Seeking A Home
The next month unfolded in a rhythm as fluid as the tides outside Brian's beachfront house. Billy's fever broke after forty-eight hours of sweat-soaked sheets and muttered curses. It had been a perfect storm in some respects. Too much alcohol on arrival disguised a genuine illness, from which he recovered, thank God.
My hiking boots were gathering dust by the door while Brian's laughter became as familiar as the seabird calls at dawn. We fell into domesticity like we'd been practising for years: Rob capturing our morning routines through his ever-present lens, Billy sketching Rob's wrinkled shirts draped over kitchen chairs, Brian teaching me how to flip pancakes without setting off the smoke alarm.
Billy's recovery coincided with the arrival of my academic appointment confirmation from UBC, the crisp envelope left conspicuously on the breakfast table between Brian's half-finished crossword and Billy's abandoned toast. "Associate Professor of Marine Sciences, eh?" Billy had murmured, tracing the embossed lettering with a fingertip still shaky from illness. His grin when I nodded was worth every mile I'd hiked to get here.
House hunting was easy, having unleashed, as I called them, estate agents, with a simple brief. Find us a home. Big. Private. Waterfront. Large patios or decking. Mooring for a yacht and at least five thousand square feet, with lots of land for artistic inspiration. South Vancouver Island and no bloody neighbours.
Brian's coffee cup froze halfway to his lips, droplets splattering onto the real estate brochures spread across the breakfast table. "Five thousand square feet?" he repeated, voice climbing an octave. "Christ, Steve, are we housing the entire Canadian Army?"
Rob didn't even glance up from his camera's viewfinder. "Needs bigger decks," he muttered, zooming in on Billy's amused expression. "For orgies."
Billy choked on his orange juice, the resulting spray decorating the listing for a modest bungalow. "Art studios," he corrected hoarsely, wiping his chin. "The orgies happen in the wine cellar."
I found an estate agent who shared my vision. Her name was Evelyn Choi, and she greeted us in a navy blazer with the kind of crisp authority that suggested she'd once commanded warships. "Gentlemen," she said, shaking each of our hands in turn before zeroing in on me like a missile lock. "Mr Davis. Your requirements are... ambitious," her manicured finger tapped the iPad displaying our wishlist. Her eyebrow arched when she read the budget. "Fortunately, ambition matches means in your case."
Billy snorted into his coffee cup, muttered something about "Russian gold bullion wankers" under his breath. Rob just kept reading his photographic magazine, and Brian just smiled, probably wondering if I was going to buy the whole island.
Evelyn ignored them all with practised ease and tapped her tablet. "I've curated three properties that might suit your... unique dynamic."
The first was a monstrosity. The second was not much better, but the third, ah, the third captured my attention, and we arranged a viewing.
It was a proper family outing. Brian and Rob are in the back of the SUV with Billy in the front and me driving, not trusting Billy enough not to get distracted if his artist's eyes saw something and not the road.
The patio was fabulous, which was something positive as Evelyn slid the glass door open with a theatrical flourish. "Welcome to The Point," she announced, her blazer snapping in the salt-tinged breeze. The view punched the breath from my lungs, endless Pacific stretching to the horizon from south to west, promising sunshine most of the day, framed by ancient pines that swayed like approving elders.
Billy was the first to move, his sandal-clad feet silent on the sun-warmed stones of the patio as he drifted toward the railing. His fingers traced the weathered wood grain, then froze when a sea eagle screeched overhead, its shadow skating across his outstretched arm. "Christ," he breathed, eyes tracking the bird's ascent. "It's like the whole goddamn coast designed this moment."
Rob's comment sort of captured the moment when he said, "I think I need a bigger camera," as Brian stalked past the infinity pool to press both palms against the floor-to-ceiling windows.
"The military couldn't have positioned this better," he muttered, tapping the triple-paned glass. "Stormproof sightlines straight to Japan."
Evelyn's stiletto clicked against limestone as she led us inside. The great room yawned before us, its vaulted cedar ceiling strung with ironwork chandeliers shaped like jellyfish. Morning light fractured through the glass walls, painting liquid gold across the reclaimed oak floors. I stepped into a sunbeam and inhaled, salt, woodsmoke, the faintest tang of marine varnish.
“Fucking hell,” Billy whispered, looking at the lounge with the couch large enough to accommodate an entire hockey team.
"Situated in over 60,000 sq. ft. of pristine oceanfront, a custom-built masterpiece designed to frame panoramic views from every angle. The main residence spans nearly 8,000 sq. ft. of sophisticated living space, defined by soaring 18-foot ceilings and dramatic picture windows, as you can see, that flood the home with natural light," Evelyn declared.
"I'm impressed, Evelyn, you said that all in one breath," I responded while looking at the vista.
Ever the professional, she just smiled while Rob and Brian just stood, looking around, perhaps even overwhelmed as she continued. "At its heart is a gourmet chef’s kitchen featuring a 10-burner gas stove and a spacious family room anchored by a striking double-sided wood-burning fireplace. The primary suite in the west wing is a true private sanctuary. It features a personal balcony overlooking the water and a spa-inspired ensuite equipped with a large 20-jet two-person Jacuzzi and a Max Steamroom. The ultimate retreat offering unbridled privacy, and Sooke is just across the water or a little drive around the bay.
Evelyn's perfectly sculpted eyebrow arched higher as she tapped her tablet. "The entire property falls under East Sooke Regional Park protection rules," she said, her voice dripping, but of course you knew that, I assume," as her manicured finger swiped to display the conservation covenants, "You won't be able to develop or build anywhere."
Billy's sudden bark of laughter bounced off the vaulted ceilings. "Oh, he'll try," he said, sketching rapid lines in his ever-present notebook, probably capturing my offended expression. "Our Steve here would pave the Pacific if it meant better wifi for his research papers."
Brian snorted from where he was inspecting the triple-pane windows like a general surveying fortifications. "Park rangers would skin him alive," he mused, rapping knuckles against glass. "Literally. They've got that territorial glint in their eyes, same look my old sergeant had when someone touched his ration chocolate."
