Everything Nautical
We walked back up to the house, Billy's thumb traced slow circles on my palm as we settled at the patio table, our bare legs brushing under the wrought iron. The late sun painted the harbour water molten copper, its surface broken by a heron's sudden dive. Our silence wasn't empty, it thrummed with Hari's lingering energy, with the salt-stick of drying sweat between our thighs, with the unspoken understanding that we'd crossed some invisible threshold together.
The front door slammed with enough force to rattle the wind chimes. "And I'm telling you," Brian's voice carried across the lounge, clinical as ever despite the edge of exasperation, "if we use that caterer, we'll need contingency plans for shellfish allergies and, oh," his footsteps stuttering on the flagstones as he took in our dishevelled state, Billy's paint-streaked torso, the crescent moons my nails had left on his shoulders, the way we both still glowed faintly with exertion.
Rob appeared behind him with two Leica cameras slung around his neck and a bag of fresh mussels dripping seawater onto the stones. His gaze flicked from our intertwined fingers to the folly's distant railings, then down to the faint pearlescent streaks on my inner thigh. "Well," he drawled, hefting the mussel bag, "guess we know why you missed our text about dinner," his smirk deepening as Brian adjusted his glasses with deliberate precision, the way he did when pretending not to be flustered.
Billy stretched luxuriously, his toes brushing Brian's shin. "Sorry, mate. Got distracted by...," as he waved vaguely toward the cove where Hari's canoe had disappeared. "Spiritual matters."
Brian's eyebrow arched. "I can see that," his nostrils flaring slightly, whether at the scent of sex or the briny mussels, I couldn't tell. "Rob, the kitchen. These need soaking," as he thrust the bag into Rob's hands, but lingered when Rob squeezed his shoulder, their silent communication more intimate than any PDA.
The clatter of Eli's sailing boots on the patio stones interrupted Brian's muttered lecture about shellfish protocols. Jesse trailed behind, sunburnt and grinning, his fingers hooked into Eli's belt loops like he was afraid the wind might steal him. The late sun caught the outline of Eli's harness beneath his thin cotton shirt, the familiar crisscross of straps snug against his ribs, the garter straps undoubtedly fastened just above his knees where they'd leave angry red marks by morning.
Billy kicked a chair toward them with his bare foot. "How was the sailing, lads?"
"Wind picked up near mid sound," Jesse said, collapsing into the seat. His knee bounced against Eli's as he reached for the pitcher of lemonade, condensation dripping onto his sun-freckled forearm. "Eli almost went overboard when we jibed."
Eli rolled his eyes, but his fingers lingered at the hem of his shirt, toying with the fabric where it clung to leather. "You're the one who forgot to duck the boom."
I watched Jesse's gaze drop to Eli's throat, where saltwater had dried in crystalline trails. The kid's voice dropped half an octave when he leaned forward, elbows on the table. "Steve, can we buy a yacht instead of hiring one?"
"I don't have a problem with that," I replied as Eli peeled his salt-stiffened t-shirt over his head in one fluid motion, the fabric catching briefly on his wind-tangled hair. His shorts sagged precariously low, revealing the telltale indentation of garter straps riding just above the waistband of his briefs, navy blue today, with tiny white anchors that made Billy snort into his lemonade.
Boys, "go measure the dock, and we'll discuss what type of yacht you want," I added, waving toward the boathouse where Brian kept his nautical charts and Rob's darkroom.
Eli was already halfway down the flagstone path when he shoved his shorts down with deliberate nonchalance, stepping out of them without breaking stride. The late sun gilded the harness straps crisscrossing his bare back, the fabric darkened by salt spray and sweat. The garter and straps were visible on top of his white briefs as Jesse followed like a man hypnotised, one hand cupping the curve of Eli's buttock where the garter strap dented the soft flesh. Their shadows merged into one elongated silhouette against the dock's weathered planks as Billy and I looked at each of them, embracing in a kiss, their hands at each other's arse.
"I suspect their measurements might take a while," Billy said with a supportive chuckle.
"I think you could be right, there, Billy," chuckling out loud at the thought the boys hadn't had their afternoon release....clearly.
Brian's pen froze mid-sentence on the catering checklist. "Must you?" he began, then sighed when Rob leaned over his shoulder to snap a photo with the Leica, the shutter clicking softly. Brian stared at the scene unfolding on the dock. "Those straps will chafe if they're not adjusted properly," he muttered, adjusting his glasses with that particular tilt of his chin that meant he was fighting the urge to intervene clinically.
Billy stretched like a sun-drunk cat, his toes brushing my thigh under the table. "Relax, Doc. Kid's got Jesse playing navigator," he said, nodding toward the dock where Jesse was now kneeling behind Eli, fingers tracing the harness's lumbar strap with the concentration of a cartographer mapping new terrain. Eli arched into the touch, his shoulder blades sharp as wingtips against his sun-pinked skin.
The breeze carried their voices back to us in fragments, Jesse's low "this one's too tight" and Eli's breathy "then fix it", before dissolving into the rhythmic creak of dock lines. Jesse's hands moved with surprising certainty for someone who'd never worn a harness, loosening straps and smoothing reddened skin with the pads of his thumbs. When he pressed an open-mouthed kiss to the small of Eli's back, right where the central strap bisected his spine, Eli's knees buckled visibly.
The dock groaned under Jesse's knees as he tugged Eli's briefs down past his thighs, the white cotton catching briefly on the garter straps before being released to pool around his ankles. Eli swayed, his fingers flexing uselessly at his sides, the harness straps pulling taut across his chest as Jesse turned him by the hips to face his mouth. The late sun caught the spit-slick curve of Eli's cock as Jesse swallowed him down in one smooth motion, his nose pressing into the thatch of dark curls at the base.
"Christ," Billy murmured beside me, his paint-streaked fingers tightening around his lemonade glass. "Kid's got no fucking patience."
He wasn't wrong. Jesse's technique was all hunger, no teasing buildup, just deep, relentless suction that had Eli's thighs trembling within seconds. The harness straps probably creaked as Eli arched into it, his head tipping back to expose the long line of his throat, his Adam's apple bobbing with each punched-out gasp. Jesse's hands bracketed Eli's hips, thumbs digging into the indentations left by the garters, holding him steady as he worked his tongue along the underside in firm, knowing strokes.
