By Kim G. and Linda

© September 2000

Randy: I had originally intended to drop Michael off after our date, and go home and finish getting things ready to take down to the boat Friday morning. The best laid plans· Actually, it was me who was best-laid Thursday night. Michael came home with me, and we ended up basically attacking each other. That little bit under the boardwalk, as nice as it'd been, had only whetted my appetite. And his, it appeared. Man. To think I spent almost four weeks trying to convince myself I didn't want him.  

I had planned to get up after we had sex, and finish getting things ready--I still had to pack my bag, and gather non-perishables together in the kitchen. But another plan laid that didn't happen· It was so nice to lay there next to him, and just·I don't know. Kind of absorb his heat; absorb just *having* him there.

I woke up about an hour before I had the alarm set; I had to go to the bathroom, and I was thirsty. I was surprised that I'd fallen asleep as quickly as I had, and more surprised that I woke up when I did. I got out of bed and pulled on my sweatshorts, then headed for the kitchen, and coffee.

It didn't take long to put the groceries into some order; for the most part, I'd left the non-perishables in the bags they'd come from the store in. All that I really needed to do was add the frozen/refrigerated stuff to the cooler, and double-check that I wasn't missing anything we'd want. I grinned, thinking about my shopping trip yesterday. I'd even bought some Earl Grey tea, and a small teapot. Nothing like what Michael had at his place--I could tell, even the once I saw it, that it was special to him. But hopefully he'd appreciate the gesture.

I had a lot of conflicting emotions running through me every time I thought about the man still sleeping in my bed. I was definitely intrigued, oh, yes. And sex with him was spectacular; I couldn't recall the last time I'd had as much fun with someone, in bed. Danger was a definite thing, too, and I could still hear Quent's voice saying, "You *slept* with him? Unprotected?" Danger from other places, too. HIV was only one area--the other was my heart· me. What would happen to me if I let my guard down, and let him in? Or was it too late for that? I already knew I wanted to know him better, learn more about him. Long-term·was scary. Hell, short-term, beyond a day or so was scary too--but didn't carry the weight that the other did.

I sighed and poured a cup of coffee, then two tumblers of juice. I drank the coffee down almost before it had cooled enough; my palate took a beating with that one. No resolutions here; not for a while. If I'd quit worrying about things I had no control over, I might enjoy the weekend. And I was determined to do that.

I grabbed the juice and headed for the bedroom. Time to get Michael up, and see where the weekend would lead.

Michael: {I was floating in that sweet place, not quite asleep, not quite awake, warm and very comfortable. I burrowed into the pillow, and your scent enveloped me. I drifted upward toward full wakefulness, reaching out over the cool sheets, searching for you. Not there. I cracked open an eye, peered about. The bath was empty; I couldn't hear water running. A glance at the clock told me I was late waking up, but I'd worn myself out completely. I was a little sore, but it was a sweet discomfort, knowing how I'd gotten to that point. I rolled over with a sigh, and spied you standing in the doorway, arms crossed over your chest, bare except for those loose sweatshorts I liked so well, a smile curving your mouth. I blinked, then returned it sleepily, and made a beckoning motion with my hand, inviting you over for a moment of early morning snogging.} G'mornin'....c'mere....

Randy: {What a sight for morning--a sleepy you. I pick up the tumblers I'd set on the dresser, before leaning against the doorframe, and head for the bed. They're safely on the bedside table before I settle onto the bed next to you, my body curling automatically around yours. I'm not even going to think about how good it feels to do this. I'm just going to go with it.} Morning, darlin'. Sleep well?

Michael: Mmmm....{Your bare skin is chilly, but I wrap around you anyway. I press a kiss to the side of your neck, rub my mouth over your skin. You smell of soap and shaving cream, and I like it.} Lovely...wonderfully well. {I throw my leg over yours, drawing you closer. I know that we really need to be up and about, but I want to spend a moment feeling you against me, hard, solid, substantial.}

Randy: {I hold you close for a minute, my body sparking. I swear I wasn't kidding last night; I haven't had this low of control over me or my dick since I was sixteen. Come to think of it, I think I had more, then. It feels good to touch you; to know you're real--and not a figment of my overworked imagination, like you were for so many nights.} You're warm... {I got chilled, running around nearly-naked, but didn't realize it 'til I snuggled up to you. You grin and hold me closer, and I give up fighting it, and lean in to kiss you.}

Michael: {Your mouth is soft, and tastes of toothpaste. A chaste good morning kiss segues into something with more intent, warming me. I roll halfway atop you, sliding my arms around you. So very good to feel you, to lie in your arms. I release your mouth, and lie down, settling my head on your broad shoulder, smiling to myself.} Nice way to say good morning....

Randy: Yeah, I've noticed mornings are a little more palatable when you've got this to wake up to. {I give you a grin and squeeze your ass gently before giving you a light smack there.} Want some juice? I figured you'd be thirsty... and as much as I'd love to lie here with you, we gotta get movin', darlin'. Need to get on the road in about an hour.

Michael: I know, Caro. Work now, play later. {I give you one last squeeze, then kiss you soundly on your mouth before releasing you reluctantly. I'm a big boy, and can wait, though my body protests it, though my cock has other ideas. I shove into a sitting position against the headboard of your bed, bunching the covers over my lap, over my early morning erection. It will go down eventually; if I give in, I'll just be sleepy and want to burrow beneath the blankets for another nap, and I know we don't have time for that.} Thank you for the juice--I *am* very thirsty...though I can't possibly imagine why. {I grin at you, enjoying the comfortable feelings between us.} So what do we need to be doing, now?

Randy: {I shift off of the bed, ignoring the fact that your cock is only inches away, that it wouldn't take anything to lean over and just-- Stop that, Taylor. Jesus.} Now, you need to hit the showers, darlin', and I need to throw some things in a bag. If it's okay, I thought we could just grab a bite to eat through a drive-through on the way to the Marina...and later, I'll fix us a proper meal, once we're at sea. {I head for my dresser; the further away from a still-warm, sleepy you, the better. Following my instincts in this instance wouldn't be a good thing. We'd never get out of here.}

Michael: {From my perch in your bed, I watch you move about the room, completely unselfconsciously. It's an undeniably lovely sight. Though I'd not mind another roll about the linens, and I know you'd be happily compliant, we've things we need to be doing to get started. I stretch widely, luxuriously, and smile when you send a glance my way.}

Randy: {I give you a crooked grin in answer, my own eyes sweeping over you. I haven't woke up to anything as nice as you in ages. I could get used to it.} Hit the showers, sailor, before the Capt'n has to step in.

Michael: {I flash you another smile, then turn and pick up my juice glass, draining it on the way to your shower. I shower quickly, brush my teeth, shave. Catching a glimpse of myself in the mirror, I realize I look as calm, as contented as I feel.} A night of good sex...no, fucking *great* sex will do that for one....{I murmur to my reflection, then return to your bedroom. You've stepped out, and I dress quickly in the jeans and a black sweatshirt and trainers before seeking you out to give you my offer of help.}

Randy: {I pulled a sweatshirt over my tee against the early morning chill. I figure by the time we're out to sea I'll be able to strip it off. When I come back up from taking bags down to the truck you're leaning against the counter, drinking a cup of coffee. It's just past 7:30, so we're doing well for time.} All we have to take out is your bag, and the cooler--I got everything else down there, already. And once we get to the slip, I'll do the boat check if you can put stuff away in the galley and the cabin. Then we can get the hell out of Dodge for a few days. Um--didja bring a swimsuit? {I can't stop the leer in my voice, and rake my eyes over you, head to toe.} You won't need it, if you did.

Michael: Actually, I forgot one...I hadn't given it much thought. I suppose I shall come back rather well-tanned. {With my olive coloring, I tan quickly, and easily, though I'm not quite sure I want my "dangly bits" as Lizzie once called them, that exposed to the sun. A sunburn there would cause an end to the fun we'd planned.} As for the division of labor...I'm a quick study. I pick up things quickly, and want to learn as much as you're willing to teach me.

Randy: I'll teach you as much as you're comfortable learning, Michael. And yeah, darlin', I packed sunscreen. {You didn't ask the question, but I could see you weighing it in your eyes--and your comment about getting tanned was a good lead. I set our coffee cups in the sink and make sure the pot's unplugged, then grin.} Let's do it. Catch the door, will you? {You raise an eyebrow when I lift the cooler, grunting from the weight.} S'okay...I carry it alone when its just me going out. Just make sure the door's locked.

Michael: {I shoulder my bag, and make certain the door is locked behind us. You've held the elevator for us, and I dash onto it, excited to be casting away the cares of real life for a long weekend of sand, surf, and you. Lovely thought. When the elevator gets to the lobby, I pick up one side of the cooler.} I *know* you can carry this...believe me, I know how strong you are, but I really want to carry my weight, here.

