Date: Sun, 30 Dec 2001 04:45:36 +0000 From: Java Biscuit Subject: vancouver island 5 This story involves teen/boy, teen/adult, male/male graphic sex and is not intended for reading by minors. If you are underage, or this type of material is illegal where you live, please stop now, and go read something else! This is a completely fantasized story meant only for the purpose of pleasurable reading. This story is not meant to encourage unsafe, unprotected sex. Feedback to javabiscuit@hotmail.com Vancouver Island ~ chapter five by Biscuit I didn't try to take Yves across the border from Victoria. The mainland, the way Saguaro and I had come, seemed a safer bet. God, he was a fearless little thing. He kissed his mom good bye and promised to send her packages full of food from the US. I was the one who choked up hugging her good bye. Maybe it was because he had no idea what could happen to us or how far away he was going. Armand went to the top of the trail with us. It was September. Even Armand had a knit shirt on under his overalls; the air had turned sharp. He and I smoked our last joint together, waiting for a truck to stop. "You be taking care of him," Armand said to Yves, not to me, laughing. "I don't let nothing happen, don't worry," Yves said. He looked so cute in his blue jeans and pea coat. A brand new knit hat on his head that Sarah had made for his good bye present. When a truck slowed up for us, and the door swung open, I got inside and Armand lifted Yves up to me, swiping the side of the kid's face with a kiss and whispering something. "Oui," Yves said, which he pronounced 'why'. It had confused the fuck out of me at first, thinking they were asking each other, "why?" all the time, when really, they were just saying, "yeah." But I was used to it by then. I knew this driver. He'd paid me good money before. He was squinting over at Yves, wondering, I guess, if he was going to get anything from me with a kid there. Yves was glued to me, not out of nerves, just to be touching. He was way over-excited. Being on our way had him hopped up like crazy. I could see those knees of his going and almost feel the energy crackle. I knew from the way he was sitting that he was hard and restless and if he thought I'd let him, he'd be climbing all over me. Very strange to be between him and that driver, feeling like both of them wanted me to do something about their hard dicks. Each one of them probably thinking the other was the one in their way. True, I was stoned, so it probably struck me funnier than it should have. "Want to pull over somewhere?" I asked the guy. He wanted it, all right. He was wearing a pair of thick baggy jeans and the crotch was hiked up over about five thick inches of wanting it. "What about your sister?" Yves growled something in French. "Brother," I said. "He's okay." "You sure?" I swear I could just about see his dick twitch. "It's up to you," I said, but I slid my hand into his crotch and gave his cock a tug. Some drivers liked me to suck them while they were driving. I'd do it, but wouldn't bring a guy off like that. Too many of them shut their eyes when they shot off and I didn't trust them. This one, I knew, liked to pull off the road and get some attention for his money. He pulled over at the next widening of the road and let his seat back, giving Yves a nervous kind of look, but I think he was turned on by the thought of the kid being there. Yves was all eyes. He'd seen me do it to Armand, but this was different, I guess. A strange guy. He told me later, "I don't like you doing that." But when it was happening, he seemed okay. I'd been with this driver before and I knew what he liked. Before I even opened his pants I got my hand in his jacket and inside his shirt, into the vee of his under shirt and rubbed at the fur on his chest. He liked that, lots of pinching and twisting -- not too hard, just a lot of it, to keep the blood swelling his nipples up. He was maybe forty or so, and had told me he only liked boys on the road. He was straight as an arrow at home, or so he said. I liked him okay, seeing him get worked up from me playing with his tits. The best kind of trick, really. He was straightforward about what he liked, it wasn't hard to give him, and he was nice about the whole thing. He wasn't a handsome guy, but he had one of those faces that's grizzled and pleasant in a lived-in way, like he'd mostly been squinting at the road or smiling at people. His eyes were shutting down and he'd opened his shirt, pulling up the tee-shirt to his armpits so I could get at his chest with my mouth. His legs were spread wide and his hips doing a slow motion dance as I worked his wide brown nipples with my lips and tongue. "Oh yeah, now," he said, getting his hand on the back of my head. I stopped chewing on his chest and went for his pants. His nuts were big and hairy, and tight and I hooked his shorts under them. His dick wasn't real long but it was thick, and I was half on the floor, half hanging over his thigh by then, trying to find a good angle to work on it. "What do you think, kid?" he said to Yves, and I felt a little twinge about him talking to the boy. "I think you like that pretty much," Yves said, and the guy chuckled but the sound trailed into a moan as I sank down his shaft and he started fucking my mouth for real. Fifty bucks in my pocket never hurt. The guy stopped and bought us coffees and I smoked up his tailor mades all the way to town. We were headed for the ferry to the mainland and the guy took us all the way there. Yves had gotten quiet but was happy again as soon as we were out of the truck and seeing the big-ass boat we'd be on. Me, I felt rich and kind of excited too, but with