Date: Fri, 15 May 2020 22:24:25 +0000 From: kleiner.gespenst Subject: Boy on the Run | Part 3 A completely re-written chapter about a North Carolina boy's friendship with another 13-year-old from Vancouver. If you enjoy any of the many beautifully written works on Nifty, please consider donating: http://donate.nifty.org/donate.html =============================================================== The ruins at Mayapán were different from the Classical Period Mayan cities they'd toured, with less carving. Nonetheless, Stinson and his friend Brent O'Malley were impressed by the temples and fortified walls. The 13-year-olds were on a weeklong tour of the State of Yucatán with the Abbeys, Stinson's grandparents. Brent had been spending the summer with his grandparents in the same retirement community in La Paz, helping with chores and practicing Spanish, when he met Stinson, on a 2-week visit from North Carolina. Very quickly, the Southern boy decided to make Baja his home for the summer, as well. The tropical heat, heavy with moisture, left the group torpid when they checked into a nearby inn, and the boys would have been happy snuggling in their air conditioned room all night, if the Abbys didn't collect them for dinner. The candle lit, open air dining area, surrounded by jungle, fragrant with night flowers, and echoing with tree frogs and the occasional monkey call, was busy, with most of the 20 tables filled. As they followed a host to their table, a tall, slender man rose, smiling toward them. "Señor Abby?" The man looked pleased as Stinson's grandparents turned toward the man. "And Señora Abby! It's good to see you again." "Ernesto Garcia!" Stinson's grandfather joyfully replied. "It's been years, Ernesto!" Stinson's grandmother chortled, as the elder Abby's walked over to hug the handsome stranger. A boy looking younger than the 13-year-olds rose from the table, and quietly stood next to his father. "This is my son, Ricardo," Ernesto Garcia said, draping an arm across the boy's shoulders, where his thick, dark hair fell. Long lashes and sparkling doe eyes accentuated a face almost girlishly pretty. Shyly, Ricardo stretched out his hand to shake with the Abbys. "Stinson! Brent!" Mr. Abby called to the boys, "Come over here." Mr. Abby introduced them. "This here is Phillip's youngest, Stinson, and his friend Brent. Maybe you've met Stin before?" Shaking the boy's hand and clasping him on the shoulder, the man grinned. "The last time I saw you Stinson, you were in diapers." The boy blushed. He didn't remember the elder Garcia, but he did remember wetting the bed until he was 7. "Dr. Garcia was your father's best friend at Ann Arbor," Mr. Abby explained, referring to the University of Michigan. "Come, join us," Dr. Garcia insisted, pulling an empty table over to join his. Settled in with the boys at one end and the adults at the other, the elder Garcia and the Abbys eagerly traded family news. After his undergraduate years in Michigan, Dr. Garcia attended medical school at Cambridge, then began his medical career in London. He met and wed Ricardo's mother while becoming a surgeon. Two years earlier, the family returned to Dr. Garcia's home, Mexico City, where he lead a cardiac unit. "We're on our way to the new dig at Wakná," Dr. Garcia said. "Ricky is joining a high school archeology group for the next month." It turned out that though he looked like a scrawny 12-year-old, he was actually 14. "It's an exciting find, " the otherwise quiet boy remarked, with a posh London accent. Growing animated, he explained the differences between this dig and those of nearby Olmec sites. "Also, it gets me out of tennis practice," he said with smirk towards his father, who laughed. Over laughs and delicious, local cuisine, Dr. Garcia convinced Brent and Stinson to join the dig for a day or two, while he spent time with the Abbys. That night, in their shared bed, Brent and Stinson were excited, but a little nervous. Neither had spent much time away from family, much less with a crowd of high school and college kids. "Ricky's OK," Brent whispered. "He's way smart." Both boys were naked and face-to-face under the covers. Brent slid a thigh over the Stinson's muscular leg, while running fingers through the triathlete's short, brunette hair. "He couldn't keep his eyes off you during dinner." Stinson smiled and lightly rubbed his nose against Brent's. "Didn't notice," Brent snorted, his long blond hair falling on both their faces, and he gave his friend a kiss on the lips. Ricardo's interest had been pretty obvious. "You think he's cute?" Stinson asked, a little warily, while caressing the back of Brent's smooth and corded thigh. "Are you jealous?" Brent musically taunted him. "No!" Stinson defensively bluffed. Brent giggled. "You are!" "Shut up, dude!" Stinson sputtered, and Brent stopped giggling. "I'm sorry, Stinny. It's just you're so easy to tease." Brent kissed him again, and added, "You're not just the hottest guy I've ever known, dude. You're my friend." There was something about the way he said "friend" that melted Stinson's heart, and kissed his friend very tenderly