Randy: Stubborn sonofagun, aren't you. {I grin, and acquiesce, deciding its nice to have someone to share *with*. I'm very used to doing for myself, because generally it's just myself to do for...but it's the two of us, at least for the next four days. That thought makes me warmer all over than I have a right to be feeling, and I cough once to shake it off a little. We settle the cooler into the back of the truck, with your bag tucked beside mine, next to it. I tighten down the tarp I've set over the bed, and wink.} All set, darlin'. Let's go.

Michael: {I settle into the cab of the truck, grateful for its leg room. You whip us out of the parking lot, and we're on the road almost before I can blink. We run through a drive through and pick up some greasy breakfast food, but it tastes good, regardless. I think that it's the company, and the excitement of getting away for a bit. The radio is on again, and the cheery sound of what you laughingly call 'surfer music' wraps around us. Not my first choice, but I've could probably learn to like it. The day outside is beautiful, the sky clear and blue, and though it's still a bit chill, it feels as if it will warm nicely. I watch the scenery flash by, and smile to myself.}

Randy: {The traffic's already heavy, even this early in the morning, and by the time we reach the off-ramp for the Marina, I'm swearing enough to sound like a true sailor. Usually it doesn't bother me this much, but today, all I want to do is stow our gear, complete the pre-sail check, and be *gone*. I want time alone with you, with just the wind and sea and sky for company. No distractions, nothing to bother us, or demand our attention away from each other. That first weekend we spent together was great, shit, it was beyond words. But it was fast, and frenzied, and so tense near the end... The last 48 hours have been equally great, but also tense, in their own way, with the added distracters of work. I look over at you, and you're looking out the window; the Marina is coming up on our right, and you can see the sails and rigging of hundreds of boats. I reach over and squeeze your thigh once, then lower the volume on the radio.} My slip is further down; we still have a little ways to go, but almost, darlin'. We're almost there. {I point out the different sloops, and yachts, and some of the differences between the sailing boats, and the "stinkpots", or motorized ones, with no sails. There're a few houseboats docked here, though not many, and a lot of smaller boats, as well. It's bright, and busy, and with the smell of salt in my nostrils now, I can feel myself beginning to itch to get out there; God, it's been a long time since I've been able to go.}

Michael: {It's very *busy*. I'm vaguely surprised at the sheer number of people here, walking purposefully about. It's like the anthills we stirred with sticks as young lads. Everyone looks very happy; I see lots of children flashing around, and I'm very glad you're such an adept driver, and have such good reflexes. You point things out, showing me the different kind of boats. Down this close, the wind is brisker, and they bob up and down in their place. I'm reminded of spirited horses in their racing stalls, eager to be out and running. You pull into a fenced lot, and head for a reserved space, pulling into it with practiced ease, in spite of the jeeps and mini-vans surrounding it. After you park, we get out, and I help you with the tarp that had covered our belongings, and we start loading ourselves like pack animals. You're so happy, so...alive...that it's impossible to resist your good cheer.}

Randy: {I know you're wondering which one is mine; even with the picture over my computer, to the unknowing, a lot of boats look alike. My slip is the second-to-the-last on the right side of this dock; nestled in between a *huge* motorized yacht, and a smaller motor boat. I have all the sails tied down right now, because I didn't want to have to replace them a third time, so she looks a little barren, but good to me, nonetheless. I step aboard, and gesture for you to follow.} Welcome to The Stuff of Dreams, Michael. Come on board.

Michael: {It takes a second to acquaint myself with the up and down motion of the boat on the water, but I manage to board without falling into the water. On board, I have a moment of nausea at the pitching movement, and wonder if I'm going to be ill; I swallow, hard, determined not to give into the feeling, and after a moment it passes, and I'm fine. Though I was once on the sculling team during my university days, it's far different trying to stand and walk about, rather than sitting; beyond that, it's been years since those days-almost a whole lifetime ago. I pry my fingers from around the strap of my overnight bag, and set it down on the smooth wooden planks of the deck.} Thank you...I can't believe I'm finally here.

Randy: Me neither. {I eye you carefully; you look a little green.} You need something for motion sickness? I have patches in the first aid kit--they work like Dramamine, but they won't make you as sleepy as that would. {You shake your head, and after a moment or two, your color improves. We hustle back to the truck to get the cooler, and to secure the tarp inside. Back onboard, you watch with some amusement as I exchange my sweatshirt for a windbreaker, and tie my hair back with a bandanna. I have sneakers on already; I never wear boots onboard--it scuffs the deck too much, and they're too slippery when it gets wet.} I have to climb the rigging and untie the sails--you want the tour now, or do you want to watch?

Michael: Well, if you give me the tour now, I can be putting things away for you, and we'll be away that much faster. {Back onto the deck a second time, I feel a little more secure, less likely to be ill, but I'll keep your patches in mind. I'd not given any thought to being seasick, and I'll not let anything like that stop me from enjoying our time together.}

Randy: All righty. One tour coming up. {I grin at you, and gesture toward the steps that lead down into the bowels of the craft. I've shouldered my bag, and you've got yours.} I have one cabin; it's forward; aft has the living area, and galley--kitchen, in land-speak--and makes the bulk of the ship. {I gesture to one wall behind us.} The galley's small, but has everything we need, and the 'head', {I open the door so you can see} is full-sized in miniature, with tub, shower, sink and toilet, and a small linen closet. {We go down the three steps that take us into the forward portion of the craft, and the cabin.} And finally, the cabin. {Smaller than a "real" bedroom, it has barely enough room to move around, but is still decent-sized, considering. I have a queen-sized bed in here, which takes up most of the room. The dresser consists of lots of drawers built into the wall, with a small TV/ VCR built into it's own cabinet. A chair is pushed under the small writing desk, with a lamp over it on one wall.} Small, but cozy. And plenty of room for two, for snuggling. {I wink at you.} C'mon, darlin', I gotta get us cast-off.

Michael: {I reach for your bag, and give it and my own a toss onto the bed before following you back out. I'm surprised at how roomy it is; from the outside, it doesn't look this large. I'll bring the bags with the food, and the cooler back down in a moment, and unload them, get things put away whilst you do your pre-sailing check.}

Randy: {It doesn't take long for me to check the ropes, making sure they're coiled, and not knotted; I double-check that we have freshwater reserves, and that the ship-to-shore radio is working. I check all emergency and first-aid supplies, then make sure the fire extinguishers on both decks are current and full. I know they are; I've not had to use them yet, but I have a checklist in my mind, and I've found its easier just to go through each point on it, and be sure that each item is covered, than risk not having something. I'm peripherally aware of you moving back and forth from below-decks to topside, but forget about everything but the wind blowing around me when I climb up the main mast to let the sails loose. I double-check the rigging, making sure there's nothing loose, and check the canvas to be sure there aren't any holes in these sails. It's beautiful up here, though cool, with the wind whipping around. It's a fairly fast wind, and I look forward to watching the sails billowing out with it. It takes a little while, climbing from one mast to the other, to check everything out, but I'd rather be safe than sorry. Sure at last, I climb down and secure the mainsail, then head for the rope securing us to the dock.} Ready to cast off, Michael. All ashore who's going ashore.

Michael: {Finally finished with carrying things downstairs... belowdecks, I remind myself, I hear your cheery voice bounce down to where I'm putting things away in the small refrigerator. I call out to you to wait just a moment, then hurry with putting things into what appear to be their proper places. I tuck the cello bags into the area beneath the sink, and then pop up onto the deck. Your cheeks are already pinkened from exertion and wind, thick hair tossed every which way.} Thanks for waiting--I wanted to be here to see our first departure. {I don't realize that I've said *first* as though I'm assuming many more until it's already out, then give a mental shrug and grin, hoping you don't catch it.}

Randy: I wasn't gonna leave 'til you were ready, darlin'. I want you up here, too. San Francisco is a beautiful city, and the bay is incredible when you're sailing out of it. Look over there, Michael--see how *blue* the sky is? Man-- {I take a deep breath; I know I'm on the verge of babbling, but frankly don't care. For the first time since I've met you I want this--for as long as I can have it. It's like my own little version of heaven. Salt-air, blue sky, wind blowing around me... and you--standing next to me, grinning like an idiot. I cast off, tossing the rope that's mooring us to the dock back toward it, and step up to the wheel to steer as the wind catches the sails. The motor will provide the impetus to get us out of the bay, but I love to watch the sails billowing. I catch your grin and answer it with my own, not needing words right now. This is just--it's all I could ask for, at the moment.}

Michael: {I stand closely at your side, somewhat behind you so as not to hamper your movements, and watch the dock recede. I'm so glad we're finally away from all the hustle-bustle of our lives, finally able to relax. This will be a new experience for me; though I've had acquaintances with yachts, I've never had a reason to be aboard one, and it's been almost a lifetime ago that I'd been sculling. It's much different than sculling--with that, you merely sit and row...it had taken a moment to get the knack of standing, and walking about without crashing into something, now I feel very comfortable. I place a hand lightly on your shoulder, and you turn your head enough to spare me a quick grin before returning your attention to what you're doing. I watch for a long time, until the shoreline gets very small, and there are too many boats between us and it to see clearly.}

Randy: {It takes us a good hour or two to clear the bay traffic. There're several clusters of small islands about a day's sail--winds prevailing--from Frisco Bay, and that's where I want to take you. Plenty of room, and lots of small inlets for privacy. Once we're out on open ocean, I let the mainsail furl completely open, to fully catch the wind. It's a beautiful day, perfect for sailing. I glance over at you; you've moved here and there a few times, looking around, but you haven't gone far from me.}How're you doin', Michael?

