by Jules Jones
He added some alkaline batteries to run the torches while the nicads were charged for the first time, and dragged them out of the shop. They’d been a little nervous at first, but by the time he’d done a run around the shop looking for the things he wanted, they’d lost their tension and were reluctant to leave. Once he’d got them into the car, he asked, “Is it easier for you if I’m with you in the shop?”
“Yes,” George said. “There’s someone to answer awkward questions for us.”
They’d managed very well, but having him there must have given them extra confidence about being able to handle things they hadn’t encountered before. He could sympathise. He’d done enough travelling on business to know how awkward it was to deal with little things that weren’t what you were used to.
* * * * *
They got the ladders into the cave without incident, although it took two trips -- and even though he ended up being left behind at the car, to save space as much as to look after the second ladder. He was worried about letting George and Patrick take the boat with only a few minutes of instruction, but as George pointed out, the two shapechangers would be in a better position to swim for it if anything did go wrong with the boat.
On the third trip, they took him and the remaining small items. There had been one last shopping stop, for lunch and enough bottled water to last several days. Between that and the Thermoses of freshly made tea, there was enough to justify a separate trip for the smaller things.
Once in the cave, George and Patrick set about setting up the ladders and torches under his supervision. They asked questions as they worked, but there was no argument with his decisions. Not until he tried to help with the physical labour.
“No, Martin,” George said. “We’ll do it. You stand clear.”
“I want to take a loo-- ulp.”
George picked him up as if he weighed no more than a feather, walked a few metres, and put him down again, very carefully.
He stared up at George, suddenly reminded of just how big the two men were.
“I’m sorry,” George said. “I shouldn’t do that when we aren’t playing, but it was the easiest way to show you. We’re stronger than you, and we can shift stuff with less risk of hurting ourselves. I don’t want to risk you getting hurt when there’s no need for you to do the heavy lifting.” George stroked his cheek gently with one finger. “Forgive me?”
He saw only worry and a little fear in George’s face. “All right. I’ll be good.” George still looked worried, so he added, “And don’t fret. I know you weren’t throwing your weight around just because you could.”
George’s expression cleared. “Thanks. And it’s not just that we’re bigger than you. We might work faster with you watching and directing.”
“I’ll still need to get up the ladder to inspect stuff as you clear the top.”
“All right.” George turned and looked at the rockfall. “So shall we start now, or have lunch?”
“Lunch,” Patrick called from above them. “And before you say anything, no, it’s not just because I’m greedy. We won’t get much done before we get hungry enough to be distracted, and this could be dangerous if we’re not concentrating.” He made his way down the ladder. “What’s the time, Martin?”
Martin glanced at his watch. It was after twelve, more than late enough to stop for a lunch break. Patrick was right -- they didn’t have to eat now, but they’d get hungry soon, and hunger made for mistakes. “Lunchtime,” he declared.
“Good.” Patrick dusted his hands on his jeans and headed down the passage back to the main cave. George bent over to switch one of the torches off, then glanced up at Martin. “Do you need one of these?”
“No. I’ve got a pocket torch with me today.” It was dim but enough for walking down the passage without tripping over anything.
George switched off one torch and Martin did the other; then they walked back to the main cave. Patrick had already started laying out the picnic, so all they needed to do was go and wash their hands free of stone dust. It had been a good morning’s work.
* * * * *
They asked for a chapter of the book after lunch -- “to let the meal settle” -- but went straight back to work after the end of the chapter. Patrick and George were totally focused on moving the stone safely, and he was totally focused on watching what they were doing and keeping an eye on the roof of the passage in case there were any warning signs of further falls. It wasn’t until they took a break for afternoon tea that he thought about sex again.
George and Patrick sent him back to the main cave to organise the tea, solemnly promising that they would behave themselves and not move anything that wasn’t safe. He poured out the last of the tea from the Thermos and arranged a plate of biscuits, making a mental note to buy a camping stove if the work looked like it would take more than a few days. It would be handy to be able to make fresh tea in the cave.
He’d just finished when George came out of the passageway, stripping off his tee-shirt over his head as he walked down to the water’s edge.
Somehow the sight was even more erotic than if George had been completely naked. He watched eagerly as George bent to wash his hands in the water and then splashed water over his face and that broad chest.
George stood up straight and shook himself, sending drops of water flying, then walked up to where Martin sat on the picnic blanket. “Patrick will be along in a few minutes. He’s just thinking about whether any of the pieces we’ve already moved might be suitable for building another wall, before we bury them in rubble.” He smiled at the sight of the steaming mugs of tea. “This is the sort of thing that makes me realise why you people like that drink so much. It’s refreshing after hard work. I could almost put up with having to deal with a fire to have it.”
“I’ve been thinking about that. Use a camping stove, get that water supply tested to see whether it’s safe. It might well be, even if you do have to boil it first.”
George perked up in interest. “The spring and pool in the back cave? You can get it tested?”
