Refugee - 12. Chapter 12

Chapter Twelve - Kos.

The ferry from Bodrum left right on time at 9:30 the next morning, it was a short crossing. Just over an hour later, Jordan was walking along the road from the harbour in Kos. The sun peeked through rolling clouds that tumbled over a calm sea. He stopped on the deserted promenade, sitting down on one of the wooden benches beneath the tall palm trees. A bicycle approached; then glided almost silently behind him on the cycle path.

Looking out to sea, he could easily make out the dark grey shape of the Turkish mainland. He took his phone from the pocket of his jeans, studied the screen a moment, thinking what he was going to say. Then he found the boys' number and hit call.

There was a short gap before it rang, once, twice... Jordan looked out across the path and railings at the gently moving waves. "Ello...," the voice at the other end answered.

"It's Jordan... is that you Amar?" he asked.

"Yes, Mister Jordan. How do you doing?"

It was difficult not to smile; he didn't recall that Amar dropped his Hs. Always the joker, perhaps he was laying on the foreign accent a bit thick. "I'm doing fine, Amar. I'm in Greece."

"Good for you, Mister Jordan. We are all still here."

"Is everything okay there?" Jordan hoped there hadn't been any problems.

"Everything is good. Don't worry. Hey, Firas wants to say hello."

"Jordan," that was Firas' voice, "it is so good to hear from you. Did you have a nice trip?"

"Yes, Firas," Jordan liked the boy a lot. Despite all the stuff he'd been through, he always seemed cheerful. Always willing to help people, never one to put himself first. "And you? Are you okay?"

"Yes, yes, everything is okay. Mehmet is kind, Fadil is also kind. I'm helping in the kitchen sometimes."

"Okay, good," Jordan replied. "And Samir?"

"Yes, Samir too. He is good. Don't say much, but a word sometimes. He's got Amar. Those two... you know."

Yes, he did know. Jordan could easily recall those two having sex in the hotel room. He'd not said anything, but it hadn't escaped his attention. That incident and the way the two of them were with each other all the time.

"Well good," Jordan told him. "I'll call again tomorrow. I'm off to meet my uncle now."

"Goodbye, Jordan."

The line went dead. As he replaced the phone in his pocket, he kept thinking about Firas. He was he supposed the one on his own, but then the three of them were a tight knit group, even if the other two had something going on between them. He stood up and continued on to the marina. Once there it was easy to find Uncle Ted's yacht, even though he'd never seen it before, the marina was not very big, and he'd got precise directions.

Ted and Jordan had done quite a bit of sailing together back home, but that was a few years ago and on a different boat. It was his uncle who more or less taught him all he knew about sailing, and it was his uncle who pushed him to get qualified. Which he had, at least as far as coastal navigation. That was after all what they had done back in Virginia, but they had done quite a few weekends and some holidays sailing the Chesapeake Bay and even up the Potomac. Uncle Ted was a long time member of the Virginia Yacht Club, based near Deltaville at Dozier’s Marina.

"Permission to come aboard, Captain?" Jordan smiled at his uncle standing at the other end of the gangplank.

"Jordan!" Uncle Ted exclaimed. "Come onboard, lad, we've been waiting for you."

As, of course, he didn't have his boat shoes packed with him, he just removed his shoes and came aboard carrying them. Martha was right behind Ted, she must have been below deck.

"Jordan! Jordan!" Martha had him bound between her arms and was hugging him somewhat embarrassingly into her ample bosom.

"Well it's good to see you too," he was saying whilst trying to extricate himself and shake Ted's proffered hand.

"Come along, Martha, leave the lad free. Let's get his gear stowed. There'll be plenty of time for catching up."

Just as he'd freed himself from the exuberant Martha, and was about to follow Ted, a rather striking black haired young man appeared. This stopped Ted and Jordan on the spot, "This is Pierre," Ted made the introductions. "Pierre, meet Jordan, our wonderful young nephew."

Now Jordan really was embarrassed, if he was used to Martha smothering him, he was not expecting to be introduced as the 'wonderful young nephew' to such a strikingly handsome guy. The whole situation, however difficult it may have been for Jordan, just passed over Pierre like a sea breeze. He jumped around Martha and offered his hand along with a broad white teethed smile.

"Very pleazed to meet you," he said with an unmistakable French accent.

"Likewise," Jordan replied feeling the firm grip and thinking Pierre kept hold of his hand just a little longer than was customary. 'Perhaps that's how they do it in France, at least he didn't kiss me.'

Ted snapped him out of his thoughts as he started down the steps calling, "Come on, Jordan. Follow me, lad."

He walked behind Ted, through the small lounge and galley. His uncle opened the door to a tiny cabin in the bow of the yacht. There was barely room for him to squeeze past Ted and into the cabin; they both had to bend their heads.

"You and Pierre are in here, Martha and I have the aft cabin. Get your gear stowed and come back on deck. We'll have a little drink before lunch... to celebrate."

