A Long List of Nevers - 3. Chapter 3

“Who… who are you?” Keith stammered, unable to take his gaze off the guy’s eyes. They seemed to be brilliant blue at first glance, by itself already stunning. But looking closer, they had a very unusual flaring ring of gold surrounding the pupils, fading into the blue with a fainter ring of green. It lent his eyes an otherworldly look. He knew what it was of course – heterochromia.

“Carl.” The guy repeated and laughed, squinting his eyes and rolling his head back in an endearingly boyish way. Freed from the spell of those eyes, Keith quickly looked away.

“Yeah, I heard you. I mean, you’re obviously not from around here.” Keith knew all the gay inhabitants of the island had been paired off, so he had expected to be cuffed to a loggerhead tonight.

Not turtles. ‘Loggerhead’ was the townie nickname for tourists (usually very wealthy ones) who regularly came back enough that they were well-known among the islanders. They usually had residences in the island as well. They were, of course, named after the migratory turtles who return regularly to Cronek and Coral Bay in the mainland to nest during the summers. Keith knew all too well that the dozen or so gay loggerheads of Cronek weren’t really interested in him either. That was the reason he hadn’t wanted to be in this game.

Carl wasn’t a loggerhead, which was actually worse. He expected more from his friends than be paired off with a tourist. The prospect of pining for a guy who would likely never come back once tourist season was over wasn’t exactly his idea of romantic.

“Yeah, I’m new here. You’re Keith right?”

“Yes. How’d you know?”

Carl started to raise an arm to scratch his buzz-cut head sheepishly but stopped when he realised that Keith’s arms were also rising with it. Distracted, he instead inspected the handcuff joining them. They were more like sheaths than handcuffs, obviously from someone’s BDSM collection. Padded within and out and connected by a short length of strong but elastic synthetic rope. The rope was just long enough they could stand side by side without Keith’s arm being constantly raised up with Carl’s higher forearm, but short enough that they had to stand pretty close together. “Pretty neat.” Carl murmured.

“You’d think so.” Keith replied gloomily.

Like almost everyone in the party, including Keith, Carl was dressed very casually. Dark board shorts, sandals, and a wispy white cotton singlet that hugged his powerful chest. A chest that now bunched up and rippled in all the right places even with the minor movement of checking his imprisoned arm.

Not foreign either. His accent was Australian enough, Keith thought. That and the fact that Carl seemed to be around Keith’s own age, 24, were the only things he could find in common between them. He didn’t even know if he was gay or bi or even straight. Being at the island’s official Midsummer LGBT party didn’t mean shit – James for example was straight and he was here for the bi girls. Perhaps this was someone’s idea of a practical joke on the island’s best known gay bachelor even. Whoever set this match up was a right dickhead alright.

Keith was suddenly in a much fouler mood. Being paired with this… god… suddenly reminded him of what he looked like. Short, rail-thin, unruly mousy brown hair, nose a tad too long, crooked teeth, eyes a bit too close together, Keith was the very definition of a dag. He was in the negative values in the gay men’s hotness scale. This guy, on the other hand, was so far beyond a mere ten it seemed childish to even put him against the 1-10 hotness scale.

The age old anger at the unfairness of it all came rushing back and he felt like punching someone in the face.

“Hey!” Carl protested as the cuffs yanked his arm. Despite his smaller frame, Keith was piping mad and it was obvious he’d drag Carl if he had to. He had started walking towards the less crowded part of the living room by the bookshelves. Carl acquiesced and let the smaller guy tow him. Keith led them to an empty cushioned rattan couch. They sat down, Carl’s large frame making the sinewy woven strands creak ominously.

Keith ignored the perceptible sag on the couch and grabbed a throw pillow with his uncuffed left hand. He arranged it comfortably behind his head and closed his eyes. He was perfectly willing to ignore the guy – Carl – for the thirty minutes they’d be cuffed together.

