“Don’t hate me because I’m beautiful.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it. After all, I have lots of other reasons for hating you to choose from. Getting me to agree to drag my ass out of bed at the crack of dawn is only the latest one of them.”
Stash flashed Carter a rueful smile. “Am I that difficult to work with?”
“You’re not so bad, as a matter of fact,” Carter conceded. “You’re like me—you try to get the job done without wasting a lot of time. And I have to admit that you do know your stuff. All the historical background, I mean, that sort of thing.”
“I bone up on it beforehand.”
“I know you do. But you don’t just regurgitate it. You always seem to give it your own spin. Tonight, for example. I liked those two stories you told. You know, about the two couples who used the broch as their love nest.”
“Yes, those stories were fun, weren’t they? I wonder how much of them is true and how much is either out-and-out fiction, or at least was embellished when the tales were retold, year after year—century after century. Still, I’m sure they must have some basis in fact.”
“Yeah, especially that part about the horny old lady and her two young boyfriends. That certainly has the ring of truth. Who’d make up something like that?” Carter remained lost in thought for a moment. “You know, when we first came here today, I didn’t think this was such a romantic-looking place. But when I saw it in the moonlight, I sure changed my mind. It’s too bad there aren’t any gay love stories connected to this place.”
“Yes, that’s a shame, isn’t it? A definite, serious omission. Maybe—” Stash’s voice trailed off.
“Maybe what?”
“Maybe somebody should start one. Maybe we should start one.”
“What? Us? You and me? Here, tonight?”
“Sure. Why not? Oh, don’t get me wrong, Carter. If not a love story—at least a lust story.”
“Is this one of those situations you were talking about a minute ago? In which shamelessness can come in handy? Are you making a pass at me?”
“Yes. Yes, to all three questions.”
“What’s brought this on, all of a sudden?”
“All of a sudden? I have to disagree with you there. I’d say this has been brewing for some time.”
“Yeah, I guess it has. We’re got to clear the air about something first, Stash.”
“And that would be?”
“Are you still pissed off at me about Liam and Trent?”
“No. That is—I was never annoyed at you about either of them. Why should I be?”
“Somehow I got the feeling that you were disappointed in me. That you expected a little more from me, or hoped for a little more from me, than the usual whoring around.”
“What did I do or say to put that idea in your head, Carter?”
“I don’t know. Nothing tangible. Just a gut instinct I had. Maybe—I was projecting my own feelings onto you. If so, my bad.”
“What feelings?”
“Damn, Stash, are you going to make me spell it out? All right. I like recreational sex as much as the other guy.”
“Maybe a little more so.”
“That’s right, rub it in.”
“Sorry. Go on.”
“Casual tricking is fine, but sometimes I do wonder what it’s be like to be in a real relationship, and I sort of fantasize about that.”
“I do, too.”
“But I bet your idea of a serious relationship—it’s strictly one on one.”
“Not necessarily. Not any longer. I’m willing to admit the possibility—hell, maybe the necessity—that such a relationship will include a certain amount of leeway. That’s what happens when you get older. You become less idealistic—more realistic. More flexible, certainly. And, just in case you haven’t noticed, I do pride myself on being flexible,” Stash added, with a sly, suggestive grin.
Carter laughed. “Yeah, you remind me that gay sex really ought to be an Olympic event. In the Gay Olympics, at least.”
“Oh, Mr. Burrell! You’re making me blush.”
“Bullshit. It takes a hell of a lot more than that to embarrass you. God, I get a kick out of you.”
“I’m glad to hear you say that. Enjoying each other’s company—that’s the really important thing, isn’t it? No matter what goes on between two guys in bed. Or inside the two guys’ heads.”
“You and I,” Carter pressed. “We’ve tricked. We’ve fucked. It’s been fun. Getting our rocks off. Nothing heavy, nothing intense. But—damn it, Stash! I have to admit it. I wouldn’t mind a little heaviness—a little intensity. Or a lot of it, for that matter.”