Brian's voice carried from the kitchen window, clipped and clinical over the sound of running water. "... and the mussels need at least twenty minutes to purge." The pause was noticeable and then... "Rob, are you even listening?"
Rob's answering chuckle was muffled as he responded, "Yes, I am," signifying the domestic bliss could be tense when it came to cooking.
Billy's fingers curled around me with the casual familiarity of someone adjusting a favourite jacket, warm, possessive, and utterly unselfconscious. His thumb swiped lazily across my tip, smearing precum like paint across canvas, while our bare thighs pressed together under the wrought-iron patio table.
Across the lawn, Jesse had Eli leaning against the dock railings, his mouth working with the single-minded intensity of a starving man at a banquet. The late afternoon sun gilded the sweat along Eli's spine, catching on the harness straps that Jesse used to hold his boyfriend's body, as he took Eli's cock all the way, nestling his nose in the lad's pubic hair while his hand played with his balls.
"Fuck," Billy murmured against my temple, his grip tightening in time with Eli's stuttered gasp. "Kid's going to swallow him whole at this rate," his chuckle vibrating through my shoulder as Jesse's hands gripped Eli's hips hard enough to leave bruises.
The kitchen window framed Brian's exasperated silhouette as he brandished a colander at Rob, who was leaning against the counter with his Leica trained on us instead of the mussels soaking in the sink. Brian's voice carried through the screen, sharp as lemon zest: "If you're not going to help, at least stop photographing our friends' erect penises."
Rob's shutter clicked anyway, capturing the way Billy's cerulean-streaked hand contrasted against my flushed skin, the smear of paint transferring in abstract patterns with each lazy stroke. "Art," Rob declared, dodging Brian's swipe with the colander. "Also, you're overcooking the garlic."
Billy nipped at my earlobe, his breath hot. "Think they'll notice if I bend you over this table?" as his palm slid down to cradle my balls, the rough pads of his fingers coaxing a groan from my throat just as Eli's knees gave out on the dock. Jesse caught him by the harness straps, hauling him upright with a grin before dropping to his knees again, his mouth sealing around Eli's cock with audible suction.
"I think they would, Billy. Perhaps we should save it for later since they're cooking for us as well."
"Fair enough," Billy responded as we resumed watching as Jesse's mouth worked with the kind of practised desperation that suggested he'd been thinking about this all afternoon, maybe while adjusting sails, maybe while watching Eli's harness straps dig into his thighs with each gust of wind. Eli's fingers twisted in Jesse's sun-bleached hair, his hips jerking in shallow thrusts as Jesse swallowed around him with a hum that vibrated through the dock boards.
Billy's chuckle was a warm puff against my temple. "Looks like someone's in a hurry," he murmured, his thumb swiping a bead of precum from my slit with the same absent-minded precision he used when mixing paint.
The dock groaned under Jesse's knees as he pulled back just enough to swirl his tongue around the head, his lips shiny with spit. Eli's harness straps probably creaked when he arched into it, his breath coming in punched-out gasps that carried across the water.
Brian emerged from the kitchen with a tray of oysters balanced precariously on one hand, his other clutching a bottle of chilled Muscadet. He froze mid-step when Jesse's mouth sank again, Eli's choked-off cry echoing off the boathouse walls. "Must you," Brian began, then sighed when Rob slipped past him with the Leica, capturing the way Eli's toes curled against the weathered wood, the way Jesse's fingers dug into his thighs.
Rob placed the oysters and the bottle of wine on the patio table. Billy snatched one up, slurping it straight from the shell with a wink at Brian. "Relax, Brian, they're just blowing off steam," he said, nodding toward the dock where Jesse had Eli pinned against the railing now, his mouth relentless. Eli's head tipped back, his throat working around silent curses as Jesse's fingers found the garter straps around his thighs, tracing the red marks they'd left on his skin.
Rob leaned against the patio railing, his camera clicking softly. "They're going to need aloe vera later," he mused, zooming in on the chafed skin where leather met sunburn.
Eli's knees buckled first, his harness straps pulling taut as his orgasm hit with the force of a rogue wave, back arching, fingers scrabbling at Jesse's shoulders, a punched-out gasp, the sound travelling all the way to us, as Jesse rose, kissing Eli through his post-climax sensations.
The dock swayed beneath them like the deck of a ship in a squall, salt spray mingling with the musk of sex in the late afternoon air. Jesse licked into Eli's mouth with the same relentless hunger he'd shown minutes earlier, his fingers still working the reddened skin under Eli's garter as aftershocks trembled through him.
Rob's shout carried across the lawn like a foghorn: "Oysters on the table, boys!"
Billy snorted into his wineglass, cerulean fingerprints smudging the stem. "Subtle as a fucking air raid," he muttered, watching Jesse guide Eli up the dock with a hand splayed possessively over his lower back, Eli's harness straps creaking with each step, his briefs left where they dropped on the dock. The lad moved like a man who'd forgotten how his knees worked, his sunburned chest heaving, his mouth kiss-swollen and glistening.
Brian met them at the patio steps with a towel and a bottle of aloe vera, his clinical facade cracking when Eli swayed into his space. "For god's sake," he hissed, dabbing at the chafed marks under Eli's harness straps with more tenderness than ire, "these grommets are digging into your...Tell you what, take it off."
"Can I later?" Eli slurred, grabbing an oyster from the tray. He tipped it into his mouth with an obscene slurp, brine dripping down his chin as Jesse crowded behind him, nuzzling the sweat-damp hollow behind his ear.
"No, take it off now, young man," Brian insisted. The garter and thigh straps are fine, but you're sunburnt, and I need to deal with it."
Eli stood motionless like a ship's mast in still waters, letting Brian's precise fingers unbuckle the harness with the same clinical detachment he used when suturing wounds. The straps fell away with soft creaks, revealing angry red lines crisscrossing his sunburnt skin, topographical maps of desire etched in friction burns. Brian's sigh carried equal parts exasperation and affection as he unscrewed the aloe vera lid. "Honestly, Jesse," he muttered, daubing gel onto the worst marks, "you might as well staple 'property of' tags onto his epidermis."
Jesse's answering grin was all teeth as he leaned against the patio table, his fingers trailing possessively down Eli's spine. "I've found a new fabric harness which Eli can wear from now on. It's black with Tighty Whities in white stitched into it," he said, catching a drop of brine from Eli's chin with his thumb before sucking it clean.
"Good, it will be much better for Eli moving forward," Brian responded. "Can't wait to see it instead of this thing."