He tried to blank out his thoughts and think of less dangerous things like sharks, crocodiles, box jellyfish… bunyips…

He knew it was no use, he was still acutely aware that he was sitting inches away from a walking wet dream. It wasn’t the guy’s fault that he was gorgeous, but even then it doesn’t change the fact that Keith would be the one who’d end up being hurt by this. Keith had no business being with guys way out of his league, and he’d rather avoid it himself than be told off for it. Anticipate the rejection and avoid it rather than wait around for it like a bloody starry-eyed idiot too cowardly to admit he wasn’t good enough.

He wondered what it was like to look like Carl. To be so confident with how attractive you are that you would think the handcuff game was fun.

He had no doubt that Carl would be handcuffed to probably twelve more people before the night was over. With his imposing size and his boy-next-door appeal, it was inconceivable to think that people hadn’t noticed him by now. That’s probably why Carl was so cheerful even when he was chained to ole daggy tiny Keithy. It was Keith who’d be going home alone tonight, with nothing to show for this affair except the reawakening of old yearnings and having to endure days of teasing from his fellow islanders afterward.

Still… it must be nice to look like him. To always know you’ll be wanted. To be able to go after anyone you want with confidence. To experience rejection so rarely it wasn’t even in your vocabulary…

Or what it must be like to be loved by someone like that… to come home to warm kisses, tender embraces, and the security that you aren’t alone. To know that somebody values you, cherishes you, thinks the world of you and to feel the same for another soul.

Despite his earlier determination, his mind started to drift off, dreaming of playing house with Carl. He was spinning fairytales but he was enjoying it far too much to stop now. And for what it was worth, it did calm him down to dream of better things, no matter how unlikely it is that they’ll ever come true.

After a while, he suddenly had the uncomfortable gut feeling that the guy was watching him. He confirmed it when he cracked his eyelids open a bit. Carl was still sitting straight up on the couch his gaze fixed on Keith with a tender almost intimate expression gracing his handsome face.

Dreaming is one thing, but being strung around in real life is another.

Keith opened his eyes fully and glared. “What?!”

“Want to go outside? Get something off the barbie?”

“I’d rather go when we’re let off this.”

“That’ll be a while.” Carl laughed.

Keith checked his wristwatch. Indeed, more than thirty minutes had passed and still no sign of the bloody speedo cop duo coming to free them. His earlier anger returned.

“Come on.” Carl bumped his attached forearm against Keith’s and smiled good-naturedly, apparently unfazed that he had just spent more than half an hour being pointedly ignored by Keith.

“Fine.” Keith got up, lifting Carl’s heavier arm with him. Carl grinned and got up.

The bonfire was still blazing on the beach, the distinctive smell of wood smoke mixing with the mouth-watering food being roasted in barbies around its perimeter. Carl and Keith got a couple of beers and a plateful of food from the barbies and eskys set up and manned by islanders.

All the townies around were wiggling their eyebrows at Keith, but he ignored them as best as he could. He was still seething and vowing to figure out who the heck had gotten him into the handcuff game. He couldn’t find Kat nor the speedo cop duo among the crowd. He did see James making out with two apparently bisexual women. That didn’t improve his mood any.

Carl, in contrast seemed unconcerned and cheerful, despite the fact that their beers clinked against each other a lot because of the forced proximity of their wrists.

Taking their beers and food, Carl led them to an empty beach blanket. Setting down their plates gingerly, their beers once again clinked with each other.

“Cheers, mate.” Carl said playfully as he lowered himself down cross-legged on the blanket, keeping one arm raised to avoid pulling down Keith with him.

Keith didn’t answer. He had caught sight of Wazza and Pat three blankets to their left. They were both grinning like proud daddies and all Keith wanted was to smack both of them silly. He ignored their waves and sat down beside Carl.

Carl was already digging one-handed into his plateful of ribs, shrimp, and grilled corn, making appreciative noises that sounded vaguely sexual to Keith. “These are really good.” He took his own beer from his cuffed hand and took a long swig.

Keith’s eyes followed the motion. He really couldn’t help it. The strong lines of Carl’s jaw, the way his lips closed around the beer bottle, the almost orgasmic expression on his face as he swallowed... Heck, even the way his adam’s apple bobbed up and down was incredibly erotic.