The four of them managed to squeeze onto the bench seat that curved around one side of the little table. This was not a big yacht, with four adults there was a lot of squeezing past each other, but nobody minded, it was part of life onboard.

Jordan was seated in between Martha on one side and Pierre the other, he was acutely aware of Pierre's leg resting against his. The physical contact made him glance to his left to catch a glimpse of this young man, he wondered how old he was, twenty something, maybe?

"A beer, Jordan?" Ted had brought drinks over, which he was setting down on the table. "Or something stronger if you prefer."

"You know I hardly ever drink, Uncle Ted," Jordan smiled.

"Special occasion," Ted replied handing him a beer.

"Yes, we haven't seen you in a good while," Martha added.

"You were in Turkey?" Pierre asked, whilst accepting a beer from Ted.

"Yes, near the Syrian boarder. Working for Christian Aid," Jordan told him.

Now everyone had a drink, Ted interrupted to propose a toast. "To Jordan, and his safe return!"

They all clanked glasses and sipped their drinks. Martha passed snacks around, and at the same time asked Jordan, "How were things there?"

"Oh, Martha it's a terrible situation. The town is flooded with thousands of refugees fleeing the war."

"And what exactly was your job?" Pierre asked him.

"I basically helped wherever they needed someone. In the clinic, walking the streets collecting orphans, anything and everything."

"Collecting orphans?" Ted asked curious about what exactly that meant.

"Yeah," Jordan replied, "there are loads of kids without any family. Kids working in run down workshops twelve hours a day to earn enough to eat. Living in slums. Doing whatever to survive. And of course it's not safe."

"But, are there no places for them to be looked after?" Ted sounded concerned. Martha too was listening intently.

"Yeah, there are, but they are pretty full. And then it's a question of finding the kids, and getting them to go there."

"Ah, I see," Ted replied. Jordan thought maybe this was the time to come right out with his story about the boys.

"There are three boys in particular, Ted," Jordan launched into a brief telling of their story. "I took them with me when I left Gaziantep, and I've left them in Antalya. I promised to find a way to help them." He glanced at Martha who covered his hand with hers in a sympathetic gesture. "I just can't abandon them, they're teenagers, fourteen, fifteen, and seventeen."

"And what will you do for these boys?" Pierre asked.

"Yes," Ted chimed in, before Jordan could reply, "you can't take on everybody's woes, Jordan. Even if they are children. You know the first thing they always tell you when you start working in these places, is 'don't get personally involved, keep your distance'."

"Yes, I know, but it's not so easy. And sometimes it just doesn't work out like that. Sometimes things just happen, and you find you are involved."

"Jordan, dear," Martha was gently squeezing his hand. She no doubt sensed he was upset. Martha could always see the sensitive nature of Jordan, even if her husband never noticed it. "I don't really think that there is much you can do."

"But there is, Martha," Jordan insisted. "We could go get them out of there."

"Now, Jordan," Ted was addressing him a bit like he was the child he used to take out yachting. "You can't seriously think we can go sailing off to Turkey on some sort of rescue mission. Come on, think about it."

"Yes, Jordan," Pierre joined in the argument. "They issued a notice to all private boats in this part of the Med, it's very clear, anyone who’s taking refugees will be arrested as a criminal. If you see refugees you must call the coast guard."

Jordan felt disheartened, as if they were all against him. He wondered now what he could do.

"Jordan," Martha was talking softly. "Don't worry about all that now. You need a good night’s rest and things will look better in the morning."

That was one of those expressions mirrored by his mother, but he wasn't at all convinced 'things would look better in the morning.' However, Martha was being her usual motherly self, and if Pierre's information was correct, well there wasn't much more to be said. No, he knew his uncle; Ted was a very level headed person, not someone to throw caution to the wind. Best he thought to let it drop, for now. He'd have to rethink his plans.

"Well, how about a spot of lunch?" Ted jumped up. "I thought I'd take us all out for lunch today."

Pierre smiled as he extricated himself from the seat; Jordan followed him out, sliding across. They stood together on the dock waiting for Ted and Martha.

"I might have a way to help you," Pierre told Jordan. "We can talk later, maybe." Jordan looked at him, he definitely was an attractive guy, and nice with it, he thought.

Jordan gave him a little smile as first Ted, then Martha joined them. "It's not far," Ted said. "We can walk."

They set off, Ted and Martha ahead of Jordan and Pierre. The sun was casting rays through the clouds, it was quiet except for the distant screech of a seagull, and actually felt warm in the sunshine. There was no wind, just a faint sea breeze. As he glanced over towards the sea, Jordan couldn't help wondering what the boys were doing now.

*****

Firas had been helping in the kitchen; Amar and Samir had gone out, saying they needed a change. Well it was Amar who said that, Samir just went along with him, and Firas didn't object, because he felt a bit like the third wheel. Now lunchtime was finished and Firas had stacked the dishes after doing the washing up. He went back to their room, leaving Fadil sweeping the floor.

