Oliver of the Adirondacks

by Dashiell Walraven

Chapter 24

Mark sprang up from the bed like a coiled cat, and practically landed in his pants, pulling them on with one, practiced swoop, while stuffing his huge dick into them and quickly zipping up.

"Who the fuck is that?" he barked, fumbling with his belt.

"My Dad!" I screeched, "Oh my God, Neal, what time is it?" Neal looked stunned for a second, and then picked up his wrist and looked at his watch.

"Holy shit!" he croaked, "It's after five o'clock already, they must have come looking for us!" Neal and I both scrambled down the stairs and out the same door we entered earlier. Running to the car, we came to a skidding stop in front of my father, who looked down at the both of us. His fists were on his hips, and he did not look pleased.

"Lost a track of time, did you?" he growled. I hung my head, trying to appear appropriately contrite, all the while breathing a secret sigh of relief; glad to be free from the strange situation in the lighthouse.

A window opened above us, and Mark stuck his head out. He somehow managed to get his shirt on and squared away, he looked very much the unruffled, professional young man.

"Everything okay?" he called.

"I hope these two were not bothering you too much," Ned called up to him, shading his eyes.

"No sir, no trouble at all," waved Mark, "had fun showing them my machinery. Hope I didn't keep them too long!"

"Not at all," Ned shouted back, "we just weren't sure where they were, so we came looking."

"Alrighty!" Mark said amiably, "It was good meeting you two, you're welcome to come back anytime you want; we'll pick up right where we left off!" I got a little shiver when he said that, and once more, I wasn't sure what that meant, exactly.

Neal and I silently endured the "talking-to" we got from our fathers on the way back to the cabin. I couldn't help but sneak a glance over at Neal, wearing a silly smirk; when I saw his face, however, my expression fell away. He looked glassy-eyed, and stared at his feet, once or twice stealing a look at me and quickly averting his eyes. I wondered what he was thinking, but the trip back to the cabin by car was only a few minutes. By the time we pulled into the driveway, Neal's normal expression had returned, and he was asking about dinner. Typical.

"Fish," Ned intoned, "we are having fried fish and hush puppies."

As far as I knew, "hush-puppies" were slippers, but I was hungry enough that most anything sounded good. My father told us, even though he and Ned hadn't caught anything that afternoon, they brought some fresh fish along that Ned and Neal had caught the week before. It all sounded good to me, and when I found out exactly what hush-puppies were, I devoured them with gusto. Neal ate too, just not as much as I, or with as much enthusiasm.

Later, as the sky dimmed to twilight, we played cards, some weird form of poker that I had difficulty keeping up with. Ned built a fire in the fireplace, as the evening grew quite cold. We bundled up in our sleeping bags on the living room floor. Dad pulled out his banjo, and Ned produced a stunning looking 12-string guitar. Neal and I kept up the rhythm by banging on the hearth with sticks and the fireplace tools. The frivolity soon gave way to quiet strumming and singing. I looked over at Neal, and he'd placed his head in his arms, his eyes were closed, and he looked like a coal-haired, sleeping angel.

"Okay, c'mon Oliver," my dad said, unslinging the banjo and setting it against a wall,

"time to get you two off to bed." I rose, up out of my sleeping bag, yawning, and bunched it up in my arms. Dad put his big hand on my back and guided me as I shuffled off toward our bedroom. The room both Neal and I were to use, was obviously there for kids. There were two sets of bunk beds, and we claimed the one away from the window, near the interior wall. The room was cold, so I quickly threw my sleeping bag onto the upper bunk, and dived into it. Dad leaned up and kissed me on the forehead as I snuggled into the warm flannel interior of the bag. I felt myself smile and was vaguely aware of Neal's father, as he carried his sleeping son, and laid him on the bunk beneath; I fell quickly asleep too.

The morning's light had not quite started to appear, when I was awakened by Neal climbing the ladder to my bunk.

"You awake?" he asked, in a quavering voice.

"Yeah," I answered groggily, "What's up?"

"I'm fucking freezing!" he whispered raggedly, "Can I climb in with you and warm up?" I nodded and pulled down the zipper on my bag, to let him in. The cold air in the room flooded across my body as I pulled away the flap.

"Dang!" I exclaimed, "Get in, quick!" Once Neal climbed in, he turned over and snugged the zipper up, trapping us both in the tight confines of the sleeping bag. I pressed myself against his shivering back, and wrapped an arm and leg over him, hugging him close.

"I musta tossed off my blanket last night," Neal gasped through chattering teeth, "I woke up colder than a witch's tit!" I gripped him tightly, wishing all my warmth into him. Gradually, his quaking stopped, and his breathing returned to normal. "That feels much better, thanks," Neal said; I could hear the smile in his voice.

