The blue cruise

by BRK   

A gay couple accidentally finds a way to make a cruise more interesting after a brunch that happens to feature some oddly hued banana pancakes.

“I don’t know why I let you talk me into this,” Griff muttered, half to himself.

Sawyer’s lips quirked. “What, walking off our amazing brunch with a stroll around the Deck 2 promenade?” He nodded to a hale-looking white-haired older couple passing the other way. The woman gave them a slight, curious head-tilt, as if she weren’t used to seeing a pair of fit, late-fortysomething obviously gay men where they came from. A lot of the passengers had been like that over the last two days, their insular reactions prompting Sawyer to wonder exactly where this package tour had been marketed, and to whom. Griff narrowed his eyes at them, his still-dark eyebrows bristling, and the couple moved swiftly past.

“You know what I mean. This whole couples cruise thing is weird,” Griff said, gesturing around them at the grand and gleaming oceangoing city that was the Naiad Cruise Lines flagship vessel, the Caribbean Hercules. The steady ocean breeze riffled the short sleeves of his teal-hued shirt, the silk-screened palm trees looking like they were waving in the wind. Sawyer enjoyed the frisky sea air moving under his loose polo, which was identical to his husband’s but in neon pink and unbuttoned halfway. Sawyer scratched the patch of blond chest hair striping up his sternum.

“It’s like, everything here is a reconstruction of ‘normal’, but by space aliens,” Griff went on. “Did you see our pancakes at brunch? Who ever heard of blue bananas?”

That was a little odd, Sawyer agreed. The faint blue hue of the banana-batter pancakes they’d had at brunch, topped with diced, similarly mis-hued bits of the pulpy fruit along with powdered sugar and premium maple syrup to taste, had struck him at the time as a weird attempt at a maritime theme; though the menus didn’t mention it, and all the other piles of banana flapjacks the waiters had ferried out to the various couples not opting for the omelet bar or a breakfast salad were textbook banana-pulp whitish yellow in color. Was it a coincidence the gay couple had gotten a more “festive” breakfast? Probably. More likely some trainee griddle jockey back in the galley, faced with yet another boring short stack, had chanced deploying a bit of blue dye to liven things up before the philistine head chef had forced him back into using a more natural color palette.

The arty flapjacks had tasted good, at least. The whole spread had been delicious. Harrumphs or not, Sawyer couldn’t help noticing how his occasionally cantankerous, still-stunning retired Olympic swimmer husband had wolfed his down ‘til there was nothing left behind on the plate but a few fork-swirled smears of sweet maple syrup.

Griff was still venting. “Don’t get me wrong,” he was saying, lowering his voice as they passed another stone-faced fortysomething pair. “I love the idea of celebrating our twentieth anniversary on the water. I grew up with the ocean. I swear I must be, like, one-sixteenth merman,” he joked. It was one of his standard lines, trotted out in various interviews over the years, but Sawyer still huffed in amusement. After all, the way Griff swam, you could almost believe it. Come to think of it, Griff and his equally aquaphilic brothers didn’t know much of anything about their mysterious, sultry-eyed Greek grandfather…

“Even so, lover,” Griff went on, “ten days in the West Indies with straight couples giving us funny looks might be a chore.”

Sawyer smiled and nudged Griff’s thicker shoulder with his own. He was trim, but Griff still retained some of his old swim-honed physique—and most of his famously dark and wavy hair, though it was thinner and grayer than it had been. “Oh, you love it,” Sawyer teased his straitlaced silver fox, taking his hand and lacing their fingers together. “You love being scandalous.”

The wind gusted, buffeting them steadily with the warm, salt-tinged air. Sawyer leaned into it, enjoying the feel of it against his skin. It wasn’t actually that much of an exaggeration, he reflected. “Remember that Sports Illustrated photo shoot you did with the white Speedos climbing out of the pool, after you won your second gold?” he said. “In the space of an afternoon you had the most famous dickprint in human history.”

Griff snorted at the memory, only slightly chagrined. “You didn’t have to make it the wallpaper on your phone,” he shot back playfully, as though it had been his impish then-fiancé that had gone too far.

“Are you kidding?” Sawyer said, smirking. “All the other nurses were more impressed I was dating Thick Dick Griff than they were with your swim record.”

“Please,” Griff said. “Yours is bigger.”

“They didn’t know that.”

