A PERFECT DRIFT

"A Queer As Folk USA FanFic"

by Gaedhal

This is Part 1 of Chapter 94 in the "Queer Theories" series.

Go back to "The Wicked Twister", the previous chapter.

Narrated by Justin Taylor, featuring Brian Kinney, Earl, Others.
Rated R and contains no warnings or spoilers.
Summary: The vacation on the island nears its end. August 2002.
Disclaimer: This is for fun, not profit. Watch Queer As Folk on Showtime, buy the DVDs, videos, and CDs. Read the stories and enjoy.

"Excuse me."

Brian and I are sitting on the back deck Thursday morning, eating cold, leftover pizza for breakfast. It's the man from the bait shop down the road. He comes and stands on the dock next to the 'Colleen.'

"Yeah?"

"You Kenny? Brian Kenny?"

"Kinney. Yeah?"

"Guy said to look for a tall fella. Said he'd be with a blond kid. I knew who he meant."

"Right. So?"

"Call for you. Back at the shop."

"A phone call? At the bait shop?"

"Uh huh."

Brian sighs and gets up. He climbs out onto the dock, following the man. I go along. There is no doubt in my mind who the call is from. Ron has been calling Brian's cellphone at least five times a day, but Brian has been ignoring the messages.

The bait shop smells like fishy water and wet ground after it rains. It must be the worms and nightcrawlers and other things that the man sells. There are also racks of lures. Rods and fishing line. Nets. Photographs of big fish on the walls.

Brian picks up the phone and speaks in short, aggravated sentences. The man watches me the whole time. He looks at my 'First Mate' shirt, my shorts, my necklace. He seems to know us. 'I knew who he meant.' Right. The fags on the little boat. Or am I being paranoid? But it's impossible not to be paranoid when I know Brian is on the phone with Ron. Brian turns away from me and speaks into the phone very softly. He's nodding. Then he stops. He doesn't say anything but, "Okay." Then he hangs up.

"Thanks," he tells the bait man.

"No problem."

We start to walk out, but then Brian pauses. "What's biting right now?"

"Walleye," says the man. "Near Green Island and Rattlesnake. In the shoals. Some yellow perch near Kelley's Island and off the monument to the south." The man pauses, looking from Brian to me, and then back to Brian. "But if you just want a quiet day's fishing, go up to the far side of North Bass." The man gets out a paper container. "I'll give you some nightcrawlers and some minnows. You got rods?"

"Yes, there are fishing rods and line on the boat."

"This should be good enough. Put the nightcrawlers on your spinners, okay?"

"Okay." Brian pays for the bait and I take the containers. "Thanks."

We walk outside. "Do you really know how to fish, Brian?"

"No, but we'll put the things on the hooks and hope for the best."

We walk back to the boat and Brian is silent the whole way. We reach the dock before I stop him. "Brian -- are you going to tell me? Are you going to say something?"

"Do I need to say anything, Justin?"

"Whatever you need to say, Brian, you can tell me. You can tell me what's going on. I need to know."

"I have to go back, Justin. You know that -- obviously."

I scuff my sneakers against the wooden dock and watch the dust fly up. "When?"

"I have to be back before Monday."

I swallow. "But Brian, that's a week early! Why? What's going on?"

"I have some things I have to do in Los Angeles, and then I have to be back in London the week after that. So I have to leave this weekend." Brian sets the bait containers down on the dock and steps into the boat. Then he reaches out to give me a hand in. "I'm sorry, Justin. But it really IS business. I would have had to go and do it no matter what -- Ron or no Ron."

"I know about 'business' and everything, Brian, but... I don't like to think of you going out there alone! And me having to stay in Pittsburgh -- by myself. I wish that... I wish...." I'm afraid to say anymore.

"You have school. That's important," says Brian. "And I have things to do, too. It won't be that long. You'll see. Not long at all." He's sounds like he's trying to convince himself.

Brian opens up the storage compartments and takes out the fishing rods and the line. There are also some nets and a wire basket. "I think this is to put the fish in," says Brian, handing it to me.

"Do you really think we'll catch anything?"

"We'll see." He looks up at the sky. "Does it matter?"

"No, not really," I say.

