The morning sun woke me, and I lay naked in bed thinking about Eli and the events of the day before. The rain had stopped as quickly as it had started, and the air felt and tasted fresh, free of red dust that got everywhere without even trying.
The heat, though, had returned with vengeance, and I considered staying in bed, trying not to move until....Bryn walked into my bedroom with coffee and a hickey the size of a fifty-cent piece. "G'day mate. Time to get up. Seems you're pleased to see me."
“It’s always good to see you, and who the fuck gave you that fucking thing?”
“Now that would be telling, but the list of suspects won’t take you long.”
I stretched long and hard in response, my morning wood standing proudly as I swung off the bed to stand, waiting a minute for the head rush to subside before venturing out onto the veranda. Taking the coffee from Bryn, I stood gazing out. My mind in neutral, mesmerised by the sight of my Kangaroo undies set into the drying ground.
"Best place for them, Steve," Bryn chuckled, passing me a fresh pair of white mesh undies. "New day. New undies, and we should order ourselves a few pairs since we’re going to be selling them. Got to have some perks."
"Hold that thought," I said, stepping off the veranda and letting my morning piss arc into the dust, one-handed coffee steaming in the sunshine. The yellow stream carved channels in the dry earth, still damp from last night's storm, near where Eli's footprints had dissolved into mud. "What's planned today?"
Bryn leaned against the railing, watching my stream with clinical interest. "Henderson suggested we contact other local shops. Apparently, he chatted with a couple of owners about our undies, who, on the back of his recommendation, are interested in stocking them," he said, snapping the waistband of the undies he was holding for me.
"We can't exactly pop over to these other shops, can we? It's fucking miles mate, miles. We need another method of selling, like a website and video calls. "
"Thought of that. Neil's bringing his camera, reckons we need before shots of the shop's current stock for comparison with shots of us modelling our undies. Mr Henderson has given us two multipacks we can use," as he took a slow sip of his coffee, eyes tracking a kookaburra overhead.
My piss came to an end as I rejoined Bryn, taking the white undies from him, slipping them up my legs, tucking myself in. Taking my coffee again, I looked at Bryn. "Yeah, mate, sounds like a plan. Let's do it."
Neil arrived at noon with his battered DSLR slung around his neck and two memory cards tucked into the pocket of his cargo shorts. "Right," he said, surveying us with the detached focus of a sniper assessing targets. "I think the barn will be best. We can do working shots of you two moving bales, fixing tractors and other work activities, and then we can perhaps grab a couple of horses and go riding."
"I like that idea," I said. "Men in action as a theme."
Bryn nodded and took the lead, walking toward the barn.
The barn's loft was sweltering, dust motes swirling in the shafts of sunlight cutting through the gaps in the weathered boards. Bryn stretched out on a bale of hay, the orange undies glowing against his tanned skin like embers. "Christ, it's like a fucking sauna in here," he muttered as sweat trickled down his sternum.
Neil adjusted the lens with clinical precision, the camera's shutter clicking twice as he tested the light. "Steve," he said without looking up, tossing the white mesh undies at my chest. "You're contrast. Bryn...your shadow," as a pair of black ones arced through the dusty air.
"Hay bale stacks," Neil directed, pointing to the far wall where sun-bleached hay formed precarious towers. "Steve lifts, Bryn guides—natural movements," as we changed into the undies given to us.
The next poses saw Bryn and me mucking out a stall, the shovel handle stuck to my palms as I tossed another forkful of soiled straw into the wheelbarrow. Neil circled us like a predator, his camera clicking rapid-fire as Bryn bent to scrape the stall floor, the light blue undies pulling taut across his arse in a way that should've been illegal. Sweat trickled down my spine, pooling where the green mesh clung to the small of my back.
"Hold," Neil muttered. Bryn froze mid-motion, forearm flexing as he braced against the stall partition. The morning sun slanted through the barn's high windows, turning the dust motes into gold flecks suspended around us. Neil crouched low, lens tilting up to capture the way Bryn's thighs strained against the undies' stitching. "Steve, adjust his waistband. Left side's riding up."
