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locked up like a trophy

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Summer camp wasn't just fun and games; hadn't been fun and games since they were sixteen and newly chosen camp counselors.

When they were sixteen, Jeff had been dating a counselor from Camp Mohawk. Byron had been single.

At seventeen, Jeff had been single, although determinedly wooing Caitlin, the bleached blonde with the pierced nose. Byron had spent half the summer dating Haley Braddock.

By eighteen they were old pros.


Jeff’s hands clutched desperately in the overgrown grass, fingers twining around each strand and pulling it out of the ground.

“Fucking--” he gasped, head knocking against the ground and hips thrusting upward, kept in place by a solid arm across his abdomen. He groaned again, low and nearly inaudible under the sounds of the campfire just several meters away, body snapping with tension.

Opening his eyes, he focused on the night sky; then on Byron, who was wiping his hands in the grass, a disgusted look on his face. Jeff rolled away, tucking himself in and wiggling his jeans back up over his hips.

“Game on.”


It was a summer camp thing. They didn’t even like each other, but without Jordan and Adam as buffers, some sort of primitive competition had formed.

Fucking girls. Fucking guys. Fucking each other.

It was just summer camp.


It took the showers five minutes to warm up, and five minutes to cool down which was a blessing in disguise because if the steam had mixed with the all-pervasive smell of bleach, the camp would have been losing counselors and campers due to toxic fumes.

The frigid water hit Jeff’s back as he kneeled between Byron’s legs. Byron smelled like Axe body-wash and sweat; it was absolutely revolting and Jeff tried not to gag as his nose hit the inside of Byron’s thigh. He pulled back, Byron’s cock was heavy in his mouth and he swirled his tongue around the tip, savoring the strangled groan the action elicited. The showers were empty, but the air vent led straight outside and the last thing they needed was to be caught by a curious camper.

He reached a hand up, and started jacking Byron off in time; the water was cold and the taste of latex was heavy in his mouth and Jeff just wanted Byron to fucking come. Saliva bubbled up over his lips, and it was fucking dirty and disgusting and he should totally take another shower once this is finished. He leaned in, bracing for the smell of Byron’s scent, and sucked Byron down, cock jutting up against the back of his throat as he swallowed. Byron jerked forward and Jeff gagged, but didn’t pull off; Byron’s hands scrambled and slid against the tile. Jeff swallowed him down again, and Byron shuddered, keening loudly as he filled the condom. He kept sucking, even as Byron’s dick softened and the overstimulation caused his thighs to shake.

“Stop,” Byron gasped, pushing at Jeff’s shoulders and causing him to fall back on his heels. Jeff rolled his eyes and spit into the shower, trying to rid himself of the taste; the smell.

“You stink,” he told Byron, carefully standing up. The shower stall floor was slick, and all Jeff could smell was bleach and sex and Axe. He reached down and adjusted himself-- he’d deal with that later in private. Or maybe he would go find one of the girls to take care of it for him.

The striped beach towel he had left was still hanging over the shower curtain rod. He buried his face in it, wiping the saliva from his mouth. “Seriously, rethink the shower gel.”

Byron was still breathing hard and leaning against the shower wall, but he raised a hand and flipped Jeff off.


For four weeks they could be anything they wanted; do anything they wanted.

There were rules: ‘no’ means ‘no’, and there was a fine line between being brazen and being fired.

Forget color wars and cabin pranks. For four weeks the only competition they had was each other.


Jeff woke up and there was somebody else in his bed. It could be a camper, or it could be that Suzie finally gave into his advances, but the body lying next to his is familiar and Jeff recognized the scent. He propped himself up on one elbow and rolled over. “Are you serious?” he asked, keeping his voice low so as not to wake any of the campers in his cabin. “There are kids sleeping in here.”

Byron pushed him back on the bed, pinning him down by the shoulders. “They already know how this works,” he said and kissed Jeff. “And if they don’t, then we are doing them a favor.”

