Medellín

Chapter 16

Between Sky and Jungle

Miguel's alarm woke us promptly at 8:00 AM. I groaned into his shoulder, not quite ready to leave the comfort of our warm cocoon. The morning light filtered in through the curtains, soft and golden, casting a glow over Miguel’s smooth skin as he stirred beside me, his face scrunching in that adorable way it always did when waking up too early. The sheets were tangled around our legs, showing off Miguel’s morning wood, and the scent of his shampoo lingered faintly in the air. I could’ve stayed wrapped in his arms forever.

But then I remembered what day it was.

Our romantic getaway was finally here.

My heart leapt, and just like that, I was wide awake.

I leaned over and kissed Miguel softly on the cheek. “Buenos días, mi amor. Cómo amaneciste?”

He mumbled something in response, voice gravelly with sleep, eyes squinting open slowly. He looked unfairly beautiful first thing in the morning. Messy hair. Puffy lips. Bare chest rising and falling with every sleepy breath. I resisted the urge to crawl right back into bed and wrap myself around him like a blanket.

Instead, I smiled and slipped out of bed and pulled on a pair of shorts. My bare feet padded across the cool floor as I headed for the kitchen. It was time to get coffee started and check on the aftermath of last night’s teenage Thanksgiving invasion.

The living room looked like a war zone. Discarded soda bottles. Empty plates with crusted-on gravy. A pair of very skimpy underwear on the lamp. Pillows everywhere. And scattered across the chaos were a dozen boys, sleeping in the oddest positions imaginable. There were boys on couches, boys on the floor, someone was curled in a fetal position using a backpack as a pillow. And then there was Juan Felipe and Ricardo, cuddled together on the couch, Ricardo’s long arms wrapped protectively around Juan Felipe’s smaller frame. My heart fluttered.

Yeison was passed out sideways in one of the lounge chairs, drooling slightly, his limbs sprawled in every direction. Somehow, he still managed to look adorable.

Probably because he wasn’t talking or giving me that pathetic puppy dog face.

I started a pot of extra-strong coffee and was just about to open the windows when the front door creaked open. In walked Stiven and Carlos, both drenched in sweat and breathing hard, dressed in sleeveless T-shirts and gym shorts.

“Buenos días,” I said, raising an eyebrow. “Productive start to the day?”

Carlos grinned. “We’ve been jogging.”

Stiven nodded proudly. “And now we smell like it.”

I frowned. I was hoping they didn’t get into anything besides jogging last night or this morning.

“Go shower,” I said. “Separately. Or not. I don’t care. Just don’t sit on anything yet.”

They laughed and disappeared upstairs. But when I only heard one shower running, I couldn’t help but feel jealous … and sad. Carlos was my special friend — the only other person I considered a real friend besides Miguel. I was beginning to lose track of how many hookups I was accidentally facilitating. Was I the secret gay matchmaker of the Medellín metro area?

As the smell of coffee wafted through the house, the boys started to wake up, drawn by caffeine like moths to a flame. For those who had a little more trouble, Juan Camilo walked downstairs and blasted an air horn, and then everybody was wide awake. One by one, they shuffled in, bleary-eyed and yawning, wrapping themselves in blankets like sleepy ghosts. Doña Susana had already started breakfast — scrambled eggs with hogao, crispy bacon, chunks of sweet papaya and pineapple, warm pandequeso, and of course, the infamous arepas with farmer’s cheese that all the boys loved, except for me.

By 9:00 AM, the house was buzzing again. Laughter and groans bounced off the walls as the boys replayed the best (and worst) moments from the night before. Someone cracked a joke about Ricardo and Juan Felipe’s closeness, and Ricardo just grinned, slung an arm around Juan Felipe’s shoulders, and reeled him in, while Juan Felipe blushed like crazy but couldn’t stop smiling. Ricardo announced that they’d be going out again today and then having a sleepover at Juan Felipe’s place. Everyone knew what that meant. Another attempt at taming “the monster.”

Those Colombians sure moved fast. I honestly hoped the best for them — they made such a ridiculously cute couple. Total opposites in personality, yet they just… worked. Maybe I was just in a hopelessly “lovey-dovey” mood that morning, but watching them made me believe a little more in the whole idea of perfect matches.

When everyone finally started packing up and trickling out, I stood by the door with Miguel, watching them go one by one. There was something satisfying about it — the sense of a perfect night winding down, fading into memory, sealed with the closeness of friendship, food, and maybe a couple of hookups.

Then it was just the three of us: me, Miguel, and Juan Camilo. Juan Camilo looked tired, probably from playing babysitter to an entire house of overexcited boys hyped up on too much spiked punch, eggnog, and teenage hormones.

“You two packed?” he asked.