for long minutes. Still, the mischievous Canadian boy couldn't help but needle Stinson a little more. "But Ricky does have a nice ass," he giggled. Stinson's hand pulled back and sharply swatted Brent's behind. "You're such an idiot," Stinson hissed through an amused smile, then started tickling Brent's ribs and and underarms. Brent squealed, laughed and kicked uncontrollably, then launched himself onto the Southern Boy. For a few minutes, the two 13-year-olds rolled and giggled and bounced, soon knotted in bedding. Huffing to a halt, the pair smiled at each other in the wan light, and untangled themselves. "I'm lucky you stayed," Brent whispered. "No luck in it, dude," Stinson replied, "You got mad style." The Southern boy rolled onto his back, and pulled Brent onto his sinewy torso. "So do you, Stinny," Brent said, tracing his fingers along the other boy's facial contours, committing to muscle memory every detail of Stinson's features. Unspoken by either boy was the haunting question: what would happen at the end of the summer? Casting aside doubt and worry, the 13-year-olds lost themselves in deep kisses. As their tongues met and their lips sealed in a building waltz of affection and desire, their turgid poles throbbed between them. Stinson's cock oozed, his breathing grew deeper, and his fingers traced down from Brent's muscular back to his firm little buns. The Vancouver boy unconsciously began rubbing his boyhood into Stinson, his slender hips slowly pumping in time with Stinson's rhythmic finger squeezing. "Gawd I love your ass, dude," Stinson whispered though his friend's curtain of blond locks. "And I love you," the Canadian whispered back, before he had time to stop himself. Both boys froze for a moment, their cocks impossibly harder. "Um, I mean." For once Brent fumbled for words. "Do you mean it?" Stinson asked, hope in his voice. "Yeah, dude, I guess so." He wasn't sure if he'd wrecked a friendship, but there was no going back. Stinson pulled one hand up to brush his friend's hair out of the way, to look him deeply in the eye. Smiling broadly, he didn't really know how to express the depth of his feelings. "Me too, yo." Stinson kissed his friend deeply, hugging the other boy to him so tightly they might as well have been welded together. Gradually, his hands travelled down to Brent's buttocks again, while the boys' cocks pounded in the Stinson's copiously leaking natural lube. Stinson spread his legs, and Brent rooted his knees into the mattress. Pumping harder than before, Brent moaned into Stinson's mouth, as his fingers laced behind Stinson's head. Resting his face to the side of his friend's, Brent breathed faster, and his hips ground more forcefully. "So. Fucking. Good!" Stinson panted quietly. Brent rose, resting his upper weight on hands above Stinson's shoulders, and pushed his knees further down. Arching his back, Brent pumped his cock into Stinson vigorously, and Stinson pressed his hips up to meet him. The boys groaned and gasped, plowing against one another with growing fury. Brent's hair swung back and forth against his shoulders in time with every thrust. Vainly, they fought to dam the mounting tide, deliriously losing themselves in a friction they wished would never end. At the same time, they were desperate to release the fire building in their tightening, hairless scrotums. Brent grit his teeth, choking a scream in his diaphragm, as his nuts contracted. It almost hurt, yet felt so very good. He bucked in time with each pulse, lost in a star-lit sea, gasping while his cock ejected its tiny payload. Brent's climax pushed Stinson over the edge, and he moaned loudly as his sack billowed. His back arched as his hips punched upward, and his cock spewed white fire and thin, watery seed. Heaving with each blasting jet, Stinson clenched his eyes shut, and his head filled with dancing sparkles. At last, the boys flopped onto their sweat-dampened sides. "Fuuuuck," Stinson sighed, and turned his head to kiss Brent's ear. "Holy shit, Stinny!" Brent whispered, turning his head to kiss Stinson on the lips. Forehead to forehead, they rested for a few minutes, and cooled in the air conditioning. Then Brent got up on his hands and knees, pulling the bedding back over them. In the darkness, under the covers, he kissed from Stinson's small nipples, to his wet abs. Meticulously, he tongue swabbed the savory boy sauce traces. As Brent reached Stinson's small bush, the Southern lifted the covers and, amused, asked rhetorically, "What are you doing?" His spent cock twitched, anticipating the answer. Brent turned his head with a grin invisible in the darkness. "Dude, I'm addicted to eating Southern." ================================================================== "So cool!" Stinson exclaimed, as they emerged from the 2500 year old cistern. The long-dry, recently discovered subterranean chamber held the skeletons of several individuals, which were being treated with respect and scientific inquiry. While Mexican authorities determined the remains' ultimate fate, forensic scientists were trying to determine if they were victims of religious