Billy disappeared outside without a word, bare feet this time, connecting with the ground as he walked on the sun-warmed patio. Through the floor-to-ceiling windows, I watched him walk straight past the infinity pool, didn't even glance at its mirror-still surface, and grip the railing with both hands like a man clinging to a cliff edge. The ocean wind whipped his curls into a frenzy as he stared west toward the open Pacific, his shoulders rising and falling with deep, measured breaths. That particular stillness he got when overwhelmed by beauty.
Not just love for me. For this wild, untamed coastline, but for the possibilities humming in the salt air. I knew then, he had fallen in love with the place as he stepped onto the grass, walking towards the treeline and the 60,000 square feet of wilderness it offered.
"Probably won't see Billy for the next hour," I muttered. "Evelyn, I hope you're not rushing anywhere because whilst Billy explores, I'd like to see the rest of the house," tearing my gaze from Billy's silhouette. Her stiletto clicked against limestone as she led me down a hallway lined with recessed lighting that gradually brightened as we moved, some smart home feature Rob and Brian would doubtless interrogate later.
"I'd like to see the primary suite if possible," I asked.
"Certainly," Evelyn said, her stiletto pivoting toward a curved staircase with wrought-iron railings shaped like kelp strands. "The primary suite occupies the entire western wing."
"Christ, it has a wing," I heard Rob mutter to Brian as they followed behind.
The stairs groaned underfoot, not the creak of age but the resonant hum of engineered timber. Halfway up, a landing window framed Billy perfectly: a lone figure kneeling in the wild grass below, fingers splayed against the earth as if taking its pulse.
Evelyn's nail tapped a discreet panel. The door slid open with a whisper, revealing a vaulted space where morning light pooled like liquid gold across a king-sized platform bed. The headboard was a single slab of ancient red cedar, its whorls and knots preserved under resin. "Blackout automation," she noted, tapping another panel. Slatted shutters descended silently, transforming the room into a cocoon.
The ensuite smelled like rain-warmed cedar and something faintly mineral, hot springs, maybe, as Evelyn demonstrated the steam room's controls with the brisk efficiency of a bomb technician. Rob's camera clicked incessantly, capturing the way morning light fractured through the glass-tiled shower.
Brian tested the soaking tub's taps with military precision. "Water pressure's acceptable," he declared, as if grading a cadet's rifle assembly. His thumb traced a vein in the marble countertop. "Italian?"
"Vancouver Island marble," Evelyn corrected, swiping her tablet. "Quarried forty minutes north. The vanity is reclaimed fir from driftwood."
Brian had wandered off somewhere during Evelyn's recitation of the home's smart features, likely calculating sightlines from the rooftop observation deck. I found him later, on the primary suite's private balcony, gripping the railing with both hands, staring at the horizon where sea met sky in an unbroken line. His knuckles were white.
"You're plotting escape routes," I said, coming to stand beside him.
Brian chuckled. "No, not at all. I'm actually picturing you and Billy on this balcony blowing each other, with no one able to see you. It's perfect."
I laughed at Brian's comment, the sound carrying across the empty balcony. "It's got a summer house where you could torture Rob or me whenever you want," I added, nudging his shoulder. Below us, Billy had vanished into the treeline, swallowed by salal bushes taller than he was.
"But that boathouse...has more ropes," he said jokingly as his eyes tracked the wooden structure clinging to the shoreline like a barnacle. "Solid and capable of housing a yacht and a motorboat. This place is a world of possibilities, but Steve...it's fucking huge, almost too big."
I was waiting for that comment. After all, I'd known Brian for a long time, I kept reminding myself. "Brian, you and Rob aren't getting any younger," I said, watching a seagull dip low over the boathouse roof. "Especially considering Rob's occasional relapses, you might appreciate extra help and company." The words hung between us like the salt mist rising off the tide pools below.
Brian's grip on the railing tightened. His silence stretched long enough for three waves to break against the cliffs before he exhaled sharply through his nose. "Bloody hell, Steve." His voice cracked in a way I'd never heard before. "You're not just buying a house. You're thinking a fucking... retirement compound."
Below us, Rob's laughter carried up from the shoreline where he was photographing starfish in the tidal zone, his shoes discarded, his feet leaving distinctive prints in the wet sand. The morning light caught the silver threads in his close-cropped hair, the ones he pretended weren't there.
The breeze off the water carried Evelyn's voice as she discussed property taxes, but I was watching Billy emerge from the tree line with his hands full of twisted driftwood and sea-polished stones. His cargo clattered onto the deck as he looked up and shouted. "Steve, when can we move in. This place is fucking perfect."
Brian stopped pretending to examine the woodwork, turning to look me in the eyes, as I started to explain something.
"I also have ideas for the guest suite. Underprivileged students in marine biology need summer or winter bases to study and learn. I had a chat with the university during the selection process. Do you know how many bright kids apply to the university and never accept a place or drop out because they can't afford it, even though they are awarded scholarships? We, you and I, can make a difference with a vision,” as I paused for a second.
“I'm not buying a retirement compound or a student hotel, I'm buying a vision, and you, Rob and Billy are part of that vision. Billy will resume his art and painting. Christ, just look at him. He's like a pig in clover, oozing artistic visions as we speak. He might even invite other artists for masterclasses. Christ knows. It's all a vision at the moment and..."
The wind carried Billy's laughter up to the balcony where Brian and I stood, bright and unguarded, the kind of sound that belonged to mornings like this. Below, Billy had joined Rob at the shoreline, both engrossed in artistic stuff that Brian and I didn't quite understand, being, in many respects, practical men with different talents and abilities.
Evelyn joined us on the balcony, clearing her throat behind us. "The sellers have instructed me, given your... unique qualifications, that they're prepared to accept an offer marginally lower than the advertised figure, for a quick sale," as her gaze flicked toward the shoreline where Billy was now gesturing wildly, describing some artistic concept to Rob. "Assuming, of course, you're in agreement."
Brian exhaled sharply through his nose. "Christ, Steve, I’ve been thinking about what you said," he muttered, scrubbing a hand through his salt-crusted hair. "You realise this means I'll never get rid of you now, if we join you," as his knuckles brushed mine where they rested on the railing. "Let me talk to Rob and see what he thinks, but if we agree, we want the eastern wing. Apparently, he has a thing for wings, and perhaps, throw in a darkroom. He's always wanted one, but our place isn't big enough."
