Wrecked On Sin Island

I had fun making this. This one's for shit and giggles.

~AL

______________________

I woke up choking on sand and saltwater. Which, in case you were wondering, is exactly as fun as it sounds.

My mouth tasted like I'd tried to french kiss the ocean. My lungs burned and my head throbbed like someone had taken a crowbar to it. I spat out a mouthful of grit, rolled to my side, and dry-heaved until I could breathe again.

The sky was too bright. The sun felt like it was trying to roast me alive. And the cruise ship? Gone. Just... gone.

Last I remembered, alarms were blaring, people were screaming, and I was gripping the railing while the deck tilted like a carnival ride from hell. My parents had made it onto one of the lifeboats. I saw them go so I'd tried to follow.

Bradley had me by the collar, yelling something--probably blaming me for whatever went wrong as usual...but that was before the wave hit. After that, everything went black.

I thought that was it for me. Dead. Done. Game over. But apparently? It wasn't. Somewhere in the void, I swear I saw my grandma reaching out for me through this blinding-ass light. It felt like one of those Indian scam calls so naturally I didn't fall for that.

Jokes on her. I wasn't looking for early retirement.

Now I was here. Alone. Soaked and choking on Earth's piss.

I pushed myself up, every joint screaming. The beach was littered with debris. Broken wood, bits of luggage, life jackets. A seagull squawked overhead, because of course nature would immediately send something to mock me.

I scanned the shoreline, heart hammering. No boats. No people. Just me, the wreckage, and the taste of death in my mouth.

Where the hell was I? How far did I drift? Was this an island? Was it inhabited? Was there Wi-Fi?

Okay, that last part was the anxiety talking.

I staggered toward a cluster of bags half-buried in the sand. Maybe, hopefully, there was a phone, water, food, anything. I unzipped one. There were towels, sunscreen, a travel pillow shaped like a flamingo.

Super helpful.

I was just about to check the next one when I saw something in the surf. A shape. A body. Panic hit me like another wave.

Oh God. No. No no no.

I turned to run, tripped, ate sand, scrambled back up. My legs barely worked, but I pushed through. I had to.

It was a guy, lying face down in the water. Broad shoulders, familiar muscular build--I'd know that arrogant gym-rat frame anywhere.

Fuck. Bradley.

He wasn't moving. I flipped him over. His lips were blue. His skin was pale, like all the blood had packed up and left.

"Brad! Bradley! Come on, man--don't do this!" I nearly screamed, slapping his face.

No response. Oh God, I think he's dead.

I started CPR. Compressions. Breaths. More compressions. I was shaking, shouting his name between rounds.

"You don't get to die, you jerk! Not like this!"

Then--he coughed. Water burst out of his mouth.

I swear, I've never been so glad to hear someone puke in my life.

"Holy crap," I breathed, laughing and crying all at once. "You're alive. You're actually alive."

Bradley blinked up at me, dazed, clearly confused, probably concussed, and already frowning like I was the one who ruined his day.

Some things never change.

"Dude...did you kiss me?" he asked, voice hoarse.

I blinked at him. "Seriously?"

He squinted at me, face pale and crusted with salt. "You did, didn't you? CPR's just an excuse for you to finally--"

"Jesus, you're alive for two minutes and already back to being a dick," I muttered, rolling my eyes.

"Thank God you're back, brother," I added, dry as sandpaper.

He coughed again and muttered something about my "soft-ass lips", then sat up slowly, groaning like an old man. I let him have his moment. He'd nearly died. He was allowed a little drama. But only a little.

"Where the hell are we?"

Like I would freakin know.

"In an island, obviously," I sarcastically said.

He rolled his eyes.

"Thanks a lot smartass."

We didn't waste time. Once he could stand, we started doing the obvious. Check the island, find shelter, food, water, our survival instinct kicking in.

The island wasn't big. Jungle in the middle, rocky cliffs on one side, endless ocean on every other. We found some shade under a bunch of palm trees, dragged a few bags over, and started building something that vaguely resembled shelter. It looked like garbage but we called it home.

The bags were a mixed haul. Some clothes. Towels. Foods. One had a half-smashed first-aid kit and a bottle of vodka, which we immediately declared sacred. Another had a few protein bars, a flashlight with dying batteries, and--miracle of miracles--a pocketknife.

Water was the real problem. We found a little stream inland, probably rain-fed. It was either drink that or lick the dew off leaves. We chose the stream and prayed we wouldn't end up crapping our guts out.

