Please see original story (www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/adult-friends/shark-reef/) for warnings and copyright. Highlights: All fiction. All rights reserved. Includes sex between adult men. Go away if any of that is against your local rules. Practice safer sex than my characters. Write if you like, but flamers end up in the nasty bits of future stories. Donate to Nifty TODAY at donate.nifty.org/donate.html to keep the cum coming.
"One. You." His voice by this time was only slightly louder than the breeze.
"Oh. Ah, okay. So the rest of that...? Well, at least it leaves us a lot of conversation starters!"
Shark Reef 5: Fair Play
By Bear Pup
I pulled him to me and laid down. He stiffened and I could smell the fear. "W-What do you want me to do?"
"Right now? Sleep through the heat of the day." I sighed. "Ian, I'm not gonna rape you or beat you or kill you or whatever the fuck else you think. First, I not that upset and not, at the moment, that hard up. Second, isn't it kinda nice to sleep next to someone, when you think about it?"
The kid stared at me for the longest time, his face a strange mixture of worry, doubt and disappointment. He settled into my side though, and we napped in the midday and afternoon breezes, both of us getting up to use 'the facilities' a time or two. When the sub was sharply slanting, we roused ourselves and drank the last of the standing water through the filter, reserving the bottles. When we went to retrieve the fish, the stench from the ziplock was overwhelming. Okay, note to self: Unrefrigerated fish = Bad.
We dressed this time. I wasn't repeating the danger of getting burned even though there was less than an hour of light left. I also spayed Ian's face, neck and shoulder before he reluctantly put on the shirt.
I took one of the leaf-wrapped parcels and sat down to try fishing again and asked Ian to throw the others out into the water. The look of loathing and revulsion I got in return made me debate whether to laugh or cry. I took the baggie and tossed each little packet in a slightly different direction. There was a flurry of motion in the water moments after each splashed down. More than once, a graceful gunmetal-and-black fin sliced through the area. The sharks hadn't wandered off apparently. Well, so much for a nice swim in the lagoon. Gilligan never had to deal with this shit.
That put me in mind of coconuts as I threaded my safety-pin hook with its morsel of smelly meat. How did you tell if a coconut was ripe or even edible, and how did you get the things? Shark Week and the Discovery Channel leave out so many important details. You can bet I'd be writing them a very stern letter.
The instant luck of the first fishing attempt was not repeated. My third bite took the hook and ate through the thread-line, leaving me cursing and frankly pissed off. In another flashback to Shark Week, I remembered something about 'metal leaders'. Hmm. I went to McGeek and took out one of his diminishing supplied of Cat-5 cable and used his baby razor-knife to split it open. I was very careful to keep everything as intact as possible, including the sheathing I cut away. Who the hell knew what might come in handy.
I took three of the inner wires and braided them like I'd done the thread (easier said than done, since each pair was all twisted around itself to start). I was making some sort of complicate thing at the top when Ian asked shyly if he could try. He doubled everything back over into itself to form an 'eye splice' then quietly explain that he'd been a scouter when younger.
"Ian, how old are you, actually?"
"20. Why?"
"Just wondering, really." I took his finished product and realized it was perfect for the job. A roughly metre-long braid of copper and plastic. I attached it to the thread-line and baited the hook, trying to drop it where the whatever-it-was had bitten through before. "I'm just surprised you could get to 20 and me be your first. You're really pr-- good looking and all." I studiously avoided looking at his face. He sat for a minute as the sun moved further below the waves behind us.
"Why do that, JB?"
"What?"
"Why say that you think I'm good looking and all? It's not like you need to flatter me. I don't get it."
I turned then, frowning. "Ian, are you really that... I dunno. I'm straight, Ian, yeah, but I'm not blind. You're beautiful. I know that's not really the right word for a guy, but whatever. You probably won't like this either, but the other night when we 'showered' in the rain and I saw your cute ass running off with your crotch covered? My only thought, hand to God, was 'damn, add tits and pussy and this would be paradise island!' Sorry, kid, but it's the truth. I cannot imagine that, you know, manly fa-- gay guys would miss that."
