The wine bottle shattered against the engine room wall, spraying shards and Merlot across the pipes. Nobody saw who threw it.
"Jesus fucking Christ," Terry muttered, wiping his face. The gym instructor's bulging arms flexed as he hauled himself up from the treadmill. His tank top clung to his sweat-slicked chest. Across the room, Vito straightened from his deadlifts, nostrils flaring at the acrid scent of spilled wine mixing with engine oil.
"Who the hell wastes good Barolo like that?" Vito's deep voice rumbled through the vibrating metal floor. His thick fingers rubbed his bearded jaw, dark eyes scanning the drunken party crowd spilling into the maintenance corridor. Gold chains glinted against his hairy chest where his silk shirt hung open.
Terry snorted, swiping red droplets off his pecs. "You Italians." The ship lurched suddenly, sending a champagne tower crashing. Glass tinkled as the floor tilted ten degrees.
Lights flickered. Somewhere deep in the ship's belly, metal screamed.
Vito grabbed Terry's bicep — hard. "Non va bene," he breathed, staring at the shuddering ceiling. The gym instructor didn't pull away.
The deck pitched violently sideways. A woman shrieked as her Cosmopolitan soared in a slow arc before smashing against a sparking control panel. The explosion, when it came, wasn't the Hollywood kind. Just a wet, bone-deep thump that made Terry's molars vibrate.
"Fuck me," Terry hissed as emergency lights bathed everything in hellish red. Vito was already moving, bull-like shoulders carving through panicked bodies. The Italian paused at the stairwell, veins standing out on his neck as he roared over the klaxons: "Andare! ORMAI!"
Something in Terry's gut tightened at the raw command. He followed.
They hit the deck as the second explosion detonated — this one closer, hotter. Terry tasted copper, realized he'd bitten his tongue. Vito's hairy thigh pressed against his as they crab-walked up the listing stairs. The ship groaned, a dying animal sound.
"Lifeboats?" Terry panted, wiping sweat from his eyes.
Vito's lips curled. "No time, fratello." He jerked his chin starboard where moonlight glinted on black water. Then, with terrifying calm, he ripped off his gold chains and stuffed them down his pants.
Terry barely had time to register the insanity before Vito grabbed him by the waistband and hurled them both over the rail. The night air rushed past, icy against Terry's sweat-slicked skin. He glimpsed the ship's hull bulging unnaturally before —
Impact.
Saltwater burned Terry's nostrils as he plunged into the ink-dark sea. He kicked wildly, disoriented, until a vise-like hand closed around his wrist and yanked. Vito's face broke the surface inches away, beard dripping, eyes wild. Behind them, the cruise ship vomited fire into the sky.
"Swim," Vito growled against his ear. Then, softer: "Or I carry you."
Terry's laugh came out choked. He swam.
The ocean swallowed them in frigid darkness, each stroke dragging heavier as their muscles burned. Vito moved like some pagan sea-god ahead of Terry, powerful shoulders slicing through waves. Terry focused on the glint of moonlit droplets cascading down the Italian's back — anything to ignore the greedy pull of the undertow.
Hours or minutes later — his brain too oxygen-starved to tell — Terry's knee scraped sand. He vomited saltwater onto the beach, ribs heaving. Vito collapsed beside him, chest hair matted with seaweed, fingers still tangled in Terry's waistband like he'd refused to let go even unconscious. The last thing Terry saw before passing out was the older man's bicep flexing as he pulled Terry half atop him, sheltering.
Dawn woke them with cruel brightness. Terry groaned, rolling onto his back — and froze. Vito stood waist-deep in the surf, completely nude now, water sluicing down the dense thatch of his chest hair. The morning sun gilded every scar and stretch mark on his thick thighs.
"Christ," Terry croaked. His own shorts hung in tatters.
Vito turned, unconcerned. A dark grin spread under his wet beard. "Buongiorno." He wrung seawater from his chest hair, watching Terry's gaze track the motion. "You stare like my ex-wife at Berlusconi's pool parties."
