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This holiday was going great. First they’d walked in on that couple, then they’d done it again, and somewhere along the way they’d lost Father Jack. Ted was sure that the old man was crouched in a ditch somewhere, growling at passers by, but he didn’t want to tell Dougal that, so instead, he’d invented some kind of elaborate story about his homing instinct, which truth be told was non existent- he would sooner walk around in circles than make his way home to the parochial house. As it stood, they were sitting at the table watching the kettle boil, yet again. They’d played hide and seek, he’d tried and failed to explain to Dougal the idea of distance, and the two of them had gone out and explored the area's landmarks, such as they were, so insignificant that they could hardly even be called disappointing. This had been the story of every holiday Ted had on Craggy Island- driving rain, cabin fever, soul crushing boredom, and horrific public showers. At this point it was more of an obligation than anything else. It was not enjoyable in any sense of the word, and yet he went every year, like clockwork. He supposed the change of scenery at the very least did them good, before realising that the scenery in question consisted of the interior of a trailer about the size of the bathroom back at the parochial house.
Dougal was staring at the kettle with his usual bug eyed wonder, watching the steam come out in absolute bewilderment. They had no tea bags, so it was an entirely pointless exercise. He was more than a little worried that the kettle would explode from overuse, knowing their luck.
“Dougal, give it a break now. You’ve been fiddling with that thing for hours.”
He looked unperturbed. “I have an idea, Ted! I think it could be fun.”
“Before you do anything, tell me.” He sighed. It better not be something that would get them both on the missing persons registry right along with Jack. In all the time he’d known him, Dougal had never had a single good idea- well, not one that he would acknowledge, anyway.
“Aah now, I think you’ll like this one. We can kiss!” He flicked the kettle off. “Just like we did a few nights ago! And we can do that other thing we did-”
He cleared his throat. It was all well and good in the moment, but in retrospect, he felt mortified even thinking about it, the guilt skittering in like a plague of hungry rabbits. “Yes, Dougal, a bit of the old kissing does sound like a good way to pass the time.” He cleared his throat anxiously. He was getting a bit hot under the collar, sweating nervously despite the chill of the island’s damp excuse for summertime. Dougal, on the other hand, was unabashedly cheerful. The lad wasn’t at all reluctant to break his vows, probably because he didn’t understand them in the first place, and even if he did, he didn’t care. He could be shy, occasionally, but most of the time he was the one crawling into Ted’s bed.
“That would be just fantastic!” He sat down on the creaky sofa bed built into the back of the caravan, and Ted got up to join him, drawing the ratty red curtains shut even though the chances of somebody looking in on them were admittedly next to nothing. Their thighs touched, and he felt the first tentative flutterings of arousal in his belly. “Right, so do we just put our mouths together as usual?”
Ted cringed. Would it be possible to teach Dougal not to say things like that? “Well, yes.”
“What?”
“Never mind.” He huffed, lacing his fingers through the lad’s silky, auburn hair, pulling him closer, gently, before pressing their lips together, inhaling his familiar soapy scent. He tasted like the tea he’d drunk that morning, and his lips were very, very soft. Being so close to him felt good, like sitting next to a campfire on a cold night. He pulled away for a moment to catch his breath, admiring the smattering of lightly coloured, barely-there freckles across the bridge of his nose, as Dougal gave him one of his customary looks of utter bewilderment.
“God that was weird, Ted!”
“We’ve done it a thousand times before.”
“Aah, come on now Ted! You know it feels different on holiday!”
That got a laugh out of him. Dougal really was a big eejit, but it was ever so adorable. Ted enjoyed explaining things to him, even if he pretended otherwise. It made him feel smarter, although the curate was not exactly a good frame of reference for average intelligence. He still couldn't work out how on earth he’d actually become a priest. That being said, there really was something to be said for making out on holiday. They were well and truly alone, with no chance of an encounter with Mrs. Doyle or the gleefully vicious Father Jack, no mass or fundraisers or protests outside cinemas looming on the horizon. It was like doing it in the living room, without the added danger of being found out, and without the thought of work encroaching on the fun. “If you say so.”
