Nifty has been a source of inspiration and a means to indulge my creative imagination. It has been a pleasure to contribute to the site. Please help Nifty keep our stories alive and donate! https://donate.nifty.org
I'm always happy to hear from my readers, so if you wish to reach out, please email me with your comments and feedback to casualwandererniftystories@gmail.com
You can also check my Patreon at: https://www.patreon.com/CasualWandererEroticStories for exclusive stories (or you can join as a free member to gets updates on what I'm doing)
This story is an original work of fiction. Copyright 2024 CasualWandererEroticStories - Please do not copy or post without permission.
Author Intro: My name is Casual, and I'm, first and foremost, a storyteller. I write about erotic, sensual, sexual, and emotional connections between gay men. Although grounded in reality, my stories are still fantasies, not meant to promote or glorify any sexual practices. I can go from romantic, sweet, uplifting to rough and edgy. If you wish to be taken on wild, exhilarating, magical, and sensual adventures, my imagination is the place for you.
Chapter 5 - "Restraining Lines"
(Bridgetown, Barbados, 10 years earlier)
The streets of Bridgetown were Damien's playground. But also his battleground.
At ten years old, he had already mastered the city's rhythm. The hustle and flow of tourists, the predictable patterns of vendors, and the fleeting moments of opportunity to survive another day. His feet were always bare, slapping against the hot asphalt as he darted between crowds, his eyes constantly scanning for an opening, a lapse in attention. Hunger gnawed at his stomach, a constant companion.
And today was no different.
The scent of jerk chicken and fresh bread loaded the air, but Damien might as well have found it unreachable. He stood to the side, watching a tourist couple, his next potential mark. They looked wealthy: new clothes, shiny shoes, and bags hanging off their shoulders, likely filled with souvenirs. His sharp golden eyes followed them as they wandered from stall to stall in the crowded market, each step bringing them closer to the chaos of vendors calling out their wares and the clamor of tourists haggling over trinkets.
Damien had been trailing them for a while now, always out of sight, blending into the market's hustle. The woman was distracted by a stand selling handcrafted jewelry, her hand lifting a bracelet to examine it while the man waited behind impatiently.
This was his chance.
With a speed that came from years of practice, Damien darted forward. His fingers grazed the edge of the man's pocket, slipping the wallet out swiftly. His heart raced, but his face stayed calm. He had learned not to look suspicious, to walk away slowly, like nothing had happened. Only once he was a few steps away did he break into a run, weaving through the crowds, his tiny body nimble as he dodged through alleyways and around corners.
But the man was more aware than Damien had hoped.
"Hey! You!" a deep, sharp voice boomed behind him.
Damien's heart sank. The boy heard footsteps gaining on him much faster than he'd anticipated. He sprinted as fast as he could, but he was no match for the long strides of the man chasing him. A hand clamped down on his shoulder, yanking him to a halt.
"Gotcha!" the man exclaimed. His grip was firm but not cruel, and as Damien turned, panting, to face him, he did so expecting anger, maybe even a slap or worse. The man stood over him, his face stern, breathing heavily from the chase. "Give it back," he ordered, his voice controlled, with a mix of frustration and something else Damien couldn't quite place.
The boy scowled, clutching the wallet tighter, ready to bolt again if the man loosened his grip. But the man's eyes weren't filled with rage. Just disappointment. Slowly, reluctantly, Damien handed the wallet back, his gaze lowered. His stomach growled audibly, and he quickly wrapped an arm around his belly, hoping the man hadn't noticed.
But he had.
His expression softened, a sigh escaping him as he stuffed the wallet into his pocket.
"You're hungry, aren't you?" he said, sounding nothing like a question. The man could see the boy's bony frame, the dirt smudged on his face, and the sharp angles of his cheekbones. Damien didn't answer, but his silence was enough. "Come on," the man said, surprisingly gentle. "Let's get you something to eat," he suggested.
Damien hesitated, eyeing him warily. It wasn't often people took pity on him. Most of the time, they just looked the other way. But his hunger gnawed at him, and the promise of a proper meal was too tempting to refuse. He nodded, keeping his distance but following the couple as they led the way.
"If we're eating," Damien said after a few moments of walking, his voice filled with bravado and mischief. "Then we're going to the best place in town," he said, gesturing down a road leading to one of the most expensive restaurants in the area. There, the plates were larger than the portions, and tourists shelled out ridiculous amounts for the 'Caribbean experience.' The man chuckled, his wife raising an amused eyebrow but saying nothing.
"Alright, kid," the man said, shaking his head, "lead the way," he signaled.
They sat at the restaurant, and Damien, for the first time in as long as he could remember, didn't feel the weight of his hunger. He was initially cautious, unsure if the kindness would vanish as quickly as it came. But he didn't hold back when the food arrived, devouring everything before him. The couple watched with a mix of sympathy and curiosity.
"I'm James," the man said, introducing himself. "This is my wife, Amelia," he continued, briefly pausing while waiting for Damien to respond. But he didn't, causing James to chuckle.
"What's your name?" Amelia questioned. The boy froze, his fork dangling in front of his mouth for a second.
"Damien," he muttered.
"How did you end up out here, alone?" Amelia continued, her voice soft but probing.
"What's it to you?" Damien replied, his fiery spirit shooting through.
"Now, now...be polite," the man calmly scolded.
Damien's fork slowed in his hand. He didn't like talking about himself, but something about the man's calm presence and the woman's gentle tone made him feel less guarded.
"My mom... she left when I was little," Damien mumbled between bites, his eyes fixed on his plate.
"Did you have other family? Foster parents?" James asked, immediately sensing a shift in Damien's demeanor.
"I don't live with them anymore," the boy replied, visibly uneased by the line of questioning.
"And why is that?" James probed.
"I ran away..." Damien casually replied, grabbing a slice of bread and shining it into his mouth.
"Can I ask why?" James pressed, instantly aware that he had crossed the line.
Damien pulled back, slamming against his chair as he threw the silverware onto his plate, causing a loud noise and turning everyone at the restaurant's attention to their table. Jame's gaze lingered on him, something deeper passing behind his eyes. He didn't speak for a moment, studying Damien, piecing together the fragments of the boy's life that were all too familiar in a place like this. Finally, he leaned forward, resting his arms on the table.
