The air was heavy and damp. It hadn’t started to rain yet, not really, and it might not. This kind of fall drizzle could last for hours along the Oregon coast and never really go anywhere. Travis was used to it, but he had worn a dri-fit hoodie, just in case.

After the past twenty-four hours, Travis needed some alone time. It hadn't been a conscious decision, he just pulled on his running clothes after work and was out the door before he even had time to realize what he was doing. It might make him late in picking Caitlyn up from the library, but he had a feeling Whitman wouldn’t mind.

The trail started behind the town hall, in the park that stretched out beside the creek. It crossed the creek on a sturdy wooden bridge, and then was a cleared dirt path for the remainder of the two-mile loop. There would be tree roots and rocks to maneuver, and smaller bridges, sometimes just wooden planks laid across marshy areas and nothing more, but he could run most of it based on muscle memory alone. This time of year, there would be more pine needles across the trail, and the rain would make the smell of dirt and pine thick in the air. Outside of the trail, the leaves would be deep reds and crackling oranges, but along his trail, the pines stayed evergreen kings of the forest and the moss remained their faithful heralds.

Travis had been going on this trail since he was a kid. His mom used to walk it with him until he got older. Then he and his friends, back before they abandoned him for his sexuality, would explore every inch of the trail and make up stories. There was one part that looked like a wooden hut made from loose sticks piled on each other. Travis would have said it was a dam except it wasn’t near the creek at all, but some creature had probably built it and left it when the trail became too crowded. He and his friends had called it the Ewok hut, and would bring their plastic light sabers and defend the woodland creatures.

Then there was the area where, Travis had never been able to explain why, but all the pine needles had fallen and created a soft forest floor. It was a stretch of the trail that was darker than the rest, and the air seemed suspended in time. As he ran through it now, pine needles and dust and other particles hung in the air like magic. Or maybe it was just how the few trickles of light shone through and caught them, whereas the other areas of the trail had enough light to avoid this strange, supernatural-like highlighting. This area was what he and his friends would call the witch’s lair. They would dare each other to explore off the marked path, claiming that the witch would get them if they did. Their tightly-gripped light sabers never provided enough protection from the possibility of real witches. Or at least real creepy.

Travis laughed as he plowed past, a little faster than he had run in other areas, but obviously not because he was scared. Just because it was habit.

With every footfall, the tightness that he held so close began to fall away. With every breath of fresh salt-laced and damp air his web of thoughts untangled.

He hadn’t intended to become Caitlyn’s parent, and he didn’t love it. He loved her, but he hated that his role had changed and he had to treat her differently than he would if he were just her brother. If this news, that Caitlyn’s father wanted custody over her, had been about anyone other than Pastor Ricky, would he have reacted differently? And was he a horrible person for even thinking like that?

Caitlyn was doing great. Well, better. Although so much of that had to do with her job at the library this summer and Whitman, he conceded, and not that Travis had magically become a better caregiver or gotten any more of a clue on how to interact with Caitlyn now. If her father had turned out to be someone like Whitman, Travis had to admit, he might even agree that she would be better off under his care. If he couldn’t even convince himself that he was the better choice for Caitlyn, how would he be able to convince some judge? Especially against someone so well respected in the community, like Pastor Ricky.

He came to the part of the trail that circled around a small pond. There was a platform built that jutted out over the water, probably where kids could fish. It was a spot seemingly designed for meditation, so he slowed down and veered from the path over to it. The boards squeaked but held his weight, and he sat down on the edge, peering over to see if he could spot any fish.

“Careful. I don’t want to have to ruin my hair to jump in after you. Although it’s shallow, so you’d probably be fine on your own. But I would be here to witness your humiliation.”

Travis’s initial start and admitted teetering towards the edge from the surprise of the voice wore off the longer the voice rambled. He turned to see a thin blond man in a long, flowing skirt and a cropped sweatshirt sitting at the base of a tree on the opposite edge of the platform.

“Stevie?”

