Gay Romance / Gay Fiction🔞
Erik woke up the next morning with half his face in the sand and an ass that looked like an overripe citrus fruit a punk band had used for drum practice. Most of the sea urchin spines had come out overnight — Tim's fingers had worked miracles, though Erik had tried to bite his hand twice in the process — but his ass still throbbed like a second heart.
"I'm not sitting down today," Erik announced. "Not all day. I'm standing. I'll eat standing up, I'll stand while I sleep, I'll stand while I fuck."
"That last one's a little optimistic," Ben observed.
"Especially since you're the bottom," Alex added.
Erik groaned. "Goddammit."
Chris was already down on the beach, barefoot, no shorts — because clothing was optional on this island and nobody minded — pointing toward the edge of the jungle. "Boys, yesterday a sea urchin almost killed Erik. Today we explore the jungle. Deeper. Deeper than we've ever gone."
"You got lost three times yesterday," Tim reminded him.
"But today's my good day."
"Based on what?"
"Based on Erik's ass not bleeding. When Erik's ass isn't bleeding, everything's fine."
Erik's ass throbbed, but it did not bleed. So they went.
The jungle was dense. Not dense like yesterday — dense like the vegetation had decided to close ranks over their heads on purpose. The leaves were the size of tabletops, the vines hung down like stretched tongues, and the insects — the insects were waging open war on Erik specifically.
"They did this yesterday too," Erik said, slapping a mosquito off his arm. "Why me?"
"Because you're the sweetest," Ben said.
"Sweet? I'm not sweet. I'm a hard man."
"Hard men can be sweet."
"Fuck you, Ben."
"Gladly, but right now: jungle."
Alex took point, cutting the path with the machete, the muscles in his arm standing out, sweat running down his back, his ass moving ahead of them like two hard globes. Chris walked behind him and did not look at the trees. Not once. Alex's ass was the only thing in frame.
"You looking?" Alex asked without turning around.
"I'm not looking at anything."
"Your dick's looking."
"My dick has an independent life. I don't control it."
Tim brought up the rear, and he was the only one actually looking at the plants. "Look at these ferns. They're medicinal. And that flower over there — that's a natural aphrodisiac."
"How do you figure?" Chris asked.
"It smells like sex."
Everyone sniffed it.
"Yeah. It really does."
"Don't crack it open or we'll be fucking all day."
"And that's bad?" Ben asked.
"Nobody said it was bad. But somewhere deep in this jungle there's supposed to be something we discover before we throw ourselves at each other."
Erik stopped. "Guys."
Everyone stopped.
"What?" Chris asked.
"Quiet."
It was quiet. The birds had gone silent. The insects had stopped. The wind had died. The leaves weren't moving. Only in the distance — a low, rolling sound, like the stomach of something enormous and hungry.
"Storm's coming," Tim said, looking up.
The sky, which had been blue minutes ago, was gray now, and the gray was darkening like a painting somebody was smearing with their thumb. The clouds gathered like they'd been called — thick, black, solid — and lightning moved between them like white veins on a dark hand.
"Fuck," Erik said.
"We need to get back to the beach," Alex said. "But the jungle's too thick, we can't see the sky—"
THUNDER. A sound like the sky splitting down the middle. The ground shook under them. The trees bent, the leaves flew, and the rain — the rain didn't fall. The rain attacked. Not in drops but in walls, in sheets of water, hitting their faces with enough force that they could barely see past their own hands.
"FUUUUCK!" Chris screamed, and the storm swallowed it.
"RUN!" Alex screamed, and they ran.
The jungle turned into a river. The ground, solid minutes ago, became mud — slick, clinging, deep mud. Their feet slid, their bodies went down, branches whipped at them, and the rain beat down like the sky had taken this personally.
Erik slipped and went down flat on his stomach. "MY ASS! THE URCHIN! MY ASS!"
"Get up!" Ben yelled, hauling him upright.
Both sides of him hurt now — the right from the urchin, the left from the fall — and both of them were mud.
Then Alex saw it. The rock face. At the jungle's edge, in the side of the hill — a cave. Not big, not small, just enough. Green growth hung across the mouth of it like a beard, and inside it was dark, but dry.
"THERE! THERE!" Alex screamed, pointing.
Five men ran — sliding, skidding, falling — toward the cave. Ben slipped and took Erik down with him. Tim slipped and hit a tree. Chris slipped and went straight into Alex's back, and they both landed in the mud, Chris on top, their faces inches apart.
"This is romantic," Alex panted.
"It is not," Chris panted, and didn't move.
"MOVE!" Erik bellowed from behind, and hit them, and the three of them rolled through the mud like one human boulder.
Somehow they got inside. Five muddy, soaked, exhausted men, gasping, spitting, laughing. The mouth of the cave was small but the inside opened up — high ceiling, smooth stone walls, and best of all: dry. Outside, the storm raged, the rain came down, the lightning flashed. But inside — inside it was quiet. Or rather: inside there was nothing but their breathing and their heartbeats.
"Where's my machete?" Alex asked.
"Out in the mud," Chris said.
"My shorts?" Erik asked.
"You weren't wearing shorts."
"Right. True."
Lightning lit the inside of the cave, and for a second they saw everything: the smooth stone walls, the sandy floor, and — in the corner — a pile of dry leaves and moss some animal had gathered and then abandoned. A nest. A bed. A foundation.
"Dry bed," Tim said. "That's divine."
"Dry bed, wet boys," Ben said, already lying down on the leaves, the mud running off him onto the dry surface.
"We're ruining the nest," Chris said.
"Nobody's used that nest in a long time," Tim said. "We're using it."
Erik sat down — carefully, on his left side, because the right was still throbbing — and leaned back against the wall. Mud ran down his face, his chest, his stomach, his cock. Everyone was muddy. Everyone was soaked. Everyone's cock had shrunk from the cold water and the running, and this — for some reason — was hilarious.
"Look at us," Erik said. "Five muddy men with tiny dicks in a cave. This is the least sexy thing that has ever happened."
"My dick is not tiny," Ben objected.
"It is now. From the cold. Like a cocktail sausage."
"Do not compare my dick to a cocktail sausage."
"It looks like a cocktail sausage."
"So does yours."
"I know. But I'm allowed to say it, you're not."
Chris laughed, and the laugh turned into a cough. Then Alex laughed. Then Tim. Then everybody, and the cave filled up with five men laughing while outside the storm raged like it wanted to swallow the island whole.
Then — as the laughter died and the lightning lit the cave again — Alex spoke.
"Guys."
"Yeah?"
"Look at us."
Erik had said it a minute ago and it had been a joke. Alex said it now and it wasn't. Because Alex was looking at them. All of them. Five muddy, soaked, exhausted, half-frozen, half-warm men in a cave in a storm in the dark. And his expression — his expression was what made the cocks move.
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