Please see my literary archive for the NC-17 rated version of this short story (the link can be found in my bio).

Of Trips to the Backcountry, Winter, and True Love
.nachzes black-rider

Ryan looked dubiously at the pile of camping equipment piled in the back of his boyfriend’s beat-up Ford truck. The sleeping bags and rolls of bright orange bubble mattresses were piled higgledy-piggledy with the tent and the backpacks, while the old aluminium cooler sat at the centre of the mess; and, turning around as he heard the screen door bang shut, Ryan saw Nicholas making his way toward the vehicle, appearing burried behind the pile of extra equipment he was carrying. Pressing against the side of the cab to let the other pass, blue paint flaking off on his lightweight jogger’s jacket, Ryan sighed, but Nicholas had chosen that moment to dump his load of camping paraphernalia into the back of the truck, the axe hitting the metal of the box with a loud bang, and Ryan’s sigh went unnoticed. He tried again. “Nicholas— ” he began, but the other cut him off.

“Hand me those duffel bags, will you?” he said, waving in the general direction of said bags, his head down in the truck box as he rooted around inside; Ryan passed them to him wordlessly. “Thanks,” Nicholas said, tossing them into the truck box and finishing tying the tarp overtop of the box.

Ryan opened his mouth again. “Nick….”

“Yeah?” The other turned to look at him, grinning, and Ryan felt his nerve failing him.

“Umm…do you think…is it a good idea to be going camping in November?” he asked weakly, glancing down and shuffling his feet.

“It’ll be fine,” Nicholas assured him, ruffling his hair as he passed him on the way to the driver’s side door. “It never snows in Georgia, anyways. We’ll just have to make sure to keep warm at night,” he said with a quirky grin. Ryan smiled back hesitantly, and climbed into the passenger’s seat, doing up his seatbelt and fingering the fraying strap, glancing over at the other out of the corner of his eye.

“Seatbelt, Niko,” he said. The other rolled his eyes and did his belt up.

“God, Ryan, you’re always so anal about everything,” Nicholas laughed. “Try living a little for once!” He started the truck, the engine revving loudly to life with a sick-sounding cough, and the ancient radio crackling to life. One hand keeping the beat of the static-y music on the steering wheel, Nicholas backed jerkily up out of the driveway into the alley, shifting gears and driving forwards, tires spitting gravel out behind them as they picked up speed.

“At least I’m not a deviant when I drive!” Ryan retorted, clinging to the door handle with one hand, and the edge of his seat with the other as the truck bounced down the gravel.

“Pfft, you don’t even have your licence, and you’re almost seventeen now!” Nicholas said, shifting gears and speeding up. “Besides, I’m not a bad driver.”

Ryan just looked at him.

In return, Nicholas shot him a devilish grin. “Come on,” he said, “I go fast, but I’m always in control, and I’ve never received a single ticket or gotten in even one accident.”

“You’re just lucky,” Ryan muttered. Nicholas’ good humour was infectious, though, because he grinned back and tacked on, “And it can’t hurt to have built-in radar for cops.”

“You wound me deeply,” Nicholas joked. “Are you insinuating that I only drive safely when there is law-enforcement around?”

“You’d think that my father would have rubbed off on you,” Ryan said, sighing. Though his mother, a housewife, and father, a police officer who worked the night-shift, had divorced when he was five, they had kept up good relations for the sake of their only child. Now his step-father, a pastry-chef, whom his mother had met while working part-time as a waitress when Ryan was ten, lived with them, but his father still came over for regular visits.

Nicholas laughed. “Always hopeful, Ryan,” he said, grinning.

“And what’s wrong with having hope?” Ryan asked, pretending to be offended.

“Nothing,” Nicholas said. “It’s just not very practical.”

“Since when are you the expert on being practical?” Ryan said.

