Under Azure Skies

Chapter 1-2

When he woke up, the sun was behind them, beating down on the western side of the tiny island. There wasn’t much to the bump of land poking up through the mighty Pacific. He could easily walk the length, from north to south, in an hour. Crossing it, from east to west, took even less time, though the thick tangle of tree trunks, shrubbery, and vines made the short distance something of an obstacle course. At the northern end of the island was a large crater, the remains of the volcano that had formed the island. And on the northwest slope, about halfway up, was a small cave, where Lucien and Edgar sheltered from storms.

With the strength of the sun on the wane, it was safe to emerge from beneath the palm tree.

“Come on.” He looked at Edgar, lying on his back with his left arm across his eyes and his legs bent slightly at the knees. “We have to find something to eat.”

Edgar groaned. “Leave me alone.” He turned his face away from Lucien. “I’m happy where I am.”

“If you don’t help, you won’t get anything to eat.”

“Nice,” said Edgar. “Very nice, indeed.”

“It’s the law of the jungle,” explained Lucien. “That’s all. You don’t hunt, you don’t eat. You don’t eat, you die.”

“I’ll get dinner tomorrow.”

“That’s what you said yesterday, and look what happened. Nothing. That’s what.” Lucien felt a flash of anger. Perhaps if he’d had the energy he might have kicked Edgar, or at least given him a piece of his mind. Instead, he turned his back in disgust. “Bah!” he said as he walked away.

There wasn’t a lot to eat on the island. There was a bush that grew red berries, which initially Lucien had been reluctant to try. Most berries, he knew, were sweet and juicy, but some could also take a person’s life—and in a most agonising way. Yet hunger, when it became a maddening need, drove men to take drastic measures, and when his first mouthful of berries didn’t kill him, he came to the conclusion they were safe to eat and could become a regular part of his diet, despite the mildly laxative effect they had on him. In addition to the berries, there was also breadfruit, which was best eaten after being cooked, and coconuts.

Fortunately, there was fresh water. It bubbled up from God-knows-where into a small rock pool in a clearing in the jungle. And when it rained, there was water aplenty for bathing as well as drinking. Neither of the men had clothes to wash. The salt water and sun had worked together on the rags they’d been wearing when they arrived on the island, eroding them until they were no more than a collection of faded threads that eventually disintegrated.

Often there were fish and other sea creatures left stranded in rock pools by the low tide. Lucien had fashioned a spear out of a large stick he’d found, managing to whittle a point using the sharp edge of more than a few sea shells. The stick, while long, wasn’t exactly straight, and it had taken many attempts to discover how best to hold and launch the weapon for maximum effect. More often than not, he managed to catch something, whether it was a fish or a crab, or even an octopus. Edgar never had much of an appetite, and whatever he left, Lucien eagerly disposed of.

It was a meagre existence, but when Lucien reflected on his new life, he realised he had everything he needed to survive. He’d even discovered how to create fire using two particular kinds of rocks—he called them “fire rocks”—which, when struck against each other, caused sparks to fly. It usually took several attempts, but eventually he’d have a small fire to cook his dinner on.

As the afternoon wore on, Lucien retrieved his spear from beneath a nearby palm tree and walked across the hot sand to the sea. He waded through the clear blue water, spying several fish that were too small to bother with, to the edge of the reef. He clambered onto the sharp rocks, stepping with great care. The elements had turned the coral into a hard, jagged platform that protected the beach from both the weather and sharks. There were, however, patches of slippery, moss-like seaweed growing all over it. One false move and he’d surely slip, landing on the coral with enough force to cut himself pretty badly.

It had become another of his habits to search the distant horizon for ships as carefully as he searched the rock pools for fish. For while food was important, getting off the island and back to civilisation, back to his family—which had, no doubt, given him up for dead—was of equal importance. And he’d prepared well for such an eventuality. At the slightest hint of a ship, he’d set alight the giant bonfire he’d constructed at the northern tip of the island.

