FIC: Bugs, Sweat, & Fears (1/1)
Title: Bugs, Sweat, & Fears
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Jeremy/Richard, within the context of an OT3 relationship.
Word Count: 2300+
Summary: Bolivia Tent!sex. “Look, you’re having insectophobia issues, and I’m perfectly willing to comfort you through them. What’s the problem here?”
Warnings: BUGS. (well, not really.) Slight crackiness, dirty talk, tiiiiiny bit of humiliation kink.
Disclaimer: This is purely fictional. If it were true, I’d owe you a million quid, or this bucket.
Author's Notes: I started this fic almose 2 years ago, then I lost the thread halfway through, and then I lost all writing ability for about a year & a half. *facepalm* Now I'm on holiday visiting my girlfriend alisso and somehow, out of no where, this fic started continuing itself in my head. I finished it in about 3 days. Incredible thanks go to wyvernchick for the beta & Britpick, and Alisso for encouraging me & putting up with all my questions and insecurities. ♥
"What’s that?” Richard screamed and whirled around with the torch. “Stick insect! It’s-- Honestly, there’s big things on my head! Oh, what is that?! There’s something just flew in my hair and it’s squeaking at me! It’s big! It’s really big!”
He could hear the camera crew outside trying to cover up their laughter as he rambled on, and it eased his anxiety like performing always had. It was easier to handle the bubbling fear and paranoia when he was exaggerating for the show.
The insects still really fucking bothered him, though.
The shooting lights turned off and a voice yelled out, “CUT! Thanks, Rich, that’ll be great. See ya in the morning.”
“Yeah, good night, guys,” Richard answered, not even bothering to unzip the tent and poke his head out. There were more bugs and things out there that he didn’t want to risk letting in, and he’d already prepared for bed before they’d decided to get this last shot for the night. He did one last sweep of his sleeping bag, then sighed and pulled off the head-torch before removing most of his clothing as well. It was far too hot in the rainforest to sleep in anything more than pants.
He settled in to sleep, but his mind kept focusing on those very true facts Jeremy had read from his very fake book.
Wandering spider. Lives on the forest floor. Which is... where I’m sleeping right now.
That furry snake viper. Necrosis of the tissue. Death in 4 days.
Bot fly. Lays eggs that hatch out of your head.
Mutant stick insects, thorny trees, beetles big as your hand, what the hell am I doing here?
Suddenly, there was a scraping sound at his tent flap. Something scrabbling in the dark at the zipper.
Oh god, oh god, it’s a snake, it’s a jaguar, it’s a fucking monster, what the fuck, what do I do?
He reached out, fingers groping in the near-blackness and finding nothing solid but his boots. Swallowing nervously, he hefted one in his hand and crept toward the noise. There was the distinct sound of the zipper starting to move. Richard’s eyes widened and he swung the boot hard at the shape trying to wriggle through the opening.
“OW! Bloody hell, Hammond!”
Richard jumped. “Jez? For fuck’s sake, what are you doing? I thought you were a-- a fleur-de-lis or something!”
“A wh-- A fer-de-lance, idiot. Fer-de-lance. A fleur-de-lis is that Frenchist swirly thing,” Jeremy muttered, rubbing his head where the sole of the boot had smacked him.
Ignoring him, Richard hissed, “What are you doing trying to sneak into my tent?”
Jeremy straightened up as best he could in the close quarters. “I heard you having another fit over the insects, I thought I should check you were all right. What do I get for my trouble? A boot to the fucking head.”
“We’re in the Amazon, you’re lucky James has the machete instead of me. We would’ve had Diced Clarkson for breakfast.” Richard paused, abruptly suspicious. “Hang on, since when do you check on me, anyway? And why the stealth tactics instead of blundering in like you always do?”
“I can’t take an interest in my friend’s well-being?” Jeremy asked, sounding wounded. He moved closer to Richard, then stopped. “Fuck, are you just in your pants?”
Rolling his eyes, Richard nodded to himself as the pieces fell into place. “Okay. Right. I get it now. I’m not having tent sex with you in the middle of the rainforest, Jez. Go back to yours,” he sighed, shuffling back to his sleeping bag and sitting on it.
Jeremy simply followed, joints creaking as he knelt behind him. “Look, you’re having insectophobia issues, and I’m perfectly willing to comfort you through them. What’s the problem here?” He reached out and stroked Richard’s sides, gently massaging his bare skin in just the right way.