They passed another couple, these two pointedly ignoring Sawyer and Griff as they stared fixedly out at the rippling, wine-dark ocean basking happily under the noonday sun. Sawyer thought the pair looked like stock sitcom parents of the show’s trendy protagonists, played by bygone stars and prone to talking about how things were back in less tolerant times. To Sawyer’s mind, the frowners were the ones that were out of place. “Besides, I’ll tell you a secret, hon,” he added. He leaned in toward his husband to whisper, “This is the gay cruise.”

Griff huffed a laugh. They passed the end of a bulkhead into a more open area where the promenade looked out over the swimming pool area. They paused their walk to lean on the railing and people-watch.

“It’s not much of a secret,” he said, chuckling. “But thanks for the reminder.”

Below them, the expansive pool area was a microcosm of the ship itself, as the rippling water and surrounding deck were teeming with a broad array of same-sex couples just like the ones they’d been seeing all day, most but not all of them male. Many were trim late forty-somethings like Sawyer and Griff, though these tended to be the ones in Hawaiian shirts and sunglasses lounging contentedly in deck chairs, enjoying the two oval-shaped, shaded hot tubs to either side, or chatting animatedly at the smoothie bar. This left the rippling blue waters of the surprisingly large in-ship swimming pool to a younger crowd who, at the moment, seemed to be actively engaged in a friendly game of water polo. Upbeat music drifted over the pool area from a live, open-shirted DJ at the aft end of the space, the dance-mix calypso pleasantly meshing with the laughter and chatter of the cruisegoers enjoying themselves.

Griff nodded toward the twentysomethings in the pool. “Everyone else on this ship is so young,” he groused. “And fit. It’s like a ship full of happy gay fitness models.” He blew out a breath, watching the play of muscle as an absolute Adonis near the deep end of the pool smacked the ball to an even swoler, darker-skinned teammate, both with jawlines sharp enough to slice meat on. Griff grimaced. “I haven’t seen this many six-packs since the locker rooms in Beijing.”

“Come on,” Sawyer drawled patiently, tearing his eyes away from the crowd of diverse, wall-to-wall hunks gaily cavorting below them. “You’re sexy too, sweet one, and as beautiful as the day I met you. You haven’t aged a day.” He’d meant it as a white lie, but glancing over at his husband he realized it was the honest truth. With his smooth, tanned skin, high cheekbones, bright blue eyes, and lush, jet-black hair cascading onto his bulging shoulders, Griff really did look a solid two decades younger than he was. Not to mention the rest of him—his body looked like he’d just stepped out of a eugenics lab.

The effect was intensified as Griff’s dour mood melted away and he tossed Sawyer a familiar cocky grin, intensifying the glint in his eyes under those thick, dark Mediterranean brows. “Seriously, dude,” Sawyer teased, feeling a rush of heat at his lover’s uncanny youthful splendor. “It’s kind of spooky.”

Griff eyed him rakishly. “Yeah? You look even younger!” he joked. He bumped his Olympian shoulder against Sawyer’s. “What are you, 18, from the looks of you? You sure you’re legal?” he taunted affably.

“Ugh, don’t remind me,” Sawyer groaned, cursing his own apparently age-resistant genetics. “How many times have I been carded on this trip?”

“Just flash the bartender your big dick,” Griff laughed. “That’ll get you anything you ask for.”

Sawyer was half-inclined to believe him, going by the appreciative looks his admittedly hefty package had been getting from the hotties tending bar so far on this trip—especially the sexy bald Haitian at the nightclub the previous evening. “Whatever,” he said dismissively. “The guys on this cruise are so hot, I bet they all have huge dicks, too.”

“Ah, so that’s why you booked the nude cruise for gay men,” Griff jibed mischievously. He said it like he was making it up for a laugh, only to realize the truth of it. “That’s it, isn’t it?” he said, poking Sawyer’s bicep—which, while nicely shaped and defined like the rest of him, lacked the sculpted brawn of his world-class athlete spouse. “You dog, you just wanted to show everyone yours is twice as big as everyone else’s.”

Sawyer shifted his tanned, naked body awkwardly, glad his massive schlong was mostly hidden by the wide slats of the balustrade. “It’s not twice as big,” he muttered uncomfortably.

“Twelve inches soft and six around,” Griff said confidently, proud of his hubby’s stats. “That’s twice the average.”