"It's upstairs," Jesse said. "Will get it later and show you all," as the towel around Eli's waist slipped dangerously low when he reached for another oyster, the terrycloth catching on the still-fastened garter straps.
Billy's paint-smeared fingers paused mid-air, his wineglass tipping precariously as he took in the view, Eli's thighs marked by parallel stripes where the straps had bitten into flesh, the towel's edge clinging to the curve of his arse as he shifted. "Christ," Billy breathed, his thumb unconsciously tracing the rim of his glass where Eli's reflection warped in the curvature.
Dinner unfolded in a haze of lemon-drenched scallops and the salty tang of steamed mussels, punctuated by Jesse feeding Eli morsels directly from his fingers. Brian's clinical commentary on proper shellfish handling dissolved whenever Rob's knee bumped his under the table, their quiet intimacy a counterpoint to Eli's unrestrained moans around a particularly buttery lobster tail. The harbour lights flickered to life beyond the patio, painting Jesse's hands gold as they wandered under Eli's towel, not covertly, but with the casual ownership of someone who'd earned the right through sheer persistence.
Hari's absence lingered like a third space at the table, his chai cup still sitting where he'd left it, the dried remnants of our shared meditation flaking off my body still. I traced a finger along the rim, remembering how his laughter had burst forth earlier, startled and bright as kingfishers taking flight. The memory tightened my gut in a way the oysters couldn't as I smiled.
Dinner was pleasant, but like everything else, it had to come to an end. Jesse and Eli were first to disappear for the evening, probably to fuck each other senseless before falling asleep. The patio doors clicked shut behind Brian and Rob with the finality of a full stop as Rob bid us goodnight, muttering about something on the TV they both wanted to watch.
Billy's bare foot nudged mine under the wrought-iron table, his toes tracing the salt-crusted arch as he drained the last of his wine. The glass hit the table with a soft clink, catching the dying light like a beacon.
"Now can we fuck?" Billy asked, as if inquiring about the weather.
An Evening Fuck
Somewhere in the boys' accommodation, Jesse's laughter echoed through the house's bones, followed by more laughter from Eli. Billy's smirk widened at the sound, his fingers already playing with my cock again, as his own erection responded to the possibilities.
I reached for him, catching a wrist smeared with my precum. "You can take me here, young man", as I sucked his finger, declaring my willingness to submit to him.
Billy's answering grin was all challenge, as his free hand slid down my chest, fingers catching on salt-stiffened hair. "Yes, here," he ordered. "Assume the position, Loverboy."
The wrought-iron table groaned as I braced my forearms against it, the salt-sticky metal cool against my skin. Billy's paint-streaked hands slid down my back with possessive familiarity, pausing to dig thumbs into the knots along my spine. "Young man?" he repeated, his chuckle vibrated through me as his teeth grazed my shoulder. "You're the one who keeps calling me 'Professor' in bed."
The harbour lights flickered across his cobalt-smeared fingers when they gripped my hips, pulling me flush against him. I could feel him hard against me, hot and insistent, as his free hand reached around to stroke my cock with lazy precision. "Fuck me like you mean it," I murmured, arching into his touch. "None of that teasing artist shit tonight."
Billy's answering growl sent a shiver down my spine as he bit the nape of my neck, his fingers slicking himself with the precum he'd just smeared from my tip. "You want it rough, old man?" His voice dropped to that dangerous register that always unravelled me, half threat, half promise, as he pushed his lubricated cock into me without any preamble or foreplay. The stretch burned in the best way, my body remembering him even as it yielded.
The table rocked with each thrust, the scallop shells rattling like dice. Billy's rhythm was relentless from the start, his hips snapping forward with the same unhesitating force he used when throwing his paints in frustration, all centred power, no wasted motion. My knuckles whitened on the iron edge, the metal biting into my palms as he angled deeper, hitting that spot that made my vision blur.
Somewhere, a window creaked open. Jesse's voice floated down, breathless between laughter: "Fucking hell, they're at it again...." before cutting off with a gasp I recognised as Eli's mouth silencing him. The knowledge that they were watching, that Jesse's eager eyes were cataloguing every obscene slap of skin, only drove Billy harder. His fingers dug into my hipbones as he fucked me with single-minded intensity, his breath hot against my sweat-slicked back.
Billy's rhythm stuttered when my orgasm hit, a white-hot detonation that curled my toes against the patio tiles and wrenched a shout from my throat loud enough to scatter the gulls from the boathouse roof. His fingers dug bruises into my hips as he held me through it, fucking me with short, sharp thrusts that milked every last pulse from my cock until I was trembling like a storm-shaken mast.
The harbour lights blurred, as Billy lost his pace, his breathing ragged against my shoulder. "Steve..." His warning was more growl than word, his hips jerking erratically before he buried himself to the hilt with a groan that vibrated through my spine. I felt him spill inside me in hot, reassuring pulses, his forehead pressed between my shoulder blades, his thighs quaking against mine as each thrust of his cock, offloaded more of his seed into me.
We stayed like that for twenty shuddering breaths, Billy's cock still buried deep, his cum leaking down my thighs, as he slid out with a wet sound that would've embarrassed me if I weren't so thoroughly fucked-out. His palm smacked my arse with a damp crack. "Fuck, you're good at that," he muttered, nipping at my ear as he reached around to swipe his thumb through the mess on the table.
Somewhere above us, Jesse's whisper carried on the salt breeze: "Christ, Eli, look at his thighs..." before dissolving into muffled laughter. Billy smirked against my shoulder, licking a stripe up my neck. "Hope the kids took notes," he murmured, pressing a sticky kiss to my jaw.
The balcony door of the east wing creaked open, Rob's bare feet on cedar boards, the clink of ice in glasses. "You two planning to rejoin civilisation tonight?" as his voice dripped with amusement as he set down two tumblers of whiskey, looking down on us, the amber liquid catching the sunset. "Or should I throw towels from the balcony?"
Billy's thighs flexed under my weight as I hauled him over my shoulder in one fluid motion, his paint-streaked hands scrambling for purchase against my back, grabbing my buttocks for purchase. "Steve, what the fuck," his protest dissolving into laughter as I smacked his arse hard enough to leave a red handprint on sun-warmed skin. The whiskey glasses clinked precariously as Rob stepped back with an amused snort, watching me carry Billy, like a caveman would carry his dead prey, telling Billy, “Shut the fuck up, young man, otherwise I’ll put you over my knee.”