His lips were chapped, pink flesh bitten, and he smelled like cheap perfume. He must have just come back from seeing someone; there were still pine needles stuck to his shirt from creeping through the wooded path around the lake. Jeff bit at Byron’s lip, sneaking an arm around his waist and pressed him closer. It shouldn’t be hot, but Jeff couldn’t help wondering who the girl was; it had to have been someone new, only she couldn’t have been that good because Byron was here and he was still hard, rubbing up against Jeff’s hip.

“Come on,” Byron panted, and he was shoving one hand down his pants and--

“Get under the covers,” Jeff hissed. “You might be used to jerking off with a house full of people, but I don’t want us to get caught.”

There was a moment where Jeff thought Byron was going to roll out of the bed and just leave, but then he was scrambling to get under the blankets, elbow catching Jeff in the chest and the mattress creeking a little as it tipped to one side. They still, breathing heavily. Jeff held Byron by the wrist and their hips were flush with each other and it took every strand of Jeff’s restraint not to buck up and rub against Byron. Adrenaline thrummed through his veins and all he wanted to do was push Byron down on the bed and punch him and fuck him through the mattress.

Silence. A camper turned over in his bed. A cricket chirped outside. The sheets rustled. Outside a twig snapped.

This close up, Jeff saw a bite mark on Byron’s collarbone, barely hidden by the stretched neck of his tee-shirt.

“Who was it?” he asked, as Byron started to move on top of him. Their hips knock together, and then Byron pushed his knee between Jeff’s legs and there is was-- the friction of denim against cotton boxers. Wait-- why was Byron still wearing his jeans? Jeff edged a hand between them, deftly undoing the top button and dragged the zipper down. There wasn’t enough room to maneuver, caught between the sheets and he was carefully aware of four sleeping campers on the other side of the cabin.

Jeff’s skin felt like it was burning, and the summer air was stifling underneath the bed covers; then Byron gasped, and stilled, and he felt the warm wet patch soaking through Byron’s boxers. And he imagined that he was doing this with Byron’s mystery girl, that it was her wetness between them and her hips he was gripping, and the smooth skin of her thigh thrust between his. Fuck- fuck--Maybe it was her above him, chest heaving, and then Jeff was coming, biting down on his lip so hard he tasted blood.

They laid there for a few seconds, and then Byron rolled over, and slid off the bed with silent fluidity.

“Her name was Jessica,” he whispered.

Jeff blinked lazily, a name for his next conquest. “She’ll like me better,” he said.


Busted lips and unusual bruises were all part of camp.

Jeff laughed the next morning at breakfast when a level four camper asked what had happened to his lip. “Dude,” Jeff joked, “This is why you shouldn’t try to feed the flying squirrels.”

Several seats down, Byron muttered, “And we trust him with kids? Who the hell okayed him to be a counselor?” But he was wearing a hoodie that hid most of his bruises, including the hickey on his neck, so it was hard to take him seriously.

“I was hired for my sunny disposition,’ Jeff said, and grinned when Byron glared into his glass of orange juice.


There were marshmallows and graham crackers, and somebody brought a tiny vial of vodka that got passed around. Byron sat near the camp fire, his arm thrown over the shoulder of some girl counselor. They were illuminated in the firelight, sharing a s’more from a stick. She wasn’t anyone new; Jeff had eaten her out last year, pressed up against the canoes in the lake house. Her fingernails had been painted blue, he remembered, and she had jerked him off with a firm a grip.

Jeff sat in the shadows, Jessica reclining back against his chest, her blonde hair brushing up against her nose. His hand was resting underneath her shirt, and against the bare skin of her belly.

Jeff looked up, waiting until his eye caught Byron’s, before making a move; his hand traced a downward path, stopping just at the lace edge of Jessica’s panties. She giggled and turned in towards him, burrowing her face in his neck.

“Let’s get out of here,” she murmured. A quick kiss on the lips, and then Jeff nodded, taking her hand and pulling her up. He was only half paying attention as they stumbled away from the campfire and out towards the meadow. Hands, hips and lips wrapped around each other; the flash of bare skin and whispered giggles ignored by everyone else. Everyone except Byron. Jeff sought him out, smirking. She picked me, he thought smugly, meeting Byron’s heavy gaze.

It’s a dare, a challenge and a promise all wrapped in one.