The first day, we were hopeful. We made an S.O.S. out of driftwood. Took turns scanning the horizon. Talked about how the rescue teams would be here any minute. Second day, we were quieter. I looked at the jungle behind us and turn to Bradley.

"You think we're alone on this island?"

Bradley looked at me, then to the jungle at our back.

"If someone's out there, we find 'em. Talk to 'em. Or fight 'em. Depends on how ugly they are."

"Jesus, Brad--"

"I'm just saying. If I get eaten by some jungle cannibal, I at least want it to be a hot one."

I rolled my eyes. "You're unbelievable."

"You're just jealous I look this good after a shipwreck," he said, gesturing to himself, flexing his abs.

"Yeah, whatever."

"Your scrawny ass needs more beef to impress girls, Dean."

I raised an eyebrow at him, standing up.

"Scrawny? Please. Just because your steroid-looking body's bulkier than mine doesn't mean I don't hit the gym. I'm lean. Athletic. I've got the right muscles in the right places," I said, gesturing to my toned physique.

Bradley looked me up and down, then stared at my ass, smirking.

"I bet you are."

"Fuck off, Brad. You're disgusting."

"Yeah? Disgustingly good."

"Disgusting and good don't go together, numbnuts."

He chuckled.

"Whatever you say, little bro."

Being stuck here with him might be the worst punishment imaginable. I flopped back down, staring at the sky, asking the universe--why him, of all people?

If I had to be stranded on an island, I could've ended up with literally anyone else. One of my friends. One of the weirdos from class. Even Patty--who's had a crush on me since forever. She's... let's say, generously built. Could've doubled as an emergency food supply.

Jesus. What the hell is wrong with me? I'm starting to think like Bradley.

By the third day, I was on lookout duty. Bradley was off trying to find food. Yesterday, I did the scrounging, so it was his turn today.

I started clearing the beach. Figured I might as well do one last good deed and help mother nature before we find ourselves being feasted by jungle weirdos.

Honestly, it was kind of unbelievable that only me and Bradley had drifted onto this island. I mean, where did everyone else go?

I was busy piling debris when I saw Bradley walking towards me, smirking like an idiot he was, proudly holding up his catch.

"Tell me you're joking right now, Brad," I muttered in disbelief.

"What? Look at the size of this thing! Wasn't easy to catch. It's kinda round... little spiky, too. But I'd bet it would taste just like the others."

I almost choked on my frustration.

He caught...a freakin pufferfish. And that shit's not even hard to catch. It probably just floated right into his hands to give up on life.

"Do you even know what the hell that is? I swear to God, Bradley. No one's surviving this island with you in charge of the food."

He frowned, clearly offended.

"What the hell are you on, Dean? I caught us a fish and you're out here complaining. If you don't want it, I'll eat it all myself."

Yep, total idiot.

"Like hell you are. That thing's poisonous, dumbass!"

His eyes widened for a second before he scowled.

"Well, how do you expect me to catch a freakin' tuna?"

"No one's expecting sushi-grade ingredients, dude. I wasn't even expecting you to catch anything, honestly."

He glared at me like I just did something bad. I was just being honest. He stared at the fish, then tossed it back into the sea. It was already dead. Just kinda floated there. Bloated.

"Well, why don't you find food then, Mr. I-Know-Everything?"

I rubbed my temples, already feeling my last shred of patience fray.

"Guess fruit it is...again," I gritted.

Hunting wasn't exactly in the cards--we're modern people, not cavemen. We'd be dead in a week if we ever time-traveled. Probably less if Bradley was in charge.

He did give it another shot though, and turns out, I was dead wrong thinking he caught that pufferfish calmly. All he did was thrash around the water like he was fighting boss battle.

I didn't bother helping. Just stood there, amused.

In the end he did not catch anything. No surprise. But at least he put on a decent entertainment.

Thankfully, we still had a few protein bars left. Bradley ate most of them, talking about how he needed to "keep his muscles fed."

I didn't even argue. Honestly, it was getting exhausting.

I sat under some shade, trying to enjoy a moment of silence. Bradley, of course, was pacing like he expected a DoorDash delivery to show up.

"This is bullshit," he snapped, kicking a pile of wreckage I put effort in clearing up. "Three goddamn days. No chopper. No boat. Nothing."

"Maybe they think we made it onto a lifeboat," I said, chewing on half a protein bar like it was gourmet steak.

"They should still be looking!"

"Yeah, well," I said, "maybe they are. Just not here."

That didn't help.

He paced, shirt off, muscles sunburned, hair a mess. He looked like a castaway fitness model who'd lost his last ounce of good mood.