Michael: Trying to look at everything at once. {I grin ruefully.} There's simply so much to learn...and that you can sail this alone doesn't cease to amaze me.

Randy: It's as big as can go for a single person. Any bigger, I'd need at least a second person along, always. {I give you a sideways glance, then return to my steering. My whole body feels--alive. Like I've been asleep for the last month, and am just now coming awake again. I reach into the pocket of my windbreaker, and pull out the small bottle of sunscreen, then hand it off to you.} Your ears are already starting to look pink, darlin'. Best stop it before it happens. {I shift back onto my stool, settling myself more comfortably.} There're some deck chairs down in the storage closet belowdecks--you'd be more comfortable than standing for hours, man. I'll put anchor down in a couple, and we can eat--maybe take a swim, if you want. No rush, Michael. We stop and go as we please.

Michael: I like a man with a plan. {I take the bottle and tip out a little of it, applying the liquid to ears and nose. Normally, I don't like it, and don't need it, but for me, I'm winter pale, and whilst I don't burn much, I could. You, however, would; your skin is as pale as cream. I still think you must have some Black Irish blood dancing in your veins; your skin is light and fine--I should know, as I've tasted, touched, caressed almost every centimeter of it. I smile to myself at the thought, then reach up to slick some of it on your neck, cheeks, and nose, where you're pink. You tolerate it, busy with the wheel, then turn your head slightly when I've finished and slip the bottle back into your jacket pocket. A wink, a quick smile of thanks, and I'm warmed, pleased more than such a simple act should make me.}

Randy: {It felt oddly good to have someone do that for me--such a little thing, but still nice. And helping me carry the stuff onboard this morning... It's been a long time since I had anyone around to *help*...to do things for me; to do things *for*. It's been nearly four years since Bran and I finally called it quits, and I've been relationship-shy since then. You're still next to me, looking around at the vastness around us.} Makes you feel kind of ...insignificant, doesn't it. {I gesture toward where the blue of the water mixes with the blue of the sky, becoming nearly indistinguishable from the other.} Out here...it's like there's freedom *everywhere*. Just wind, and water, and sky...nothing to trap you in, or hold you down...and Mother Nature doesn't care about anything but her own whims. C'mere, darlin'. You can get a different perspective. {I step away from the wheel, making an inviting gesture.} I won't abandon you, Michael--I'll be right behind you.

Michael: {I step up before you, and after a heartbeat's worth of hesitation, take the wheel. Though I know how to drive a car, I don't often, as Miles takes me everywhere. And this...this is far different. The feel is different, as is the sound of wind and surf, the creaking of the deck, the slap of canvas against wood, and the heavy flutter of the sails in the wind. Though I know I can't *crash* into anything, I've never liked appearing incompetent, and feel a shadow of nervousness slid over me. But then, your muscular arms slip around my own, and your body leans into mine as your hands settle over my own, guiding with a light touch. It's lovely, comforting, and I like it. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see you gazing out over my shoulder, green eyes behind the gold frames looking both intense, and far away at the same time.}

Randy: This...is what sailing is about, Michael. {I lean a little toward your ear, my voice low.} It's experiencing Nature at her best...her worst... If you close your eyes for a minute, you can feel the deck rolling gently beneath you--kinda like a mother rocking her baby, or two people making love. The sun is warm, the heat almost a caress. The wind adds a freshness, and it's own caresses, and the spray of the water reminds you of where you are. {I give a little laugh. I hadn't intended to wax poetic like that, but nothing can do it to me like the feelings I get when I'm out here. I can feel some of the tension radiating out of you, but lessening a little at the same time, when you realized I wasn't going to leave you. I like the feel of you against me like this, your body hard and warm, a very nice pressure. Makes a little ache in my chest intensify, and that's an ache that's best left be. I sigh, and step a little closer, fitting myself to you.} Glad you're here, Michael.

Michael: {I don't say anything, but I slant a smile down at you, and relax into your embrace. I'm not certain how long we stay like this; time seems to lose its meaning out here, mixing with the wide open spaces, the rhythm of the sea and wind, the wideness of the blue, blue sky. I can begin to see why you love this so; it's just one in synch with the elements, and the pleasure of being so connected with nature is visceral. After awhile, you slip away from me to do something or another; I'm not sure what, though in a bit, you return to my side, standing companionably. In a moment, your arm slides naturally about my waist.} The Piersons originally made their fortune in shipping, did you know that? Back a bit over two hundred years ago, we were quite a name in the shipping industry.

Randy: {I laugh and let my fingers dance over your ribs briefly.} Shipping, or pirating? {Your eyes flash up to mine, and I smirk.} C'mon, darlin'. You'd make a helluva pirate--put a bandana on you, and maybe an earring. {I touch your ear.} 'Course, I'm the Captain of this vessel, so not sure how that would work--you could always threaten to make me walk the plank if I didn't warm your bed... not that there'd be much of a choice on that accord. You're a lot warmer.

Michael: {I laugh, and bump my hip against yours.} I'd probably be the one in danger if I *didn't* take you to my bed. We made our money legitimately, for the most part. Rum, spices, slaves--though the latter makes me cringe, now. Spices segued into medicinal herbs, and one of my relatives became more interested in that, and slowly, the focus shifted to pharmaceuticals, where we've remained to this day. I'm certain, though, we've had many a colorful character in the family history.

Randy: Rum, spices and slaves, to medicinal herbs and pharmaceuticals. Interesting leap, that. {I shift to stand back behind you, showing you how to adjust the sails, and correct our course--such as it is.}My family had some interesting characters too--very colorful. My great-grandfather on Mom's side was an abolitionist, and him practically off the boat from Ireland. My grandmother had some journals of his, and they were full of his rambles about "freeing oppression world-wide", and stuff like that. {I frown.} And dad's family was staunch in their support of the Confederacy. If my folks had been alive in the mid-1800's, I doubt I would ever have been born--they'd have killed each other on sight, probably. You have any family over here? Or they all in Europe?

Michael: All in Europe. My brother Simon and his family live in London--he's a high-profile banker. Sarah and her family live in the Cotswolds, where she writes very flowery romances. Jaimie lives primarily in Paris--he's a portrait artist, and very good at what he does. And Lizzie...{even I can hear the warmth when I speak her name} ...Lizzie is a medical student in Oxford, almost ready to graduate. Lovely girl. Mother still lives with Nonna in the family home. They've all been here, but unlike me, they always return to home soil. Myself, I've been here for so long it seems as if I belong here now.

Randy: {I catch myself before I say that I feel like you belong here, too--because we'd be talking about different 'here's', I think. My stomach does that little roll and clench I've come to expect whenever a stray thought like that pops up, and I squash it. Dangerous, very dangerous thinking. It's nice, too, listening to you talk about your family. Lizzie, especially, seems to be closest to you. I'll have to get you to find a photo of them sometime, so I can see who you're talking about. I shift around, making myself comfortable behind you, sighing a little when you lean back into me again. I could stay this way for a long time, and be perfectly content. I close my eyes for a minute, doing what I'd said to you, earlier. Just *feeling*, and hearing everything. Soft, comforting noises. Wind, water, creaking, slapping; for a moment I'm back in time, sleeping out on the deck with dad, laughing about how the girls had to stay at home. Mom was pregnant with Patty... } Do you go--home much? To see them?

Michael: The nice thing about being in charge is that I'm seldom answerable to anyone but the board, and as long as I do my job efficiently, they don't care how I manage my time. So yes, I go frequently. Always at Christmas--always. Usually once in the summer, and whenever I can take the odd few days off. It's beautiful, there. Quiet, peaceful--in the country, far away from the hustle of bigger cities. It's remained unchanged, except for the addition of modern facilities, for almost two centuries. {I find myself smiling nostalgically.} And then there's Nonna...she's eighty-five, and I go frequently to make certain she's all right--though I swear, she's more robust and hardy than the rest of us.

Randy: Nonna...your grandmother, right? {I'm still goggling silently at the thought of going to Europe, 'just for a few odd days'.}

Michael: Yes. She came with Mother from Italy when Father married her, and has been with us all our lives. She's...very important to me. {I'm not certain if there are words that can express how vital she's been in my life. No one has ever given me the unconditional love and acceptance as Nonna--Mother came close, but not even she could accept me totally, as Nonna did, and still does.} I'd think...she'd like you, very much.