"You know, I own a resort not too far from here," he said quietly. It's called Eden's Edge. Have you heard of it?" James questioned, to which the boy just shook his head slowly from side to side. "I could..." James stumbled, glancing at Amelia. "We could lend you a hand. Give you a place to stay...if you want," James proposed.
Damien blinked, the offer catching him off guard. His instinct was to distrust, to assume there was a catch. There always was. But something about the man felt different. He wasn't just some tourist passing through, pitying the street kid and moving on.
"You don't have to decide now," Amelia added, sensing Damien's hesitation. "But the offer's there if you want it," she appeased.
Damien looked at James, then his wife, who offered a small, encouraging smile. For the first time in a long time, Damien felt a flicker of something he hadn't often allowed himself to feel: hope.
He didn't say yes. But he didn't say no, either.
They finished their meal, and James proposed Damien join them in visiting the resort. Half an hour later, the car approached the winding road leading to Eden's Edge. Damien pressed his face against the window, his eyes widening with every passing moment. The world outside seemed to transform, shifting from Bridgetown's noisy, congested streets into something almost surreal. The lush greenery, the towering palm trees swaying in the breeze, and the sprawling gardens were unlike anything he had ever seen. His heart raced with excitement and disbelief. He had heard of resorts like this before and caught glimpses in magazines discarded on the streets, but nothing had prepared him for the sight before him.
Eden's Edge looked like a paradise carved into the coastline. Its sprawling villas dotted the landscape, each blending seamlessly into the natural surroundings. They had white walls and terracotta roofs, spacious decks overlooking the turquoise waters, and gardens overflowing with vibrant, tropical flowers. The ocean stretched out in the distance, its waves lapping gently at the shore, the sound resembling a calming rhythm that began to ease Damien's constant wariness.
He could see guests lounging by the pool, their laughter mingling with the soft music drifting from a nearby terrace. The air smelled of salt, coconut, and something warm and inviting.
It struck like lighting. Damien was in awe.
Still smiling from their earlier exchange, James looked at Damien and caught the boy's reaction.
"Not bad, huh?" he asked, teasing Damien's reluctance to expose his enthusiasm.
The boy just nodded, too speechless to respond. It was like nothing Damien had ever imagined. This was a world beyond anything he thought possible. A world that felt secure, ravishing, and unattainable, like something plucked out of his dream.
James turned off the engine as the car entered the resort's entrance.
"Maybe when you're old enough, I can offer you a job here," he said, his voice casual but kind.
Damien nodded again, though the weight of his old life still clung to him. It was hard to believe something like this could happen to him. But as he stepped out of the car, his feet touching the immaculate stone pathway leading into the resort, the sense of wonder grew stronger.
And that's when he saw it.
In the distance, perched on a cliff overlooking the ocean, was the Cove. A majestic structure, it seemed to rise out of the sea itself, an exclusive enclave that felt miles away from the world he had known. Its gleaming glass walls and modern, elegant design stood in contrast to the rustic charm of Eden's Edge, and it called to him in a way he couldn't explain.
"What's that?" Damien asked, pointing toward the Cove, his voice full of curiosity. James followed his gaze, a knowing smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.
"Oh, that's the Cove. A special place for special people," James replied, delighting in the boy's awe.
"Can we go see it?" Damien asked, his eyes latched on the small island. James smiled, approached Damien from behind, and gently touched the boy's shoulder.
"Maybe one day I'll let you see it up close," James promised. "But you got to start behaving. No more stealing. Or getting into trouble, okay?" James bargained.
Damien nodded, his eyes lingering on the Cove as if an unspoken oath had been proclaimed. He couldn't tear his gaze away from it. There was something magnetic about that place. Something that whispered secrets and possibilities, a world just out of reach but not entirely impossible to attain.
James turned to a nearby staffer, a woman in her early thirties with warm, dark skin and a regal posture. Her smile was wide and knowing as she approached the man and the boy. She radiated calm, and Damien could immediately sense she was someone the couple trusted deeply.
"Sabbi," James greeted warmly. "How's everything running? Camilo still around?" he asked. The woman nodded, glancing briefly at Damien before looking back at the man.
"Everything's going smoothly, Mr. Benedict. Camilo's out back, playing soccer with the other children. Want me to go get him?" she questioned.
"Yes, please," James replied with a wink before Sabbi smiled knowingly and walked off.
Damien stood there, taking in everything: the beauty, the vastness, and the magic of Eden's Edge. The resort's name had been tossed around in the city like a mythical paradise, but now, standing in the middle of it, he realized it was very real.
In a few minutes, Sabbi returned with a tall, lean boy around Damien's age. He had thick, curly hair, bright eyes, and beautiful ebony-toned skin. He wore a soccer jersey, the edges of his shorts dusted with dirt from the field. The boy's grin was easy, his energy infectious as he jogged over.
"Camilo," the man said, clapping the boy on the back. "I want you to meet Damien. Damien, this is Camilo," James introduced before leaning into Camilo. "Why don't you show him around?" he whispered. Camilo gave Damien a nod, his grin never fading.
"Sure! You like football?" he questioned. Damien shrugged, unsure how to fit into this new world but willing to try, even though he loathed anything about kicking or throwing balls around. But suddenly, James's voice cut in, light and teasing.
"Before that, maybe a dip in the pool would help Damien cool off?" he said, gesturing toward the sparkling blue water stretching endlessly in front of them.
He followed Camilo toward the pool, his heart light with excitement. And even though he couldn't possibly know it then, Damien's life was about to change forever.
(Present day)
The blonde beauty sat at the pier's edge, his legs dangling over the water, the gentle waves lapping against his bare feet. The sun was setting, casting a soft, orange glow across the horizon, and in the distance, the Cove loomed like a beacon of both desire and danger. His chest tightened as he thought about Kate's cold, piercing gaze from earlier, her words lingering like a threat. He couldn't shake her off. The memory of her standing there, martini in hand, silently accusing him, was burned into his mind.
And then there was Bruce.