After only a short time, he was fortunate enough to spear a large pink fish with enough meat on its bones to more than satisfy the gnawing, empty feeling in the pit of his stomach. With dinner flapping about on his spear, Lucien climbed down from the reef and waded back to the shore.

“What did you get?” asked Edgar, who’d walked to the shoreline to meet him.

Lucien thrust the spear forward.

“Mmm. Nice,” said Edgar.

“Have you got a fire going?” asked Lucien, tugging the fish along the spear until it was freed.

“I didn’t know if you’d caught anything.”

Lucien’s lips tightened, though he held his tongue. He walked to their makeshift campsite in silence. He tossed the spear to one side and dropped the fish beside the fireplace, which was no more than a ring of small rocks in the middle of which sat a pile of coals from past fires.

“I’ll get the fire going, shall I?” said Lucien.

Without waiting for a response, he walked a little further into the jungle to a place where the sun had dried the grass to a light brown straw. It made perfect kindling. He pulled up a few handfuls and returned to the fireplace, laying the grass in a small pile at the centre. Beside the fire on one side were two fire rocks, and behind them, a small pile of firewood, ranging from tiny twigs to sturdier branches. He added some twigs and a couple of the smaller branches before striking the rocks together. Once he had a fire going, Lucien sat back on a mat of woven palm leaves to watch the fish slowly browning.

“Never has there been a more delicious aroma,” said Edgar, joining Lucien by the fire.

Lucien regarded him coolly. His only response was a rumble from his stomach.

“You think a fellow would get tired of fish every day,” said Edgar. “But I haven’t.”

“That’s because you never eat much of it,” replied Lucien. “And we don’t have fish every day. We had crab two days ago, and octopus a couple of weeks ago.”

“I didn’t care for the octopus,” said Edgar. “Too rubbery.”

“Yes, it was. I must’ve overcooked it.”

“I think you must’ve,” said Edgar and laughed.

Lucien glared at him. “Feel free to do better next time.” He turned his attention to the fish. “We also have berries for dessert, occasionally. When I can be bothered collecting them.”

“Careful. You make it sound as if you do everything around here.”

“And how would I be wrong?”

Edgar looked offended. “Most certainly, you’d be wrong.”

Lucien looked him in the eye. “How exactly would I be wrong?”

Edgar’s eyes grew wide. “I can’t believe you have to ask. Why, I keep you company. I protect you.”

“Protect me? From what? The most dangerous creature on this island is a mosquito and I am well able to protect myself from them.”

“What about sharks?”

“We have an agreement. I stay on my side of the reef and they stay on theirs.”

“Well, there are things in the night. Bats and so forth. I stay awake and make sure they don’t bother you.”

Lucien shook his head and wondered how he had come to be lumbered with someone so lazy and so delusional. It was a puzzle with no answer. Edgar had simply appeared one day, smiling and at a loss as to how he’d come to be on the island.

Lucien had no such memory loss, and for weeks after being washed ashore, he was plagued by nightmares about that fateful night a storm had torn apart the ship he’d been travelling on, leaving the sea strewn with wreckage and providing the tiger sharks and hammerheads with a feast to gorge themselves on. Somehow he’d survived, though only God knew how. It certainly hadn’t been through his own doing. He’d woken up on the nameless island, sunburnt and exhausted.

Then, after many months, possibly as long as two years, Edgar had arrived. There had been no storm and, search as he might, Lucien hadn’t found a boat nor evidence of a shipwreck.

Still, Edgar was an interesting and amusing companion, and certainly better than no companion at all. He was tall and easy on the eye. Lucien never got bored looking at him, though sometimes he wondered whether this was due to the aesthetic beauty of his companion, or to the peculiar fascination he had with Edgar’s body. For while his own body had become nothing more than skin and bones, Edgar’s body retained its slim, toned appearance despite the fact the man hardly ate a morsel. And the sun had no effect, adverse or otherwise, on his skin.

When the fish was cooked, Lucien lifted it from the flames.

“Not yet,” he said as Edgar reached for the steaming meal. “You’ll burn yourself.”