Randy: She would? {I blink, leaning down to shift the wheel around a little. You smell good, and I kiss your neck on my back up.} She doesn't--does she know you're gay? Does anyone in your family, for that matter?

Michael: Yes, I think she would. You're very open and honest, and she likes that quality in a person, as she's ruthlessly honest, in only the way the strong-willed elderly can be. {I'm silent for a moment, and feel a frown tug at the corner of my mouth.} I've never kept much of anything from my family, Caro. They know my preferences. I wish I could say they approved, but I'm afraid they merely tolerate me. And I'm not certain you could say I was gay--I've never been one for labels, but if pressed, I'd call myself bisexual. {I know that as close as we seem to have gotten, I owe you more than the little bits I've offered you.} I've...loved men and women both. I've been married, once. It seems a lifetime ago.

Randy: {When your words sink in, it's almost like a bucket of ice water dropping over my head.} Married? When? To--why? Why both, I mean? {I didn't mean the tenseness that crept into my body, and after the first volley of questions, it eases away again. It's not--judgment, exactly. But I don't understand how--or why--you could want both.} Have you--always? Liked both, I mean? Oh, wow, Michael. Wild, man. I guess I thought... well, never mind. Doesn't matter.{I shift around, not letting go completely, but I want to see your face.} Did your marriage break up because of--different tastes?

Michael: {I know I've startled you, and I can't blame you for being so surprised; I've given no indication in the time I've known you that I cared for anything but the pleasures of male flesh. A soft puff of a sigh escapes me, and I wonder how great a difference this will make between us.} I know that for some gay men, I'm seen as someone who doesn't have the nerve to simply declare himself a gay man, but it isn't that way for me. I've honestly liked both men and women equally since a youth, and have never seen a reason to limit myself when there was so much pleasure to be had if one was simply more...open. I love the softness of women, how they sound, how they open for me. I also love how men are hard and strong, and the taste of their seed excites me as few other things can. {I shrug.} And as for Nicole and myself...you might say our lives grew in different directions. I can be a difficult person even in the best of times, and whilst I was married to her...it was simply not the best of times.

Randy: Ahh. {I nod, studying you, considering your words.} Well, I can't say I'm not surprised, because it's pretty obvious I am. {I give you a tentative smile, then lean in and give you a quick kiss. When I pull away from you, your body has lost a little of its tension as well.} I've known a few people--hell, I *know* a couple, right now--who are bisexual. And that's cool. {I shrug.} It never made a lot of difference to me--other than I couldn't understand the *why*. I mean, I hear what you're saying--about why limit yourself. But honestly, I've never been the least bit interested in anyone *but* men. {I laugh a little, and give you a rueful grin.} Anyway, since I'm generally the one who likes to be fucked, I'm not so sure how that would work with a woman, anyway. Unless they strap something on, it's kind of physically impossible for them to give me what *I* want. Y'know?

Michael: {That's one of the things I like so well about you; you're not afraid to say the most outrageous things. I can't help the snort of amusement that comes from me.} I suppose that I'm fortunate that I have the proper equipment, eh?

Randy: {My mouth quirks upward along with my eyebrow.} Well, it's a little more than *just* the proper equipment... {I stop, considering how I want to say what I want to say. Your eyes are warm, and I realize that they've lightened a little--almost a blue-grey, now. Keeping in synch with moods, with surroundings.} I like the feel of men, Michael. No, I don't have any experience with women to know that I like men better... but my very first experience with a guy... he was bigger than me, and strong; I liked his weight *on* me. I'd jerk off and go to sleep at night, picturing that in my mind. I like the *scent* of men--sweaty, clean, hot, whatever. Women...I dunno. They smell very different, and it's too... light, I guess. Or something. {I sigh in frustration, not sure I'm saying what I want to say.} It's like...I've always known I was gay. I've always wanted men, *always*. As far back as I can remember. I have a lot of friends who are women, and men whose female relatives I get along with... but to me, they're just not what I'm hardwired to, I guess. {I shrug.} I don't think I explained that the way I wanted to... but that's it. It goes beyond a cock and a set of balls. It's the whole of the package, I guess. {I wink and give you a smile.} And I like your package--all of it.

Michael: Something I'm very glad of, if I've not mentioned it before. {You shift closer, nuzzling against my neck, and the shiver that runs through me has nothing to do with the breeze, and everything to do with your warmth around me, the wet lick of your tongue, and the soft, husky whisper in my ear. I lean back a little into the cradle of your hips.} I'll keep that in mind, Caro.

Randy: You do that, darlin'. {I step a little closer, not making any further moves, just enjoying the closeness. I can feel my body relaxing the further we get from the mainland, and at the same time, tensing up--the sexual tension that seems to be omnipresent between us. This is good, letting you stay at the wheel, and just holding on to you. I like holding you, touching you--there've been a couple of times in the last two days that I've wondered if you were an addiction. Or becoming one. I sigh and rub my chest against you, feeling free for the first time in weeks.}

Michael: {It's really...nice, doing this. I give a mental snort. Nice. What an insipid word. But somehow, it still is nice. Standing here with you closely behind me, your arms about me, big, capable hands covering mine on the wheel...it's peaceful, sexual, sensual, friendly...a mix of many things. I like it, whatever it is. I could do this, I think, forever. I can hear you hum little snatches of song occasionally, and you correct our course once in awhile. I'm not certain how much time passes; here, time seems irrelevant, but I do know it passes. Nothing much verbally passes between us, and it's an easy, comfortable silence, filled with the sound of sea and wind. The sky seems impossibly blue, with only a few high, wispy clouds that signal good, clear weather. The sails billow out above us, catching the wind, skimming us along the water with a speed that seems amazing. For a moment, I lose myself in the thought of sailing back generations ago, when the wind was all the power a ship had, and wonder vaguely what it would have been like, living so long ago in the past.}

Randy: {I glance up at the sky, then down at my watch; just gone two p.m. My belly is grumbling; apparently, it doesn't think that two greasy egg-n-biscuit sandwiches constitute breakfast. We're five hours gone from Frisco, still out in nowhere...but it feels okay right now. I'm hungry, I'm thirsty, and I'm warm. I'm also horny...something about the mental pictures I was painting for you. I do want to make love tonight, but right now a little frisky business sounds good, too. I let my hands off the wheel and stroke them down your chest, a light, easy touch, and lean to kiss your neck again.} Hey, darlin'... I'm getting hungry...how 'bout you?

Michael: {Hypnotic, that's what it is. I blink, and come back to myself, registering what you've said. Yes, I could eat; my belly feels quite hollow. And a good sit-down would be welcome, also, as I realize that I've been standing, scarcely moving, for a very long time. Your hand slips beneath the hem of my sweatshirt, and rubs across my stomach, fingers ruffling lightly through the line of hair. I wriggle against the dual sensation of your hand and your lips, not certain which feels better.} Yes, I'm absolutely starving. How long have we been out?

Randy: Well over five hours. And a lot longer than that, since breakfast. {I rub one hand down over the front of your pants; you're not hard, but there's a bit of a bulge there. I stroke you gently, then let go.} I'm gonna toss out the anchor. Here is as good as anywhere for a few more hours, and I'm starved. {I let my eyes linger on your for a minute, my voice a little deeper.} All parts of me.

Michael: {I twist in your embrace, slide my arms about you. Leaning in, I give you a long, probing kiss. When I pull back, we're both swaying a little, nothing to do with the movement of the boat.} Do what you must to park this thing, and I'll have something for you down below.

Randy: {I give you a cheerful salute and a wicked grin, then turn to toss the anchor over the side of the boat. It takes a minute for it to grab, and there's a bit of a jerk when it does, and then we're slowing, and stopping. I drop the sails, not wanting them billowing like that when we're standing still, then head down belowdecks to see what you're up to. It's cooler down here; I hadn't realized how warm it was, until the boat slowed; the wind had been keeping us fairly cool. Down here is darker; the blinds over the portholes were still closed, shading it. I don't see you, and pull my shirt over my head, wiping at my neck and forehead.} Michael? Where're you at, darlin'?

Michael: Galley. {True to my word, I'd gone down and pulled out materials to make sandwiches, setting everything out on paper plates. You come into the galley area as I'm setting them on the table, rubbing your neck with your wadded T-shirt. I turn back to the fridge, and pull out two bottles of iced tea, shoving the door closed with my hip. I slip in front of you, press a quick kiss to your neck.} Very nice...eau de sweaty man...

Randy: {My stomach growls audibly, and I grin, giving my chest a final swipe with the shirt before tossing it over the back of the couch. One touch of your lips isn't enough, and I grab on to your right arm, stalling your withdrawal, bringing my mouth down on yours. My stomach isn't the only thing growling; I can hear the noises in my throat. I really do enjoy kissing you--which could be why it seems like I could do it all the time. We're both a little breathless when I let you go, and I laugh at your raised eyebrow.} Must be the salt air. Brings it out in me, or something.

