Hearts in Ireland

by J. C. Long

  He showed it to me: a tin can of Spam. “Yeh thought Oi was jokin’ last night? This is our breakfast.”

  “Please tell me there’s something different for lunch.”

  “Don’t like Spam?” Fergal opened the tin and quirked an eyebrow at me.

  I stepped away from him, closer to the fire. “Let’s just say it’s not at the top of my shopping list.”

  Fergal frowned down at the can. “Sorry, Oi should’ve asked yeh about the food.”

  “It’s okay,” I assured him. “As long as there’s something else for lunch.”

  “Oi promise there is.”

  We were soon sitting down to breakfast, where Fergal took the lion’s share of the Spam, much to my relief. I could stomach the amount he’d left me.

  “’Ow did yeh sleep?”

  “I actually slept really well, surprisingly,” I said, taking a long drink of water to wash away the salty taste of the last of my Spam. “I didn’t think that I would, but I did.”

  “It’s the power of sleepin’ in nature,” Fergal said sagely. “Oi never sleep quite as good in a bed.”

  “Then you, sir, have not found the right bed.”

  After breakfast was finished, Fergal took the time to wash the dishes we’d used and the fry pan with soap he’d brought and some of the water. “So, yeh want to go fer a hike now?”

  I looked up at the sky, thinking that would be answer enough.

  “Oh, come on. This is normal weather ’ere. Yeh’ve just been lucky with the weather yeh’ve had so far.”

  I sighed, knowing there would be no arguing with him at this point. Besides, I didn’t come all the way out here to sit around the campfire all day, and a hike in the beautiful outdoors would probably do me some good.

  I didn’t have to say anything and Fergal was smiling, confident in his victory. How did I become so damn readable to this guy, who was a stranger two weeks ago?

  “All right, let’s go.”

  I got up from the log and followed him.

  We hiked all day, meandering our way around the hills. We talked about everything and nothing—favorite school subjects, favorite foods, least favorite foods, favorite music, teachers that we loved and hated.

  As the day wore slowly into evening, it began to rain—not a light drizzle, but a torrential downpour. Within minutes we were both soaked to the bone. We took off back to the camp at a run, slipping and sliding along the grass as we went.

  “No rain, huh?” I said. As much as I wanted to be angry at him, the whole thing was just too funny to hold on to it for long, and soon I was laughing as I careened around in the rain, Fergal keeping up with me, laughing just as hard.

  We reached the tent, shucked off our shoes, and ducked inside. The only sound was our panting, the rain on the top of the tent, and the water dripping onto the floor of the tent. I met Fergal’s gaze for a moment, our eyes locking, and we both burst into laughter once more.

  “We should get out of these wet clothes,” Fergal said after he regained some of his voice. “Don’t want to get sick.”

  “Uh—what?” I felt a bit dumbstruck by the suggestion—the only thing I was able to even process was that Fergal just asked me to take off my clothes.

  “It’s a bit chilly,” he clarified, sounding confused at my confusion. “We don’t want to get sick.”

  It’s sound logic, part of my brain tried to tell me. My hands began pulling at the material of my shirt, peeling it away from my body. Fergal followed suit. The corduroy pants were hard to get off, but after much jumping around on one foot and nearly knocking the tent over, I succeeded. The only thing I was left with was my underwear.

  “Do we need to take off our….” When I looked up at Fergal, he was already completely naked. “I guess that’s a yes.” His chest was coated with a light dusting of hair, and lower… well, I did my best not to look, but couldn’t help it. I saw a thatch of red hair, a lighter shade than that on his head, and the base of the shaft before I tore my eyes away. It made getting naked a little more difficult, because I was fighting with my body’s response to a visual stimulus that I very much liked.

  It’s not like it matters, I reminded myself. Wet briefs cling very tightly, anyway. Throwing caution to the wind, I pushed them off as well.

  “’Opefully it’ll stop raining soon and we can get these out by the fire,” Fergal said, pushing his clothes into a pile in one corner of the tent.

  I watched him in my peripheral. His backside was as great to look at as his front.