Brian fires up the motors and checks the gas gauges. "There's still plenty of fuel," Brian says.

We filled the tanks last night over at Cedar Point. After spending the day at the park, Brian took us all to dinner, and then we walked around the midway as it got darker and all the lights came on. It was really beautiful at night. We went on the Sky Ride, big gondolas that move across the midway, high above the crowd. Brian and I rode in one, and Lindsay, Melanie, and Gus in another, so we were able to fool around -- just a little -- while we glided slowly over the park. It's like we were in the middle of the whole park, but we were also completely alone, just the two of us, floating in the air, separate from the world.

We also went on the Ferris Wheel -- you can see out over the park and over the lake. On the Ferris Wheel Brian could put his arm around me and no one cares. Brian says that's why amusement parks were invented -- so in the old days people could hug and touch each other and no one could complain because you were supposed to be scared! But no more coasters, though -- I'd already had my fill during the day and Brian refused point blank! Then we bought a pizza to take back and eat on the way home. At midnight we cruised back to the island in the dark. I knew Brian was a little nervous that he wouldn't find the island, but it was no problem. The Perry Memorial was lit up and we followed that across the lake to South Bass Island.

I untie the lines from the dock and push off the boat, jumping on at the very last moment.

"You're going to fall in doing that," says Brian.

"I've already fallen in the lake once -- I can swim just fine, Brian!"

"Yeah, it was MY fault you fell in that time, so don't remind me! But what if you hit your head -- like Natalie Wood?"

I roll my eyes. "I'm not going to drown like Natalie Wood! Besides, if I fall in, you'll jump in and save me!"

"Yeah, but who's going to save me?" Brian sniffs.

It's another beautiful day, but I can also see clouds moving in from the west. The forecast is for rain later tonight. But right now, it's perfect weather. We cruise north, around the island, and then past Middle Bass. I can see the grapevines growing all over that island.

"Look over there!" Brian points to the shoreline. A huge bird with long legs is dipping its bill into the shallow.

'What is that, Brian? A stork?"

"No. A Great Blue Heron!" We watch the bird look over at us, unconcerned.

I get out my camera and take a couple of pictures. "It's beautiful." I hadn't thought too much about all the wildlife and birds up here on the islands, but there are all kinds of creatures that I wouldn't ordinarily see. I've never seen a Great Blue Heron before.

We sail past Middle Bass and on to the northern-most island. North Bass is mostly uninhabited. It's quiet. I see a deer standing on the shore, gazing out from the woods. There are no other boats in sight.

Brian finds a good spot and drops the anchor. It doesn't quite touch the bottom, but Mr. Finn told Brian that the anchor will keep the boat from drifting too much. We get out the fishing rods and lines and try to figure out how to put the nightcrawlers on the spinners, like the man at the bait shop told us to. We do the best we can and drop the lines over the starboard side. That means the right. I'm getting very proficient with the boat talk now. Earl's teaching me the correct terminology.

Earl is a good source of boating information and he seems to like me. He's always showing me how to do things -- tie knots or clean the brass fittings or mix what he calls the perfect martini. Earl says that I am a fast learner. I told him that Brian says the exact same thing. Earl really cracked up at that. He thinks Brian and I are pretty amusing, but that's okay, because Brian thinks Earl is pretty funny, too. I know he doesn't get queers, but he's open-minded. Earl's wife isn't. Not at all. She gives us dirty looks. But she isn't around that much. She and a couple of other wives are staying in a condo nearer to town and they shop and go to bingo games most nights. Earl seems to like his guy friends better, anyway. Funny that Brian and I get along with and spend more time with Lindsay and Mel than the straight men spend with their wives. It's ironic.

While I eat some of the sandwiches Lindsay made and sent over this morning for our lunch, Brian keeps checking the lines, but we aren't having much luck. He pulls up the anchor and moves in a little closer to the shore. Then we drop the lines again. But it isn't really about fishing, after all, Brian says. It's just about being out here. Together.

"Want to swim? The water isn't that deep here and I've got the ladder and the air mattresses. Earl says we can put them in the water without any problem."

"Sure!" I go and put on my Speedo while Brian pumps up the air mattress. He puts the ladder on the port side of the boat (not the side with the fishing lines!) and tosses out two life-rings that are tied to the boat with nylon ropes. "Stay near the boat and use the rings to hang on if you feel tired."