an edge. I kept telling myself that we'd find a way over the border and if it looked like I couldn't get Yves through with me, I'd take him home. That was the one thing I vowed to myself. No matter what, I wouldn't get separated from him. The ferry was like Disneyland to him. We froze our faces, outside on the deck for awhile. He was torn between looking at the water and burrowing into my jacket. I'd got myself an army coat, loose and loaded with pockets; pockets loaded with shit I was a fool to be carrying. So fucked up. I was a walking drug store with a ten year-old kid that didn't belong to me. Thinking about it now makes me weak. Yves was nudging at me with his dick, looking up from my chest like he wanted me to kiss him. At least I wasn't dumb enough to do something like that, right out in the open where anybody could have come along and seen us. Hugging was one thing, I knew nobody would freak out if they thought I was hugging my kid brother but there was a whole lot more I wanted to do. I took him inside, to the men's room. "I don't got to go, Jamie," he said. "Oh yeah you do," I laughed. I hadn't gone to school for nothing. I got him into a stall with me and our packs. It was tight and he was grinning like a little fool, on his knees on top of our backpacks, with me sitting on the can in front of him. Not easy, but so fucking good to be able to get my lips on his mouth and my hand in his jeans. It was impossible to keep him quiet. When that little puffing, groaning noise started up from him I tried to smother it with my lips, murmuring, "shh," to him. He nodded but if anyone had come in there they'd have heard that last low growl of him coming with his dick working into my spitted up fingers. For me, it didn't take much. I was like Pavlov's dog in a public toilet, conditioned to come. Between that and having been forced to wait to get my hands on Yves, I was skirting the edge from the minute I got my dick out of my pants. When he bent forward over it, and put his fist around it, I was already so close that it sent a shudder right up the center of my body. He clamped his hot lips around the crown and his tongue slithered across my slit. Just seeing his head between my legs was such a turn on I totally lost it and started spurting. Poor Yves had one hand on my leg for balance and the other trying to control my jerking, creaming cock. He was swallowing and trying not to laugh at how fast I'd shot off. His cheeks were all red from being bent over, and whipped from the wind outside. I'd never seen anything cuter than that rosy face with a mouthful of spunk and eyes glittering like ice. I was so happy right then, that he was with me, and that loved me, I could have burst from it. We settled down in one of the lounges that had seats facing outside. I had the packs piled up in the chair next to me and Yves in my lap, leaning back on them and on me with his legs hooked into the seat on the other side of me. He was staring outside but getting sleepy. The boat wasn't crowded and the place we'd planted ourselves wasn't the warmest spot you could find. It was a smoking lounge and kind of drafty, being near the doors to outside. Not many people around, and the one who kept showing up, leaning against the windows, checking us out, was pretty fucking noticeable. He was in a long, expensive looking coat. It hung open and he was wearing a suit. The suit and coat reminded me of Joe Davis. Lawyer type clothes. He caught me looking at him as he opened a pack of smokes. Marlboros, American cigarettes. He looked American, when I thought about it. I'm not sure why. Maybe about thirty-five or forty years old. I wasn't too good with judging ages. "Smoke?" he asked. His hair was dark and cut real short. It's funny, he kind of looked like Armand might have looked if he was living a different life. Older, taller, but with Armand's intense eyes. He held out his cigarette pack toward me. "Sure," I said, "thanks." Then I was sure. Just the way his eyes flickered up to my mouth. I'd seen it so many times before. He edged up a smoke so it was pointing at me and I took it from the pack. Then he whipped out a lighter that wasn't one of the kind you use and throw away, and he lit my cigarette for me. Next thing, he was sitting down next to me. Yves started to pull his feet away but the guy shook his head and pat Yves's ankle. "That's okay," he said, and tapped out a smoke for himself. Yves drew his feet away, anyway, and he got up, wandering over to the window to look out. Nathan. Nathaniel Jones. What a shark he was. He'd sniffed us out, one way or another, and liked the scent just fine. His dark eyes moved from me to Yves and back again, like he could see that we'd been fucking around. I guess, it's all in the eyes that are doing the looking. One guy might have seen us there like that and thought, older brother looking after the younger one. Nathan looked at us and saw boys he thought were having sex with each other. Maybe because he knew it happened, he could recognize it when he saw it. He wasn't a lawyer, though God knows, he knew the law. He had to, to work his way around it. He liked teenage boys and he liked to take pictures of them. Somewhere out there are photos and a film of me with the most beautiful boy in the world. I'm not complaining. Nathan got more than he'd hoped for from us and we got over the border. He had a shiny new car parked down below on the ferry and we would drive right through the border with him, with the border guard waving us on with a happy smile. Nathan, me, Yves, a shitload of drugs and a trunk full of cameras. As soon as we were safely across, Yves climbed into my lap, knowing that Nathan didn't care; though