“Yep. Sorry. You clearly didn’t see me. Not that anyone ever does.”

Travis must have really been deep in thoughts to have missed him, because the man, even as slight and timid as he was, had presence.

“I didn’t know you were back.”

Stevie was another boy who had been teased and taunted all through high school. Travis had been a few years younger, but he remembered seeing it and being ashamed, but still doing nothing. Not that hiding had helped. He had been found out two years later anyway. Another Slat Creek expat who had left the second he could.

“My grandmother broke her hip. Bobby’s wife is pregnant and on bedrest so she couldn’t help, and of course Bobby’s trucking keeps him away a lot, plus he has his own family to take care of. Dad’s doing runs on the east coast these days, so I was the obvious choice. Well, not the obvious choice, since my grandmother still sort of refuses to acknowledge my existence even when I’m helping her get around. But I was the obvious choice for everyone else.”

Travis dusted of his knees so his hands would have something to do and pushed himself back onto his feet.

“If you need anything, let me know,” Travis said, although he could barely figure out his own life. He had no idea what he could do for anyone else.

“Thanks. I was sorry to hear about your mom,” Stevie said, still leaning against the tree but shading his eyes as he raised them to address Travis, now that he had risen. “She was nice to me.”

“Yeah. Me too,” Travis said around the lump in his throat. “I better get going. Have to get Caitlyn after school.”

Stevie gave a small wave before lowering his hand and closing his eyes. His head leaned back against the tree, and he looked so peaceful and young. Travis had had it rough, but nothing like Stevie, who insisted on wearing skirts to school and applied fresh makeup no matter how many times kids threw things in his face.

Another reminder of why Travis wanted out of this town, and why getting close to Whitman was dangerous. But then, he looked around, breathing in the life around him, and he couldn’t imagine anything better than these woods and this air. He sometimes, but not really, hated his mother for giving him ideas about the land, making it seem alive and a part of him. Making him feel not whole for those few months away in Eugene. He could deny it out loud all he wanted, but the slow and steady thrum of his heart out in the woods didn’t lie.

Travis finished off the rest of the trail at a rapid clip and entered the library dripping with sweat and out of breath.

“Ew,” Caitlyn said, meeting him at the entrance as she exited the teen room with a stack of books in hand. “Go outside. You’re stinking up the place.”

“Fine,” Travis said, and exited the building, pulling off his hoodie and wiping his forehead with it. He glanced through the big front window to see Whitman staring at him from behind the front desk. He stood a little straighter at that and gave him a wave and a smile. Whitman startled, like he hadn’t realized he’d been staring, and Travis’s smile grew to almost blinding when Whitman waved back.

So much for avoiding a dangerous Whitman. Travis began to fear Whitman drew him as much as the land did.

“Oh my God,” Caitlyn said from behind him and Travis snapped to his senses. “If I ever act like that over a boy, please tell me so I can stop it. Immediately.”

Whitman couldn’t recall being this nervous over a sort-of first date. Could you call hanging out on trivia and movie nights a date? He didn’t think so. Not when it also counted as work for him and Travis’s little sister had been there each time.

Which meant this was their first actual date.

He had tried to pick Caitlyn’s brain for information. What was Travis’s favorite food? Everything. What would he want to do on a date? Her “probably go on a hike or go fishing” hadn’t seemed very helpful at first glance, but Whitman was resourceful. Hell, that was skill number one in the librarian job description.

Although he mentally beamed positive weather thoughts all week, he bought a pop-up tent while in Copper Beach – just in case. His car was already loaded with the tent and everything else he would need. He wiped his hands on his jeans after parking in front of Travis’s house. He was the experienced one, damn it, but for some reason Travis made him feel like a fumbling teenager, all over again.

It was the way he gave so much to everyone around him without even realizing it. Like giving Whitman a home and a family to care for. He was sure Travis hadn’t even noticed that he’d done it, but Whitman treasured the Butlers as if they were his very own.