I dive off the boat. The water is cold and it shocks me for a moment. But the water is so clear up here. It doesn't seem like Lake Erie at all, which has a bad reputation for being polluted. But not up here. I can see all the way to the bottom.

I play around with the rings, tossing them and swimming to them. I'm not a great swimmer at all, just a paddler, but it feels different in this big lake than in a swimming pool. Freer.

"Justin! Don't get too far from the boat!"

"I won't!" I tow the life-ring closer. "Come in, too!"

"I don't have my bathing suit," says Brian. And he doesn't. He didn't bring it. When we went to the beach on Tuesday, Brian sat on the beach in his jeans and wouldn't go in the water. He thinks his legs look too skinny in his bathing suit, which is so ridiculous because his legs are long and beautiful. Besides, Brian has no problem at all with walking around stark naked! But Brian thinks THAT'S completely different! And I guess he's right -- when Brian is naked usually no one is looking at his legs! At least, that's not the FIRST thing they would look at!

He drops the air mattress onto the water and I swim over to it and pull myself on. I lie on my stomach and paddle the thing around like a surfboard.

"Are you going to come in or not?" I yell. Brian shrugs and pulls off his tee shirt, then drops his jeans. "If you'd wear underpants then you could wear THOSE as your bathing suit!"

"I don't see anyone around -- so I guess I don't need a bathing suit! So there!"

"Prove it, then!"

He climbs down the ladder. "Jesus! This water is cold!"

"You'll get used to it." He lowers himself gingerly into the lake. "What's the matter? Afraid of 'shrinkage,' Brian? Like on 'Seinfeld'?" I laugh when I think of that episode.

"Who's afraid of shrinkage? I've never had shrinkage in my life!" He submerges himself completely and then comes up and shakes the water from his hair. It's so long it hangs down into his eyes and he pushes it back. I paddle the air mattress a little farther out, but he swims up to it.

"Don't tip me in!" I cry.

"I want to get on!" He rocks the air mattress with his hand.

"There isn't any room! You should have blown up the second air mattress, too!" He jiggles the mattress again, trying to knock me off. I slap his hand away. "Stop! If you get up here you'll just get a nasty sunburn on your ass -- or on something even MORE sensitive!"

"I'm not planning on getting any sun on my dick! I'm planning on having it all covered up with something else."

"Oh, like what?"

He dives under the mattress and knocks it completely upside down -- and I slide into the water head first. When I come up, sputtering, Brian is already pulling himself onto the air mattress, his long legs hanging on either side in the water.

"Very funny!"

"Sorry," he says, but he's not sorry at all. He's smirking at me. Then he holds out his hand and drags me up, too. "You're right. This isn't very big. It seemed bigger on the boat."

"That's because we have two -- plus there's a deck underneath us on the boat." I'm facing him on the air mattress. It's tippy and slippery, but our balance is pretty good. Brian leans over and presses his lips against my mouth, parting my lips with his tongue. I can taste the gum that he was chewing earlier. Wintergreen, which tastes like snow and cold and seems odd on his hot summer day in the middle of the water.

The only sound is the lake slapping against the boat and the gulls wailing. You hear the gulls constantly, so you almost forget they are always there, circling. Water rats, the boat people call them, because they eat garbage and dive at your food, but they look beautiful and free soaring overhead.

Brian pulls me forward slowly as he leans back against the air mattress. He pulls his legs up out of the water and stretches them out on the mattress. Then I straddle him, carefully, so I don't slip off, my legs hanging down in the water. I just lay on top of his chest while the mattress bobs. The hot sun and the water make me sleepy. He slips his hand under the waistband of my Speedo and gently strokes my cheek. Just that. Nothing more. But every gesture seems magnified now. Every minute seems important. I don't need to take a picture, because the whole moment seems like a photo -- of me, of Brian, of the water, of everything -- frozen in time. And I have to hang on to these things while I have them, because I'll need them to remember later on.

I move my cock in the Speedo very slowly against Brian's. I close my eyes and just concentrate on rubbing against him. Of course, we are both already hard, but it isn't really about being hard or even coming. It's the movement, matching the rise and fall of the waves, matching our breathing, in perfect synchronization.

