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Summary
After three weeks of chasing monsters, this last one a wendigo smack dab in the middle of the Oregon wilderness at the height of summer, they’d killed it, finally giving them a chance to breathe and unwind, and Sam couldn’t sleep.
He shifted around in his sleeping bag for the tenth time in the last hour, or however many minutes it’d been since they’d laid down to sleep. He squeezed his eyes and attempted to drown out the chirp of the crickets. He wasn’t trying to take it personal, but it felt as if they’d made camp right next to his head.
Sam balled his fists into the sleeping bag material and fought down a groan reminded of the second reason for his discomfort. Three weeks of constant hunting had meant three weeks of no privacy. And his body decided now was the time for the world’s most persistent hard on.