“Do you want to do something about it? Or should we just let it slide, for now?”
“I’d like to do something about it.”
“Come on, then,” Stash urged. “I can feel a chill in the air. Get in here with me. Warm up.”
They were alone in the tent. In the other tent, nearby, were Bill and Alonzo. Two straight guys, sleeping together. They’d no doubt be amused, or possibly disgusted, to know that their boss and his cameraman were getting ready to have sex with each other. But that other tent was dark, and no sounds emerged from it. Alonzo and Bill, the occupants, were oblivious to whatever might be taking place, or about to take place, in the neighboring tent.
“The other guys must be asleep. You want the light on or off?” Stash whispered, referring to their battery-operated camping lantern.
“We’d better turn it off. Yeah, I imagine our two hard-working straight buddies are both asleep by now. But if one of them does get up and he leaves his tent to take a leak, or to do some prowling around the beach for some other reason, he might notice that our light’s still on and take it as an invitation to pay us a late-night visit. And I don’t want anybody to come knocking while the tent’s a-rocking.”
“You’re still worried about what the other guys might think if they find out for sure we’re fooling around together? Something tells me that ship’s already sailed, Carter.”
“I’m not worried about it. If you don’t care, then I don’t, either. But I don’t like being interrupted when I’m getting it on with another guy. Unless the man doing the interrupting is hot, and he’s likely to turn it into a threesome. Which seems highly unlikely, tonight, given the other two potential players. That’s all.”
“Okay.” Stash reached out and turned off the lamp, plunging the interior of their tent into darkness. Through a gap in the tent flap, the two men could see the night sky, moonlit and bright with stars.
Then Stash resumed his original position, lying on his back, and breathing slowly and regularly, as though he had already fallen asleep. Carter slid to his side and hovered over him, propped up on an elbow for what seemed an eternity, peering down at his tent mate in the gloom, until he felt compelled to lie down alongside him, draping one of his thighs over Stash’s, an arm across his chest, his head on his shoulder.
Carter was still half tensed, wondering whether he was coming on too strong, whether he was playing the stereotyped role of the gay slut, when—to his complete and nearly climactic delight—Stash returned the embrace, running a hand up and down Carter’s side, sliding lower and lower until his fingers wriggled under the elastic of his shorts, caressed his hip, and finally reached inside the underpants and grasped him firmly. All of this happened so suddenly that Carter feared he might die as a result of a heart attack, caused by the throbbing palpitations the other guy’s touch set off in him!
Instinctively and with a great sigh of relief, Carter reached for Stash, and then the two young men were locked in an ultimate embrace, their undershorts pushed unceremoniously down along the middle of their thighs, exposed bodies brushing against each other as their hands pounded away on each other’s hot, erect pricks.
“Shit,” Carter muttered.
“What’s wrong?” Stash whispered.
“Nothing. Things couldn’t be more right. I’m so goddamn horny, that’s all.”
“Not necessary.”
“Yeah, but it can’t do any harm.”
“Okay. Give me a swig,” Carter said.
Chapter Nineteen: Rubbed the Right Way
Carter downed a mouthful of the whiskey, which seemed to have an instantaneous, aphrodisiac effect on him. He waited impatiently while Stash, too, drank from the flask. Then Carter attacked the other man.
“I want you,” he blurted out.
“Do you? Have me, then,” Stash invited him.
Carter’s excitement, riding the crest of a wave which had been building up toward its shoreline for some time, was now all but uncontrollable, and he began to pant and groan, leaning toward Stash’s ear to kiss it and then to move across his face to his mouth. They kissed, fiercely, almost brutally, for no more than a few seconds and then, looking and sounding desperate with erotic impatience, Stash pushed him away—but he kept his grip on the turgid, throbbing shaft of Carter’s cock, which filled his fist like the shaft of a baseball bat.
