Alexei nodded. “Yeah.”
And then Ben was close, so close. He squeezed sunscreen onto his fingers. Traced them down Alexei’s forehead to his nose. Down his cheeks to his jawline, brushing around the edge of Alexei’s beard. Alexei tried to keep very, very still.
Ben moved to his neck. The stubble underneath his chin, the space behind his ears. Alexei’s breath grew labored as Ben worked down to his shoulders. Alexei didn’t truly need sunscreen on his shoulders. But he was still pleased Ben kneaded for longer than was strictly necessary there anyway.
“God,” Ben breathed. “You are so fucking sexy, Alexei Lebedev.”
Nerves tingled down Alexei’s spine. This was what he wanted. Ben’s curses, Ben’s desire. He felt cared for, and a little sun drunk, a little high on what this felt like, this magical hot-spring-inspired surge of courage. Maybe Ben was right. Maybe Alexei did need to think about boundaries. But he wanted this, too. He wantedsexy. He wanted skin and closeness and trust.
Ben’s eyes looked slightly dazed, his fingers beginning to trail aimlessly down Alexei’s side. Alexei liked that, too, but he was also on the verge of embarrassing himself. He opened his mouth to thank him, tell him he was good now, and—
“Jesus. You can even find fags on the PCT these days.”
The voice was close. Loud. Deep.
A second voice followed.
“Seriously. Can’t escape fags anywhere anymore, seems like.”
“At least have some decency, for Christ’s sake.”
There was a moment that felt like falling, weightless and disoriented, out of space and time. Alexei was back in his parents’ house, pinned under the weight of his father’s gaze. Alexei was back in church, twelve years old, ashamed and confused.
“Ignore them,” Ben whispered. Alexei blinked back to the present. Saw Ben’s eyes widen, his pupils dilate.
The wooden pews and his father’s misbuttoned sweater disappeared. They weren’t going to get in here. They weren’t going to touch Ben.
Alexei’s pulse thundered in his ears. But his mind cleared, and he tried to stare back at Ben with meaning, with assurance. Because he knew now, what it looked like when Ben was scared. And he’d promised to keep Ben safe.
“Are you actually serious right now?”
A woman’s voice this time.
Alexei’s eyes flickered to the world beyond Ben, taking in the scene. The man closest to them was big, American flag patterned shorts stretched over tanned thighs. He was turned toward the approaching woman, her dark hair sticking out of a Patagonia trucker’s hat.
“Get the fuck out of here, you small-minded scumbags,” she said.
The man with the stars-and-stripes shorts deliberately unclicked the strap across his chest. His companion did the same. They dropped their packs in the sand.
“I think we’ll go wherever the hell we want, actually,” the skinnier guy said.
The woman narrowed her eyes and opened her mouth, but Alexei was moving now.
“It’s fine, we’re going,” he said, throwing on his shirt and shorts in record speed, scrambling for his socks. “Ben,” he instructed, because it looked like Ben needed instruction. He stood in the same frozen position, face blank. “Come on,” Alexei said, softer now, “we should go.”
As Alexei rammed his feet into his trailrunners, more people walked toward them.
“Hey, Leslie, what’s going on here?”
“These homophobic assholes were giving these guys a hard time.”
“The hell?”
Alexei grabbed his pack. Ben was still struggling with his shirt.
“Hey, guys, wait,” the woman in the Patagonia hat—Leslie—stepped closer to Alexei. Her eyes, blazing with anger a minute ago, only looked concerned. “You guys shouldn’t have to leave.”
“It’s okay,” Alexei said.
