Archipelago

By Zaen

Justin was crying. He didn’t sob, but the tears fell down his cheeks. He sniffled as Chris wiped his bare arms and chest and legs down with cool water and the T-shirt Justin had been wearing. Justin sat on a rickety wooden chair in the corner of the tiny hotel room with a dirt floor and one, broken window. He sat still and let Chris wash the numerous mosquito bites on his exposed skin, so abundant and itchy that they had made Justin freak out by nightfall, scratching until he nearly bled. Chris dipped the T-shirt in the plastic basin that he’d filled with water from the kamar mandi down the hall, the one shared by at least 10 other backpackers. He tried not to think about how clean the water was, he just thanked God that he’d brought enough bottled drinking water to last them both for a few days.

“Is this better?” Chris asked as he gently bathed Justin’s calves. Justin nodded tearfully. It was his own fault that he was covered in bites. He should have worn long sleeves and pants, like Chris, instead of shorts and a T-shirt, even if it was 95 degrees in the shade. If he’d ordered his food pedas, like Chris had, like the English-speaking waiter said all Indonesians do, he wouldn’t have been so tasty to the bugs. He had refused to believe that chili sauce served a purpose, other than to burn the tongues of tourists. So he only ate the blandest foods, steamed rice and grilled meats and no pedas! He was more concerned with the state of his stomach than his skin, and he ended up paying for it. Sure, his breath smelled a hell of a lot better than Chris’, but then Chris wasn’t eaten alive. And what good is minty fresh breath in the jungle? Justin sniffed again and wiped his eyes.

“I’m sorry, Chris,” Justin said softly. “I’m more trouble than I’m worth.”

“No, don’t be,” Chris sighed. He rubbed Justin’s knee. “This whole thing was my idea. Don’t blame yourself.”

“I didn’t have to tag along, though.”

“You said you wanted Thai for dinner.”

“Yeah, but not in Thailand!” Justin laughed a little, touching Chris’s hand.

“Thailand wasn’t bad,” Chris said softly, smiling up at Justin’s tear-stained face. Thailand had been quite cool, the one night they’d spent there. Inspired by the song, they’d hung out in Bangkok for one day and night, too afraid of being recognized to go to a massage parlor like they really wanted to. But it was cool nonetheless. The hotel was 5 star and tailored to Westerners. Their hotel in Jakarta was 4 star, as were a lot of touristy hotels in the Indonesian capital. Even the smaller yet touristy place where they spent the night in Bali was decent. There was one real, Western, porcelain toilet, with toilet paper even. This place, however, was not like that. This losmen catered to backpackers on their way to the mountains. It was small and only cost 37,000 rupiahs per night and had, much to Justin’s prissy dismay, only a traditional Indonesian toilet—a hole in the ground. And there was only one of those for the whole hotel.

“It’s only for tonight, Just,” Chris said as he slid the cloth up Justin’s thighs. “I don’t think we’ll be able to go to see the volcano tomorrow anyway,” Chris said, disappointed, as he glanced out the window into the downpour. Unfortunately, Chris had unknowingly picked the very beginning of the monsoon season for this spur of the moment jaunt to Southeast Asia. It had rained on and off while they were in Thailand; all night in Sumatra; all day in Java. Now, on this tiny, barely inhabited volcanic island off the coast of Irian Jaya, the rain was nonstop. The broken English-speaking penunjuk who had driven them around in Jakarta kept saying “musim hujan” over and over, shaking his head disdainfully, but Chris had thought he was only ridiculing their clothes or obvious Americanness. Now Chris knew it meant rainy season.

“It’s not your fault, man,” Justin said as he shifted in the chair. “I’m the one who wanted to go see a volcano.” He took a sip of his fifth bottled water of the day. “Man, it’s hot.” He wiped the sweat from his forehead and offered the bottle to Chris. He watched Chris guzzle the water down, sweat dripping from his face and hair like rainwater. Chris had darkened, even with the SPF ten billion that they both slathered on under the mosquito repellant. Justin held his arm out, touching Chris’ arm, comparing their suntanned skin. “We got dark,” he said, smiling, squeezing Chris’s bicep.

“Yeah,” Chris said, stopping suddenly. He looked up at Justin, his bare chest, his entire body slick with sweat, his bug-bitten arms and legs, his lips. Chris was suddenly vary aware of all this, like he hadn’t been only minutes earlier, when Justin had broken down, itchy and hot and feeling dirty. Chris had thought smoking some ganja—the real reason they’d thought of Indonesia in the first place—would mellow them both out enough to rest for the night. It only made Justin more nervous, more paranoid, and Chris could think of nothing else but to nurse Justin’s tender skin until he calmed down. And it worked; Justin had relaxed, his muscles unwinding, as soon as Chris touched him. His breathing was returning to normal, his glassy eyes were smiling again. Chris stood up when he realized he’d been staring at the top of Justin’s shorts, which were unzipped and exposing taut muscles and Justin’s lack of underwear. “Ok, man. I think you’re good.”

“Um…could you?” Justin asked timidly as he glanced over at the insect repellant. “We probably should put more on before…um…bed.”