Richard squawked, making another connection in his mind. “You! You didn’t just have them make that book for the show, you wanted to scare me so you could take advantage! You’re fucking incorrigible.” He suddenly realised he was leaning into Jeremy’s touch. “And stop that!”
Jeremy didn’t. “Why?” His fingers sneaked lower, pushing under the waistband of Richard’s pants to tease across his hips, and he pressed close to Richard’s bare back, mouthing open kisses along his neck.
“Because it feels good, damn it,” Richard snapped. “It’s fucking hot, neither of us have showered in days, we’re in a bloody tent, and there’s about twenty people in this camp that we have to work with, which will be hard to do if they hear us shagging.” Despite his words, he was pushing back against Jeremy’s chest, the soft touches wearing him down. He was tired, sore, and frustrated; he couldn’t stop Jeremy when it felt so good. “Would be less conspicuous if you jumped me in the portakabin on a shooting day,” he finished lamely.
“Could do, if you like,” Jeremy chuckled in his ear, “or we could gang up on James.”
One of the hands down Richard’s underwear slipped behind to grope his arse, and Richard sighed. “Why didn’t you go and bother him tonight?” He was at the point where he was just arguing for the sake of it, because that’s what he did with Jeremy.
Jeremy paused in the middle of pushing Richard’s pants off his hips. “Like you said, James has the machete,” he reiterated, speaking as if to a small child. “Besides, you saw how he was drinking at the campfire. He’s probably passed out by now. That man was not meant for the jungle.”
Richard couldn’t help but snort at that. “Oh, and you are, then?”
“Look, it’ll be a quickie. Just to take the edge off,” Jeremy negotiated, as he finally managed to get the fabric down past Richard’s wakening cock and shifted to lie back .
“No, really, Jeremy, twenty people? Crew members that we will be entrusting our lives to for the next few days? This is not a good idea,” Richard protested, even while letting himself be hauled on top of Jeremy, who had somehow managed to get rid of his own clothes as well. The contact of their bare cocks made Richard hiss and rub against him instinctively. With all the prep for this trip, it had been weeks since the three of them had had any chance to touch each other; his resistance couldn't last.
Jeremy waited for Richard to slide forward again, then pulled him down into a deep kiss. Giving up all pretenses of fighting, Richard melted into it, even starting to groan into Jeremy’s mouth until he pulled away. “You’ll just have to be very, very quiet then,” Jeremy muttered as he reached into the pocket of his discarded shorts for one of the jars of Vaseline from the Ann Summers chest.
“What?” Richard laughed in surprise. “Hi, my name’s Richard Hammond, have we met? You want me to be quiet?”
"... Fair point." Reaching out again, Jeremy grabbed something and tossed it to Richard. "Here, use this."
"Use what for what?" Richard felt along the length of cloth until he felt a zipper. "This is my trouser leg, Jeremy, what am I-- No, I am not using this as a gag, it's been through the bloody rainforest on my body, for fuck's sake, it’s covered in dirt and sweat and god knows what else, like every other piece of cloth in this camp." He threw it aside, about to push off of Jeremy, when a hand dragged down his cock. "Oh, not fair," he groaned, straddling Jeremy firmly.
“Always so easy for us, just have to touch you the right way,” Jeremy mused, tightening his grip when Richard shivered in response. “You’re so worried about the audience, Richard Hammond,” he smirked, “How did you ever become a presenter?” He let go for a moment to slick up his fingers before groping under and back, nudging them into Richard.
Richard rose up a few inches without thinking, giving Jeremy room to move. "Fuck. Off." He spoke through gritted teeth, but he could feel himself blush at Jeremy's words. James and Jeremy had only recently realised (and started taking advantage of the fact) that he had a bit of a humiliation kink.
Well, most people in their business did, really, so it hadn't exactly been difficult to figure out.
Chuckling, Jeremy continued to stretch him. "Fuck off? I could make a very bad joke here, but I'd rather you not kill me before..." Jeremy's voice trailed off while he adjusted himself and started to push inside Richard. "Oh god, that," he groaned softly.
"Fu--" Richard clamped a hand over his mouth before the shout could properly escape. He glared at Jeremy, who really couldn't have cared less at that point.