sacrifice. "Can we help with the murder scene," Brent asked excitedly. Their guide, Mila Horn, chuckled and shook her head. "We don't know for sure how those people died, or even if that was where they died." The shapely 23-year-old German graduate student earned an additional stipend by supervising youth volunteers on the site. She added, gently, "Those specialists you met have years of training, But the first step on that road is right up ahead." A short footpath lead to a 500 meter clearing, with several stone structures half revealed in a bulldozer-cleared tureen. Climbing down a sandbag embankment, Mila lead the two 13-year-olds and Ricardo to an intricately carved stone structure emerging from wet jungle loam. A team of high school kids were carefully unearthing one face of the building. They were a serious, but friendly group of boys and girls, from Mexico, Europe, the U.S. and Canada. Ricardo saw a school friend he'd been expecting, trotted over to hug the older teenager, then brought him over to meet Brent and Stinson. "I'm Klaus," the tall blond boy said through a broad smile, extending his hand. The son of a German diplomat, the 16-year-old towered over the other three boys. When the lanky, shirtless youth pointed to talk about various carvings, Stinson could see a tiny smattering of blond hair sweat pasted in his armpit. It was hot, dirty and meticulous work. Stinson, Brent and and Ricardo swept and shoveled, sifted and measured into the afternoon. They'd long ago shed their shirts as well, sweat streaking mud down their chests and backs, soaking into the underwear peaking above their cargo shorts. The rubber boots they wore didn't help, but coral and rattle snakes were abundant in central Yucatan during the wet season. Mila watched the younger boys grow sluggish, and called the end of their work day. After insisting they each drink a half-liter of water, she smiled and told them, "You boys could use some time in the cenote." Klaus eagerly tagged along. Leading the boys along path, she explained that the naturally occurring limestone sinkholes dotted Yucatan by the thousands. At the center of a natural limestone clearing, a 100-meter wide opening dropped into crystalline blue aquifers. "You can all swim, yes?" Mila asked the boys, motioning them over to a powered water pump and hose. They all nodded, but Stinson quickly pointed out, "We didn't bring swim suits." Mila chuckled. "You don't need them, here," she said, pulling off her t-shirt, and quickly unfastening her bra. At first, only Klaus made a move, kicking off his boots, then shed his shorts and underwear. Curiously, the tall, skinny boy didn't even glance at Mila, who's toned body was graced with a sizable rack. Instead, Ricardo held all his attention, when the 14-year old Mexican boy began stripping off his clothes. Unvailing the body of an eleven or twelve-year-old, Ricardo smiled knowingly up at his admirer. Stinson was sure he could see the German teen's thick, flaccid four inches twitch from it's depilated base. The Southerner wondered why Klaus removed all his body hair but the few wisps in his pits. Mila chuckled again. "Americans are always so shy. Of course, you can always swim in your underwear." "Canadian, here!" Brent snorted, pulling off his boots and dropping his cargo shorts while the grad student turned on an electric pump to rinse the mud off herself, then handed the hose to Klaus. As she walked to the cenote, Brent peeled off his tight little blue hip briefs. Stinson was at an awkward stage of puberty, shy that he was neither a man nor a boy. Noticing that Ricardo, though a full year older, was unashamed of his utterly hairless body while let Klaus rinse him off, Stinson found his courage. After Brent and Stinson rinsed and shut off the pump, they followed the others to the edge of the cenote. The deep blue water rippled with the occasional flash of a fish, 7 meters below. Unconsciously, Stinson cupped his hands over his junk. Glancing over, Mila chuckled again. "Don't worry, Stinson. I have 3 brothers. I've seen it all." No longer concerned that she'd see the little mustache crowning his soft 3 inches and hairless bag, he was actually worried that his lawless boyhood might decide to grow in public. But everyone held the hand of the person to the left, and on the count of "tres," jumped into the cold water. The cenote was wonderful. Cool ground water peeled away the boys' tropical torpor, and the group simply floated and sighed for a while. Eventually, the boys had a cannonball competition, the climbing and jumping keeping them warm, while Mila returned to the dig. "Dinner is at 8, guys," she said, before disappearing in the late afternoon." A while later, Stinson and Klaus were shivering, and Brent showed off how "pruned" his fingers had become. The boys climbed out, and let the low-hanging sun warm them. Klaus and Ricardo didn't wait, pulling their clothes on over soaking skin. "I'll see you back at the palapa, mates," the Mexican boy called over. "See ya, Ricky," Stinson called back, wondering where he and Klaus were off too. The mystery was solved when the teens