"I swear to God," he gritted, "if I don't get off this stupid island soon, I'm gonna lose my mind. I haven't had a real meal, a cold drink, or--" he glanced at me, smirking in that way that made me want to punch him, "--a bitch to fuck."

I stared at him.

"Dude."

"What? I'm just saying. I'm sexually frustrated, okay? It's a real thing."

I shook my head. "We're stranded on a deserted island, and your top three concerns are protein, a cold drink, and your dick."

"You forgot beer," he said, deadpan.

I stood up and stretched. "Right. My bad. Not a cold drink but a beer. Clearly the three pillars of survival."

He flopped back onto the sand with a groan, arms spread like he was summoning the sky gods to smite him.

"I can't believe I'm stuck here with you out of everyone."

"Trust me," I said, grabbing the knife and heading toward the trees, "I'm even more disappointed."

I foraged like a confused squirrel, grabbing whatever looked edible. A few fruits, berries. A couple mushrooms that seemed convincing enough. Honestly, I had no clue. I just figured I'd toss them on Bradley's secret taste-test list. If they knocked him out or made him see colors, I'd know to skip 'em..

By the time I made it back, I spotted Bradley tucking something into one of the suitcases. Kinda suspicious, but I was too wiped to care.

Day four hit different.

The sun came up like it had a grudge, and I woke up with my mouth drier than my sense of humor. Bradley was already up, sitting on a rock, staring out at the water like he could will a rescue boat into existence with rage alone.

Still no planes. Still no boats. Still no rescue.

I crawled out from under our pathetic excuse for shelter, scratched at a mosquito bite, and gave the sky a nice long middle finger just to let the universe know I was still here and still pissed.

Bradley didn't say anything. He hadn't said much since last night, when he went on a whole rant about how this must be some kind of government cover-up or simulation or alien abduction. Yeah, he was that kind of tired now.

Surprisingly, the fruits did nothing to him. So, I labeled them safe for consumption. But the mushrooms and berries? He looked at them like I'd just handed him roadkill and did not touch a single one. I also did not take any chances so I just let it be. Wasted effort.

Day five or whatever.

Too exhausting to count. Math required calories and I was too hungry to think about numbers. We caught a fish yesterday--well, I caught it but Bradley ate most of it. Typical selfish Bradley. He cared more about his macros than surviving.

He even wrestled me for the last protein bar. Total psycho.

If he keeps it up, I might actually turn into one.

Needing a sanity break, I grabbed a hygiene kit from a washed-up suitcase and trekked to a tide pool--basically a natural bathtub. Whoever packed this kit is a true hero. May their sunscreen-scented soul rest easy.

I was mid-scrub, working off five layers of grime, when I heard someone whistled behind me.

"Damn, bro. Nice cake."

I spun around, covering my crotch. It was Bradley of course, standing there, crossing his arms on his broad chest, wearing a freakin' sunglasses like we're just on vacation. I shot him a glare and sank deeper into the water.

"For fuck's sake, Bradley. Can I get a little privacy?"

He smirked and raised both arms in mock surrender.

"I was just appreciating the view."

I felt a vein in my temple twitch.

"Why the hell are you even here?" I scowled.

"You took the kit with you, genius. I was gonna clean myself up too," he said, nodding towards it at the edge of the pool.

"I'll be out in two minutes," I muttered, glaring at him. "Then you can have it."

He raised a brow and casually toss the sunglasses onto the sand, then yanked his shirt off. The asshole never misses a chance to flex.

"Why should I wait? We could just share it right now."

He suddenly shoved his shorts down in one careless motion. I caught one accidental glimpse of...Bradley jr. and jerked my head away fast enough to almost sprain my neck.

"Jesus, man. A little warning?"

He snorted. "We're both guys, chill. Not like you're a fag or something."

The slur made me frown. I was about to say something when the water shifted--rippling as it rose slightly. He'd stepped in.

Just great.

Now I felt weirdly self-conscious. I started rinsing off like I was in a car wash on turbo, just trying to get it over with.

I could feel him staring, sending shivers down my spine.

"Why the rush, brother? Getting shy around me?" he chuckled.

That only made me more pissed.

"Face the other way, Bradley. Last thing I need is you saying weird shit."

I felt the water ripple again as he settled at the edge of the pool.

"Can't blame you, though. I mean, being stuck on an island with a drop-dead gorgeous man like me? Anyone would be wet-as-fuck."

I rolled my eyes. He was goddamn narcissistic.