Chuckling and laughing, slung over my shoulder, Billy responded. "I think Steve has other plans for me this evening that might include a sound spanking for this naughty young man."
"Have a nice time then. See you tomorrow," Rob declared as Brian joined him on the balcony, taking his glass of whiskey.
Wedding Preparations
The first drag of my cigarette tasted like nostalgia, burnt toast and salt air clinging to last night's sweat still lingering between my thighs. Coffee steamed in the chipped mug Billy had stolen from a Vancouver diner, its rim stained with cerulean fingerprints from when he'd painted me naked at dawn. My nightshirt flapped against my knees, the fabric doing fuck-all to ease the ocean's morning bite, but the discomfort felt earned, like a badge for surviving the patio table incident.
Eli's laughter spilt from the kitchen window, followed by Jesse's sleep-rough voice murmuring something that made the lad choke on his orange juice. Their footsteps thumped down the stairs moments later, Eli draped in Jesse's oversized hoodie, the fabric swallowing his wrists and legs as he clutched a plate of toast, the bottom of the thing covering him suitably enough for the time of day.
"Morning, Professor," Jesse drawled, pressing a kiss to my temple that smelled of peppermint toothpaste and Eli. His grin widened when he spotted the bite marks peeking above my collar. "Table hold up okay?"
I exhaled a smoke ring toward his smirk. "Ask your boyfriend. He's the one who watched."
Just then, Brian's polished Oxfords tapped against the patio stones with military precision as he and Rob emerged, both inexplicably dressed in full business casual despite the hour. Rob's linen shirt was crisp enough to cut glass, his khaki trousers pressed with knife-edge creases that made me suddenly conscious of my own rumpled state.
"Where's Billy?" Brian asked, adjusting his glasses in a way that suggested he already knew the answer would be mildly disappointing.
"Left him in bed," I admitted, exhaling smoke toward the harbour. The memory of Billy sprawled across our sheets, cock hard with his morning wood, rigid against his stomach with dawn light gilding the paint smears all over it, tightened my grip on the mug. "Resisted the temptation to deal with it," I declared.
Rob's eyebrow arched in silent judgment as he poured himself coffee, his wedding band clinking against the carafe. "You? Showing restraint?"
"I can occasionally, you know," I responded at the mild dig, chuckling at the idea of restraint and my name in the same sentence.
"I'll let the media know," Jesse called from the kitchen window, earning a middle finger from me and a scandalised gasp from Eli, who was currently wearing Jesse's boxers as a makeshift hat as I got up and walked into the kitchen.
Rob's espresso machine hissed like an offended cat as I leaned against the kitchen island, watching Brian's fingers tap a military rhythm against his leather-bound planner.
"What's on your docket today?" I enquired.
Brian adjusted his glasses as he always did. "Caterers at ten, florist at noon, then the vicar at Oak Bay United by two," his pen hovering over the page as if awaiting orders. "Finalising the canapé selection takes precedence; the bishop's allergic to shellfish."
"Only two weeks until the big day," Rob murmured into his coffee, though his knuckles whitened around the mug. The words hung between us like a guillotine blade, sharp enough to slice through our usual banter. I'd seen Rob face rogue waves with less tension.
Billy's bare feet slapped against the hardwood as he stumbled into the kitchen, gloriously nude and shaved. "Morning, bridezillas," he yawned, reaching past Brian to snag a croissant. Raspberry jam dripped onto his wrist as he took a messy bite. "Tell me you're not actually serving those sad cucumber sandwiches at this shindig."
Brian's eye twitched. "The menu features smoked salmon blinis and... Go away. Shindig? Really?"
The croissant hung suspended in Billy's grip, jam trembling at the precipice of his wrist as Brian's words landed with the precision of a scalpel. Rob's knuckles went bone-white around his coffee mug, the same way they had when we'd capsized the dinghy last summer, clinging to driftwood while Brian lectured us on tidal patterns.
Jesse snorted into Eli's orange juice. "What's wrong with the Shindig?" he muttered, earning a sharp elbow from Eli that sent pulp dripping onto the lad's borrowed hoodie.
Billy licked the jam trail with deliberate slowness, his eyes never leaving Brian's face. "You want cucumber sandwiches, mate? Fine. But at least let me paint dicks on them," his grin widening as Brian's pen snapped against the planner.
"Right." Brian closed his planner with surgical finality. "We're revising the seating chart, and you're not coming if you mention fucking cucumber sandwiches again."
Billy's smirk evaporated faster than spit on a hot skillet when Brian's planner hit the table with a thud that shook the salt shaker. Even Jesse froze mid-bite, his toast hovering like a white flag as Brian's glacial stare swept the kitchen.
Even the gulls outside seemed to hold their breath as Rob's espresso machine choked out its last drops like a dying animal.
Billy froze mid-bite, his croissant crumbling onto the counter like an ill-fated sandcastle. He swallowed hard, the audible gulp louder than Rob's espresso machine's death rattle, and raised both hands in surrender, jam-streaked fingers splayed wide. "I think we all got it, Brian. Promise."
Seeking refuge, I crept into my study, the door clicking shut behind me, muffling the escalating debate about floral arrangements versus dick-shaped pastries. My fingers traced the familiar grooves of my oak desk, the wood worn smooth from years of grading papers and drafting research that somehow had led me here, to a household where wedding planning could dissolve into threats of imminent death over cucumber sandwiches.
I stared at the framed photo on my desk, Brian and Rob waist-deep in the Salish Sea last summer, Rob’s laughter caught mid-crescendo as Brian pretended to scowl at the seaweed clinging to his glasses. They looked incandescent. Untouchable. The kind of love that made even Billy’s cynicism waver.
A crash echoed from the kitchen, probably Jesse dropping another plate, followed by Billy’s unmistakable cackle. I leaned back in my chair, imagining Brian’s vein pulsing at his temple as Billy undoubtedly sketched obscene cake toppers on the back of the catering contract. The man had the self-control of a seagull at a chip stand, but he’d surprise us. He always did when it mattered.
I, we, had created a home with willing and loving members, and I had no regrets even when tempers frayed. That was the luxury of the big home. Space was there to retreat to, private space that none of us invaded unless invited, and my study was just that, having moved Billy out into his own art studio, finding the peace I needed, not sharing as we originally planned.
