Goldsands

by William Maltese

  "I knew this bird was somehow coming between us, but I thought that was only because you were using her as an excuse to criticize the job I was doing as director,” Peter confessed, shaking his head. “I thought you were brooding childishly, because you didn't get the job and I did."

  "I still think the job should have been mine,” Gil said, wishing to make that point perfectly clear. “However, the fact that Dr. Kenny wanted you, not me, to take over for him, has never clouded my true feelings for you."

  "You're still interested in sucking and fucking me, then?” Peter asked. “You're still interested in me fucking and sucking you?"

  Gil was eager to fall into Peter's strong arms but was aware that doing so would only upset the falcon and send the poor bird into another nose dive. “Fucking and sucking you, and vice versa, is all I've been thinking about lately."

  "Stealing my line, aren't you?” Peter asked with a wide smile. A slight breeze caught his hair and tousled it attractively. Gil would have liked his fingers to follow through with some similar tousling but resisted the temptation.

  "Well, then,” Gil said, wondering if it was time to make his exit before anything spoiled the moment. “I shall leave you two and get back to whatever new shards of pottery and bone pieces that may have been discovered in my absence.” He got up.

  "Don't go, Gil!” Peter said. “Please.” He came to his feet, the falcon fluttering her wings to maintain balance during the sudden move. “Share this moment with me, will you?” Peter carefully unfastened the hood and pulled it free of the bird's head. Phoenix blinked her large eyes to adjust to the light, eyeing Gil and Peter before turning to a panorama probably well-remembered from times past when those distances had been covered without the constriction of creance, leash, or jess. “I want our whole life to be a mutual sharing of things,” Peter said. He raised his left arm suddenly, and then dropped it, forcing the hawk loose. The bird became airborne, flapping her wings as she entered the sky, probably wondering why she hadn't yet been abruptly pulled up short to end her flight. Peter tugged off the gauntlet and let it and the hood fall at his feet. He moved closer to Gil, wrapping an arm around Gil's waist, holding Gil tightly side-to-side, as they watched Phoenix spiral upward on air currents produced by the sun's heating the rugged stones and sand below. “She belongs there, doesn't she?” Peter said, speaking into Gil's hair. “Just as you belong with me.” He gave Gil a more forceful squeeze as the falcon soared higher, ever higher.

  Gil listened for the dissonant tone of bewit bells but heard none. He realized for the first time that the bird wasn't wearing bells—or dangling jesses. It hadn't been flown to be called back to the hand. It had been flown to its freedom. Peter had given it back to the sky, to the wind, to the sun. That the jesses had already been off when Gil had reached the top of the ridge meant Peter had been preparing to do what he'd just done even before Gil had joined him.

  "Peter, I...” Gil said, turning within Peter's arms. Peter interrupted him with a kiss that lingered as strong arms more firmly melted tightly muscled body to tightly muscled body.

  "You were right, Gil,” Peter whispered. “I shouldn't have taken the falcon! Shhhh!” he insisted, sensing Gil was about to protest when protestations were no longer necessary. “I should never have taken her, because she deserved my time and my love, and I could give her neither. My time I had already committed to my profession, and my love I had already committed to you."

  "Peter, Peter,” Gil said, kissing Peter's warm chest at Peter's open shirt collar. Above them, Phoenix soared, nothing more than a diminishing speck in the clear blue sky.

  "I've turned the falcon free,” Peter said, his next embrace taking Gil's breath away, “but I'll never let you go, Gil Goldsands. Never!"

  "Never!” Gil agreed readily.

  "The bird may need freedom,” Peter said, nibbling Gil's neck and cheek to one ear, “but I need you."

  "And I need you, stud!” Gil admitted, having never known contentment like this before being captured by Peter's love and vice versa. Gil held to Peter, fearful the handsome man might disappear as suddenly as the falcon had faded to nothingness into the heights above them.

  Peter slowly opened Gil's shirt to expose a bit of naked chest to sunshine whose warmth provided but a portion of the heat building between them. He gently bit one of Gil's revealed nipples, then Gil's neck, then Gil's chin, and finally Gil's eager lips.