Just then, something tugged on the line, then tugged hard. Whatever it was didn't like the whole 'hook' idea. I very, very slowly began to pull back against it. It was a very touch play and whatever it was was not at all interested in getting closer to the surface. Luck was with us, though, and the thread and leader both held. The sun had finally dipped completely below the horizon leaving us in twilight when I finally tugged the... thing into the shallows.
This was the nastiest, meanest, evilest looking thing I'd ever seen. A weird mix between dark brown and blue, it had a bulbous head with way, way too many teeth to be believable and a long, flatish body. I could tell it fell into the category of Moray Eel. On Animal Planet, they were these creepy ambush predators that darted out to snatch food and fingers. They sure as fuck didn't look like Satan with teeth!
I very carefully tugged until the nasty thing was nearly on the shore, then told Ian to keep it steady. I made a mad dash to Old Lady and got an array of Knitting Ninja Needles. As desperate as I was to avoid the six gillion teeth, it took me probably fifteen tense (and probably hysterical) minutes to flip it on the sand, and another five or ten to knit it to death. First things first, I used the little razor to cut off that nightmare head and fling as far on the lagoon side as possible.
I cleaned the critter, using the small bucket for the offal and the large to rinse the meat. I didn't portion it or even skin it this time. Ian had already built the fire we needed without me saying a word. I wandered into the trees and broke off three good-sized pieces of green wood. Why don't they tell you how fucking hard and frustrating that is when they write movies? Harrison Ford wanders off and two minutes later is back with a stack of very nice, neat, even tree parts. It took me an hour and what I came back with had several feet of bark and crap dangling at the ends. Another grievance to write Hollywood about.
When the fire was down to coals (about the time I stopped screaming curses at the trees), we jammed two of the sturdier pieces deep into the sand on either side of the fire and I split the tops of each. We used some of the dangly bark crap and a couple smaller sticks I'd gotten to spread out and tie the eel to its makeshift rack, then suspended it, spine and skin up, over the coals. Within minutes, it began to spit and complain, and smell pretty darn good. Sure, the whole contraption burned and dropped this fish in the coals near the end, but overall not bad.
We ate as much of the eel as we could, deciding that keeping the leftovers was simply too dangerous. We'd lucked out on the previous fish, but why tempt fate? Plus, with the new Cat-5 leaders, it seemed a lot more likely that we could catch something regularly. I cut off and separated the more-or-less still raw spine for tomorrow's bait and left it in the seawater bucket. The rest went into the lagoon. Both of us noticed that the meat didn't even really hit the water this time before the frenzy of fishy feeding erupted. Note to self: Don't go near water where we dump fish parts.
There was no wind this night at all and no noticeable breeze. We sat for a while and watched the stars while the tide went down. Ian wanted to make another foray to the next island south and I thought that was probably wise. I heard Ian slap something just before I the ominous whine of a mosquito sounded in my ear. Thus started the Big Bad Bug Battle.
Apparently, the stiff breezes had kept the creepies at bay the previous days and nights, and the rainpools had apparently produced a bumper crop of nasties. The sudden stillness meant they could feed at will, and we were apparently the only large critters on the menu. We ran for the luggage and tugged on long, heavy pants and shirts, which helped a little. I followed Ian's lead and grabbed a hoodie. That helped enough to get Ian to Lunk-Lunk and me to Beach Bimbo, both looking desperately for Off. No luck. Ian dove into Hulme and suddenly hollered. Inside a large baggie (the piece had been checked) was a giant bottle of Avon 'dry body oil' crap. I looked at him like he'd lost his mind.
He didn't say anything, just started spritzing it over his hands and face, then did mine. Did all the little creepies suddenly vanish? No, but those that remained were certainly survivable. Enough so that I traded the hoodie for a simple long-sleeved shirt and Ian did the same. We made it a priority tomorrow to go back through and reorganize everything top to bottom.
Ian made another of the raids on the next island south well before the lowest tide. He knew he could make the jump in that direction, and I would give him the holler as soon the tide started going so he'd have a little more time to make it back. It turns out it wasn't necessary. At the far end of the island he came across an army-style duffle and then headed back along the other side where he'd seen the large black bag washed up on his first trip.
