He’s right of course. He’s always fucking right about this shit.

I thought I could just forget about it, push it to the back of my mind and focus on this.

Nice try, Justin. I get this little twinge of excitement in my stomach every time I think about it.

*Hollywood*

But I don’t just think it. I sing it out loud in my head. I whisper it with fucking “jazz hands”. I see lights and cameras and movie stars and parties and expensive drinks and schmoozing and everything I’ve ever seen on E! or Entertainment Tonight.

I could go to Hollywood. And stay at Brett’s guest house.

*Hollywood*

I sigh loudly and glance into the bathroom as I walk by. Brian’s standing under the hot water, letting it skim off his skin, scrubbing his back with a loofah. He’s gonna be in there for a while. I get a beer out of the fridge and twist off the cap, spinning it in my fingers.

*Hollywood*

Aw, man…

Dammit.

I pull off my shirt and go back into the bedroom, sucking back on my beer, standing in front of the tent. I guess I should take it down, but... nah.

Fuck, I really wanted to go camping with Brian. He’ll never agree to do this again, I know that. Fucking under the stars, outside, all wrapped up tight in a sleeping bag to stay warm, the smell of pine needles and fresh air lulling us to sleep. Trying to fuck quietly because the guys would be sleeping in the tent next to us. Brian groaning anyway when he came, just to let them know what we were doing.

Christ. I really wanted that.

More than I want to go to Hollywood.

Much more.

I wish Michael hadn’t opened his big fucking mouth. Then Brian wouldn’t know and he probably wouldn’t have found out till we were on the road cycling back to Pittsburgh and it would’ve been too late to have gone anyway.

I finish the beer and put the bottle down on the side table. Look over all this shit I borrowed and bought with my savings. And I’ll never get to use it.

Not that I’ve decided that I’m not going on the Ride…

Fuck, who am I kidding. I tried to pretend like I wasn’t going to go to Hollywood, but I know I am. If I don’t go, I jeopardize the deal, I let Michael down and worst of all, I think Brian would be disappointed in me. I would be a bit disappointed in me too.

I want to go camping and uphold my commitments. I need to go Hollywood and support the movie.

This business shit sucks.

I climb inside the tent and curl up on the sleeping bags and pillows I’d laid out already. Imagining me and Brian sleeping together. Here. Under the stars.

The water goes off in the shower, and a couple minutes pass, and Brian comes padding out, his feet slapping against the tiled floor.

“Justin?” he calls out for me, then takes a couple steps towards the bed, and peeks inside the tent. “There you are,” he grins and climbs inside, brushing his head along the tent roof.

He lies beside me and we stare up at the ceiling together.

“Interesting,” he says, then elbows me in the side, laughing under his breath.

“You know, if you wanted me to go, all you had to say, was ‘Justin, I think you should go’. You don’t have to pretend like you’re not going on the Ride just to make me go to… to…” I can say it without the flourish. I can say it like a normal human being. “… to Hollywood,” I finish, getting it out without singing or jazz hands.

“Justin,” he rolls over onto his side and looks at me. “I think you should go.”

“Fucker,” I poke him in the ribs, and he grabs my hand tightly, climbing up on top of me.

“You *should* go. You’d be crazy not to go. And there’ll be plenty of other chances for you and I to go camping.”

I burst out laughing. “Right, Brian! You’ll never go camping with me,” I try to roll out from underneath him, but he keeps me pinned to the bed.

“Maybe I will,” he tries not to smile, but loses, a big grin busting out over his face.

“Maybe. Yeah, we’ll see about ‘maybe’s’,” I turn my face away and roll my eyes. “What about my sponsors? People are counting on me.”

He puts his hand on my chest. “I’ll take them.”

I nod a little. I knew it. He was going all along. “So you *are* going then,” I ask him, covering his hand with mine.

He shrugs and leans down to kiss me. “I think so,” he says it quietly.

“Well, I know there’s no point in trying to stop you, so all I’ll say is take it easy and don’t overdo it,” I run my thumb over his hand. I wish he wasn’t going. God, I really wish he wasn’t going.

“I never overdo things,” he laughs through his nose and rolls off me, flopping down onto the sleeping bag beside me.

“Of course not,” I kiss him and pull my jeans off, kicking them aside, then slide on top of him, pressing our bodies together. “I just wish I could go too.”

“You’ll have a fabulous time in Hollywood, you’ll convince them to make the movie, and then you’ll be rich and famous. Just like I always knew you would be,” he smiles softly, and I know he’s kidding, but I see truth in his eyes.

“I wanted to fuck under the stars,” my voice drops to a whisper.

He closes his eyes and pulls my face to his. We kiss, one of those long kisses with tongues and noses pressed together, one of those kisses that are soft and wet and go on and on and on…

He twists me over onto my back and settles between my legs, my cock pressed up against his belly and I push into him a little. His palms on my face, warm and his wet hair dragging across my forehead and he smells and tastes so good, so fucking good and I let a moan slip through my lips and into his mouth…

“Shhhhhh!” he stops suddenly, lifting his head and sliding his palm over my mouth, his eyes wide.