When I finished, I pulled myself up and tossed him the soap bar in a lazy arc. "Here. Don't drop it."

He caught it one-handed and laughed. "Classic line. Never gets old."

I bent down to grab my clothes near pool. The second I was about to grab my shorts, I felt a smack on my bare ass, making me jump straight up like a cat on a hot griddle.

"The hell, man?"

I caught Bradley pulling his hand back, his shoulders shaking with laughter.

"Those glutes are finally showing up. Island life suits you."

I hurriedly put my clothes back on and gave him a nice middle finger.

"Go fuck yourself, Bradley."

Then trudged off towards the beach.

"Love you too, brother." he yelled.

I should've let him eat that freakin' pufferfish.

Throughout the entire day, I'd been plotting ways to shut Bradley up -- not permanently or anything, just... temporarily. I mean, yeah, he was a pain in the ass, but he was still my brother. As much as I hated to admit it, having him around was better than being alone out here. Though if this dragged on much longer, I might actually lose my mind.

When the sun finally went down. I found myself seated on a log with Bradley, eating our kill for the day... bananas.

"You ever think," he says suddenly, all serious, "we're not getting outta this?"

I didn't answer. Too busy imagining how steak would taste right now.

He leaned back, let out a breath then throw a peel onto the beach. "Five days. No rescue. No signal. No people. Just you and me."

"Sounds like your worst nightmare," I said, trying to keep the mood light.

"Right?" He rolled his eyes. "I'm so fucking horny, it's not even funny."

I almost choked on a banana. Which, given the context, felt wildly inappropriate. He smirked at me, making me frown.

"Why are you looking at me?"

His eyes flickered, grinning wider.

"Has anyone ever told you... you kinda look like a chick, Dean?"

"What the fuck are you on, Brad?"

He looked me up and down. Clearly checking me out.

"Damn, brother, you're starting to look real soft to me."

My face paled. How the fuck would a lean guy like me, looked like a girl? This dude's fuckin' mental.

"I swear to God, Bradley. Keep your dick in your pants and stop saying weird shit like that."

I stood up but he was faster, blocking me.

"Relax, man. I'm just messin' with you. Jesus, you're gettin' sensitive like a chick. C'mon -- drink this with me," he said, holding up our sacred vodka.

"No your not! That's the only bottle we had, Brad. We were saving that."

I tried to snatch it but he held it higher, showing off how he was inches taller than me. He was 6'3, all muscles even his brain.

"Saving it for what? For when we're dead? For when they find our bones?"

He popped it open, took a swig then held it out to me. I let out a sigh--he had a point.

"Fine." I took it. Downed a drink, it burned like hell.

I sat back on the log, the bottle made its way back and forth too many times. I'd lost count.

The fire crackled, burning low. We almost drank the whole bottle. I felt dizzy. Heavy. I'm no light weight but this one was stronger.

I realized Bradley was sitting closer now, our knees bumping like it was nothing, but it felt... I don't know. Weird.

I looked up, and he was already watching me. His hand landed on my thigh.

"The fuck are you doing, Brad?" I muttered, shoving his hand off.

He didn't answer. Just smirked. Then put his hand back. Higher.

"Stop messing around," I whispered, grabbing his wrist. There was something about the way he looked at me... it made my skin crawl in a way that wasn't just nerves.

He leaned in, breath thick with vodka, eyes dark.

"Relax, Dean," he slurred. "We're stranded out here. Just two bros. What happens here stays here."

His fingers slid higher, brushing between my legs. I flinched.

"Fuck off, Brad. What's happening here is you're drunk out of your mind and acting like a horny frat boy. I'm your brother for fuck's sake."

He chuckled.

"Doesn't matter."

My stomach dropped. His hand went to my crotch, cupping me through my shorts. I pushed him away, but it was weak. My body was betraying me. I could feel my dick twitch, stiffening under his palm.

"You're hard," he muttered, almost to himself. "You're actually fuckin' hard."

"No shit, Sherlock. You're grabbing my junk," I snapped, shoving his hand away. "It's called reflex, dickhead."

He leaned in, teeth grazing my jaw.

"You're into this. Don't lie to me. I've gone five days without pussy, Dean. And you're the closest thing I've got right now."

Closest thing to pussy? Was he fucking serious?

My mouth opened to argue but then his hand slipped under my waistband and everything short-circuited.

His fingers were rough, warm, sliding over my cock like he knew exactly what he was doing. I gasped, hips twitching up into his grip.

"This isn't--fuck, Brad, stop--"