Jeremy held Richard's hips and slowly pulled him all the way down. "Christ, that's a sight," he breathed shakily as he grabbed Richard's cock again and stroked in time with the immediate rocking of his hips, "keeping yourself quiet like a good little slut."
Richard tried for a growl, but it came out as more of a whine when Jeremy wasted no time gathering speed. Already, he was straining back and forth into Jeremy's hand, his own hand still tight over his lips. He could feel the blush spreading down his face and neck, but it just made him want more. He hadn’t realised how badly he missed this.
"Should do this more often," Jeremy muttered, his voice stalling with each hard thrust into Richard. "We could, ah, pull you into the break room, during tea at filming, bend you over, take turns fucking you. You'd have to be silent."
At that, Richard definitely did whine, and gasp, nearly biting his fingers in the process. He bore down as best he could with only one hand on Jeremy’s waist to brace himself, the decrease of oxygen starting to affect his balance. At least Jeremy was right, it would be quick; the long wait and the things Jeremy was murmuring to him ensured that.
"Mmm, knew you'd like that. Dirty boy." It wasn’t much longer until Jeremy's hand faltered, losing its hold on Richard's cock and falling to his leg. "I can't, it's too-- Not gonna last long."
Neither was Richard, but he needed to be touched. He took a deep steadying breath through his nose and was begging as soon as he let go of his mouth to work his cock instead. "Please, Jeremy, please, hurry, can't do both," he babbled, trying to keep his pleas hushed as he rode Jeremy faster. He was so damn close, and desperate not to be heard.
Squeezing Richard's thighs tightly, Jeremy swallowed a moan. "Fuck, can't. My back. You have to, think of something."
Richard's mind scrambled for something, anything to keep himself quiet as he came, or-- Or disguise the sounds he knew he’d make. A small coherent corner of his brain thought he must be utterly mad, but he was already launching into it, his voice high and tight with fear that he now didn’t have to exaggerate. “Oh, oh god! Unh, fucking hell! It’s another, get, get it away! STICK INSECT! STIIICK INSEEEECT!” he yelled, his body shivering and taut as he shot onto Jeremy’s stomach.
Jeremy came with a stifled choke of laughter and had to slap a hand over his own mouth. The tension drained from him as he flopped on the ground, nearly knocking Richard over. “Oh my god, Hammond,” he croaked when he finally caught his breath. “You complete fucking mental.”
Face burning, Richard slumped back to lay beside him, panting. “Fuck you, Jezza, like you were any help.”
“I thought I was quite a lot of help, actually,” Jeremy grinned. “Not my fault you’re a loud shouty idiot.”
“You’re so sweet after sex,” Richard snarked, pushing Jeremy weakly. “Now get out of here before someone comes to check on me, like you did.”
“Expecting more suitors tonight then, are we? You are a slut.” Jeremy gathered up his clothes, only bothering to put on his pants and vest. “Besides, it’s not like everyone doesn’t know. Why do you think they put the condoms and Vaseline in?”
Richard gaped at him for a second, then grabbed the nearest thing and threw it at Jeremy’s head. “Good night, Jez.”
-----------------
Later that morning, James looked from Richard’s one-legged trousers to the cloth that was currently Jeremy’s hat. Richard pointedly avoided eye contact until James approached him during a pit stop. “Jeremy’s got a souvenir, apparently.”
Richard was glad he was already hot and sweaty; it hid the blush. “Ah, yes. The bastard. Incapable of keeping things to himself.” He leaned against his car, trying to look nonchalant.
James raised his eyebrows. “And you are, with all that shouting? You could hardly’ve been more obvious.” Leaning close, James rested a hand on Richard’s back. “I can’t believe you two would fuck out here, of all places. It’s filthy.”
“Oh, you know what he’s like,” Richard said, defensive. He fiddled with the zipper at his bare knee. “He’s hopeless.”
James lightly pressed his nails into the small of Richard’s back, just enough to be felt through his shirt. “And you know what I’m like,” he breathed into Richard’s ear, looking past him. “I happen to be waiting til we get to the hotel and have an actual bed, and hopefully enough water for an hour-long shower each. And then, I’ll show you both that you can be shut up.” Then he walked away.
“Um.” Richard stood there, staring blankly at nothing.
