Survivor belongs to CBS and Mark Burnett, not to me. I am making zero profit. The men in this story are straight (drat!) and this isn't a representaiton of their real lives. I am writing a fantasy for myself and hopefully you other guys (and gals) who are drooling over the gorgeous men cast in this season.
This is a relatively short chapter. I want to hear your response, what you like, if you want to see more. Who do you want to see? What do you want them to do? How raunchy do you want me to get? Please let me know. The hot guys usually don't last too long on Survivor, but I'd like to get a few chapters out of this at least. I know there are some other fans of these studs out there. And after last week's episode of Andrew tied up, writhing, clad only in his boxers, I had to write a story about him and Ryan Osprey. Here you go.
000
Andrew Savage stroked his light grey-brown beard. He was not in the best of moods, as evidenced by his occasional throwing of rocks into the nearby ocean. At 40, he was a very successful corporate lawyer, husband, father...Survivor was his dream show. He imagined stepping in as team leader, and blazing a trail of victory, as he had so many times in his life. Instead, his tribe had lost all three challenges thus far, demoralizing them in countless ways. Their strongest member, the African-American, muscular, athletic Osten, was threatening to walk. Their spirits were low and getting lower. And Andrew had plenty of other headaches.
He glanced down at his firm belly and well-clipped chest fur, rubbing his small pecs. With hazel eyes and a charmingly offbeat smile, he had always been able to attract the ladies. Lots of them. They were conquest. Not quite as well-known among friends and coworkers was his intense lust for members of the same sex. He loved men. Their bulk, their rugged scent, their firm, tight asses, the chunky girth between their legs which, if you treated it properly, could control every other aspect of their psyche. Women were soft; men were hard. To Andrew, being a man involved loving and experiencing the strong, weathered hands, the hairy, beefy thighs, the knowing, achingly hot mouth, the marble cheeks, the spurting penis of another man.
But ever since his marriage he'd stayed faithful. Boys and girls caught his eye, but nothing else. Although he had faced more temptation than he'd expected on Survivor (beautiful bodies stripped to nothing more than skimpy panties, bras, or crotch-hugging boxers), the ever-present cameras and thoughts of his family back home kept him in check. At least that was working until he started having the dreams...about Ryan.
Ryan Osprey, the 31-year old repairman who had become his closest ally. They were the Morgan team's strongest men and needed to stick together. Yet, when Andrew's already near-sleepless nights were filled with flashes of Ryan's piercing, soft brown eyes watching him, his surprisingly soft hands pulling down Andrew's constricting shorts, his sexy, toothpaste ad smile, his tempting mouth pressed against Andrew's own lips, their stubble igniting the night sky, his well-built, hair-dusted upper torso brushing against Andrew's chest, his broad shoulders effortlessly hoisting Andrew's trim legs, his blue-and-gray checked, tight boxers falling down his hips as his fat, long, leaking hog pressed against Andrew's parched man-pucker...
Andrew woke up from his daydream, groaned at his one-track mind, ran a finger down the now-slimy erection tenting his burgundy boxers, and threw another rock into the ocean.
He'd begun avoiding Ryan in order to not give his feelings away. No one had noticed their distance, but it was only a matter of time. Andrew couldn't figure out what to do. He wanted Ryan as a friend and a lover, and now had him as neither. All he had was a loser team and a perpetual hard-on. Andrew shut his eyes and rubbed his temples. He could get out of this, but how...
"Hey, Andrew, can we talk?"
At first Andrew thought he was fantasizing again, what with this angelic hunk staring down at him with that gorgeous grin. But no, it was really Ryan. Andrew sighed and patted the sand beside him. Ryan joined him, and unintentioally, in unison, they each ran a hand through their short locks. Ryan laughed as he reached over to muss Andrew's lighter, closer-cropped brown hair. Andrew smirked and nudged Ryan in the ribs.
"Is this some kinda new plan, Andrew? Throw the others off track about our alliance? If it is, OK, but let me know, cause I've really been worrying all day today.
Andrew sighed. He wanted to tell Ryan the truth, but the younger man would never understand. Ryan's puppy-dog sincerity as he listened to Andrew only made the ache grow deeper.
"I miss my family, Ryan. Hell, I even miss my job. I miss familiar surroundings. This isn't what I expected it to be, and present company accepted, most of this team gets on my last nerve. Constant whining, inability to focus or plan goals, unwillingness to step up to the plate. I can tell they resent me, but I'm all they have. I HAVE to make this team thrive, Ryan. No one else can. Maybe even I can't. I don't like failing, and that's what I've become. A failure."
Andrew's head fell into his hands. He couldn't look at Ryan's pity anymore. He felt Ryan's hands on his back, massaging his shoulders. Ryan whispering words of encouragement. Ryan being so thoughtful and concerned.
"Leave me alone, please."
Ryan's gentle fingers lifted Andrew's head up. They were in direct eye contact now.
"Can't do that, Andrew. We need you strong. Please..."
Ryan's features sparkled with compassion and humility. His lips begged to be kissed. Andrew yearned to run his fingers through the shaggy fuzz on the back of his neck, to singe his tongue swiping along that fresh growth of facial hair...
Ryan clasped Andrew's shoulder, squeezing the tender flesh. Andrew locked his haunted orbs onto Ryan's own eyes. With that unspoken look, Ryan felt himself falling into Andrew's soul, connecting to his teammate in ways unimagined.
"Please, Andrew. Please."
In Andrew's mind, the sudden, pervading thought was to kiss his ally. And he did, with swiftness which surprised them both. Ryan was shocked into immobility by the strange, yet not unpleasant sensation of a beard scraping his own stubbled cheeks. Andrew's slightly callused, yet gentle hands traced down Ryan's fur-dusted pecs, massaging his abdominals, sliding in and out of his navel, flicking and pinching his pale, quarter-sized nips. Ryan moaned at the milking of his sensitive tits; his response was a thick, eager tongue shoved into his now-open mouth. Ryan moaned again, grabbing the back of Andrew's hair, pulling him in closer as the tangy, raunchy taste of a man in the wilderness, a man horny and dangerous, dominated by their skewed senses. Their tongues rapiered each other, battling for dominance. Only when the need for oxygen took over did Andrew pull away. As they gasped, Andrew continued exploring Ryan's heaving, sweating chest, tugging at the faint pathces of hair.
"Andrew, I don't know if..."
Andrew lurched back over to capture Ryan's bruised mouth in a torrid man kiss. He broke away, Andrew tugging on Ryan's lush lower lip as he did so.
"Please, Ryan. Please."
Those fiery, commanding eyes blazed past Ryan's last defenses. He didn't know what he was feeling -- all he knew was that it couldn't, shouldn't end. He did not fight Andrew as he gently pushed him back onto the sand. He did not fight his writing, needy body as he wiggled his slim hips to help Andrew pull off the obstructive blue-gray boxers. Ryan's thick, drooling, rock-hard manhood smacked against his belly with a plop before Andrew turned him around to massage his firm, upraised, deliciously round buttocks. Ryan whimpered at Andrew's sensual nipping of his cheeks and light tonguing of his musky, virginal hole. Then Andrew turned him again, and immediately deep-throated 4 of his 8 inches. Ryan bit down on his lip to block out the scream. He surrendered to the pleasures of Andrew's warm, tawdry fellatio, and wondered what was to come.
000
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