  No longer able to stand the exposure, I hurried over to my sleeping bag and burrowed into it, grateful for its warmth and its concealment. Fergal was slower about it, taking the time to go and push my clothes into the other corner. I couldn’t help but track him with my eyes, and I’m pretty sure he was aware of it.

  He finally got under his own sleeping bag. “Sorry about the rain,” he said at last, flashing me that charming half smile of his.

  “It’s not like you have any control over it,” I said with a shrug. “This is actually pretty nice, just sitting here, listening to the rain outside.”

  “Yeh really are an Irishman at heart,” Fergal said approvingly. He leaned back, propped up on his elbow, looking at me. “Not that Oi ever doubted that.”

  I didn’t know why, but it felt great to be hearing that from him. I liked the idea of belonging here, of fitting in where my mom came from, a country where my roots were.

  “Yer shiverin’,” Fergal said suddenly, scooting his sleeping bag closer to mine and taking my arm, pulling me in closer. “Fer warmth,” he explained at my questioning look. His voice was low, now, though, a whisper when it didn’t need to be.

  “Right, warmth,” I agreed, feeling like an idiot. I kept staring into his eyes, as if they were magnetized and I could not pull my gaze away.

  After that, moments of time went missing, memory gaps, because one moment I was looking into his eyes, and the next my lips were pressed against his, feeling the soft pressure and welcoming caress of them.

  Hands followed, painting a long, slow path down my back and leaving molten heat in their wake. It was like anywhere he put his hands caught fire, the heat spreading rapidly until my whole body felt infused with it, like it could not contain it and it was bursting forth. I deepened the kiss, wrapping my own arms around Fergal, pulling him closer to me so our bare chests could touch. I needed more contact, needed to help spread the fire to him as well.

  “What are we doing?” I asked, breaking the kiss as much to ask the question as to take a moment to breathe before the power of the fire inside me burned me up. “This is crazy!”

  “No, it isn’t.” Fergal made those three words sound like they were the most sound reasoning possible, and our lips were back together, our bodies crowding closer. “Are yeh okay?” he asked, caressing my chest with his right hand, his thumb brushing across my nipple and sending electric shocks straight to my cock.

  “Yes,” I breathed. “Yes.” I was okay—more than okay. I grabbed Fergal and pulled his mouth back to mine. My other hand slid down Fergal’s chest and clenched in his chest hair, and Fergal moaned appreciatively. “You’re sexy when you moan like that.”

  In response he tilted my head back, his lips zeroing in on the rapidly fluttering pulse at my neck. I swallowed a gasp as his teeth grazed it. “Oi think we can keep even warmer, don’t yeh?”

  “How would you suggest we do that?” I asked.

  “Well, if we were both in the same—fuck—”

  I took that chance to return the favor, trailing my tongue along his neck gently.

  “—in the same sleepin’ bag—”

  “Brilliant idea,” I said, wiggling out of my sleeping bag without any further encouragement. Before I could make it into Fergal’s, a gust of wind blew a sheet of rain into the tent. The droplets of water were surprisingly cold against my skin, and I hurried to zip the tent closed.

  “Okay,” I said, turning back around. “Where were we?”

>   Caibidil 16

  THE VERY first thing I noted when I opened my eyes was the uncomfortable weight of Fergal’s body. He lay facedown, one arm used as a pillow, the other thrown across my chest. Memories of the night before came back to me in a rush of sensation—

  —lips pressed together—

  —hands groping backs, chests, and cocks—

  —moans, grunts, and gasps filling the tent, drowning the sound of rain—

  —the sight of Fergal’s face as he loomed over me—

  —Fergal’s body cradled between my legs—

  What the hell was I thinking?

  I sat up rapidly, hoping to push away the memory of Fergal’s initial slow thrust inside me, the way the flesh burned in that pleasure/pain that always accompanied penetration, especially after it’s been a long time.

  “Whatswrong?” Fergal asked in a rush, jerked awake by my sudden movement.

  I didn’t look at him, didn’t want to meet his gaze, afraid of what I would see there. “Nothing,” I said, staring at my hands. “I just need to go to the bathroom.”