All of a sudden, he wanted to be out of the rainforest even more than he had the night before.
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Jeremy/Richard, within the context of an OT3 relationship.
Word Count: 2300+
Summary: Bolivia Tent!sex. “Look, you’re having insectophobia issues, and I’m perfectly willing to comfort you through them. What’s the problem here?”
Warnings: BUGS. (well, not really.) Slight crackiness, dirty talk, tiiiiiny bit of humiliation kink.
Disclaimer: This is purely fictional. If it were true, I’d owe you a million quid, or this bucket.
Author's Notes: I started this fic almose 2 years ago, then I lost the thread halfway through, and then I lost all writing ability for about a year & a half. *facepalm* Now I'm on holiday visiting my girlfriend alisso and somehow, out of no where, this fic started continuing itself in my head. I finished it in about 3 days. Incredible thanks go to wyvernchick for the beta & Britpick, and Alisso for encouraging me & putting up with all my questions and insecurities. ♥
"What’s that?” Richard screamed and whirled around with the torch. “Stick insect! It’s-- Honestly, there’s big things on my head! Oh, what is that?! There’s something just flew in my hair and it’s squeaking at me! It’s big! It’s really big!”
He could hear the camera crew outside trying to cover up their laughter as he rambled on, and it eased his anxiety like performing always had. It was easier to handle the bubbling fear and paranoia when he was exaggerating for the show.
The insects still really fucking bothered him, though.
The shooting lights turned off and a voice yelled out, “CUT! Thanks, Rich, that’ll be great. See ya in the morning.”
“Yeah, good night, guys,” Richard answered, not even bothering to unzip the tent and poke his head out. There were more bugs and things out there that he didn’t want to risk letting in, and he’d already prepared for bed before they’d decided to get this last shot for the night. He did one last sweep of his sleeping bag, then sighed and pulled off the head-torch before removing most of his clothing as well. It was far too hot in the rainforest to sleep in anything more than pants.
He settled in to sleep, but his mind kept focusing on those very true facts Jeremy had read from his very fake book.
Wandering spider. Lives on the forest floor. Which is... where I’m sleeping right now.
That furry snake viper. Necrosis of the tissue. Death in 4 days.
Bot fly. Lays eggs that hatch out of your head.
Mutant stick insects, thorny trees, beetles big as your hand, what the hell am I doing here?
Suddenly, there was a scraping sound at his tent flap. Something scrabbling in the dark at the zipper.
Oh god, oh god, it’s a snake, it’s a jaguar, it’s a fucking monster, what the fuck, what do I do?
He reached out, fingers groping in the near-blackness and finding nothing solid but his boots. Swallowing nervously, he hefted one in his hand and crept toward the noise. There was the distinct sound of the zipper starting to move. Richard’s eyes widened and he swung the boot hard at the shape trying to wriggle through the opening.
“OW! Bloody hell, Hammond!”
Richard jumped. “Jez? For fuck’s sake, what are you doing? I thought you were a-- a fleur-de-lis or something!”
“A wh-- A fer-de-lance, idiot. Fer-de-lance. A fleur-de-lis is that Frenchist swirly thing,” Jeremy muttered, rubbing his head where the sole of the boot had smacked him.
Ignoring him, Richard hissed, “What are you doing trying to sneak into my tent?”
Jeremy straightened up as best he could in the close quarters. “I heard you having another fit over the insects, I thought I should check you were all right. What do I get for my trouble? A boot to the fucking head.”
“We’re in the Amazon, you’re lucky James has the machete instead of me. We would’ve had Diced Clarkson for breakfast.” Richard paused, abruptly suspicious. “Hang on, since when do you check on me, anyway? And why the stealth tactics instead of blundering in like you always do?”
“I can’t take an interest in my friend’s well-being?” Jeremy asked, sounding wounded. He moved closer to Richard, then stopped. “Fuck, are you just in your pants?”
Rolling his eyes, Richard nodded to himself as the pieces fell into place. “Okay. Right. I get it now. I’m not having tent sex with you in the middle of the rainforest, Jez. Go back to yours,” he sighed, shuffling back to his sleeping bag and sitting on it.
Jeremy simply followed, joints creaking as he knelt behind him. “Look, you’re having insectophobia issues, and I’m perfectly willing to comfort you through them. What’s the problem here?” He reached out and stroked Richard’s sides, gently massaging his bare skin in just the right way.