Rob's voice floated up from the shoreline, half-mocking, half-awed. "Billy, if Steve buys this, he'll buy a bloody postcard!"
"Deal," I said to Brian, turning to Evelyn.
"How much is it advertised for? I asked.
"What, you don't even know how much it's on the market for?" Brian muttered incredulously.
Evelyn's manicured fingers tapped her tablet with surgical precision. "Eight point nine million," she announced, watching my face for reaction like a poker dealer. The number hung in the salt air between us, not exorbitant, not trivial, just a fact as solid as the granite bluffs below.
"I really like the owner's interior tastes. What's staying and what's going besides the paintings and personal belongings?”
Evelyn's stiletto tapped against the limestone balcony as she swiped her tablet. "The sellers are relocating to Monaco," she said with the detached professionalism of someone discussing weather patterns. "All furnishings remain, particularly custom pieces by local artisans. That cedar bedframe? Hand-carved by a master shipwright using salvaged timber from the SS Laurel 1929 wreck," as her fingertip traced a line on the screen. "They're taking only family heirlooms and that dreadful abstract in the dining room."
"Thank God for that, it's bloody hideous, I have to say," recollecting my immediate dislike when I walked into the dining room.
I twirled 360 degrees more for the dramatic effect before returning to face Evelyn with a beaming smile that rather said it all. "Knock four hundred thousand off the bill, and you have a deal for cash."
Evelyn's manicure froze mid-swipe. The ocean wind carried the sharp intake of breath from Brian beside me. The silence stretched long enough for three waves to crash against the cliffs before Evelyn's professional mask slipped into something dangerously close to amusement. "Mr Davis," she said, tucking a windblown strand of hair behind her ear, "are you attempting to haggle over eight million dollars while wearing a nightshirt and tighty whities?"
"Oh, God, another one,” I said. “Won't anyone just forget that fashion statement for once?", realising I had another fan in my presence. "I'm haggling over four hundred thousand dollars, and yes, I'm wearing tighty whities under these terribly expensive cargo shorts.
Evelyn's laughter burst forth like champagne uncorked, bright, effervescent, and utterly unexpected from a woman who'd been all business moments before. "Oh, Mr Davis," she gasped, pressing manicured fingers to her lips as her shoulders shook, "you must realise half the island followed your hike through Brian's blog. My book club had a betting pool on whether you'd actually flash your underwear on national television," as her stiletto tapped the limestone in a staccato rhythm. "I won fifty dollars when you did."
"Call me, Steve, and I'm delighted for you. But what about my offer?"
Evelyn's laughter faded into the salt air as she tapped her tablet with renewed professionalism. "Seven days for due diligence," she said, her voice regaining its steel. "Though I suspect you'll waive most inspections." Her stilettoed foot nudged a loose pebble off the balcony.
"Draw up the paperwork and send it to Rubinstein Callingham Polden & Gale in London. I shall arrange for the funds to be transferred once they give me the nod. What date are you thinking of completing?
Evelyn's perfectly sculpted eyebrow arched higher as she tapped her tablet. "Given your cash position and the sellers' Monaco timeline..." Her fingers flew across the screen. "We could close in ten days if your solicitors move quickly."
"For the money I pay them, they'll probably work nightshifts," I responded, chuckling at the thought of Mr Polden working a nightshift. Another question, do you know any good builders? I need a darkroom building, just in case a photographer moves in."
Brian's grip on the railing tightened suddenly, his knuckles bleaching white against the sun-bleached cedar. "Wait, did you just say *Rubinstein Callingham*?" His voice cracked like thin ice. "Those are the King's fucking solicitors."
"Sooo?"
"Just thought I would mention it, that's all," Brian replied.
"Someone's got to represent him, especially during these times with Andy Pandy fucking about and Harry being a proverbial pain in the backside," I countered.
"Lunch?" I asked Evelyn, watching her stiletto pause mid-tap against the limestone. "And I'd love to hear your side of my little journey," the ocean wind carrying the scent of roasting kelp from some distant beachfire as I turned to Brian. "Give the boys a shout?"
"I would love to, Mr Davis, sorry, Steve. As for fitting out a darkroom, I know the company you need."
"Great on all accounts," I declared, sealing the deal with a handshake.
Chapter Two - Lunch
Lunch unfolded in a restaurant called the Cedar Deck with the precision of a well-rehearsed ballet.
Plates of seared scallops landed before us just as the tide reached its zenith below, their caramelised edges catching sunlight like tiny golden coins. Evelyn's stiletto hooked around the chair leg as she leaned forward, her champagne flute dangling between fingers that had probably negotiated more deals than Brian's entire regiment.
"So there we were," she said, eyes glinting with mischief, "sipping pinot gris while debating whether you'd actually hike the whole route." Her manicured nail tapped the stemware. "Barbara lost fifty dollars on that bet."
Billy's laughter startled a heron from the shallows below. "Christ, Steve, you've been monetised," he wheezed, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes with the back of his hand. Across the table, Rob remained captivated with the discussion and the surroundings, as well as admiring Evelyn's pearl necklace, catching the light when she threw her head back laughing.
Brian remained uncharacteristically quiet, his military posture softening as he watched the horizon. Only I noticed his fingers tracing the condensation on his water glass, deliberate, slow circles that matched the rhythm of distant waves. When Evelyn mentioned the blog's spike in traffic after the famous self-portrait of Billy and me, his lips twitched in what might've been a smile or a grimace.
"The day you summited Whistler," Evelyn continued, spearing a scallop with surgical precision, "my book club cancelled our Margaret Atwood discussion to refresh Brian's blog every fifteen minutes." Her stiletto nudged my ankle under the table. "We had a spreadsheet tracking your progress versus the historical record. Marjorie from the yacht club kept insisting no Englishman could....especially being your age."
Rob's sudden snort interrupted her. "Oh, she was right," he said, grinning as he adjusted his lens. "No normal Englishman," as the camera shutter clicked again, freezing Billy mid-bite, his cheeks bulging like a chipmunk's.
