Episode 13 – Happy Festivus! A tropical island awaits Matt and Peter…

WBLCoverAs promised, HOT SEXIN’ again at last!  I’m feeling about a week away from the big finish.  This one is not as long as “Given the Circumstances,” but it’s longer than “A Little Too Broken.”  Enjoy, and may you triumph in the Feats of Strength!

 

Matt watched Peter sleeping on the plane.  The big tan leather seats in the Worthington family’s Gulfstream flattened out into beds, and right after takeoff, Peter had accidentally hit the button that stretched his seat out.  He’d laughed, delighted, closed his eyes, sighed and passed out.

Matt wanted to join him, to lay down beside him and hold him.  But first he’d have to unclench his hands from his own armrests, the anger at fucking Cody rolling through him in waves.  He could fix this situation!  All it would take was one solid punch to Cody’s face…

The plane landed at the airport in St. Thomas.  Peter woke up, looked out the window at the blue-green Caribbean, and smiled.  “Oh my God, it’s beautiful.”

“Just wait till we get to the island.”

“This is an island.”

“Yeah, but it’s not the island.”

Peter watched as friendly people unloaded his luggage and a car whisked them to the water’s edge, where a boat awaited – a small yacht, really, with a rear deck on which a lavish luncheon of crab and lobster and fresh fruit and champagne was laid out for them.

“How much is this costing?” Peter had to ask as they watched St. Thomas shrink behind them.

“Nothing,” Matt said.  “This all belongs to my friend Chadrick’s family.  We’re headed to Worthington Island.”

“Worthington!  The Worthingtons are friends of yours?”  Peter knew Matt had come up with money, but he was shocked – he might as well have said Rockefeller or Vanderbilt.

“I went to school with Chadrick.  We’re friends.”

Peter raised an eyebrow.  “You don’t call him Chad?”

“No.  God forbid.  Never Chad.  He’d kill me.”

Then the island was gone, and there was nothing to see but water.  Matt nodded to himself, seeing the look on Peter’s face, watching it smooth out, relax, drop the furrow in his brow as the emptiness of the horizon did its work on him.

Sitting in the back of the boat, looking out to sea, Peter didn’t even know they’d reached the island until the boat cut its engines. The captain gracefully turned it up against the dock, the crew timing their jump perfectly, tying the boat off, then whisking their bags away.  A sandy path led from the dock to the house, a long, one-story building with an inviting tiled porch, lined with wicker lounge chairs with festive tropical-patterned cushions.  Vines curled around the porch pillars, glowing with rude green health, no doubt needing a trim on a regular basis to keep them from eating the house.  In front of that was a fire pit with benches around it.  To either side of the dock was a stretch of beach, curving out of sight, palm trees drooping over its borders.  It was like something out of “Dr. No.”

When the boat took off, Matt put his arm around Peter’s shoulder.  “We’re alone now.”

“Really?”

“There’s no staff on site.  We’ll have to fend for ourselves, cook and clean.  The boat comes every day though, with fresh food and water.”

“Every day?  Is that necessary?”

“Well, yeah,” Matt said.  “There’s no electricity other than what we get from the solar panels.  So there’s no huge fridge or freezer.  No big TV.  No pool or hot tub.  Just the ocean.”

Peter smiled.  “We are totally cut off from the world.”

“Yes.”

“Wonderful.”  He put his arms around Matt, hugged him with gratitude, and Matt clasped Peter hard.

He couldn’t help it; it had been too long.  His hands ran down to cup Peter’s ass.  He felt Peter arch in response, felt his grip tighten on the ridges of Matt’s strong back.  Peter’s fingertips stroked Matt’s spine and Matt groaned.

“Oh God Peter it’s been too long.”

“Yes,” Peter agreed, breaking the embrace and walking away, pulling Matt by the hand towards the porch.  He let go of Matt and tore his shirt off as he went, wanting to feel the warm sun on his skin.

Matt watched Peter’s taut body as he threw his shirt on the porch, his runner’s build so economical – not skinny, like some marathoners, but lean, defined…perfect, to Matt.  Matt’s erection throbbed in his shorts, and he pulled his own shirt off as he followed.