Whitman steeled himself and gave a strong rap to the front door, but he wasn’t prepared for the vision that was Travis Butler when he was all dressed up for a first date. Tight jeans hugged places he couldn’t see yet but could imagine. A bright blue shirt highlighted warm skin and was rolled up at the wrists to expose woven bracelets that Whitman had never seen Travis wear before.

“You cut your hair.”

Travis’s hand flew to his head, and Whitman knew if he had the ability to blush, he would have. Where his hair had previously been long enough on top to pull back into a short ponytail, even though strands often fell loose and framed his perfect face in a way that seemed to taunt Whitman, now Travis’s hair was too short for a ponytail, and was instead styled into messy perfection. Thank God it was still long enough to grip.

“It looks nice. No, nice is an inadequate word, but words are failing me at the moment,” Whitman said, wiping his hands against his jeans again. That brought forth a small smile onto Travis’s shocked face.

“Well, I’m ready if you are,” Travis said, and Whitman realized he was staring again.

“So ready,” he said. He escorted Travis to his car and held the door for him. The cloud that normally followed Travis was absent, and Whitman straightened a little more as his date shared in his excitement and nerves. The air crackled with it, and instead of trying to sweep it aside, Whitman reveled in it.

“Are we going to Copper Beach?” Travis asked as the pulled onto Main Street and drove out of the town toward 101.

“Sort of,” Whitman said in a teasing tone, and the air pulsed between them.

He was thirty-two years old. He’d had boyfriends and hookups and long-term relationships before. But it all went away when the electricity between them crackled, exciting and new.

“You can play dj,” Whitman offered, but Travis declined.

“Honestly, I’d rather just talk,” he said, shifting in his seat to look more directly at Whitman. His gaze made Whitman hot all over, and he began to wonder if he should have planned this particular date for another night and just made Travis dinner at his house instead. Easier access to dessert that way.

“We have all evening to talk. I was hoping to learn some deep and mysterious hidden depths about Travis Butler. Things only his musical selections could tell me.”

“Or, you know, you could just ask.”

“Fine. Tell me something deep and mysterious about yourself.”

Travis turned to face forward again and shrugged. “There’s nothing. I’m pretty boring.”

Whitman faked a sigh. “See? This is why ‘just asking’ doesn’t work. You’ll never reveal your secret Edith Piaf obsession this way.”

“I don’t know. I listen to whatever’s on. I’m not picky. But I have no idea who Edith whoever is.”

Not picky, Whitman could buy. But boring was a word that didn’t even belong in the same universe as Travis.

Travis had assumed they were going to a Copper Beach restaurant for dinner, so when they pulled into the Whale’s Cove State Park parking lot, Travis tried not to look confused.

Whitman popped the trunk of his car and circled around, pulling out a box filled with charcoal and grilling tools and passing it over into Travis’s waiting arms. Whitman piled a stack of blankets on top, then slung a long plastic bag that probably held folding chairs over his shoulder and grabbed a portable grill in one hand and a picnic basket in the other.

“I’m going to have to make two trips,” he grumbled at the cooler still in his trunk.

Travis waved his fingers without losing his grip on the box. “I can take the picnic basket, I think.”

After shifting things around, they made it to the beach in one trip.

“You didn’t tell me I was going to have to work for my dinner,” Travis joked after setting down his load and fanning his shirt a bit to counteract the trickle of sweat building under his right armpit, but instantly twisted with guilt when Whitman frowned. “Are we doing a bonfire? Because this was a great idea.”

“Are you sure?” Whitman squinted and Travis wanted to kick himself.

He recalled what Whitman had said about his ex-boyfriend only wanting to be seen out and about. The man probably worried that his date wasn’t exciting enough, or public enough, when Travis thought he couldn’t have possible picked a date more suited to them and Travis’s love of the outdoors.

“Yes. It’s romantic and private and absolutely perfect. Plus, I love camping. Everything tastes better over a campfire.”