Terry's face burned. He gestured weakly at the jungle. "Shouldn't we —"
The Italian waded ashore. Drops fell from his belly onto Terry's knees. "We breathe. We live." He thumbed Terry's split lip — when had he done that? — then licked the salt from his calloused finger. "Everything else ... comes."
Somewhere inland, birds screeched. Terry became abruptly aware of the way Vito's cock twitched against his thigh, thick and heavy. The older man smelled like kelp and adrenaline, his breathing still ragged from the shipwreck or — Terry swallowed hard — something else.
Vito's palm slid up Terry's ribs. "Breathe, amico." His thumb circled a nipple. Terry arched into the touch before he could stop himself. The Italian's chuckle vibrated through him. "Ah. Not just staring."
Terry grabbed a fistful of chest hair and yanked. Vito's growl sent heat straight to his groin. Then the older man was on him, beard scraping his throat, and Terry stopped thinking altogether.
Their cocks brushed — already hard — and Terry gasped. Vito smelled like sun-warmed skin and ocean salt now, his body radiating heat despite the chill morning air. The Italian's lips brushed his shoulder. "Tutto bene?" The bastard sounded amused.
Terry flipped them, sand grinding between their thighs. He dug fingers into Vito's thick waist, breath hitching when the older man spread his legs without prompting. Moonlight and shipwrecks had stripped them bare in more ways than one.
Somewhere beyond the palms, metal groaned — the ruined hull drifting ashore. Neither looked. Vito's palm slid up Terry's inner thigh, callouses dragging. His other hand fisted in Terry's hair, tilting his head back to expose his throat.
The first lick burned. Terry bucked against him, hips stuttering, but Vito pinned him effortlessly. "Piano," he murmured against Terry's pulse. The restraint made Terry want to bite something.
Vito laughed — dark and knowing — when Terry surged up to claim his mouth. Their teeth clacked. The kiss tasted like salt and desperation. When Terry's fingers raked down Vito's back, the older man arched beautifully, muscles flexing under sweat-slick skin.
A coconut thudded onto the sand nearby. Vito didn't even blink. His fingers closed around Terry's cock, rough and perfect.
The jungle exhaled around them, leaves rustling. Terry bit his own wrist to stay quiet — then cursed when Vito pried it away. "No," the Italian growled, nipping his jaw. "I hear you."
Terry orgasmed with Vito's name mangled on his lips. Above him, the older man's expression flickered between smug and ravenous.
Dawn spilled gold across their tangled limbs. Some rational part of Terry's brain whispered about dehydration, sun exposure, predators.
Vito licked his palm clean, eyes locked on Terry's. Rationality drowned in that dark stare.
Terry gasped when Vito suddenly flipped their positions, his calloused hands pinning Terry's wrists to the sand. The rising tide lapped at their ankles, washing away the evidence of their coupling. Vito's beard scraped Terry's sternum, his breath hot against damp skin.
"You taste like fear," Vito murmured against Terry's nipple.
"Adrenaline," Terry corrected hoarsely, arching into the touch. His muscles twitched — half-exhaustion, half-need.
Vito chuckled, the vibration traveling straight to Terry's groin. "Same thing." He dragged his teeth along Terry's ribs, pausing to lap at a new bruise blooming near his hip.
A seabird cawed overhead. Terry barely noticed. Every nerve ending burned where Vito touched him — the scratch of chest hair, the press of thick thighs, the way the Italian's cock twitched against his own despite their recent release. His own body responded shamelessly, still thrumming with the aftershocks.
Vito's fingers traced the waistband of Terry's ruined shorts. "These ..." He tore the remaining fabric effortlessly. "... are garbage."
The morning sun climbed higher, baking their skin. Vito's sweat tasted different here — briny and primal — nothing like the chlorined towels back at the ship's gym. Terry's fingers tangled in the older man's chest hair, pulling him into another passionate kiss.