The champagne flutes sat empty, their rims salted by ocean spray and Evelyn's laughter. She stood abruptly, stiletto heels biting into the cedar decking as she extended a hand, all business again, though her eyes still danced with the morning's mischief. "Gentlemen, I'll have Rubinstein Callingham's paperwork couriered by five." Her grip was firm, warm from the sun-warmed glass she'd been holding. "Welcome to The Point, and thank you for a most wonderful lunch."
Billy stretched like a cat in a sunbeam, kicking sand from his sandals onto Rob's discarded napkin. Brian caught my wrist as I stood. "Take the beach back," he said quietly, jerking his chin toward the tide pools gleaming below the restaurant deck. His thumb brushed my pulse point, just once, before releasing me. "Rob and I need to lie down and talk, so we’ll see you at the house later."
“That sounds like a good plan,” I responded, wondering if Brian was okay, as he seemed a bit tense, but as Billy and I walked the narrow path down to the shore, winding between wind-gnarled pines that smelled like Christmas and salt, I knew that everything would be okay but perhaps, my timing sucked and this had annoyed my friend.
Chapter Three - The Walk
Billy vanished ahead, his laughter carried back to me on the breeze. By the time I reached the sand, he'd already kicked off his sandals and was wading knee-deep in the surf, his cargo shorts discarded on the sand as his Hanes briefs became translucent from the spray.
"You're slow," he called, bending to pluck something from the shallows. A moon snail shell glinted in his palm when I reached him. "For your desk at UBC," he said, pressing it into my hand. The porcelain spiral fit perfectly against my lifeline.
I wrapped my arms around Billy from behind as he calmed himself, resting his hands on mine as we surveyed the sea. "Billy, I told Brian about our ideas for the home and the idea that they move in with us because they're getting older. I don't think my timing was best, let me put it that way."
"So," he said, watching a cormorant dive beyond the breakers, "you told Brian about us becoming a four-man retirement home in sixty seconds in your normal cold English approach?" His tone was light and right, as his fingers tightened around mine where they clasped at his waist.
Salt spray stung my cheeks when I rested my chin on his shoulder. "Wasn't exactly planned," I admitted, watching our reflection warp in the tidal pool at our feet. "Sort of...slipped out when he was calculating sightlines from the master balcony."
"What did he say?" Billy demanded.
"Called it a fucking retirement compound."
"Ouch..." Billy responded. Did you tell him about the vision, though, the vision we shared lying naked on the bed after..."
"I did."
And...did he get the vision?" Billy questioned.
"I think he did because he rounded on me, saying they might want the eastern wing and a darkroom, but he would talk to Rob."
Billy's fingers tightened around mine suddenly. "Darkroom?" His voice pitched up in a way that made the cormorant take flight. "Last darkroom I was in had a very memorable…"
He cut himself off with a snort, shaking his head as a blush crept up his neck. "Let's just say the photo development wasn't the only thing that came out nicely that night."
The moon snail shell dug into my palm as I laughed. "That sounds like a story for the walk back, but seriously, I hope he's not pissed off," I said, hoping I hadn’t presumed too much too quickly.
"Of course he's pissed off," he said, fingers gripping my hips hard enough to leave crescent imprints. "You hit him with a sixty-second life overhaul sandwiched between property taxes and lunchtime scallops," as Billy's laughter tasted like salt and champagne when he kissed me. "Military types need planning time, PowerPoint presentations and fucking...spreadsheets for this shit."
A rogue wave drenched us to our thighs. Billy didn't flinch, just hooked his thumbs through my belt loops and leaned back to study my face. "He'll rationalise it by tonight," he murmured, wiping a droplet from my cheek with his thumb. "Probably already drafting terms in that tactical notebook he carries. Eastern wing minimum fifty paces from our bedroom, soundproofing for when Rob gets nostalgic about his punk days and probably a fitted kitchen when they want space, privacy and a nice cup of tea or cocoa."
Billy, my shorts are wet thanks to that wave, but you're right. I will not mention it again. I'll let Brian mention it, as I unbuckled my shorts, slipping them off, tossing them to join Billy's before the next wave came crashing into us."
Billy's fingers traced my lifeline in my palm as we waded deeper, the tide pulling at our ankles like insistent hands. "Brian's not pissed at you," he murmured, pressing his back against my chest as another wave rolled in. "He's pissed with time passing. At watching Rob's issues overwhelm him sometimes. At realising his knees crack when he stands."
His thumb circled my wrist pulse point, Brian's tells mirrors Rob's unconsciously. "The difference, though, is that military men hate surrendering more than death."
The ocean surged around us, lifting Billy's and my briefs into translucent peaks against our thighs. I buried my nose in his salt-crisped curls, inhaling sunscreen and the faintest lingering scent of champagne. "Should I....?"
"Leave it. Leave them. It's their decision, but you've planted the thought. Now, let's get our shorts before the tide does and walk."
Billy's toes curled in the wet sand as we walked, revealing a crescent-shaped sandbar that hadn't yet been flooded by the incoming tide. "Look," as Billy grabbed my wrist, his fingers sticky with seawater, dragging me toward the shallow ridge where trapped water shimmered like quicksilver under the noon sun. Leaving our shorts along with our t-shirts, we peeled off in haste, and we waded in.
The sandbar dammed a pool sufficiently large to be a respectable swimming pool in a modest house, but warm as blood from hours of solar heating. Billy knelt without hesitation, his knees sinking into the yielding sand. "Come feel," he commanded, plunging both hands in up to the elbows. When I crouched beside him, the water was startlingly hot, almost uncomfortably so, compared to the frigid Pacific just beyond our little sanctuary.
Something brushed my submerged fingers, Billy's, I thought at first, until the touch fluttered away. Then I saw them: tiny translucent shrimp darting between our legs like aquatic fireflies. "Ghost shrimp," Billy murmured, his breath warm against my shoulder. "They live in these tidal pools for maybe two days before the ocean claims them back," his index finger hovering beneath one no larger than a grain of rice. "Ephemeral little bastards."
A wave breached the sandbar suddenly, shocking us both with its cold violence. The ghost shrimp swirled in the turbulence; some carried back to sea, others driven deeper into our makeshift pool. Billy laughed, that unguarded sound I'd first heard by the lake and splashed me with deliberate malice. "Race you to the next one," he challenged, already scrambling to his feet.
