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This follows on from the 'Connor on Campus' series.
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Darren stood in the bathroom. He could hear low voices from the room beyond, and the sound of mouths meeting, as Connor and Stan kissed and touched in their post-orgasm glow.
It'd been months now, and while the three would often cuddle together in a sweaty mass after sex, of late, Connor had demanded this time alone with Stan.
Darren sat on the edge of the bath and wondered if he was real to them, or still just a toy. Although he thought of Stan as his boyfriend, and Connor as Stan's boyfriend who fucked him, he couldn't help feeling lonely when they chose each other instead of including him.
"Darren!" Stan called. "You in there?"
Darren got to his feet and ran a hand through his mop of brown hair. He checked himself out in the mirror and was happy with what he saw. Nothing exceptional—but nothing to be ashamed of. Now that he was no longer a virgin, and with Stan's guidance at the gym, he had more confidence in himself, in his body.
He got looks from the guys on campus now. They saw the way he walked, the way he held himself, and he knew they were interested. But they also knew Connor. He was a notorious prick, and no one wanted to fuck with his 'pet'. But despite this, Darren knew there was a world out there of people who'd love to fuck him, maybe even date him, if these two didn't want him.
"Darren!" Connor's use of his name snapped Darren into action. He headed back into the bedroom, where Stan was sitting against the wall, while Connor lay against the pillow, idly stroking Stan's leg.
"We're planning on going away this weekend," Connor told him, and Darren's heart sank.
It was Friday, and his birthday was on Sunday. Clearly they'd forgotten.
"Come here," said Connor, and patted the bed.
Darren climbed onto the bed, finding space as best he could.
Connor held his phone out. "Doesn't this look nice?"
Darren was confused. It was a beach. It was labelled in Spanish, 'Playa Del Baño De Las Mujeres.' He knew enough Spanish from High School to translate this as something like: 'Beach of the bathroom of the women'.
"Spain?"
"We're flying out tomorrow morning," said Stan. "Sorry, probably should have told you sooner, but it was last minute. The flights were cheap, and I wanted to book them before we lost them."
Darren nodded quietly. He had other friends. He'd find a way to celebrate his nineteenth birthday without these two. It'd be good for him. He didn't spend enough time with his friends anyway.
"So, you'll need a Speedo," Connor said. At first, Darren thought he was speaking to Stan, but then realised the words were intended for him.
"Am I... am I coming?"
Stan caught his fingers. 'Course you are! And you don't have to bring a Speedo either." He gave Connor a long look.
"Yes you do," said Connor, lazily stretching like a cat, his hands against the headboard. "If there are too many women 'bathing' there, I want something decent to look at."
Darren grinned. He wasn't sure what was happening, but even if they'd forgotten his birthday, at least they'd be together.
Stan pulled at his hand gently, and Connor moved his legs out of the way as Darren shuffled closer to Stan on his knees. Stan kissed him, and Darren put his hands on Stan's shoulders, closing his eyes into the kiss.
"Given it's nearly one a.m., and we have to get to the airport by seven, how about you both fuck off so I can get some sleep?" said Connor.
Stan placed his forehead against Darren's and grinned at him. "Do you want to stay here tonight?"
Darren nodded. He didn't care if he had to get up in three hours, he just wanted Stan pressed up against him.
Stan jumped off Connor's bed, and Darren followed him across the room.
"One of these days we should get a flat," said Stan, and Darren's heart jumped. The three of them, flat together. Living together. He didn't dare allow himself to think it was anything more than a joke.
Stan climbed into bed, and Darren got in facing him. They resumed their kissing and fondling, while across the room, Connor smiled up at the ceiling.
*
On the plane, Connor snored softly, while Darren loosely held Stan's hand. The three were seated next to each other, Stan against the window, Darren in the centre seat, Connor on the aisle.
"Look at that," Stan pointed out the window, and Darren leaned across him to look at the clouds. A sunrise layer of orange and blue filled the sky above a sea of cloud so dense, Darren felt as if he could step out onto it. Grab fistfuls of it in his hands and prise it apart like candy floss. He could imagine the taste of it in his mouth. Damp. Clean.
Stan's hand was sweaty in his, and Darren realised his lover was a nervous flyer. He said nothing, just held Stan's hand, their skin warm and slippery, their fingers cramped.
But the view was too stunning to waste. Darren pulled his hand away to take his phone out and took a photo.
"I've never seen anything like it," said Stan, touching a finger to the window, leaving a smeared fingerprint against the Plexiglas.
The plane dropped and shuddered, and Stan's body went rigid. He gripped the armrest, and Darren took his lover's hand back into his lap and leaned his head against the older boy's shoulder, ignoring the curious looks he got from the passengers across the aisle.
Most people these days just smiled when they saw two guys expressing affection, but things hadn't yet reached the point where no one noticed. It was okay. He wasn't embarrassed. Shy, yes. But who could be embarrassed if the world knew someone like Stan was his boyfriend?
Connor stifled a yawn as they made their way through customs and headed for the car rental to pick up an RV.
"You drive," he said to Stan. "I need at least another six hours' sleep."
Stan snorted and took the keys.
It was a good hour and a half drive from Alicante to the beach of the women's bathroom, and Connor slept it all away.
Darren took the passenger seat and watched the countryside streak by; miles of olive trees in neat rows, grey motorway and sun-burnt grass.
The Autovia del Mediterraneo
wasn't terribly scenic, but Darren didn't care. He couldn't help glancing across at Stan, a ball of warmth glowing inside him. It didn't matter where they were going, or what they were doing, he'd never been so happy.
They reached a turnoff, with a sign that said
'Salida de Camiones'
, and Darren asked, "What does that mean?"
"Truck exit," said Stan. "A shortcut. It's all dirt roads from here."
They travelled along the unsealed road, red-brown hills rising up around them, the only vegetation scrubby, dusty clumps of grass. Every so often they passed square culverts that looked as if they might carry water. If water ever came to this place.
They rumbled past a short, round tower with some piece of equipment pointing from it up at the sky, and even Stan couldn't explain that one.
Past short palm trees, and irrigation ponds that look like algae-filled swimming pools. Past white plastic cities of greenhouses, that filled the air with the smell of melting plastic. Past stucco houses painted white and tan and orange, with terracotta tiled rooves. Past a red sign that, when Darren glanced back, said 'crossing is prohibited in case of heavy rain', in Spanish. He couldn't imagine rain falling here.
And then he saw the ocean, a blue line to his left, under a white and blue sky. He opened his window and let in the heat, and the scent of dust and salt.
