(no subject)

[lobelia321]

Title: Up Shit Creek
Part: 3/8
Author: Lobelia; lobelia321@aol.com
Other info: See Part 1/8

There was a sucking noise, and suddenly a tremendous pull at his left-hand oar. Billy loosened his grip without meaning to, the paddle went 'phooing', flew into the air, and was next seen tranquilly drifting off with the current on the other side of the fatal rocks.

Billy stared after the oar. He was so dumbfounded that he even forgot to swear.

Karl didn't swear, either.

"Um..." said Billy. His ears were burning again. He opened his mouth to say 'sorry' but no sound came out. This was terrible. He didn't dare turn around to look at Karl. He tightened his grip around the remaining oar but that was of no use to him now, of course.

Karl wasn't saying anything.

Finally, Billy turned around to face forwards and to face Karl. But he still didn't say 'sorry'.

There was a peculiar expression on Karl's face which made him look almost nice. Almost. The boat was rocking gently back and forth in the backwash of the eddy they had just passed. A tui screeched past. Karl continued to look almost nice. But then the moment snapped. Karl opened his mouth again and gabbled something about how it didn't matter, how the tides on that part of the river would bring the oar back to shore, how the current they were in would carry them comfortably along, how they didn't necessarily need a second oar, Karl could scull, but for now the best thing would be just to drift along in this current until they'd hit the bend in the river, and then there'd be a small landing place there, they'd beach the boat and maybe they could get in a spot of fishing, it was a good spot for bass.

Billy stared glumly at the shore. He was feeling so dismal that he even stopped wishing that Dom were there. The whole day was a fucking disaster. Karl was awkward and boring and uncomfortable to get along with. Billy was being tongue-tied and silent and rude into the bargain, and Billy didn't like being rude. He didn't like Karl for making him be rude. He felt sorry about losing the oar, that had been a bloody stupid thing to do. But he just wished that Karl could be a bit more easy-going about things. It was true that Karl had been nice about the oar. It was true that Karl was probably boring on in order to make Billy feel better about having lost the oar. Even Billy had to concede that the endless stream of mindlessness was probably just Karl's way of making Billy feel better.

Billy didn't feel better, though. Billy felt, if anything, worse. Because now he no longer had only Karl to blame for being awful; he also had himself to blame for being stupid and rude.

On top of everything, there were thick clouds gathering on the horizon, and without the exercise of rowing, Billy was starting to shiver again. He rubbed his bare forearms.

Karl didn't seem to be feeling the cold. Karl was wearing only his T-shirt. And one that was two sizes too small, too, judging by the way it tightened across Karl's chest and hugged his biceps. The multi-pocketed jacket was folded next to him on the bench. The windcheater was gone, presumably stuffed into his bag.

Karl had shut up which added to the relative bearableness of the moment. He was wearing the oddest expression, however, and his eyes were having that funny effect on Billy again. Billy couldn't seem to tear his gaze away from Karl's eyes, and Karl wasn't tearing his eyes away, either. So they both sat there for a minute at least, staring at each other as if they were playing a schoolboy's game of chicken. Billy sometimes played that game with Dom, and he was inevitably the one who laughed first, but here in this boat, no one was laughing. The laughter completely dried up in Billy's throat. And the jokes and the words, too. Everything dried up. All he could do was to sit rooted to his bench and go on staring. He suddenly remembered how warm Karl's breath had felt against his neck earlier. Then he felt a small shiver deep inside his guts, and then another one, and then Billy looked away.

Billy looked away and up and past Karl. He looked at the beige and green shoreline and at the pebble-coloured reflection of the overcast sky on the water and at the small sandy beach heaving in sight around the next headland. A small sandy beach, just as Karl had predicted. Billy blinked. The boat rolled from side to side. Little waves smacked the sides. High up, a bellbird called. Billy trailed his hand in the water which felt soft and silky. It was quite tranquil, really. Quite nice and silent.

Then, of course, Karl had to go and break the silence and start yammering on about something or other again. But this time, a funny thing happened. Billy continued to look away and up and past Karl, but he didn't bother listening to Karl's actual words. Instead, Billy just attended to the timbre of Karl's voice and the up-and-down intonations of his speech and the slight catch in the back of his throat whenever Billy chanced to glance at him.

So Billy chanced to glance at him a few times in a row, just to produce that catch.

It worked every time. Worked like a charm.

The problem was that it started to work on Billy as well. Every time he glanced at Karl, there was the catch in Karl's voice. And every time Billy heard the catch in Karl's voice, he felt that small shiver deep inside his guts.

What with the shoreline and the reflection and the waves smacking and the bellbird calling and Karl's voice catching, Billy was almost going into a kind of *plein-air* trance. And because Billy had stopped listening to Karl's words, it took him a minute or longer to work out that Karl was actually addressing a question to him.

"What?" Billy said and shook his head.

"Scull," said Karl.

"Skull?" repeated Billy, blankly.

"Do you want me to scull?" said Karl. "We're getting quite close to that beach now and I could bring the boat round and scull her in to shore."

