He lay there, staring up at the empty sky, and waited for the shame to pass. He hoped it would, but he feared it wouldn’t. Not tonight. Maybe not ever.
Chapter 18 - Ethan
Ethan knelt on the riverbank, fingers numb in the glacial water, as he tried to make sense of everything that had just happened between him and Cole. The creek was barely a foot deep, but its current was wild, rabid with meltwater, and icy cold. He stared into the riptide, watching foam and twigs spin around moss-dark stones. His hands still shook as he tried to process the whirlwind of emotions, the flash of confusion in Cole's eyes, and the way he had bolted from him like a startled deer.
He replayed the encounter in his head—the way Cole had said "Do what you want," like a dare. The way the man’s body had melted under him, surrendering inch by inch, as if he’d never known it was allowed to feel that much. The thrill of being used and using back, both at once. And then, after, the way it all had snapped—Cole’s hands trembling, face crumbling into something awful and old, the image of Cole jerking away repeated in Ethan’s mind.
His cock was still half-hard and it pissed him off; he should be devastated, not aroused. He tried to summon the humiliationthat was supposed to follow, the self-loathing that had always trailed close behind, but it wouldn’t come. Instead there was a gnawing ache in his gut—a longing, a hunger for Cole, not just the sex but everything before it. The jokes. The shared silences. The way Cole had always, even in anger, made Ethan feel real.
Ethan rocked back on his heels, arms dangling limp. The river roared on, uncaring. He hunched over and let himself breathe, really breathe, and for the first time since the whole thing started, he noticed the world hadn’t stopped. Out beyond the trees, the meadow was shouting with color, the air heavy with the breath of crushed wild mint and lupine.
He closed his eyes. He wanted to cry. Instead, he laughed—a raw, broken sound—and spat into the river.
He didn’t want to go back to camp, but he knew that he had to face the music sooner or later. He could still smell Cole on his fingers, a mix of pine and sweat and the faint musk of old arousal. He sniffed his wrist and, for a crazy second, wanted to bite down and keep it there.
He straightened up and started the trudge back to camp. The path cut through high grass and wildflowers, every footstep sending up a waft of green and sweetness. He focused on that—the smell, the grit of seedpods under his boot, the rush of blood as his body warmed up. He told himself it was okay to hurt, that he could survive this. The thought was less than convincing, but it was better than nothing.
When he broke the tree line he could see camp and the smoke leaking from a fresh-started fire. Riley and Harper, back from their walk, were hunkered by the firepit, mugs in hand, trading whispers and little sparks of laughter. For a split second Ethan almost turned around and ran, but then Riley looked up, made eye contact and gave a crooked, warm smile.
Ethan squared his shoulders and walked in, pretending not to notice the way his hands were still shaking.
Harper glanced up. “We made fresh hot chocolate if you want some.”
Riley patted the log next to him. “Come sit.”
Ethan sat, knees cracking. The wood was hot from the fire, and the heat made his skin prickle. Riley poured a mug of hot chocolate and handed it over; their fingers brushed, and Ethan caught the question in Riley’s gaze.
Finally, Riley spoke. “Did you find Cole?” The question was gentle.
Ethan nodded his head. “Oh, I found him.”
Riley nodded, “I see.”
Harper was quiet, watching Ethan with a feline patience, as if she knew the words would come if given enough space and not too much oxygen.
He looked up at the sky, which was turning soft and purple, and it was beautiful—so beautiful it seemed obscene to be this fucked up in the middle of it. But he didn’t regret what he’d done. Not even a little. He regretted the fallout, the ache in his chest, but not the act itself. If anything, it felt like breaking through a pane of glass, the first breath of air after holding it for years.
Riley gave him a minute before nudging Ethan’s knee with his own. “You wanna talk about it?”
Ethan watched sparks spiral up from the fire, dissolving before they hit the dark. He tried to line up the words, but his tongue tripped over itself. “It was supposed to be… I don’t know. I thought it was a good thing.”
Harper let him sit in the silence. Riley just waited, eyes fixed on the embers. When the pause dragged out, Ethan finally added, “He let me touch him, and not just touch him, he let me blow him. We had this moment, and I thought we were together in it, Cole even lost himself and took control and fucked my face and throat so deep and hard. When he came it was like… it waslike he’d never let himself feel that before. Then afterward, he just… ran. He couldn’t even look at me.”
Harper made a sympathetic noise—not quite a hum, not quite a sigh.
Riley nodded, like he was following a familiar script. “First time for him?”
Ethan shrugged. “Maybe not his first blowjob, but… with another man? With that much emotion? Yeah. I think so.” He hunched over, rubbing the grit from his palms. “I should’ve gone slower. Or said more. Or done something different.”
Harper made a soft tsk. “You can’t manage another person’s panic attack. It’s not about you.”
Ethan looked up, searching for something in their faces—judgment, maybe, or pity. All he found was patience. “I feel like an asshole.”
“You’re not,” Riley said, putting a hand on his shoulder. The squeeze lingered, solid and warm. “You want him. That’s not a crime. He just… couldn’t handle the after, but someday he might.”
“He wanted it too,” Ethan whispered. “I could tell.” He remembered the way Cole’s cock had throbbed in his hand, the desperate way he’d thrust, the heat of his breath and the intensity of his orgasm, how Cole had growled and shuddered and come harder than anyone Ethan had ever seen. “But after… he couldn’t even look at me.”
Riley gave a knowing grin. “That’s how it goes, sometimes. The high’s so strong, the crash is nuclear.”