Four days before the wedding, Hari's text arrived at 6:17AM, the notification glow cutting through the dark of my study where I'd been grading papers. *Four days until Rob and Brian's matrimonial bonding. Do you require spiritual realignment or merely an excuse to escape for a couple of hours? By the way, I saw this when I was back in India. Fuck knows how it got there*
Beneath the words, a photo attachment loaded slowly, Billy's oil painting of Billy and me, naked, positioned intimately on the couch in the folly. Billy had called it "Naked Celebration of Love", and somehow, it was now hanging in some random Bangalore gallery.
The memory of that painting hit me like a tide. Billy positioned behind me, leaning forward, resting his head near my shoulder, with his left arm draped over my shoulder and his right hand resting on the couch cushion for support. His gaze is directed downward toward my chest, surveying my torso and groin, as I'm seated upright, looking slightly downward with a contemplative expression, with my left arm draped across my thigh, inches away from my flaccid cock, while my right hand is placed over my chest, clutching Billy's left hand. The painting captured so well our athletic, toned physiques, the light soft and even, highlighting the natural skin tones and the texture of our bodies.
*I remember that painting, Hari* I responded. *One of my favourites. Billy must have sold it because the last time I saw it, it was in the gallery in Vancouver. And, in answer to your question...yes, please*
The midday sunlight fractured through the folly's cedar beams, striping Brian's bare shoulders with gold where he sat lotus-style on the driftwood floorboards. His spine was straighter than an army cadet's, rigid with the effort of not fidgeting as Hari's palms rested on his knees.
Hari was chanting, his own posture fluid as he sat, equally naked, their bodies a picture of serenity and beauty, the physical age gap meaningless as the scene was one of connection as they remained oblivious to my presence.
Hari's eyes slid open, dark as tidepool shadows, meeting mine over Brian's shoulder as he heard me. "Steve."
Brian's eyes flew open. "For god's..." he declared as he twisted toward me, his knees popping audibly.
I leaned against the frame, looking at both of them. "Didn't mean to interrupt your... spiritual realignment."
Hari's laugh crinkled the corners of his eyes. "Brian was here when I arrived, trying to meditate when I found him," as his fingers twitched toward Brian's knee again, stopping just shy of contact. "I suggested to him I might be able to help with his stress management. His aura was mixed and out of kilter with his body."
Brian's fingers curled into tight fists against his thighs, his knuckles whitening as he glared at the folly's cedar-planked ceiling. "I came here to meditate," he ground out, each syllable clipped with precision. "Alone."
His gaze flicked down to Hari's bare knees pressing against his own, then snapped back up with the force of a slingshot. "And then this, this person materialised out of nowhere and started talking about chakras."
Hari's chuckle vibrated through the floorboards as he shifted, the late sun gilding the sweat along his collarbones. "He was sitting like a man awaiting execution," he confided to me, fingers sketching a rectangle in the air. "Shoulders up by his ears, jaw clenched tight enough to crack walnuts."
His palm settled lightly between Brian's shoulder blades, fingertips pressing into the knotted muscle there. "I told him, if you meditate like this, you'll achieve rigor mortis before enlightenment."
"Steve, I'm telling you, he's good, I was almost there when...," Brian murmured.
"I know he's good, Brian and I'm sorry I disturbed you. I asked Hari to come over because, clearly, like you, I was feeling stressed and needed his guidance in dealing with it."
"In that case, Steve, either join us or piss off. My need is more than yours," Brian declared, “Otherwise, there could be murder. I’m tossing up names, but Billy and Rod are top of the list at the moment.”
Brian exhaled sharply through his nose when I stripped off my nightshirt, lowering myself between them, naked, the driftwood floorboards creaking under my weight. Hari's fingers immediately found mine, warm and sure, while Brian's hand stiffened in my grip like a reluctant schoolboy forced to hold hands during a field trip.
"Relax, Brian," Hari murmured, his thumb stroking the inside of Brian's wrist where his pulse jumped like a trapped bird. "We're just three friends sharing an energy."
"We're naked," Brian hissed, his shoulders creeping toward his ears again.
Hari's laughter shimmered between us. "And yet the world still turns," as his fingers tightened around mine as he began the chant again, the ancient syllables rolling off his tongue like water over stone. The sound vibrated through my chest, loosening something I hadn't realised was clenched.
Brian's breathing hitched when Hari's knee brushed his thigh. "Is this... necessary?"
"When we strip away fabric, we strip away the stories we tell ourselves about who we're supposed to be," Hari explained.
I watched Brian's throat work as Hari's fingers wrapped around his, as Hari's voice dropped to a whisper, blending with the distant crash of waves. "Close your eyes, Brian. Not to shut the world out, but to feel it more deeply, the energy between us being shared. "The ocean doesn't wear clothes. The cedar outside doesn't apologise for its scent. Why should we?"
Brian's breathing slowed first, that controlled inhale-exhale he'd learned in the far east, now syncing with Hari's deeper cadence. His fingers, which had been rigid, softened incrementally until our palms pressed together like tide-smoothed stones. I watched his shoulders melt away from his ears, the tension bleeding out like ink in seawater.
Hari's chanting wove through us, the syllables dissolving into harmonics that resonated in my sternum. The midday sun striped our entangled legs, Brian's pale skin golden where it touched mine, Hari's darker tones absorbing the light like polished teak. My own cock stirred first, the response autonomic as Hari's knee brushed against my knee. Brian followed a breath later, his slow flush creeping up his chest when our knees connected, warmth radiating between us like a shared secret.
Brian's eyelashes fluttered as Hari's chanting vibrated through the folly's cedar beams and our bodies. His cock harder than I had seen him in ages, flushed pink and rigid with the same involuntary response that had stiffened Hari's moments earlier, biology overriding propriety in the face of shared heat and rhythmic breath.
My vision had blurred into no visual senses as my body embraced its inner presence, letting myself go to explore my karma.
The scent of cedar resin and salt mingled with the musk of three men as Hari's voice dropped to a whisper, his chant dissolving into a hum that resonated in my sternum. Brian's fingers flexed against mine, his detachment to reality evident as Hari's knee pressed more firmly between us, skin to skin, the vibrations of his chanting reaching between us as we descended into that inner space of contentment and perhaps, pure enlightenment.