Sawyer frowned at him as he shifted again, trying to ignore the brush of his wide cock against nearly the whole length of his thigh. “Six inches soft isn’t the average,” he objected, then knitted his brows as if unsure. “Is it?”

Griff shrugged his wide, tawny shoulders. “Near enough.” He leaned in with a wink. “So what’s it like finally getting to be the celebrity, eh?”

Sawyer glanced down at the pool area. The naked, extremely handsome, gorgeously built men were still lounging, chatting, and playing water polo as before, their hefty cocks—most the size of a 12-ounce water bottle and looking heavy as fuck—on full display. A few of them had noticed Sawyer and were waving up at him, confidently or sheepishly according to character. Sawyer recognized most of them as having been some of the ones dancing or sitting near them at the disco the night before, most of them having been unable to keep their eyes off his swinging junk.

One devastatingly attractive fellow by the smoothie bar, an unusually tall and lanky Iberian with a stubbly goatee and (like most of the men on the ship, Griff and Sawyer included) no tan lines whatsoever, was pointing Sawyer out to his friends. Sawyer couldn’t hear what he was telling them, but the widening of their eyes gave him an idea. When the lanky Iberian guy put his hands in front of him and started moving them progressively apart, his audience gaping in awed disbelief and trading looks between the subject of the story and the raconteur, Sawyer finally looked away, his cheeks hot.

“It’s not quite what I expected,” Sawyer admitted.

Griff slapped Sawyer on his bare back. “Get used to it, Dick Boy,” he said. “For the next eight gloriously nude days, you’ll get the whole gamut. Stares everywhere you go, gushing fanboys, drunken propositions, guys bribing stewards to pass you their numbers and a dirty pic or two…”

Sawyer eyed him, amused and alarmed at the same time. “Is that what it’s like for you, Mr. People magazine’s Sexiest Olympian of the Century?” he snarked.

“It wasn’t ‘of the century’,” Griff sighed in pretend exasperation. “I’m pretty sure it said ‘of the century so far’.”

“Did it?” Sawyer said. He didn’t think the record-breaking beefcake cover, showing Griff naked and smiling from the Adonis belt up, had included that particular caveat.

“Hmm,” Griff considered. “Maybe that was on an earlier proof they sent me. Anyway, I’m retired.”

“Please. You’ve gotten recognized plenty of times on this trip. And hit on,” Sawyer said. “Not just for your gold-winning exploits, either, unless they’re giving medals for girth now,” he added. “I might be big but you’re even thicker than I am, and well above average the other way. Your balls are a few steps bigger than mine, too.” It was an exaggeration—or was it? Griff’s junk was beyond impressive, certainly. “Honestly,” Sawyer said, “I don’t know how you even got it all in those Speedos back in the day.”

“You know they got them custom-made for me,” Griff said gruffly. “Compression, too, to reduce drag.” He smirked over at Sawyer. “Anyway, you never objected to my girth, dearheart.”

“I did that first night,” Sawyer confessed in a low voice. “My eyes were bigger than my anus, that’s for sure.”

“Aw, you love feeling my long, extra-thick cock up your hot, hungry, dick-milking ass,” Griff said. “Still as tight as sweet as the first time, too,” he added. “I know neither of us has ever as much pleasure as we do every time we make deep, passionate love.”

“Stop, I’m blushing,” Sawyer said, not entirely joking. Looking down, Sawyer noted that their fanbase of cutie-pie, lickably-abbed, fat-cocked twunks and heavy-pecked, hirsute horse-hung hotties, all bantering with each other as they stared up at the promenade with awe and adulation, was steadily growing. Many of them were eyeing Griff now, too, proving what Sawyer had said about him being just as famous and eye-fuckable aboard ship as he was.

It wasn’t just the numbers that were growing, either. More than a few exposed phalluses were chubbing and swelling from all the sexy men talking up the huge-dicked celebs… as was perhaps to be expected in an assemblage of young and hung gay men, isolated in their own world of naked masculinity. Alarmingly, Sawyer felt his balls drawing up and his heavy, flaccid megadong twitching against his knee in response, a potential problem his lewd-minded, extroverted husband was doing nothing to mitigate.

He tried batting the innuendo back at Griff. “What about you, babe?” he said, turning to face him. “You’ve always said no one could take me, but I bet you can.” He raised an eyebrow at Griff, expecting him to deflect them to other activities, repeating what he always did—that a dick as big as Sawyer’s wasn’t for fucking.