“True enough,” Nicholas said, gunning the engine and taking a sharp turn onto a hidden road nearly overgrown with now-yellow and -brown grass and weeds. An awkward silence hung in the truck, with only the radio, which had long-since degraded into pure static, and the truck’s engine to break it. Finally, Nicholas swore under his breath and punched the OFF button for the radio. “Look,” he said, “I get it— I’m a bad driver, and shouldn’t preach about practicality. I don’t care. Since when have I ever had any sense, either?”

Shrugging, Ryan continued to look out his window at the scenery flying past. He heard Nicholas curse again and whack something; suddenly, music blasted from the speakers, some woman wailing about true love, and Ryan laughed, his hand flying to his mouth automatically. Nicholas immediately switched the music off, but Ryan was still laughing, his whole body shaking.

“God, Ryan, what the hell?” Nicholas said, and Ryan laughed harder.

“You have— Celine Dion— in your truck?” Ryan choked, still laughing.

“Damn it, it was the fucking radio station! Now stop laughing!”

Snorting, Ryan pressed his hand over his mouth to muffle his laughter. Nicholas shook his head, rolling his eyes, but Ryan could see the hint of a grin pulling at his lips. “You’re laughing,” he teased the other. “You think I’m fun-ny….”

“I think you’re an idiot— ”

“You love me, you want to kiss me….”

“Unfortunately, not right now. I’m driving,” Nicholas said. Ryan pouted, aqua eyes dancing.

“Fine,” he said, “but you owe me when we finally get camp set up!”

Nicholas blew him a kiss.

Rolling his eyes again, Ryan returned to staring out the window to wait out the rest of the drive, his light brown hair waving in the breeze.

An hour later, Ryan was jolted out of his stupor when Nicholas jerked the truck in an impromptu turn to the left, driving across the grass and around a hillside until they were hidden from view. “Here we are!” he announced, putting the truck in park and yanking the key out of the ignition. Ryan looked around.

“You really had no idea where we were going to go, did you?” he said. “Do you even know the way back?”

“If not, we’ll be hermits,” Nicholas said, apparently unperturbed as he jumped out of the truck and walked around to the box.

“No, seriously, Niko,” Ryan said, climbing out and following the other. “Are we lost?”

“I’ve been coming here since I got my truck, Ryan,” Nicholas said, untying the tarp and throwing it back to reveal their supplies. “Does that answer your question?”

“I guess…” Ryan said, trying to calculate the years in his head. “When did you get your truck again?”

Nicholas rolled his eyes and turned to face the other, crossing his arms over his chest. “Ryan,” he said, “we are not lost. There. Now, we have a tent to set up; are you going to help me, or are you going to make a fire pit?”

“How ‘bout I just stay out of your way?”

“Ryan, you can’t tell me you’ve never gone camping,” Nicholas said. Ryan shook his head, and Nicholas raised an eyebrow. “Really?” he asked. “You’ve never gone camping?”

“Never,” Ryan said, plucking at a loose thread on his shirt.

Nicholas laughed. “God, Ryan, that is…like…unheard of; doesn’t your father know of the law about how every self-respecting guy has to spend a couple nights out in the bush? It’s, like, a rite of passage. Seriously.”

“Well I’ve never done it,” Ryan retorted, glaring, and Nicholas chuckled again.

“I guess I’ll just have to show you how everything works, then,” he said, and Ryan flushed.

“Can’t we just go home?” he whined, and Nicholas laughed, brown eyes dancing with mirth behind tousled chocolate bangs as he shook his head. Groaning, Ryan pretended to fall over; Nicholas laughed again and caught him, grinning down at his boyfriend. “You’re upside-down,” Ryan informed him, eep-ing as Nicholas spun him around to face him. “Okay,” he corrected himself, breathless, “you’re not upside-down.” His eyes flickered closed as Nicholas gave him a brief kiss, then opened again when the other’s lips left his.

“We do still have to set the tent up,” Nicholas breathed, loosening his arms from around the other, and Ryan pouted, trying to hang on.

“Now?” he whined.

“Yes,” Nicholas said, managing to get free and reaching into the truck box, pulling the tent towards him and unzipping the bag, taking everything out and starting to set it up.

