Page 24

NINE

Three hours later, they were on the boat and heading home, a cooler packed with fresh fish and produce, and their other purchases secured inside a hatch.

Kensley leaned back in his seat and let the wind whip across his face, stomach full of lunch.

Kensley had never eaten conch before, and it was now his new favorite food.

They had several pounds of it in the cooler.

Kensley had truly enjoyed walking around the market and what small parts of the village Bishop allowed them to wander into.

The residents were cheerful and welcoming, and he’d loved sampling some of the local fruit, especially the oranges.

Bishop had warned Kensley this morning about being too honest about himself, so they’d invented a brief “history” for him, and used their passport names in front of others.

Being undercover had become almost a game while they shopped.

Kensley had fawned over a pair of handwoven sandals until Bishop handed over the cash. Kensley had never been much for jewelry, but he’d also picked out a simple necklace of shaved conch shell on a braided leather cord with two blue-painted beads.

Another stall that had stolen his attention was a young woman who created art out of what she called “broken and mismatched tools.” Most of it was spoons, knives, and forks, but he’d been able to pick out small screwdrivers, large nails, and other bits of scrap metal.

The artist created wind chimes, jewelry, and decorative things like candleholders.

He’d fallen in love with a pendant fashioned out of a twisted fork that was very abstract but still somehow reminded him of Bishop.

It didn’t have a cord or chain, but Kensley bought it anyway, and it was still in his shorts pocket.

He hadn’t told Bishop it was a gift, and he wasn’t sure how to present it as such yet.

Bishop radioed Walsh, who reported no one had been on or near the island all day. Always what they wanted to hear. He brought them in, docked and tied off the boat. Bishop handled the cooler, while Kensley carried their other purchases to the house.

After unpacking their conch, fish, and fruit, they went down to the lagoon for another late afternoon swim.

Since they’d barely touched each other all day, they went in naked and wrestled in the shallows more than they swam.

After a lot of horsing around, they swapped salty blow jobs on shore, and then went back up to the house to make dinner.

While Bishop cooked, Kensley poked around for something to string the metal pendant on, so he could gift it to Bishop.

The vacation house lacked any sort of crafting items, but he did find a ball of jute twine in one of the spare bedrooms. Kensley used that to braid a long, natural chain for the pendant, and he was proud of the results.

It was rustic and meaningful, even if he doubted Bishop would ever wear it.

After a bit more scavenging around the house, Kensley found a couple of bandanas in a dresser drawer.

They didn’t seem like something King would wear, but he really didn’t know his older brother.

He used one to wrap the corded pendant, and he put the soft bundle in his shorts pocket.

Sometimes, he still boggled that he was walking around in shorts, sometimes no shirt, and swimming in the ocean, when back home it was freezing and icy.

Then he remembered the reason why he was on a tropical island and not at home, and a hint of the shine faded.

After dinner, Kensley presented Bishop with his gift. Bishop stared at it for so long that Kensley was sure he hated it. Then Bishop put it around his neck, picked Kensley up, and carried him into the bedroom.

The following week, they returned to the market for more fresh conch and some vegetables.

Every word from King was to hold their position, and sometimes Kensley amused himself by wondering what King would think of all the sex Kensley and Bishop were having.

Often multiple times a day. Kensley never tired of the way Bishop’s cock felt moving inside his body, filling him with his seed.

Sometimes he was sore and used his mouth instead, but he couldn’t say no. He didn’t want to say no.

In fact, all he could do was eat every morsel of food Bishop put in front of him (often with seconds), and pounce on his charus whenever comfortably possible. His asshole could only take so much friction in a day.

They spent their second Saturday on the island at the main beach, swimming and snorkeling, and making out under their umbrella.

Kensley loved that Bishop had an odd tan line around his neck from wearing his pendant.

Kensley had a similar line from the conch shell necklace he’d yet to take off.

Through saltwater swimming, lots of active sex, and frequent showering, both of those necklaces remained in place.

Physical symbols of their commitment to each other.

Once they returned to the house, Bishop began preparing dinner while Kensley showered. The routine was so familiar and right, as if they’d lived this life forever, instead of only twelve days. Twelve days of wonderful that Kensley wouldn’t trade for the world.