The Sound of Hell lit up the night like a flare. It was non-human in the extreme. Every powerful emotion known distilled and then broadcast in a high, sustained peal, and it was coming my way. The adrenaline rush was In. Sane. What on the fucking planet could make that sound? And WHY? It pierced my skull. Suddenly I saw Ian approaching at speed. I thought initially that something was attacking him, riding his back and possibly clawing at him as it screamed.
Ian leapt across the little inlet with perhaps a yard to spare and crab-walked backward toward the reassuring pops and crackles of the dying fire. He finally stopped screaming about the time he got there and I disentangled him from the duffle which he'd slung pack-style and forgotten about. He hollered and fought like a cat in a sack the whole time. As soon as he was free of it, I made a mad dash and grabbed Klepto.
I extracted the cache of tiny bottles of booze. Irish. Irish kid. AHA! I snapped the seal on the Bushmills and literally grabbed the back of Ian's head. His scream was aborted in a choking gurgle as the whiskey poured down his throat. Whether from the whiskey or the assault on his senses, he came back from screaming-land. Apparently, Klepto had been a First Class kid. Half the bottles in there were super-premiums. I pulled a Jameson Single Malt and a Tullamore Dew from the bag as well. When Ian stopped coughing, I 'persuaded' him to down them both but without the choking this time.
I then simply pulled him into my arms the way I would any terrified child. He didn't seem to be upset with the coddling as he shook and cried softly. I finally felt the whiskey work its special leprechaun magic and he relaxed. I pulled him up to look at me and asked him what happened.
In a number of fits and starts and stutters, I worked out that the large, black bag he'd spied on the previous trip was a large man in a dark suit, now bloated and rotting at the edge of the trees. Ian had been running so hard that he'd already started to turn the 'bag' over before the smell hit, and then the face -- what was left of it -- rolled into view with the coup de grace, dozens of crabs of various descriptions feasting on the former passenger.
I pulled Ian and the duffle back toward the nest and stripped the boy and got him and myself into Lunk-Lunk bedding. I sprayed a generous amount of the skin crap over us. Ian shivered his way to a fitful sleep, waking twice locked in nightmares. I held him and soothed him back to sleep each time as he cried. I imagined it was the first time he'd faced a death, and certainly the first time outside the clinical and calm funeral home setting. No wonder the poor kid was shattered.
We both woke well before dawn in need of similar things. Ian needed 'the facilities' and I need a wicked piss. When we both got back, I noticed that while his eyes still darted nervously, the worst of the shock was gone. A breeze had picked up and the mosquitos seemed to have gone back to bed, at least most of them. I suddenly had series of horrible thoughts: Malaria, yellow fever, dengue... Did little atolls have those things? I shook myself. Nothing to do for that now!
I got a protein bar some chocolate into Ian first. I vaguely remembered that chocolate was a remedy for dementors, so maybe it worked for corpses as well? The sky had started to lighten so I pulled the duffle to the edge of the trees and started to sort through it. I was getting despondent with the haul. All of it was a man's clothes and uniforms. It was a literal army duffle. The boots might work for one of us (two pairs) and the plentitude of socks might help. There was a monocular; at least we could get a really good look at where we were going to die. Not even a bottle of water in the mix.
Then I got to the very bottom. Oh, Lord in Heaven bless this soldier and get him home alive! At the very bottom was a care package sent from his family not long before he was sent home! The guy had apparently been deployed in Afghanistan. It contained a true and irreplaceable set of treasures. Two big boxes of wet-wipes, a bottle of hand sanitizer and another of DEET, a bag of hard candies, one of Slim-Jims, a number filled with various dried fruits, and a giant selection of Taco Bell sauce packets. That was nothing compared to the last two items: A multi-tool in a leather holster and a jumbo container of antiseptic/antiitch cream.
My shout of joy brought a very nervous Ian out of hiding, and he almost wept with relief. He dove onto one of the sacks of dried fruit like a starving man. Apparently, protein bars and undercooked fish didn't hold a candle to dried peaches. At his third he froze and looked at me in horror. A kid caught with his hand in the ultimate cookie jar. I just laughed. "No more than 5 per day, kid. We'll share them."
