there's always a first
original fiction (Pass it On), Finchley & Alex, "Gilligan's Island.", writerverse
there's always a first
Finchley “accidentally” strands them off an island not far away from Pigeon Point two days after Alex admits that he’d very much like to date Finchley, if Finchley were so inclined. And Finchley is very, very much inclined.
They fall together like pick-up-sticks, messy and completely all over the place. Alex's hands are clawing at Finchley's shoulders, dragging his loose Henley up to his shoulders in a motion that he probably had meant to be more fluid than it actually was. He's impeded in his quest only briefly by Finchley's arms, which are currently wrapped around his neck, his chapped lips brushing too-softly against his jaw, and then Finchley is half-naked and still under him. He tosses the shirt aside, lifting his legs to straddle Finchley, and Finchley rests his hands on Alex’s hips.
"You know that if you don't want to-"
"Don't even - just shut up. I'm working up to it, you pushy bastard. Take your jacket off." Alex leans back onto his knees, balanced on either side Finchley's thighs, and starts unzipping his jacket. Finchley watches him, cataloguing every detail so that Alex is going to be hearing about this again (either making fun of his technique or to get him a wreck in public; he's not sure which, quite yet). "Get on with it, then. You're being awfully slow about this."
Alex narrows his eyes at him, tugging off his jacket and dropping it off to side. Finchley's long hands immediately slide under his undershirt, fingers splaying wide on his hips. A shiver rips its way up Alex's spine at the cool touch, and Finchley gives him a smirk. "Shut up." Alex growls, hooking his fingers under the hem and shucking that, as well. Finchley's eyes follow the motion, gaze settling on Alex's as the older boy tosses that shirt away as well.
Alex is stockily built, broad shoulders and a solid waist; his hips have a soft give to them (which Finchley finds rather delightful to squeeze), a contrast to the flat flex of his stomach. He's quite tan, despite his desperate love of zip hoodies, a light dusting of dark blond hair trailing from his chest to under where his jeans are riding low on his hips, and his nipples are a dusky brown that Finchley wonders at. Alex fidgets under his scrutiny - as if Finchley hasn't seen him stark naked before - a dark blush fighting its way across his cheeks. He's really not that bad-looking (actually, he’s rather good-looking), something Finchley, who hasn't really taken note of his best friend's physique, is surprised to note.
"See something you like?" Alex raises an eyebrow at him, giving Finchley a much more fleeting once-over. Finchley nods, hands tightening their grip on him, and pulls Alex down for a kiss.
This kiss is in no way chaste, unlike their first. Alex leans into him, hands braced on either side of his head, hips rolling down to press against Finchley's. Finchley gasps into his mouth, hot tongue sliding slickly inside. It's wetter than Finchley had expected, lips and tongues sliding together while they jerked against one another. Finchley's erection is finally making itself known, his cock a hot bulge against Alex's hip. "Nnn- Alex, Alex now, touch me now." Finchley manages to choke out between sloppy kisses, nails biting into Alex's skin.
Alex fumbles with the zip on Finchley's jeans, then tugs them down to palm Finchley through his boxers. His hand is sure, hot and steady against him, and Finchley groans. He jerks up against him, and Alex sinks his teeth into his shoulder. He rocks down against Finchley, rutting against his thigh while his fingers slip under the waistband of Finchley's boxers; Finchley moans against his neck.
"Like that?"
"Y-yeah, little tighter," Finchley thrusts shallowly into his hand, gasping brokenly when Alex tightens his grip. "Like that, yeah, c'mon-" Alex strokes him, hand dragging dryly on Finchley's hard flesh, and Finchley moans again. Finchley's not going to last much longer, his breath hitching when Alex rolls down against him. "Oh, fuck."
"Not quite." Alex teases, "Look at me." Finchley watches Alex slide a hand into his own jeans, stroking himself in time to Finchley’s erratic jerking. God, he's so close - can practically taste it coming.
Finchley cups Alex’s cheek, his right hand smoothing down Alex’s chest to tweak one of his dusky nipples. Alex cries out, hand tightening on Finchley, and he slumps forward, panting hotly against Finchley’s shoulder.