Michael: {I laugh, but it comes out breathy, and bring up a hand to run over your chest, rubbing my thumb over a nipple, bringing it up into a little nub.} After we eat, we might see what comes out, eh?

Randy: {I laugh; I'm a little breathless, too. You opened one porthole--I can feel the sudden breeze against my damp skin, prickling me with gooseflesh. Feels good. As good as the heat you're throwing. My stomach growls then, reminding me I need more than just kisses. I give you a grin.} Feed me, darlin'. Before I melt into nothing.

Michael: {I twist open one of the bottles of tea, and hand it to you, watching the long line of your throat, the movement of it as you drain half of it in one gulp. Shaking myself, I sit down opposite you in the booth and start making sandwiches--roast beef, Swiss, grainy dark mustard. Pickles at the side for you--I don't care for them all that much. Some huge Kalamari olives would be lovely, but you don't have those, and I give a mental shrug. Next time, I'll help you stock for the trip, and set in a supply for myself. The thought makes me blink. It was so easy to slide into the assumption that there would *be* a next time. I don't know anything of the sort, and have no right to insinuate myself into your life, your plans, simply because the thought of it pleases me. And it does please me; I'm more comfortable, happier than I can remember being for ages. I glance at you beneath my lashes. You certainly look happy, pleased to have me here. Hell, you'd not have invited me if you didn't find my company pleasing. Stop thinking, Pierson. Don't analyze--just enjoy the gift you've been given, and accept it in the spirit it's offered. Very well. I smile to myself and dig into my sandwich.}

Randy: {I eat about half my sandwich before my belly quiets enough to let me think about anything besides filling it. You have a thoughtful look on your face, and I wonder what thoughts are running through your mind. I reach out and tap your hand with my fingers; I cover them briefly before pulling back, giving you a little twist of a grin.} I don't get into it much normally, but fishing's great, out here. Want to give it a go, later? When the sun's gone down, some? {I flick my eyes down at my plate, then back at you, my voice going a little huskier when I add,} I'm really glad you came.

Michael: Fishing really isn't my cuppa, to be honest. I've acquaintances who come out to snag sailfish, but I'd much rather watch them swimming and leaping from the sea than to wrestle them into a boat. I'm not much of a hunter, either, much to my family's dismay. I'm a decent shot, but only at clay pigeons, not the real kind. And fox hunting is merely an excuse to tear across the countryside, as far as I'm concerned--I've no interest in the kill. {I shrug a little.} I'm not much for sports of blood. {I nudge your foot with mine, and smile at you.} And I'm very glad I'm here, also.

Randy: Mmmm. {I slip my deck shoes off and stroke my toes over your calf, rubbing and massaging gently.} Well, I don't trophy-fish, and I can't stand hunting in any form. But I do like fresh fish on occasion. I brought plenty of groceries though; fishing is just something extra that could be done--it's not a 'have to'. {I watch the grin spread across your face when I shift and stroke up behind your knee. I think that's a tickle spot for you.} Besides--all I really want to do with you... I dunno. Talk, get to know you... show you how great sex in a boat is. {I add a grin of my own and raise my eyebrow with that.}

Michael: {Well. Evidently the fresh air raises hungers of all kinds within you. I could like this, very much. I slip from the booth, pick up my empty plate, and give it a toss into the trash before reaching down to strip off my sweatshirt on the way to the bedroom. Once inside, I kick off my shoes, pull off my socks, and unbutton and unzip my jeans. A quick toss, and our bags are on the floor, and I'm lying on my back, looking up at the ceiling, letting my hands stroke over my chest and down over the front of my jeans. I raise my voice slightly, tone snarky enough to catch your attention.} So? I'm waiting....

Randy: {You've obviously figured out that I'm not one to back down from a challenge, or a good offer, and since this is both, I pounce accordingly. You taste delicious, as I work my way up your body. It's not long before both of us are naked, rubbing and writhing together, rocking in time with the waves slapping at the sides of the boat. I can't believe how good sex with you *feels*. It's hot, and intense, and very physical, with both of us giving it everything we have.

You don't seem to mind at all topping. I know some guys like to switch, and I have taken my turn doing the fucking a couple of times--but I much prefer to be fucked, like I told you. I slide onto my back beside you, lifting my legs, shuddering when you take me with a sudden burst of fierceness. Your eyes are hot and dark, and I wonder what you're thinking, what you're feeling. I could lose myself in this, in the sensations you generate inside me.

When you force my legs back, hammering into me with short, fast strokes, the look of intense pleasure on your face is almost as much what makes me come, as what you're doing to me. When you come, it's with a long, breathless grunt that seems to surround us, mingling with my moans of just a moment ago. We're both hot and sweaty when you fall against me, and even though I have to catch my breath, and it's hard to do with you lying on me, I want you there--hot, sweaty, both of us breathless and sated. I wiggle beneath you after just a minute, wanting your mouth on me, completing what we just shared. I turn my head then, my mouth searching out yours, covering it, stroking my tongue all around, wanting to maintain the connection for as long as possible.}

Michael: {I'm forced to give up trying to return your kisses in favor of breathing. I pant against your throat, and I'm filled with your scent, filled with completion, and a sense of contentment so strong I want to laugh aloud with it. I barely manage to stifle it; you'd think me insane. Your legs wrap even more tightly about me as I begin to soften and go flaccid within you, as if you can't bear the separation. Gently I tip us to our sides--I know I'm heavier than I look, and don't want to crush you. Ah, that's much better; I can wind my arms about you, hold you close, feel your smooth hard chest rise and fall against mine, feel your heart beat against mine. I can feel the smile spread across my face, and nuzzle into your throat. Perfect. You're so perfect for me.} Thank you, Caro....

Randy: Ah, darlin'... it was good...{I love how you feel in my arms. You're so warm, so hard and heavy against me. The weight of another person... I resolutely push away the panic that feeling that need brings up in me, and pull you closer, twining myself tighter around you. You're kissing my throat, easy, soft kisses, and I shift, tilting my head down to see you.} Kiss me--?

Michael: {Always. I don't think I'll ever get tired of kissing you, of feeling your mouth soft and open beneath me, feeling your tongue tangle with mine in sweet slow motion. My hand comes up to tilt your face to the angle I want, and my fingers linger to stroke over the sharp line of your jaw, the strong smooth line of your throat. If I could do nothing else but this, I'd be content. I nibble at your lower lip, then suck gently at it before slipping down to suck at your Adam's apple; your hum of pleasure vibrates against my lips, tickling, and I pull back with a little laugh. You make me very happy, and I squeeze you hard for a moment.}

Randy: Feels good... doesn't it. Just--letting go, knowing no one else is around. {My fingers want to explore, so I let them, stroking over your face, tracing peaks and ridges, adding sensory to visual, burning you into my memory. I lean forward and blow a raspberry at the base of your throat, in the hollow there, laughing when you stiffen with surprise, then buck against me as I do it again. Your skin is very smooth, very soft right here, almost like a baby's might be, and its such a contrast. I like hearing you laugh, and I blow a third one, just for that purpose.}

Michael: You're a madman. {I can't believe you did that; no one's done that to me since I was a child, and I'd forgotten how much it tickles, what a rude sound it makes. The laugh bubbles out of me, and I feel freer, easier than I have in...god, longer than I can easily recall. I like it, and want more of it.} I'm trapped, in the clutches of an insane man, leagues from any help...I suppose I'm doomed to be victim to his nefarious plotting....

Randy: Yep, you're doomed all right. {Your eyes are--light. Silvery, almost. Not the silver heat of pure arousal, but a different kind, a glow from behind them, I guess. I push at you, rolling you onto your back, and kiss my way down your chest, making sure to keep the kisses light and easy, non-arousing. This is for pleasure, but a different kind.} And yes, I'm a madman, I suppose. All that time alone, out on the seas... {I wink and give you an evil chuckle, then lower my head and blow another raspberry right over your navel, tickling you with my tongue.}

Michael: {I let my fingers stroke over your broad shoulders, thread through your thick hair. I think I'm addicted to the pleasure of touching you; I could do it all the time, I think. When you have the audacity to do that again, against my belly, I jump, startled.} You're incorrigible.

Randy: I am. I'm not gonna apologize for it, either. {I laugh, and sit up, folding my legs in. I consider showing you where *else* a raspberry might be placed--and have it be considerably more arousing than tickling, but forego that for the moment. I'm liking just being here, laughing with you.} You must have something in you that likes bad boys, huh.

Michael: { I stretch widely, arms and legs going in all directions. Folding my arms behind my neck, completely comfortable with you in a way I've not been with anyone else, I grin before I answer.} I've always liked the bad boys. The good ones were always too sensible to have anything to do with anyone as wild as I once was.