  Gil's hard nipples chafed the front of his partially opened shirt, growing tauter in their eagerness to touch the naked hardness of Peter's muscled chest. Gil tore at Peter's shirt buttons, it having suddenly become too time consuming to master the unfastening any other way. More and more of Peter's skin was exposed to warm outside air as kisses continued to rain down on Gil's eager mouth, cheeks, and Adam's-apple punctuated throat.

  "I want you, Gil,” Peter whispered; his breath was a maddening caress within Gil's ear. Gil wanted him, too, and he would never stop wanting him.

  They shed the rest of their clothes and used them to make a soft place on which to lie down. The hardness of ancient stone beneath that thin covering of cloth went unnoticed in a swirl of mutual need that would have converted a bed of thorns into one of seemingly soft-caressing rose petals.

  Peter's magnificent body was all sun-warm, and golden. Gil delighted in the feel of it against him, in the taste of it, and smell of it. Its hardness was overlaid with velvety softness; it was salty and pungent with sweat and lime cologne. Peter gave Gil free access to his nakedness, just as Gil gave Peter free access to Gil's own. They were each other's, for the taking, and Gil delighted in the exploration of his fingers and lips along the rippled ridges of Peter's hard shoulders. Gil touched Peter everywhere, made bold by passion. His fingers dallied in the damp hair at the nape of Peter's neck, traced downward along Peter's chest muscles to come to rest—for the briefest of moment—over Peter's pounding heart. The very essence of the man was the detected beat felt by Gil's fingertips. He kissed down to Peter's muscled thighs and forward to where Peter's hard and powerful cock waited. Gil gulped down a major portion of Peter's steely erection.

  "Love me, Gil,” Peter begged beneath a ceiling of blue Egyptian sky, his and Gil's bed a nest of discarded clothing atop snow-colored sandstone. “Love, me, love me, love me!"

  Gil's mouth disgorged tasty cock and invited, “Fuck me.” He rolled to his back, opened his legs and accepted the quick positioning of Peter's lower body to do just as Gil had requested. Peter's weight was heavy and urgent. Gil wrapped one arm around Peter's strong neck. The fingers of Gil's one hand clenched in anticipation; the fingers of his other hand splayed upon and against the ground in seeming communication with all of nature as regarded the intense pleasure having taken hold of his entire body.

  Gil reached for and took a firm hold of Peter's cock. He personally positioned its pre-cum wet head to the wink of Gil's eagerly awaiting sphincter. Without waiting for Peter to exert the pressure behind the cock to slide the dick into place, Gil rocked his ass up and over Peter's erection.

  "Sweet Jesus, virgin ass!” Peter moaned; his hips automatically bucked the rest of his inches all of the way inside.

  Their fuck, that followed, was fast and furious until that moment when both men hung precariously balanced on the very brinks of simultaneous orgasms. Only then, did they spontaneously calm, in unspoken mutual agreement, and came to a complete stop, each savoring the breathlessness that suspended them on the verge of shared mind-blowing ejaculations.

  When they resumed lovemaking, the mechanics of their screw were no more nor less than what occurred each and every day within the bedrooms of millions and millions of men and women, around the world, but the attending emotional elements were such that made their fucking truly unique and special..

  Gil's fingers entwined Peter's hair; Peter gargled low groans against the throbbing pulse spot on Gil's neck. “I love you,” Gil hopelessly said and lifted his head, to better luxuriate in a close-up viewing of Peter's black hair tum
bled over the handsome man's forehead; Peter's eyes, golden, were dilated even in the brightness of the Egyptian sun; Peter's lips were slightly parted; Peter's powerful neck was tensed and striated with straining cords of tauting muscles.

  "Gil,” Peter uttered in a hushed voice that said in one word the thousand-and-one things Gil had always wanted to hear from another man. Gil's lips once again sampled the pleasure Peter's lips so willingly and skillfully offered. Peter's whole body kissed Gil's body, his hands sliding Gil's back, lifting Gil from the hardness of the stone. His cupping fingers offered Gil's ass a supporting cushion as Peter lovingly fucked his lover's powerfully responding body.