Carl exhaled in pleasure. He settled the bottle between his legs, apparently unaware of the suggestive connotations of the position and the way it also drew Keith’s attention to Carl’s groin…

Bloody hell. Keith averted his eyes quickly, berating himself for the idiot that he was. The situation was getting worse and worse. He ran away from this, he reminded himself harshly. And scarcely an hour with this random hot guy he was looking at him eating like it was porn. Pathetic.

He focused his attentions on his own food, reassuring himself that in a few more minutes they’d have served their ‘sentence’ and he’d be on his way home. It was awkward having to use his left hand, but Carl was right, the food was great. So stop perving on the guy and eat, he berated himself.

Keith chewed determinedly and tried his best to ignore Carl’s snarfing. The guy ate like a pig, but goddamn, the pig was sexy. It was no use. Keith sighed and stopped trying to find the appetite to eat. The food really was great and he was hungry, but the hunger was for something else.

Finishing up, Carl mopped the Barbie sauce on his plate with a finger. Sucking absentmindedly on it, he looked up to see Keith staring at him, food, however great, lying forgotten on his lap.

“Grouse, huh?” Carl asked. Keith just sighed again. Food was the farthest thing on his mind now. “What’s the matter? Not hungry?” Carl asked, noticing that only half of the food had been eaten on Keith’s plate.

“Nope.”

Carl shrugged. Wiping his hand on the blanket, Carl took another swig of his beer and watched the leaping flames of the bonfire. “Cronek’s really nice, mate. How often do you rage here?”

“Every year.” Keith turned his attentions to his own beer. “If you mean this particular party.”

“You ever been handcuffed to anyone before?” Carl fingered the furry pink outer covering of the cuffs connecting them.

“Not really. Last time I joined the midsummer celebrations I was goddamn eighteen.”

“You don’t like it?”

“You think this is fun?”

“Well…” Carl met his eyes and smiled, looking too bloody adorable. “Yeah.”

“It’s not.” Keith looked away. “Wait till we run out of things to talk about, you won’t think it’s that fun then.”

Carl was still looking at him, his expression now contemplative. “I think you’re fun.”

“Pig’s arse.” Keith really was trying his best to remain at least civil with the guy. But Carl’s cheerfulness wasn’t making it any easier.

Carl laughed. “You’re adorable, you know.”

Without warning, Carl impulsively drew Keith into his arms, nestling Keith’s head on the hollow of his throat with an odd sort of familiarity.

Keith, finding himself suddenly in contact with the warm flesh he was staring at only a few moments ago, was speechless. Eyes wide, Carl’s chest quivering with laughter against his cheek, he was in a brain-says-WTF-but-it-feels-too-bloody-good-to-stop situation.

Carl’s laughter eventually trailed off but he showed no signs of pulling away. Instead, he pulled Keith closer and purred. Purred! Keith’s eyes were now bulging, mouth open in shock. Carl was stroking his back in slow circles and Keith was rapidly finding extremely hard to pull away.

Squeezed between them, forgotten in Keith’s cuffed hand, the bottle of beer slowly… slowly… tipped sideways.

Carl yelped and jerked away. His hand went to his suddenly drenched crotch, pulling the freezing soaked material away from his privates. Unfortunately, he used his left hand which pulled Keith’s hand along with it. Keith still dizzy at the unexpected hug found his right hand abruptly resting on the – considerable – bulge between Carl’s legs.

“Ooh yeah, they’re getting it on.”

The both froze - Keith’s hand on Carl’s balls, Carl’s fingers tenting his beer-soaked shorts away from his crotch. Slowly they looked up into the eyes of Miri, Kat’s partner of six years, grinning like a shot fox. Kat herself was collapsing with laughter at her side.

Keith’s eyes widened in horror. He hastily yanked his – and Carl’s hand along with it – back to his side.

Carl, unruffled, flashed a grin. “Hiya.”

“Hiya.” Miri greeted back, eyebrows arching lazily.

