Chapter Thirteen
“Tell me about your songs.”
Troy opened his eyes and looked at Brian bobbing beside him.
It was still early one morning, and his muscles burned pleasantly from the wood-cutting competition they’d just finished.
Since sawing firewood with their pocket chainsaw was such a never-ending chore, they’d taken to racing and timing each other with Brian’s watch.
Troy had won by three seconds, with Brian vowing to avenge his honor.
Now they floated on their backs, a breeze skimming over the barely cool water. They’d have to get into the shade soon so they didn’t sunburn their junk, but they had a few more minutes to loll.
“What about them?” Troy asked.
“I don’t know, everything. I know you don’t want to, but…please?”
Troy sighed. “It’s not like it’s secret, it’s just…embarrassing, I guess.”
“Why?” Brian asked quietly, drawing lazy circles in the water with his hand.
“It’s super lame. I only write little bits and pieces. Scraps of stories.”
“What kinds?”
“I don’t know. Different things.”
“Well, I like different things.”
A wisp of a cloud drifted above, and Troy watched its progress. “One is about a kid living in a small town, and he tries to fix an old windmill. The windmill’s a metaphor for his fucked-up family.” Troy’s cheeks went hot. “Just stupid stuff.”
“It’s not stupid. At all. I’d listen to it. I love it when you sing.”
Troy smiled at the rush of pleasure. “Thank you. I have some in my head—lyrics, I mean. But they don’t sound right when I say them out loud. Need to write them down first. Make sense of them.”
“You could write them in the sand.”
For some reason, the thought left Troy with a bittersweet pang of sadness. “It’s not the same. They’d be blown away. Scattered. I’ll write them when we get back.” It helped to speak of when, not if. “While I guzzle Coke and eat Doritos. And mmm, pizza.”
“You know what else I could go for? Ice. Have I mentioned that I’d sign away my first born for a cold beer?”
Troy laughed. “Once or twice, dude. Oh man, can you imagine how good ice cream would taste right now? Haagen-Daz cookie dough. Or mint chocolate.”
“Pralines and cream. Followed by beer.”
They rattled off the food they were craving the most that day. Troy could feel Brian’s eyes on him, and concentrated on the water as he spread his toes wide, flexing his feet, before relaxing them with a little splash.
“I’d like to hear one of your songs one day.”
Troy wasn’t sure why it made him so uncomfortable. “But it’s not the right kind of music.”
“Why not?”
“We obviously do pop in the band. Dancey, bubble-gum stuff. Fun stuff. It’s not like I can suddenly become a folky songwriter strumming on a guitar.”
“Why not?” Brian repeated.
Troy huffed a little. “I just can’t. I barely know how to play the guitar anymore.”
“Couldn’t you learn?”
“Well, I could, but…” He squirmed, paddling with his hands. “Even if I did, it wouldn’t sell. No one would want my music.”
“That’s why you’re so afraid to write it?”
“Folk doesn’t sell.” Troy echoed his father’s words.
“So?” Brian quirked a smile. “I’m playing devil’s advocate. You’ve got millions, right? What does it matter if it sells?”
“Of course it matters. It has to be a hit.”
“Says who? Your dad?” Brian reached over and smoothed his hand down Troy’s arm, leaving goosebumps behind.
“Well…yeah.” He shook his head. “Stupid, huh? I’m a grown-ass man, and my dad’s dead, and I’m still trying to please him. Why am I doing that?”
“Because you’re fucked up.”
Laughter burst out of Troy. “Is that your diagnosis, Dr. Sinclair?”
“Yep.” Brian laughed too. “Island therapy complete. You’re fucked up. I’m fucked up. We’re all fucked up.”
Smiling, Troy tasted salt as he brushed back his hair. “But would people really want to hear my music?”
“I would.”
Troy rolled his eyes. “Of course you would. You’re my—” The unfinished thought hung there with the delicate wisps of cloud in the unending blue sky, and his heart thumped. “Friend,” he finished lamely.
What else would he be? From the corner of his eye, he could see Brian turn his head to watch him intently.
“We’d better get out before we burn.” Troy paddled in, and Brian followed.
They splashed their way out of the water, the fine sand sticking.
While Brian took his turn with the signaling mirror, Troy cut up a fresh papaya to share.
Juice dripped down Brian’s chin, and Troy swiped his tongue over it and then into Brian’s mouth.
While they shared sweet kisses in the shade, sea water evaporated on their skin, the day growing hotter with each passing minute.
Troy reminded himself that they weren’t going to overthink it. They’d agreed, and there was no reason to analyze it. So what if they had fun together trapped here? None of it meant anything. Still, the unvoiced word whispered in Troy’s mind, low and insistent.
Boyfriend.