Damien's heart painfully tugged as he thought of him. How effortlessly he had fallen for the man, like stepping into the ocean without realizing how deep it was. He'd been drowning since that first look, that first touch. But now, the waves were pulling him under, and he wasn't sure if he could keep afloat.
Damien was in love with Bruce.
But he couldn't ignore the danger that lurked behind those feelings. This wasn't some harmless fling. Bruce wasn't just a random man. He was a public figure, an NFL superstar with an untarnished reputation. Pursuing this could ruin him. Not just his career but his entire life.
The sound of footsteps pulled him from his thoughts. Damien didn't need to look up to know who it was. Camilo's presence was familiar and comforting, a reminder of simpler days when they were just two kids with no responsibilities, no secrets, and no hearts broken by impossible choices.
Camilo sat beside him, their legs nearly touching as they stared at the horizon silently. For a few moments, neither spoke. Camilo, ever wise, seemed to sense that Damien wasn't ready to talk, and he didn't push. Instead, he offered his quiet companionship, which had always been enough to ground Damien when the world felt too heavy.
"You're kinda quiet today," Camilo said, his tone light but with an edge of concern. Damien sighed, his shoulders slumping as he let out a long, shaky breath.
"Yeah... I've got a lot on my mind," he admitted. Camilo glanced at him, his sharp eyes taking in the tension that lined Damien's face. He didn't ask for more, but his presence was enough to coax Damien to let some of his burden out. Without thinking, Damien leaned his head against Camilo's shoulder, finding comfort in the closeness of his oldest friend. "I miss your mom," the blonde said softly. Camilo didn't need clarification.
"I miss her too," he replied, his voice steady, though there was an unmistakable sadness underneath.
Sabbi had been more than just a mother to him. She had been a mother to both. And her absence was still a wound that neither had fully healed from. The weight of that shared grief hung between them for a moment, but it also brought a strange sense of comfort. They had survived this loss together, and that bond felt unbreakable. Then, Damien pulled away slightly, his voice hesitant as he spoke again.
"There's...something I need to tell you," Damien muttered. Camilo looked at him, his expression gentle but attentive. He waited, giving Damien the space he needed to find the words. "I'm in love with him...Bruce, I mean," Damien confessed, the words tumbling out of him like a dam breaking. He felt the weight lift from his chest as he finally said it aloud, though a fresh wave of anxiety quickly replaced it. "And...things have sort of...escalated," the blonde added.
Camilo didn't flinch. There was no shock in his eyes, no judgment. Instead, a faint, knowing smile touched his lips.
"Yeah, I figured," he said. "The way he was looking at you at the canteen...dude, it was obvious," the ebony stud stated. Damien blinked, surprised by his friend's calm acceptance.
"So you knew?" the blonde asked.
"I had a hunch," Camilo said, shrugging. "I wasn't sure, but when I saw how you two kept looking at each other...I mean, come on, Damien. You're not exactly being subtle," he razzed. Damien let out a soft laugh.
"I guess I'm not," the blonde replied before stopping, a surge of self-doubt crashing against him. "Jesus Christ, what the fuck am I doing?" he muttered, shaking his head in disbelief.
"Damien," Camilo's voice grew serious, "If people find out..." he added.
"I know," Damien interrupted, his voice suddenly sharp with frustration. "I just..." the blonde hesitated, his throat tightening. "I tried to end it, but every time I'm around him... it's like I turn into this pathetic, brainless idiot," he added, rolling his eyes at himself.
"Love will do that to you," Camilo said, trying to ease Damien's frustration.
"And I know it's selfish, I know I'm putting both of us at risk, but..." Damien uttered before his voice broke off as he ran a hand through his hair, the frustration evident. Camilo nodded, placing a hand on Damien's shoulder.
"I get it, man. Believe me, I do," Camilo acknowledged.
There was a brief silence.
"I can't go back there," Damien said suddenly, his voice resolute. "I'm done with the Cove," Damien stated. Camilo studied him for a moment before nodding in understanding.
"Alright. I'll cover for you. Take a couple of days off. Go stay at my mom's. The house's been collecting dust anyway. Get some space, clear your head," he suggested before pausing. "Best not tell Ryan about this, though...at least for now," he counseled. Relief washed over Damien at his friend's offer. He nodded, grateful.
"What the fuck would I do without you?" Damien playfully questioned. Camilo smiled softly, shrugging. The blonde leaned in and kissed Camilo's cheek, a gesture of deep gratitude that Damien rarely bestowed. And Camilo knew this. "You're the best," he whispered.
"You're damn right, I am," Camilo whispered back.
As they sat in the fading light, the weight of Damien's confession seemed a little lighter. For now, with Camilo by his side, he could breathe again.
Even if just for a moment.
At the crack of dawn, as the island was still wrapped in the tender embrace of slumber, Damien fled Eden's Edge, a single bag of clothes slung over his shoulder. His heart beat in time with the rumbling of the old car as he sped down the winding roads toward Bridgetown, his thoughts consumed by Bruce. The desire, the raw need. It was undeniable. But tangled with that was the choking fear of what it all could cost. He needed space, air, anything to clear the noise in his head. The city, a place where he once scraped by, seemed like the only refuge now.
He drove past the bustling markets and the vibrant pastel-colored buildings still cloaked in the soft light of dawn. But the atmosphere changed as he walked deeper into the city's heart. The roads narrowed, and the houses became smaller, worn by time and hardship. He turned down a street in one of the poorest neighborhoods, a place he'd known too well growing up. The streets here were quiet and empty except for a few stray dogs wandering and scavenging for scraps and the early-morning calls of vendors beginning to stir in the distance.
Damien parked the car and got out, the warm breeze brushing his golden locks. He walked toward the small, weathered house tucked at the end of the street. It was a simple, single-story structure, its whitewashed walls now chipped and faded, the corrugated tin roof rusting at the edges. Yet, despite its humble appearance, it was a place of solace, a refuge where he'd spent countless nights when the streets had become too cold, too unkind.
He pushed open the creaky gate, the hinges groaning in protest. The tiny front yard was overgrown, weeds sprouting between the cracks in the stone path, but the sight of it filled Damien with an odd sense of nostalgia.