“I’m not promising anything, but I can probably slip a sample to the lab at this job that might be coming up. Get them to test it.” He’d be doing some environmental work on an old industrial tip, so he had legitimate cause to have samples tested for potability, and one extra wouldn’t hurt even if he had to pay for it himself.
“Well, at least we might get something out of it if you do have to leave early.” George sat down next to him, close enough that he could smell the sweat of recent work. At other times, and with other men, he might have found it faintly unpleasant. Now it was a goad.
George glanced casually at him, then stiffened. “I think we’ve got time for a quick one before the tea cools too much.”
“How ... oh.” He could guess how. He’d been thinking of their sonar as something they switched on when needed, but of course it must be something they used as casually as he would glance around a room when having a conversation with someone. “That bloody X-ray vision of yours again, isn’t it?” He hadn’t noticed anything, but it might well only be apparent to a normal human when specifically focused on them.
George grinned at him. “You have no secrets from us.” He reached for his fly. “A quick hand job will do for now.”
The idea was nice, but, “What about Patrick?”
“Your hand’s not going to wear out, is it?”
That wasn’t what he was thinking about, but if George felt that Patrick wouldn’t feel left out, he wasn’t going to argue. He reached for his own fly.
“No,” George said. “You can wait until we’re both done.”
No, George wasn’t worried about Patrick feeling left out.
Martin sighed and reached for George instead.
Not that it was a hardship to fill his hand with a plump cock. George had reacted instantly to his own arousal, was already hard. This reminder of how big George was he didn’t mind. If he wanted to hold the full length, he’d need both hand
s, but George seemed content with just one. So he simply snuggled up to George, sitting side by side and reaching into George’s lap to stroke his cock.
George sighed in contentment and put an arm around his shoulders. “Don’t know why people rate a hand job lower on the scale. Not when it’s as good as that.”
It was just a hand job, but he was putting his full attention into it. “This is good?”
“Mmm. Bit faster now.”
He did as he was told, speeding up a little, and then a bit more, knowing he’d found the right rhythm when George said, “Oh, that’s good.”
Martin was enjoying himself, enjoying the feel of smooth skin in his hand, slipping over a hard core as he worked George’s cock. He’d have been happy to go on for a while, but George had said a quickie, so a quickie was what he’d go for. He squeezed a little harder, listened to George’s sharp intake of breath. Felt George’s grip on his shoulder tighten.
It wouldn’t take much more to finish George off. “God, I love holding your cock,” he whispered. “Big enough to satisfy anyone. It’s good having it in me, but this is good, too.” Faster stroking now, as George’s breathing quickened. “It’s big enough to get a good grip on. Too big, almost, can barely get my hand round it ...” One more stroke, and he felt it twitch in his hand, felt strong fingers dig into his shoulder. A real quickie indeed. “Want to get my mouth on it, don’t want to stop long enough to get the condoms ...”
That was enough. George came, spilling semen over Martin’s hand. He shuddered once and then was still.
“Good?” Martin asked after a moment.
“Very good.” George kissed him briefly, then said, “Better get something to clean up with -- I’d rather not have to wash these jeans for another day or two.”
He let go of George’s cock and looked around for something to wipe them both clean. One of the towels he’d brought seemed best, as that could always go back with him tonight to the washing machine at Simon’s.
By the time he’d cleaned up, Patrick had joined them. “Which do I want more? Sex or tea?”
“The tea will get cold before Martin does.”
“Tea, then.” Patrick sat down with them and picked up his mug -- but clearly wasn’t uninterested in sex, not with the bulge in his jeans. He sipped at his tea. “Ah, that’s better. Not as good as freshly made, of course, but it’s still good.”
“Martin’s got an idea about that.”
By the time he’d explained about camp stoves and water testing and how long you might be able to keep a bottle of milk in a cool cave, they’d finished the tea. His mind had been distracted, but apparently his cock hadn’t, because as soon as Patrick reached for him, it was straining the zip of his jeans.
Patrick patted him on his cock. “Glad to see you haven’t worn him out.”
“Hasn’t been touched. He’s going to have to wait for his turn.” The words were dismissive, but the tone was affectionate, and George was stroking his back.
“Just as long as he doesn’t get too distracted while he’s doing me.” Patrick undid his own fly with a sigh of relief. “That’s better. Come on, Martin, time for you to earn your keep.”
Considering who best qualified as kept men around here, that was pretty damned funny, but he didn’t think it would be appreciated if he laughed out loud. Not when Patrick clearly did need a hand. Patrick’s cock was standing proud now, firm and solid. Martin took hold of it and found it almost the same size and shape as George’s. A good double handful, one that invited him to wrap both hands around it. He started with only the one, assuming that Patrick would say if he wanted more.
Patrick closed his eyes and smiled. “Oh, I needed that. Bit harder, Martin.”
He did as Patrick asked, squeezing that little bit harder, stroking that little bit more roughly. Patrick put an arm round him, dragged him closer. “Come here.” Then he changed his mind. “Hang on, I want something to lean back against.”