Edgar kissed the back of Lucien’s neck. “You always look out for me,” he said, his voice tender and low.

“Get out of here,” said Lucien, pushing him. “I’m a married man.”

Edgar sat back, laughing. “And where is your wife? What comfort can she bring you? I’m the one here with you. I’m the one who can comfort you.”

Lucien bowed his head. “I told you, I’m not like that. I just…can’t.”

Edgar playfully poked Lucien’s thigh with his foot. “How do you know until you try it? What harm can it do out here in the middle of the ocean? You have the same needs as any other man, and they won’t just go away.”

Lucien didn’t respond. Not because he couldn’t, but because he was frightened of what might come out of his mouth. Edgar was handsome, and Lucien was finding more and more to like about him as each day passed. Only the previous morning, he had awoken and spent several minutes watching Edgar sleeping, watching the flare and fall of his nostrils, and listening to the quiet whistling sound his nose made. He observed the rise and fall of Edgar’s chest, moving in time with his nostrils, his body in perfect concert. And the way his erection, thick and firm, randomly twitched, springing back against the nest of black pubic hair surrounding it.

If he was honest, Lucien would have to admit there had been a certain fascination with Edgar’s erect c**k. It was slightly larger than his own, and he’d been able to examine it from an angle different to that from which he ever saw his own. He’d had a notion to touch it, to ever so lightly brush the tip of his finger against it. He’d even gone so far as to extend a finger, although as it drew nearer the organ, he’d lost his nerve and retracted it, noticing, as he tucked his hand back beneath his head, that his own c**k had grown hard.

Finally, when the fish had cooled sufficiently, Lucien began tearing off great chunks of flaky flesh and pushing them into his mouth.

“Go on,” he said to Edgar. “Get some before I eat it all.”

Edgar helped himself to more dainty mouthfuls, and it wasn’t long before there was nothing but the head and a few bones remaining.

“If we had a pot, we could put the fish heads into it and make a nice stew,” said Edgar.

“If we had a pot,” echoed Lucien. “If we had a good many things, life here would be better.” He lay back on the palm mat, cushioned beneath by thick, lush grass. “If we had a boat…”

Edgar lay beside him, and for the next hour, they continued talking. Through the canopy of palm fronds, Lucien watched the sky transform from blue to fiery orange to a dark grey. And later, by the light of the dwindling fire, he gazed sleepily at a night sky with as many stars as there were grains of sand on the beach.

“I would love it here,” said Lucien, “if it wasn’t for the fact I have a family, which I miss dearly.” He sighed. “No. I’ve changed my mind. I’d rather be back at home, regardless, with all the comforts of a civilised world.”

He felt Edgar’s hand on his thigh. He didn’t push it away.

“We have to make the most of what we have,” said Edgar.

Lucien placed his hand on Edgar’s. “You’re right, we do.” He could feel himself growing hard. “But there’s no harm in dreaming.”

The sound of the sea seemed suddenly far away, and the myriad stars overhead became a blur. In the darkness, Lucien felt Edgar edging closer. He could sense there was barely any space between them. He removed his hand from Edgar’s and used it to prevent the man from advancing further.

“No.”

Edgar didn’t retreat. “Please. You might enjoy it. Don’t you need some comforting? Don’t you want to feel close to someone?”

Lucien couldn’t deny he craved physical contact. Not necessarily anything s****l, but…companionship.

Edgar sidled up to him, pressing against his side. Their bodies grew so close that Lucien could feel Edgar’s heart beating against his chest.

“Is this okay?” asked Edgar.

The vibrations of Edgar’s voice, low and tender, against the sensitive skin of Lucien’s neck, sent tingles up and down his spine. He could feel a stirring between his legs, but he fought against the desire to take Edgar in his arms. He couldn’t. His wife, Sarah, at home, alone. He couldn’t betray her like that. It didn’t matter they were thousands of miles apart. He had to be mature. He had to deny his curiosity.

“Yes,” replied Lucien. “This is okay.”