This time, however, Griff looked intrigued and very turned on. “You think?” Griff challenged, shifting minutely closer. His swelling cock brushed lightly against Sawyer’s bare thigh.

Sawyer was caught up in the moment, no longer sure where he was going with this. “You can take me, can’t you?” he said, brimming with slow-brewing desire. “All this time you’ve been training with dildos or zucchini or whatever, and now you’re ready for me.”

Griff snorted. “Zucchini,” he chortled. “Your vegan mom would kill me if I abused a vegetable like that.”

“My vegan mom probably invented it,” Sawyer countered. “My size had to come from somewhere, right?”

Thankfully, bringing up his parents going at it had the desired effect of banking Sawyer’s arousal, at least for the moment. His wrist-thick wang remained ponderous and a little swollen, though, ready to rise at any stimulus and straining his groin muscles in a familiar pull. Fuck, his cock and balls weighed a ton, no matter what state they were in. Griff, meanwhile, still had a glint in his eyes, as if he were interested in further exploring Sawyer’s family tree.

A quick glance below showed that most other activities had ground to a halt. Instead, almost everyone in the pool or around it was staring up expectantly at Sawyer and Griff with grins on their faces. Some traded comments with each other about the couple; others just gazed up in lusty appreciation. Pretty much everyone was rock-hard by now, their members jutting up or out at various angles, curves, and thicknesses, but by and large surpassing the overall average male erection size of 9 inches. It was a fortunate group, Sawyer thought, feeling flushed and slightly dazed.

The music was still going, though the buff, dark-skinned DJ looked just as mesmerized as the rest of their fans, craning up to see them from his music engineering zone. A fresh-faced, gymnast-physiqued steward near the back of the crowd was likewise entranced, distinguished from the equally naked passengers only by his traditional white captain’s-style cap with the gold braided trim.

“Good thing everyone’s so well-behaved,” Sawyer said, bemused. And they were: a few were jacking themselves or their neighbors, but not many—though there were some couples in the shadows making out and grinding against each other as they glanced up occasionally at them.

“No stroking, penetration, or ejaculation in the pubic—I mean, public areas,” Griff tossed off with a smirk, now very close to Sawyer. He sounded like he was making it up, but Sawyer realized it was a verbatim quote of the list of rules they’d received at their first check-in (dumb joke included). And the cruisegoers were abiding by the rules, all of the hard cocks untouched and thereby, in a way, a more pure expression of their lust and devotion.

He smiled at Griff a little sheepishly. “Kiss him,” someone called out. That broke the ice, and soon more shouts were rising up from the deck below. “Kiss him!” “Hold him!” “Show us!”

Sawyer grinned, abashed and aroused. He rubbed his arms along Griff’s bulky, exquisitely sculpted upper arms, their faces mere inches apart. “Is this what it’s like, being famous?” he asked as the shouts persisted.

“Famous and irresistibly beautiful,” Griff said. From the craving in those blue eyes Griff must have thought he was describing Sawyer, though Sawyer knew Griff was the one who had always made him hard and horny just from seeing him and being near him, for the entire time they’d known each other.

Sawyer’s resistance vanished and instantly they were kissing hard and deep, their arms thrown tightly around each other. Between them Sawyer’s massive erection rutted lazily against Griff’s long torso and Griff’s own shorter, wider, steel-hard tool, the latter already weeping messily as it jutted along Sawyer’s lightly haired abs. The crowd cheered and shouted more encouragement. “Kiss him!” “We love you!” “Take him somewhere and make him cum!”

Sawyer broke the kiss, chuckling in panted huffs against Sawyer’s lips. “I love you, Griff,” he said. “This is all I want. Me loving you, you loving me. You and me, like this, hot and horny and in love forever.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

They kissed some more, the crowd tirelessly shouting their love and support for what they were doing. After a few feverish moments, Sawyer broke away again. “Dude, if we don’t get back to our suite in the next sixty seconds, I’m going to start breaking every rule on the ship.”

Griff laughed, resting his forehead against Sawyer’s. He found Sawyer’s eyes and winked. “What do you say we find out whether all that zucchini measures up to the real thing?” he teased.

Sawyer felt himself blaze with lust. Grabbing Griff’s hand he pulled them back the way they had come. Laughing, they raced down the promenade together toward their cabin, pursued by the approving cheers of their adoring, hunky, cock-loving fans before they all turned to each other for various forms of comfort and pleasure—public or otherwise.

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