We chased the receding tide like children, our briefs now more water than fabric, the weight of water forcing them to hang half over our bottoms. The next pool we found was larger, deeper, with strands of kelp undulating lazily in the trapped current. Billy waded in up to his waist, the sun-bleached cotton of his underwear clinging indecently. "Christ, it's like bathwater," he groaned, tilting his face skyward. When I joined him, the temperature gradient made me gasp, scalding at the surface, cooler near the sandy bottom where purple sea urchins clung to exposed rocks.
Chapter Four - The Beach Boys
The kelp brushed my thigh like a phantom hand just as Billy's elbow jabbed my ribs. "Jesus Christ," he hissed, nodding toward the far edge of the pool where two figures crouched behind a barnacle-crusted boulder.
Late afternoon sun gilded their bare shoulders, two teenage boys, maybe, fifteen or sixteen I thought, pressed shoulder-to-shoulder in the shallows with the frantic energy of youth discovering something ancient. Their erection stood at attention, flushed and eager against taut stomachs, hands moving with the furtive rhythm of boys who thought they'd found the world's most secret spot.
Billy's laughter bubbled up like a geyser, barely contained behind his clamped lips. One of the boys jerked his head up, floppy dark hair plastered to his forehead, and froze mid-stroke. His friend followed his gaze, yelped, and toppled backwards into the water with a splash that sent startled crabs skittering.
"Easy there, lads," Billy called, holding up both hands while simultaneously failing to suppress his grin. The dark-haired boy scrambled to cover himself with arms too short for the task, his erection bobbing stubbornly. "We're just..."
The dark-haired boy's mouth opened and closed like a stranded fish, his friend still floundering in the shallows. Billy waded closer, the kelp swirling around his thighs. "Relax," he said, plucking a strand of seaweed from the water and flicking it away. "We know what you're doing, and you have nothing to worry about from us."
His grin widened as the boys exchanged panicked glances. "We were looking for a suitable place as well, but not for a simple jerking session," as he paused, tilting his head. "Haven’t you graduated yet to sucking each other?"
The floppy-haired boy choked, his ears burning crimson. His friend, finally upright, spluttered, "We...uh...we weren’t..."
Billy snorted. "Right. And I’m the Queen of England," as he glanced back at me, rolling his eyes before turning back to the boys. "Look, if you’re going to do it, at least do it properly. Find a spot where the water’s deep enough to float. Less sand in… delicate places."
The boys stared, slack-jawed. I couldn’t help but chuckle, watching Billy slip effortlessly into the role of irreverent mentor. He winked at them before turning away, grabbing my wrist. "Come on, Steve. Let’s leave the rookies to their homework."
I looked at both the boys. "Christ, I remember being that age. All nerves and no finesse," I said as Billy glanced at me, mischief glinting in his eyes. "Though I doubt you were ever that awkward."
"Don't know about that. The first time I got caught had me panicking for weeks that word would get around," as we turned to walk away.
"Why don't you do it here. We don't mind, and the company would be nice," the dark-haired boy's voice cracked on the last word, his erection bobbing with nervous enthusiasm as he took a half-step forward, his cock looking more like a snorkel on a submarine.
His friend, leaner, freckled, with the gangly limbs of a teenager still growing into his body, nodded so vigorously that seawater sloshed over his shoulders. "Yeah," he blurted, eyes darting between Billy and me like he was memorising details for later.
Billy's fingers tightened around my wrist, his nails biting crescents into my skin. I could practically hear the smirk in his voice before he even spoke. "Christ, Steve," he murmured, loud enough for the boys to hear, "we've been downgraded from lovers to educational porn."
The freckled boy flushed scarlet, but his gaze didn't waver from where Billy's soaked briefs clung transparently to his thighs. "Not like that," he stammered, then immediately contradicted himself by adding, "Unless you want to."
Billy threw his head back and laughed, the sound echoing off the barnacled rocks. The motion made seawater sluice down his chest, tracing the lines of his torso before disappearing into the waistband of his briefs. "Tell you what, lads," he said, releasing my wrist to wade closer to them, "we'll give you a five-minute Q&A. After that..." jerking his thumb toward the open ocean beyond the sandbar. "Piss off and let us have our afternoon."
The boys exchanged glances, some silent teenage negotiation passing between them before the dark-haired one nodded eagerly. "Deal," his Adam's apple bobbing up and down. "First question, does it, like...hurt the first time?"
Realising the seriousness of the question, I ask. "Before we start all that, how old are you both?" feeling slightly nervous, and what are your names?
Billy's fingers curled around my wrist under the water, his grip warm where seawater had cooled my skin. The dark-haired boy answered first, "Jesse," he mumbled, scratching at a barnacle crust on his shoulder. “My mate here is called Eli," he said, who happened to sink deeper into the shallows like he wished the tide would swallow him whole.
"We're both seventeen but...new to all this."
"Fair enough," I responded. "I was sixteen when I had my first gay experience and found it very disappointing to say the least. Billy here was eighteen when he started fucking a regular fuckbuddy. So there you go. No shame in starting late. Most boys lie by the way about what age they lost their virginity."
Billy's laughter rippled across the tidal pool as he leaned back against a sun-warmed rock, his briefs clinging indecently. "Christ, Steve, just the way to kill the mood with your tragic deflowering story," he teased, flicking water at me before turning to the boys. "Ignore him, lads. First times are like riding bikes, awkward until suddenly it's not," his grin turning wolfish. "And way more fun with two people."
Jesse's eyebrows shot up as Eli swallowed audibly. The freckled boy's fingers twitched toward his erection before he caught himself. "So like...how do you even..," his voice trailed off as Billy's grin widened.
"Give a blowjob," I interjected.
Billy's grin turned positively wicked as he pushed off from the rock, sending ripples toward the boys. "Ah, the fundamentals," he purred, wading closer until the water lapped at Jesse's knees. "First rule, enthusiasm counts more than technique," as his fingers trailed along Eli's collarbone, making the boy shiver despite the warm water. "Ever had your dick sucked?"
"No, Sir," He responded.