I reached over, fingers brushing Bryn's hip where the fabric had folded into his crease. His skin burned under my touch, damp with sweat and smelling like hay and cheap laundry powder. The camera shutter snapped again as I tugged the elastic free, slowly, deliberately, letting it snap back against his flesh with a muted *thwack*. Bryn's breath hitched, but he kept still, his grin all teeth when Neil wasn't looking.
The final poses had us both in white again, standing by the tractor's front wheel, holding spanners as if we were mid-repair. Neil had insisted on the tools, "Gives it authenticity," he'd muttered, adjusting his lens, but the way Bryn's fingers kept sliding along the wrench's shaft had nothing to do with machinery. My own grip kept slipping, sweat beading between my palm and the metal. The barn's tin roof amplified the midday heat until the air felt thick enough to chew.
Neil stood abruptly, brushing hay from his knees. "That's the series. We'll do the riding shots after lunch. I also have to tell you, you both looked great."
The LCD screen burned hotter than the midday sun as Neil scrolled through the shots, each click of the arrow key revealing another angle where sweat-slick skin strained against mesh. My fingers tightened around the beer bottle when the tenth frame froze, Bryn mid-reach, biceps flexing, the white undies stretched obscenely around what was unmistakably half-hard interest. Neil tapped the screen with a chewed fingernail. "Perfect product display. See how the fabric accommodates natural...fluctuations?"
Bryn leaned in close enough that his sweat-damp shoulder pressed against mine. "Mate," he murmured, thumb tracing the screen where my cock tented the fabric in a matching arc, "we're practically twins."
"Fucking hell, you two," Neil snorted, snatching the camera. "Authenticity sells," Neil said mildly. "It's not as if you were hard. You were still hanging to the left in all the shots, just semi... hard, suggesting you're bigger than you really are. All photo shoots involving guys wearing Speedos specifically, portray this."
Bryn's chuckle vibrated through me as he stretched, arms overhead in a way that pulled his undies tighter. "Speaking of authentic...," as his knee slid higher up my thigh, the contact was electric through damp fabric. "Let's go riding."
The chestnut mare snorted when I tightened the girth, her ears flicking back in displeasure. "Easy, girl," I murmured, running a hand down her sweaty flank before swinging up into the saddle, the orange mesh stretching with ease, confirming our design was fit for purpose. Bryn was already mounted on his bay gelding, the red mesh undies this time, glowing like a warning. Neil, perched awkwardly atop the palomino, had forgone shorts entirely, his Kangaroo undies looking haggard, ill-fitting and stretched in comparison to our new brand.
Bryn's grin was all teeth as he leaned over to adjust my stirrup. "Still sore from....?" he asked, fingertips brushing my inner thigh with deliberate pressure. The chestnut sidestepped, tossing her head at the sudden tension in my legs. Neil, already several lengths ahead, didn't turn as he called back, "If you two are done eye-fucking, we're losing light."
Reaching the dam for the final set of photos, Neil told us to stay as he dismounted.
"Christ," Neil muttered from his crouch in the red dirt, lens tilted up to capture the way the light bled through the fabric as I sat on my mare. "The orange against your tan....," his voice cut off as the shutter fired again. And you cock his very pronounced as it should be. Underwear has to be sexy, and boy, do you look sexy and desirable.
The horizon stretched uninterrupted in every direction, the land baked gold and cracked like old pottery with Bryn's profile sharp against it, his jawline dusted with stubble where he'd skipped shaving that morning. His thumb hooked casually in his waistband, pulling the red mesh taut across his hipbone, displaying his semi-hard cock tucked to the left behind the mesh fabric, in an unspoken dare Neil couldn't resist framing. The camera whirred, catching the exact moment Bryn turned his head toward me, sunlight catching the sweat at his temple, with light coming through the mesh fabric as he looked so manly in his natural pose.
"Done. Brilliant," Neil declared as he stood. "These are great, and I can't wait to create the catalogue and send it to potential stores. I might even produce a few posters like the Marlboro Man and perhaps put them up in Henderson's and the petrol station. Might make you guys famous. You never know."
"You're fucking enjoying this, aren’t you, Neil?" Bryn declared.
"Definitely," Neil confirmed. Maybe I can do the marketing for our brand full-time."
I laughed. "Only if you wear the product and not those ancient Kangaroos."