Peter bent over to flatten out a lounge chair, and Matt lost it, looking at his ass in his khaki shorts.  “Fuck…” he whispered, pressing himself up against Peter, a hand between Peter’s shoulder blades, keeping him bent over.  Matt ground his cock up against Peter’s tight round butt, listening to Peter moan softly.

“I’m gonna get so deep inside you.”

Peter squirmed, cocking his shoulders so that he slipped out from under Matt’s big hand.  He pressed his back against Matt’s chest, reached around and put a fingertip right on the head of Matt’s dick, circling it lazily back and forth.  “You think so?” Peter asked.  “You gonna put some coconut oil on my back and let it drip down my crack?”

Matt grunted.  He pushed Peter down on the lounge chair.  “Don’t move.”

Peter disobeyed instantly, rolling onto his back, throwing an arm over his head, spreading his legs so that his feet dropped off either side of the chair.  His own erection was plain for Matt to see, his sultry come-hither look half joking but irresistible anyway.

Matt shook his head.  “God, you’re beautiful.”  He leaned down, his hair brushing Peter’s face as he kissed him gently on the lips.

“Takes one to know one,” Peter replied, and they both laughed, thinking of that first day in the garage.

“I’ll be right back.”  Matt ran inside to find his suitcase, in which he’d wisely packed the Magnums and lube on top, knowing, hoping, he’d need them right away.

When he came out, the chair was empty.  Matt looked around and saw Peter standing naked on the beach, feet apart, his tight little ass just waiting to be split.

Matt set the rubbers and lube down by the lounge chair and dropped his own pants, then padded out onto the warm sand in his bare feet.  He stood next to Peter, watching the sea breeze ruffle his fair hair.

“Thank you,” Peter said, turning to him with a solemn gaze.  “I need this.  All of this.  None of that,” he said, waving at the water, the continental U.S. so far away.

Matt nodded.  “Me too.”

They stood there for a moment, then Peter turned, his hand grazing Matt’s still-hard dick as he went.  It was an invitation, a summons, and Matt obeyed.

“You don’t want to do it on the beach?” Matt asked.

Peter looked over his shoulder.  “What, and get cracksand?  We’d both get all cut up if that massive cock of yours even got a grain of sand up in me.”

“Yeah, that would be bad.”

Peter crossed the patio, opening the French doors to the house.  Matt grabbed his supplies from the lounge chair and raced after him.

The inside was simple, the wicker furniture comfortable and plain, its white cushions and pillows easy to clean or replace if they got dirty or torn.  It was furniture made for enjoying, not for photographing or curating.  Anywhere in the walls that there weren’t French doors, there were big windows, all of which opened.  The high ceiling of blond wood had two ceiling fans whirring away gently, the endless sunshine providing more than enough power to the solar cells for the few electrical devices in the house.

Peter found the bedroom, and was only halfway through scattering the excess pillows off of it before Matt grabbed him and spun them onto the bed, Peter landing on Matt with a squeak of surprise and delight.

“Mine,” Matt said authoritatively.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.  I’m gonna plant my flag right here…”

“Whaaa!” Peter giggled, struggling uselessly.

“…and claim this land for…well, for me, in the name of me.”

“Mattistan.  Mattavia.  Matt Island.”

“Islands plural,” Matt said, his hands rounding Peter’s waist to his ass.

Peter was on Matt’s chest, his face turned up to Matt’s.  His eyes were dark and serious as he reached back, lifted Matt’s hands, held them up and away as he wriggled down to Matt’s crotch.  He rubbed his face on Matt’s hardon, eyes closed, mouth open – his cheek, his nose, his chin, rubbing it like a cat would mark its territory.

Then his eyes opened and met Matt’s as he took the head into his mouth.  Then Matt had to close his eyes, the exquisite warm wet softness of Peter’s mouth on him was too unbearably good.

He stroked Peter’s ears, felt Peter’s hands grabbing his, knew that he wanted Matt to grab his head and fuck it hard.  Matt resisted gently, held Peter’s hands, didn’t let go.

Peter sighed.  He looked up at Matt.  “You know, don’t you, that you don’t have to be so gentle.  That I don’t want you to be.”