A metallic groan echoed from the wreckage offshore. Vito tensed — finally breaking contact — his gaze darting to the smoldering hull.
"Supplies," Terry panted, reluctantly following his line of sight.
Vito exhaled sharply through his nose. "Later." His hands returned to Terry's hips, kneading possessive circles into the flesh.
Terry's protest died when Vito's mouth found his again — hot and demanding. The tide rose around them, but neither man moved. Survival could wait. There were more pressing hungers to sate — hungers neither wanted to name.
Somewhere in the jungle, branches snapped. Vito's grip tightened momentarily before relaxing. Whatever made the noise wasn't worth stopping for. Not yet. Not when Terry gasped like that when he licked his collarbone.
The seabird cawed again, closer this time. Vito ignored it, rolling his hips in a slow, filthy promise.
Tomorrow, they'd build shelter. Tomorrow, they'd search for fresh water.
Today, they'd explore each other's bodies until their voices gave out.
Terry arched as Vito's teeth closed around his earlobe — not gently. The bite sent electric jolts down his spine, pooling low in his gut. His fingers found the Italian's ass, kneading the dense muscle there. Vito groaned approval into his neck, the sound vibrating through Terry's bones.
The tide crept higher, swirling around their tangled legs. Salty foam clung to Vito's chest hair as he reared back to admire his handiwork — the blooming hickeys on Terry's throat, the way his cock stood proud and leaking between them. The older man grinned, wicked in the morning light, before spitting into his palm and wrapping it around them both.
Terry cursed, bucking into the friction. Vito's grip was merciless, his rhythm punishing. Sand grated against Terry's back with each thrust, but the sting only amplified the pleasure. He scrabbled for purchase, nails digging into Vito's biceps as the Italian murmured filthy Roman dialect against his skin.
Something rustled in the palm fronds nearby. Vito didn't pause, but his grip shifted — one hand still working their cocks, the other sliding between Terry's legs to cup his balls possessively. The message was clear: Mine. Even as survival instincts screamed about threats unseen, Terry couldn't bring himself to care.
Vito's thumb swiped over Terry's leaking tip, spreading precum down his shaft. The glide became obscenely slick, each stroke drawing choked noises from Terry's throat. The Italian's beard scraped his collarbone as he panted, "Vieni per me."
The command shattered Terry's last shreds of control. His orgasm ripped through him like another wave, white-hot and devastating. Vito followed moments later, spilling his sperm in streaks across Terry's stomach with a guttural growl that sent aftershocks trembling through them both.
For long minutes, the only sounds were their ragged breathing and the relentless surf. Then — distant but unmistakable — metal clanged against rock.
Vito lifted his head, nostrils flaring. "Sounds like a boat," he muttered, eyes narrowing at the wreckage bobbing near the reef.
Terry swallowed against his dry throat. "People?"
A slow, dangerous smile spread beneath Vito's beard. He licked a stripe up Terry's sternum, tasting salt and sweat. "Not yet." His hand slid lower, fingers brushing Terry's oversensitive flesh. "Again first."
Somewhere beyond the beach, the seabird screamed. Neither man heard.
Vito's teeth grazed Terry's nipple as his fingers worked lower, merciless. Terry gasped — already half-hard again — his thigh muscles twitching with residual exhaustion and fresh arousal. The tide lapped around them, lukewarm now under the climbing sun. Vito's sweat dripped onto Terry's chest, mingling with their earlier release.
The wreckage groaned again — closer this time — but Vito only growled and bit down harder. Terry arched off the sand with a choked noise, fingers scrabbling at Vito's shoulders. The Italian chuckled darkly, rolling his hips in a slow grind that made Terry's vision blur.
"Fuck —" Terry gasped, his calves cramping.