Neil's ears turned pink first, the flush spreading down his neck like spilt ink. He hooked both thumbs into the waistband of his Kangaroo undies, those sad, stretched things and shoved them down in one sharp motion to pool around his ankles like a surrender flag. "Been watching you two all fucking day," he muttered, his cock already half-hard and twitching against his thigh. "Made me fucking rabid, you two have."
The bay gelding sidestepped nervously as Neil stepped closer, his bare feet kicking up dust. His erection jutted proudly now, the head flushed dark and leaking. "So?" He palmed himself roughly, his grip tight enough to make his knuckles blanch. "Who's taking it?"
Bryn's laugh was low and dangerous as he swung down from his saddle. The red mesh clung to him like a second skin as he stalked toward Neil, his boots crunching on dry grass. "Thought you'd never ask," as he grabbed Neil's wrist, redirecting his strokes to Bryn's own cock through the fabric. "But I'm not bending over in a fucking barn, if that's what you have planned. I like it here. Natural and... perfect."
Neil's breath hitched when Bryn yanked him forward by the hips, their cocks sliding together through the mesh.
The chestnut mare startled when Neil lunged for his saddlebag, fumbling out the lube with shaking hands. His DSLR swung wildly from its strap, the lens cap bouncing against his thigh. "Fuck, wait...Here? It's broad daylight."
"Seriously, Neil," as Bryn looked around, I remained on my horse. "There's no one for fucking miles, and probably, they're fucking as we speak," as he slipped his red undies down, dropping onto all fours.
Neil's fingers trembled, dropping the camera, as he slicked himself, the lube cap rolling into the dirt. "Christ," Neil breathed, positioning himself behind Bryn with the same clinical precision he'd used to adjust his lens earlier. The first thrust punched a ragged groan from Bryn's throat, half pain, half triumph, his shoulder blades knotting under sweat-slick skin.
I dismounted slowly, my boots landing with deliberate quiet. Neil's rhythm was methodical at first, each measured push drawing another bitten-off curse from Bryn. But when Bryn reached back to claw at Neil's thigh, urging him deeper, the pace shattered. Neil's hips snapped forward with the force of a stallion mounting, his teeth bared in a silent snarl.
Bryn's laugh came out strangled. "Fuck, yes, harder, you bastard," his words dissolving into a guttural moan as Neil obliged, his grip on Bryn's hips hard enough to leave bruises. Dust rose around them in hazy clouds, catching the late afternoon light like gold leaf suspended in oil.
The chestnut mare startled when I stepped closer, her reins trailing in the dirt. Neil's gaze flicked to me, his pupils blown wide, but he didn't stop. If anything, his thrusts grew more erratic. Bryn's fingers scrabbled at the ground, his knuckles whitening as he pushed back against Neil with equal force. The obscene slap of skin on skin mingled with the creak of leather saddles and the horses' nervous shifting.
I crouched beside Bryn, close enough to smell the salt-tang of his sweat, the musk of Neil's arousal. Bryn turned his head, his cheek pressed into the dirt, and grinned up at me with cracked lips. "Your turn next," he panted, just as Neil's rhythm stuttered, his release hitting Bryn with a choked-off cry.
Bryn shuddered, his own climax pulsing onto the ground beneath him in thick spurts in response to Neil's thrusts. My cock was now aching with desire as precum leaked through the orange mesh. My turn soon, revolving through my mind as Bryn and Neil continued to climax.
Neil collapsed forward, his chest heaving against Bryn's back. For a long moment, the only sounds were their ragged breathing and the distant cry of a kookaburra. Then Bryn chuckled, hoarse and satisfied. "Told you...we'd make...a model out of you yet."
Neil's response was muffled against Bryn's skin, but the middle finger he raised was eloquent enough.
I reached for the discarded lube, my own arousal a persistent throb against the orange mesh. Bryn's eyes tracked the movement, his grin widening when I slicked my fingers. Neil rolled off him with a groan, his spent cock glistening in the sunlight. "Christ," he muttered, wiping his hands on his thighs. "We're supposed to be...," as he lay in the red dust on his back.
Bryn stretched like a satisfied cat, his muscles loose and gleaming. "This is great," as his gaze locked onto mine as I knelt behind him, my fingers tracing his still-gaping rim. "Thoroughly."
