by
- Camping 101
- Only One Tent
- Littles in the Wild
- Lost Little Boy
- A Little Campfire Blues
Three friends torn apart by jealousy and carelessly spoken words.
Only one has ever held on to the hope of them reuniting, and with a few well times suggestions and a whole lot of luck, he’ll finally have them in the same place together after eight years.
Eight long years of pining and wishing for a wand he could wave to put things back to the way they used to be. When the fireworks that burst forth at their reunion are sparked by a passionate embrace, he begins to hope that the two weeks that lay ahead of them at Pride Camp were going finally fix what was broken between them.
Especially when they meet a man interested in not one, or even two of them, but the trio they’d always been, and the potential is as limitless as the fireflies they chase along the banks of the lake. When the past rears its ugly head, can he find a way to lay it to rest forever, or will he lose them all as they lose themselves to bitter and angry grudges?
Welcome to Pride Camp where diversity and inclusion is our motto. We’ve got daddies, littles, pets and so much more. So, unroll your sleeping bag, make a couple smores, and enjoy the show!
Genres:
Pairings: 4+ or Other
Heat Level: 3
Romantic Content: 4
Ending: Click here to reveal
Character Identities: Gay, Non Binary
Protagonist 1 Age: 26-35
Protagonist 2 Age: 36-45
Protagonist 3 Age: 26-35
Tropes: Age Difference, Found Family, Friends to Lovers, Hurt / Comfort, Love Can Heal / Redemption, Second Chances
Word Count: 51,000
Setting: Pride Camp in the Woods
Languages Available: English
“Tossed and turned half the night, waiting for this moment,” he murmured and squeezed me tighter.
“I didn’t bother trying to sleep until after midnight,” I admitted, my ear pressed to his shoulder as we just clung to one another like we both expected the moment to shatter and leave us standing there alone.
“And you’re still here this early?”
“I’m still good to go on five hours of downtime.”
“Downtime that I hope involved closing your eyes, at least for a little while,” he chided in that gently reproachful tone he’d always had.
“I slept for a full four hours and even made myself breakfast before I hit the road. Finally got the hang of folding an omelet over so all the filling stays where it belongs.”
“I’m sure your pans are eternally grateful that you’re not standing in your boxers by the stove, threatening to beat them with a spatula.”
READ MOREThe moment the image popped into my head, I dissolved into a fit of giggles, remembering the look on his face over the video chat feed as he’d attempted to talk me through making one after I’d complained that my favorite diner had closed. Pan-fried potatoes I’d easily gotten the hang of, but those damned omelets, holy shit, I’d been ready to accept defeat at the hands of two defiant little eggs.
He'd been right; investing in a non-stick pan had helped my efforts greatly, along with the addition of a teaspoon of milk for each egg I used.
Use a wire whisk, not a fork, and season the poor eggs, for fuck’s sake. Oh my god, whip them; don’t beat the shit out of them, and make sure you pick any shell fragments out first.
How he’d known I’d gotten shell fragments in the fuckin’ bowl was beyond me, but I picked out three before proceeding.
“I’m sure they’d thank you if they could,” I said as we finally stepped back from one another, but not far.
I could still reach out and touch him if I wanted, but I settled for letting my gaze rove over his body, mapping the changes I’d only partially seen through the video feed. The turquoise tank top he had on showed off the tattoo on his bicep. The trio of pandas was sweet and comical. One sprawled on its back, one standing on its head, and one dangling from a bent bamboo branch, feet poised like it was kicking.
“Is that still the only one you’ve got?” I asked.
“It is, and before you open your mouth to suggest it, don’t. I will not be getting a tattoo of Mighty Mouse on my ass.”
I made a show of zipping my lips and tossing the key over my shoulder, snickering at the memory of that conversation.
“Just remember, Mighty Mouse wasn’t my idea in the first place.”
“No, you just suggested the placement.”
“You wanted a spot where you wouldn’t risk your folks seeing it,” I reminded him. “With the Speedo you wore for swimming, there weren’t many options left.”
“How about my hip?”
“How about your cock?” I blurted and watched his eyes grow wide.
COLLAPSE