“Yeah,” Chris said slowly. “Let me empty this first.” Just as he grabbed for the water-filled basin, Justin stood up too. Chris could see it coming, but that didn’t prevent him from bumping into Justin, spilling the now lukewarm water all over both of them. They didn’t even say anything. It was too hot to laugh or comment, and in reality the water felt good on Chris skin. He put the basin back on the dilapidated table in the opposite corner of the room. When he turned back around, Justin was sitting on the bed, partially hidden by the mosquito netting hanging over it.

“C’mere, Chris,” Justin said softly, barely audible over the rain. Chris hadn’t realized until he moved the net aside and sat on the bed that Justin had removed his wet shorts. “Sit down,” Justin said nonchalantly, like he wasn’t naked and antsy and somewhat hard. Chris did as he was told. “Take this off,” Justin said, pulling on the bottom of Chris’ long-sleeved kebaya. Chris turned his back a little to Justin and peeled the damp shirt off. Justin poured some insect-repelling oil into his hands and started on Chris’s shoulders and back. The stuff was all natural, per Justin’s fussy demands, a mixture of pure essential oils like citronella and cedarwood and eucalyptus. It smelled kinda funky, kinda nice, definitely crunchy. Chris wondered when Justin would abandon his sugary sweet breakfast cereals for granola.

“Gimme some for my legs,” Chris said, holding his hand out.

“Then you better take these off, too,” Justin said into Chris’ ear. Chris froze for a second when Justin’s hands came around his middle and untied the drawstring of his pants. Chris considered asking Justin what he was doing, but then he lost his train of thought. He decided it was an aftereffect of the exotic pot and shrugged it off. He let Justin untie the strings and he pushed the pants down, lifting his hips up to remove them all the way.

“Ok, I’ll do my legs now.” Chris wanted to laugh at how stupid that sounded, but he forgot that when Justin shifted them both on the bed.

“I’ll do it, man.” He yielded easily to Justin pushing him down on his stomach. He stretched out, resting his chin on his folded hands, and listened to the rain. He could have drifted off easily, if he wasn’t so hot and sweaty, if the room wasn’t so damp. If the rain was loud enough to disguise the faint rustling coming from the corners and under the floorboards every few minutes. And if it were some impersonal masseuse—not Justin—who was rubbing his calves…the backs of his knees…his thighs.

“That’s good…I think…uh…that’s good,” Chris said, the herbal scent of the oil almost as strong in his nose as the scent of Justin—sweaty, a little dirty, and extremely close. Justin poured out more and smoothed it all over the soles of Chris’s feet, his calves, his knees, and then up to the base of his spine. Chris leaned into the touch, and he really was beginning to relax. He stopped being relaxed when he felt Justin pulling down his boxers.

“Shh…it’s alright,” Justin whispered when Chris tensed up all over. “I just wanna be thorough.” Justin certainly was thorough, Chris thought. He heard Justin hitting the bottle against his hand, trying to get out every drop of oil. Then he felt slick hands all up and down his thighs, the backs of his knees, then back up to his ass.

“Justin, what—”

“Shhh…chill out,” Justin said as he continued. Chris let him do it. It was strange, sure, but the whole trip had been a strange one. And now, in 100+ degree, 100% humidity, mosquito infested weather, Chris needed something—anything—to relax him, or he’d never sleep. Unfortunately Justin’s hands all over him were having the opposite effect. It was in no way relaxing to feel Justin hover over him to reach his arms and neck, his nipples grazing Chris’s back…his hardening cock grazing the backs of Chris’s thighs.

“It’s too hot,” Chris groaned, but he didn’t lift a finger to stop Justin. And he did exactly as he was told when Justin said, “Turn over.” As much as he didn’t want Justin to see how much this massage was affecting him, he rolled over on his back anyway. He closed his eyes as Justin rubbed the last of the oil into his legs, then up around his stomach and chest and back down. He kept his eyes shut and breathed deeply as Justin gently brushed a hand between this thighs, barely missing his sex.

“Hey,” Justin said as he gently pushed Chris legs apart. Before Chris knew what was happening, Justin was sliding between his well-oiled legs, stretching out over him, resting on his knees. Chris opened his eyes to find Justin hovering over him, gently sliding his legs back and forth on top of Chris’. “So we can share,” he said, smirking. The smirk grew wider when he rested the full length of his body on top of Chris, his cock hot and hard against Chris’ hip. Chris drew in a quick breath.

“Dude, it’s…uh…too…too damn hot for…um…this,” Chris stuttered.

“C’mon…I need some, too,” Justin purred as he thrust his hips in long, slow strokes. He pressed Chris’s arms over his head and rubbed them with his own. “Don’t want me eaten up again,” Justin whispered, leaning down so he was mere centimeters from Chris’ lips. “Or…do you?”

“Justin,” Chris started, then gulped hard, and forgot what else he wanted to say. It was too hard concentrating on words with Justin rubbing his hard young body all over him…with Justin grunting as he swiveled his hips lewdly, coating his stomach and chest and legs with the oil from Chris’ body.