The horses had wandered to the dam's edge, tails flicking at flies. Neil's camera lay forgotten in the dirt, its lens cap still off. Somewhere beyond the ridge, an engine sputtered to life, then faded into the hum of cicadas. My fingers curled inside Bryn, drawing a low, pleased noise from his throat. His body yielded easily, still stretched from Neil's claiming, but tight enough to make my cock ache.
"Steve," Bryn murmured, pushing back onto my hand. His voice was rougher than the dust under our knees. "Quit fucking around."
I didn't need telling twice.
The dust clung to Bryn's sweat-slicked back as I pressed into him, my hips meeting his with a slow, deliberate push that drew a ragged groan from his throat. His fingers dug into the dirt, shoulder blades tensing beneath my palms as I rocked deeper, the heat of him almost unbearable in the late afternoon sun. This wasn't the frantic coupling from the barn or the playful domination by the dam; this was something slower, something that made my chest ache in ways I couldn't name.
Bryn arched beneath me, his breath hitching when I leaned down to mouth at the bite mark I had left previously on his shoulder. "Steve," he murmured, the word half-lost in the rustle of dry grass. I knew what he meant, the way his body trembled when I dragged out the next thrust, the way his fingers twisted in the earth like he was anchoring himself against the tide of it. I kissed the hinge of his jaw, tasting salt and dust and something indefinably, him, and he turned his head just enough to catch my lips in a messy, breathless kiss.
Somewhere behind us, Neil snorted, but I barely heard it over the rush of blood in my ears. Bryn's hips rolled back against mine, his body taking me deeper with a practised ease that spoke of countless mornings tangled in his sheets, countless nights where we'd learned each other's rhythms by touch alone. His cock was hard again, trapped between his belly and the ground, and when I wrapped a hand around him, his groan vibrated against my mouth.
"Fuck," he gasped, his hips stuttering between my thrusts and my grip. "Christ, Steve..." The rest disintegrated into a choked-off moan as I twisted my wrist just the way he liked it, my other hand splayed across his stomach to hold him steady. The sun burned the back of my neck, the air thick with the scent of crushed grass and sex and the distant tang of dam water, and for a moment, the world narrowed to the heat of Bryn around me, the sound of his breathing, the way his body clenched when I hit that spot inside him just right.
His release came with a bitten-off curse, his back bowing as he spilt over my fingers and the dirt beneath us. I followed him over the edge, my forehead pressed between his shoulder blades as my hips jerked erratically, my own climax shuddering through me with a force that left me lightheaded.
For a long moment, we stayed like that, breathing hard, sticky with sweat and cum and dust, the horses cropping grass at the dam's edge like nothing had happened. Then Bryn laughed, rough and fond, and elbowed me in the ribs. "Off, you bastard. You're crushing me."
I rolled to the side, wincing as gravel bit into my hip. Bryn flopped onto his back beside me, his chest still heaving, his grin lazy and satisfied. Neil, now sitting upright with his camera in his lap, arched a brow. "You two done? Or should I start charging admission?"
Bryn laughed at Neil's comment and then reached over to tangle his fingers with mine. His palm was calloused and warm, his grip firm. "Oi," he said, squeezing once. "We good?"
I squeezed back, my thumb brushing the scar on his knuckle from when he'd punched Henderson's shearing shed door last winter. "Yeah," I said, and meant it. "We're good."
The sun dipped lower, painting the dam in gold and rust. Somewhere beyond the ridge, a vehicle backfired, and the kookaburras laughed like they knew something we didn't. Bryn's fingers stayed laced with mine, our shoulders pressed together in the dust, and for once, the future didn't feel like something barrelling toward us, just something waiting, patient as the land, for us to meet it on our own terms.
Neil was first to make a move, slipping his Kangaroo undies on, throwing our mesh samples at us with a wet slap against our chests. "Let's get going," he said, blowing dust from his camera lens. The late afternoon light had turned the dam to molten copper behind him, casting long shadows that made the bite marks on Bryn's shoulders look darker. "I've got shots to edit before tonight. And Christ knows you two need showers," as he nodded toward the bar in town, his voice dropping to that tone he used when suggesting things that weren't really suggestions. "We all deserve a night out, I think."