Richard squawked, making another connection in his mind. “You! You didn’t just have them make that book for the show, you wanted to scare me so you could take advantage! You’re fucking incorrigible.” He suddenly realised he was leaning into Jeremy’s touch. “And stop that!”
Jeremy didn’t. “Why?” His fingers sneaked lower, pushing under the waistband of Richard’s pants to tease across his hips, and he pressed close to Richard’s bare back, mouthing open kisses along his neck.
“Because it feels good, damn it,” Richard snapped. “It’s fucking hot, neither of us have showered in days, we’re in a bloody tent, and there’s about twenty people in this camp that we have to work with, which will be hard to do if they hear us shagging.” Despite his words, he was pushing back against Jeremy’s chest, the soft touches wearing him down. He was tired, sore, and frustrated; he couldn’t stop Jeremy when it felt so good. “Would be less conspicuous if you jumped me in the portakabin on a shooting day,” he finished lamely.
“Could do, if you like,” Jeremy chuckled in his ear, “or we could gang up on James.”
One of the hands down Richard’s underwear slipped behind to grope his arse, and Richard sighed. “Why didn’t you go and bother him tonight?” He was at the point where he was just arguing for the sake of it, because that’s what he did with Jeremy.
Jeremy paused in the middle of pushing Richard’s pants off his hips. “Like you said, James has the machete,” he reiterated, speaking as if to a small child. “Besides, you saw how he was drinking at the campfire. He’s probably passed out by now. That man was not meant for the jungle.”
Richard couldn’t help but snort at that. “Oh, and you are, then?”
“Look, it’ll be a quickie. Just to take the edge off,” Jeremy negotiated, as he finally managed to get the fabric down past Richard’s wakening cock and shifted to lie back .
“No, really, Jeremy, twenty people? Crew members that we will be entrusting our lives to for the next few days? This is not a good idea,” Richard protested, even while letting himself be hauled on top of Jeremy, who had somehow managed to get rid of his own clothes as well. The contact of their bare cocks made Richard hiss and rub against him instinctively. With all the prep for this trip, it had been weeks since the three of them had had any chance to touch each other; his resistance couldn't last.
Jeremy waited for Richard to slide forward again, then pulled him down into a deep kiss. Giving up all pretenses of fighting, Richard melted into it, even starting to groan into Jeremy’s mouth until he pulled away. “You’ll just have to be very, very quiet then,” Jeremy muttered as he reached into the pocket of his discarded shorts for one of the jars of Vaseline from the Ann Summers chest.
“What?” Richard laughed in surprise. “Hi, my name’s Richard Hammond, have we met? You want me to be quiet?”
"... Fair point." Reaching out again, Jeremy grabbed something and tossed it to Richard. "Here, use this."
"Use what for what?" Richard felt along the length of cloth until he felt a zipper. "This is my trouser leg, Jeremy, what am I-- No, I am not using this as a gag, it's been through the bloody rainforest on my body, for fuck's sake, it’s covered in dirt and sweat and god knows what else, like every other piece of cloth in this camp." He threw it aside, about to push off of Jeremy, when a hand dragged down his cock. "Oh, not fair," he groaned, straddling Jeremy firmly.
“Always so easy for us, just have to touch you the right way,” Jeremy mused, tightening his grip when Richard shivered in response. “You’re so worried about the audience, Richard Hammond,” he smirked, “How did you ever become a presenter?” He let go for a moment to slick up his fingers before groping under and back, nudging them into Richard.
Richard rose up a few inches without thinking, giving Jeremy room to move. "Fuck. Off." He spoke through gritted teeth, but he could feel himself blush at Jeremy's words. James and Jeremy had only recently realised (and started taking advantage of the fact) that he had a bit of a humiliation kink.
Well, most people in their business did, really, so it hadn't exactly been difficult to figure out.
Chuckling, Jeremy continued to stretch him. "Fuck off? I could make a very bad joke here, but I'd rather you not kill me before..." Jeremy's voice trailed off while he adjusted himself and started to push inside Richard. "Oh god, that," he groaned softly.
"Fu--" Richard clamped a hand over his mouth before the shout could properly escape. He glared at Jeremy, who really couldn't have cared less at that point.