Randy: 'Once was'? {I answer your grin with my own, and raise an eyebrow, thinking of last night--shit, *just* last night!--and an impromptu blowjob beneath the boardwalk.} I'm not so sure you qualify for past tense there, Michael. {I let my eyes wander the length of you, wishing I could paint, or draw, or *something*. You're so long, all lean muscle and angles, covered with a generous mat of curly dark hair on your chest, and at your groin. There's silver threaded here and there through your hair, and I bring my lazy gaze back to your eyes; yours are crinkled, smiling, watching me.} How old are you, anyway? Maybe past tense *is* appropriate. {I duck the pillow you toss my way.}

Michael: Best be careful, Caro...you'll never make it to thirty-one, at this rate. {I stretch out a leg, and rub my foot against your thigh.} I'm thirty-eight...shall be thirty-nine this October. It's been a...full...thirty-eight years. Carpe diem, and all that rot.

Randy: {I blink at you for a minute; for an occasional minute here and there, you've seemed much younger, and much older. I renew my conviction that I want nothing to do with administration of anything.} If you do away with me now, you'll have to figure out to get back to land yourself. October, huh? When? {I squelch my other memories of October, telling them firmly to *stay put*, they have no place here and now.}

Michael: Halloween. {I laugh, though it's a little rueful.} My mother once said that it was an appropriate birthdate, given that she was sometimes convinced I was a devil. Certainly, I was never much of an angel, and even Nonna was forced to admit that, as much as she championed me. The role of angel was always Simon's, not mine.

Randy: {I cock my head, studying you.} Well, I don't see any horns...but you're an awful long way from angelic, in my opinion. And you fuck like a demon--though that's definitely a good thing. {I laugh and stretch.} Thirty-nine. Wow. I'll have to think of something appropriate to mark the occasion. {I could bite my tongue at that comment; what gives me the right to assume that you're going to want to still be around, five months from now? Taylor, that was a moment of supreme arrogance. With luck, you'll ignore it, and not think of me as some kind of sentimental, sappy fool.}

Michael: You've a creative mind--I'm sure you'll think of something, though it might be a stretch--there's little I've not done in my years. {I didn't miss the assumption you would be around for my birthday, nor the quick flush of color up your throat as you realized what you'd said. I'm not certain when it happened, but somewhere along the line I came to the realization this wasn't a quick sexual romp, but something I wanted to continue on for awhile. I'd not had so much pleasure out of a lover's company for a long time, and discovered I wanted to keep you about. You make me laugh, let me relax, and I value that, after having been without it for so long.}

Randy: Guess we'll see, huh. {I don't want to assume too much, but I can feel myself relax a little. At least you didn't say right out, 'no chance, mate, you'll not be around that long'. That's something, right? Of course, *wanting* to still be around... wanting you around me... makes my stomach twist. Good, bad, scary, exciting. Friends. We can be friends... and lovers. Maybe not be alone for a while. That'd be nice. I shift off the bed and stretch again, a bone-cracking, joint-popping effort, then grin down at you.} Want to shower, or go for a swim?

Michael: Swim. I've not been in a couple of days, and my body is complaining. I've swam, and run for so many years, that I miss it when I don't.} I roll off the bed and onto my feet in a smooth motion, then give a stretch huge enough to rival yours. I feel good, my body humming pleasantly, contented and sated.} Lead on, MacDuff.

Randy: {I stop in the head for the large tube of sunscreen I keep there. Even as dark as you are, you're still winter-pale. Me, I would do nothing but burn without it--at least for the first few times out. Eventually I'll tan, but I've been cursed with fair skin that requires coddling.} I doubt there's anyone around to see us--but I can give you a pair of trunks, if you're more comfortable that way. Once we get to the islands, the lagoon we'll drop anchor in is *perfect* for swimming in our skins--but out here, its your choice, darlin'.

Michael: {I follow you out of the bedroom; your hand is warm in mine, and fits there perfectly. Broad, strong, callused with your work on the boat, and it gives me such pleasure.} It can never be said that I suffer from excess modesty...au naturale is fine with me.

Randy: Cool, dude. {I laugh at the startled look on your face.} Yeah, y'all probably didn't get much of the "valley-speak" back there in England, didja. {You shake your head, obviously not having a clue what I'm talking about, and I laugh again. On deck, we take turns rubbing the sunscreen all over each other, taking care to get the very unprotected areas: genitals and rears. I have no desire whatsoever to have our pleasure of each other hindered in any way this weekend--and sunburn in either of those areas would only do that. I pull a couple of large, thick beach towels from the storage box on deck, and set them on the bench for us. You're watching, an odd look in your eyes.} Just down the ladder, Michael. I'll go first. Warning for you--the Pacific is still pretty cool this time of year. {I back down the ladder slowly. Cold water doesn't bother me--but it does require a few moments to get used to.}

Michael: {I watch you backing down the ladder carefully, and grin. I step back a couple of feet, take a running start, and leap over the rail, curling into a ball just before hitting the water. Jesus, you weren't kidding; it feels like the arctic when compared to my sun-warmed skin. Kicking to the surface, I splutter, trying to catch my breath, and I swear my genitalia are trying to crawl back into my body.} Fuck, YES, it's cold!!

Randy: {After your cannonball shot, I give up trying to ease into the water, and dive in, resurfacing just in time to hear your shout. You're still sputtering a bit, and I think your skin has enough gooseflesh to qualify you as a new life form. I swim over to you and reach out, wrapping my legs around yours, laughing.} You'll warm up in a minute. Don't be a wuss, Pierson. Cold water is the best for a body, anyway. {My reward for that is a salty taste when you splash water into my face.} Wanna water fight, eh?

Michael: You most likely play dirty...and I'm certain that I do. {I sometimes feel the water is my true element, I feel so comfortable in it. Pliable as an eel, I slip from your grip and dive under, to grab an ankle and pull you beneath the water before abandoning your kicking body to swim strongly away from you, certain that were I telepathic, I'd have a head full of swearing. I surface, flinging hair from my face, and laugh up into the blue sky.}

Randy: Son-of-a-- {I take off after you, feeling well-matched for upper-body strength. You're a powerful swimmer, but so am I. I dive under and grab your legs, pulling you down with me, then pushing off of you to resurface. All's fair in love and war--and water fights qualify. God, it's good to have someone to play with again.}

Michael: {We roll and tumble through the water like otters. I'm hard to catch, but you're hard to escape, and the balance shifts between us, as fluid as the water all about us. Finally, tired, we kick off into lazy floating on our backs, and the sun feels good, warming us. I like this; no hurrying, no schedules, no place to be and nothing to do until hunger, or a desire to be someplace else motivates us. I couldn't do it all the time, but for now, it's a welcome respite.}

Randy: {We float for a while, talking about nothing in particular, and sometimes not talking. It's the easiest, most comfortable silence I've had in a long time, and it's heightened when I close my eyes for a few minutes, then open them to find silvery-grey watching me. I love your eyes; you're much more expressive within them than I think you're aware of. I'm learning--your face betrays nothing you don't want it to, but your eyes... that's harder for you to do. I have to take a leak, so I flip over and swim around to the end of the boat; it seems like a rather intimate thing to do right here--and it would be pretty noticeable too, in the cold water. When I come back, you've changed position, and you're treading water, looking around at the unchanging vista all around us.} I'm hungry again--wanna get a bite, then head out?

Michael: That sounds like a plan we can work with. Captain's discretion. And you're always hungry, from what I've seen. {I grin, watching you climb the ladder with unabashed appreciation, the water sheeting from your strong, planed body, sun glinting off flexing muscles.}

Randy: Yeah, most always. Takes a lot to feed a growing boy. {I turn and hand you the spare towel as you come over the top of the ladder, holding my own in lax hands as I watch you dry off. Gorgeous. I could watch you move all day and never get tired of it. And all that curly hair, with droplets of water still clinging. I lean in close and move my mouth over your collarbone, then downward, tasting crinkly hair against my tongue, little bursts of salt exploding over my tastebuds, underscored by the taste of you.} Mmmmm. Salt-seasoned Pierson. I could do that dish again... {I wink suggestively and give you a playful leer, then toss my head.} We could just do alfresco up here--sandwiches or something, while we go. It's too beautiful to stay belowdecks right now.

Michael: I'm all for that. This country is enough to turn one into a sun-worshipper...it's never quite this sunny in England. It seems there's always a bit of a haze there. {I stand for a minute, face up into the sun, letting it warm me. It *is* a delightful feeling, the heat spreading slowly over my naked body like warm honey.} I am so very glad I came, Caro.