“You always seem more at ease outdoors. I thought–”

Travis leaned forward and stopped Whitman’s mouth with a kiss. It was the first time he had made the move, Whitman being the one to kiss him both times previously. It made his stomach tumble a little, but those feelings were quickly replaced with more intense tumbling when Whitman grabbed his neck with strong hands and took over.

Whitman’s tongue stroked his and Travis forgot to breathe. When Whitman finally broke the kiss, sexy and in control and smiling, Travis was a gasping mess.

“So the bonfire was a good idea, is what you’re telling me,” Whitman said, slowly releasing Travis as if he might fall over any moment. Which proved accurate when Travis nodded so emphatically he lost his balance. Travis was happy to see Whitman’s confidence return when it meant such delicious kisses.

Whitman tasked Travis with setting up the blankets. Small weights that looked more like bean bags were hidden in the bottom of the box, which explained why it was so deceptively heavy, to keep the corners of the blanket from blowing away.

When Travis held one up with a hitched eyebrow, Whitman responded, “Scuba weights.”

“You scuba dive?”

“Not often. I did more when I was with James. He went on trips at least twice a year.”

“Oh.”

It was just another reminder that Travis was young, and inexperienced, and had little to offer someone like Whitman. Someone who’s ex-boyfriend took him on scuba diving trips. Travis couldn’t even manage to make him dinner on his own. But Whitman had hated the social scene, so maybe Travis’s private lifestyle made up for his lack of experience in Whitman’s eyes. God, he wished he knew for sure. Never before had he wanted so much for telepathy to be a real thing.

Whitman slipped off his loafers and rolled up his peach-colored pants before setting up the small grill. He opened up the cooler and unwrapped delicious-looking chicken kebabs. He admitted to never lighting a bonfire, so Travis got to show off his skills a little. He positioned it perfectly to add a little warmth as the sun was quickly disappearing behind the ocean, but not to get smoke in their faces. Unlike the grill, which puffed grey clouds everywhere and kept making Whitman cough.

“Maybe I should have thought this through a little better,” Whitman said after cracking open a lemonade from the cooler. “I’m going to smell like smoke for our dinner.”

Travis had never seen Whitman buy lemonade for himself, and it gave him flutters knowing Whitman had paid so much attention. He decided then and there to stop overthinking and relax. He enjoyed Whitman’s company, and it was obviously reciprocated, at least enough for Whitman to have gone to such lengths. He kicked back on the blanket, taking off his shoes and socks and leaving them nearby in the sand, and made a show of taking in all of Whitman, from bald head to bare and surprisingly hairy feet. “You’ll smell like outdoors and dinner. Delicious.”

Whitman choked on a swallow and kicked at one of Travis’s outstretched feet. Travis laughed. “Come sit. You don’t have to watch them so closely.”

“I don’t want to burn dinner.”

It was then that Travis realized Whitman was just as nervous as he was. He had understood normal nerves. Did I pick the right thing nerves. But these were the same, this person who is so out of my league is with me nerves that Travis himself was experiencing, and it gave him a burst of confidence.

“You could turn the dinner to ash and I’d still be having a wonderful time,” Travis said, lifting himself onto his knees and crawling over the edge of the blanket where Whitman stood. He snuck a hand under the rolled cuff of Whitman’s pants and stroked up to his calves, massaging small circles into his skin along the way.

His other hand tugged at the top of Whitman’s pants, popping open the button and slowly lowering the zipper.

He waited for Whitman to protest and tell him to wait until after dinner, but when he looked up, Whitman’s eyes were dark and his jaw was clenched. No words came, so Travis moved forward and mouthed the fabric around Whitman’s cock.

Whitman’s hand tightened in Travis’s hair, something Travis hadn’t realized he loved until Whitman had done it when they kissed. Now Travis knew that all Whitman would ever have to do to get him close was tug on his hair. It was like threads ran from his scalp down his spine to his dick, and his whole body lit up with even the slightest tug.