reached the forest path, holding each other's hands. Stinson pointed with his jaw, and Brent giggled, pulling his undies back on. "So much for trading you in, Stinson!" "Asshole," the Southern boy grinned up at his friend, as he pulled his own underpants He'd run out of the small supply of boxer briefs he'd brought for a planned two-week visit, and at Brent's suggestion, bought the same kind of skimpy little hip briefs the Canadian boy preferred. Today, they wore matching violet, and the clingy damp cotton revealed every contour of their pubescent packages. "Nice panties, girls," sneered an older boy coming out of the jungle. Heavy set, covered with acne and almost 6 feet tall, the older teenager walked in their direction with a group of 6 or 7 others. "You faggots better not be fucking in the cenote." A shorter, stockier boy laughed at the pimpled boy's taunts, but everyone else ignored Brent and Stinson, as they stripped to go swimming. The 13-year-olds quickly finished dressing, well aware that the bully's eyes never strayed from them. "What an asshole," Stinson whispered to Brent, as they slid into forested darkness. "Nothing a blow job won't fix, but not from me," Brent replied. "How do you suppose he knew we're gay?" Brent chuckled. "Gaydar, of course. He's just a chicken shit thinking he has everybody fooled." Stopping suddenly on the path ahead of Stinson, Brent turned around with a tender smile. "You are so sweet. So smart. Sooooo sexy. And sometimes, so totally clueless," he whispered, while sliding his hands through Stinson's brunette hair. Their lips met for long, slow kisses. "I'm feeling a clue that needs some attention," Stinson whispered, as Brent's hardness pressed into him. But before they could get lost in the jungle, they heard Mila calling their names up ahead. "Later, I guess," Brent huffed in disappointment. That night, Brent and Stinson joined Ricardo and 2 older boys, Carlos and Pierre, at their shared palapa, a sort of thatched hut with mosquito netting for walls. After reading a while, the five teenagers stripped to their underwear, and lay down in their own hammocks. Even with a ceiling fan, the hot night made it difficult for the newcomers to sleep. Sometime in the middle of the night, Brent woke needing to pee. Grabbing a flashlight and pulling on his rubber boots, the Canadian quietly found a spot in the jungle. Just as he pulled the front of his undies down, he heard rhythmic moans further in the forest. His curiosity mounted while he drained his snake, and when he finished, Brent crept cautiously forward, with his flashlight beam held sharply down to the path ahead. At the base of a tree, he could make out the silhouette of a familiar, shirtless, tall blond boy, shorts and undies piled around his rubber boots. Distant lightning flickered across their ardor. Short slapping sounds accompanied his thrusting hips. He had his suspicions about who the other boy was, with his legs spread wide, bent over and gripping a tree with both hands. A moment later, his suspicion was confirmed when Ricardo quietly piped, "¡Si, justo ahi!" Turning back, Brent smiled, then readjust his hardness. His needy cock hadn't been touched all day, and he'd have to have a quiet jerk in his hammock. The palapa echoed with long, slow snoring, and the growing rumbles of thunder. The Canadian changed his mind when he looked down at Stinson, slumbering on his back. A flash of lightning lit up the 13-year-old's REM-cycle tumescence stretching his undies straight up, and it was irresistible. Carefully creeping into Stinson's hammock, Brent slipped beside his friend, resting on his side to watch the boy's face. Carefully, his forefinger slithered along Stinson's turgid pole, from his base, almost alll the way to the waistband, where the boy's circumcised head yearned to break free. Brent smiled, relishing the damp heat radiating through Stinson's skimpy briefs. "I wonder if I can give him a wet dream?" Brent wondered, then mischievously decided to try. Ever careful not to wake Stinson, Brent clasped him with a feather light touch, between thumb and index finger. Stoking his friend molasses slowly, the Vancouver boy also squeezed himself with raging need. Brighter lightning briefly lit up the palapa, and thunder boomed more closely. Stinson's breathing grew deeper, and he muttered in his sleep. Brent began stroking himself in time with the tattoo he polished into Stinson. "Brentttt..."Stinson sighed, and the Canadian thought he was busted. But the next words were unintelligible, and Brent smiled at the idea that his friend dreamed of him. As he continued rubbing with glacial slowness, he felt Stinson's briefs soaking with more than perspiration. At the same time, the swollen Yucatan air burst, bleeding rain in buckets. Brent smiled, thinking "Fuck Hogwarts. I can make it rain with just a dick." He was growing desperate to cum, but didn't want to before he pulled Stinson across the finish line. Through the corner of his eye, Brent saw Ricky slipping into the palapa, in just his soaked white undies and rubber boots. Shedding both, the boy quietly climbed