A few moments of lazy pulling later, and Finchley arches up into him, a strangled groan working out of his clenched teeth. The sudden warm wetness surprises Alex, and he jerks his hand away from Finchley's quickly-softening cock before he's completely covered. "Ohhh..." Finchley jerks up against him once, twice, before crumpling down on the deck. Alex follows him down, nosing at the corner of his jaw, lazy with contentment, and Finchley drapes an arm over his waist. "That was..."
"Not bad?" Alex offers, after a moment of silence, and Finchley nods. No, it hadn't been bad, not at all. And, aside from the semen drying on his hands and in his boxers, it hadn't been terribly awkward, either. Worth repeating, really.
Worth repeating often. In different positions, in different places. Perhaps even repeated more than once a day. Even if it does leave him feeling like overworked cookie dough.
"Oh, God, I've created a sex maniac." Finchley had, apparently, been saying all that aloud. Well, at least Alex wouldn't be surprised when Finchley jumped him regularly. "You're not "jumping" me. Not at home, not at school."
"Don't be silly."
"And not on the beach, either. I'll not be arrested for public indecency because you've decided to be insatiable."
"Insatiable has such a negative connotation, though. And we are on the beach." And he doubts that he'll be insatiable. Just demanding. Alex can deal with demanding. He’s already dealt with it so well.
"It's meant to be negative, you idiot. And it doesn’t count, we’re on a boat. On an island. Alone." But Alex is grinning at him, with his favorite crinkly-eyed, nose-wrinkled grin, and Finchley knows that Alex won't be denying him anything, if he really wants it. It's almost frightening. "Besides, that wasn't even proper sex, y'know."
Proper enough for them to both get off. "We'll work on it." Probably after they get off this island. He’s not exactly sure how they’re going to manage that, yet; he’d dropped anchor too close to the beach for them to actually back out of the surf without capsizing. Maybe Alex won’t say anything and Finchley can figure this out after a nap or six.
“So, how’re we getting home?”
Goddamnit.
there's always a first
Finchley “accidentally” strands them off an island not far away from Pigeon Point two days after Alex admits that he’d very much like to date Finchley, if Finchley were so inclined. And Finchley is very, very much inclined.
They fall together like pick-up-sticks, messy and completely all over the place. Alex's hands are clawing at Finchley's shoulders, dragging his loose Henley up to his shoulders in a motion that he probably had meant to be more fluid than it actually was. He's impeded in his quest only briefly by Finchley's arms, which are currently wrapped around his neck, his chapped lips brushing too-softly against his jaw, and then Finchley is half-naked and still under him. He tosses the shirt aside, lifting his legs to straddle Finchley, and Finchley rests his hands on Alex’s hips.
"You know that if you don't want to-"
"Don't even - just shut up. I'm working up to it, you pushy bastard. Take your jacket off." Alex leans back onto his knees, balanced on either side Finchley's thighs, and starts unzipping his jacket. Finchley watches him, cataloguing every detail so that Alex is going to be hearing about this again (either making fun of his technique or to get him a wreck in public; he's not sure which, quite yet). "Get on with it, then. You're being awfully slow about this."
Alex narrows his eyes at him, tugging off his jacket and dropping it off to side. Finchley's long hands immediately slide under his undershirt, fingers splaying wide on his hips. A shiver rips its way up Alex's spine at the cool touch, and Finchley gives him a smirk. "Shut up." Alex growls, hooking his fingers under the hem and shucking that, as well. Finchley's eyes follow the motion, gaze settling on Alex's as the older boy tosses that shirt away as well.
Alex is stockily built, broad shoulders and a solid waist; his hips have a soft give to them (which Finchley finds rather delightful to squeeze), a contrast to the flat flex of his stomach. He's quite tan, despite his desperate love of zip hoodies, a light dusting of dark blond hair trailing from his chest to under where his jeans are riding low on his hips, and his nipples are a dusky brown that Finchley wonders at. Alex fidgets under his scrutiny - as if Finchley hasn't seen him stark naked before - a dark blush fighting its way across his cheeks. He's really not that bad-looking (actually, he’s rather good-looking), something Finchley, who hasn't really taken note of his best friend's physique, is surprised to note.