This place had been a lifeline once.
It seemed destined to continue to be so.
The front door stuck as he pushed it open, scraping against the floor, and the familiar smell of dust and old wood filled his lungs. Inside, the house was dim, with narrow slivers of light filtering through the closed shutters. Damien stood still for a moment, taking it all in. The living room was small, and the furniture was worn but comfortable. A battered coffee table stood in the center, covered with an old lace cloth that had yellowed with time. The faded sofa, draped in a blanket to protect it from dust, had been his bed more nights than he could count.
He moved to the windows and pushed them open, letting the fresh morning air flow in, stirring the curtains gently. Sunlight streamed through the cracks, cutting through the gloom and illuminating the dust that hung in the air like a fine mist. The house sighed as it began to wake with Damien's presence, as though it had been waiting for him to return.
Damien wandered through the rooms, gently running his fingers along the surfaces. The kitchen was just as he remembered: small, with a tiny gas stove and an old fridge that, by the looks of it, probably hadn't worked in years. The table where Camilo's mother used to serve simple but hearty meals still bore the marks of countless dinners and quiet conversations.
The bedroom he and Camilo had shared was also there, a single narrow bed pushed against the wall. Like everything else in the house, it was covered in a thick layer of dust. Even the blankets that shrouded the furniture seemed to have grown heavy with time, weighed down by neglect.
Damien set down his bag and rolled up his sleeves. He couldn't stay in this place, not like this. He needed to make it livable and his sanctuary, even if just for a few days. With a quiet determination, he dusted off the blankets, pulling them free and shaking them out. The dust billowed into the air, catching the light and swirling like ancient, fond memories. He stripped the couch of its coverings, revealing the threadbare fabric beneath, and aired the linens in the sun.
In the kitchen, he scrubbed the countertops clean, running a damp cloth over the wooden table, which creaked under his touch. He wiped down the old stove, clearing away years of grime, and filled a pot with water to boil, watching as the steam curled into the air like a sigh of relief.
It was hard work but mindless, precisely what Damien needed. Each sweep of the broom, each stroke of the cloth against the surfaces, was like a balm to his troubled mind. And slowly but surely, just like the house, his mind became clearer. The more he cleaned, the more the house began to transform, shedding its layer of neglect like old skin. The windows now gleamed, allowing the golden morning light to flood in. The rooms smelled of fresh air and soap, and there was something peaceful in the simplicity of it all.
But as he worked, his thoughts inevitably wandered back to Bruce. At this point, it seemed beyond Damien's control.
The touch of the hunk's hands, the intensity of his emerald gaze. Damien's heart ached with the impossibility of it all.
What was he doing, Damien thought, letting himself get so wrapped up in someone so unattainable, so dangerous for him to love? And yet, the thought of being without Bruce felt unbearable. It was as if the hunk had lit a fire inside Damien that he couldn't extinguish, no matter how much he wanted to.
Damien sighed, wiping his brow with the back of his hand, then sank onto the now-clean couch, the softness a welcome relief after hours of cleaning. The house was quieter now, more peaceful. It felt like a home again, like it had so many years ago.
But in the back of his mind, the storm still raged.
The truth was, even here, inside Damien's sanctuary, Bruce was still with him. And Damien was finally beginning to understand that no amount of cleaning or distance could change that.
Suddenly, Damien pulled himself up, grabbed the keys, and stepped out into the sun-drenched streets of Bridgetown, hoping the familiar hum of the city might help wipe his mind clean. But it wasn't long before his feet, almost instinctively, led him down winding streets and narrow alleys he once knew well. These were the places where, as a boy, he had scraped by, stealing from vendors to survive. The vibrant colors of the stalls, the chatter of sellers, and the wafting smells of fresh fruit and spices mingled in a chaotic symphony that felt foreign and familiar.
He moved through the market like a ghost, slipping between the crowd unnoticed. He passed vendors hawking trinkets and women selling colorful scarves that billowed in the breeze. But none of it registered. He felt like an outsider in a city he had once called home.
As Damien wandered deeper into the heart of the market, he found himself standing before a small fruit stall. He smiled and reached for a papaya, bringing it to his nose and inhaling its sweet, tropical scent. For a fleeting moment, the simplicity of the act, the sensory richness of the fruit in his hand, grounded him.
"Well, if it isn't little Damien," a voice rumbled from behind the fruit stand. "You're not gonna steal that, are you?" the voice quipped.
Damien froze. That voice, thick with a Creole accent, seemed awfully familiar. He looked up, and standing there was a man in his mid-fifties, his dark skin weathered by the sun, his face lined with age and experience. The man smiled, his gold tooth glinting in the light.
"Dajuan?" Damien asked, blinking in surprise. The man chuckled, crossing his arms over his broad chest.
"You remember me, eh? Been a long time since I last saw you, boy. You grew up fine," Dajuan exclaimed.
Damien's mind raced. The man before him had been a close friend of his foster parents, people Damien had done his best to forget after running away all those years ago. After successfully pushing that chapter of his life far into the recesses of his mind, hearing Dajuan's name felt like being jolted awake from a distant dream.
"Yeah... it's been a while," Damien muttered, putting the papaya back down. "How have you been?" the blonde asked. Dajuan shrugged, his smile fading slightly.
"Still working this stall. Life's slow but steady," he said, pausing and looking at Damien scrutinizingly. "What about you, little Damien? Seems like you've done well for yourself, hum?" he jested with a pinch of sarcasm. Damien shifted uncomfortably under the weight of Dajuan's gaze.
"I guess you could say that," the blonde replied.
Dajuan's face softened, understanding passing between them.
"I get it, little Damien. You had to survive," he said, a strange silence landing between them.
Damien looked away, staring into the busy market's swirl of people. The praise didn't sit right with him. Sure, on the surface, his life seemed successful. He had a respectable job and climbed out of the life of poverty he had been thrust into, but doubt lingered inside him.
"I'll take some fruit," Damien said, hoping to shift the conversation. He pulled out his wallet, buying a few papayas and mangoes, even though he had no genuine desire to eat them.