Vito seized his thigh, kneading the muscle with brutal efficiency even as his other hand never stopped stroking. "Breathe," he commanded, though his own chest heaved. The morning light caught the silver in his chest hair, the old scars along his ribs.
A coconut thudded onto the sand nearby, spraying grit across Terry's flank. Vito didn't flinch. His thumb circled Terry's frenulum with military precision, the callouses dragging deliciously. Some distant, rational part of Terry's brain registered thirst, sunburn, the metallic scent of blood where Vito's beard had scraped him raw.
It didn't matter.
Vito's lips found his again — hot and demanding — as their hips stuttered together. The kiss tasted like salt and copper. Terry's fingers found purchase in Vito's ass, hauling him closer as the older man growled approval into his mouth.
The seabird screamed once more — right above them now — before flapping away. Vito broke the kiss just long enough to lick a stripe up Terry's throat. "Again," he rasped, not a request.
Terry came with a sound that might've been a sob, his thighs trembling violently. Vito followed moments later, mouthing Terry's shoulder to muffle his roar.
Silence.
Panting.
Then — unmistakable — the creak of wood on rock.
Vito lifted his head, eyes narrowed at the shoreline where a lifeboat now lodged itself in the sand. A lone figure stirred within.
Terry swallowed. "Survivors."
Vito's grin was all teeth. He rolled off Terry, stretching like a satiated predator. "Good." He stood, utterly unselfconscious in his nudity, cock still glistening. "More to share you with."
Terry's stomach dropped — or maybe that was the dehydration. Vito winked before turning to stride toward the boat, his muscular back flexing with each step.
The figure in the lifeboat sat up.
Sunlight glinted off sweat-slicked shoulders broader than Terry's but not quite matching Vito's bearish frame. Silver streaks ran through his close-cropped dark hair, matching the coarse hair dusting his barrel chest. When he coughed — deep and phlegmy — Terry saw the man's abdominal muscles ripple like a washboard under tanned skin.
"Well," the stranger rasped, wiping engine grease from his cleft chin. His accent was American Midwest with a whiskey edge. "Guess I'm not the only lucky bastard." His gaze dragged over Terry's naked sprawl, then up Vito's towering form without an ounce of shame. The corner of his mouth twitched when he noticed their mutual arousal.
Vito crossed his arms, making his biceps bulge. "You crew?"
The man laughed — a sound like gravel in a tumbler — and vaulted over the lifeboat's edge. His thighs were tree trunks, veins standing out under golden skin. "Chief engineer. I’m Hank." He stretched, popping his shoulders loudly. "Meaning I know exactly how fucked we are." His eyes lingered on Vito's chest hair, now crusted with sea salt and Terry's release.
Somewhere in the jungle, a bird shrieked. Hank didn't react. He just scratched his dense thatch of pectoral hair and smirked. "You boys been ... acclimating?"
Terry's face burned. Vito stepped forward, deliberately crowding into Hank's space. The engineer didn't retreat — just tilted his head, nostrils flaring as he inhaled Vito's scent. The Italian's beard twitched in what might've been a smile.
Hank's chuckle rolled out low and dirty. "Oh, this island just got interesting." His knuckles brushed Vito's hip, barely an accident.
The seabird screamed again — shrill and insistent — but the three men barely heard it over the crackling tension thickening the air.
Vito's fingers twitched toward Hank's waistband.
"Let me," Terry rasped, sitting up despite his trembling thighs. He reached for Hank's grease-stained cargo shorts, fingers brushing the engineer's thick thighs. The fabric slid down Hank's legs with a wet sound, revealing muscled calves matted with dark hair. His cock sprang free — thick and heavy like the rest of him, already glistening at the tip.
Hank exhaled sharply through his nose as Vito crowded in behind him, the Italian's broad chest pressing against his back. The engineer's hands found Terry's shoulders, fingers digging in as Vito's calloused palm slid around to grasp Hank's erection in a firm grip.