“Name’s Carl.” Carl offered his uncuffed hand.

“Miriam.” Miri smiled warmly and shook Carl’s hand. “Call me Miri. This here’s Kat, short for Cat Pee. She’s not housetrained.” Kat waved weakly, still sputtering with giggles. “Just came by to check on our friend here. I reckon he’s fine, don’t you Kat?”

“I say.” Kat laughed harder.

Miri pinched Kat lightly to stop her from going hysterical. Miri, Keith, and the whole damn island knew all too well how Kat was. She was as excitable as Miri was deadpan. Her loud pealing laughter was Cronek legend, a scientific wonder in that it somehow did not break glassware and eardrums when it sounded like it damn well should.

Kat composed herself hastily. Pinching seems to reliably work in quelling a Kat meltdown, a trick that probably saved the remaining dolphin population with intact eardrums in Cronek. Kat was far from being a bimbo, despite fitting the stereotype of being blonde and busty, she just acted like one a lot. Miri’s smile, meanwhile, never wavered, serenely Asian as always.

“Anywho, since you seem to be taking care of Keith…” Miri faked a cough. “We’d better be off. I bid you good evening gentlemen. Our apologies for the interruption, and looking forward to seeing more of you Carl.”

Miri flashed another smile, took hold of the still slightly wriggling Kat, and started to drag her off.

“Wait.” Keith called out, a hint of desperation in his voice.

Miri and Kat stopped and looked back at him inquiringly.

“When’s it up?”

“When’s the what up?” Miri asked. To her credit, Kat didn’t comment on the unintended double-entendre. Her cheeks did bloat a bit with more suppressed giggles though.

“This thingo.” Keith ignored Kat and gestured at the cuffs. “When’s it coming off? The thirty minutes are up aren’t they? Hell it’s been two hours at least.”

Carl glanced at Keith, his smile disappearing and his handsome brow furrowing.

“I don’t know, Keith.” Miri just shrugged, looking sympathetically at Carl. “Anyway, we really should be off. Hooroo.” With that she turned around and started walking back towards the main group. Kat mouthed an unmistakable ‘Tell me about it later’ before hurrying to follow Miri.

“Fucking great.” Keith muttered. He picked up the remnants of his beer and skolled it down angrily, discarding the bottle none too gently beside him.

Carl was silent beside him. He picked up a corner of the beach blanket and did his best to dry off his crotch. Sensing Keith’s annoyance, his whole demeanor had shifted to being contrite. Keith pretended not to notice and stared resolutely at the steady stream of sparks rising from the bonfire, letting the grog slowly numb his brain.

“I’m sorry.” Carl finally mumbled. When Keith still didn’t answer, Carl sighed. “Keith… I didn’t mean to embarrass you, mate.”

“Who says I’m embarrassed?” Keith retorted.

Carl ignored it. “I’m sorry, alright?”

“For raping me or for forcing me to wank you?”

Carl snorted. “I guess for the wanking part. You did spill your beer on me, y’know.” He paused. “Wait, what do you mean ‘raping you’?”

“I don’t know where you’re from, but out here ordinary blokes, even gay ones, don’t appreciate being smothered by strangers like that, mister.”

“Y’mean the hug? Mate, everybody likes a hug!” Carl pointed a thumb at his own chest. “I like hugging, what’s wrong with that?”

“I’m not everybody.”

“Seemed to me like you liked it just fine earlier…” Carl muttered under his breath.

“You’re really full of yourself aren’t you?” Keith gave up on the pretense of civility. He was definitely livid by now. “Just because everybody else want to throw themselves around you doesn’t mean I do too.”

“Wait… what?” Carl squinted at Keith in confusion.

“Don’t pull the ‘I don’t know I’m hot’ card on me now.” Keith said, immediately regretting it as soon as it left his mouth. After downing the bottle so fast, his mind was starting to get a little fuzzy right now.

“So… you do think I’m hot.” Carl smiled triumphantly.