“I know.  But I want you to know…”

Peter cut him off.  “That I’m valued, cherished, yes.  Thank you, Matt.  But…the rough sex thing, it’s not…”  He broke off.  “I’ve been with guys who were rough because they were cruel.  And maybe I liked it that way, some of the time, because I thought I deserved it.  But that wasn’t all there was to it.  I liked it because it was hot.  Because it was animal, crazy, powerful.”

He looked Matt in the eye with surprising resolve.  “And maybe I like to see what I can take.  What my limits are.  Maybe I like a bit of the old Tarzan and Jane.  Especially here, now, in the jungle.”  He cocked his head.  “And with that long brown hair of yours, and that big beefcake body, you know, you kinda look like Tarzan.”

Matt didn’t smile.  He reached down and grabbed a handful of Peter’s hair, just barely pulling on it, just enough to watch Peter’s eyes glaze with pleasure, with anticipation.  Okay, he thought.  I like a bit of the old slap and tickle, too.  Let’s see if we can rewire your kink to be about affection, not contempt.

“You Jane,” Matt said in earnest, not cracking a smile.  Then he did put his hands on Peter’s head, and slowly, steadily, moved it over his cock.  Peter’s mouth opened and Matt tightened his sphincter a couple times to flex his boner, just enough that it tapped against Peter’s mouth a couple times.

Peter took the hint and engulfed it, letting Matt set the pace with his hands, his hips, both of them thrusting in time.  He couldn’t get it all in, couldn’t get it all down there at this angle, but no matter.

A thought occurred to Matt.  He pulled Peter off his dick, rolled out from under him and off the bed.  “Don’t move.”

He padded to the kitchen to get a knife, then went out to the porch, where the vines grew around the pillars in profusion.  He tugged on one, nodded in satisfaction, and cut off two lengths.  He went back to the bedroom, vines in hand.

“Stand up,” he said, and Peter jumped to his feet.  “Turn around.”

Peter’s breath quickened when Matt brought his hands together behind his back.  Then he laughed, for a second anyway, as Matt wrapped a vine around his wrists, tight enough he couldn’t move them, the plant’s flesh cool and moist but strong, not easily breakable.  Matt tied it off and turned Peter around, helped him down to his knees.

Peter looked up at Matt adoringly.  My Tarzan, my jungle captor…

Matt wrapped the other length around the back of Peter’s head and used it to pull him in onto his cock.  Matt didn’t move his hips, only used the vine as a set of reins to guide Peter’s actions.

He could see Peter’s hands moving, and wondered if he needed to free him, if he’d tied the restraints too tight.  But when he bent over to see what Peter was doing, he smiled – Peter was stroking his own ass with the edges of his bound hands, exciting himself with the thought of what came next.

“Fuck.” Matt said.  It was command, exclamation, promise.  He picked Peter up and put him on the bed on his knees, face down in a pillow.   He tore the rubber out of its foil, rolled it over his dick, then cracked the lid of the lube, the sounds of the rip and the snap letting Peter know exactly what was going on.

Matt didn’t touch Peter’s ass, only slathered his own cock with lube and, his body not touching Peter’s otherwise, just let his long fat dick touch Peter’s crack, roll up and down it, pulling away when Peter tried to push back against it, or flicked his bound hands, desperately trying to reach it.  Then, finally, as Peter nearly cried in frustration, he touched the head to Peter’s asshole, silencing him, stilling him.  And began to push, more a nudge at first, just enough to shorten Peter’s breaths.

“Tarzan fuck Jane in ass,” Matt mumbled, and as Peter laughed, relaxing his sphincter as he did, as Matt knew he would, Matt pushed in.

“Oh!  Fuck!” Peter cried out as his insides made way for Matt’s manhood, welcomed it, felt its mass, its heat, its will as it moved further in.

Then Matt had him flat on the bed, Matt nearly flat on top of him, suspending his upper body on his elbows so that he wouldn’t crush Peter’s hands.  Matt sighed as Peter’s fingers stroked his abs, feather touches that would have tickled in any other circumstances.  He fucked his lover, yeah, I’m fucking my lover, Matt thought with a thrill.  Jane mine!

Matt fucked him harder now, pushing in all the way, till Peter cried out, his prostate squashed against his insides by Matt’s massive cock, nowhere for its juices to go but out, milked by Matt’s dick.  Then Matt held himself there, and Peter panted in pain, in ecstacy.  Then Matt retreated, or faked a retreat, and just as Peter relaxed he surprised him, thrust hard again, provoking another cry.