Dajuan accepted the money, bagging the fruit without another word. When he handed it back to Damien, his eyes still studied the young man as if sensing the unrest beneath his calm exterior. As Damien turned to leave, Dajuan's voice stopped him in his tracks.
"Little Damien!" Dajuan called. Damien turned, his brow furrowed.
"Yeah?" the blonde questioned. Dajuan leaned against the stall, his gaze steady and piercing.
"Are you happy?" he asked.
The question hit Damien harder than he expected. Happy. Was he happy? He had been so sure for a while, with his job at Eden's Edge, the sense of control he had carved out in his life, the independence. But now? Now, everything seemed to be slipping through his fingers. It appeared that his feelings for Bruce had thrown everything into chaos. Was he happy?
And that's when it hit him. Damien didn't know anymore. Maybe what he thought was happiness was just him holding on to his misplaced sense of control.
"I thought I was," Damien admitted, his voice low. "But now... I don't know anymore," he finally admitted. Dajuan nodded slowly, his expression thoughtful until he broke into laughter.
"That's the thing about life, little Damien," Dajuan said, still chuckling. "You think you've got it all figured out, but then it suddenly throws you off a cliff...with no parachute!" he stated, laughing as he had just cracked the funniest joke.
Damien stared at the older man, somewhat fascinated by his dark humor. Maybe Dajuan had cracked some code regarding life he could not grasp yet, Damien thought. Without another word, he turned and walked away, the bag of fruit swinging at his side as he replayed Dajuan's question repeatedly.
Are you happy?
The question lingered like a shadow trailing him as he wandered through the market, no closer to an answer than when he had first left Eden's Edge.
Damien trudged back to Camilo's mother's home. His feet were heavy, his mind even more so. The day had been long, with aimless wandering and memories that gnawed at him, but there was still no clarity or resolution. In fact, he felt even more confused than before.
He approached the small house, the quietness of the street settling over him like a warm blanket. Unlocking the door, he stepped inside, allowing the scent of old wood, faint spices, and lingering sea air to wash over him. But as he turned around to shut the door, he froze.
Bruce stood there, his emerald-green eyes locked onto Damien, glowing intensely. His broad shoulders filled the narrow space, his gaze trapping Damien almost immediately. Camilo stood beside Bruce, looking nervous, his eyes darting between the two men, clearly regretting something.
"Really...?" Damien muttered. His voice was tight, sharp with irritation and betrayal. Camilo looked down, clearly panicked.
"Damien, I can explain..." the ebony stud tried to speak, but Bruce cut him off, his voice firm and calm.
"It wasn't his fault. I made him tell me," Bruce explained. "I can be very...persuasive," he added, sounding cheeky. But Damien wasn't having any of it. His eyes shifted to Bruce, his anger bubbling beneath the surface.
"You think this is a fucking joke?" the blonde snapped, fueling the tension in the air.
But as the words left his mouth, something hit Damien. The realization sank in. Bruce had come all this way for him. The hunk's longing for Damien was so intense that he was willing to bulldoze past whatever obstacles were in his way to get to him.
"I'll just... go. You two need to talk," Camilo muttered, sensing the moment craved some privacy. He gave Damien a small, apologetic smile before slipping out the door, leaving them silently alone.
And the silence was deafening.
For a moment, they stood there, Bruce and Damien, their emotions like a wild sea, crashing and pulling, yearning and resisting. Damien could feel the force of Bruce's presence, the ache of longing in his chest that he had been trying to bury. He wanted Bruce, and yet he felt the crushing weight of everything that came with it: Bruce's career, his life, the risks, the lies. The jock finally broke the silence, his deep voice reverberating through the small room.
"I had to see you," he said. Damien's lips twisted into a bitter smile, though the hurt was still fresh.
"Why? I'm sure you have a line of young, beautiful, vibrant men waiting for you," the blonde shot back, his words laced with sarcasm, trying to push Bruce away and protect himself.
But as his gaze locked onto Bruce's, Damien knew. He could see it, clear as day, in how the hunk's eyes darkened with the weight of his words. He knew, without a doubt, that Kate had said something to Damien. There was no hiding the sharpness behind those emerald eyes, the sorrow.
"They meant nothing," he said quietly, his voice raw and soft. "It's you I want," the hunk added. Damien's breath caught, his heart pounding in his chest, though he refused to let himself be swept away by Bruce's words.
"What about Kate?" Damien replied though the fight in his voice was fading. Bruce's jaw clenched. He ran a hand through his hair, his frustration evident, but when he spoke again, it wasn't defensive. It was filled with a quiet, resigned truth.
"Kate and I... we have an arrangement. I give her the life she always wanted, and in return...she...protects me," Bruce revealed.
There it was: the truth.
Damien stared at the hunk, stunned. He hadn't expected that. It was like a punch to the gut. Suddenly, everything about Bruce's life, his carefully crafted image, and the pressure he lived under became painfully apparent. Damien had always suspected something more was going on, but hearing it laid bare, hearing the anguish behind Bruce's words, hit him hard.
Bruce's voice dropped, barely more than a whisper.
"I know it's not fair," Bruce uttered.
"No. No, it's not," Damien agreed, his compassion pushing through.
"It's just...how I've managed to survive...in this business," the hunk tried to explain before he stumbled. "But since I met you..." he stuttered. His voice suddenly trailed off, and he looked at Damien, the walls of his guarded exterior beginning to crumble. "With the others, it was just...sex," Bruce admitted. "But with you... it's...different," he conveyed. Damien's heart stumbled.
"What are you trying to say?" the blonde whispered as if his question came layered with secrecy.
"You make me feel like...I don't wanna hide anymore," Bruce mumbled. They were the most endearing words Damien had ever heard.
At that moment, through Bruce's vulnerability and the rawness of his confession, whatever defenses Damien had left were finally shattered. The blonde stepped forward, wrapping his arms around Bruce. He could feel the tension in Bruce's broad shoulders, how his body initially stiffened before melting into Damien's embrace, his massive frame softening as if Damien's touch kept him afloat.
They stood like that for what felt like an eternity, Bruce burying his face into Damien, his breaths deep and shaky. Damien held him tighter, maybe for the first time, understanding just how trapped Bruce was. All the fame, the money, and the accolades meant nothing in the face of the loneliness and fear Bruce carried inside him every single day.