"See something you like?" Alex raises an eyebrow at him, giving Finchley a much more fleeting once-over. Finchley nods, hands tightening their grip on him, and pulls Alex down for a kiss.
This kiss is in no way chaste, unlike their first. Alex leans into him, hands braced on either side of his head, hips rolling down to press against Finchley's. Finchley gasps into his mouth, hot tongue sliding slickly inside. It's wetter than Finchley had expected, lips and tongues sliding together while they jerked against one another. Finchley's erection is finally making itself known, his cock a hot bulge against Alex's hip. "Nnn- Alex, Alex now, touch me now." Finchley manages to choke out between sloppy kisses, nails biting into Alex's skin.
Alex fumbles with the zip on Finchley's jeans, then tugs them down to palm Finchley through his boxers. His hand is sure, hot and steady against him, and Finchley groans. He jerks up against him, and Alex sinks his teeth into his shoulder. He rocks down against Finchley, rutting against his thigh while his fingers slip under the waistband of Finchley's boxers; Finchley moans against his neck.
"Like that?"
"Y-yeah, little tighter," Finchley thrusts shallowly into his hand, gasping brokenly when Alex tightens his grip. "Like that, yeah, c'mon-" Alex strokes him, hand dragging dryly on Finchley's hard flesh, and Finchley moans again. Finchley's not going to last much longer, his breath hitching when Alex rolls down against him. "Oh, fuck."
"Not quite." Alex teases, "Look at me." Finchley watches Alex slide a hand into his own jeans, stroking himself in time to Finchley’s erratic jerking. God, he's so close - can practically taste it coming.
Finchley cups Alex’s cheek, his right hand smoothing down Alex’s chest to tweak one of his dusky nipples. Alex cries out, hand tightening on Finchley, and he slumps forward, panting hotly against Finchley’s shoulder.
A few moments of lazy pulling later, and Finchley arches up into him, a strangled groan working out of his clenched teeth. The sudden warm wetness surprises Alex, and he jerks his hand away from Finchley's quickly-softening cock before he's completely covered. "Ohhh..." Finchley jerks up against him once, twice, before crumpling down on the deck. Alex follows him down, nosing at the corner of his jaw, lazy with contentment, and Finchley drapes an arm over his waist. "That was..."
"Not bad?" Alex offers, after a moment of silence, and Finchley nods. No, it hadn't been bad, not at all. And, aside from the semen drying on his hands and in his boxers, it hadn't been terribly awkward, either. Worth repeating, really.
Worth repeating often. In different positions, in different places. Perhaps even repeated more than once a day. Even if it does leave him feeling like overworked cookie dough.
"Oh, God, I've created a sex maniac." Finchley had, apparently, been saying all that aloud. Well, at least Alex wouldn't be surprised when Finchley jumped him regularly. "You're not "jumping" me. Not at home, not at school."
"Don't be silly."
"And not on the beach, either. I'll not be arrested for public indecency because you've decided to be insatiable."
"Insatiable has such a negative connotation, though. And we are on the beach." And he doubts that he'll be insatiable. Just demanding. Alex can deal with demanding. He’s already dealt with it so well.
"It's meant to be negative, you idiot. And it doesn’t count, we’re on a boat. On an island. Alone." But Alex is grinning at him, with his favorite crinkly-eyed, nose-wrinkled grin, and Finchley knows that Alex won't be denying him anything, if he really wants it. It's almost frightening. "Besides, that wasn't even proper sex, y'know."
Proper enough for them to both get off. "We'll work on it." Probably after they get off this island. He’s not exactly sure how they’re going to manage that, yet; he’d dropped anchor too close to the beach for them to actually back out of the surf without capsizing. Maybe Alex won’t say anything and Finchley can figure this out after a nap or six.
“So, how’re we getting home?”
Goddamnit.