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It was the middle of the night and there were no bullfrogs awake to talk to anymore. The fire had long burned out, and Wyatt was sound asleep, head on his helmet arms curled under him as he faced where the fire once was.
Billy was lying close to George, as close as he had been when he was awake, and god, he was trying to sleep. He did really want to sleep. It was just, being this close to George once more was making Billy’s heart race fast enough to keep him awake.
What they had certainly couldn’t be called a ritual, as the pair had known each other solidly for one, or really now by nightfall two days. However, the previous night, after the campfire had gone out and the bullfrogs had quieted, when the real dark of the night took over, George had shuffled over to Billy (why not to Wyatt? Billy couldn’t tell) and whispered so quietly he could barely hear it,
“Billy, are you awake? I got scared Billy. Can I sleep next to you?”
George, the poor man, seemed to shrink in nature. His laid back energy from earlier had worn off. Billy remembered his first time being high (or could he really? At some point it all started to blur together). Even if he couldn’t remember his first, he certainly remembered some of his bad highs. Either way, he figured what George was going through wasn’t fun.
Billy was half asleep and couldn’t put enough thoughts together in his brain to form words, but he nodded his head and rolled over slightly to make room on the flat spot he was resting on that night. What he hadn’t expected was for George to lay so so close to him and drape himself over Billy. The warmth of his body and the closeness was intoxicating, but Billy was exhausted. He wished he was more awake to take it in, but he wasn’t, and soon sleep overtook Billy once more.
They woke up with their limbs tangled together. They’d moved around and somehow managed to get even closer in the night. Wyatt was awake before the two, and shook them awake laughing softly at the sight. Billy couldn’t stop blushing like an idiot. Wyatt clearly didn’t seem to care about the position he found the two in, but Billy wasn’t stressing that. It was George. Billy couldn’t read George at all. The morning light seemed to snap the man back to his goofy self.
Anyways, that wasn’t what mattered, what mattered was it was dark, and Billy and George were once again so so close in the night.
George was laying down next to him, shoulder to shoulder, eyes towards the sky, and didn’t move any as he whispered, “Billy, do you want to try something?”
Billy turned his head to look at George’s profile, eyes trying to discern his shape in the dark, before responding with a quiet, “What man, what are you thinking?”
Slowly and carefully, George shifted to his side, fully facing Billy. His hand soon found its way to Billy’s face. George’s thumb stroked against Billy’s stubble, and Billy was grateful for the night, because he couldn’t imagine what he looked like. Was he shocked? Was he grateful? Was he furious? His gut was telling him to run. His gut was telling him to stand up and say something deeply uncharitable and get out of there. His gut was wrong and nervous but yet the terror remained. What if people saw? What if people saw??
In that moment, none of that mattered. George’s body was pressed up against Billy’s side, and the warmth was helping to calm Billy down. George kissed him. Oh god. George, he kissed him. It was just a small kiss. Chaste. Over quickly. George used his hand to help find his way to Billy’s face and being held like that it was. God. Billy wanted more. He wanted more. Every cell of his body screamed in terror but he wanted more. This time, the terror got the best of him.
“We can’t,” Billy’s pathetic whisper was cut off by another kiss, this time it landed slightly above where George’s thumb was previously stroking him, “Those guys, what if they find us? We’re playing right into their stereotype man,” another kiss, this time on the other stubbled side of his face, “You heard what they said, man. You said it, they’re dangerous!” His last word was cut short by George kissing him on the lips once more. This time, the terror was overtaken by his desire, and Billy instinctively tried to deepen the kiss. George leaned into it too, and the two soon found a rhythm with each other, pushing and pulling and breaking away and coming back and. Who knew how long it had been. Eventually though, they pulled away from each other for good, their faces hovering still just inches from each other.
Billy’s heart was beating out of his chest and he was solidly out of breath and he still wanted more. He wanted it all. He wanted so so much, it scared him. Which was more terrifying, the thought of others judging him or the thought of confronting the enormity of his desires? He couldn’t tell.
While Billy was mentally flipping through terror and want, George patted Billy on the cheek, and started to move. His body softened into Billy’s, as he draped his arm over the man and tucked his head into Billy’s shoulder.
“I always wondered what it felt like to kiss a man’s stubble. You know once I dated a chick who would rub her face against mine like a cat because she liked how it felt?” George paused, letting the droning of insects fill in for him. Billy felt deeply pathetic in the silence.
The silence stretched and stretched. Billy wanted to kiss him. Billy wanted this moment. But he was terrified of the future. He softly spoke, stating, “If we do this now. What’s supposed to happen next? We’re already targeted, man. This just opens us to even more shit.” Billy pulled the hand not underneath George to his own face, and nervously rubbed his stubble, feeling the warmth that was once there. Despair filled him.
George shook his head slowly, though it really seemed he was using the excuse to get more comfortable on Billy’s shoulder, as he said, “Naw, you can’t be doing things thinking about others. It’s no good if you just re-pre-sent freedom and don’t actually practice it,” he paused, seemingly done re-adjusting himself, and as an afterthought he added, “Besides, we don’t need to figure it all now. There’s always tomorrow for that.”
Time dragged itself forward, each second feeling like a million years. Billy could stay here forever. Slowly, slowly, George’s breathing slowed, and soon he was fast asleep. This time, it was Billy who moved his hand to George’s head, and he carded his hand through George’s hair. This rhythm along with the feeling of George’s hot breath on his chest was enough to soothe him into sleep. There was always tomorrow, he thought as sleep overtook him. There was always tomorrow.