My body goes rigid beneath him and I feel this bolt of panic run through me. What? Does he think someone broke in? What the fuck? I can’t say anything with his hand pressed hard against my lips.

He looks down at me. “I think I heard a bear,” he says it completely seriously, no joke in his hazel eyes, and I force myself not to laugh and ruin the game we’re playing.

His hand slips from my mouth slowly. “Serious?” I ask him, opening my eyes wide and pushing the smile from my face.

He nods and slides his hands under my back. “Yeah,” he whispers, then licks at my mouth, sliding his tongue between my lips.

“You think he wants to eat us?” I bite on my lip to stop from laughing.

“We better get one last fuck in before he does,” he whispers, then presses his mouth against mine, hard, and starts rocking against me, rolling his hips and pushing our cocks together.

I push my fingers up into his damp hair and hold him to me, kisses turning desperate.

I’m going. I’m leaving. I’m flying away to something that I’m not prepared for, fucking freaked shitless about, and I have to do it myself. The thought thrills me and worries me at the same time.

I wish I could be in two places at once.

He tears his mouth from mine, and holds himself over me. “Do you think he ate the condoms?” he laughs and starts to lift up off me.

“Uh, Brian,” I grab his arm hard and he stops and looks at me. I slide my hand under the pillow and pull some out. “You said I was always prepared.”

He just grins and watches as I roll one on his cock, raising my hips when I’m done, and he falls between my legs, pressing our bodies together. I wrap my legs around his waist tightly, holding him to me. I love having him like this, capturing him like this. Holding him close and pulling him tight and feeling his breath and sweat and heat…

He puts his cock at my hole and push, push, pushes, and then he’s inside me, slowly filling me up, slowly taking me over, slowly making me lose my breath, slowly letting me lose control. My eyes slide shut and I imagine his cock in my hole, imagine how we look together, imagine that we really are out camping, our shadows evident on the tent walls. Imagine others listening to us, watching us.

“God, that feels good,” I whisper, and wrap my arms tight across his back as he starts to pull out slowly.

He kisses me and presses his nose against mine. “Yeah, it does,” he grins, laughing a little as he pushes inside me again. Just these long, slow fucks, and I clench my ass and muscles as hard as I can to make it more, to feel it more.

But soon long slow fucks turn to short sharp thrusts and then I’m pulling at his hair and he’s fumbling between our bodies to grab my cock and his sweat-slicked chest slaps against mine and I close my eyes and try to grab every sensation, every breath, every twinge and quiver and shake and beat of my heart and his pressed to my chest. Try to remember that feeling just before I cum, that whoooooosh inside, that rush of heat, that climb, that intensity, that urgency, that pressure, that every-fucking-thing that I feel, and only ever feel with him. I try to capture it all and imprint it on my brain and never ever fucking forget it. I try to get it all stuck inside me and store it away for later, when he’s not there, when he’s not pushing in me, when I’m alone and missing him. Because I know I will miss him, even if it’s just a few days. I know I’ll want him and miss his body and yeah, of course I can do it without him, I can survive and succeed and be myself and be strong and all that without him.

But I don’t want to.

So I capture him and save him and this feeling inside me so he’ll be there.

And I’ll be there with him.

That’s really what I’m more worried about.

He collapses on top of me, groaning through his lips, sweat sticking his hair to his forehead. I lick at the droplets on his skin, the salty sweat sliding across my tongue.

“Hot,” he mumbles, rolling off me.

“It’s the tent,” I say, lying on the bed, my legs wide open still, cum drying on my stomach. "Doesn't breathe." The smell of our sex hangs heavy in the air, deep and rich and I suck that in too, taking it into my lungs and remembering it.

“I think the bear’s gone,” he laughs, then looks over at me, this silly grin on his face. “We scared him away.”

I roll onto my side and look at him. Stare at him.

“So I’m going then,” I say it, but I know he already knows it.

He nods. “Me too.”

“So we’re both going away and it’s not even with each other,” I grumble. I hate this. Just once I’d like it if these things would work out in our favor.

He looks at me for a minute, and his face is blank almost, like he’s thinking something, but he doesn’t want me to figure out what it is. Just this little half smile on his lips, his hair drying all crazy on his head, sticking up over his ears and parted funny and…

I don’t know what it is, but I miss him already.

“C’mere,” he says, reaching out to me, and I slide over on the mess of sleeping bags and pillows tossed aside. He wraps his arm around me tightly, pulling me into a hug, and I relax in his strong, warm arms, the smell of his drying sweat filling my nose.

“You tell me where you want to go, and we’ll go,” he says, his breath pushing across my forehead.

“Okay,” I whisper and don’t say anything more, just close my eyes and keep this feeling too.