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George could talk and talk, and Billy didn't mind one bit. In a way, he loved the attention. The way George laughed at his jokes, sat close to him after it got dark and the air got cold, the way he’d ask quiet questions to him as they were both falling asleep. He was exciting, and Billy felt his blood run hot around him.
Still, he wouldn't say he loved him. That title still belonged to Wyatt, and he suspected it always would. But he loved him like a dog loved its master. He wanted to be close to him, but he never dared to touch him. He admired him, and longed for him, but Wyatt’s attention was never returned. Not in the ways he wanted.
So Billy and George would get high around the campfire and giggle into the late hours while Wyatt sulked or snoozed or thought about whatever it was that went through his beautiful head.
And George curled up next to him, his sweater bunching up and exposing a few inches of his belly with a tuft of hair disappearing under his trousers. Lord, Billy wanted to touch it. George wasn’t quite asleep, but his face was resting on Billy’s shoulder, his lips smelling of Mary Jane. Billy took another long, lazy hit and as he was breathing out the smoke George leaned in through the haze and kissed him.
He was gentle, but intentional. Billy’s skin was on fire, but he had to assume that his friend was just trying to get a little higher. When they parted, Billy asked quietly, just a whisper so as not to disturb Wyatt. “So you some kind of queer?”
“Nah. You?” George whispered back.
“Nah.” Billy’s eyes said what his voice couldn't. He wanted him. He wanted him bad. He pulled George against his body and met his lips again, relishing the scrape of stubble against his mustache. George’s tongue was eager and his hands were busy. He cupped Billy’s crotch, testing to see if he was getting hard. He was. Billy in turn reached for George's waist, slipping his hand under his sweater to run his rough palm over his skin.
George squeezed him a few times through his jeans before Billy hastily unbuckled his belt and unzipped his fly, springing out for George to fondle. He bit his lip to keep from groaning as his companion explored his balls with deft fingers. Billy pinched George's nipples, hearing him gasp and feeling his body rock under his stretched sweater. God, he did sound like a fag like this, but it was undeniably turning him on.
George unbuckled his fly too, but Billy was hesitant to grab him. What if Wyatt woke up? What if he saw the pair of them with hands down each other’s pants. Instead, George nudged Billy’s knees apart and rolled on top of him, pressing their cocks together through their thin jockey shorts. Billy’s hands slid down George’s back and slipped under his trousers to grab his ass.
As they ground their hips together, George kissed him long and hard. Slow tongues moved against each other. Hot breath hitched in their throats. It was bliss, and Billy found himself grateful that the motels had driven them off again. He couldn't imagine doing this anywhere but the wilds, with the smell of campfire smoke in the cool air and the taste of grass on their lips.
Billy came first, muffling his cry against George's mouth. It only took a moment longer for his companion to shudder and release against him as well, feeling a new, hot stain soak through his underwear.
George rolled off of him, his hair tangled on his forehead and his glasses knocked askew. He giggled quietly, like they had just shared a cannabis-laced inside joke. “That wasn't so bad.” He finally said, downplaying his giddiness. Billy shook his head to agree.
He zipped his fly back up as George basked in his satisfaction. Billy also felt… lighter. There was one less rule burdening his shoulders, one that he had barely registered as weighing him down. Although it was a relief, it also made him more acutely aware of another burden- Wyatt. His body now ached with visceral specificity for him. He knew how it felt to have a cock grind against him, to have a man come while breathing in his ear.
It added texture to his dream that he couldn't ignore.
George had already fallen asleep and was snoring softly. The skin of his hips still showed, now marked red where Billy had gripped him. He never buttoned his fly, but his cock was limp under his shorts again. Billy breathed a long sigh and closed his eyes. Only thing to do now was to sleep it off. The hash, the sex, and the longing.