“Mmm. Yeah, right there.”
Troy dug his elbow into the knot under Brian’s shoulder blade. “Harder?”
In a breathy, porny voice, Brian begged, “Give me all you’ve got.”
Laughing, Troy swatted Brian’s arm. Brian was facedown on a blanket by the campfire, Troy straddling his ass. The cotton of their boxers teased Troy’s cock. “Oh, I’ll give it to you, baby.”
Brian’s low laughter settled over Troy like honey. “Come on, big—” He broke off as the sky suddenly unleashed a torrent of rain.
It must have been later than Troy thought, or the rain was early.
He supposed it didn’t matter as they scurried to uncap water bottles and unzip the suitcase.
Then he kicked off his boxers and enjoyed the shower, the rain cool and refreshing.
Brian followed suit, and they spread their arms to the sky, the smoke from the doused fire pungent.
It was still raining when they crawled inside the teepee and into each other’s arms under the gauzy net.
Troy loved the feel of their slick skin sliding together, and he straddled Brian’s hips to lean over and rub his cheek against the wet fur on Brian’s chest. Brian squeezed and stroked Troy’s body.
Then his fingers dipped into the crease of Troy’s ass, and Troy groaned.
He pushed his knees farther apart, eager for Brian’s touch on his hole.
He’d been thinking about it since they’d blown each other the day before, wondering what it would feel like to have Brian’s whole finger—or more—inside him.
He’d played with his ass sometimes when he jerked off, and some of his girlfriends had done what Brian did during blow jobs, but never anything deeper than a fingertip.
Now Troy wanted more. He didn’t care if it was crossing some line that made him gay, because what did it matter?
He was clearly bi, at least. He’d sucked another man’s dick, and he’d liked it.
More than liked it, and he wasn’t ashamed.
This was their little world, and he wanted to feel good.
Wanted to make Brian feel good. He’d never craved anything the way he wanted Brian with such a consuming, primal pull.
As Brian’s finger found his hole, circling it, Troy’s breath hitched. The rain still poured outside in a steady rush, and soon the moat around their teepee would overflow, but he only cared about one thing. Lifting his head, he put his lips to Brian’s ear.
“Will you fuck me?”
He felt Brian shudder against him, his finger pressing at Troy’s hole.
Troy whispered, “I want to know what it feels like. I want…all of it. All of you.” Holding his breath, he lifted his head and met Brian’s eyes, barely visible in the gloom. Brian’s finger was still on his ass, but he didn’t say anything, and Troy’s heart skipped.
Did I cross the line? Is this too gay? Am I a freak?
With his other hand, Brian reached up to cup Troy’s face, his gaze intense. “You want my cock?”
Exhaling in a rush of relief, Troy nodded vigorously. “I want it. Want you to fuck me. Come inside me.” He hesitated. “I’m negative. Are you?” He frankly didn’t really care. They could be on this island for years. Forever. He needed this.
“I am. God, I want you.”
They kissed, a mash of lips and teeth, and Troy rolled his hips, his dick almost painfully stiff against Brian’s. He rubbed against it, feeling Brian’s length and thickness. He wasn’t sure it would fit, but the thought of it inside him opened a well of longing, his balls tightening.
“Please, Brian. Give it to me.”
Brian’s chest rose and fell rapidly, and he ran his thumb over Troy’s mouth. “Don’t want to hurt you. You ever been fucked? With a toy, maybe?”
Nerves singing, fire swept over Troy’s skin. He shook his head. He’d never been pegged or anything, but holy shit, did he want to be fucked now. “Do it.” He attacked Brian’s mouth, biting at his lip. “Fuck me.”
“We don’t have anything to—” Brian gasped softly.
“Wait.” Urging Troy off him, he pushed up the net and crawled to his toiletry bag.
On his side, Troy watched Brian’s pale ass, wondering what it would be like to bury his cock there.
He had to grip the base of his dick, squeezing mercilessly until he had control.
Brian returned with a little glass bottle. “Hair oil. Almost forgot I had it.”
“Good thing I didn’t use it before.” Troy smiled, butterflies flapping in his belly as they looked at the bottle and then each other. “So how…”
“I did it sometimes with the ex. Knees and elbows. But you’re going to be really tight. How about…” With gentle hands, Brian rolled Troy onto his other side, lifting his top leg and bending his knee. “This good to start?”
“Uh-huh.” His ass did feel more exposed, and he breathed shallowly through his mouth as he waited. “It’s good.”
When Brian pressed a slick finger to his hole, Troy tensed. He felt the soft caress of Brian’s lips on the back of his neck, then the puff of his whisper. “Relax. Let me in.”
The emergency blanket crinkled under his hip as Troy shifted and forced a deep breath. “Okay,” he murmured.