“Well what am I supposed to do?” Ryan asked, feeling awkward.

“Get some food from the cooler,” Nicholas said, slipping the tent poles through their loops on the tent, “and some plates and stuff; I’ll show you how to cook it after I get the fire started.”

Ryan bit his lip and nodded, climbing into the box of the truck and opening the cooler, sorting through the mess of ice and pop and beer cans until he found a package of hot dogs. Pulling a can of beans, two plates, a bag of hot dog buns, and two roasting prongs out of a box next to him, Ryan sat down on the lip of the truck, his legs dangling, and set the food beside him, feeling out of place again.

It was another hour before they ate, and the sun was setting as Ryan watched Nicholas wolf down his fourth hot dog. He himself was holding his second (unbitten and growing cold), along with a beer (of which he’d taken one sip), both of which Nicholas had forced upon him, informing him that he needed to eat more— for God’s sake, he was a teenage boy! Where was his appetite?

Ryan didn’t even bother to inform the other that he didn’t like hot dogs, or beer, or brown beans. He knew that the other would ask him why he’d chosen them, and he’d be forced to admit that he was an idiot and that he thought that’s what people ate while camping. Miserable, he sat watching the fire, his back cold and his knees hot and his calves aching, as the sky turned dark and the flames became dying embers. Finally, Nicholas yawned and stood up; Ryan checked his watch: 10:42.

“Time for bed?” he asked, hopefully.

“Time for s’mores!” Nicholas said, grinning, and Ryan’s face fell— he hoped it wasn’t visible in the feeble light. He watched as Nicholas rooted around in the truck box, pulling out a jar of peanut butter, two bars of chocolate, a package of graham crackers, and a bag of marshmallows. He took another swig of beer, grimacing at the taste, but he figured he’d need to be inebriated to stand any more camping.

Nicholas was snoring. The wind was whistling outside the tent. Cicadas and grasshoppers chirped. And every time he moved, his sleeping bag would make an annoying rustling sound.

Ryan could not get to sleep.

He sighed, staring up at the ceiling of the tent. He hated camping. He hated the food; he hated the unfamiliar noises when he was trying to sleep; he hated the feeling of the sleeping bag sliding all over the place whenever he moved; he hated the blue sky and the yellow grass; and he hated the smell of the campfire, which he seriously doubted he’d ever be able to remove from his clothes.

But Nicholas loved it. Nicholas loved the constant diet of hot dogs, beer, and s’mores for dessert; Nicholas loved the chirping of the cicadas and the sound of the wind; Nicholas loved the stupid sleeping bag that you couldn’t snuggle up in; Nicholas loved the endless landscape that made Ryan’s eyes ache; and Nicholas loved the campfire’s scent.

It wasn’t fair. He was tired and he couldn’t sleep; he was sick of hot dogs and beans every day; he was sick and tired of smelling like a campfire very time he pulled on his clothes. But he’d kill himself before he’d admit it, because, for some stupid reason, this was important to Nicholas, and Ryan would be damned before he’d admit that he hated any of it.

Rolling over, he curled up and closed his eyes tightly, reminding himself that his three days in Hell were almost over, and that he and Nicholas would be starting back home tomorrow at noon.

“Ryan, guess what!” Nicholas exclaimed, shaking the other out of the doze he’d just managed to slip into.

“What?” Ryan moaned, trying to bat the other away.

“I called your mom, and she agrees with me!”

“Agrees with you on what?” Ryan asked, feeling an odd sense of foreboding.

“Well, since you seem to be enjoying camping so much, I figured that I’d ask if we could stay a little longer; your mom said yes, and my dad said he didn’t care, so I figured that I’d give you the good news,” Nicholas said, grinning. Ryan felt like his voice was gone; he didn’t know what to do: endure more torture, or hurt Nicholas. Finally, he managed to get his tongue to work.

“Nicholas,” he said slowly, “I don’t think that would be a good idea.”

