods, find a nice, wide spot, and camp.”
“You can do that?”
“You never camped?”
“Of course, I camped. This is Colorado, everybody camps. But in campgrounds like normal people. You know, pack up everything including the kitchen sink, pull up two hours later than you’d planned and set up the tents. Unload a truck’s worth of food for the big barbecue. Some of those campgrounds book out six months in advance.”
“You see that thing?” Troy dragged Dmitri over to the back window and pointed at the foothills. “See all those thousands of acres of land out there? That’s National Forest. National forests belong to the people. They’re for us to use. You can just drive up in there or hike in, some places have no road, and then barring a few restrictions for safety and ecosystem management, you can just set up and go for it. It’s called dispersed camping.”
“You make leaving sound so easy.”
“It is easy. You just gotta decide to do it. So are you still in?”
“Oh, I’m in. I’m so ready. You promise me s’mores and promise you’ll protect me from bears?”
“Only from the four-footed kind. You’re on your own at Vincent’s.”
“You’re a funny guy. Now go take a shower before I jump you and drag you into the bedroom. I want to make out in your truck.”
“That can definitely be arranged.” Troy stole one last kiss from Dmitri. “I’ll be two seconds.”
“I can’t wait.”
chapter eleven
They drove to Dmitri’s house separately, Troy following in his truck. Looking out the rearview mirror, Dmitri saw Troy hanging his arm out the window, every now and then his hand would rise, riding the air currents. When their eyes met in the mirror at a red light, Troy smiled at him, the lines around his dark eyes crinkled. What Troy did to him was crazy making. He felt like a fourteen year old with no control over his libido. Troy pointed at the road, silently suggesting that Dmitri might want to keep his eyes on it.
Dmitri barely needed to. He’d done the drive from town to his farmhouse a million times. He could, and had, done it half-asleep or dead drunk. The main danger was from deer, and it wasn’t really prime time for them, though the antlered bastards could leap out in front of your car any time, day or night. There was a reason for all those body shops in town.
As they turned onto his property, Moby barked like crazy, racing them up the long dirt driveway. One day she was going to zig when she should have zagged and end up with a broken leg or worse. Today though, she ran alongside Troy’s truck, barking and looking at Dmitri’s car to make sure he knew there was a stranger in the yard.
Troy pulled up behind Dmitri. Moby was waiting for Troy when he opened his door. She barked, and then dropped something at Troy’s feet. She stared at him, white-ringed blue eyes boring into Troy’s, head down between her splayed front feet. She looked from the stick she had dropped to Troy’s face and then back again. She woofed when Troy did nothing.
“Don’t do it,” Dmitri cautioned walking over to them. “She’ll never leave you alone.”
The dog barked. “Moby. Leave it,” Dmitri ordered. She ignored him totally, staring at Troy with liquid longing in her crazy eyes.
Troy laughed. “How can you be so cruel?” he asked, bending down for the stick.
“Years of practice.” Dmitri watched the stick arc through the air, landing in the tall grass behind the house. Moby streaked after it. “That should keep her busy for thirty seconds,” he commented.
“She’s a cutie. Are we bringing her with?”
“Do you want to?”
“Is she trained?”
“Yeah. She’s too bright not to be. She and I used to do agility competitions, back when I had more time.”
“Then bring her. I love dogs.”
Of course he loved dogs. He was perfect. “She’ll be thrilled,” Dmitri said.
Dmitri whistled for the dog as he led Troy through the kitchen door into the house.
“It’s nice out here,” Troy said, entering the house. “I haven’t been out this side of town yet.” He walked across the kitchen, through the small breakfast nook no one ever used, and looked out the back window.
Dmitri followed, curious what his place looked like through fresh eyes. The first half of the summer had been unusually rainy, and the prairie grasses in the back field were bright green, rather than the usual golden brown. Black-eyed sunflowers and dusty green sage-dotted the yard. On the east edge of town, the foothills looked painted on the sky, shades of purple and gray overlapping and flattening the mountains. The ever-present wind rippled across the top of the grasses.
“It’s so peaceful.” Troy held the dusty white lace curtain aside to watch Moby running through the yard. She leaped up onto the carcass of an old tractor that had been abandoned right where it died years ago.
Troy examined the rest of the kitchen, opening cabinets, and pulling out drawers. The tape holding two of the doors closed chose that moment to fail, and they swung open with a creak. Troy reached for it, opening and closing them as he examined the catch. “This needs fixed,” he commented, unnecessarily in Dmitri’s opinion.
Dmitri gently pulled the door out of his hand and closed it. He smoothed the tape across it, smacking it hard to make sure it stayed. “Yeah, well, lots of things in this old house do. It can get in line.”
“It’s not so bad. It’s just lived in and cozy. Do your parents live here, too?”
“Used to. They moved up the mountain a few years ago. It’s just me and Moby right now.”
“Hmm,” Troy answered. He looked around the kitchen as if he was cataloging the repairs it needed. “A little fixing, few coats of paint, it’ll be great. A thousand times better than some generic ranch house in town.”
Dmitri looked around, seeing the house in a different light. He did have good memories of times spent in this kitchen, at that table. Thanksgivings and Christmases with family and friends, summers spent with Angel and his brother and sister playing in the creek that ran across the bottom of the field. Somehow, his life had become isolated without his realizing it. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten at the table, let alone the last time he’d had people over for dinner. “Yeah,” he answered, “it’s not too bad.”
“Do you have some Krazy Glue?” Troy asked.
“Possibly? Check in those drawers.” He pointed to the draws lining the counter. The kitchen had an unnecessary number of drawers and cabinets, in his opinio
n. Then again, he only used one of each. God only knew what was in the others.
“Why don’t I take a look at the cabinet while you get your stuff?” Troy offered.
“Knock yourself out. Anything special I need?”
Troy’s nose crinkled up when he thought. Dmitri wanted to run his finger down it, smooth out the wrinkles, but if he touched Troy, he was afraid they’d never leave the house.
“Dog food and a water bowl for Moby. Jeans, t-shirts, and a sweatshirt. Something to sleep in. Oh, and a pillow, if you like that kind of thing.”
“Who doesn’t like pillows?”
“I don’t know. I’m a big fan myself. My buddies used to make fun of me for stuffing a small pillow in my pack. But guess who slept best?”
“Pillow, dog food, jammies. Got it.”
Up in the room that had been his since he was a boy, Dmitri grabbed the items Troy had suggested, along with a few of his own. He pulled the jewel-toned quilt his grandmother had made for him off his bed. The Bluetooth speaker and two comfortable pillows got shoved into a small duffel bag.
He should probably think about moving to the master bedroom one of these days. He had made a start fixing it up but stopped halfway. He’d moved back into the house just a bit before his parents moved out, and the stuff had never gotten fully unpacked. The mattress from his apartment still leaned against the wall in his parent’s bedroom. He’d never moved his clothes out of the smaller bedroom, so he ended up staying there more often than not. It was just easier. All he had was the double bed he’d had since high school. Which, come to think of it, was kind of disgusting. It was a really uncomfortable mattress, too. Oh, God. No wonder no one he’d dated had ever stayed over. Not that he’d brought them here often. He was much more a ‘let’s go to your place,’ kind of guy. But he liked having Troy here, liked seeing him in his kitchen.
Realizing he had dawdled enough, he grabbed his bag and ran down the stairs. “I think the marshmallows are in one of those cabinets,” he said to Troy as he walked into the kitchen.
Troy stood in front of the previously broken cabinet, closing and opening the door. Each time it closed with a satisfying click. He let go of the door and held his hands up, the old piece of tape flapping in his left hand. “Ta da.”