"I'll make us some tea," Damien whispered softly.
Bruce pulled back, his gaze filled with gratitude and relief, though his eyes still held the storm of emotions he wasn't ready to release. Damien took his hand, their fingers intertwining as he led Bruce into the tiny kitchen, the air around them softened by their proximity.
The kitchen was small and humble, with cracked tile countertops and a single window that let in the fading light of the evening. Damien set the kettle on the stove, moving around the space efficiently, while Bruce sat at the table, watching him, his head tilting slightly in longing and quiet admiration.
They were no longer Bruce, the star athlete, and Damien, the resort staffer. They were just two men navigating a world that seemed unwilling to accept their feelings for each other.
And at that moment, something happened. Inside that house, in that tiny kitchen, with the smell of tea brewing and the soft hum of the evening settling over them, Bruce and Damien felt like, for once, they didn't have to hide.
"I think this is the first time I've ever sat down with another guy to drink tea," Bruce mocked, causing Damien to chuckle as he poured the tear and slid Bruce his cup over the table.
"Well, there's a first time for everything," the blonde replied, his lips curved into the sexiest smile.
They sat there for a while, Bruce's chest moving up and down as he scanned Damien's entire body from the edges of his blonde strings to the tip of his toes.
"What are you doing over there?" the hunk asked, leaning forward and dragging Damien and his chair through the floor with barely any effort. Soon, their noses were brushing, their breaths spewing into each other in a syncopated motion. "What the fuck did you do to me, Damien?" Bruce breathed into Damien, their noses brushing together, almost like dogs.
"I..." Damien mumbled, his whole being completely collapsing under Bruce's unyielding light.
"Getting under my skin like this...throwing me off my game..." the hunk continued. Every word, a confessional sword, drilled deep inside Damien's soul.
"It's called a tackle..." the blonde whispered, prompting both to chuckle, their smiles fusing into one.
"You cocky little fucker," Bruce teased, his hands already climbing up Damien's thighs, taking hold of the blonde's smooth lower back.
"Bruce?" Damien called, his voice low, faint as a whisper.
"Yeah?" Bruce responded.
"Make love to me," Damien whispered, his words delving inside Bruce's lips as he lunged forward to kiss the hunk's mouth.
He could taste the beginnings of longing on Bruce's lips as he whispered his request. It was like a plea, a prayer from someone who had been lost for so long. Bruce's eyes sparkled with desire. But inside them, something deeper clawed its way out with overwhelming ferocity. A need for connection. His heart raced as he felt Bruce's large hands cup his cheeks, his fingers entwining in Damien's hair. He leaned forward again, lips locking in another passionate kiss that made Damien's chest exhale in despairing lust.
Their tongues tangled hungrily, seeking and devouring every inch of each other's mouths. Their combined breath filled the small kitchen, hot and heavy. Damien gripped Bruce's shirt, pulling him closer as he licked into the hunk's mouth, tasting the tea on his tongue and something else. Something uniquely Bruce. Nutmeg.
His body responded instantly to the touch of those strong hands on his skin, an electric pulsating feeling coursing through him. As they broke apart for air, they stared at each other with desire written all over their faces, their chests rising and falling rapidly. Damien could feel Bruce's heartbeat against his chest, fluttering madly in anticipation. Their bodies swayed together as if dancing to an invisible rhythm only they were allowed to read.
"Take your clothes off. Slowly. I wanna watch you do it," Bruce invited as he leaned back on his chair, his voice sultry and sensual.
Damien took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, gathering the courage to step out of his comfort zone. Initially, he was hesitant, having never allowed himself to be this vulnerable in front of another man. But his body responded to Bruce's command as if it had been waiting for this moment for years. His fingers fumbled with the buttons of his shirt, undoing them one by one until it fell open, exposing his smooth chest. The room was quickly enveloped by the scent of their arousal, mixing with the warmth of the tea and old wood. Bruce's eyes followed Damien's every movement, his gaze burning into the blonde's skin like a flame.
The blonde took hold of his belt buckle and slid it down his pants. He glanced up at Bruce, who now stared at him with lust and admiration, making the boy chuckle nervously. The bulge in Bruce's pants grew more pronounced, his massive dick already pushing through. Damien pulled down his zipper slowly, revealing his own arousal growing underneath. They both looked each other in the eyes as he pushed down his pants and boxers together, stepping out of them.
He was stark naked now, his perfect, youthful, flawless body on full display. The air around them felt charged with anticipation and need. Bruce unbuttoned his shirt, his muscles rippling underneath taut skin that glimmered from sweat in the dim light. Damien approached him cautiously but confidently now. He straddled Bruce's lap and hovered above him, grinding his naked peach against the hunk's crotch, its soft skin brushing against the hunk's pants.
"Take me inside," Damien moaned as he teased Bruce's lips with his tongue. "I want you to fuck me in my old bed," the boy requested.
Bruce reached out and grabbed Damien's ass in both hands, squeezing the firm cheeks as he stood up from the table with an eager groan. Damien smiled, his groin contracting at the sheer pleasure of being handled with such ease, feeling the prowess of Bruce's strength. The hunk's strong arms wrapped around Damien's waist and pulled him closer, their chests pressing together as he picked the blonde up. The jock carried Damien through the small house, hips swaying with every step as he made his way to the bedroom.
Once inside, Bruce set Damien down on the old wooden bed, his massive frame towering over him. He intently watched as Damien lay back against the soft sheets and spread his legs invitingly, exposing his vulnerability.
"I wish you could see what I see," Bruce whispered, his eyes glistening. "I wish you knew how fucking beautiful you are," Bruce purred, his voice ragged and raw with desire. The hunk leaned down and pressed a kiss to each of Damien's thighs before trailing his tongue along the insides, tasting the boy.
The blonde's moans immediately fired as Bruce took his time, circling Damien's entrance and nibbling along his inner thighs teasingly before finally placing a soft kiss on his puckered hole. Damien's legs trembled, his heart thumping wildly in his chest as he felt Bruce's warm breath on his entrance. The kisses were wet and meaningful, making him gasp and arch upwards in response, feeling the hunk's beard rub against his skin. Bruce devilishly grinned as he moved to lick and nip softly at the sensitive flesh, circling Damien's entrance with his tongue before pushing inside slowly.