The other’s face fell. “What do you mean?” he asked.

“Well,” Ryan said, trying to backtrack, “I mean, I’d be missing school, right? The long weekend is over tomorrow, and it’s my senior year. I have a test to write on Tuesday that I really need to study for, and— ”

Nicholas waved his protests away, cutting him off. “It’s all taken care of,” he said, “don’t worry; your mom says she’ll try to talk to your professor about the test. She’s going to say that you were on a family holiday, and the absence probably won’t even go on your record, if that’s what you’re worried about, Mr. Perfect Attendance.”

“No!” Ryan said, his irritation getting the better of him. “It’s not that, Nicholas; I just don’t like camping, okay!”

“…What do you mean?”

“I mean I don’t like camping. I’m tired, I can’t sleep, I hate smelling like a freaking campfire, and I’m sick of wieners and beans!”

“So all this time when you told me that you were loving it out here, you were just lying to me?” Nicholas asked, a look halfway between hurt and anger on his face.

Ryan threw his hands up in the air, exasperated. “Yes!” he cried. “Yes, alright! I was lying! Because I didn’t want you to think that I was a wimp, or that I was some kind of preppy boy who couldn’t rough it, and— and because I didn’t want to hurt you.” He’d watched Nicholas’ dark hazel eyes narrow, widen, and soften as he ranted, and he glanced down.

“Ryan, what was it that I told you the afternoon before your first time?” Nicholas asked.

“When your dad was in the hospital?”

“Yeah.”

“You said,” Ryan paused, thinking, remembering. “You said you’d always love me…”

“…no matter how imperfect the journey was,” Nicholas finished, placing two fingers under the younger’s chin and lifting it so that Ryan met his eyes. “I meant that, Ryan,” he said, “every word.”

“I know,” Ryan said, frustrated when his voice came out strained and quiet because of the tears making his throat seem swollen. “I know you meant it, but everybody talks about how sometimes people have to make sacrifices for the ones they love, and I just thought that if I could stand three days of camping, you wouldn’t get hurt, and I’d be home by the fourth day, anyways.”

“Ryan,” Nicholas told him, wrapping his arms around the other, “you do the stupidest things sometimes, when you try to be practical. Not telling me might have saved someone from being hurt this time, but we’d keep on living with a misunderstanding, with me thinking you loved camping when you really didn’t, and eventually it just would have all come out anyways, and probably hurt more.”

Ryan sniffed.

Hugging him tighter, Nicholas kissed the crown of his honey-brown hair, and let him go. “Alright,” he said, “we’d better start packing up, then, if we want to leave by noon. It’s almost eleven-thirty.”

“Okay,” Ryan said, cursing himself for his weak-sounding voice.

Nicholas nodded and stood up, walking towards the tent flap, then paused, half bent-over. “Ryan?” he asked.

“Yeah?”

“Had you ever gone camping before, then?”

Flushing brilliantly at being found out, Ryan nodded, looking down. Nicholas grinned.

“When?” he asked, “With who?”

“My dad,” Ryan muttered. “He took me on a road-trip to the mountains once; it ended badly. We left a week early, and ended up staying in hotels the entire way back.”

Nicholas laughed and ducked out of the tent, leaving Ryan to get changed. Then: “Of course, you know what this means,” he said, poking his head back in and grinning manically when he startled Ryan, who had his pants half-off.

“What?” Ryan asked, flushing.

“Make-up sex,” Nicholas said. Ryan rolled his eyes and tossed his smelly campfire shirt at the other, getting him in the face but obviously not deterring him, and the next thing he knew, Nicholas was kissing his neck, pulling at the jeans he had just managed to get done up, and he himself was moaning and trying to pull the other closer.

“Nicholas,” Ryan panted between kisses.

“Hmm?” the other murmured, nibbling on his earlobe. Ryan shivered.

“One track mind,” he got out, before he seized the other’s shirt and dragged him along as he fell backwards onto the stupid squishy sleeping bag.

Maybe there was something to this camping thing after all.