"Christ," Hank groaned, hips jerking forward into Terry's space. Their cocks brushed — Terry's still oversensitive, Hank's iron-hard and leaking. Vito chuckled darkly against Hank's neck, his free hand reaching around to pinch Terry's nipple just shy of painful.
Terry gasped, arching into the touch. Hank took advantage, surging forward to capture Terry's mouth in a sloppy kiss. Vito's hand worked between them, stroking both their lengths together in a slick, twisting motion that had Hank breaking the kiss to swear into Terry's collarbone.
The engineer twisted, grabbing Vito's wrist to still his movements. "My turn," he growled, spinning to shove Vito backward onto the sand. The Italian went willingly, spreading his thighs as Hank dropped to his knees between them.
Terry watched, transfixed, as Hank swallowed Vito down in one smooth motion — no hesitation, no teasing. The engineer's thick fingers dug into Vito's hairy thighs as he worked his throat around the Italian's girth, saliva glistening in his stubble.
Vito's head thudded back against the sand, a guttural "Cazzo!" bursting from his lips. His hand tangled in Hank's salt-and-pepper hair, not guiding — just holding on as the engineer sucked him with single-minded intensity.
Terry's own cock throbbed at the sight. He crawled forward on shaky limbs, positioning himself over Vito's face. The Italian didn't need prompting — his tongue lashed out immediately, hot and demanding against Terry's butt hole.
Hank pulled off with a wet pop, panting. His dark eyes locked onto Terry's as he reached back to grasp his own asscheeks, spreading himself obscenely. "Your turn," he rasped, nodding toward the slick glistening at his hole — already loosened, already wanting.
Vito's tongue never stopped working Terry as his fingers found Hank's entrance, sliding in effortlessly. Hank groaned, rocking back onto the intrusion, his cock jerking against his stomach.
The seabird screamed again, unnoticed. The tide rose higher, swirling around their knees. The wreckage groaned offshore — none of it mattered. Not with Hank's breath hitching as Terry lined up behind him, not with Vito's beard scraping Terry's inner thighs, not with the sun baking their skin as they moved together in a slick, sweating tangle of limbs and desire.
Terry pressed into Hank slowly, the engineer's body yielding beautifully around him. Heat and tightness enveloped Terry's cock as Hank pushed back with a guttural moan, taking him deeper. Vito's tongue circled Terry's entrance, then pushed in alongside his fingers — the dual sensation made Terry's thighs shake. Above them, pelicans wheeled in the cloudless sky, indifferent to the debauchery below.
Hank braced himself on Vito's hairy thighs, his own muscles flexing as he rocked between their bodies. Sweat dripped from his nose onto Vito's abdomen, mingling with precum and seawater. The Italian growled against Terry's flesh, his beard rasping sensitive skin as his fingers curled inside Hank — finding that spot that made the engineer's back arch violently.
"Fuck," Hank gasped, his cock pulsing against Vito's stomach. His hole clenched rhythmically around Terry, milking him deeper with each thrust. The scent of musk and salt hung thick in the humid air, clinging to their heaving chests and tangled body hair.
Vito withdrew his mouth from Terry long enough to watch Hank unravel. The engineer's face contorted, his thick neck corded with strain as pleasure overrode everything else. Vito squeezed Hank's bouncing balls, murmuring something filthy in Italian that made Terry moan aloud.
Terry's rhythm stuttered — he was close, so close — but Hank reached back blindly, grasping Terry's hip in a powerful grip. "Not yet," he panted, twisting to capture Terry's mouth in a sloppy, open-mouthed kiss. His other hand found Vito's neglected cock, stroking in time with Terry's thrusts.
The seabird screamed again — closer now — just as Hank's body locked up between them. Hot ropes of his sperm painted Vito's chest in thick stripes, his hole clamping down on Terry like a vise. Terry followed with a broken cry, burying himself to the hilt as pleasure wracked his body. Vito's roar joined theirs moments later, his load splattering across Hank's trembling thighs.