“Pull yourself out,” Whitman said, and Travis hadn’t realized how tightly he was pressing himself into Whitman until he let go. As Travis hurried with his own pants, Whitman pulled his cock out and tucked his briefs behind his balls, making them full and round. Travis dove back in with his tongue, lapping around Whitman’s balls as his cock left streaks of precum along his cheek.

“’sgood,” Whitman groaned, but pulled Travis off of him by a handful of hair. “But I want to watch you. I’ve had dreams of you, like this, at my feet.”

Travis hadn’t ever put on a show for anyone before, but he did his best. He lifted his shirt with one hand and played with his dark nipples while his other hand slowly stroked up and down the length of his dick. He should feel awkward, exposed like this, but the heat in Whitman’s eyes made him feel like a porn star.

Whitman stepped closer and fed him his dick, getting just close enough for Travis to taste before pulling back. Whitman’s hand pumped at the rest, controlling the amount that Travis was allowed.

“Tease,” Travis said, but Whitman continued his slow, tight strokes while Travis frantically jacked himself.

“Tell me when you’re close,” Whitman demanded, and Travis managed to suck enough precum from Whitman’s slit for the flavor to hit his tastebuds. God, it was a heavenly combination of sweet and salty.

“Close,” Travis urged, and Whitman shoved his cock as far as he could into Travis’s waiting mouth as Travis moaned his release around him. Whitman followed shortly after, and Travis swallowed around the cock still thrusting shallowly in his mouth until he had caught it all.

Travis sat back on his knees and knew he was grinning funny but didn’t really care. His spunk was drying in the sand in front of him, so he used his shoe to pile sand on top to keep them from accidentally stepping in it. Whitman turned his attention back to the grill, flipping the kabobs with one hand while pulling up his pants with the other. He did a pretty poor job of both, so Travis helped him.

“I hope you like blackened kabobs. You did promise not to mind,” Whitman said as Travis reached around and button his pants from behind, then left his hands there because Whitman’s back was comfortable.

“Worth it,” Travis mumbled into Whitman’s soft shirt and Whitman grabbed his hands and laced them together.

“Yeah.”

The rest of the evening was surprisingly easy after having had Whitman’s cock in his mouth. The kabobs were delicious, if slightly burnt though he insisted he hadn’t noticed. Whitman even brought stuff to make s’mores for dessert over the bonfire.

“You said Caity is staying at a friend’s house, right?” Whitman asked as Travis licked some dripping chocolate off of his thumb. He liked the way Whitman’s gaze was fixed on his lips and his voice faded with distraction.

“Yep,” Travis said and licked his thumb again, even though it was already clean.

“I was thinking you could stay the night.”

“Sounds like a good plan to me.”

Whitman nodded and then shook his head. “I’m glad to see Caity hanging out with friends more.”

“I trust Layla’s parents. As long as they’re home. Half the time, they run off to do their own thing or work weird hours, but I think they finally understand the importance of Caity and Layla spending time together with their supervision. I just wish …”

“Wish what?” Whitman asked and Travis realized he had trailed off mid-sentence.

“I haven’t told Caitlyn this yet, because I haven’t figured out the best way to do it,” Travis said, then licked another drip of chocolate, but there was nothing sexy about it this time. “Her father is suing for custody.”

“Oh, Travis. I’m so sorry. If there’s anything I can do,” Whitman said, grabbing the s’more-free hand tightly in his own.

“How do I tell her?” Travis said, his voice betray that he was at a total loss. “You remember how she was after just meeting him. I have no idea what this will do to her.”

“True,” Whitman said, his thumb rubbing across the top of Travis’s hand in a way that made him want to whimper and forget all about real life and spend the rest of his holding Whitman’s hand. “But better to hear it from you than someone else. And better to tell her sooner rather than later. Give her more time to prepare.”

“You’re right. I know you’re right. But I’m a chicken.”

“Funny, you don’t taste like chicken.”

Travis couldn’t even manage a smile at the joke, so Whitman promised to try harder if Travis promised to tell Caitlyn.

Travis didn’t answer.