"Oh, okay," said Billy, still blankly.

"But..." Karl cleared his throat. "I'll need to be astern for that. So if you'll just let me get past, I'll go aft and pick up the paddle and start sculling."

"Oh, okay," said Billy again. He didn't know where the rest of his vocabulary had disappeared to.

Karl got up. Karl was moving towards Billy, moving in a kind of half-crouching lurch, holding onto the side of the boat with one hand, the other hand outstretched for balance.

Karl reached the middle bench. Billy moved to his left to allow him to pass. Karl moved to his right to pass by Billy. The boat swayed. The boat listed to one side. They both surged towards the centre to regain their balance. Karl fell against Billy, oh no, not this again. Billy fell against Karl. And because Billy was sitting and because Karl was half-crouching, they ended up almost on top of one another, Karl's head just above Billy's, Karl's knees against Billy's knees. The boat rocked again. Billy held onto Karl's arm, Karl held onto Billy's arm. Their faces were inches apart. Karl's eyes were inches from Billy's eyes.

Billy stared into those eyes. His ears burned. His tongue was tied. He had that small shiver deep inside his guts, except it wasn't small any longer.

Then Karl kissed Billy.

Wrong. That was wrong. Where was the rewind button? Billy did not want to be kissed by Karl. Why was he being kissed by Karl? Billy lifted his hand and pressed it against Karl's chest to push him away. Karl's chest, clad only in the T-shirt, felt warm and strong under Billy's palm. But that was not relevant. Not relevant at all. Just an incidental sensation that couldn't be avoided. Billy pushed but it was an ineffectual push. It only served to bring Karl tumbling further down on top of Billy, and now Karl's chest was pressed right up against Billy's chest, and Billy's hand was trapped in between.

So Billy opened his mouth to say, 'Get off me, Karl', but of course, Karl's lips were on Billy's and all that came out was the sound, "Mm-mm, mm." And what was worse, Karl seemed to misunderstand Billy's open mouth as some sort of invitation, because he pushed his tongue in and moved it around in there, and that was definitely not part of the plan.

Billy said, "Mm-m" again, but that only appeared to inflame Karl's ardour further. He flung one arm around Billy in a vice-like grip. The arm felt warm around Billy's back, Karl's warm arm against Billy's chilly back. Billy swayed, perched on the bench as he was, and Karl swayed into him, and by now it seemed kind of late to be pushing Karl off because the kiss had gone on for so long.

One thing, though: Karl was a terrible kisser.

Karl's kissing was just as uninspired as his conversation. Billy might have known. Karl kissed just as Billy had imagined he would kiss. Not that Billy had ever imagined Karl kissing. Of course not. Billy didn't imagine guys kissing. He didn't think about guys kissing him or about him kissing guys, and he had never ever before exchanged kisses with a bloke. Except with Dom, but that didn't count. Billy was always smooching Dom when they were drunk. And once, when they had both been pissed as newts, Billy had stuck his tongue into Dom's mouth, just to see what it felt like. It had tasted of beer and cardamom, and Dom's tongue had curled up under Billy's like a small wiggly squirrel.

Karl's tongue wasn't like a squirrel. It was like a fucking huge slug, sliming its way round Billy's mouth. Billy wasn't pissed, either; he almost wished he were, he wished he weren't quite as stone-cold sober as he was, but no, he wasn't pissed, he was just pissed off. Karl was stabbing his tongue aggressively into Billy's cheeks. He was slithering his tongue around in the space between Billy's teeth and his gums, he had his mouth stretched open far too wide, and Billy hated that style of kissing. It was hurting Billy's mouth, being stretched open like that. Karl was also wagging his head about in a highly irritating manner, and to top it off, he was still wearing his baseball cap and the visor kept scraping against Billy's forehead. It was fucking irritating, and trust Karl to be such a terrible kisser.

So Billy put his hand up to tug the cap off, and then he kept his hand there to steady Karl's wagging head, and then, of course, his hand got tangled in Karl's hair. That was not too bad, thankfully. Karl's hair felt thick and freshly-washed, and it was nice and semi-long, it was Eomer-length, almost like a girl's, and Billy didn't mind that. He didn't mind being able to bunch up Karl's hair between his fingers, to let Karl's hair trail over the back of his hand.

Unfortunately, Karl didn't only have the Eomer hair, he also had the Eomer beard and the Eomer moustache, and because the guy was so clumsy at positioning his lips across Billy's, half the time Billy got a mouthful of bristle between his teeth.

So what with steadying Karl's head and spitting out Karl's bristles and trying to close Karl's lips somewhat and pushing his own tongue back at Karl's to dislodge it from Billy's gums -- Billy was kept fairly busy for at least five minutes.

It turned out that after a while, Billy stopped minding Karl's aggressive tongue because Billy's irritation was carried into the kiss. Billy kissed his irritation into Karl and countered Karl's aggressive tongue with his own aggressive tongue. He fought with Karl's tongue in his mouth, he banged his teeth against Karl's deliberately, he bit Karl's tongue, bit it so hard that Karl winced. But Karl didn't pull away, and their kiss was like a fucking wrestling match, Billy almost choking on Karl's tongue and on the need to subdue Karl and to punish him for being such a bore and a know-it-all and for not being Dom. Yes, to punish him for not being Dom. There you go, Karl, serves you fucking right, you sad case, serves you right for lunging at me and putting your filthy hands all over me and for staring at me all the time in that stupid perverted way.