They collapsed in a gasping heap, sand sticking to every sweaty inch of skin. Hank's head lolled against Vito's shoulder, his calloused fingers tracing idle patterns through the Italian's chest hair. Terry lay half atop them both, his heartbeat thundering against Hank's ribs.
The tide reached their knees before anyone spoke. Vito flicked a stray mussel shell off Hank's hip. "Lifeboat," he rasped, thumbing the engineer's nipple absently. "How?"
Hank chuckled, deep and exhausted. His grease-stained fingers twitched against Terry's flank as he spoke. "I was refueling auxiliary generator when the blast hit." He tilted his head, showing off the fresh burn along his jawline. "Blew me clean through a bulkhead door."
Terry traced the angry red mark. "Jesus."
"I walked it off," Hank shrugged. His bicep flexed under Terry's fingers — the muscle hard as teak. "Found the boat hanging by one davit. Cut the lines with a fire axe." His grin turned feral. "I tossed three druggies overboard who tried climbing in."
Vito snorted, rolling onto his side to better study Hank's face. The movement made Terry slip free with a wet sound. "Could they swim?"
Hank's eyes gleamed. "I didn't stick around to find out. They were so stoned, I kinda doubt it." He stretched, popping his shoulders loudly. "The rest was smooth sailing till the reef ate my hull." His fingers found Vito's beard, tugging playfully. "Your turn, big man. How'd you two lovebirds survive?"
Terry opened his mouth, but Vito cut him off with a lazy slap to his ass. "I jumped," the Italian deadpanned, flexing his bicep beneath Hank's palm. "He followed. We swam together."
Hank's laughter rolled across the beach like distant thunder. His hand slid lower, callouses scraping over Vito's softening cock. "Impressive." The engineer's breath hitched as Vito retaliated by pinching his nipple. "But I'll allow it."
Terry groaned, rolling onto his back. The midday sun burned his eyelids. "We should —"
"Later," Vito growled, dragging Hank atop Terry's spent body. The engineer went willingly, his thick thighs bracketing Terry's hips. Hank's chest hair rasped against Terry's sticky skin as he leaned down to lick a stripe up his throat.
Terry groaned when Vito's fingers traced his rim again — still slick, still loose. The Italian chuckled darkly, pressing in without preamble. Hank's breath hitched, his cock twitching against Terry's belly as Vito's thrusts rocked them both.
Sand grated against Terry's shoulders with each movement. The wreckage groaned offshore — louder now as the tide shifted. Hank turned his head, squinting at the listing hull. "Goddamn miracle that thing's still floating," he muttered before Vito sucked his trapezius hard enough to create a hickey.
Hank's fingers dug into Terry's biceps as Vito picked up pace, his thrusts jarring Terry's teeth. The engineer's cock leaked steadily between them, smearing precum across Terry's solar plexus. Vito's breath came in hot bursts against Hank's shoulder blades, his chest hair matted with sweat and seawater.
Vito silenced him with a brutal thrust that made them both gasp. Terry arched off the sand, his oversensitive nerves alight with fresh pleasure-pain. The Italian's fingers found Hank's nipples, twisting cruelly even as his hips never stilled.
Hank came with a strangled shout, his seed painting Terry's ribs in hot stripes. Vito followed moments later, his groan vibrating through both their bodies. Terry clenched around nothing, his spent cock twitching pathetically.
Vito withdrew slowly, his fingers tracing Hank's trembling flank. The engineer collapsed atop Terry — all sweat-damp chest hair and shuddering breaths. The Italian stretched luxuriously, sand grinding into his back. "Better," he rumbled, thumbing Hank's slack lips.
Terry's fingers tangled in Hank's salt-and-pepper chest hair, sticky with their mingled release. The engineer's heartbeat thundered against his palm — rabbit-quick and strong. Vito's calloused palm slid up Terry's inner thigh, pausing just shy of his still-sensitive flesh. "Rest," he murmured — a command, not a suggestion.