Martin stopped stroking, but kept a tight grip on Patrick’s cock as they shuffled back the short distance to the cave wall. George was already there, rearranging cushions, and Patrick sank back onto them. “Thanks.” He looked at Martin. “In my lap, you. I want to hold you.”
He scrambled to kneel over Patrick, then settled himself comfortably so that he still had room to work Patrick’s cock. One or two strokes just to test, and Patrick said, “Yes, that works,” and put his arms around him.
Still no touch on his own cock, but it was good to feel Patrick’s arms around him. He watched Patrick’s face as he stroked his hand hard along Patrick’s cock, watching his arousal. Fast, very fast. Patrick must have been thinking about this even as he’d been drinking his tea, though he’d said nothing at the time. Eyes closed, leaning his head back against the wall, he was panting a little now.
Now Martin switched to using both hands, one on the shaft and one teasing the head, but it was too much for his co-ordination to manage when he badly wanted a hand on his own cock. He settled for having both hands on the shaft, a double handful that he could barely contain. A couple of strokes while he thought about what to do next; then he let go with one hand and licked his palm. Other hand right to the top of the shaft so that he could pull back the foreskin and draw his wet palm across the exposed tip of Patrick’s cock.
Patrick gasped and grabbed hold of his head, drawing him down for a kiss. Tongue thrusting into his mouth, fingers digging into his back.
One last jerk and squeeze and Patrick was coming, whimpering softly as he did so.
They held that position for a moment, until Patrick had finished coming. Martin couldn’t come himself, not without more than they’d given him so far. But it didn’t matter, not when he was aroused, not when his mouth and hand were full. Damp warmth on his hand, tender skin against his palm, and the solid core of cock beneath that. And silence, save for the sound of the ripples against the sand and of three men breathing hard.
George picked him up, hands under his arms, lifting him away from Patrick with no trouble at all save for Patrick being reluctant to let go. George said, “I want him,” and Patrick freed him, though Martin could see the reluctance in his eyes.
George set him on his feet but stayed standing behind him, one arm tight around his waist, the other groping for his fly. Then George found his zip and pulled it down.
Blessed relief at last, only now he wanted the pressure back. George gave it to him, a big hand wrapped around his cock. He sighed with relief, knowing that the waiting was done. First he’d done George, and then he’d had to wait through tea, and then he’d done Patrick. And at last it was now his turn.
“This is what you’ve been waiting for,” George murmured in his ear, rubbing his cockhead with that big thumb. “And you’ve been very good about it, so I’ll let you come quickly.”
Patrick was watching them, looking sated now, but very definitely interested in what George was doing to him. He relaxed in George’s hold; warm body at his back, warm hand around his cock, and Patrick’s hot gaze upon them both.
He could feel George’s renewed erection pressed against him, but there was no urgency to it, no suggestion that he need worry about what George wanted. Not when George was totally focused on kissing his neck and stroking his cock.
“I’m going to count to three,” George said -- and Martin knew that he could do it, could come when George told him to.
“One.”
“Two.”
“Three,” Patrick chimed in.
And he came, spilling his come over George’s hand and onto the sand.
George held him tight, one strong arm wrapped around him to hold him up, one strong hand to cradle his cock until he was done. Then George let go of his cock and simply held him until his legs had stopped shaking and he could stand alone. Even then George held him, only letting go when Patrick said, “I want a cuddle.” George picked him up and carried him back to Patrick, set him down carefully, and sat down beside him. They leaned back against the wall in
silence for a few moments, before George finally said, “I suppose we should get back to work.”
Chapter Thirteen
By the end of the afternoon they had cleared a gap big enough to look through, though it was still too small for either George or Patrick to squeeze into. Martin climbed up on the impromptu scaffolding to inspect it. “I could probably get through if I had to, but better to leave it for now.”
“We don’t want you breaking your leg or something on the other side of that pile where we can’t get to you.” George nudged him so that he moved aside, and looked through the gap. “I can’t make out much detail, but it feels like a big space on the other side. Let’s have the torch.”
George spent a minute or two carefully examining what was visible through the gap, then handed the torch back to him. “See what you make of it.”
There wasn’t really much to see through the narrow gap. The corridor definitely went on for some metres, and what he could see of the roof and walls seemed undamaged. “It feels empty to you?”
“Yes, but that’s not saying a lot. There could be a lot of rubble on the floor without it actually blocking the corridor. The corridor does go back at least twenty feet. I think there’s something after that, but it feels smooth. A corner or ramp, perhaps. Can’t see enough to be sure.”
At least it looked as if there was something beyond this fall that was worth investigating. He tried to estimate the thickness of the rubble wall. It seemed to be only a metre or so here, and this side of the fall was relatively vertical rather than a loose heap; but without actually getting into the gap and looking down, it was hard to tell whether there was a lot of loose scree piled up behind. “We’re not going to finish clearing a big enough gap tonight. Let’s leave it for now and start fresh in the morning.”
George looked down at Patrick, who was standing on the floor. “Do you want to come up and have another look with the torch?”