He gave me a shy smile and pulled a pineapple from another bag and some weird little thing like a pale strawberry from another. When I raised an eyebrow, he said "Lychees. Really good for vitamin C." I sat, stunned. Vitamins? Vitamins never even crossed my mind! To the 'malaria' list I added scurvy. At least that was something we could help prevent.
"Let's make that ten per day, okay? Can you pick out the ones, that, like have good vitamins for me? I don't know anything about that. Vitamins for me come in pills that my wife puts next to my juice glass each morning." That got a genuine smile and he assembled a sampling for himself and for me. I chewed them slowly, knowing that dried anything meant a bigger need for water. And water apparently could not be relied upon to always fall from the sky as we needed it. But I couldn't for the life of me figure out anything I could do about that.
The breeze picked up and I decided that now would be a great time to reorganize. Ian and I dragged everything to the trees at the edge so we'd have shade and light both. We very carefully, almost reverently, began to stack items. Lunk-Lunk clothes were their own domain, as they had become our sheets and blankets. Next were clothes that might fit one or both of us. Third were things too small but not of cotton or silk. Lastly for clothes was the Rag Pile, anything not good for wearing that could be used to clean or otherwise have a purpose. McGeek became the new Lunk-Lunk due to size. The Army Duffle got everything we'd likely be able to wear. What was previous Lunk-Lunk's giant duffle became Useless. Klepto became Rag Bag.
Electronics of all sorts went into Teeny Bop, which immediately joined Useless at the bottom of what would become our new luggage stack. Anything medicinal other than alcohol went into Hypochondriac. Alcohol and water bottles went into Drug Dealer. Every lotion and potion went into Beach Bimbo with sunscreen and the antiseptic ointment in the front pocket. Hulme became the new McGeek, holding everything that might be useful including any neckties and jewelry since those might be repurposed. The smaller bag from inside Lunk-Lunk became Sexy, with all the lubes and toys from the Hulme and anything else that I tough might be fun. Anything food-like was split between Drug Dealer and Beach Bimbo.
That left us with a huge pile of crap -- receipts, tickets, tampons, disposable razors -- scratch that, I hastily shifted those and shaving cream to Beach Bimbo. Those went into the other duffle, leaving plenty of room.
We talked for a while, Ian finally willing to discuss Bad Things that might happen. Apparently, his corpse experience had broadened his horizons. We decided to have a specific priority of bags that had to be saved. Drug Dealer (with the water supply and alcohol we could use for sterilizing) was clearly tops. The new McGeek and Beach Bimbo were tied for second. Lunk-Lunk and Army Duffle, our blankets and clothes, respectively, came next. Since neither of us knew how to use half of them, Hypochondriac got an honorable mention. Rag Bag was given 'save it you feel like it' status and the Useless and Teeny Bob didn't get more than a sneer.
That left us, surprisingly, with an empty, mid-sized duffle. It was amazing how much wasted space most people had in their luggage.
We agreed that if one of us were there to do salvage, Drug Dealer when over the shoulder securely, with a firm grip on Beach Bimbo and McGeek. If we were both there, I'd don Drug Dealer and grab McGeek and Lunk-Lunk; Ian would don Beach Bimbo and grab Army Duffle and Hypochondriac. We chose not to discuss what we'd do after that.
We stacked the luggage in a way that would make grabbing it a simple affair and bedded down for the day.
"I'm sorry, JB."
"Huh? What for?"
"Acting like a pussy when I saw the," he shuddered, "the you know."
"Ian, son, you didn't act like a pussy. It would have freaked anyone out. You did really good. That Army Duffle had stuff that may be the difference between living and not."
"Thanks." His voice was small. "And, uh, thanks for holding me. You didn't have to, but it was... it was a really kind thing to do."
"Kid, we protect each other. You needed something I could give, and I gave it. No thanks required. It's what we do. You'd do the same."
He looked at me with those sparkling green eyes in that cream-and-freckle face for what seemed like hours. He was so beautiful. There was no other word. I felt myself almost getting lost in those eyes until he spoke. "You're right, JB. We give each other what they need."
I frowned until I felt where his hand had gone. I sucked in a long, thrilled breath, then moaned loudly, even desperately when he moved down and took me into his mouth. This was not the hash-hazed frenzy or the tentative strokes I'd met so far. This was a guy with amazing lips making love to my cock. The sensation was... electric. Luxurious, forbidden, sensual, so completely new no matter how many time's I'd been sucked off. No one, ever, had done THIS.