The vibration started in my sternum, a hum like plucked cello strings, before radiating outward until even my fingertips buzzed with it. Hari's chanting had dissolved into pure sound, wordless and ancient, syncing with the pulse of blood between our physical bodies. Brian's grip tightened convulsively around my fingers, his knuckles pressing hard against mine as the harmonics built between us.
Then, white heat hit us, the same overwhelming sense of "oneness with my body" that I experienced the last time.
Then we all felt it, the explosion of inner peace as our bodies flipped into a whole-body climax, seismic and silent, like a wave breaking underwater. Brian's fingers locked around mine as the sensation tore through him, his spine arching off the floorboards with a choked gasp. Hari's chant fractured into a moan, his head tipping back as the pleasure radiated outward from his core, his cock jerking between us. My own release hit like a collapsing star, white-hot and weightless, my vision blurring at the edges as every muscle surrendered at once.
Brian came first, his body bowing like a drawn cable before snapping taut, his release splattering across our knees in hot stripes. Hari followed a heartbeat later, his climax wrenched from him with a shuddering cry, his seed joining Brian's in a glistening pool between us. I spilt last, my orgasm rippling through me in slow, endless waves, my cum landing on the other's knees, eventually dripping onto the cedar planks beneath us as Hari's chanting dissolved into panting as the three of us came down from our whole body experience.
Brian's chest heaved like he'd just surfaced from a deep dive, his fingers twitching against the cedar planks where his cum still glistened. "That was fucking amazing," he rasped, voice softer than before. "I've never felt like that before," as he swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing. "And boy... do I feel better for it."
Hari chuckled, the sound warm as sunlight on tide pools. His dark eyes crinkled at the corners when he reached over to squeeze Brian's knee, casual, unthinking, leaving fingerprints in the drying cum. "That's the purpose of meditation," he murmured, thumb stroking the inside of Brian's thigh where the muscle still quivered. "To touch what cannot normally be touched."
I just smiled, feeling the same radiant stillness Brian radiated, my central polarity restored.
The folly smelled of salt and sex and cedar resin, our mingled scents hanging heavy in the humid air. Outside, the waves whispered against the rocks, a counterpoint to our slowing breaths.
Brian's brow furrowed suddenly. He reached down, swiping two fingers through the mess on his knees, then examined the viscous strands with curiosity. "Fascinating," he muttered, "I can't believe we experienced simultaneous ejaculation without direct stimulation."
Hari's laughter cut him off, bright as kingfishers taking flight. "Always achievable but not often explored," he teased, flicking a droplet of his own release at Brian's shoulder.
Brian stood, obviously reinvigorated, his posture softened by the afterglow. "That was just what I needed," he declared again, stretching until his shoulders popped audibly. Then he strode off, naked, muttering something about finding Rob, his bare feet slapping against the cedar planks with uncharacteristic abandon.
A silence stretched between Hari and me, thick with the scent of salt and spent desire. Hari wiped his palms absently on his thighs, smearing the mingled release across his skin. His dark eyes flicked to mine, then away, uncharacteristically hesitant.
"Fancy tea?" I asked, breaking the silence between us. The words felt absurdly mundane after what we'd just shared, like offering biscuits after an earthquake.
Hari blinked, then laughed, that sudden, startled sound that always reminded me of kingfishers taking flight. "That would be great," he said, shaking his head as if clearing it.
We walked up to the house, our bare feet leaving damp prints on the sun-warmed patio stones, as cum dried on our legs. The kitchen door swung open to reveal Rob leaning against the counter, mid-sip from a chipped "World's Best Archaeologist" mug, while Brian, still gloriously nude, gestured animatedly with one hand, the other clutching Rob's wrist like a lifeline.
"... and then it was like my entire nervous system inverted itself," Brian was saying, his voice pitched higher than usual. "No tactile stimulation, just, just, vibrations, and then...."
Rob's eyebrows shot up as he noticed us. "Christ, did you two electrocute him?"
Hari laughed. "Sort of, I guess, but he'll be fine."
Hari poured the chai with the same precise choreography I'd come to recognise, the deliberate tilt of the saucepan, the wrist-flick that sent steam curling upward in arabesques, the way his fingertips tested the ceramic's heat before passing me the cup. "Like aligning vertebrae," he'd explained, when I'd asked about his ritual being the same as previously witnessed. Now I watched the liquid swirl, noting how the sunlight caught its surface like the tidepool opalescence we'd studied yesterday.
The Calming Walk
“Fancy a walk?” I asked, Hari, watching Rob follow Brian upstairs to their suite of rooms, Rob clearly liking the view of his man leading the way, naked and renewed, with a hint of… well, anticipation.
The estate stretched beyond us in a quilt of wild grasses and cedar groves, the 60,000 square feet more ecosystem than property. Our bare feet left faint impressions in the dew-damp path as we walked, Hari occasionally pausing to inspect a mushroom or trace the bark patterns of arbutus trees. My skin prickled where sunlight pierced the canopy, not from discomfort, but the heightened awareness that comes with sustained nudity, every breeze and insect wing magnified as my senses and nerve endings became totally aware of everything.
"You've created something remarkable here," Hari said, crouching to examine a cluster of sea blush growing through a crack in the sandstone. His fingers hovered above the pink blooms without touching. "Most men build fences when they achieve success. You cultivated an ecosystem."
"Not really, Hari, I just allowed nature to take its course and nature, as we both know, always finds a balance."
Hari approached me, his hands on my hips as he kissed me. "I know you're my professor, but I also call you my friend, friend," as our flaccid cocks rubbed against each other.
Hari's lips brushed my ear, his whisper barely audible over the wind through the arbutus trees. "Make love to me," his words settling against my skin like sunlight through stained glass, warm, fractured, carrying colours I couldn't name. His hands slid over my buttocks, his fingertips tracing tiny circles with the same reverence he'd shown the sea blush moments ago.
I caught his wrist, feeling his pulse flutter against my thumb. "As long as...."
"We keep the friendship separate from the fucking?" Hari declared, his teeth grazing my jawline, his breath humid with chai and salt.
The grass pressed cool against my back as Hari pushed me down, his thigh slotting between mine with the same inevitability as tides obeying the moon. His fingers tangled in my chest hair, tugging just enough to sting. "Tell me you don't feel it," he murmured against my collarbone, his tongue flicking over the hollow there. "That current between us every time we..."
I arched into him with a groan, my cock dragging against his hipbone. "That's why we need division, because I do feel it. It's not Billy or Brian, it's you. I always feel an inner peace when..."