Bryn caught his undies one-handed, the orange fabric dangling from his fingers like a flag. He didn't move to put them on, just watched Neil stomp toward the horses with that unreadable expression he got when calculating risks. The bay gelding startled when Neil yanked the reins too hard, its ears flattening as he swung up bareback, his haggard, stretched undies streaked with dust and sweat and other things that made my throat go tight.
"You hearing this?" Bryn's thumb brushed my knuckle when he passed me the orange undies, his voice low enough that only I caught the edge in it. "Town. Bar. Full of blokes who'll be eyeing these.... maybe," flicking the waistband of the mesh where it lay against my thigh. ".... like they're dessert menus."
The horses shifted, their tack jingling as Neil herded them toward us with impatient clicks of his tongue. Bryn's gaze stayed locked on mine, his fingers tightening around my wrist when I reached to slip my undies on. "Steve, I love you", he said, quiet as the dust settling around us.
I looked Bryn in the eye, knowing immediately he was telling the truth. "I love you too, Bryn," as I kissed him.
Restoring our personal modesty, we mounted the horses and rode back in silence with Neil muttering something about posters and brochures and marketing bollocks that in some ways Bryn and I found boring.
Stabling the horses, Neil legged it home. Bryn and I dived in the shower, having been pestered by his mom for a business update, and afterwards, we sat on the veranda in quiet silence, thinking that... we had told each other what we had always known. We loved each other.
The neon sign above the bar flickered like a dying cigarette, casting Bryn's face in alternating shades of red and yellow as Jamie's truck rolled to a stop. Bryn's fingers dug into my thigh, half warning, half claim, as we stepped out into the warm night air thick with the scent of spilt beer and deep-fried dim sims.
The bar's screen door slapped shut behind us with a sound like a gunshot, cutting through the chatter. Silence spread like spilt ink. Every head turned toward us, cattle hands mid-swig, pool players frozen mid-shot, even old man Thompson with his dentures perched on the bar. My stomach dropped when I followed their gaze to the wall behind the taps.
Neil's poster hung there like a damn altar piece. Bryn and I sat on our horses, gazing over the outback, the orange and red mesh undies leaving nothing to the imagination under the high noon sun. The tagline "OUTBACK UNDIES - WEAR THE LAND" stamped in the bottom right-hand corner in bold font.
"Jesus wept," Jamie muttered behind us.
“Fucking hell,” I muttered, hearing Bryn declare, “What the fuck.”
Eli emerged from the crowd holding two schooners, foam dripping down his wrists. "Told you he'd do it," he said, shoving a beer into Bryn's limp hand.
A stockman at the bar whistled low. "Reckon my missus'll want me in those," he called, nudging his mate. "If I can fill 'em out like you two."
Bryn's beer bottle shattered against the floor. Shards skittered across the tiles as he lunged forward, only to be intercepted by Neil materialising from the mob with his camera raised. "Smile, boys," he chirped, flash popping bright enough to leave spots in my vision. "This one's for the Brochure."
Mrs Henderson appeared at my elbow, her bifocals reflecting the poster's glossy finish. "Steven," she said solemnly, "You've made us all proud," as she patted and pinched my bottom.
The chaos crescendoed, orders shouted over the bar for our fancy undies and beer, hands clapping Bryn's shoulders hard enough to slosh his fresh beer. I even saw some bloke in the corner actually trying to peel off his Bonds singlet to compare fabrics.
Through it all, Neil kept snapping photos, his grin widening every time Bryn's jaw ticked.
Beer was flowing, flowing too much, as Jamie caught my eye across the room, where he was pressed against the jukebox by a grinning jackaroo. He mouthed “told you” just as the other man's hand slid down to squeeze his arse.
Things were getting rowdy instead of the normal banter and bollocks of a Friday night. The poster of Bryn and me had spontaneously triggered a party, not that any excuse was needed. One guy had even stripped naked, throwing his Kangaroo undies at the barmaid behind the bar while three women had Eli modelling his Outback undies as their hands roamed his arse.
Bryn's fingers found mine in the chaos, his grip tight enough to grind bone. "It seems we are a success," he growled in my ear, hot, pissed and breathless.