into his hammock. Careful not to move a muscle beside his rubbing fingers, Brent stroked Stinson and himself a little faster, tempted to kill the experiment with hard and furious jerks. But just then, the palapa lit up with daylight, and the roofed trembled from explosive thunder. All but Pierre started awake, and Brent froze. Carlos groaned and muttered, then rolled back asleep. Stinson's eyes were open, and he grinned at Brent. "Am I still dreaming, or are you molesting me?" Stinson whispered. Brent stifled a giggle and whispered into his friend's ear. "Both." "OK, just checking," Stinson replied, rolling on his side to face his friend. Kissing Brent tenderly, the Southern boy slid his hand down to the front of the Canadian's underpants, clasping the boy in a reflection of how his friend clutched him. As their tongues met, both boys stroked each other with thumb and forefinger on either side of their quaking boyhoods. With another lightning burst, Stinson caught Ricky staring at them with wide eyes, his forearm working furiously around his loins. Knowing he was caught, all the Mexican boy could do was shrug and smile, and caress himself more urgently. The rain grew deafeningly loud. Brent and Stinson cupped each other through their underpants, tickling nuts with finger tips, while rubbing cocks with he flat of their hands. Brent felt his balls contracting, bubbling with boy seed flooding his cock. The weather was so loud no one could hear Brent's anguished grunting when his small, hairless balls at last rid themselves of their minuscule contents. A moment later, Stinson choked off his own grunting, humping hard into his friend's hand with each and every fiery jet scorching his underpants. Sweat soaked torsos joined, as the boys wrapped their arms and legs around one another, kissing and caressing while their boyhood's deflated in satisfied slumber. Tender kisses and light caresses enhanced their quiet sighs. "I should get to my hammock before I fall asleep," Brent whispered, kissing Stinson's earlobe. "Mmmmyeaaah. Good idea," Stinson murmured, falling asleep in Brent's arms. A moment later, it was morning. ================================================================= Brent was stoked. He'd be famous, if only in some very nerdy, academic papers. "The O'Malley Metate y Mano," he marveled at the pre-columbian mortar and pestle Mila carefully brushed clean. No one expected any artifacts in the soil cleared almost half-way down the temple structure. But as he carefully cleared his square of jungle loam, he'd found first the grinder, then the bowl. "They are much later than the Classic period," she explained to the boys huddled over the find. "Probably post-Itzá lived or took shelter at this site." Soon, more artifacts were unearthed, as part of the "O'Malley Find." The pimpled bully looked unimpressed, even angry. His name was Grant, and, spitting, he turned to huddle with a fellow high school student from Illinois. The pair laughed, looking over at the younger boys, then went back to work. In the mid-to-late afternoon, Mila dismissed Brent and Stinson, as well as Ricardo. "You need to acclimate, so drink water, and cool off in the cenote." Klaus kept working, promising to join the friends soon. 20 minutes later, the naked trio fell from sun-baked earth into shadowed, deep-blue water. Euphoric from their unlikely day, cooling in the crystalline grotto, they floated, splashed and laughed. At some point, they clung to a rocky ledge. A grey house gecko watched them from a vine. "Those things are everywhere, here" Brent said, pointing to the lizard. "They're not from the Americas" Ricardo explained. "They're from Asia, and they may be a problem.' The boys chatted about lizards, then wildlife prowling at night. "I like nocturnal species," Ricardo said. "Except for vampire bats." "Ew, gross!" Stinson sputtered. "They're here?" "Oh yes. It's another good reason for the palapa netting. Keeps all sorts of things out." Ricardo paused, then deadpanned, "But I saw some nocturnal wildlife inside, last night." Stinson and Brent giggled, and Ricardo smiled and nodded, his long dark hair swirling in the chilly water. "Was that after you and Klaus got caught in the rainstorm, Ricky?" Brent smirked, and the boy's lightly toned skin turned a deep copper. Brent explained how he'd discovered the assignation through urination. Ricardo shrugged and laughed. "We've been, uh, close since I started in the 8th form at our school, last year. He was in the 10th, and we met in A.P. English." Pausing, Ricardo paused, and arched an eyebrow. "You both appear very close, as well." Brent grinned broadly. "Stin's my best friend! Best ever." He threw an arm across the Southern boy's shoulders, squeezing Stinson into him. The other 13-year-old threw his arm over Brent's shoulder, hugging him sideways. "And he's mine." The feeling of naked, rubbery flesh might have set both boys alight, if they weren't starting to shiver from prolonged immersion. "I have to take a leak," Brent announced. "I'll go with," Stinson replied. "I'm freezing," Ricardo said, as they swam over to a rope ladder. In