  Gil gasped in wonder as Peter's movements led Gil off into those worlds only this one man, loved, could ever show him. Peter guided Gil one step at a time, never hurrying lest one or the other of them miss those nuances of subtler satisfaction to be experienced along the way. Peter took Gil to the top of small hills, sensuously slid him into gentle valleys, coaxed him ever onward and upward to hills always higher than the ones just climbed, to valleys never quite as deep as the ones just left behind, until ahead loomed the final ascent—a mountain whose lofty summit would be gained only by Peter having so expertly prepared and conditioned the both of them for the challenge and the ecstasy of its climb.

  When Peter, now, paused occasionally, along their way, to battle inner demands insistent that he proceed at a faster pace that might leave Gil behind, those moments of pause were precious to Gil who took real pleasure in the resulting silences punctuated solely by their combined heavy breathing. Also, Gil took extreme joy in their being two united as one—his body merged with, and melded to, Peter's body. Finally, at long last, Gil had found, in having discovered Peter, a demanding cock to match perfectly the tight confines of Gil's ass. It was as if they had been one and the same, in some other lifetime, separated, and only now made blessedly and blissfully whole once again.

  "Gil, Gil!” Peter whispered, having surmounted that final mountain. His fingers kneaded Gil's newly gym-toned flesh, his kisses lingering on sweet lips which groaned passion of their own.

  Gil ran his hands down Peter's sweaty back, feeling muscles working beneath damp flesh as fingers glided solid butt-curves that dimpled each time Peter's long cock slid the total distance up Gil's tightly fitting asshole. Gil's anus collapsed more firmly about its phallic prize—anal lining having become like an exotic blossom whose petals folded inward within the sweet heat of Egyptian summer sunshine. Gil was engulfed in sexual euphoria to be found on that dizzying mountainside; he wanted to go higher and higher. Peter obliged by making Gil literally convulse within intense pleasure. No man could have done so much for another man as Peter and his cock did for Gil and for Gil's asshole—as Gil and his ass did for Peter and for Peter's cum-priming erection.

  "My love!” Peter moaned; his mouth was against Gil's ear, his voice triggering more ecstasy. “My handsome studly lover!” He arched his body so he could see more of Gil; Peter's face was made more handsome than Gil had ever seen it by the near peaking of passions inside Peter's taut and getting tauter body. Peter's hair was mussed and damp; his face was flushed even through his heavy tan; his lips were sensuously pouted; his eyes were burning hot pools of molten gold.

  "Peter!” Gil exclaimed, knowing Peter had brought him to the top of the mountain and was there with him, now, neither having been left behind. There was nowhere for either of them to go but into the final glory of the awaiting abyss. So, Peter kissed Gil, and Gil kissed Peter, and the two soared together into the void, held aloft by buffeting waves of almost unendurable ecstasy that buoyed them far longer than either could have ever thought possible—although not nearly for as long as the airstreams far above allowed the soaring of the lone free-again falcon that was the only witness to the passion.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  AND DIDN'T I SEE THIS COMING! That was what Gil thought. Pure unadulterated, one-hundred percent déjà-vu. It did no good whatsoever to pretend otherwise. And Peter knew exactly what Gil was thinking.

  "It's not the same, Gil,” Peter assured. Gil, though, had heard enough of the phone conversation to know Peter might prematurely have to go back to England, just as Frederic Donas had gone back for a family crisis. “Gil!” Peter said loudly. When that didn't work, he came over and firmly took hold of Gil's arms, just short of giving him a get-real shake. “Please do not begin, again, this nonsense that has you replaying something you've fixated on from the past."

  That Gil had come to look upon his abnormal fascination with Geraldine Fowler's tragedy as likely romanticism-out-of-perspective, spawned early within the receptive mind of his lonely and chubby youth, there was no denying what was being played out, here and now, that certainly seemed to echo aspects of the past.

  "Besides, it's not as if it's definite that I even will have to go,” Peter reminded. “Uncle George has gone to hospital many times with his aches and pains, and he's always come back."

  Oh, Peter would go, all right. Gil knew he would. If there might be a brief pause before he left, it was only to provide Gil with a taste of what might have been before the onset of inevitable no-Goldsands-and-Donas happy-ever-after ending.