The night blurred into a montage of sticky bar encounters and half-finished schooners, of Bryn's possessive arm slung over my shoulders every time some bloke looked too long at the poster, now signed in lipstick by three barmaids. Neil's marketing genius had turned our venture into legend by last call, when Eli, still without his shorts, bodily carried a protesting Jamie out over his shoulder, his mesh undies stretched transparent across his backside, having lost his shorts somewhere during the evening.
We stumbled into the truck bed under a sky smeared with stars. Neil collapsed, almost comatose, next to me while Bryn's laughter vibrated against my chest, where he'd pinned me. "Fucking Neil," he muttered, nipping at my jaw as I watched the very drunk naked guy, windowsill his way home.
Eli fired up the truck, pointing towards home as somewhere beyond the ridge, a kookaburra cackled at the absurdity of it all.
Eli’s boots thudded against the porch steps as he followed me inside, still missing his shorts as the screen door slapping shut behind us with a sound like a pistol crack in the quiet. Jamie snored, sprawled across the veranda swing, one arm dangling, his fingers brushing the floorboards. Through the bedroom door, Bryn’s silhouette was a dark sprawl atop the sheets, already half-undone by sleep. Neil’s puking noises had faded behind the shack, replaced by the creak of the barn door as he sought solitude, I guessed.
The fridge hummed in the kitchen when I grabbed two beers, the condensation slick against my palms. Eli leaned against the counter, his shirt clinging to the sweat-damp hollows of his collarbones. "Fancy fucking?" I asked, twisting the cap off my bottle. “I need a fuck and Bryn’s….well….incapable.”
His grin was slow, deliberate. "Thought you’d never ask," he drawled, taking the beer without breaking eye contact.
We didn’t make it to the bedroom. Eli backed me against the kitchen table, his mouth hot and insistent, tasting of hops and the salt of dried sweat. The table groaned under our combined weight, dishes rattling as he hiked my leg over his hip. His fingers dug into my thigh, blunt and possessive, as he ground against me, denim rough through the thin fabric of my shorts.
"You’re fucking relentless," I gasped when he bit down on my throat as I managed to slip my shorts off.
Eli laughed against my skin, his free hand yanking the waistband of my undies down just enough to slip his fingers beneath. "Says the bloke who started this," he murmured, his calloused thumb circling my tip with maddening precision.
Outside, a kookaburra cackled, the sound slicing through the thick silence of the house. Somewhere beyond the window, Bryn’s boot thumped against the wall in restless sleep. Eli’s breath hitched when I palmed him through his undies, his hips jerking forward into my grip. "Christ," he muttered, forehead dropping to my shoulder.
We stumbled toward the couch, a tangle of limbs and half-undone clothes. Eli’s knee hit the armrest as he pushed me down, his mouth trailing fire down my chest. The springs creaked under us as I lost my undies, the leather sticking to my back as Eli swallowed me down without preamble, his tongue flat and heavy against my length.
I fisted my hand in his hair, tugging hard enough to make him groan. His gaze flicked up, dark and challenging. "That's all you got?" he taunted, lips slick and swollen.
Eli didn’t wait for an answer as I managed to pull his undies down as he spat into his palm, slicking himself as much as he could, and then he pressed in with one brutal but well-aimed thrust. The ache was sharp, glorious, the stretch burning in the best way. His fingers dug into my hips, holding me steady as he set a punishing pace, each snap of his hips punching a ragged noise from my throat.
The couch squeaked in protest, the sound drowned out by Eli’s ragged breathing, the wet slap of skin on skin. He leaned down, his teeth scraping my earlobe. "Fuck, Steve," he panted.
I arched beneath him, nails scoring his back as pleasure coiled tight in my gut. Eli’s rhythm stuttered, his thrusts growing erratic, his breath coming in harsh bursts against my neck. When he came, it was with a bitten-off curse, his body shuddering against mine as he shot his cum into my body in a relentless stream with each thrust.
The aftermath was sticky and breathless, Eli collapsing half on top of me, his weight warm and solid as his cum dribbled out of me. Outside, the barn door creaked open, Neil stumbling somewhere, to puke again, probably. Eli’s laugh was a rumble against my chest. "Reckon we woke the dead," he muttered.
I shoved him off with a grunt, reaching for my abandoned beer. It was warm now, the foam long gone. "Worth it," I said, tipping the bottle toward him.