not caring isn't exactly what Nathan felt. Yves knew we'd accomplished something great by crossing into the United States though what danger we'd run, I'm sure he had no idea. I don't think even I fully appreciated how disastrous it could have been. He just knew I was happy and relieved and that a huge hurdle had been crossed. And he was in America. "We do it, right Jamie?" he said, hugging my neck. "Yeah, we did it," I said, wrapping him up tight, sinking my nose in his hair. "Did it," he imitated me. It's funny how I was trying to find the scent of the beach on him and felt good when I did. It was still in his hair and on his skin. I let my hands roam down his back and got them under his coat to feel his ass. He stole a glance at Nathan and back at me. "I can kiss you, yes?" he asked quietly. "Yes." I got the full body press and his mouth mashed into my lips, forcing me back into the headrest. My dick started waging war with my seatbelt. I had to reach between us and get it unstuck. Yves sat back and zeroed in on the sight of me with my hardon trapped by my jeans and the strap of the belt. "Play like you be tied up, Jamie," he said. Oh, Yves. My little tormentor. I saw that glint in his eye. I don't know what it was about that game that turned him on so hot. Me promising not to move, pretending to be tied up. I wouldn't let him tie me up for real, but he'd say, "Just pretend!" Like only a fool would care about the real ropes. Sometimes I thought it was because he was smaller than me. I never bullied him, or pushed him around, that I was aware of, but there were probably times that I physically dominated him, just because of my size. Sometimes he liked that. To be in my lap, or be carried. But when we played this game it didn't matter that he was small, because I couldn't move and he was in charge. On the other hand, maybe he just liked to see me squirm. "How long?" I asked, not sure I wanted to do it there, in a car, with Nathan sitting next to me. "Not too too long," he said. Not too too -- a favorite vague measure of his. I wormed out of my coat and let the seat back. "If I'm tied up, I want to be comfortable." Those big hazel eyes were smiling as he looked me over; I knew he was deciding where he wanted my hands to be "tied." I put them down to either side of the seat and he nodded. Then he pulled off his cap and shrugged off his coat. He had a wrinkly blue button down shirt on, half open over a tee-shirt. So strange to see him in clothes like that. I missed his bare shoulders but the boy looked beautiful in anything. His jeans were stretched over his hard three inches. "What are you guys doing?" Nathan asked, and Yves shot him a wary look, as if he'd just remembered that we weren't alone, as if Nathan might interfere. "Just a game," he said. "It's okay. I don't hurt him or nothing." I could tell Yves didn't want to talk to Nathan about it, he just wanted to be left alone, to play. "It's okay," Nathan said, and I thought it was probably more than okay with him. "Just be careful. People can see in the car from trucks." "Eh, oui, I be careful," he said as if Nathan was a fool to think that he, Yves, the game-master, wouldn't know how to proceed. He smirked at me and whispered, "Don't move." He sunk down onto the floor between my legs and pulled his jacket up, covering himself over my lap. I almost laughed at the sight of the pea coat moving with him under it, hiding what he was doing when he unzipped my pants. Until I felt him start in with his tongue. Little bastard. Not too too long, I thought, squirming for real, dying to come. He'd parked himself down there and was playing me to the edge with insanely light touches of his tongue, it was like getting blown by a butterfly and my cock was jerking and spitting and I thought I'd die if he didn't suck me for real. Then he lifted the coat to peek up at me, past my tortured cock, his dark-lashed eyes part serious, part amused. "Poor Jamie," he mouthed the words. He snaked his hand under my sweater and tee-shirt, spider walking up my bare stomach. "What the fuck is he doing?" Nathan asked. "Quiet!" Yves insisted in a harsh low voice. "He don't talk now." His warm little hand made a cup of air over my tit, and one little fingertip made its way down to tease like a feather. Shivers shot out from the point of his finger, the whole side of me tingling from those tiny, tiny touches. Yves was killing me. I don't know he could hold back like he did, how he could just barely touch me, over and over again. It was turning my insides to jelly and my dick into throbbing steel. His eyes were burning under the monk's hood of his jacket. He stopped that torture to climb up my body; my little Houdini, keeping me hidden from Nathan and passing cars. I could see though. Under his coat, he'd opened his pants and his cock was out. He was breathing hard, straddling my spread legs so his were forced open even wider and he brushed my dick lightly with the tip of his foreskin. Then he slid the skin down to show me the small moist bulb it was hiding and he shivered like he was about to pop. I almost came right then, without him even touching me. And down he came, on top of me, crushing our dicks together, holding onto my shoulders, with his whole body squirming and coming on top of my exploding cock; cum from hell, like lightening. We got immortalized, the first time, in a fancy hotel in Seattle. I think Yves thought we'd died and gone to heaven. He was so awestruck by the suite, the view, and the existence of room service. The bathroom was on beyond belief for him. He walked around in there, staring at the big sunken tub and all the mirrors. "Louis Quatorze, for sure, Jamie," he said.