Jesse's "No, sir" came out half-strangled, his erection bobbing against his stomach as Billy circled them like a shark. Eli looked ready to faint, his freckles standing out starkly against his flushed cheeks.
I had sat down on the sand at the edge of the water, my cock hard as anything, knowing full well where this conversation was going.
"Would you like one?" Billy asked, his voice dripping with mischief as he trailed a fingertip down Jesse's sternum, as the boy's breath hitched, his cock twitching visibly against his belly. "A demonstration, that is."
Eli made a sound like a deflating balloon. I leaned back on my elbows in the shallows, the sand shifting beneath me as my erection strained against my wet briefs. Billy didn't wait for an answer; he never did, just sank to his knees in the knee-deep water with the grace of a man who knew exactly how his body moved.
Jesse's knees buckled when Billy's lips brushed the head of his cock, the boy's dark hair flopping forward as he gasped. Eli clutched his own erection like a lifeline, eyes wide enough to reflect the entire Pacific.
Billy eased Jesse onto his back with the practised grace of someone who'd done this dance a thousand times before. The boy's shoulders sank into the warm sandbar, his fingers clawing at nothing as Billy murmured, "Just relax and enjoy," he said, against his hipbone, then Jesse's cock disappeared into Billy's mouth with a single fluid motion that left no room for second thoughts.
Eli made a choked sound halfway between a whimper and a prayer. I watched from the shallows, my own neglected erection pulsing against wet cotton, as Billy hollowed his cheeks with obscene precision. Jesse's toes curled in the sand, his hips lifting instinctively, only to be pinned back down by Billy's broad palm splayed across his pelvis. "Ah-ah," Billy chided around a mouthful of cock, the vibration wrenching a broken moan from Jesse's throat.
Sunlight fractured across the tidal pool, catching the droplets beading on Billy's shoulders as he worked Jesse with a rhythm that was frankly unfair for a first-timer. Eli's freckled hands hovered near his own cock like he wasn't sure if touching himself would be cheating now. I solved his dilemma by crooking a finger at him. "Come here," I said, watching the boy scramble toward me with the urgency of someone afraid the offer might vanish.
The contrast was delicious, Billy's dark head bobbing between Jesse's thighs while I peeled Eli's hands away from his erection with deliberate slowness. "Watch," I instructed, as I pulled him close to stand between my legs as I sat, my mouth slowly enveloping Eli's young, magnificent cock.
The tidal pool became a liquid cradle of gasps and saltwater. Eli trembled between my thighs, his cock twitching against my tongue with the erratic rhythm of a boy trying not to come too fast. Behind him, Jesse's back arched off the sandbar, his fingers tangled in Billy's hair as if he'd drown without the anchor.
Billy's technique was merciless, deep swallows punctuated by teasing flicks of his tongue along the frenulum that had Jesse whimpering like a wounded animal. When I mirrored the move on Eli, the boy's knees buckled, his hips jerking forward as his cockhead bumped the back of my throat.
"Easy," I murmured around him, gripping his hipbones, still sharp with youth, to steady him. Eli's breath came in ragged bursts, his abdomen quivering under my palms. Behind him, Billy had shifted tactics, now dragging his lips up Jesse's shaft with agonising slowness while massaging his balls with one hand.
The boys' knees bumped as they edged closer unconsciously, drawn together by some primal magnetism. Jesse reached out blindly, his fingers finding Eli's wrist and clutching like a lifeline. Eli gasped at the contact, his cock pulsing against my tongue as precum leaked salty-sweet.
Billy glanced up through his lashes, seawater dripping from his chin as he caught my eye. His smirk was wicked even with his lips stretched around Jesse's erection. A silent challenge passed between us, suggesting, make him beg.
I obliged, pulling off Eli with an obscene pop that made the boy whimper. "You close?" I asked, thumbing the slick head of his cock. Eli nodded frantically, his Adam's apple bobbing. "Want to come in my mouth?"
His answering moan was enough of an answer. Behind him, Billy had Jesse writhing, the dark-haired boy's thighs trembling as Billy worked him with ruthless efficiency. Their fingers were interlaced now, white-knuckled and desperate.
When I swallowed Eli down again, taking him to the root in one smooth motion, his hips jerked forward uncontrollably. "Oh fuck, I'm gonna..." he choked out, his voice cracking. Jesse echoed the sentiment, his back arching off the sand as Billy deepthroated him with practised ease.
The simultaneous climaxes hit like tidal waves, Eli pulsing hot down my throat while Jesse came with a broken cry, his release streaking Billy's chin. The boys clung to each of us as we took them through it, their knuckles bleaching white from the force of their grip.
Billy pulled off Jesse with a satisfied hum, licking his lips as he surveyed his handiwork. The dark-haired boy lay boneless in the shallows, his chest heaving. Eli swayed on his knees, dazed, as his young body continued to pump creamy, delicious cum down my throat as he moved toward the edge of oversensitivity.
Eli actually collapsed backwards into the water, lying just above the surface, his body half in and half out, his cock still standing proudly above the water line, but he was silent, trying to control his breathing.
"That was very nice, Eli," I murmured, swiping my tongue along the inside of my cheek where his taste still lingered, salty, slightly bitter with the unmistakable metallic tang of youth. "Nice taste and nice cock."
Jesse lay sprawled across the sandbar like a shipwreck survivor, his chest heaving while Billy savoured his taste with theatrical smacks of his lips. "Yum yum,” he exclaimed in agreement with my statement. “Such a lovely cock, young man,” Billy declared while purring, stretching his arms overhead with feline satisfaction. "Though next time, hydrate more, adds sweetness.
The boys exchanged dazed glances, their post-coital expressions caught somewhere between reverence and shellshock. Eli's freckles stood out like constellations against his flushed skin as he finally managed to prop himself up on trembling elbows. "Wow," he breathed, his voice still wrecked.
"Wow," Jesse echoed, reaching blindly for Eli's ankle like he needed physical confirmation this hadn't been some elaborate fever dream. His fingers left damp trails on his friend's skin as he added hoarsely, "That was...different than how we...."
Billy barked a laugh, splashing water at them as he waded toward me. "Christ, lads, don't tell me you've only ever jerked off back-to-back like fucking penguins," as he flopped onto the sand beside me, his damp shoulder pressing warmly against mine. The boys' simultaneous blushes answered for them.
