Sometime later the pallet shifts, stirring him awake. A warm hand slips between the sheets and over his hip, eager fingers fumbling for the front of his boxers. In the quiet of the room he hears ragged breathing, the tiny plink plink of his snaps opening, the rustle of the blankets as they’re pulled back. Then his shorts are shoved down and someone crawls into the pallet behind him, a thickness pressing hard against the cleft of his buttocks. Hot breath harsh in Trin’s ear, hands groping for his own stirring erection, an arm sliding beneath his thigh to hold his leg up out of the way. “Hey kid,” Gerrick whispers, kissing his neck and ear and hair. The gunner’s body presses Trin’s into the pallet and kisses trail over his shoulder, down his spine. The fingers working at his hard d**k squeez