One night in London, at the Chatterton, Brian told me that he could make me come just by touching my hand. We lay there in the dark and he held onto my right hand. And then he slowly began rubbing it, pressing the center of my palm with his thumb, circling it, so slowly. Then running his finger up and down each of my fingers, first the insides, then the outsides, then between each one. Then massaging my wrist, under my bracelet, the inside, the outside. Then turning my hand over and brushing along each vein, each bone with his fingers, then his lips. By the time he began licking my palm, I shot so hard that my eyes felt like marbles rolling back in my head.

"There," he said. "THAT hand is no longer a virgin."

Before we are finished with this relationship -- this life, I would say -- I expect Brian to deflower every portion of my anatomy, piece by piece.

But now I'm focused on this play of cock on cock -- mine tight and straining inside my trunks, his free and raging against me like a big cat, poking and prowling. I put my face down against his chest, but he pulls me up to his mouth, sucking my lip, my tongue.

Suddenly, we hear a slight noise. A boat is passing by the island, farther out. The 'Colleen' is between us and the open water, but we hold still until it passes. Then we wait for the wake from the boat to reach us. It rocks the air mattress fiercely and the 'Colleen' bobs and plunges.

"Maybe we better get back into the boat."

I sit up and slide back into the water. I swim over and snag the life-ring, while Brian paddles the air mattress back to the ladder. He climbs onto the boat and hauls the mattress up on the deck, shaking the excess water off. Then he hauls me up the ladder, too.

Brian dries himself off with one of Lindsay's beach towels that we borrowed from the cottage. I check the fishing rods.

"Any luck?" Brian takes out the second air mattress and pumps it up.

I tug at the fishing lines. They pull right up. "This one looks a little nibbled on. But there's nothing on the end."

"Maybe the fish don't like people fooling around in their water? Or maybe they don't like queers in their lake?"

"Tough for them, then," I say, dropping the lines back in. Then I pull my Speedo down and step out of it, tossing it into the deck. "Because I think there are going to be some queers fucking here. If not IN the water, then on top of it."

"Is that so?"

"I think so."

Brian goes into the cabin and brings out his stash of condoms and lube. I go over to the niche next to the jumpseat and pull out my bottle of sunscreen. After being in the water I need to reapply it -- heavily. "Stand still, Brian. I need to put some of this on you, too."

Brian flops down on the air mattress and I stretch out next to him. "Let me do that." He smears some on his chest and neck. "This will never replace Astroglide, you know that?"

"I'll rub some on your ass. Roll over, Brian."

"That's usually my line!" he laughs.

"No stereotyped roles in this relationship," I say.

"Oh? Who made that rule?" Brian flips over and I squirt the sunscreen all over his pale -- but always perky! -- rear end. I rub it in vigorously.

"No rules! No more rules!" I insist. "That's the way an equal relationship works. You roll over -- I roll over. Whatever floats your boat. Even ON a boat!"

"I'll remember that." Brian is smiling. "While I'm fucking you." Then he rolls ME over. "You think you need any more of this sunscreen? I wonder what would happen if I stuck it where the sun usually doesn't shine?"

"You could give it a try." Now I'm laughing and the air mattress shakes under me.

"The boat, the mattress, the water, your ass -- everything around here moves! It's worse than those fucking roller coasters at Cedar Point!" Brian crouches over me on the mattress.

"But you won't lose your stomach on this ride!"

Brian leans down and kisses his way from the back of my neck and down my spine. He applies a little more of the sunscreen on my cheeks. It smells like baby lotion. He works it gently along the crack of my ass, brushing it down against my balls and I press my face into the air mattress, trying not to giggle. I reach for the beach towel that Brian was drying himself with and bunch it up, resting my head on it.

Brian is blowing on my hole, blowing softly around it, then probing with his tongue, around and then in, just slightly. I lift up my head, my ass clenching. I feel the cool lube slither in. He's working it into my hole, warming it. The sun is warming up my back, too, the back of my neck, my head. I feel Brian's dick push once, then again. I clench up, but he pushes beyond that resistance. I bury my head in the beach towel as he buries his dick deep inside me.