"Ahh...!" Damien gasped, letting out a moan of pleasure mixed with pain. Bruce's tongue expertly worked its way inside, stroking and teasing with each flick while Damien writhed beneath him. The blonde couldn't believe how good it felt to have his body worshipped like that. Damien had never experienced anything like it before. His toes curled involuntarily, and he bit down on his bottom lip to stifle another moan that threatened to escape. It was intense but oh-so pleasurable, a feeling that threatened to spill the tears of joy that now floated inside Damien's eyes.
Bruce pulled away for a moment, chuckling softly at Damien's reactions. Then, slowly, he pulled up, sliding back before standing tall at the foot of the bed. Damien's eyes followed him, stunned. Standing there, Bruce looked massive. He smiled at the boy and started slowly stripping, taking his time to let Damien enjoy every inch of his perfect body. Bruce was really a sight to behold, Damien thought. A flawless creature. Nature's perfect creation. And he was all Damien's.
Bruce locked eyes with the blonde as he began to undress, his muscles rippling underneath his skin and flexing with every movement. He pulled off his shirt to reveal his toned pecs and a perfect six-pack that seemed to glisten as the light filtering through the window hit it. He yanked off his shoes and socks before stepping out of his pants, leaving him with nothing to show but his mammoth 12-inch cock dangling between his thick, muscular legs. The moonlight danced across his impressive physique as he approached the bed again.
As he crawled onto the mattress, Damien couldn't believe the sight of Bruce above him. It was almost too much for him to take in. Even more intimidating than during their first meeting. He watched as Bruce positioned himself between his legs, licking his lips as he leaned down to place a gentle kiss on Damien's inner thigh. The hunk inhaled deeply, taking in the scent of the blonde's hole fused with washed linen sheets.
Damien gasped as Bruce's tongue darted out again, licking up the moisture gathered at his entrance. It felt like electricity coursing through him as he mewed softly in pleasure. Bruce continued, tracing circles around his pucker before pressing a single finger inside, stretching his hole.
Bruce's finger pushed insistently into Damien's tight entrance as his hips ground against the blonde, eliciting a pained whimper from the boy. He could feel Damien's muscles clenching around his digit, grasping for purchase even as he resisted his lover's relentless exploration.
Bruce stared down at the struggling form beneath him, his breath hitching as he watched every tremble of Damien's body. He slowly added another finger, twisting and thrusting deeper into the pool of wet heat. Sweat glistened on Damien's skin, accentuating the tangled muscle and smooth curves that Bruce was beginning to know so well.
"You like that?" Bruce growled, sliding a third finger inside, making the blonde flinch and groan in pleasurable pain. His thumb brushed over the bundle of nerves just below Damien's cock, eliciting a strangled moan from his mouth.
Damien's eyes fluttered closed as Bruce continued manipulating him with unerring precision. His hips bucked instinctively against the hunk's, seeking a relief the jock wasn't ready to grant him yet. Every touch ignited new sensations in Damien's body, setting his nerves alight and making it difficult to focus on anything other than the intense need coursing through him.
Bruce's lips crashed down onto Damien's, their tongues clashing in a frenzied duel, possessing each other with desperate hunger. But this time, something in Bruce was different. An underlying current of care and devotion infused his every touch, every movement, and every breath.
His strong arms effortlessly lifted Damien's legs, cradling them against his chest as he finally maneuvered his 12-inch veiny, rock-hard cock against the boy's entrance. He took a moment to savor the sight of his erection pressing against Damien's tight hole, the silky skin parting ever so slightly as the head of his cock nudged its way in.
With a growl of anticipation, Bruce thrust forward, sliding his pulsating length inside Damien in one seamless, slow, and gentle motion. The boy gasped, eyes widening as Bruce's girth filled him fully. His hips bucked instinctively against Bruce's relentless invasion, surrendering to the pleasure that radiated from deep within.
Bruce held Damien securely, their bodies locked together as he began to move inside him. Each stroke was deliberate and possession-filled, staking a claim that left no doubt about who owned whom. Their bodies slapped together wetly with each thrust, a rhythmic symphony of lust, desire, and need.
Damien's fingers dug into the flesh of Bruce's shoulders, and his nails left small marks along the hunk's tanned skin. His hips thrust eagerly against Bruce's, each movement a declaration of both domination and submission. With every plunge, their bodies locked together in a rhythmic embrace, each one drawing the other deeper into a shared ecstasy.
The air around them was filled with Damien's moans, like a sweet symphony composed entirely of the boy's uninhibited, passionate vocal ramblings. Every stroke and every touch was being etched onto their skin, leaving behind the marks of their passion. Their bodies moved together as they explored each other's boundaries, pushing and pulling in an erotic dance.
Damien's eyes locked onto Bruce's as he moved, taking in every gasp, every fluttering eyelid, and every quiver of muscle. His lips brushed against Bruce's neck, tasting the salt of his skin, each touch heightening his senses even further. Each thrust of Bruce's cock in his hole brought them closer to the edge, their desires building until they crested and fell into each other's embrace. Irrevocably.
"Bruce...fuck," Damien moaned. "You're fucking me so good," the boy cried out as the hunk's hips moved with a powerful stride between his legs, the jock's cock sliding in and out.
Bruce grabbed Damien's hips, holding them tightly against his own as he thrust deep inside, feeling the boy's muscles clench around his cock. Damien arched his back, meeting each thrust with eagerness, their bodies slapping together with each movement.
And as Bruce fucked Damien harder and faster, the boy's moans grew louder and more urgent. His dick was rock hard, leaking pre-cum that dangled elegantly in a single string between the tip of the blonde's pink head and his stomach. Both of them were sweating heavily, their skin glistening from exertion and excitement.
Then, suddenly and unexpectedly, Damien seized Bruce's face, turning it towards him. In that instant, as their eyes locked, Bruce's emerald depths widened, his hardened expression melting away.
They were linked. Wholly and utterly connected.