the bright sunshine above, the 13-year-olds pulled on their rubber boots, while Ricardo lay down spread eagle on the warm limestone, to soak up the sun. "I'll wait here for Klaus," Ricardo said, shutting his eyes with contentment. Brent noticed that the boy's genitalia had withered into a tiny ball from the cold, like his own and Stinson's. As the boys carefully moved through the forest to find a spot at least 100 meters from the cenote, they carefully coaxed their penises out from hiding. Stinson's had latched on to a couple of pubes, and it felt a bit like a cheese grater on his sensitive, circumcised head. Finding a suitable tree, they stood side by side. Just before he could open his faucet, Brent stopped Stinson. "Wait, Stin," he said. "Let me hold each other's." Stinson giggled. "OK, Brent." Reaching down, he gently peeled back his friend's foreskin, and Brent's dick immediately lurched. His cock responded likewise, when Brent's fingers encircled him. "We better hurry, or we won't be able to pee!" Stinson said, chuckling. Streams shot forth to the boys' sighing relief, and the heat of the flow and warmth of their hands brought a race between blood and urine for dominion over their cocks. At last, the floods ended, and by the time they shook each other dry, they were both diamond hard. "Shake it more than 3 times and you're playing with it," Brent said with a giggle, then turned to face Stinson without releasing his friend's erection. Slowly stroking his friend, the Canadian leaned in for a gentle kiss. The boys curled around each other like vines in the jungle shadows, wet and naked but for their rubber boots, bits of sun dappling random bits of melding flesh, unnoticed but for a couple of monkeys above. "You think Ricky will miss us?" Stinson whispered slyly, gently pulling and pushing Brent's hood over the boy's tender little head. "Mmmm...who care?" Brent replied, then kissed Stinson more deeply. With his fingernails, he gently scraped the underside of the Southern boy's 5 pounding inches. Just then, they heard Ricardo crying out in distress, and other boys yelling indistinctly through the muting foliage. "Let's go, dude!" Stinson said, turning to run. Carelessly, they plowed through the rain forest without any concern for what might lie in their path. By the time they reached the limestone clearing, all signs of their passion had vanished, flaccid dicks bouncing with each step. Stopping short, the two boys were stunned by the sight before them. Ricardo knelt at Grant's feet, while Phil, the other bully stood by. Both of the Chicago teens were naked, and Grant was forcing his erection into Ricardo's mouth. The younger boy's eyes streamed with tears, while the older boys laughed. "That's it, merica. Chupa mi verga!" The pig slapped Ricardo with one hand, and held his prisoner by the hair with the other. Phil was slowly pumping his unimpressive bone, quietly encouraging Phil. "Leave him alone!" Stinson yelled. "Oh look. The rest of the Gay Muskateers are here," Grant laughed. "Get over here and take care of Phil, cum guzzlers." Brent snapped. As the younger boy hurdled toward him like a rocket, the bully's eyes grew wide. Before he could get another word out, the little hockey player checked him hard, bringing his forearm and elbow into the boy's jaw and nose. A nauseating crunch burst with blood from Grant's nose. Flailing backward, the older teen shrieked from the pain in his face and penis, which had scraped painfully through Ricardo's closing teeth. A second later, he fell back into the cenote's depths. Frozen in place, Phil's eyes were as wide a as his mouth. Leaving his pud to deflate, the boy drew his fists up. "I'll kick your little ass, faggot!" Phil warned the younger boy. Brent could see through the bluff, and feinted with one shoulder, then drove his rubber-boot up between the teen's legs. Phil wailed and bent forward as all the air shot from his lungs. Mercilessly, the Vancouver boy drove a fist into the Phil's jaw, laying him flat. Panting from the adrenaline, he barely noticed the two younger boys staring incredulously at him. "Dude?" Stinson asked. "You, uh, OK?" "Yeah, yeah. Where's our stuff?" Brent asked, looking around for their clothes. "We gotta get out of here." He might have had the temporary advantage of surprise, but both of the older boys had at least 30 pounds on him, and he wouldn't want to grapple with them. "They threw it all into the cenote," Ricardo sniffled, while Stinson wiped away his tears with fingers. "Your boots, too?" "Si. Chingados," he spat. "They tried to make me a whore. Thank you, Brent." "We'll talk about it later, dude," Brent replied. "Stinson, can you carry him piggy back?" "Yeah, no worries." He bent down so the slight boy could wrap his legs around Stinson's torso, hugging him tightly. The boys took off a trot down the trail to camp. Halfway there, the jiggling motion between Ricardo's thighs began engorging his hairless bone. "I'm sorry, Stinson," he apologized quietly into the boy's ear. "I can't help it." The four inches throbbing into his vertebrae was hardly the worst thing he'd felt, but