Not long after, he was surprised to see Fadil enter the bedroom. He hadn't really got to know the older boy, for one thing there was the language, but that wasn't the main reason. No, though Fadil seemed nice enough, maybe it was just sharing a bed. Somehow it felt a bit odd, Firas was lonely, and it felt strange having the older boy in the same bed, but being scared to do anything. He didn't want to mess things up. Jordan had told them, before he left, to be on their best behaviour.

Fadil sat down on the bed and looked over at Firas who was moving around half staring out of the window. "You like me?" Fadil asked, talking to the back of Firas' head.

He turned around and smiled back at the older boy. Standing now with his back to the window, his gaze moved to focus on some imaginary point on the floor between the two of them. It was not how you would usually see Firas, but with this boy he was shy.

Fadil stood up and crossed over to him. He reached out with his arm and took hold of Firas beneath his chin, raising his head to look into his eyes. "I think you do," Fadil told him.

The feel of that touch and the controlled assuredness of the older boy started a fire in his loins, he felt himself respond. Fadil moved closer, so close their bodies were almost touching. He was taller than Firas by maybe thirty centimetres or more.

Firas didn't move away as the other boy pulled him into a tight embrace. His now rigid cock strained against his jeans, he felt the hardness repeated in the boy who was hugging him. Fadil's warm breath was near his ear, one hand was resting on his arse. "I can fuck you. You like it?"

Those words sent a shiver through his body, his cock pushed harder against the boy holding him. He felt the moisture seeping from the tip of his erection. He desperately wanted to be naked. "Yes," he managed to answer, his heart pounding at the idea.

Fadil released his hold and took a step back. He brushed a hand gently, like a feather, across Firas' cheek. With deft fingers, he undid the younger boy's jeans, pulled down the zipper, gripped the sides, and slid the jeans and his underpants down below his knees. His cock shot straight out and pointed upwards, glistening and bouncing in its newly found freedom.

Next he knelt down in front of Firas, he ignored his bobbing erection, instead, carefully untying his laces. As Fadil stood back up, Firas kicked off his sneakers and squirmed his legs out of his jeans.

Two hands brushed through his hair and then down to his t-shirt, taking hold and pulling it up, he raised his arms as Fadil lifted it over his head. Firas was now completely naked in front of the other boy. He felt the older boy's eyes on his body, it excited him, anticipation sent jolts of energy through his body, his cock twitched. He wanted Fadil to touch him; he wanted to be held by those strong arms.

Fadil untied his own laces and removed his shoes. He undid the button and zipper of his jeans. Bending down he removed his jeans and underwear. Firas' heart was thumping against his chest. He watched the older boy stand up and pull his jumper off. He too was now naked.

Firas' eyes travelled down the older boy's body. There was a line of dark hair leading down from just below his navel to his genitals. A super hard, thick and long penis shot straight out with neat rounded testicles hanging tight below. He wanted to reach out and touch it, to caress that super hard rod, to suck it and pass his tongue over the tip.

Fadil rested both hands on Firas' shoulders,; he leaned in and kissed his lips. With a gentle pressure, he pushed the younger boy down. Firas knelt in front of Fadil, he opened his mouth and closed his lips around the boy's manhood. Fadil gripped the younger boy's head with both his hands. He gently moved his hips as Firas gazed up to look into his eyes.

He reached under Firas' arms and lifted him back up onto his feet. His eyes rested on the younger boy's bouncing hard on. He knew the boy wanted him. His hands gripped Firas' shoulders and turned him away from him. He pushed the boy's shoulders down. Firas put his arms out resting his palms flat on the cupboard in front of him. Fadil looked at the boy bent over in front of him. His cock jumped.

Firas gasped again as Fadil penetrated him. Fadil gripped Firas with both hands on his hips, and slowly, then quickening, started to fuck him. It was really incredible. His mind was detached, his body assaulted. There was no way he could control it, suddenly his whole body was wracked in spasms. Fadil was very close, fucking this boy was amazing, he was slamming his cock all the way into that cute little arse, and his balls were bouncing up and down against him. He felt the younger boy explode. He ploughed his cock deep into him as he came inside the boy, pumping back into him several times until finally resting, hugging his back, and kissing his neck.

They separated and moved to collapse naked together on the bed. Rolling to face each other, to touch and plant soft kisses on naked flesh. Their lips once more found each other’s and touched in a gentle embrace.

Sometime later, they got up, showered, and dressed. Fadil would be working in the restaurant tonight. Firas might also help again. He thought it would be nice to live here with Fadil, but he knew that wasn't possible, just as he knew, even though Fadil was gentle, he wasn't gay. Don't ask how he knew, he just did. There was something about the older boy that said one day he would be married with his own family.

It was the same with Jordan. Firas had wondered about having sex with him, he would have, if Jordan had wanted, but he knew Jordan was not gay either. He hoped he would see him again; he wasn't certain about that.

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