I found my hand petting Ian's smooth, pale back and whimpered as I got a purr from him that vibrated straight through my dick. I felt the amazing, beautiful, incomparable curve of his sweet ass and I felt him freeze as a finger brushed down his crack. When it reached the warm wetness of his puckered rosebud though, it was like throwing the switch.
Ian began to massage and tickle my balls and taint as the other hand held me steady. He pumped me further and further into his mouth, choking a few times. I can't explain why, but that sound, this kid literally choking himself on my cock, was like a fire set loose inside me. I found I had a hand in his hair and my other was intently teasing and stroking that fold of moisture, driving him into a sort of frenzy.
Without warning, I felt head suddenly lodge in his throat where he kept swallowing but without the choking spasms. That was all it took and I screamed and bucked like a madman, fucking myself into his face as I came buckets. He swallowed like a champ, spilling very little, and riding my bucking bronco like a cowboy desperate to hit the eight-second mark. It felt more like and eight-minute mark I came so much.
Ian's tongue went insane licking up any part of my load he might have missed then he flung himself of his back and grabbed his own dick. I captured that hand, then the other, and locked them in place above him. He whimpered, "Oh, please let me! Please?" I just smiled. I was not one to be a selfish lover (at least if I'm not stoned out of my fucking mind).
"My turn." I reached with my free hand into Sexy and found a bottle of lube. Ian's eyes flew open as I slathered a little into my palm then began to very slowly run it down his rampant prick. He threw his head from side to side, moaning. I loosed his wrists and he kept his hands there. Good boy. My other hand got a larger doze of lube and I headed even further south. He squealed when the lubed fingers began to tease and caress his hole, sometimes almost but not quite penetrating.
What did it, though, was something I was quite good at. My lips went to his nipple. I treaded it with the same respect and care and rough tenderness I would a woman's and he responded in kind, writhing under my ministration. Throughout, my work on his manhood was slow, inexorable, unhurried. Even as he writhed and tried to fuck my fist, I never let him increase the sensation.
I switched to the other nipple. Using a trick I'd learned with Abigail, I slowly rocked my chest back and forth, dragging my bristly chest hairs across the nipple I'd just left distended and sensitive. Ian whined higher and higher. I let my ass-finger pop in for the first time as I bit down on the other nipple, gnawing lightly. I got one more full stroke in before Ian screamed in an incoherent mix of random curses and wordless sounds of exultant pleasure. I pulled my finger out and used that hand to massage his balls, knowing how much I loved that when I was cumming.
When he came down, he was crying, literally. I'd rarely taken a lover that high and that hard, and I nearly burst with bloated ego, pride and accomplishment. It was then that I felt it. Ian had shot so hard and so high that my back was a mat of his cum. I turned to show him and he was appalled until I started laughing.
"B-b-b-but why did you...?"
"Why didn't I just roll over and go to sleep and leave you to sort yourself out? Because, Ian, while I have a prick, I'm not one. You gave me a really -- I mean fucking mind-blowing -- gift; not returning the favor would be, well, just plain wrong. I could be mistaken, but I think you might even have enjoyed it?" He launched himself up at me and shocked me to my soul. His kiss was innocent and exploratory, but one of the most intense and feverish I've ever experienced. Some small but insistent voice in the back of my head whispered, 'We could really get used to this...'
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Active storelines, all at www.nifty.org/nifty/gay... Canvas Hell: 26 chapters .../camping/canvas-hell/ Beaux Thibodaux: 18 chapters .../adult-youth/beaux-thibodaux/ The Heathens: 19 chapters .../historical/the-heathens/ Off the Magic Carpet: 12 chapters .../military/off-the-magic-carpet/ Lake Desolation: 11 chapters .../rural/lake-desolation/ Dear John Letter: 3 chapter .../military/dear-john-letter/ Shark Reef: 5 chapters .../adult-youth/shark-reef/ Culberhouse Rules: 2 chapters .../incest/culberhouse-rules/
Special collaboration with Brad Borris: In God's Love (5 installments) .../incest/in-gods-love/