And then everything went quiet, and the heaviest layers of the world they so desperately hid from began to shatter. Until there was nothing left but their bodies, floating inside the hex of their shared rapture.
"Beautiful..." Bruce whispered as he brushed his hand softly over Damien's face, his voice low and guttural. He could feel his own body responding to the intensity of their connection, his cock throbbing inside the blonde's ass.
"Bruce..." the boy moaned back, the sound low and animalistic. His body arched up to meet Bruce's thrusts, his ass clenching around Bruce's cock as if trying to pull him deeper inside.
Bruce's motions became slower, yet their intensity felt stronger than ever before. Damien could feel every inch of the hunk's cock entering him as if all his senses had converged inside his hole.
Bruce's hands slid by the side of the blonde's body and grasped Damien's hips tightly, his knuckles turning white as he held on firmly. Their bodies collided with each other, skin on skin, muscle against muscle. Bruce grunted with each thrust, his mouth close to Damien's ear, whispering into it.
"Is this..." Bruce hissed into Damien's ear. "Is this what you wanted?" Bruce asked in between heavy breaths.
Damien moaned at the question, the feeling of being filled up so completely by Bruce's hard length now tipping him over the edge.
He squeezed his eyes shut, relishing the feeling of being possessed by another in the most intimate way possible. And Bruce of all men.
Damien let out a strained moan, his body arching as he felt the pleasure building within him. His hips undulated smoothly against Bruce's thrusts, matching him stroke for stroke. His heart pounded frantically in his chest, perfectly in sync with the rhythm of their lovemaking.
In seconds, Damien began to shoot his load hands-free, right into Bruce's stomach, which continued to grind his cock into him, balls deep.
Bruce continued to drill himself deep inside Damien's tight ass with each thrust, hitting his sweet spot with precision, only possible through years of practice. Damien's fingers clawed at the sheets beneath him, knuckles white as he fought to contain his ecstasy. His body trembled beneath Bruce's powerful muscles, skin glistening with sweat as they moved in a frenzy.
Their bodies slapped together wetly, breaths arriving in labored gasps, hazy from the intense passion rising between them. Bruce's fingers dug into Damien's hips, gripping and pulling him closer as he fucked the boy harder and deeper. Damien whimpered and moaned as he desperately clung to Bruce's every touch, begging with every inch of his body for the hunk not to stop.
Their eyes locked in a heated stare, reflecting the most intense hunger and desire. Bruce relished in the sight of Damien's beautiful face writhing in pleasure, each thrust driving the boy further into delirium as he ravaged Damien's body without mercy.
Bruce's hips surged forward, his shaft pulsing and seeking the sweetest spot within. The pleasure was building inside the hunk, each breath ragged and filled with anticipation. Bruce's fingers dug into Damien's back, pulling him closer as he thrust deeper. And finally, with a gut-wrenching groan, Bruce pushed past the barrier and flooded Damien with his release, filling him completely as they collapsed in a tangle of limbs and spent desire. Bruce's seed drilled its way into Damien, its thickness incapable of holding itself. It spilled from Damien's body, pooling between their exhausted limbs.
They lay still for a moment, catching their breath and basking in the afterglow of their marvelous passion. The tangible evidence of their union was etched onto their bodies, glistening with sweat, flushed, and panting with satisfaction. As they slowly unraveled themselves from the embrace, they couldn't help but smile at each other.
"Bruce...?" Damien called, whispering through the melody of heavy breathing.
"Yeah?" Bruce moaned, his massive chest exhaling as he buried Damien's body deeper into the mattress.
"I..." Damien stumbled, afraid that the spell they had cast over each other would suddenly be broken once he said the words.
But as the blonde stared into Bruce's eyes, his soul hovering like a delicate feather at the edge of a precipice, he finally realized that he might never get another chance again.
So, against everything life had taught him, Damien leaped forward.
"I love you," he professed, his words suspended in time.
Bruce's expression wavered, his emerald jewels shivering slightly before his lips finally stretched, coating Damien with the reassurance, affection, and love he had desperately yearned for all his life.
"I love you too, kid," the hunk whispered back, plunging his tongue into the blonde's mouth and sealing their vows.
Outside, the moonlight spilled across the rooftops of Bridgetown, bathing it with a majestic silvery glow, enveloping the entire island in a slumbering spell.
But, a different energy lurked in the shadows back at the resort. The soft crunch of gravel under sharp, high heels broke the silence of the secluded trails leading to one of the back gates. Karen's stride was purposeful, her eyes sharp and determined as she made her way through the narrow path, a smirk playing on her lips. She reached the gate just as a faint engine hum filled the air.
A scooter pulled up, and its rider, a young man in his twenties, nervous and glancing around, hopped off and approached her. He reached into the compartment and pulled out a manila envelope.
"Did you get it?" Karen asks, her voice low but commanding.
"Yeah," the man replied, passing it over. "It was quite the show," the man mocked.
Karen tore open the envelope with a deliberate, satisfied motion. Her fingers pulled out a stack of glossy photographs, her smirk deepening as she flipped through the images. There they were, Damien and Bruce, kissing and fucking each other passionately, their desire undeniable and damning.
"Perfect," she breathed, her eyes gleaming with triumph. "Absolutely perfect," she repeated. The young man stood uneasily, watching her revel in her discovery. Karen didn't even glance at him as she pulled out her phone. "Send me the digital copies, too," she commanded, her tone clipped and businesslike.
He nodded quickly, fumbling with his phone to upload the pictures. A few moments later, her phone pinged with the incoming files. Karen glanced at the images on her screen, her grin widening. She could practically taste the leverage and power those photos would grant her.
"Done," the man said, eager to dodge Karen's presence.
"Good," she whispered sadistically before her smirk turned sour. "Go," she dismissed with a flick of her hand, already absorbed in her next move. As the scooter's engine faded into the night, Karen glanced at the incriminating photos again. "Now let's see what the press has to say about this," she said, voice dripping with satisfaction before turning, her heels clicking in rhythm as she walked away from the gate.
The night was eerily still, not a faint waft in the air.
But Karen's vengeful actions were about to unleash a catastrophic tidal wave.
One that would wreak havoc on everyone's lives.
(To be continued...)