“Give me your fucking dick, man!” Stash gasped, red-faced, sweating. “Let me have it!”
But he already had it. In fact, he was using both hands to manipulate it now—grasping and stroking the thick, inflexible shaft from base to tip with one fist, while the fingertips of his other hand hefted and tickled the hairy sac that contained Carter’s big balls.
Scarcely able to believe his good fortune, Carter lay there on the soft, yielding bed provided by the sleeping bag and he let his fuck buddy play with him. Stash had a strong grip, and the muscles in his biceps tensed and flexed as he deftly pumped the other young stud toward orgasm.
Carter was almost afraid to speak, to say anything that might destroy the mood. But finally, as he felt his hot sperm rising to a boil within the core of his penis, he stammered, “I—I’m going to come!”
But Stash was full of surprises this evening. Instead of releasing Carter’s prick and pulling away from him in order to avoid being soiled by Carter’s semen, as Carter had half-feared he might, Stash only groaned and squirmed in closer to Carter’s body as he masturbated him even more furiously.
“Do it,” he grunted. “Come! Come! Shoot your fucking shit all over me, Carter. And jerk mine, too. Please! Jerk mine while I do yours!”
Stash’s cock was standing straight up from his groin, an eight-inch cylinder of flushed, rigid masculinity. His piss slit was gaping wide open, a clear drop of fuck fluid already visible as it oozed sluggishly out of the tiny aperture.
He cried out in pure pleasure when he felt Carter’s warm, sweaty hand suddenly enclose his prickshaft, stroking it every bit as passionately as his own fist was caressing Carter’s meat.
They pumped each other’s tools until—breathless with excitement—they both exploded, virtually at the same moment, their overexcited cocks spitting out hot wet jets of jism that rained down upon both young men’s torsos.
“Christ!” Stash yelled. Then, again, “Christ!” Without pausing to catch his breath, without taking his hand off Carter’s cock or slackening his stroke in the slightest, he writhed up against his friend, crushing their semen-soaked chests tightly together, and kissed Carter wildly, his mouth suctioning against Carter’s mouth with bruising force, his tongue eagerly probing the interior of the other man’s mouth.
Carter returned the kiss passionately.
Their fists continued to work, squeezing and fondling each other’s pricks, until both guys were spent and their genitals had no more virile cream to yield—at least for the time being.
Carter was ecstatic. The only disappointing thing about the whole experience was that, as soon as they’d both moaned and shook their way through their ejaculations, Stash broke their kiss and pushed Carter away from him again, with a breathless, embarrassed laugh.
“Jesus, I was horny,” he laughed. “I’d better go wash up, man. We sure made a mess, didn’t we?”
Carter knew Stash fairly well by now, and he realized that this was Stash’s way of trying to put their relationship back on its casual footing, now that the sex was over.
Wisely, he didn’t press the issue, or come on too strong or too possessively. “Wash up, where?” Carter asked.
“Down by the shore, I guess. In the cold sea water.”
“Forget about it,” Carter urged. “It’s not worth freezing your ass off. Stay here with me.”
“You don’t mind a little semen?”
“I don’t mind a lot of semen. Let’s go to sleep.”
“All right.”
“If we’re going to continue to work on the show together—”
“Yes?” Stash asked.
“I think I’m going to have to ask to have my contract revised. I want a clause in there, to the effect that we’ll traipse off only to warm climates, where a guy can have sex outdoors without shivering, and without having his cock and balls shrivel up from the cold, after he’s come.”
“Good luck with that,” Stash said, cynically. “How about a clause to the effect that the star of the show will provide you with his own body heat, to keep you warm during cold nights?”
“I guess that’ll have to do,” Carter grumbled.
They fell asleep in each other’s arms.
Long before dawn, though, they writhed against each other on the sleeping bag, restlessly. Awakening in a sleepy yet aroused state, they were both manfully excited, and they squirmed against each other in a drunken, passionate embrace, face to face at first and then face to thigh. Perhaps it was the alcohol they’d drunk, but Carter felt numb, although in an oddly pleasurable way. He fell asleep before he succeeded either in reaching his own climax or bringing Stash to his.