“Fucking pound it!” Peter demanded.

Matt’s dick stilled inside Peter.  He put his mouth on Peter’s ear, licked his lobe, made him moan.  “You’re not in charge here, remember?”

“Yes,” Peter said in agonized dismay.

Matt bit him on the ear, hard, making Peter yelp.

“Yes, what?”

“Yes sir,” Peter whispered, surrendering himself completely, not just his body but his will.  He didn’t have to fight, didn’t have to resist, he was safe.  Safe!  When had he ever been safe?

Matt felt Peter’s body relax, the submission more than physical.  Trust, he thought.  Will you trust me with your secret, too, Peter?

But now wasn’t the time for those thoughts.  Now was about fun, pleasure, giving.  Matt kept slow-fucking Peter, putting his hands under him, pinching his nipples to provoke startled, delighted sounds.  He watched the half of Peter’s face not pressed into the bed, watched him suppress his want, his need to be pounded, hammered!  He wanted it so bad!  He wouldn’t ask again, he wouldn’t, he wouldn’t!

That was what Matt had waited for, to see Peter repress his desire, his demand, to see him burn for it, hoping against hope that Matt might finally…

Then Matt’s hands were wrapped around Peter, one around his midsection and another around his chest, and all of Matt’s weight was on him.

“Hold on,” Matt said, and started to fuck him.  To really fuck him!  To take his own wild animal pleasure at gettin’ in there and havin’ his way!  Knowing that the ground had been prepared, was fertile, was ready to receive it.

“Oh god! Oh holy shit!” Peter gasped, and Matt grinned.  He wasn’t saying Ow, wasn’t saying Stop, was he?  No, he fucking loved it!  And I’m the one, I’m the one to give it to him!

It had been too long.  Only five minutes later, Matt bellowed as he came, startled by the suddenness of it, the force of it, as it made his whole body shake.  He finally stopped twitching, gasped for breath, inert on top of Peter.  But then Peter wiggled his ass, and Matt twitched again, cried out at the tenfold sensation of post-orgasmic stimulation on his exhausted cock.

“Please, Peter, no more,” he gasped.

Peter cackled.  “Am I the master now?”

“If you can do that to my dick, I guess you are!”

Both their bodies vibrated now, but with laughter, with ease.  Matt softened inside Peter, but he didn’t pull out, knowing that Peter wanted this, wanted the two of them just like this, just another minute…

Peter felt buried under Matt, bound and pinned and covered, and it felt so good.  Matt was like a dome that shielded him from…everything.  From the whole wide world outside.  Nobody else was giving anything to him, but Matt had given him this, the island, this fantastic fucking, everyone else in the world wanted to take, take, take…

You have to tell him about Cody, he told himself.  It’s only fair.

Peter nodded.  Yeah.  It was time.

 

That night they snuggled in front of the firepit, having moved one of the double-wide lounge chairs out from the porch.  Matt had built a roaring fire, to counter the “chill” of the 65 degree night.  Even the fire’s glow didn’t dim the starlight, and the Milky Way was smeared across the sky in all its glory.

Matt had taught Peter how to fish, or the rudiments of it anyway – Peter still didn’t have the knack of casting, but he kept trying, and the way his tongue slipped out to lick the corner of his mouth when he frowned in concentration nearly broke Matt’s heart.  Would have, if he hadn’t known that Peter was his now.

They’d caught nothing, ended up cooking one of the fish the boat had brought.  The two of them had danced together well in the kitchen, one chopping when the other seasoned, one mixing when the other flipped.  It was domestic bliss for Matt, seeing how well they meshed in the kitchen, reading each other’s bodies, each moving out of the other’s way, the accidental bumps turning into short gropes, reassuring touches to convince each that the other was there, that this was real.

“This reminds me of camping, when I was a kid,” Matt said.  “Sleeping under the stars, by a fire.”

“Yeah?  I didn’t think rich people camped, no offense.”

“None taken.  Well, you camp if you go to rich people summer camp.  Didn’t you go camping when you were a kid?”