Keith opened his mouth for another retort then thought twice about and closed it again. “You know what? Forget it.” He declared in exasperation. Keith stood up, pulling Carl up with him. “I need more beer if I’m going to be stuck on you longer.”

They made their way back through the crowds, Keith dragging the larger man behind him. A few people, mostly tourists, had the guts to smile when they saw the pink handcuff binding the two together, only to be met with a withering glare from Keith as they barreled through.

They reached the eskys clustered just below the raised deck. Keith impatiently grabbed a couple of cold beers, opening one after the other. He drank deeply from the first one, keeping hold of the second with his handcuffed hand. He burped and looked up at Carl who was looking back at him expectantly.

“Mine?” Carl asked, gesturing toward the second opened bottle.

“Open your own bloody piss.”

“Are you always this cheerful?” Carl asked as he shrugged and went to get his own bottle.

“Call me sunshine.” Keith waited for the impulse to puke to die down then took another long drink from the first bottle, emptying it. He discarded it into the pile of other empty bottles beside the cooler.

“Whoa. Slow down, mate.” Carl was watching him with concern as Keith went ahead and opened another bottle, the second bottle still clasped in his cuffed hand. “Am I really that bad?”

“No.” Half the contents of the newly opened bottle disappeared again down his throat. “You’re that good.” Without waiting for an answer, Keith made for the stairs leading up the deck, the two bottles of beer gripped tightly in both of his hands.

He was going to get the cuffs off even if he had to beat up someone for the key.

Halfway there Carl suddenly stopped and refused to budge no matter how hard Keith pulled at his arm. Keith pulled harder, almost yanking his own arm off its socket, but Carl remained resolutely rooted to the sand.

“What?!” Keith finally yelled at him. “You want another hug?” Carl was looking at him with a mixture of concern and confusion. “Big baby want another koala huggy? Awww. Lookitchoo!” Keith taunted, already starting to get quite rotten by now.

“You’re not like this, Keith.” Carl said quietly.

“And how the fuck would you know that?”

Carl seemed to hesitate before answering. “I’ve seen how your friends treat you. You’re not like this.” He repeated.

“But I bloody well am.” Keith tugged at the handcuff joining them vehemently.

Carl sighed before letting Keith lead him again.

As they traversed the wooden floor of the deck, the lights around them and inside the house suddenly flickered and went out. The music blaring from the large speakers stopped mid-beat and they were enveloped in darkness.

Groans erupted from all around. Keith and Carl stopped as well, Keith still red-faced and hyperventilating slightly from anger and alcohol.

“What happened?” Keith asked, turning towards Carl’s bonfire-outlined silhouette. His question was echoed around by several other people. Someone shouted the question down at the people on the beach who were still mostly oblivious of the blackout.

“Not to worry folks!” It was Pat, shouting back from the beach. “Happens all the time in this part of the island. If this keeps up, we can all merge the party with the one at Sean’s place.” He continued, referring to Cronek’s mayor who owned a resort eight kilometres up the coast. Sean was hosting the main Cronek Midsummer festivities. “I trust all the designated drivers tonight have been good? We don’t want… oh there we go.” Before he could finish the lights had come back on and the music resumed.

Mostly everyone cheered, but there were a few groans and embarrassed laughter from people who had taken advantage of the sudden cover of darkness to sneak a little naughty in.

Keith was surprised to find that in the dark he had been studying Carl’s hulking outline with an expression of yearning and sadness. Even more mortified at the realisation that he had been facing the fire the whole time. It meant that even though Carl was just a silhouette to him, his face was fully illuminated to Carl even during the blackout.

Keith carefully schooled his features. His earlier anger forgotten, overridden by a sudden rush of shame at his show of vulnerability. He waited for Carl to ask him what that look was about.

To his surprise Carl didn’t say anything at all. He tentatively lifted his gaze up to look at Carl’s expression. Nothing. Not even a hint of amusement. Carl just stood there looking at him even though Keith was damned sure he had seen him looking at him like some lost lovesick puppy.

“Come on.” Carl finally said quietly, taking Keith’s cuffed unresisting hand in his and walking him to the house.