This is part 2 of Sam & Leo’s story. If you missed the hike, the swimming hole and the campfire confession that started all of this, you’ll definitely want to catch up on part 1
“Get in the tent!” Sam yelled.
We lunged forward to get to the tent. My boots skidded in the fresh mud and I slammed my knee into the tent stakes. We practically tumbled inside, tracking half the campsite mud in with us. I pulled the zipper down, my hands shaking so hard the metal tracked off the plastic teeth before it locked out the downpour.
“Where’s the light?”
“In my pack.” Digging past my dry clothes, I found the flashlight and clicked it on.
The flashlight beam caught Sam head-on, his hair plastered to his forehead and his shirt flat against his chest. The wet fabric was practically see-through under the yellow light, showing the dark, sharp shape of his nipples underneath. I pretended I wasn’t staring.
“We can’t get in the bags like this,” Sam’s voice was rough.
He was right. If the sleeping bags got wet, we were screwed for the rest of the trip. But the realization brought a whole new wave of panic that had nothing to do with the storm.
We started peeling off our clothes. My fingers fumbled with my shirt buttons. I tried not to look as Sam tugged off his wet jeans.
Every time the lightning flashed, the nylon walls lit up blue-white, catching sharp, fleeting glimpses of Sam stripping down. My face felt feverish despite the freezing air.
Sam tossed his wet clothes into a soggy pile. He didn’t look at me and just unzipped his bag.
“So...” I muttered, sliding my damp socks off and trying to come up with something to break the ice.
“We should sleep,” Sam said, his voice flat. He shoved himself into his bag and immediately rolled over.
I sat there in my underwear for a second, shivering, before I unrolled my own bag and slid into the cold liner, staring straight up at the dark ceiling.
The tent was pitch black, alternated with neon blue every time the lightning flashed. Just a few inches away, Sam’s breaths were too uneven for sleep. He was faking it.
I tugged the edge of the sleeping bag all the way up to my nose and shut my eyes tight. But my thoughts kept starting over, the same loop, the same details from the trail. Sam’s damp grey t-shirt sticking to his shoulder blades. Our clumsy way of putting up the tent. How he looked right at me through the firelight before the storm hit.
“We’re just close friends” always had been my favorite excuse to write off whatever was going on between us. But laying here in the dark with my toes freezing, I couldn’t dodge it anymore. The question he’d asked out by the fire had completely wrecked my perfectly scripted denial. My brain cycled through a hundred different worst-case scenarios while the storm kept pounding the canvas.
Then the whole tent went white. A split second later, a crack of thunder hit right over our heads. My hand swept frantically across the nylon floorboards, knocking into my water bottle before I found the flashlight.
I clicked it on and kept my thumb jammed over the lens to muffle the glare but the sudden light was too much.
Sam moved, blocking the beam with his forearm, his eyes squeezed shut. “Shit,” he muttered, his voice strained. “What’s happening? You okay?”
The yellow circle of light bounced erratically because my wrist wouldn’t stop twitching.
“Not really.” My voice sounded small against the roar of the rain outside. “I can’t sleep.”
Sam repositioned himself to the very edge of his pad, leaving a tight, empty strip of nylon next to him.
“Get in.”
I didn’t hesitate and worked myself out of my bag, the freezing air making me shiver. To squeeze into the narrow space next to Sam, I had to slide in sideways and settle my front against his bare back, my legs curled up behind his.
We lay completely still, locked into a tight pocket of body heat.
My left arm was pinned under my ribs and my right arm was draped awkwardly over Sam’s side, my hand dangling over his stomach.
Slowly - trying not to make the fabric rustle - I edged closer, my palm pressed lightly to his heartbeat, feeling his ribs rise and fall. For someone who was supposed to be asleep, his heart paced way too fast. He was definitely wide awake.
After what seemed like forever, the heavy downpour started to let up. Sam’s exhales became slow and steady.
My hand was still anchored against his warm chest. The heat of him made my body settle into sleep when his hand suddenly came up and locked around my wrist.
I flinched, my whole body going stiff.
“Leo,” he whispered and shifted slightly, just enough to tilt his head back toward me.
His grip on my wrist tightened and his breathing turned rough. Was he dreaming? I leaned my face into the space between his shoulder blades. I barely dared to breathe; my pulse beat so hard I was sure he could feel it through my forehead.
He gripped my wrist tighter and eased my palm higher up his chest to his collarbone. “Leo,” he repeated, “is this... are you sure?” The shaking hesitation in his voice did something to me.
My mouth clumsily found the line of his jaw, tracing it until my lips hit the corner of his mouth. He turned his upper body just enough to meet me halfway. His weight settled on my chest. The angle was awkward. Our noses bumped in the pitch black before his mouth slid over mine, eager and desperate.
He guided my hand across his ribs, my fingertips tracing over his smooth skin to find his hard nipples. A jolt went through me at how frantic he was, but the certainty in his touch pulled me right along with him.
By now, the heat inside the sleeping bag was getting ridiculous.
Sam let out a frustrated breath against my neck. “Hold on.” He twisted, his knee knocking against my thigh as he blindly wrestled with the zipper. The metal track jammed and his knuckles scraped against my hip before he yanked the zipper of the sleeping bag down.
The sudden rush of freezing tent air hit our bare skin. The freedom of space broke whatever restraint we had left. The second the sleeping bag opened up, Sam kicked free of the tangled nylon and rolled over me in one frantic motion. He pinned me flat and his mouth crashed back onto mine. The impact knocked the breath out of me.
We kissed rough and messy and clumsy. Like we were trying to make up for months all at once. His chest rose hard against my ribs while our legs tangled together. His hands were everywhere. Everywhere he touched burned. I could barely keep up with him. Every kiss landed somewhere different: my mouth, my jaw, my throat.
When he finally dropped his forehead to mine, his whole body was still trembling.
“Jesus, Leo,” he whispered against my skin.
“What?”
“You are... a total nightmare, you know that?”
“Me?”
His mouth brushed against my cheekbone, finding the sensitive spot right under my ear. “I’ve been losing my mind. Since last summer, probably.”
I hadn’t expected him to be so direct.
I buried my hands in his nape, pulling him closer. “Shut up,” I whispered. “Just shut up and don’t stop.”
The end of Sam & Leo’s story ⛺️🪵🌳
What do you think will happen when the sun comes up? Do they just pretend this never happened or is everything completely different now? Drop your thoughts in the comments :)
Comments
Nothing yet. Say the first thing.
Sign in to join the conversation.