Jack was perched on a hilltop, in the vivid New England fall, trees in the valley a flaming sea of brilliance. The sky overhead vaulted a piercing blue, scattered with clouds. A brisk, snapping wind ruffled the colored sea, swirling up the hill to brush chilly fingers across Jack's skin.

But Jack wasn't cold. His back was pressed to an ancient tree, his front pressed to something warm and solid, denim and wool, breathing lightly, nestling into him. Jack's legs encircled his, Jack's arms wrapped him round, and his head lay on Jack's shoulder, heavy, intimate. Breathing him in, Jack smelled burning leaves, fresh air, and something more personal--indefinable, but indelible. Brown hair slipped silky under his lips, the nape of the neck below it warm and pulsing, tender and vulnerable. Jack kissed the pale throat, gently, lightly, trailing his lips up, and the other boy sighed and snuggled deeper. He was sinuous and appealing as a wild pine marten, willinging caught and held.

"It's a beautiful place, Jack," Ty averred contentedly. "What made you think of coming here today?"

Jack nuzzled into Ty's neck. "I had a dream about it, back at camp. I wanted to see it for real."

"Was it a good dream?"

Laughing softly, Jack buried his face in his lover's hair. "Yes. It was a very good dream. But the reality is even better."

Ty shifted, then, turning his face toward Jack. As their lips met in a prolonged, gentle kiss, Jack remembered douglas firs, the scent of hay, and all the hidden treasures of Secret Creek.

The End