"Want to show them how to fuck?" Billy whispered in my ear.
"You fuck me, or I fuck you?" I asked.
"On your knees, loverboy," was all Billy said, his voice gone rough as the barnacled rocks surrounding our tidal pool sanctuary. The command sent a jolt through me, my cock twitching against wet fabric as I twisted onto my hands and knees without hesitation, sand gritting under my palms as Billy hooked his fingers into my briefs' waistband, peeling them down my thighs with deliberate slowness until the soaked cotton pooled at my knees.
Behind us, Jesse and Eli made identical choked sounds. I glanced back to see them frozen mid-motion, Jesse halfway through wiping seawater from his eyes, Eli's fingers curled around his softening cock, both staring with the wide-eyed fascination of boys witnessing sorcery.
Billy stepped out of his briefs, kicking them toward our discarded clothes. The late afternoon sun gilded the curve of his arse as he knelt behind me, his calloused palms spreading me open without preamble. "Christ, look at you," he murmured, his breath hot against my exposed skin. "Already slick from watching those boys come."
The first lick stole my breath, a slow, deliberate stripe from perineum to tailbone that had my thighs trembling. Jesse gasped. Eli's whispered "fuck" carried clearly across the water. Billy ignored them, focusing instead on working me open with his tongue in ruthless, concentric circles. His thumbs pressed into the dimples above my arse, holding me spread wide as he delved deeper, the flat of his tongue pressing against my rim until I was panting into the crook of my elbow.
Sand shifted as the boys crept closer. I heard the wet slap of Eli's knees hitting shallows, Jesse's quickened breathing just beyond my shoulder. Billy paused, lifting his head just enough to growl, "Watch and learn," he said, before plunging back in with renewed vigour.
The tidal pool became a symphony of gasps, mine muffled against my forearm, the boys' breathless and open-mouthed behind us. Billy's tongue worked with precision that bordered on cruelty, alternating between broad, wet strokes and pointed flicks that made my hips jerk uncontrollably. Sand stuck to my damp skin where my briefs still tangled around my knees.
"Jesus," Jesse breathed, so close now I felt his exhale flutter across my shoulder blades. Eli's fingers dug into the sand beside my hand, his knuckles whitening as Billy pulled back just enough to spit directly onto my exposed hole. The sound, wet and obscene, drew a collective shiver from our audience.
Billy's chuckle vibrated against my skin as he pressed two fingers alongside his tongue. "Pay attention," he murmured, the words half-directed at the boys. "Slow at first," as his fingers circled, teasing, before the first knuckle breached me with delicious pressure. Eli made a strangled noise; Jesse's knee bumped mine as he leaned closer.
The stretch burned sweetly as Billy worked deeper, his free hand splayed across the small of my back to hold me still. "More?" he asked, though it wasn't really a question. His fingers crooked just so, brushing that electric spot inside me that had my vision whiting out for a heartbeat, as my groan sent a crab skittering sideways into the waves.
Billy withdrew his fingers with a filthy, slick sound, wiping his hand on my thigh before gripping his cock, already flushed and leaking, at the tip. "Now watch," he told the boys, lining himself up with agonising slowness. The blunt head pressed against me, insistent, as Billy's other hand tangled in my hair, yanking my head back to arch my spine. "Breathe."
The breach stole my breath, Billy’s cock splitting me open with the inexorable force of the tide reclaiming shore. Jesse gasped. Eli’s fingernails bit crescents into his palms as Billy sheathed himself to the hilt in one fluid thrust, his hips flush against my arse with a wet smack that echoed off the rocks.
"Fuck," Billy groaned, his fingers tightening in my hair as he paused to let me adjust. Saltwater sloshed around our knees, cooling the fevered heat where our bodies joined. Behind us, the boys were statue-still, their earlier bravado replaced by rapt silence.
Billy’s first withdrawal was torture, the drag of his cock stretching me obscenely before he slammed back in with enough force to send me scrambling for purchase on the sandbar. "Like this," he gritted out, setting a relentless pace that made the water ripple around us. His hips pistoned with precision, each thrust punctuated by the slap of skin and Eli’s punched-out exhales.
I braced on one forearm, reaching back blindly to grasp Billy’s thigh. His muscles flexed under my fingers, corded and trembling with restraint. "Faster," I demanded, the word fracturing as Billy angled deeper, his pubic bone grinding against my perineum with every snap of his hips.
Jesse made a strangled noise when Billy’s hand left my hip to fist my neglected cock. "Timing," Billy panted, his thumb smearing precum across my slit as he stroked in counterpoint to his thrusts. "It’s, ah, about rhythm."
Billy's rhythm stuttered when Eli reached out, trembling fingers brushing my shoulder blade like he couldn't resist touching the proof of this lesson. Jesse mirrored him, his damp palm skating down Billy's sweat-slicked spine, both boys caught in the gravitational pull of our coupling.
The tidal pool became a living thing, waves sloshing higher with each snap of Billy's hips. Sand swirled around my knees as Billy's strokes turned punishing, his free hand fisting in my hair again to yank my head back. "See how he takes it?" he growled at the boys, his voice ragged. "No fear."
Eli's bitten-off moan vibrated through my skin where he clung to me. Jesse's fingers dug into Billy's flank, mapping the flex and release of muscle with each thrust. The salt air thickened with the scent of sex and seaweed, Billy's grunts syncing with the suck and pull of waves against rock.
When Billy's thumb circled my cockhead with bruising pressure, my vision fractured. "Close," I warned, the word mangled as Billy slammed home harder, his balls slapping wet against me.
"Let them see," Billy ordered, releasing my hair to hook an arm around my chest, hauling me upright against him. The new angle stole my breath, his cock grinding that perfect spot as Jesse and Eli scrambled to face us, their gazes locked on where our bodies joined.
Billy's teeth scraped the tendon of my neck as his thrusts turned erratic, the arm around my chest tightening like a vice. Jesse's pupils were blown black, his lips parted around silent pleas as Eli's fingers dug into his own thighs, both transfixed by the slick, rhythmic slap of flesh meeting flesh.