Brian covers me with his body, lifting my hips up to meet his, steadying me with one arm and holding himself up with the other. I push back against him, trying to take in not just his cock, but his whole body. Trying to suck it into myself so I won't lose it. So it can't leave -- not ever. Not again.

We move together like the motion of the waves and the rocking of the boat -- naturally, relentlessly. He brings his arm up from my chest and hooks it around my neck, pulling my head back so he can kiss me. But I throw my head back because I'm coming already. I can't hold it any longer. I shoot all over the air mattress and slump down, gasping. But Brian keeps digging in, rocking with the bucking of the boat. The waves are getting choppier and Brian motions are choppier, too -- short, jerking, convulsive. He wraps both arms tightly around me and falls forward, his hips shuddering as he shoots inside me. He shudders again.

"I love you," he whispers. "See? I didn't forget to say it."

"You never forget -- even when you don't say it out loud, I still hear it. I always have."

"Always have, always will, huh?"

"Something like that," I say, smiling. I don't know -- I just can't stop smiling.

He doesn't move for a long time, his dick still hard inside me, his face against my shoulder. Then a large cloud crosses over the sun and we both feel a chill. The wind is up and the 'Colleen' is pitching harder in the water, riding against the anchor. I feel Brian's cock retreat a little and he reluctantly pulls out. He discards the condom in the trash bag and rolls back on the other air mattress.

"Can you feel the change in the air?" he says, pulling me closer. I shiver. "The wind just changed, I think." He lifts up his head. "Coming in from the west. I think it's going to rain soon. We better get back."

Brian stands up and stretches. He unscrews one of the water jugs and sloshes clean water over himself, then over me. He pulls me to my feet and wipes off my belly, my cock. Then he pours some more water on the mattress. "These air mattresses are going to need a good cleaning before we return them to Mr. Finn." Brian puts on his jeans.

I check the fishing rods. "Brian. I think we have something."

"Let's see." He tugs the line and it tugs back. He reels it in, slowly, so as not to lose it. I get the net and hold it to scoop up our fish. It breeches the water -- about five inches long, pale and twitching. I look at Brian.

"Not exactly the catch of the day, huh?" he says.

"What do we do with it, Brian?"

"What all fishermen do -- take a picture!" He hands me the rod with the little fish struggling at the end of the line. Brian gets the camera and aims.

"Wait!" I look down. "I'm naked!"

"So what? So is the fish. I'll shoot you from the waist up. So stand still." He snaps the photo.

Then we stand and look at our fish. It's gasping in the air. Brian winces as he extracts the hook. It doesn't look like too much damage was done. Brian drops the fish over the side and it slips away.

"What kind of fish was that we caught, Brian?" I ask as I pull on my sweatpants and tee shirt.

"I have no fucking clue. Does it really matter?"

"I guess not."

Brian revs up the engines and we cruise back down to Oak Point, docking just as it begins to rain. Brian and I struggle to get the canvas up, but it's whipping around in the rising wind. Earl runs over from the cruiser and helps me hold it down while Brian snaps it into place. Earl jumps on board as the rain pelts down.

"Jesus! That came up fast," exclaims Earl as we huddle under the canvas. Brian digs around in the cabin, looking for some more towels to dry us off. "Typical Lake Erie storm. Right out of the west."

"I'm glad we got back before it started." I look out at the whitecaps on the lake and the wind shoving the boats against the pier. "I'd hate to be out on the lake in this weather."

"Damn straight, kid. Damn straight," says Earl.

The rain lets up a little and Earl returns to his boat. The air mattresses are soaked, so Brian and I retreat to the little cabin, curling up in the same bunk. We eat some leftover potato chips and split the remaining sandwiches that Lindsay made. Actually, I eat them -- Brian only pretends to take a few bites before he hands the rest of the food over to me.

Brian turns on the radio. He finds that NPR station that plays some kind of jazzy, new age stuff, but Brian says it's better than having to listen to bad country music. The sleeping bag is warm and Brian makes plenty of body heat, especially in the cramped bunk. And that's how I drift off -- perfectly -- listening to the rain drumming against the front deck over our heads.

Continue on to "A Perfect Drift -- Part 2", the next section.

©Gaedhal, October 2002

Updated October 14, 2002