  I scrambled out of the sleeping bag and dug around for my discarded clothes before I remembered they were wet. I went to my pack and pulled out my dry clothes, slipped them on, and stepped outside the tent. I didn’t bother with socks, considering my shoes were soaking wet, and the ground squelched beneath my feet.

  It was no longer raining, though the sky was still cloudy and gray. The tops of the hills around our campsite were wreathed in fog, making it seem like Fergal and I were the last people on earth. Today that was an awkward feeling.

  I set off up a hill, not even caring where I was going, just needing to put some distance between myself and that tent, and Fergal inside it.

  I couldn’t believe I’d made such a big mistake. It was stupid of me to let myself get any more involved or attached than I already was, and yet I couldn’t control my hormones the night before, and all I’d succeeded in doing was complicating things. My life was already in a state of confused limbo, and adding Fergal to the mix was like throwing lighter fluid on a house fire.

  “Ronan?”

  Oh no. I turned to see Fergal, who had only bothered to pull on a pair of boxers, following me up the hill. Seeing that body, which I now knew on a very intimate level, sent a lot of mixed signals through me: arousal, embarrassment, concern.

  “You’re going to catch a cold,” I scolded, for lack of anything better to say.

  “Nah, Oi’ll be all right.” He waved a hand dismissively—a hand that had, not that long ago, been wrapped around certain parts of my anatomy as he thrust inside me, working me to completion.

  This is not the time for that, I berated myself mentally, forcing my attention back to Fergal’s face to kill those thoughts before they took on a life of their own and got me into more trouble.

  He was looking at me expectantly, and I realized I must have missed something he said.

  “Huh?”

  “Oi said, are yeh sure yer all right? Yer actin’ skittish as a newborn colt. Look, if this is about last night—”

  “I’m fine,” I interrupted, not wanting to give him the chance to open up that particular can of worms. “Well, I’m starving, actually, so let’s have breakfast. And can you put on some clothes? I’m getting chills just watching you stand out here like that.”

  “If yeh joined me like this, it wouldn’t seem so bad,” he goaded. “When me and my mates went streakin’, it was much colder than this. Yer body will get used to it.”

  “I’d rather it didn’t have to,” I replied dryly. Truthfully, I just didn’t want another moment of being naked with Fergal; who knew what I would do this time? “I would really like breakfast, though. If I remember right, we didn’t get dinner last night.” That was the wrong thing to say. Fergal grinned, and I knew he was remembering the night’s events same as me, though I doubted he was as regretful as I was, if at all.

  While Fergal set about with breakfast, which turned out to be peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, I did my best to get a fire lit so I could attempt to dry my clothes and shoes. The wood was soaked through, however, and even with a spray of lighter fluid, it was impossible to get a good fire burning. The small one I managed to light put off more smoke than heat, and it went out quickly.

  “Don’t think yer going to have any luck,” Fergal said, handing me a sandwich oozing jelly. He was one of those people who liked there to be lots more jelly than peanut butter—a fact that I could appreciate, as I didn’t particularly like peanut butter myself.

  “That’s just great,” I huffed. “What are we supposed to do with the wet clothes?”

  “No need to be narky,” Fergal said around a mouthful of his own sandwich. “We’ll figure somethin’ out.”

  “Narky?”

  Fergal’s expression was sheepish, which made me wonder what exactly the word meant. “It’s nothin’ serious,” he said quickly, as if reading that on my face. “Means cranky, is all.”

  “Oh? Being cranky, am I?”

  He shifted uncomfortably. “Well, yeh are gettin’ on me about somethin’ I ’ave no control over.”

  I sighed. “You’re right. Sorry.”

  “If it’s about last night, just tell me.”

  “Why would it be about last night?” I asked, knowing he would see the evasiveness for what it was.

  “Ronan.”

  “I don’t want to talk about last night,” I said firmly, taking a too-big bite of the sandwich to occupy my mouth and keep from having to speak.