Hari's kiss swallowed my words, his tongue flicking against mine with the same precision he'd poured our tea. Then he shifted, straddling my hips with fluid grace, his thighs bracketing mine as he positioned my cock at his entrance. No longer soft from our earlier release, I felt myself stiffening against his heat as he rocked forward, his movements arousing my senses into a physical response.
"Christ, you're relaxed," I gasped as he slid down onto me effortlessly, his body accepting mine with no resistance. Hari's sigh vibrated through our connected skin as he settled fully seated, his muscles fluttering around me in slow, deliberate pulses.
His nipples pebbled under my thumbs when I rolled them, the dusky peaks tight against my calloused fingertips. "Comfortable?" I asked, pinching gently.
Hari's answering groan shook loose seabirds from the nearby arbutus. "Always," he breathed, arching into my touch as his hips began a lazy undulation that had me sheathing deeper with each upward roll.
Sunlight dappled our entangled bodies through the cedar boughs overhead, the patches of warmth shifting across Hari's sweat-slicked chest as he moved. His rhythm was unlike Billy's demanding pace. This was a tide coming in, inevitable and all-encompassing, each withdrawal only making the next penetration more profound as he rode me.
Hari's fingers dug into my chest as his rhythm hitched, his breath coming in sharp gasps that matched the waves breaking against the cliffs below us. His cock, still slick with remnants of our earlier release, bobbed between us, each upward stroke of his hips drawing a ragged groan from both of us. I gripped his thighs, feeling the muscle flex under my palms, the salt of his skin mingling with the cedar scent clinging to us from the folly.
"Look at you," I rasped, thumbing the head of his cock where precum pearled. "Taking me so deep."
Hari's laugh dissolved into a moan as I twisted my wrist, his hips stuttering. "You...ah...you think too much in binaries," he panted, rolling his hips in a slow circle that made my vision blur. "Soft, hard... it's all just...fuck....variations of pleasure," as his body clenched around me on the next thrust, hot and insistent, his cock finally stiffening fully against my stomach.
The distant crunch of gravel had us both freezing. Hari's thighs tightened around me as we turned toward the sound...
Billy's unmistakable silhouette cutting through the dappled light, his paint-smeared tighty whities slung low on his hips, a half-eaten apple in hand. He took one look at us, at Hari impaled on my cock in the sea grass, and bit into the fruit with a crunch that echoed obscenely.
"Don't stop on my account," he drawled, juice dripping down his wrist as he leaned against a twisted arbutus trunk. His gaze dragged over Hari's heaving chest, the sweat glazing my ribs, the way our bodies were still joined. "Though I'd ask why the fuck I wasn't invited to this picnic."
Hari didn't slow his rhythm, his thighs flexing as he arched backwards to smirk at Billy. "Your turn soon," he panted, rolling his hips in that liquid way that made my vision blur. His fingers dug into my chest, nails leaving crescent moons as he emphasised each word with another downward stroke. "Unless..." he gasped when I thrust upward, "...you'd rather watch?"
Billy's apple hit the grass with a soft thud. I watched his tongue swipe across his bottom lip as he took in the sight, Hari's cock bouncing against his stomach with each movement, the sheen of sweat making his golden skin glow in the dappled light. "Fuck me," Billy breathed, hand already sliding beneath the waistband of his briefs.
“That will come later,” Hari responded, as the cedar boughs above us creaked in the breeze, scattering sunlight across our entangled bodies.
Hari's pace quickened, his breath coming in sharp gasps that synced with the waves crashing against the cliffs below. He reached back blindly, fingers splayed toward Billy without breaking our connection. "Touch me," he demanded, voice rough with need.
Billy's paint-streaked fingers closed around Hari's wrist, pulling him upright against his chest without pulling out of me. The new angle made Hari cry out, my cock hitting that sweet spot inside him as Billy's free hand slid down Hari's stomach to wrap around his erection. "Like this, sweetheart?" Billy murmured against Hari's ear, his thumb swiping over the leaking head.
Hari could only nod, his body trembling between us. His thighs clenched around my hips as Billy's strokes fell into rhythm with our movements, creating a feedback loop of pleasure that had all three of us gasping. I gripped Hari's hips, watching the way his muscles rippled with each thrust, how Billy's forearm flexed as he worked him over.
Hari's climax hit like a rogue wave, sudden, all-consuming, his body bowing taut between us as he came with a cry that scattered seabirds from the nearby cliffs. Billy milked him through it, his strokes turning slick and messy as Hari's release painted my stomach in glistening stripes. The sight, the scent of salt and sex and crushed grass, pushed me over the edge moments later, my orgasm cresting as Hari clenched around me with aftershocks, my release filling him in hot pulses that made his thighs tremble against mine.
Billy exhaled sharply against Hari's shoulder, his grip tightening on both of us. "Fuck," he breathed, watching my cock twitch inside Hari with each spurt. "That's..."
Hari slumped backwards against Billy's chest, spent and shivering, his head lolling onto Billy's chest. "Perfect," he finished, his voice ragged as his fingers traced the cum-streaked planes of my stomach with lazy reverence. "Exactly what I needed."
Billy's chuckle vibrated through Hari's back. "Selfish bastard," he murmured, though his hands gentled on Hari's hips, thumbs rubbing soothing circles. "Leaving me out here with a fucking..."
I reached up, curling my fingers around the waistband of Billy's briefs and tugging. "Then join us properly," I said, my voice rough with spent desire, the fabric stretched taut over his erection, damp with precum.
Hari's lips left mine with a wet sound, his breath hot against my chin as he arched up on trembling arms. Cum dripped from his thighs onto my stomach in slow, sticky strands as he shifted his weight to position himself on all fours over my body, his knees bracketing my hips with the same precision he'd shown pouring chai.
Behind him, Billy's briefs hit the arbutus roots with a soft slap, his erection bobbing against Hari's glistening backside as Hari straddled my body, kissing me while waiting for Billy to insert himself.
"Christ, you're loose," Billy growled, palming Hari's hips as he lined himself up. His thumb circled Hari's slick entrance, smearing remnants of my release before pressing his cockhead to his entrance. "Fuck, sweetheart, you're still stretched from Steve."
