It was then he heard voices—a low grunt, a muffled moan, a wet sound. The kind of sound you only heard through a hotel wall or in a frat house at two in the morning, but always unmistakable. Ethan crept forward, each step sinking into the moss, and peered around a tangle of branches.
Jack was propped on a deadfall, jeans around his ankles, cock jutting thick and wet from the hair at his base. Kneeling before him was Riley, naked except for a t-shirt hiked up around his ribs, bobbing his head with the kind of hunger that bordered on worship. Riley’s hands pressed hard into Jack’s hips, keeping him anchored as Riley devoured the shaft.
For a moment, Ethan’s heart tripped, and he almost bolted back to camp. But he couldn’t move. The sight of it—the openness, the lack of shame—lit something in his chest that blotted out everything else.
Jack caught Ethan’s eyes. He didn’t break the rhythm of Riley’s head, didn’t cover himself, didn’t even flinch. He just smiled.
“Look what the cat dragged in,” Jack said, voice thick and throaty. He ruffled Riley’s hair and pushed his head down a little harder.
Riley popped off Jack’s cock and looked over his shoulder, mouth shining with spit. “Hey, Hayes,” he said, voice soft but inviting. “Didn’t mean to interrupt your night stroll.”
Ethan felt his face go hot, then cold. He stammered, “I—sorry—didn’t know anyone was out here.”
Jack laughed, not a trace of embarrassment. “This fag loves sucking straight men’s cocks,” he said, fondling Riley’s cheek. “You want to join? He’s a great cocksucker.”
Riley nodded and smiled like it was the kindest offer in the world. “No pressure, Ethan. But I’d love to suck every drop of cum out of your balls.”
Ethan stared, his cock going from hard to diamond-cut in the space of a breath.
Jack locked eyes with Ethan, his voice low and direct. “It’ll be our little secret. Nobody will ever know. Just between us. If you don’t want to join that’s fine, but don’t go running your fucking mouth about this to anybody, you understand? This little bitch boy Riley knows how to keep a secret. He’s a discreet cocksucker.”
Riley giggled, then wiped a string of spit from his lip and turned back to Jack, taking him back into his mouth with practiced grace. Jack groaned, letting his head fall back.
Ethan’s hands shook. He was at the edge, caught between guilt and a need so sharp it hurt. He wanted to be strong, to say no, to run back to the tent and forget any of this ever happened. But his cock was leaking into his boxers, and the idea of Riley’s mouth was a gravity that pulled all the way through him.
Ethan tried to conjure Cole’s face, tried to turn the memory of his voice and the heat of his hands into a bulwark against the slippery, insistent pull that was dragging him toward Jack and Riley. It almost worked. He saw Cole’s mouth, the way it twitched in annoyance, the flash of warning behind his eyes—what are you doing, Ethan? Don’t fuck this up. Don’t betray what we have before it’s even a thing. The image hovered, trembling, and for a second, Ethan could almost believe in his own willpower.
But then Riley moaned, some helpless sound that didn’t belong to words but to hunger, and Jack’s hand found the back of Riley’s head and pushed, not cruel but wanting. Ethan’s resolve fluttered like a paper wall, and the animal in his chest clawed its way to the front.
Every muscle tensed. He was suddenly aware of how his own cock pressed against his zipper. He should go. He should turn and run, dive into the creek if he had to, let the cold water kill the urge. But his feet inched closer, his fingers curling half-aware around a low branch.
His mind ran through every bad consequence: Cole’s hurt, the fallout in camp, the collapse of whatever fragile thing they’d built so far. But the other half of his brain—louder, more reckless—wanted to see what Riley’s mouth felt like, wanted to know if it matched the fantasy that had been blooming, unsolicited and wild, somewhere deep inside.
It would be so easy, the voice said. Just let go. You know you want it.
Ethan’s teeth ground together. He tried to swallow, but his throat had gone dry as bone.
He looked at Riley, who was now peering back at him, face slick and shining, hair wild and eyes so incredibly blue it was almost cartoonish. Riley wasn’t making fun of him; there was no judgment, no performance. Just plain, animal want, as bright and simple as hunger.
Ethan tried again to imagine Cole’s disapproval, to let it pour cold water over his nerves, but the thought of Cole only made him harder. It wasn’t the same as wanting Riley or Jack, but it was a kind of wanting all the same, a charge in the air that left him desperate to do anything to make it go away.
He made himself wait, counted to ten, just to see if the urge would ebb. It didn’t. Every number ratcheted up the pressure until he wanted to scream.
Riley gave another little moan around Jack’s cock, and the sound pried Ethan open. He heard a voice that didn’t sound like his own, rough and almost pleading.
“Fuck it,” Ethan said, and the words sliced the night in two. “I’d love to join.”
Jack grinned, white teeth flashing in the dark. “That’s the spirit. Get your ass over here.”
Riley released Jack’s cock with a wet pop, shuffled on his knees, and faced Ethan. His eyes were huge, glassy with want, his lips already parted.
“You have no idea how badly I wanted to suck your cock,” Riley whispered. He leaned in, fingers reaching for Ethan’s belt.
Ethan’s hands moved of their own accord. He unbuckled, unzipped, let his jeans and underwear hit the ground. The cold air hit his thighs, but every other part of him was burning. Riley gasped as Ethan’s cock bounced free—average size, nothing special, but Riley looked at it like it was a fucking masterpiece.
“You have a beautiful cock, sir,” Riley said, reverent.
Jack snorted. “Go on, show him what you can do.”