Dinner tasted amazing, as always, but it sat strangely in Kensley’s stomach. He was almost nauseated, which was rare for him when he wasn’t also anxious, and his gut twisted oddly when he tried to help wash the dishes.

“Hey, Kens, are you okay?” Bishop asked. “You look a little green.”

“I feel kind of sick. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, we all get sick sometimes. Was it the food?” He looked like he’d been kicked in the balls. “I am so sorry if I cooked something wrong.”

“No, the food was amazing. Maybe I’m just tired.”

“Then go to bed. Lay down and relax.”

Relief flooded Kensley like a splash of cold water. “Are you sure?”

“Of course.” He gently kissed Kensley’s forehead. “You’ve had a pretty active couple of weeks, sweetheart. It’s okay to take a break and rest. I’ll make you some lemon tea, okay? It might help.”

“Okay. Thank you.” Kensley wanted to follow that up with an ‘I love you,’ but neither of them had said it out loud yet.

And cutting the evening short because of a sick stomach didn’t seem like the right time to exchange those special words.

He trudged into the bedroom, took off his shirt, and slid under the covers.

The cool cotton felt great against his hot skin, but he couldn’t find a comfortable position.

Not until a while later, when Bishop climbed into their bed and wrapped his big, comforting body around Kensley’s from behind.

A cocoon of safety and warmth, accompanied by the fragrant scent of lemon and ginger. The tea.

But Kensley didn’t want it. All he wanted was Bishop, and the man’s presence helped him relax and sleep.

It was dark out when Kensley’s roiling stomach woke him. Bishop was still curled up close, and when Kensley tried to lurch away, Bishop held tight. “Don’t. Gonna be sick,” Kensley whined.

Bishop immediately let go, and it took all Kensley’s coordination to get into the bathroom before he vomited into the toilet.

Not a lot came up, mostly bile, so he’d been asleep for a long time.

That didn’t make him feel better, though, and the last thing he wanted was to come down with a stomach bug on a tropical island.

Water ran in the sink, and then a cup appeared in his peripheral vision.

Kensley took it with a trembling hand and swished his mouth of the bitter taste.

A cool washcloth draped across the back of his neck.

“I’m right here, sweetheart,” Bishop whispered.

“I hope you didn’t catch something at the market. ”

“Yeah.” That would really suck, especially if they got word from King that they needed to change locations tomorrow.

He rested his arm on the toilet rim, pressed his forehead against his arm, and concentrated on breathing, while he took stock of his body.

He’d had stomach bugs before, but this felt different.

Maybe it was because he had someone with him to pamper him through the illness, instead of occasionally being brought tea by a fellow priest, and frowned at for his weakness if he was too sick to perform his duties at the abbey.

“Think there’s more coming?” Bishop asked.

Kensley swallowed a few times, but his stomach seemed to have calmed. “I don’t think so.”

“Then let’s go back to bed and rest.” Bishop took the washcloth off his neck and gently wiped Kensley’s eyes, cheeks, and mouth, a soothing, loving gesture that made Kensley a bit weepy.

Kensley did not object when Bishop carried him to bed and tucked him in.

Promised to be back in a minute. He returned with a canned ginger ale, water, and a plastic basin.

Kensley sipped some of the ginger ale, and it didn’t upset him.

He wasn’t able to fall asleep, so he drifted in Bishop’s arms until sunrise peeked through the mostly-closed curtains.

His stomach was still gurgling, but he didn’t have the aches or fever that often accompanied the flu.

After letting Bishop bathe them both, Kensley sipped ginger tea and nibbled on dry toast, hoping both things stayed down. He hated throwing up, and he did not want a repeat of last night. This morning? Whatever.

“You need to take it easy today,” Bishop said as he ate a simple breakfast of fruit and frozen waffles. “Rest on the couch, or out on the patio, but no strenuous exercise.”

Kensley pouted. They hadn’t refrained from sex for longer than half a day since their first time, but Kensley didn’t want to make whatever this was worse. “Okay.”

“But if you throw up again, or anything gets worse, I’ll call Walsh about getting a trustworthy doctor out here. You’ve been in a kind of bubble for the last fourteen years. You might have a weaker immune system than we thought, and I’d die if anything happened to you.”