Jeremy held Richard's hips and slowly pulled him all the way down. "Christ, that's a sight," he breathed shakily as he grabbed Richard's cock again and stroked in time with the immediate rocking of his hips, "keeping yourself quiet like a good little slut."
Richard tried for a growl, but it came out as more of a whine when Jeremy wasted no time gathering speed. Already, he was straining back and forth into Jeremy's hand, his own hand still tight over his lips. He could feel the blush spreading down his face and neck, but it just made him want more. He hadn’t realised how badly he missed this.
"Should do this more often," Jeremy muttered, his voice stalling with each hard thrust into Richard. "We could, ah, pull you into the break room, during tea at filming, bend you over, take turns fucking you. You'd have to be silent."
At that, Richard definitely did whine, and gasp, nearly biting his fingers in the process. He bore down as best he could with only one hand on Jeremy’s waist to brace himself, the decrease of oxygen starting to affect his balance. At least Jeremy was right, it would be quick; the long wait and the things Jeremy was murmuring to him ensured that.
"Mmm, knew you'd like that. Dirty boy." It wasn’t much longer until Jeremy's hand faltered, losing its hold on Richard's cock and falling to his leg. "I can't, it's too-- Not gonna last long."
Neither was Richard, but he needed to be touched. He took a deep steadying breath through his nose and was begging as soon as he let go of his mouth to work his cock instead. "Please, Jeremy, please, hurry, can't do both," he babbled, trying to keep his pleas hushed as he rode Jeremy faster. He was so damn close, and desperate not to be heard.
Squeezing Richard's thighs tightly, Jeremy swallowed a moan. "Fuck, can't. My back. You have to, think of something."
Richard's mind scrambled for something, anything to keep himself quiet as he came, or-- Or disguise the sounds he knew he’d make. A small coherent corner of his brain thought he must be utterly mad, but he was already launching into it, his voice high and tight with fear that he now didn’t have to exaggerate. “Oh, oh god! Unh, fucking hell! It’s another, get, get it away! STICK INSECT! STIIICK INSEEEECT!” he yelled, his body shivering and taut as he shot onto Jeremy’s stomach.
Jeremy came with a stifled choke of laughter and had to slap a hand over his own mouth. The tension drained from him as he flopped on the ground, nearly knocking Richard over. “Oh my god, Hammond,” he croaked when he finally caught his breath. “You complete fucking mental.”
Face burning, Richard slumped back to lay beside him, panting. “Fuck you, Jezza, like you were any help.”
“I thought I was quite a lot of help, actually,” Jeremy grinned. “Not my fault you’re a loud shouty idiot.”
“You’re so sweet after sex,” Richard snarked, pushing Jeremy weakly. “Now get out of here before someone comes to check on me, like you did.”
“Expecting more suitors tonight then, are we? You are a slut.” Jeremy gathered up his clothes, only bothering to put on his pants and vest. “Besides, it’s not like everyone doesn’t know. Why do you think they put the condoms and Vaseline in?”
Richard gaped at him for a second, then grabbed the nearest thing and threw it at Jeremy’s head. “Good night, Jez.”
-----------------
Later that morning, James looked from Richard’s one-legged trousers to the cloth that was currently Jeremy’s hat. Richard pointedly avoided eye contact until James approached him during a pit stop. “Jeremy’s got a souvenir, apparently.”
Richard was glad he was already hot and sweaty; it hid the blush. “Ah, yes. The bastard. Incapable of keeping things to himself.” He leaned against his car, trying to look nonchalant.
James raised his eyebrows. “And you are, with all that shouting? You could hardly’ve been more obvious.” Leaning close, James rested a hand on Richard’s back. “I can’t believe you two would fuck out here, of all places. It’s filthy.”
“Oh, you know what he’s like,” Richard said, defensive. He fiddled with the zipper at his bare knee. “He’s hopeless.”
James lightly pressed his nails into the small of Richard’s back, just enough to be felt through his shirt. “And you know what I’m like,” he breathed into Richard’s ear, looking past him. “I happen to be waiting til we get to the hotel and have an actual bed, and hopefully enough water for an hour-long shower each. And then, I’ll show you both that you can be shut up.” Then he walked away.
“Um.” Richard stood there, staring blankly at nothing.
All of a sudden, he wanted to be out of the rainforest even more than he had the night before.