Bayani nods because he grew up on the water. He’s from Dulag, a small fishing village in the province of Leyte. His village is situated on the coast, bordering the Leyte Gulf where he used to weave nets for the local fisherman and help with the drying of fish for sale. It was a fine occupation for when he was younger, but unless you wanted to be a fisherman, there weren’t many opportunities for well-paying jobs in Leyte. Bayani had been thinking about moving to Manila when his cousin told him about the job in Biloxi. The income he made laundering linens for Le Grand was not a lot by American standards, but the extra money he was able to send home to his grandmother helped her tremendously.
Bayani has a sudden stab of homesickness, missing his grandmother, followed by the urge to tell John about his home, how he could climb a palm tree in their yard and knock down a coconut for its juice or even better, a fruit from one of the many mango trees. How, when there was a brownout, his grandmother and him and their neighbors would gather their chairs around a fire outside and sing songs underneath the moonlit banana trees. And no matter where you stood in his small village, you could hear the sounds of the ocean nearby and fall asleep to the waves whispering their lullabies.
But Bayani left his tablet in the van, so it will have to wait. Perhaps if he and John both learn sign language, they could communicate without him having to use the tablet at all. Bayani doesn’t like the way the robot voice makes his words sound cold and unfeeling–that’s not how he wishes to express himself at all!
They walk slowly toward the water with John supporting Bayani’s weight on one side. The sand is deliciously hot underneath his feet and the water refreshingly cool. John wears a pair of cutoff cargo pants while Bayani wears the blue bathing suit John bought for him. He has a whole new wardrobe full of comfortable clothing thanks to John, just one of the many reasons he feels compelled to work around the house. Bayani doesn’t want to burden John more than he already has.
They make it waist-high in the water when John dives under and comes up a few feet away, slicking back his hair and glistening with moisture all over. Oh, to be the drop of seawater that slides down John’s delicious happy trail or the wet fabric clinging to his cock and balls. Bayani would love to bury his face in that region.
There are so many parts of John’s anatomy that Bayani would be happy to explore, but the man has not made any advances. Maybe he doesn’t like other men in that way, or maybe he doesn’t find Bayani attractive. Even still, a mouth is a mouth, and Bayani would be happy to pleasure John without any reciprocation, would be delighted to suck the cum from his big swollen balls and swallow it down like a good and grateful boy. Even with a mangled tongue, Bayani is confident he can deliver.
But how should he go about making the offer? Not through that damned voice on the tablet. By simply going down on his knees? If only he had two working ones!
Frustrated, Bayani dips his head under the water and shivers from the rush of coolness against his skin.
“Feels good, huh?” John asks. He’s squatting on the ocean floor and squinting up at Bayani with the sun in his eyes. John is kind. John wouldn’t put him out, even if he didn’t feel for Bayani in the same way. And if Bayani knew John didn’t want him, he could proceed accordingly rather than have his hope bloom whenever the man shows the slightest interest.
This is his best shot; he needs to just go for it. Actions speak louder than words, don’t they? So, with his head abuzz and his body humming with nerves, Bayani wraps his arms around John’s strong neck and slots himself right into place against the man’s sturdy torso. John’s skin feels incredible against his own and Bayani gives a small hum of pleasure.
“Bayani,” John says with some surprise as both his big hands encircle Bayani’s back, gripping him tightly. Bayani feels the stirrings of John’s arousal pressing up against him, John’s cock expanding thick and solid alongside Bayani’s own. He wants it so badly, in his mouth, in his hole, wants to take John deep inside him and ride him until they are lost in one another.
“I want you,” Bayani says, but although John may understand his meaning, he cannot possibly decipher the words.
“Bayani,” John says again roughly. They’re at eye-level now and Bayani ceases grinding against the big man to stare back at him, trying to convey his desire in lustful looks and moans. Bayani rubs his lips together, tastes the salt from the seawater, and prays John will kiss him. With a kiss, Bayani might know where they stand—friends, lovers, both? John stares at his mouth, swallows thickly, and parts his lips as if to follow through, then suddenly,devastatingly, pulls away.
“We shouldn’t,” John says, though it takes him another long moment to gently remove Bayani from where he’s plastered himself against his wet body. “We can’t. It wouldn’t be right.”
Bayani saw the spark of longing in John’s eyes, felt the man’s hardness sliding against him, the way John’s hips shifted ever so slightly in a thrusting motion. Bayani is not an expert in men’s desires, but he knows his craving is not completely one-sided. Bayani lays a hand on John’s arm and tilts his head inquisitively to communicate that he doesn’t understand.
“We’ll talk about it later,” John says. “For now, let’s enjoy the day.”
7
JOHN
John picksup some freshly caught seafood on their way home from the beach and they spend Sunday evening cooking up shrimp étouffeé, John’s mother’s recipe. They both have an interest in cooking, mainly because they both have an interest in eating, and after a hearty bowl of the dish served over fluffy white rice, they clean up the kitchen together and retire to the living room, both in their usual spots on the couch, Bayani with his knee under a pillow to elevate it and his head in John’s lap. Miss Priss has not joined them yet, but she soon will.
“Is it because of the way I look?”Bayani asks, picking up the conversation where they left it at the beach, when John slipped up and allowed himself to return the boy’s yearning gaze. John can still recall the slide of Bayani’s wet body under his hands, smooth as a dolphin, the way they moved together in the water, and the pleasure, however brief and fleeting it was, right before guilt and shame swamped John and forced him to regain his senses.
John craves the boy like a bad habit, but he cannot indulge. Not like this.
“No,” John says simply. Bayani tilts his head back to stare up at him—two teardrop eyes and rosebud lips and the sweetest face John has ever known. “I think you’re beautiful,” John says, tucking the boy’s silky black hair behind one ear. Scars or no, Bayani is a beautiful person, not just his appearance, but his fighting spirit and sweet disposition, his tenderness. The thought of anyone taking advantage of this gentle soul makes John want to crack some skulls. If circumstances were different, John might have pursued Bayani in earnest, though considering the risk to his safety, probably not.
“Do you like men?”Bayani asks, still with the quizzical look on his face.
“I do,” John says and figures there’s no use in beating around the bush. “I like you, Bayani, a whole hell of a lot, but we can’t be in a romantic relationship. Not while you’re trapped in here with no way to leave.”
“I’m not trapped,”he argues, sitting up to face John.
“It’s not safe out there for you, and there’s no way you can go home right now. If we were to start… something, then I would be taking advantage of you, which makes me no better than Emile.”
The boy’s face turns stormy, and he types furiously on the tablet, “You’re nothing like him.”
“What if we got into a fight and you wanted to leave?”
“I wouldn’t.”
“Bayani.” John tugs gently at one foot. His thumb rubs along the smooth knob of the boy’s ankle and even that brief, innocent contact feels forbidden. “Please trust me on this. It’s better that we remain friends.”