  "Look at me, Gil,” Peter said, holding his lover at arm's length. He used his cupped right hand to elevate Gil's chin when Gil refused to look at Peter on his own. “Would it help if I swore to you that I'm not leaving you for good, even if I do have to go back to England before you join me there? I'm certainly not running off to some rich woman waving her moneybags from the wings. If I go—if, Gil—it will only be to sit at a dying man's bedside. Although my uncle and I have never been very close, I do owe him the courtesy of not letting him die alone."

  "Yes, of course, you do,” Gil agreed, still wishing it wasn't going to happen.

  "What do you say to our taking the day off and going someplace?” Peter suggested. “How about to Aswân to see Abdul? Since the fragment of mace head disappeared, he's managed to make himself rather scarce, don't you think? It might be fun to drop in and see how he and his oil wells are doing. He'd probably like to hear, too, my version of how his falcon got purposely released. It will do neither me nor Uncle George any good for me to spend the day waiting, here, for bad news that may never come. So, what do you say?"

  "The group needs both Land Rovers,” Gil said.

  "They can make do with the better one,” Peter insisted. “You know they can. You made out well enough with it just yesterday morning, didn't you?"

  "I suppose Betty wouldn't mind sticking around the house,” Gil replied, giving in because he did want the day with Peter. “She can catch upon her sketching and do whatever she's wanted to do with the photo files."

  "It's settled, then,” Peter decided with authoritative finality. “The boss and his lover are going to take another day off. One of the advantages of being boss is being able to set the work schedule, right?"

  "Right,” Gil agreed. It wasn't as if he hadn't known Peter's Uncle George was ill. He'd read about the man's bad health even before Gil had headed off for Egypt. He wrapped his arms securely around Peter's neck and held tightly, fearful the phone was going to ring, then and there, before they could even get started for Aswân .

  It was still early when they set out in the Land Rover with its faulty transmission. Gil wasn't unaware that the car could break down anywhere, leaving them stranded while doctors in England tried desperately to summon Peter to console his uncle on death's doorstep. That fear, no matter how strong, was overridden by another that told Gil he should be gathering up whatever memories he could stockpile; they were liable to have to last him for a very long time.

  They slowly maneuvered the dusty and pot-holed road between Hierakonpolis and Idfu, feeling the vehicle shudder around them as if it were giving up the ghost. Their final emergence onto the smoother road at Idfu had them literally breaking into simultaneous cheers, followed by laughter. “What if Abdul isn't at the villa?” Gil asked, finally able to talk without the w
ashboard road making him sound as if he were yodeling. “What if he's off at some drilling site—maybe even the one at Hierakonpolis?"

  "We usually hear his chopper when it flies over, right?” Peter reminded. “Besides, if he's not home, we can ask to wait for him. I'm ready for a soothing drink and a bit of relaxation in the comfortable surroundings of his veranda.” They crossed the Nile at Idfu and turned south on the highway that ran along the east side of the river from Cairo to Aswân. If the roadway seemed in good condition, that was only because they were comparing it to what they had gone through to reach it. “If Abdul just happens to be gone for several days, we'll at least have had the opportunity of getting away from the dig for a little while with each other,” Peter added. “Being in the same house with you, but sleeping in different beds, has led me to question severely the wisdom of our trying so hard to retain our professionalism, as regards the dig project. Hell, everyone knows we're lovers!"

  "Seeing as how you and I are the senior members of our group, we're supposedly examples for the younger members to follow,” Gil reminded, although he doubted Peter really needed reminding, “I'm afraid I don't see us really amending the present living arrangements, as pleasurable and convenient as doing so would be for the both of us. If we officially succumb to any blatant flaunting of our relationship, what do you want to bet that Reginald will want to shack up with Tammy. If I'm not mistaken, Gary and Pam even seem to be hitting it off quite nicely, too. There would be a lot of mothers and fathers, with deep pocketbooks, more than a little upset as to how an originally seemingly harmless archaeological dig in Hierakonpolis suddenly morphed into an experiment in free-love."

  "Point taken,” Peter agreed in good humor. “However, I'll be glad when this dig is over so you and I can start sleeping in one and the same bed without causing any kind of stir—except the stir of my cock in your asshole and vice versa."