"No problem dude," I replied, "I hate it when I'm cold too." We lay there in the morning quiet, and I thought maybe we might drift back to sleep.

"Hey Oliver," Neal said, suddenly, "something else about that lighthouse guy, huh?"

"Yeah," I muttered. I still didn't quite know what to make of all that, and I wondered what he felt.

"Mark was really into us, huh?"

"I guess so," I shrugged, "seemed like it."

"That was some big dick," he whispered quietly.

"Uh, yeah," I nodded, "huge."

"Yeah," Neal agreed, "fucking huge."

"Woof-fah," I said softly, imitating something my father said all the time. More silence, filled with the turning of Neal's mental gears; I pressed my face against his ear, perhaps hoping to hear what he was thinking about.

"He wanted me to suck it, I think." Neal said quietly. I nodded my head, that queasy yet excited feeling made another appearance in my belly.

"Uhm..." I had to clear my throat a little, "uh... would you've... you know... wanted to?"

"Kinda yes, kinda no," Neal whispered, "I'm not sure. What about you?"

"I dunno," I shrugged, "I mean, I've never seen one like that, I would'a liked to maybe look at it up close, maybe touch it."

"Me too," Neal said, "but it still seemed kinda weird, like he was bein' too pushy."

"Yeah," I agreed, "that's right, that's what I didn't like. Seemed like he was making you do stuff you maybe didn't wanna."

"Exactly." Neal heaved a deep sigh.

"Would you wanna go back?" I ventured, at the same time wondering why I would ask such a thing. Neal seemed to mull it over for a beat or two.

"No," he said finally, "I'm thinking it's not such a good idea." I nodded again. I understood his trepidation, but I still couldn't reconcile whether the prospect of seeing my best bud go down on another guy, excited or repulsed me. "You're very warm," he said, snuggling his back against my chest. "it's good to be friends with a hot-blooded redhead."

"It's not so bad bein' friends with a black-haired, whatever you are, either," I rejoined, hoping it didn't sound too lame. He giggled and I felt another surge of warmth, this time, a little lower down. Neal must have felt it too, because he wriggled his butt and ground my throbbing dick into his soft, flannel-lined crevice. I thrust my hips into him. "Don't I owe you something?" I breathed softly into his ear.

"Um, no," he giggled, "I don't think so."

"Oh, I think so," I assured him. He turned his head to look at me, those huge, dark eyes of his, sparkling in the spare light of the room.

"Uhm, okay," he said, his voice breathy with sudden need. "Can we do what we did that first night I slept at your house?"

"You mean when I sucked it?"

"No," he said, squirming around in the sleeping bag, he turned to face me, "after... when you got on top of me?"

"Sure, I guess," I said, my belly filling with nervous anticipation, I felt my penis throb against me, "did you like that?"

"Yeah," Neal breathed deeply, "I like watching your face when you and me get the feeling together." He positioned himself under me and spread his legs, cradling my pelvis against him, and thrusting upwards a little. I felt his penis brush by mine as we pressed together. I put my arms under his, touched my lips to the curve of his neck and kissed him there. He moaned softly.

The sleeping bag binding us tightly together, and our need to be quiet lest we wake up our dads, lent a special urgency to our movements. We made long, languid thrusts as our two members skidded back and forth, past each other, buffered by the soft flannel of our pajama bottoms. I unsnapped the buttons on Neal's shirt and my own, and we lay bare chested together, slowly grinding each other as if we could merge into one, breathing, synchronous being.

Neal took my face in his hands and desperately kissed me on the mouth. His breath flooded my nose and throat as our tongues twisted and danced. As the intensity between us became greater, we started vigorously, but still slowly and deliberately, pounding against one another. Neal threw his head back and grabbed my butt with both hands, savagely pulling me to him. I felt him ripple and buck beneath me, his Adam's apple bobbing in this neck, his breath catching just before letting out a breathy, gasping moan. We froze, both reaching our peak, and cresting the roller-coaster as one. Our entangled penises pulsated and contracted in absolute synchrony, spilling our warm juices in to the fabric of our pajama bottoms, where they mingled together.

Starting to breath once more, we gasped and took in deep gulps of air, coming down from the pinnacle. I entwined my fingers with his and pressed my palms to his. Looking down onto his beaming face, I smiled and gave a playful little pelvic thrust, pressing my still hard dick against his. I felt it pulse beneath me as he let out an exhausted little giggle.

"Mmmmm," he moaned softly,"holy shit, Oliver."

"Yes?" I asked.

"The way you look when we do that," he said, his eyes playing over my face, "oh man..." He throbbed beneath me once more and I fell against him in a tight hug.

"Hey Neal," I said softly, into his ear, "do you remember what we said to each other that first night?"

"Yeah," Neal replied, almost dreamily, "I love you."

"Me too," I said, gripping him even harder, "me too."

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