he so focused on racing toward camp, he barely noticed. "Not a problem, amigo," he replied. Ahead, they could see Mila and Klaus walking quickly toward them from the other direction. "Boys, are you OK? Where are your clothes?" the German grad student asked with obvious worry. Without specifics, Stinson told her about the attempted assault. Brent confessed to battering the teens. "Those boys have been trouble since they arrived. This is the straw that breaks the camel's back," she said. While they talked Stinson lowered Ricardo, who stood behind him until his erection faded. After making sure the younger boy was physically well, Mila asked Klaus to bring Ricardo back to camp. With Brent and Stinson in tow, she marched back to the deserted cenote. Minutes later, the trio swam around and dove in search for the boys' belongings. Unfortunately, the sinkhole's pool was at least 75 meters deep, which was far beyond their capacity, and heavier objects were lost. Climbing back out, the somber threesome inventoried five socks, Ricardo's underpants, Stinson's t-shirt and Brent's shorts. "Fuck. My iPhone was in my pocket." He was less concerned about the instrument itself, and more about the photos he hadn't been able to upload in two days. Silently, Brent was glad he'd left his to charge in the Palapa. Brent pulled on his shorts, and Stinson pulled his t-shirt on, covering down to his thighs. The repercussions were swift. Grant and Phil eventually emerged from the forest, in need of medical attention for a broken nose and jaw, respectively. Before they were driven to the nearest hospital, they were told to collect their belongings. They wouldn't look Stinson in the eye as they sheepishly counted out money for the boy's phone in front of the dig's administrator. As they were driven away, Mila told him they would be put on a night bus to Merida. Returning to their palapa, Brent and Stinson found Ricardo and Klaus sitting sideways on a hammock, happily chatting away in Spanish, German and English. "Hey you two," Ricardo said brightly, as they slid through the mosquito netting. "Guess who's moving in?" Patting Klaus' thigh, the 14-year-old explained that Carlos and the German boy had switched palapas. Pierre, their other room mate, finished changing for dinner. Wearing a collared shirt and clean shorts, he explained he was going to hook up with Marta that night. The French teen stopped at the netting. "So you boys will have la palapa all alone," he said slyly, and winked. While Stinson changed into clean clothes, Brent handed Ricardo his undies and single sock, explaining their futile search in the cenote. "I'm sorry about your phone, Stinson," Ricardo said. "I don't care about that," Stinson interjected, adding that he'd been repaid for the loss. "I'm just sorry we left you alone, dude." Ricardo had regained his quietly happy demeanor. "But not for long. And Brent - que feroz! You were amazing!" "Hockey, dude," Brent shrugged. "It's all about speed." Not for the first time, Stinson was awed by his friend. ============================================================== Without WiFi, and with terrible TV reception, the camp resorted to old fashioned entertainment. After dinner a couple of times a week, the dig leaders projected a movie in the dining area. That night it was "Aquaman," which was not bad enough to hold Brent and Stinson's attention for long. Sitting at the back on the ground, Stinson cradled Brent's head on his lap, combing the boy's long blond hair with his fingers. Lying on his back between Stinson's widely spread legs, Brent looked up at his friend. "Jason Mamoa is so hot," he whispered with grin. "Whaat?" Stinson curled down to kiss the boy on his forehead. "You like jacked up dudes?" "Oh yeah. You better start doing curls, and drinking Muscle Max, you wimp," the Canadian continued teasing him. Stinson knew better than take the bait. Just before the Southern boy's lips reached his, Brent whispered, "I still like your trident, though." Moments later, the boys quietly slipped away. As they arrived at their palapa, they heard moans and rhythmic wet sounds. Brent turned to Stinson in the cloudy moonlight, arching an eyebrow, questioningly. "I want to be alone with you," Stinson whispered. "I know where," Brent said. Retracing his path from the night before, the Vancouver boy lead his friend to a dimly lit tree. Leaning back against the thick trunk, Brent smiled at his friend, and drew him in for a long, lingering kiss. While their tongues met to dance, the boy unfastened each other's shorts, letting them drop to their boots. Cupping each other through their snug little briefs, they massaged each other gently. Lust-hardened cocks stretched their undies, fighting to be free, and the boys rubbed each other a little harder. Brent reached inside Stinson's white waistband, delicately grasping the boy's warm and wet willy by the tip. Using the boy's oozing syrup as a lubricant, he rolled the thick, rubbery nozzle through his index finger and thumb, making Stinson shiver. "I changed my mind," Brent whispered, "This is the only muscle I'll ever need from you."' "Mmmm