Sunlight speared through the palm fronds overhead, dappling their tangled limbs. Hank's breath warmed Terry's collarbone as he nuzzled closer, his thick thigh hooking possessively over Terry's hips. Vito sprawled beside them, one hand lazily stroking his softening length.
The seabird screamed again — persistent and shrill — but none of them reacted. Hank's fingers traced idle patterns through Terry's belly hair, dipping occasionally into the mess cooling on his skin. Vito's toes flexed in the damp sand, his other hand cupping Hank's ass absently.
Terry arched into their touches, oversensitive but hungry still. Vito chuckled darkly, rolling onto his side to better admire their handiwork. Hank's cock lay thick against Terry's thigh — spent but not sated, if the engineer's restless shifting meant anything.
Salty breeze stirred their body hair. Somewhere beyond the wreckage, fish jumped. Hank turned his head, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to Terry's pulse point. "Goddamn," he rasped, his voice wrecked. "That'll do."
Vito's fingers brushed Terry's parted lips — tasting of salt and sex. Terry sucked them greedily, earning another dark chuckle. The Italian's beard scraped Hank's shoulder as he leaned over them both. "Not done," he murmured — a promise, a threat.
Hank groaned, but his hips rolled instinctively toward Vito's touch. The tide crept higher, swirling around their ankles as the sun climbed toward its zenith. The wreckage groaned — louder now — but none of them looked.
Vito's palm smoothed up Hank's spine, coming to rest between his shoulder blades. The engineer arched beautifully, his muscles flexing under sweat-slick skin. Terry's fingers found purchase in Hank's chest hair, tugging just shy of pain. The answering growl reverberated through all three of them.
"Again," Vito commanded — no room for argument — and they obeyed.
Terry rolled onto his hands and knees, sand gritting beneath his palms as Hank positioned himself behind him. The engineer's thick fingers spread Terry's cheeks, tongue laving a hot stripe over his loosened hole before plunging in deep. Vito kneeled before them, one hand fisted in Hank's salt-and-pepper hair as the other guided Terry's mouth onto his cock. The Italian's hips rolled in a slow, possessive rhythm, his beard scraping Terry's forehead with each thrust.
Hank's tongue worked relentlessly — broad, wet strokes followed by pinpoint flicks that made Terry's thighs shake. The engineer's hands kneaded Terry's ass, spreading him wider as his stubble rasped against sensitive skin. Vito's grip tightened in Hank's hair when the engineer moaned around Terry's flesh, the vibration traveling straight to Terry's spine.
Saliva dripped from Terry's chin as Vito fucked his mouth with measured thrusts. Hank pulled back just long enough to spit directly onto Terry's hole before pushing two fingers in alongside his tongue. The stretch burned deliciously — Terry's cock swung heavy between his legs, dripping onto the sand below.
Vito suddenly withdrew, flipping Terry onto his back in one smooth motion. The Italian's calloused palms slid up Terry's inner thighs, pausing to squeeze the trembling muscles there. Hank took advantage, crawling forward to straddle Terry's face, his thick cock brushing Terry's lips. The engineer's balls rested against Terry's forehead — warm and heavy with the scent of sweat and sex.
Vito's tongue replaced Hank's fingers — hot and insistent as it probed Terry's entrance. The Italian's beard scraped Terry's perineum, the dual sensation of rough hair and wet muscle making Terry buck violently. Hank groaned above him, his hips stuttering as Terry's gasps vibrated against his shaft.
The seabird screamed again — closer now — but the sound barely registered over the slick noises of their coupling. Hank's fingers tangled in Terry's hair, guiding his mouth onto his cock with a guttural "That's it, take it deep." Vito's answering growl vibrated through Terry's pelvis as the Italian redoubled his efforts, tongue fucking him in time with Hank's thrusts.