"Touch yourselves," Billy commanded hoarsely, and the boys obeyed instantly, hands flying to their renewed hard cocks with the desperation of addicts.
The tidal pool became a frenzy of movement, Billy pistoning into me, Eli stroking himself with clumsy urgency, Jesse biting his own shoulder to muffle whimpers as precum streaked his belly. I reached back blindly, fingers tangling in Billy's hair as the coil in my gut tightened beyond bearing.
"Now," Billy snarled, his hips stuttering. His release hit like a riptide, hot pulses deep inside me triggering my own climax. My shout scattered the gulls perched on nearby rocks as cum striped the sandbar in front of us. Eli came seconds later with a punched-out groan, his cum arcing across Jesse's thigh, the dark-haired boy following with a choked sob, his release mixing with seawater as it dripped off his knuckles.
For three heartbeats, the only sounds were ragged breathing and lapping waves. Then Billy's softening cock slipped free, his arms loosening as I sagged forward onto hands and knees. Jesse stared at the bite marks on his shoulder like he'd forgotten making them. Eli's freckles disappeared under a full-body flush.
Billy exhaled sharply through his nose, collapsing onto the sand beside me, his fingers lazily tracing patterns on my hipbone. The tidal pool had gone eerily still, the boys' heavy breathing the only sound besides the distant crash of waves beyond our little sanctuary.
Jesse was the first to move, pushing damp hair off his forehead with shaking fingers. "Holy shit," he rasped, staring at the bite marks on his forearm like they were hieroglyphics. Eli just nodded mutely, his lips parted, seawater dripping from his chin onto his spent cock.
Billy chuckled, stretching his arms overhead with feline satisfaction. "Not bad for your first live tutorial, eh, lads?"
His knee bumped mine as he rolled onto his side, propping his head on one hand to survey our audience. The late afternoon sun caught the sweat still gleaming on his collarbones.
I shifted onto my elbows, wincing slightly at the pleasant ache between my thighs. The boys' wide-eyed stares would've been comical if not for the reverence in their expressions. Eli's gaze kept darting between Billy's softening cock and the smear of my cum drying on the sandbar.
"Questions?" Billy prompted, plucking a strand of kelp from the water and flicking it at Jesse's knee.
"No, Sir, and thank you," Jesse replied.
"That was... amazing, Sir, watching you two. Never seen… a guy fucked before."
Billy's fingers traced lazy circles on my thigh as the tide crept higher around our entwined legs. "Lesson two," he murmured, his breath warm against my shoulder. "Good fucking's like whiskey, better when you savour it," as his teeth grazed my earlobe, sending a shiver down my spine that had nothing to do with the cooling seawater.
Jesse and Eli watched, transfixed, as Billy turned me onto my back with deliberate slowness. Sand gritted under my shoulder blades when he straddled my hips, his calloused palms sliding up my chest with the reverence of an artist rediscovering a favourite subject.
"See this?" Billy asked, as he pressed a thumb against my bottom lip, waiting until my tongue flicked out to taste salt and sweat. "Every inch deserves attention."
The boys' breathing hitched in unison when Billy bent forward, his lips brushing the hollow of my throat in a kiss so light it barely disturbed the droplets clinging to my skin. He moved south with agonising patience, nipping at my collarbone, swirling his tongue around a nipple until it pebbled tight, pausing to blow cool air across the wet trails he'd left. Eli's fingers twitched toward his own chest as if mirroring the motions unconsciously.
"Don't just fuck the hole," Billy instructed, his voice gone rough as he nuzzled the crease of my thigh. His beard scraped the sensitive skin there, drawing a gasp from me that echoed off the rocks. "The journey matters," as his hands slid under my arse, kneading the muscle with firm strokes that made my hips jerk. "Touch like you mean it."
I arched when Billy's tongue laved a stripe along my perineum, my fingers tangling in his damp hair. Jesse made a choked sound, his erection bobbing against his stomach again. Billy chuckled darkly, his breath hot against my balls. "Anticipation," he said, pressing a kiss to the inside of my knee, "is half the fun."
"We'd better go,” I muttered.
Billy smiled, his teeth flashing white against the golden stubble of his chin. "You've had your lesson, boys," he said, flicking seawater at the boys' knees. "Now, go practice. Maybe we'll meet again when you've learned to fuck properly," as he winked at them, full of pure mischief, sunlight catching the crow's feet at the corners of his eyes.
Jesse stumbled backwards first, his legs tangling in the kelp as he clutched Eli's wrist. The boys moved like colts finding their footing, their renewed erections bobbing comically with each unsteady step through the shallows. Eli paused waist-deep, his freckled shoulders breaking the surface as he turned back. "Wait, how do we...?" his voice cracking on the last word, drowned by the sudden crash of a wave against the sandbar.
Billy just laughed, stretching his arms overhead with feline satisfaction. "Figure it out!" he called after them, his voice carrying easily over the water. The boys exchanged a glance that was equal parts terror and exhilaration before wading toward the opposite shoreline, their heads bent together in frantic whispering.
I watched their silhouettes recede, Jesse's dark hair plastered to his forehead, Eli's freckled back gleaming wetly, their bottom firm and beautiful in the sunlight until they disappeared behind a tumble of barnacled rocks. The last I saw was Jesse's hand darting out to squeeze Eli's arse, sending the freckled boy splashing forward with a yelp that echoed across the tidal pools.
Billy snorted, collapsing onto the sand beside me with a grunt. His skin smelled of salt and sex, the musk of our coupling still clinging to him despite the seawater. "Christ," he murmured, propping himself up on one elbow to survey the wreckage of our makeshift boudoir, his discarded briefs snagged on a rock, as mine floated like a tiny sunken sailboat near the sandbar's edge.
Billy stretched like a cat in the late afternoon sun, sand clinging to his damp thighs as he rose. "Race you," he murmured, already stepping over a tidepool before I could protest, his bare arse gleaming golden as he waded into knee-deep surf.
I followed, our clothes bundled carelessly under one arm, the other shielding my eyes from the glare bouncing off the waves. Billy's footprints disappeared into wet sand ahead of me, each one briefly filling with seawater before vanishing, as if we'd never been there at all.
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