Randy: Me, too. {I didn't mean for my voice to come out so husky, but damn--watching you turn into the sun like that... I have to push away the image of us rolling about on the deck, sun hitting us in places it normally wouldn't, adding a natural heat to the one we generate. Okay, so my whole body is tingling now. It's a great feeling, and I roll with it, wanting to increase it. I step behind you, snaking my arms around your waist to pull you against me. You're warm--like living heat in my arms. I close my eyes and hold you against me, feelings and sensations pulsing through me. You smell good; sharp and briny, like the sea we were just in; the smell of coconut mingling with it, and the warm smell of *you* thick in my nostrils when I nuzzle against your neck. I don't want the sudden wave of emotion that surges through me--emotion doesn't have a place here. This is...good, and comfortable, and so very dangerous, but I can't help but pull you a little closer, whispering in your ear,} Feels good--holding you.

Michael: {There's more in your husky voice than I think you realize. I've known from the very beginning you were more emotionally aware, more in touch with your feelings than I; I tend to deal with things on the physical plane, and hold back, stepping behind a wall of emotional reserve. I stroke your arms encircling me tightly. I can almost feel the depth of your caring pouring over me, and can certainly hear it in your husky voice. I think I mean more to you than just a quick fling, if I can read you correctly. I know that you have come to mean more to me than that, certainly. I genuinely like you, and know that I care for you, wish you to enjoy our time together. We...fit. Similar enough for enjoyment, different enough for spice. I let myself lean back into you, let your strength take some of my weight. It's...easy to do that, to let you give me support, in the emotional as well as the physical sense. A week ago, I'd have said it was the rush of hormones talking; after spending so much time with you, I'm no longer certain. You...matter. Too much thinking, Pierson. Just relax and enjoy what he offers, and sort it all out later, when you can think clearly.}

Randy: {I breathe a quiet sigh of relief when you relax back against me. For a minute, I was afraid too much of what I was feeling was all out in the open--subject to inspection. I don't want to inspect it right now. I don't want *you* to inspect it. You're skittish--moreso than me, in some ways--and I don't want you feeling like you have to take off because I've tightened a rope I'm not sure *I* want, yet. I know how right the last few days have felt, though--far, far better than the nearly four weeks that came before them. You're not just a good lay--you're becoming a friend. A good friend. A -- okay. Time to stop; I'm not ready to go there yet. I don't want to spoil what we have now, with wondering about what *might* happen. I kiss the small hollow just below and behind your ear, then just hold you, maybe a little tighter than a minute ago, but not ready to admit to why.}

Michael: {I'm not certain how long we stand there, you holding me, me allowing myself to be held, both of us not saying anything, probably both afraid anything we said might make the other break and run. It's a long time, though, long enough for my flesh to warm completely beneath the bright yellow sun. I shift a little, and your arms slide away easily, allowing me to half-turn. You're not as good at hiding things as I am; your face is very expressive, more so than you realize, and what I see there warms me more than does the sun. I run my thumb over your mouth, and smile.} Later, Caro. {I murmur, then lean in and kiss you, hoping you understand that this is something that I don't really want to discuss now--maybe when we get back, but not now.}

Randy: {The relief that washes over me is almost embarrassing, it's so strong. I *don't* want to talk about anything right now. If it ends up that we can't--stay together, then I don't want to find out right now. I need...at least this time. Just you, me, the sun and the sea. You're right--we can talk about...whatever...when we get back. I relax into your kiss, breaking it after a minute when I need to breathe. My voice still sounds hoarse, thicker than usual, but there's something in your eyes--something that makes my blood fizz warmer; makes me feel...okay. I smile, slowly, and nod.} Later. Later is good, darlin'. {I pause a minute, then grin, feeling stupidly glad that whatever just passed between us, did.} C'mon, let's go feed me before I'm forced to gnaw on you for sustenance. Not that this would be such a *bad* thing. {I wink at you.}

Michael: Having your mouth on me is *never* a bad thing---trust me on that, Caro. {I slip an arm around your waist, and give you a little squeeze before releasing you and heading off downstairs...no, belowdecks...and into the galley to look for something to feed you.}

Randy: {I laugh and head for the cabin to gather up my sweatshorts and a T-shirt, and the same for you, then head back into the galley. I must be comfortable with you, to stand there beside you, shifting to pull on clothes, and not caring. You raise one eyebrow when I pull the shorts on with no underwear, and I grin.} Hey--it seems pretty pointless to keep wearing it, when you just have to take it back off again. Think of it as easy access. {I shrug} I have no problems hanging free and loose. Feels pretty good, actually.

Michael: Feels pretty good to me, too. {I slip on shorts and a tee shirt also, though I think I'd probably be just as comfortable going naked all weekend. Who's to see us? But I follow your lead, and pull on clothes; I want you to be comfortable. I give you a pat on the ass as I pass by you, on the way to the galley.} What would you like to eat?

Randy: Ahh, just some fruit will be fine. {I sit down to tie my shoes, and to watch you for a moment. I guess I have a Michael-fetish. I grin at that thought, wondering how that would sound, then look up again.} If you want something else, that's cool. I don't want to eat too much, though--I have a surprise for us, for dinner tonight.

Michael: A surprise, eh? Are you planning on something extravagant? Something to impress me? {I pull fruit out of the small fridge and the cupboards. I'm not that hungry; unlike you, I don't actually eat that much. But I could eat some fruit--I could use the juice. I have a feeling we're both going to be parched all weekend.}

Randy: Nah, not like that. {I have the feeling that you're not overly impressed with impressive and extravagant, and that's not me anyway. I can't put on faces, just to impress someone--I learned that a long time ago. I take two bottles of water out of the cooler still sitting on the floor against the wall, and grab a deck chair from the closet as I walk past it. You follow behind me, fruit in hand. It doesn't take all that long to get the sails unfurled again, and to lift the anchor, and we're underway again. I settle onto the stool to steer, feeling more content than I think I have a right too--and not caring a damned bit.}

*****

Michael: {The afternoon passes; I know we're heading south, as it gets progressively warmer. I can't tell where we're going, though you do try and explain the workings of the compass and maps to me. The sun and the heat remind me of Italy, and I tell you of the trips I've made there with mother and Nonna, and travels on my own, though I don't mention the partners I've taken there. I suspect you know I didn't go alone, though you don't ask. There are silences, too, and they're comfortable, easy, and neither of us feels the rush to fill them. I like that. You're easy to talk with, a very good conversationalist, but don't feel the need to fill every moment with idle chatter, as some do. You can be content with the quiet, and that pleases me, as I'm a quiet person generally. I take the wheel for awhile as you stretch out beside me, legs crossed at the ankles, and let the sun warm you, work out the kinks. I suspect you'll enjoy a backrub tonight, as you've worked hard getting us underway. I let my eyes slide from the ocean and sky to glance down at you, supremely comfortable-looking, and smile.} Tired, Caro?

Randy: Not...tired. But I definitely needed this. Needed to recharge, I guess. {I lean back into a stretch, hoping I don't flip the chair over. God, it feels good--lazy, relaxing, just being here, under the sun--with you. I think about my original plans for this weekend, for sailing, to forget you...to get you out of my mind. And here you are, after all. Karma? Idle deviltry on the part of the fates? Not the hand of god--I know better than to believe in that. It was proved to me in unrelenting, horrific detail, how much *he* cares about my life.} I'd do this forever, if I could. Sail, I mean. I'd like to--someday--go around the world. Take a few months off from work, and just *go*.

Michael: Could you actually do it? Would...{I cast about in my memory for a name} Crandall give you the time away?

Randy: I don't know. It's just a dream; not one I've done a lot of checking into. I've only been head of my own 'cell' for a few years now; I'm still pretty much getting established--y'know? But what I'm thinking...{I smile, probably a little wistfully--it's been a dream of mine for years now,}...is maybe, a couple years down the road, taking some time for a sabbatical--I can do research from here, easily. Not the actual *lab* stuff, but the collecting of previous data, stuff like that. I don't know. If nothing else, I'll do it when I retire. {I give you a grin and take a long drink of water.} It's something to work towards.

Michael: {I watch the long line of your throat, the movement it makes as you swallow. I like it.} Have you had the opportunity to travel much? I have, though it's been primarily for business, and not for pleasure...though Italy was more for pleasure, admittedly.

Randy: No. {I shake my head roughly.} It's not...I don't fly. {My throat closes over that, and I swallow again, determined to shove that down, and look at you.} Makes it hard to travel much. I've done some of the US--but it was by car, from coast-to-coast, when I moved out here after I got my undergrad.

Michael: You don't fly? {I simply can't imagine that--I've spent so much time in the air I sometimes feel I'm part bird. Evidently, it's something that bothers you a lot, judging by the suddenly dark look in your eye, the closed expression that steals over your face. Not something good. I'm certain if I picked at it, you'd tell me, but I've no desire to dredge up bad memories, and so leave it be.} I've jumped about the States here and there...I'll be going to Seattle next month for a lookabout to see if I want to open a branch office there. I could send Erich, as that's his job, but I wanted to see it for myself. I've heard it's lovely.

Randy: It is. {I grin at you, grateful you're not going to press the point. I know I told you I lost my family, but not the details, and I'm not ready or willing to go there right now.} I sailed up that way...two years ago? I think it was in ninety-six. It's beautiful country there. {I look at you suspiciously, when what you said sinks in.} How long you gonna be gone for?