“Mmm,” Justin mumbled, and licked his lips at Chris, who lay there and tried not to move with Justin, tried not to lean up and catch Justin’s mouth with his. He tried not to moan too loudly when Justin reached down between them and readjusted their erections so they lined up perfectly, slick with oil and sweat, and thrust forward more intensely, purposefully. Chris tried not to touch Justin, but eventually his hands seemed to move on their own, wrapping around Justin’s waist, up his back and arms, spreading the essential oil all over them until they were a slippery mess of tangled limbs. Justin grunted something into Chris’ neck and pulled Chris’ legs up around his hips, closing the spaces between them, gluing them together.

“Oh…sh…fuck, Justin.” It sounded like a protest, but Chris didn’t stop. He didn’t stop Justin from squeezing his nipples between his sticky fingers. He didn’t stop Justin from spreading Chris’ legs and jerking him off while humping Chris’ thigh. And he didn’t stop Justin from squeaking, “Chris…c’mon” and kissing him. Chris opened up right away, sucked Justin’s tongue deep into his mouth, held his head and neck still so he could taste him better. He squeaked himself when he felt Justin’s finger circling his anus.

“Just,” Chris groaned with his tongue still in Justin’s mouth, his hands full of Justin’s curls. “Jus…oh…oh fuck…what are you…oh…yes…no, wait—”

“Dammit, Chris,” Justin said, and sounded half serious, half teasing. He rested his hand where it was, nestled between warm asscheeks, and looked deep into Chris’ eyes. “Aren’t you…I mean…sick of this…every time we do this?” Justin bit his lip and seemed to blush, though it could have just been the heat. “Every time we’ve kissed…touched…every time we’ve ended up going down…and then we don’t talk about it afterwards. I’m sick of pretending it’s not happening, Chris. I’m sick of being afraid of someone catching us.” Justin sighed, then kissed Chris softly before whispering, “We’re on the other side of the world. How much farther away can we go?”

“Justin…you really want to?” Chris asked eagerly. When Justin smiled and nodded, Chris smiled back and whispered, “Alright then…but hurry up. We have to get up early if we wanna see the volcano.”

“I thought we couldn’t,” Justin said as he reached next to the bed for his backpack.

“Fuck the rain,” Chris said. When Justin sifted through his sparse belongings to find some all natural, environmentally friendly lubricant, Chris said, “Now. Fuck me.”

“Yes.” Justin was quick about the preparations, but not about the act. Once he was inside Chris, kissing Chris, holding Chris’ thighs wide apart, he took his time. He was methodical with his bites from Chris’ collarbone to his ear. His tongue swirled deep inside Chris’ mouth, languishing there until Chris hissed. Justin reached between them to slowly, very slowly stroke Chris’ cock while he fucked him. It felt so good, and at the same time Chris wanted to just be done with it already. Chris knew Justin was getting him back, forcing him to see what he’d been missing every close call, every interrupted liaison, every time Chris had stopped them before they started. Justin groaned against Chris’ cheek each time he thrust inside him, overwhelmed but wanting to finish soon all the same.

“That’s it, baby,” Chris groaned as he tightened up around Justin. Their frantic movements and gasping made the room even hotter. Chris wanted release badly and he wanted it soon or he’d never sleep. “C’mon, sweetie,” he whispered, tilting his hips up so Justin could fill him. “C’mon…I want you to.”

“Oh…ohhh…oooooaaaaaaahhhhh!” Justin moaned into Chris’ mouth and came, dripping with sweat and smelling of botanical extracts. Chris watched Justin’s face, and it was different from his usual “O” face. Justin looked relaxed when he came down this time. All the other times they’d been together, when Chris had watched him come, Justin looked somewhat…thwarted. Satisfied yes. Spent yes. But he’d always looked a little lost, like he was wanting something he thought he’d never get. That look was gone this time. Justin closed his eyes and kissed Chris on the cheek. “Would you like me to help you out?”

“Please,” Chris groaned, desperate for completion, for relief, for sleep. Justin slid down his slick body, wrapped his hands around Chris’ sex, and only had to flick his tongue along the tip a few times before Chris came in his mouth, muttering something that sounded like, “It’s about time.”

They slept curled up in a tight ball, even though it was too hot, and they smelled, and were sticky. Even through the monsoon outside and the rats rustling under the floor and in the wall. They slept wrapped in the beautiful batik material that Chris thought would make a cool Indo-Fu shirt. Hours earlier the plan had been to return to Jakarta and fly home the next day, as the Indonesian rain would surely keep them stuck indoors all the time. As it turned out, they would end up staying 3 more days, on the main islands, in overpriced hotels, with fans and porcelain toilets and room service and no rats. Their friends complained that they smelled of insect repellant days and weeks after their return to Florida. Justin kept some bottles of the stuff around, for any other impromptu tropical vacations. He decided he would need a lot, as he didn’t plan on eating much spicy food in the near future. He wanted to stay smelling sweet. Sure it attracted mosquitoes, but it attracted best friends, too.

The End

Written for Dale Edmonds for 2001 Don we now our gay apparel Secret Santa challenge

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