  “Listen, Oi like yeh—a lot. Have since the moment yeh walked in the door of the shop.” Fergal probably didn’t realize it, but those were precisely the words I didn’t want to hear. I didn’t want to know he had feelings for me; it might seem crazy, but I would have been much happier had he told me he’d just been horny and it was a one-night thing. That, at least, would be easy. “Oi was pretty sure yeh liked me too, and then last night… well, seemed to be validation.”

  “You’re wrong,” I said weakly.

  “Oh? The way yeh were suckin’ my—”

  “Obviously not about that.” I didn’t need to hear dirty talk from him, because I remembered vividly what it sounded like, having been treated to an earful last night. It was without a doubt the most erotic thing I’d ever heard. “What I mean is that you’re mistaken in what you think I’m wanting.”

  Fergal’s brow furrowed. I could see he was confused and at that moment questioning his own judgment. “Yeh were always visitin’ and hangin’ with me at the shop, and goin’ to lunch, and then in Dublin…. Oi thought yeh were interested.”

  “I was—am. In being friends,” I said gently, knowing the lie for what it was the moment I said it. Whatever it was I was feeling for him was deeper than friendship—something Fergal no doubt saw, as well, considering the way we’d been together the previous day. I could see the protest springing to Fergal’s lips and spoke quickly to not give him the chance—it would make things harder than they already were. “I don’t know where I’m going from here, Fergal. I don’t know what the future holds for me, or even where I’ll be in another week, you know? I’m not in a place to even think about something… like that.”

  “Oi see,” Fergal said slowly.

  He didn’t say anything else, just ate his sandwich, staring resolutely at the wet pile of logs. I felt terrible, wanted to reach out and comfort him, but I knew I wasn’t allowed to do that. I didn’t get to cause him pain and then turn around and try to make him feel better.

  I took another bite of my sandwich, but the peanut butter felt like cement in my mouth and I fought back a gag. I forced myself to keep chewing and swallow, finally choking it down.

  When he finished eating, Fergal began packing things up, getting ready to go. He dug around in the back of the truck and pulled out a plastic grocery bag. “Put yer wet clothes in this.” His voice sounded normal enough, if a bit cool, but I didn’t have any hope that it would mean he and I would be okay.
>
  “Thanks.” I climbed into the tent and stood there for a moment, taking a deep, shuddering breath. I felt utterly miserable, knowing I’d probably caused the one friend I’d made in Ireland to hate me. As usual, I was making a mess of my life.

  I took the initiative to roll up the two sleeping bags and secure them tightly. Fergal gave me a grunt of thanks as I loaded them into the back of the truck. We finished breaking down the camp, a heavy silence falling so that the distance between us might as well have been the Grand Canyon.

  I was really looking forward to the ride home.

  As we drove back to Abhainn, the only interruption to the silence between us came when Fergal received a text message. “It’s from Hannah,” he said, voice at that same barely-above-freezing temperature as earlier. “She says that her and Gwendolyn are goin’ to Mrs. Murphy’s now, so Oi’ll be takin’ yeh by there myself.”

  “You don’t have to do that,” I said quickly. “I’m sure I can get Hannah to come back for me, or someone else to take me.”

  Fergal glanced at me for the briefest moment. “Don’t be ridiculous. Oi’ll take yeh. It’s on the way back anyway.”

  “Oh, well, thanks.” Damn it, things had gotten so awkward, so fast between us, and I didn’t know if I could fix it. I didn’t know if I should fix it either. Of course I wanted to, but wasn’t it better for me—for us both—if I didn’t? What good did it do for either of us to get caught up in feelings that would just get us hurt when they came to an end? And they would; I was an American just doing a little soul-searching in Ireland, transient, with a departure looming before me, even if I didn’t know precisely when that would be. Better the clean, quick break before feelings really had time to grow, because once they did, it would be that much more difficult. A little pain now to spare the heartache later.

  I felt like I was going stir-crazy by the time we finally reached a narrow dirt lane that, according to Fergal, would lead to the house where my mother was born and raised. The heaviness between us seemed to lift a little bit at the prospect, but only a little bit. It was not really the arrival I’d anticipated, but so little of life actually was.