Michael: Three days. Would you care to come along? I wouldn't mind the company, honestly. You're a very entertaining lad. {I grin at you, knowing you hate to be called a *lad*.}

Randy: {I blink at you in astonishment for a minute, then narrow my eyes. 'Lad' again, eh? I shake my head regretfully--the only way you could get there that fast would be if you flew, and no way in hell--no matter how much I like you. I never got on an airplane even for Brandon, and we were together for almost five years--lovers, in love, the whole shebang.} Thanks--for the invite. I have this job, though, see... {I smile at you.} Seriously, I appreciate the offer, but I don't think I can get away--I've got time scheduled off over the fourth of July, and Crandall's patience isn't great. I'll give you a helluva welcome home greeting though, guaranteed.

Michael: {I'm disappointed--it would have been good to have you as company. I tend to forget that everyone's schedule isn't as flexible as my own, and it always surprises me a little, when plans don't work out. I hadn't planned on asking you--it had just popped out, before I could even think to edit it.} Promise it shall be a good welcome home, and I won't be so disappointed. {I smile at you.}

Randy: {I shift and stand up, leaning into your personal space, my mouth finding yours quickly, easily. I lick your lips teasingly, then whisper against them.} Promise. Like nothing you've ever had before.

Michael: Really? Given what you've already shown me, a promise like that could prove dangerous to my health. {I reach up and let my hand spread out over your chest, thumb rubbing lazily across your nipple, which rises hard beneath the soft cotton of your shirt.} It's getting late...shall we find a place for the night, and then you can give me a preview of your welcome-back techniques.

Randy: Yeah... {Your breath in my mouth; mine in yours. God, that's erotic. I shift and wiggle against you, groaning when you thumb my other nipple to a hard peak as well.} Lemme... drop anchor... and we can stay here tonight. {I love how fast we respond to each other; sexually, I've never more attuned to someone. I wonder why, and give a mental shrug. Guess it is what it is.} And I'm doing dinner tonight, so you can hit the showers, if you want. There's plenty of water. {I step back reluctantly when you let go, my body fired up, ready to go. *God*, we heat up so fast, so intense. Incredible.}

Michael: {I let my hand slide between your legs, gently rubbing at the heat I find there. I rise, leaning in to bite gently at your throat, loving the growl I feel rumble up from deep within your chest.} You do that...and I promise that I'll make you feel *so* good tonight....

Randy: {I hiss an agreement, and rub myself shamelessly against your hand, my own creeping to your body, stroking through the thin shorts you're wearing. You feel good; thick and long, hardening even as I am. I arch my head back when you bite again, then growl, lowering to take your mouth, hot and hard, echoing the hunger rising in me.}

Michael: {Your kisses are like a storm, wild, and fierce, and hard, almost punishing in their intensity. I can only open my mouth wider for you, let you wash over me, a torrent of passion. I swear you grow two more sets of hands; I know you touch me everywhere, callused hands hard on my flesh, squeezing, patting, kneading. I ride it out, until you tear your mouth away from mine, gasping for air as I do. There's something fierce and wild shimmering through your eyes, and god, I know I'm in for a wild time. I pull your hand from within my shorts, bring it up to kiss the palm, smiling at you.} We'll keep, Caro...first things first....get us settled, get us fed, and I swear it shall be worth the wait.

Randy: {It takes a minute for me to collect myself, to get enough air back into my brain so that it can function again. You're right--as good as it could be here, grappling about on the deck, hot and sweaty, it'll be better after we've cleaned up, rested, and relaxed some. The fire between us is never far away, I've decided. A look, a touch, a word--sometimes a combination of those, sometimes one alone. I lean in and kiss you once more, very gently, then pull back to nod.} Help me tie down the sails for the night? {You don't refuse, and although you're not adept at it like I am, you learn quickly, and two hands make short the work that usually I have to do alone. We drop the anchor, then tidy the deck before heading down below decks. The sun is setting, and it's beautiful, watching it dip nearer the horizon, spreading pinks and golds over the blue of the water. I pull the hatch closed over us; in case a storm comes up in the night, no point in things getting wetter than they'd have to. I shoo you toward the head, and busy myself in the galley. I'm a pretty decent cook, and though what I planned isn't extravagant, I do want to cook you a nice dinner. I even bought a bottle of non-alcoholic sparkling cider to go with it. It doesn't take me long to get the chicken and rice stuffing in the oven, and prep the rest of it. I can set the table after I change. I put some soft, easy music on, and head back to strip my clothes off when I hear the shower shut off.}

Michael: {Although I tend to take long, long showers, I don't now, not wanting to use up your reserves. So it's a quick wash, then out. I emerge from the shower, smelling faintly of evergreen from the soap, and towel myself down. A robe is hanging on the back of the door, and I shrug into it. Your scent is in the folds of the material, and it's like being hugged by you. I roll my eyes at that terribly sentimental thought; it's so unlike me--that's more Sarah's province than mine. I brush my teeth, then do a quick shave; I tend to bristle by this time of the evening. By the time I exit the bath--no, the head--I can smell something wonderful coming from the galley. You pop into the bedroom as I hear my belly growl, and I grin ruefully.} Smells wonderful. So you *can* cook, eh?

Randy: {I pause to admire you in my robe, then pull out a pair of comfortable sweats and a T-shirt, snickering all the while.} I told you--just because all I've done is take you to taco shacks and feed you sandwiches doesn't mean I was lying. {I stop at the doorway and wink at you.} I can even do pie crust--but don't bother telling anyone, 'cause I'll deny it with my last breath.

Michael: {I snap at you with the towel, but you laugh, dodging easily, and slam the door. For a snarky moment, I wish I *had* used up all the water, but then my attention is caught once more by the smell coming from the galley, and I follow my nose there. Chicken, evidently, and not done yet. I grab a handful of grapes and content myself with their sweetness. As I hear your shower shut off, I busy myself with setting the table. I think you're certain I don't know how to do anything, that Miles waits upon me hand and foot, rendering me helpless. Not necessarily true--wealth does have its benefits, such as servants and cooks, but I can take care of myself quite well. I grin up at you as you appear in loose sweatpants that dip below your navel, toweling off your hair vigorously. Such a lovely sight, one I never tire of.}

Randy: You'll make someone a good wife someday, darlin'. {I grin at you, ignoring the rude gesture you send my way, and bend to check the chicken. God, the shower felt good. I wish it was big enough for both of us--we could probably both fit in there, but I doubt we'd be able to turn around, or move. Ah, well. That's what the ocean's for. I pull the cut veggies out of the fridge, and rig up my makeshift steamer, then reach above the sink to pull down my two nice glasses, for the cider.} Do you want rolls with dinner? It's no problem to pop them in the oven real quick.

Michael: {Perched on the bench seat at the table, I watch you move around, totally at ease with yourself and your surroundings. I raise one shoulder in a shrug, then realize you can't see me with your back to me.} Certainly. I'm starved. Any dessert on the menu?

Randy: {I laugh. I can't help it. You've got an innocent expression on your face when I turn around, but I'm not fooled. I've never met anyone *less* innocent than you, I don't believe.} Now there's a loaded question, darlin'. Whatcha think you'd like? I can tell you if it's available.

Michael: {I crook my finger at you, and though you look dubious, you approach, slowly, as though you were nearing a wild animal. Not too far off the mark, actually. When you're close enough for me to reach, I wrap my fingers around your hips and draw you closer. That inch of skin beneath your navel and your sweats is driving me crazy, and I have to taste it. You shudder as I drag my tongue over your flesh, then again as I suck at your navel. A quick nibble, and another lick to your moist skin, and I pull back, smiling up at you.} Skin. Freshly washed, flavored with musk, tangy with your seed. That's what I want for dessert.

Randy: That's-- {I have to stop for a second to clear my throat; the hoarse croak that came out to start with startled me.} Um. That's do-able. Jesus Christ, Michael. {I can still feel your tongue stroking over me, dipping into my navel, a very suggestive little flick there. I slip my hand up under the robe to touch your thigh, stroking very slowly, not touching anywhere else, and lean forward to touch my mouth to your ear. I don't bother to hide the huskiness in my voice this time, or try to clear it away. I want you to hear it.} Gettin' hard for me, darlin'?

Michael: Oh, I am. {I started getting hard the moment you stepped through the doorway, the moment I wanted to lick that little bit of skin. But not now; I can put it on hold, and besides, pleasures deferred are often sweeter for the wait. It's a lesson I know well, but am often too impatient to heed. I nibble at that little bit of skin that drew me initially, your belly shivering slightly, before looking up at you. Your eyes are dark, and your chest rises and falls a bit faster at the touch of my teeth on your flesh, my hands caressing your hips. I could pull you down to me, could direct your mouth to my groin, and you'd settle in