Eli’s grin was all teeth in the dim light. "Damn right," as he swallowed the beer down.
"Fancy some more?" I asked.
"What? Beer or sex?"
"Both?" I replied, standing up and heading towards the fridge.
Armed with fresh cold beer, I walked out onto the veranda, stepping into the red dirt that was the outback. Eli was behind me when I paused walking. "It's been a great day and evening. I can't believe the bar and the poster," I declared. "And the reception. It seems as if we have a winner on our hands. We certainly have captured the imagination."
"I loved every minute of the evening," Eli responded. "I even talked to folks I have never spoken to, and it was all so friendly and... genuine."
“More than genuine from what I saw. Those shellas groping your arse, mate, and… what happened to your shorts?”
“Yeah, that was quite funny and… and don’t know. Thought my luck was in for a while, though, until I had to rescue you lot. Probably find them tomorrow when the bar opens.”
Clinking our bottles, we toasted each other, and then sat down naked in the red dust while the rest of our friends slept like drunken babies should. "Thanks for being a great friend, Eli," I said, taking another swig of beer. Eli didn't respond; he just drank the beer, enjoying the moment.
After a while, Eli lay back, gazing up at the stars, his body sprawled across the red dust as if he owned it, which, given his family’s holdings, he sort of did. The Milky Way sprawled above us, indifferent to the mess we’d made of the evening, of each other. Moonlight silvered the sweat drying on his chest, the dust clinging to the wiry hair trailing down his stomach. My gaze caught on his cock, soft and flopped across his thigh, the foreskin slack like it was taking a breather after the night’s exertions. Something about the way it looked, vulnerable, unguarded, made my mouth water.
I reached out before I could second-guess it, my fingers brushing the warm weight of him. Eli’s breath hitched, but he didn’t look away from the sky. “Thought you were done,” he murmured, voice rough as the gravel under his shoulders.
“Changed my mind,” I said, and bent my head.
The first lick was experimental, salt and musk and the faint tang of beer. Eli’s thighs tensed, but he didn’t stop me, just let out a slow exhale that stirred the dirt beside his hip. I took my time, mouthing at the soft skin, teasing the slit with my tongue until I felt him twitch against my lips. His hand found my hair, not guiding, just resting there, fingers curled loose like he was holding onto a fence post.
When I finally took him fully into my mouth, he was half-hard, the heat of him thickening against my tongue. Eli’s groan was low, almost startled, as if he hadn’t expected this, hadn’t expected me to want him like this, lazy and unhurried in the aftermath. I hollowed my cheeks, working him slowly, revelling in the way his breath stuttered when I dragged my teeth just shy of too hard.
Above us, a satellite cut across the sky, steady as a stockman’s knife. Eli’s hips lifted off the ground in a shallow thrust, his fingers tightening in my hair. “Christ, Steve,” he muttered, and I could hear the grin in his voice. “You’re full of surprises.”
I hummed around him, the vibration earning a choked-off curse. His cock was fully hard now, jutting against my lips, the taste of him heady as the dust-choked air. I could feel his heartbeat in the vein under my tongue, could smell the sweat and sex and cheap soap clinging to his skin. Somewhere in the distance, a dingo howled, the sound thin as a razor’s edge.
Eli’s hand left my hair, skimming down my spine to grip my hip. “C’mere,” he growled, tugging me up until I was straddling his thighs. His kiss was bruising, all teeth and desperation, his tongue sweeping into my mouth like he was trying to taste himself on me. When he broke away, his eyes were dark as the horizon. “Your turn.”
I didn’t have time to protest before he was flipping us, pressing me into the dirt with his weight. The stars wheeled overhead, dizzying, as Eli’s mouth found my throat, my collarbone, the hollow of my hip. His hands were calloused and sure, mapping me like he was memorising the lay of the land. When he took me into his mouth, it wasn’t gentle, wasn’t meant to be, and I arched off the ground with a bitten-off shout.
The night stretched around us, vast and silent but for the ragged sounds of our breathing, the wet slide of skin on skin. Eli’s fingers dug into my thighs, holding me open as he worked me over with his tongue, his lips, until the pleasure coiled tight enough to snap. I came with his name on my lips, the stars blurring into streaks of white as my seed poured into his mouth, spurt after spurt of glorious cum.