The worst thing, though, was that Karl appeared to misunderstand all these things. He appeared to take Billy's hand in his hair as a sign of affection because he started to scratch his own hand through Billy's hair, and he appeared to misunderstand Billy's aggressive tongue as an invitation for more, because he started to push his groin against Billy, and he appeared to misunderstand Billy's biting as a sign of abandoned passion because he started to bite Billy back, bite his tongue and his lips.

Then Karl began to grunt loudly.

Fuck. Trust Karl to be a grunter. Billy didn't like grunting. Grunting was a completely blokish thing to be doing. Billy himself never grunted, and he didn't like to hear any grunting, and Karl's blokish grunting was totally and utterly the last straw.

But then Billy discovered something disturbing. He discovered that he had some sort of grunt receptor attached straight to his dick. Because even though Billy's brain found Karl's grunting singularly unappealing, Billy's dick responded with startling promptness to the grunts.

In short, Billy got a hard-on.

Shit.

He squirmed discreetly to try and pull his groin away from Karl's. Because it was all very well kissing Karl and having automated biological responses to Karl but he sure as fuck wasn't going to let Karl know about them or to let this go any further than it, apparently, already had. So Billy squirmed but all he succeeded in doing was to slide off the bench, taking Karl with him, until they were both in the bottom of the boat, wet patch soaking into Billy's jeans from below, wooden bench digging into Billy's ribs from behind, Karl lying against him from above, and Karl's cock, hard as a fucking paddle and about as big, pressing against Billy's dick through the denim of their jeans.

Billy gasped. With frustration. Karl gasped, too, but he didn't sound frustrated. In fact, Karl's kissing got more frenzied. Billy literally had to wrench Karl's hair into knots in his fist to stop him from moving his head about quite so wildly. Karl winced and pulled away from Billy's mouth.

So Billy found himself looking into Karl's face again. Karl had pink splotches high up on his cheeks, he had sweat on his forehead, and the open fullness of his eyes made Billy's knees tremble. It was just as well that they were wedged between two benches at the bottom of a boat because if they'd been standing up, Billy might well have keeled over under the impact of Karl's eyes.

Billy struggled to say something. This was the moment. This was his cue to say, 'Fuck off, Karl. Get your filthy paws off me, Karl. Go and maul someone else, Karl.' Billy did try. He did open his mouth and he did get as far as "Fuck", but then Karl, his eyes glazing over in the most remarkable fashion, started to fumble with his jeans. Karl's hand was somewhere down there, squeezed in between their two bellies. Billy, in his alarm, forgot about saying 'Fuck off, Karl', and instead moved his own hand down there. In order to push Karl's hand away, of course. No other reason. For a fraction of a second, their hands were tangled together in their groin area, then Billy's hand touched something, fucking hell. Billy's hand touched something hot, something smooth, something naked. Fuck, Karl must have unzipped in a bloody lightning flash, and before Billy knew it, his own fingers were on Karl's naked cock.

Billy froze.

Billy's fingers on Karl had an instant effect. Karl let out a long groan. His eyes fell shut, Billy saw his dusky lashes against the pale skin under his eyes; how strange, that that little bit of skin was so pale when the rest of Karl's face was so flushed... and how delicate Karl's eyelids looked, with a tiny blue vein running through the left one, like a bit of fly pooh.

So there they were, stuck together in a small boat, stuck to each other by misunderstandings, Karl and Billy, Billy and fucking Karl. And Billy still didn't like Karl Urban but this did not seem to be the moment to make that clear. Misunderstanding was compounding misunderstanding, and now Karl seemed to think that Billy had wanted to grab his cock on purpose. Karl was holding onto Billy as if Billy were some sort of a life preserver. He was groaning into Billy's neck. He was producing that catch in the back of his throat, just by groaning. In fact, he wasn't only groaning, he was licking and biting Billy's neck. He was moving his hand down past Billy's waistband and fumbling with Billy's zipper, and of course, it took him ages to undo it. All the time, Billy just stared at the overcast sky, felt the rippling of the water under the boat, felt the rippling of Karl's cock in his own hand and had no idea how to get himself out of this one.

TBC

Comments

::falls over::

[someidiothasice.livejournal.com]

One thing, though: Karl was a terrible kisser.

LMFAO I am laughing..... SO fucking hard.

Then Karl began to grunt loudly.

::rolls around laughing::

Poor sod! Oh MAN I can't wait to read the rest of this story. AHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!

Re: ::falls over::

[lobelia321.livejournal.com]

Thank you! And a relevant icon, too! My Karl/Billy icon won't upload, *sulks*.

[tvillingar.livejournal.com]

Uh huh. This river wouldn't be called 'Denial', would it?