dude, that feels so - uhhh - fine." Stinson surrendered to Brent's caresses for a few moments. Then he knelt down, and rubbed his face all over the swollen lump tenting the front of Brent's briefs. Using both hands, he pulled the boy's underpants and shorts over his boots and off. The Canadian boy looked so sexy in only rubber boots and a t-shirt, and Stinson took a moment to admire how much he looked like a classical sculpture, despite his bouncing, 3.5 inch hard on. Then, he traced his tongue from Brent's knees, inside his thigh to just below the boy's tight, smooth sack, then down the other thigh. Brent was breathing deeply from the lips and tongue washing inside his buckling legs. His cock slapped up against the few hairs adorning his pubic mound, angry at the teasing that never reached Brent's scrotum. Just as he began to whimper, Stinson's lips pursed in kisses around each testicle, and his tongue traced patterns until Brent's hairless bag was sopping with saliva. Brent was groaning from the slow torment, desperate for any friction on his quivering prong. At last, Stinson clasped him gently by the stem with two fingers, while his other hand rolled and caressed the boy's grapes. Brent shuddered and moaned loudly when Stinson's tongue slipped between his glans and foreskin, doing laps around the tender helmet. Lightning grew brighter, and thunder boomed closer. Stinson could taste a faint saltiness, and pursed his lips around Brent's head. Slowly, he slid down his friend's length. When his nose was tickled by a half-dozen pubes, Stinson sealed his lips and sucked, pulling back to the boy's head. With tongue and cheeks, he brought the boy close to the edge several times. When Brent's piping sighs accelerated and climbed an octave, he'd back off, pulling the boy's cock completely from his sopping oven. "Ohhh...fuck! Stin! You're killing me!" Brent gasped, clutching his friend by the hair. Rain drops pelted down, and Stinson worked faster, loving every inch of his friend's quivering desperation. While squeezing Brent's sack a little more tightly, Stinson worked a finger into the boy's moist divide. The Vancouver boy sighed, then grunted as the digital invader circled his clenching gates. Brent's hips started thrusting, and just as Stinson's finger breached his muscular ring, the Canadian squealed. His tender nuggets erupted, and his cock bubbled with slightly salty boy juice. At the same time, the sky collapsed, drenching the boy's in chilling rain. Groaning with each pulsing detonation, Brent hugged Stinson's head into his groin, helplessly humping his friend. Finally, he stopped, almost toppling onto Stinson. Stinson would have let his friend soften in his mouth, but they were both drenched, the rain grew heavier, and lighting crackled closely. Stinson quickly pulled up his clothes, handed Brent his, and both boys ran back to the Palapa. As quietly as they could, Brent and Stinson crept in, relieved that Ricardo and Klaus seemed to be asleep. Peeling off their boots and clothes, they toweled off, before climbing into Stinson's hammock. The naked 13-year-olds hugged as the rainstorm roared. Lifting Stinson's jaw to look him in the yes, Brent whispered, "I love this." "Me too." "I love being with you." "Me too." "I. Love. You." "I love you, too, Brent," Stinson sighed, then kissed his friend deeply. The Canadian boy's finger tips found Stinson's rigid boyhood once more. The Southern boy, physically and emotionally naked, and literally helpless in his best friend's hands moaned with more than desire. Hugging Brent tightly, and kissing the blonde boy's ear through his long hair, he gave into the gentle milking fingers. As Stinson's moans gradually grew louder, Brent gripped him harder and stroked him faster. "Cum for me, Stinny," he whispered, urging his friend with fierce friction. Just as Stinson's nuts hugged into him, churning with a stew of love and need, lightning crackled down meters away, drowning them in daylight. Stinson's teeth ground together and his loud groan was lost in explosive thunder. Again and again, his cock flared with hot, clear lava, spraying all over Brent's slender abs. His head filled with its own lightning, and for a moment, Stinson left the world behind. At last, he collapsed onto Brent's shoulders, while the other boy gently squeezed the last drops from him. Entwined by more than arms and legs, the boys washed away with the rain into sleep. ================================================================= To be continued... Other Stories: https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/young-friends/hot-tub-cowboy/ https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/young-friends/robins-adventures/ https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/incest/ellis-wakes-up https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/incest/newts-long-weekend/ https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/highschool/dorm-room-fashion-show/ https://www.nifty.org/nifty/bisexual/young-friends/after-the-lakers-game/ https://www.nifty.org/nifty/bisexual/young-friends/terry-shares-his-bits/