Licking the last remnants of cum from my tip, Eli collapsed beside me, his chest heaving, his grin wild in the moonlight. “Reckon we’ve scandalised the wildlife,” he said, swiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
I laughed, boneless and spent, and reached for the beer. “Worth it,” I said, and meant it.
Eli’s fingers brushed mine as he took the bottle, his smile softer now, quieter. “Yeah,” he agreed, and took a swig. The night stretched on, endless and ours, and for once, the future felt as wide open as the outback sky.
I found myself lying in the red dust, again. Naked, again, with my cock pointing towards the stars. However, it was a year later, and I was remembering that evening, that evening with Eli and the boys that had changed everything. If someone had told me that our undies business would take off, I wouldn't have believed them. If someone had said that we would become underwear moguls and gay icons with markets all over the world, I would have laughed at them, but as I lay there, that's exactly what happened.
The tin shack, my shack, stayed solid throughout it all. That was non-negotiable, even when the first dividend cheque cleared, enough zeroes to make Bryn’s mother cross herself. I dragged my fingertips along its corrugated walls and said "no" without needing to say it. Bryn just nodded, already measuring where the new porch to our new home would wrap around it like an embrace.
News travelled faster than a bushfire. By the time Perth caught wind of our mesh undies, we’d already gotten a fax (a fucking fax) from some bloke in Sydney wanting exclusive distribution rights. Neil sent it back with "TRY EMAIL" scrawled on the envelope.
Jamie left first. Packed his truck with samples and a new Akubra, grinning when Neil tossed him the keys to our first "corporate office", a converted brothel in Surry Hills. "Gonna miss watching you two fuck like feral cats," he’d said, crushing me in a hug that cracked my ribs. Bryn kissed him hard enough to bruise, then shoved him toward the horizon.
Neil followed for the marketing potential, having celebrated launching our brand so well, his words, not mine. Eli was the last to leave, and the saddest departure for me. For a proper fuckin pub," he had told us, confessing he’d bought a pub on some beach in Queensland, muttering something about, enough of the outback for me. I need the sea. I was genuinely sad when we stood in the dust long after his taillights vanished, Bryn’s fingers threaded through mine like a promise, saying, “We’ll visit that fuckin pub sometime.”
The money changed nothing much for Bryn and me. Well, that’s what we told ourselves lying in the hammock strung between our half-built house and the shack, as Bryn’s calloused thumb rubbed circles over my hip where the mesh fabric had left indentations. We bought cattle and sheep instead of cars, upgraded the shearing shed before bothering with a proper kitchen, while Bryn’s mother still brought over a Tupperware full of lamb stew twice a week.
The lavish spend was buying a posh pickup for Bryn’s parents, adopting their old and battered one as a spare for our use.
Then the Vogue article hit the magazine shelves. Neil had orchestrated it, the front cover with an artsy black-and-white shot of Eli straddling a stockman’s saddle in nothing but our signature orange undies, the caption "OUTBACK EROTICISM" in bold sans-serif with an insert photograph of Bryn and me in our white undies fixing a tractor.
Bryn framed the damn thing and hung it in the office at the back of the new house, a testament to our brand becoming universally accepted as the most erotic thing to come out of the outback….ever. That article made us gay icons of fashion, putting our little town in Western Australia on the international map. Fame and fortune didn’t corrupt, though, as we remembered our humble origins by opening a factory at the edge of town, offering employment that didn’t involve cattle or sheep.
Bryn interrupted my ponderings, his voice silencing the kookaburra that still appeared to be laughing at me after all this time. "Why are you lying in the dust, Steve?"
I looked up to see Bryn in his Outback undies, purple this time, not his normal white ones, carrying two bottles of beer. "Just reminiscing, that's all. The last time I lay here looking up at the sky was that night.” I chuckled. “Boy, were you pissed."
Bryn sat down next to me, handing the cold one to me as I sat up. "Yeah, took me a day to recover if I remember properly.”
We sat in silence, waiting for the fucking kookaburra to provide a well-timed laugh, which never came. “We good?" he asked.
I replied almost immediately without a single thought of regret or hesitation. "More than good," I said, as I lay back down, this time putting my head into his lap. "More than good."
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