When Carter woke up again in the wee hours of the night he found that he had reversed positions and he was, in fact, in precisely the same position he had found himself that first fateful morning after he’d slept in the same bed with Stash. It might as well have been the same room in the wildlife hostel, the same bed. He eased himself away from Stash this time to drink in the beauty of his naked body.
With the pressure of Carter’s body removed, Stash turned easily his sleep onto his back. Carter ran his hands along him, from his smooth forehead to his strong shoulders and hard chest, down his flat belly and slender hips, his firm, full thighs and the proof of his manhood—which happened to be limp in repose at the moment.
Carter, however, was in his usual morning condition of intense need and he couldn’t resist the temptation to climb aboard his friend’s lovely, sleeping body, to lie along it and begin rhythmically to rub his stiff dick against him. After many minutes of the most intense pleasure for Carter, Stash woke up and looked him curiously in the eyes, his own bright blue eyes not angry so much as puzzled.
“What the fuck are you doing?” he asked.
"It’s what the sex researchers call frottage,” Carter panted. “It’s a form of safe sex, I guess you’d call it.”
“Oh, yeah, safe sex,” Stash said sleepily, and he pressed his hips up against Carter, increasing the other guy’s pleasure enormously. Their hard cocks were rubbing together, and, even without any manual stimulation, the friction was intense enough to bring on all of the warning signs of approaching orgasm for them both. “Safe sex is something I suppose we ought to do all we can to encourage. Rub away, you horny son of a bitch. This is kind of hot, as a matter of fact.”
Carter drew out the long, delicious moments of his pleasure as long as he could and then, with a sudden frantic burst of excitement, he seized Stash’s mouth with his and he held the kiss until he felt his sperm gushing free from the head of his pulsating cock, which was now jammed tightly between Stash’s hot, sweaty thighs. Carter was still coming when he groped down between their bodies, found Stash’s prick, and quickly stroked it past the point of no return, wetting his palm and fingers with the slimy fluid that flow
ed from his buddy’s agitated piss slit as he too climaxed.
After Carter finally slid away from him and relinquished his sticky grip on his dick, Stash broke their contact abruptly and grabbed a towel.
“Okay, now that you’ve taken advantage of me—we agreed to go skinny dipping, remember,” Stash said.
“You’re going to hold me to that?”
“Absolutely. Move your ass. Race you to the water.”
“Shit!” But Carter followed Stash out of the tent and joined him in a naked, barefoot dash across the gravel and sand of the beach, and into the water—which was every bit as shockingly icy as Carter had anticipated.
Gasping, they retreated back into the tent, where they toweled themselves dry.
"We’ve got to get dressed. The sun will be up soon. We’re probably lagging behind Bill and Alonzo already,” Stash said, as he vigorously toweled his gorgeous nude body.
“No, we’re not,” Carter said, also availing himself of a towel and studying his lover. He wondered if he could tempt Stash back into bed with him for some more body rubbing, or another sex act, perhaps a reciprocal hand job or blow job. “It’s still pitch dark outside, and there’s no sign of them stirring.”
“Well, come on, get dressed anyway. We’ve got to get moving.”
“Must we?”
“We planned on filming the broch at sunrise,” Stash reminded Carter.
“The sun isn’t rising yet. You set your wristwatch alarm for too soon.”
“Apparently I did. We still have some time to kill. So fuck it!”
“Fuck me.” Carter grabbed hold of Stash and pulled him down onto the sleeping bag on top of him. “Fuck, this is hot,” Carter moaned. “Isn’t it?”
“Yeah, you’re hot,” Stash responded. “But—goddamn it—all this game playing, between the two of us. Such a farce! Sometimes I hate your fucking stud guts!”
“Do you?”
Desire in the Isles Page 24