Terry's vision whited out when Vito suddenly pressed three fingers inside alongside his tongue. The stretch bordered on unbearable — his hole fluttered wildly around the intrusion — but the Italian didn't relent. Hank's cock throbbed against Terry's tongue, leaking steadily as Vito's free hand found Terry's neglected length, stroking in counterpoint to his thrusts.
"Christ, he's tight," Vito rasped against Terry's thigh. Hank's chuckle turned into a groan when Terry swallowed around him, tongue pressing along his frenulum.
The tide reached their hips, swirling around Vito's kneeling form as he worked Terry open. Saltwater lapped at Terry's stretched hole, mingling with spit and precome in a lewd mixture that made Hank shudder above him. The engineer's balls tightened against Terry's forehead — a warning Terry ignored, sucking harder until Hank cursed and spilled down his throat.
Vito withdrew his fingers suddenly, replacing them with his cock in one smooth thrust. Terry arched off the sand, his scream muffled by Hank's softening length still buried in his mouth. The Italian set a brutal pace immediately, his hips slapping against Terry's ass with wet cracks that echoed across the beach.
Hank finally pulled free, collapsing beside them to watch Vito pound into Terry's trembling body. The engineer's grease-stained fingers found Terry's nipple, pinching and twisting in time with Vito's thrusts. "Look at him," Hank rasped, thumbing the head of Terry's leaking cock. "Taking it like a champ."
Vito's snarl was pure possession as he leaned over Terry, one hand braced beside his head while the other wrapped around his throat — not choking, just holding. The Italian's thrusts turned erratic, his breath coming in hot bursts against Terry's cheek. "Come," he commanded — and Terry did, untouched, his orgasm ripped from him by Vito's cock alone.
Vito followed moments later, burying himself to the hilt with a guttural roar. His release flooded Terry's insides, hot and abundant as the tide swirling around them. Hank whistled low and appreciative as Vito finally stilled, his thick forearms trembling where they caged Terry's head.
No one moved until the seabird's shrill cry became unbearable. Hank was first to rise, his tanned skin glistening as he hauled both men upright with startling ease. "Shade," he grunted, nodding toward the dense foliage beyond the beach.
They staggered inland like drunkards, legs rubbery from exertion and saltwater. The jungle swallowed them whole — humid air thick with the scent of rotting fruit and something muskier. Vito's broad shoulders brushed hanging vines aside as they stumbled upon a sun-dappled clearing, its floor carpeted in emerald moss softer than any cruise ship towel.
Hank collapsed first, pulling Terry down atop him with a satisfied groan. Vito settled behind them, his hairy chest pressing against Terry's back as their limbs tangled naturally. The moss cradled their spent bodies like a lover's embrace, cool against overheated skin.
"Fuck clothes," Hank muttered into Terry's shoulder, his calloused palm splayed possessively across Vito's thigh. The engineer's breathing deepened almost immediately, his stubble scratching Terry's bicep with each exhale.
Vito's fingers traced idle patterns through Terry's chest hair. "We don't need them," he agreed, his Roman accent thicker with exhaustion. His hardening cock pressed against the small of Terry's back — a silent promise for later.
A gecko scuttled across Hank's ribs, making him twitch. Terry caught it deftly, examining the creature's pulsing throat before releasing it into the ferns. The jungle sounds enveloped them — buzzing insects, distant waterfalls, the occasional rustle of unseen creatures.
Hank's snore rumbled through all three bodies. Vito chuckled darkly, his beard scraping Terry's neck as he murmured, "Let him rest." His hand slid lower, cupping Terry's softening length with possessive familiarity.
The moss smelled like rain and sex. Terry arched into Vito's touch as the Italian's other hand found his nipple, rolling it gently between rough fingers. Somewhere above them, ripe fruit dropped with a wet plop — ignored in favor of Vito's lips tracing Terry's shoulder blade.
Tomorrow they'd hunt. Tomorrow they'd build.
Tonight, the jungle would learn their sounds by heart.
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