“No.  My mom…well, she was a single mom, my dad was just some guy who ran away when she got pregnant.  She worked at WhackDougal’s slinging burgers, or as a cashier at MaxMart, so we didn’t have any money to go…anywhere.  Or any time – no paid holidays or paid vacation time, when you’re a part timer.  And they always made sure you were part time, so you didn’t get benefits.  One job they worked her 39.5 hours a week.”

“Shit…”

“Yeah.  And I guess I didn’t make the Neediest Cases charity list, since Mom had a job, so that wasn’t an option,” Peter said.  “But,” he shrugged, “I’m camping now.  So there’s that.”

Matt held Peter tighter.  There they were, sated, content, Peter on the fire’s side of the lounge, his back nestled against Matt’s chest.

“So I need to tell you something else.  About my past.”

“I’m here,” Matt said, two words speaking volumes.

“As I guess you’ve figured out by now, I have a history with guys who…well, aren’t that good to me.”  Peter sighed.  “One in particular.   His name was Cody.  Is Cody.  He’s a bad guy.”

Matt didn’t realize that he’d been storing that particular tension that deep till he felt his guts relax.  Peter had finally trusted him completely.

“And he’s back.  For money.  He knows…how to push my buttons.  He’s a fucking master craftsman at that.  That’s pretty much what he’s devoted his life to, you could say.  Becoming the best fucking manipulator he could be.”

“And has he got any money out of you?”

“Yeah.  A hundred grand so far.”

So far.  The words made Matt boil, the resigned tone in Peter’s voice, almost an acceptance that more would be lost soon enough.  Yeah, he thought, that was clever.  Just enough to be worth his while, not enough to kill the goose laying the golden eggs.

“Is he blackmailing you?  We can go to the cops…”

Peter laughed.  “No.  Not unless you count emotional blackmail.  It’s just…easier to give it to him.  He went away, too, as soon as he had it.  Allegedly he was in trouble with the mob or something and had to pay them off.  I guess I believed it at first, or maybe I just didn’t care what the fucking story was this time if I could just…make him go away.”

“And the only way to do that is to give him what he wants?”

“You must despise me,” Peter said, trying to get out of Matt’s arms, trying to flee to a dark corner somewhere.

Matt tightened his grip.  “No.  Never.  I love you, Peter.”

The words caused a shock wave to roll through Peter’s mind.  How could that be? The dark voice shouted.  How could anyone love you?  He’s a fucking idiot!

Matt felt Peter tense, felt him try and fold into himself again.  But Matt wouldn’t let him, brought him back up, out of the hole, kissed him on the neck, the ear, the shoulder.

Peter shuddered beneath him, but it wasn’t with pleasure.  Matt realized after a second that Peter was sobbing.

“Don’t.  Don’t love me.  You can’t.  I’m the worst thing that’s ever happened to you.”

“You’re the best thing, Peter.  The best luck I ever had was the day Kyle sent you to the garage instead of coming himself.  Otherwise…I never would have met you.”

Peter laughed.  “Yeah, and I never would have bought a lottery ticket, and fucking Cody would never have come into my life, and I wouldn’t be here, ruining yours.  I’m the worst best luck you ever had.”

“Yeah, that’s right, you are,” Matt said, surprising Peter.  “You’re the worst best thing to ever happen to me.  You know what the worst thing would have been?  Ending up with someone calm and cool and collected and poised and no fun at all.  Someone who’s not like you, who’s not alive like you are.  You’re so strong and so sad and so abused and so tough and so good, and so…real.  And holy shit, so fucking sexy.  And I’m so lucky to have the gift of…of you.”

“So what are you saying, that love is a gift, that it’s like the money, it just comes to you whether you deserve it or not?”

“No.  Scratch that last.  It’s not a gift.  It’s earned.  You’re you, that’s why I love you.  You’re so strong, Peter.  You’re so…deceptive.  You look small and weak but I know you.  You’re a fucking lion inside.”

He’s wrong, the voice said, but it was fighting a rear guard action and it knew it.

Maybe you’re wrong, Peter was finally able to say back to it.  And for once, it had no answer.

“You know,” Peter said, shifting his body, flexing his ass against Matt.  “Tarzan always beat the lion in a fight,” Peter whispered.

“No,” Matt whispered back.  “Tarzan just showed the lion who’s boss.”  And his own body moved in reply.

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