Hari's groan vibrated through my chest when Billy pushed in, his spine bowing like a strung bow as he took the first inch. His fingers dug into my shoulders for balance, nails biting crescent moons into my skin while Billy worked deeper with short, rolling thrusts. Every forward motion pressed Hari's cock against my stomach in a slick drag that made us both gasp.
Billy bottomed out with a choked curse, his balls slapping against Hari's thighs. "Fucking perfect," he panted, his hands spanning Hari's waist as he pulled out almost completely before slamming back in. The impact drove Hari forward, his mouth crashing onto mine in a mess of teeth and shared breath.
Sunlight fractured through the cedar boughs above us, dappling Hari's sweat-slicked back as Billy set a relentless pace. Each thrust made Hari's cock jump against me, the friction just shy of painful in the most exquisite way. I watched Billy's abs flex above Hari's shoulder, the muscles jumping under his paint-splattered skin as he fucked into that tight heat with single-minded intensity.
Billy's thrusts stuttered when Hari reached back to grip his hip, fingers digging into the paint-smeared skin hard enough to leave bruises. "Harder," Hari gasped, his voice shredded raw, his spine arching impossibly further as Billy obeyed with a growl. The slap of skin echoed off the cliffside, mingling with the gulls' cries overhead.
As I lay on the ground looking up, I watched Hari's face, inches from mine, the way his pupils swallowed the honey-brown of his irises, the sweat beading along his upper lip, the tendons standing out in his neck as he took Billy's punishing rhythm. His cock, still slick with his own release, dragged against my body, in a maddening tease with every rock of his hips.
Billy's fingers found Hari's nipples, twisting sharply, Hari's answering cry tore through me like lightning. "Fucking perfect," Billy groaned, his hips snapping forward in short, brutal strokes that had Hari trembling apart above me. "Look at him, Steve, falling apart on both our cocks."
Hari's climax hit silently this time, his mouth dropping open in a soundless scream as his body convulsed between us. His release splashed hot across my sternum in erratic spurts, his muscles clamping down on Billy in pulsing waves that dragged a ragged moan from both of us.
Billy lasted three more thrusts before burying himself to the hilt with a choked curse, his hips jerking erratically as he emptied himself into Hari's clenching heat. The sight of Hari impaled on Billy, as his cock rested on my chest, painted in our shared release, his body still shuddering through aftershocks, sent me tumbling over the edge a second time. My orgasm ripped through me like a riptide, leaving me gasping against Hari's shoulder as I spilt between our sweat-slicked stomachs, just from Hari's movements against my cock as Billy fucked him from behind.
I had never climaxed that way before, responding to someone's body just rubbing against me... that way, but climax I did, enjoying the fact that all three of us had cum together in the wild part of the estate as Billy rolled off Hari to lie beside me with Hari rolling over to rest at my other side.
The three of us lay tangled in the sea grass long after our breathing steadied, Hari's dark skin gleaming against the pale gold of Billy's thigh where it pressed against him. A seagull landed nearby, cocking its head at our naked, sweat-sheened forms before deciding we weren't worth scavenging. Hari traced idle patterns in the drying cum on my stomach, his fingertip leaving cool trails that made me shiver despite the afternoon heat.
"I should go," Hari murmured eventually, though he made no move to rise. His fingers stilled over the hollow of my hipbone. "The tides won't wait for post-coital naps."
Billy snorted, rolling onto his side to prop himself up on one elbow. "You came here naked?" His gaze travelled down Hari's body to the distant dock, where a slender canoe bobbed beside Brian's motorboat. "Christ, you really do just materialise out of nowhere like some sex-positive forest sprite."
Hari's laughter bubbled up like a spring, his fingers still tracing nonsense patterns on my stomach. "Not entirely," he corrected, his thumb brushing a particularly sensitive spot just above my hipbone that made me twitch. "I left my robe in the canoe expecting to meet Steve," his grin turning wicked as he glanced at Billy. "Instead, I found Brian meditating in the folly; needless to say, he was a little shocked by the arrival of a naked man."
Billy barked a laugh, rolling onto his back and scattering crushed seagrass. "Christ, I'd pay good money to have seen that," as his paint-stained fingers mimed an explosion. "Brian's face must've been fucking priceless."
Hari's fingers danced higher, skirting the edge of my ribs. "He actually screamed," he admitted, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "A very dignified but strangled, good heavens."
The light-hearted end to our session saw the three of us stumble down the rocky path toward the dock, still laughing like teenagers who'd gotten away with something. Hari moved with that effortless grace of his, despite being freshly fucked, his bare feet finding purchase on the slick stones where Billy and I slipped like drunk fawns.
"Wait," Billy gasped between giggles, grabbing my elbow as we watched Hari vault over a driftwood log with the ease of a gazelle. "You're telling me Brian actually said, good heavens?"
Hari turned, walking backwards now, his cock swaying with each step. "Like a man who'd sat on a hedgehog," he confirmed, his grin flashing white in the afternoon light. The sea breeze ruffled his hair, carrying the scent of salt and sex and something faintly herbal, probably the damn chai leaves still clinging to his skin.
We reached the dock just as a wave slapped the pilings, spraying us with briny mist. Hari's canoe bobbed obediently, his folded clothes visible beneath a coil of rope. Billy nudged me, nodding toward the horizon where dark clouds gathered. "Storm's coming," he murmured, though his fingers trailed down my spine in a way that promised we'd find ways to stay occupied indoors.
Hari stepped into his canoe with that liquid grace of his, barely making the craft rock. He paused, one foot planted on the dock, and smirked at Billy. "You're wrong, by the way."
Billy's paint-stained fingers froze on my hip. "About what?"
Hari balanced effortlessly in the rocking canoe, his renewed erection bobbing comically as he pointed at Billy. "About me materialising naked. I always wear clothes unless I'm here," as the canoe drifted just out of reach as Hari dipped his paddle, the muscles in his back rippling. "Next time," he called over his shoulder, "we'll include Rob. His aura needs balancing."
Billy hurled a pebble that splashed aft of the canoe harmlessly. "Cheeky fucker!"
The insult lacked heat, his laughter carrying across the water as Hari raised his paddle in salute before rounding the point.
Raindrops plinked against the dock's weathered planks as we turned back toward the house. Billy caught my wrist, his thumb tracing the pulse point. "Greenhouse?" his smirk fading when I nodded. "Why not," in response, as it started to rain heavily, forcing Billy and me to take cover in the warmth and overgrown greenhouse, Billy muttering, "your arse is so... yum yum."
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