Dougal began wriggling awkwardly out of his tank top as Ted watched his struggle with some amusement, starting on his own cardigan and shirt, and undoing his dog collar with a sigh of relief. He supposed it wouldn’t do to go all the way- there was always the possibility that Jack would find his way back to the caravan, however remote- but surely losing the shirt wouldn’t hurt. Dougal’s hands were warm and surprisingly soft, and feeling them on his chest and neck was always nice. He helped him with his buttons, knowing full well that he would rip them in his excitement, before pushing the fabric away to reveal broad, sturdy shoulders adorned with constellations of freckles, a smooth chest, and the smallest hint of a soft belly, courtesy of Mrs. Doyle’s assorted cakes. He supposed that what God had skimped on his smarts (a great deal), he’d instead lavished on his appearance. Gently, he ran his hands down his forearms, before leaning in, just a little awkward, to leave a trail of kisses from his cheek down to his neck as the lad stared at him in pleased confusion for a moment before reciprocating, those soft, clumsy hands roaming all over his back as he moved to bury his face in the crook of Ted’s shoulder, wanting, as always, to be as close to him as possible. God almighty, he could do this all day long.
The curate’s soft fingers brushed against his thigh, just missing where he wanted him most by a few centimeters as he moved to kiss his jaw, and although Ted was certain it wasn’t on purpose, he felt a jolt of excitement anyway. “Dougal!”
“What is it, Ted?” Those innocent eyes met his, not a thought behind them.
“That was just a little bit unexpected, is all.”
“What was, Ted?”
“Oh, don’t worry about that now. Just kiss me again.”
“Right so. But I must say, my lad’s doing that thing it does when we kiss. Why’s it always doing that, Ted? I guess it's a side effect of being on holiday.”
He ignored his question. “We can’t exactly do the old devil’s tango here, Dougal. What if Father Jack comes back and sees us?”
Dougal pouted. “But Ted, you said he had a good homing instinct! He’s probably back home now! Please, please, please, please-”
“Fine, fine! But we shouldn’t be doing this at all. It’s a sin. You’re going to have to confess to me later, you know.” Ted liked to mention that sometimes, feigning responsibility, trying to at least go through the motions of being a fairly alright priest. In truth, taking Dougal’s confession was like trying to squeeze water out of a rock. He had to remind him of what to say at the beginning, then vainly try to steer the conversation in the direction of his supposed sins- all of which he already knew and which boiled down to eating jam out of the bowl and their occasional nighttime activities, if he even remembered at all. It was a superb waste of time and effort.
“I’m not sitting in that little wooden box, Ted. It’s more boring than having to take Father Jack on his walks.”
“Alright. None of that, then.” he was willing to concede about anything right now, so hard that he was getting slightly dizzy. “Just come here.” He sat back to allow the lad to move over and straddle him, those lovely hands resting on his shoulders, lightning bolts of pleasure shooting through his entire body at every inch of skin pressed against his. Yes, they still had their trousers on, but it felt damn good anyway. He kissed him gently as the curate ground his hips against his, giving those sweet, shameless little gasps that he made in the heat of the moment, his breath warm against his neck. He knew he was getting closer, the knot of heat in his belly stretching tighter and tighter. Even through two layers of clothing, he could feel Dougal’s hard length against the inside of his thigh, forming a pleasing tent in the black fabric.
“P-please Ted! I-”
He shut him up with a particularly deep kiss, and that was all it took for the lad to stiffen in his lap with a sharp yelp, before flopping down on top of him, a warm, heavy tangle of limbs, bleary eyed and, for once, quiet. He followed him over the edge a moment later, staying perfectly quiet as pleasure tore through him like a wildfire, so intense that even the skin of his cheeks began to tingle. After all, he’d had years of practice at the art of silently getting off.
“Ted, I think I just had an organism!” Dougal panted into his shoulder. He thought about correcting him, but decided not to ruin a perfect moment.