‘Wasn’t the water cold?’ Harry asks.
‘Mm,’ Iain hums, around a leg of chicken. ‘But so clear, you could stand there with the water up to your chest, and watch your toes turn blue.’
Harry snorts with laughter and admits, ‘The water here’s not much better. Not as clear, though.’
They have a vague plan to swim, but first they stretch out on the rock after their meal, not for long, just for a few moments. Then full bellies and fresh air pull them both under the tides of sleep.
Harry wakes first. He and Iain have tangled together in sleep, both seeking warmth in the crisp morning. Iain is curled up against his chest, his forehead tucked under Harry’s ear. Harry’s arm is over Iain’s back, his leg over Iain’s hip, and his hand is entwined in Iain’s long hair, cradling the nape of his neck.
And he’s so hard he could pound nails.
Dammit, Harry thinks. Damn his ingrained response to lying out on the rock. He grits his teeth and contemplates how he can shift away from Iain without waking him. He had told Iain about his imaginary adventures at the pond and he’d told Iain about the praying, but he hadn’t mentioned all the masturbating.
Because that’s not really something you tell your friend. Oh, by the way, Iain, the moss grows so well on the rock because it’s regularly fertilised by my seed.
It’s at that moment Harry realises that twin slivers of grey-blue are watching him from under dark lashes.
‘Um,’ Iain says, his voice thick with embarrassment.
‘Yes. Uh. Sorry,’ Harry coughs, scooting away from Iain and curling in on himself.
Iain sits up quickly and turns from Harry, his own shoulders hunching. ‘I had a dream. I didn’t, uh. I’m not. Um,’ he murmurs, and there’s the unmistakeable motions of a man readjusting himself.
Harry barks out a laugh, then, causing Iain to look at him in surprise.
‘I had a dream too,’ Harry says, relaxing. ‘I thought you were, uh, because you saw that I was, you know.’
Iain turns back towards Harry, and his eyes rake down Harry’s body to his very erect cock. Harry squirms as Iain’s pale gaze leaves a trail of fiery embarrassment in its wake. There’s a blush high on Iain’s cheeks, and his own breeches are still tented, a hand half-covering his shame.
And. Uh.
It’s a lot of shame.
‘Jesus, Iain,’ Harry says, staring.
‘Sorry,’ Iain whispers, drawing his good leg up to hide himself.
Harry presses his palm against his cock because it aches so badly, he thinks he’s going to go out of his mind. ‘It’s fine,’ he says, biting his lip. ‘I also pleasure myself here, please don’t judge me,’ he babbles, squeezing his eyes shut.
Iain snorts, his face creasing up in amusement, and he bashes his forehead against Harry’s shoulder. ‘My spot was up on top of the main tower of our castle. You could bolt the door from outside.’
Harry can feel him shift. ‘Fuck, I need it,’ Iain breathes. ‘I haven’t felt any urge since, you know, and now it’s like four months of not defiling myself has hit me all at once.’
And then the Devil climbs into Harry’s mouth and makes him say, ‘We could, you know.’
And Iain ruts against him and says, ‘Please,’ his voice husky, his cheeks still flushed.
Harry had meant maybe we can lie next to each other and rub ourselves off, but then Iain is unlacing his breeches and taking Harry’s hand and putting it around that big cock of his, and Iain’s other hand is finding its way around Harry’s dick, and Iain whispers in his ear, ‘Have you ever had someone else do it to you?’
Harry’s heartbeat is racing. He’s dizzy with terror and arousal and he wants to pull away from Iain and he wants to get closer too and boys in the hall do this with each other all the time, he’s seen it, sneaking downstairs at night to the kitchens, but he never has, and he’s not sure—
And then Iain moves his hand.
Harry nearly blows his load right there and then.
Because.
Iain’s right. It’s like.
Nothing. It’s never.
Been. Like this.
Oh. God.
He moans, as his body goes taut like a bowstring, and he starts moving his own hand over Iain’s cock, and they’re leaning against each other, cheek to cheek, both going at each other furiously, panting and groaning and at some point their faces turn that final inch towards each other and they’re moaning into each other’s mouths, it’s not kissing, but it’s not not kissing either, and he never realised lips could be so sensitive, could feel so good, and then Iain reaches his other hand into Harry’s braies and cups his balls, and Harry shoves his mouth against Iain’s as his orgasm slams through him, the world dissolving into a sparking bonfire, and he pulls Iain off faster, and Iain takes a hand out of Harry’s braies and fists it in his hair and yes now they’re definitely kissing as Iain fucks his cock up into Harry’s hand and his tongue into Harry’s mouth then he’s coming too and Harry can feel his eyes squeeze shut as Iain moans his release down Harry’s throat, hot ropes of come painting Harry’s hand and forearm, and they slump against each other, blissful and spent.
Iain leans back first, pulling one hand out of Harry’s braies and the other out of his hair. Harry looks down at Iain’s hand, covered in his seed, and his eyes widen as Iain raises that hand to his lips and licks Harry’s release off his fingers. Harry’s cock twitches again, fattening.
Iain smiles around his fingers. ‘I got come in your hair. Sorry.’ He pulls his thumb out of his mouth. ‘But it is your come, so, no regrets.’
‘We. Uh,’ Harry stutters. ‘That. Was.’
‘Yes,’ Iain says, looking up at him through his ridiculous long lashes, his chest still rising and falling