I nodded. “Duffel bag’s ready. Two nights of questionable decisions and zero cell reception.”

“Don’t forget the sat phone,” he said, handing it over. “And I installed the GPS tracker on your phone last night. I better not lose the signal, or I’ll send a drone … an armed drone.”

He wasn’t kidding.

“Yes, Dad,” I said, rolling my eyes.

“I’m serious. Don’t be dumb. Call me if anything happens. And don’t fall off a cliff.”

“Cliff-falling is strictly off the itinerary.”

Soon, Miguel was wheeling the motorcycle out front. I slipped on my hoodie and sweatpants, both for warmth and for cuddling purposes. Miguel wore one of my Detroit Lions hoodies, which looked unfairly attractive on him. There was something intimate about seeing someone you love wearing your clothes, like a secret message only the two of you understood.

Helmet donned, I hopped on the bike, duffel strapped to my back, and wrapped my arms around Miguel’s slender waist. I could feel the lean muscles of his torso beneath the fabric. The bike vibrated beneath us, and as we pulled away, my visor up, the wind rushed into my face, and the scenery unfolded before me like a living painting.

The further we got from the city, the more the world transformed. Medellín’s skyline gave way to endless green hills that rippled across the horizon like soft waves. Trees towered around us — eucalyptus and guayacán, tall and slender, their leaves rustling in the wind. The air smelled of earth, flowers, and something fresher, cleaner. Cows grazed lazily in vast open pastures. We passed fields of flowers, streams I was told were clean enough to drink from, horses tied to fences, and tiny roadside tiendas painted in bright pastels. Everywhere I looked, it was alive — vibrant, humming, timeless. We stopped at one of those little roadside tiendas for a tinto, which I desperately needed, while Miguel lit up a cigarette.

“You know those things will kill you,” I reprimanded him.

He smirked. “I’ll be gone long before that.”

He laughed; my stomach didn’t. The joke landed like a stone.

Back on the road again, we soon reached Llanogrande, with its massive private estates hidden behind ornate gates. Miguel slowed slightly and pointed toward a forested stretch behind high walls.

“That’s where my dad and I live most of the time, when we’re not in Medellín. And that’s where I stayed during the lockdown.”

I tried to peek through the trees but couldn’t see anything. A few minutes later, he gestured again.

“That finca over there belongs to Álvaro Uribe.”

“Wait, the former president?”

“Yeah. Some people think he saved Colombia. Others think he buried it.”

“And what do you think?” I asked.

“I think it's a complicated question. For now, the courts are deciding. He pretty much crushed the guerrillas, but they say many innocent lives were sacrificed to do so. They call them ‘falsos positivos,’ or false positives.”

Uribe was one of those polarizing figures: either a hero or a war criminal, depending on who you asked. There was no question that he restored peace to much of Colombia during his tenure, severely disrupting the operations of the narcos and the communist guerrillas. But at what cost?

We eventually made it to La Ceja, a charming little pueblo nestled in the mountains. We took a quick walk through the plaza, drank yet another tinto (I was turning into a Colombian coffee junkie), and visited two beautiful old churches.

Miguel made fun of me for lighting a candle.

“It’s not a religious thing,” I explained. “Just… a ritual. A wish, maybe.”

His expression softened. “What did you wish for?”

I smiled. “You’ll see.”

Then we rode out to Salto del Buey, a roaring waterfall tucked away in the forest. The spray cooled our faces as we stood side-by-side, Miguel’s hand in mine, the roar of the water thundering through our bones. We took selfies, made dumb poses, and kissed under the trees. For a second, the world stood still.

Finally, we made our way to our main destination. Miguel turned onto a dusty, narrow dirt road that curved and dipped through thick jungle. The ride was beautiful but brutal — every bump made me swear under my breath. My poor ass was already sore enough from the nearly two-hour ride to get there. Miguel would definitely have to massage it for me later.

We pulled into a small gravel lot. Off to the side was a small, nondescript wooden cabin.

“Uh…” I said. “This is it?”

He smirked and pointed upward. “Look again.”

And then I saw them — glimmering like soap bubbles clinging to the hillsides.

Transparent domes nestled into the greenery. My jaw dropped.

“No. Freaking. Way!”

“Welcome to bubble glamping,” he said.

I flung my arms around him. “You’re literally the best boyfriend in the world.”

He blushed, mumbling, “I just want you to be happy and relaxed.”

A guide appeared and led us up a long, winding path through the jungle. The air was thick with the scent of moss, flowers, and morning dew. We climbed higher and higher until my legs burned and my shirt stuck to my back. And then we saw it.

Our very own bubble.

It sat like a glass jewel in a small clearing, perched right on the edge of a jungle-covered cliff. The world around us felt untouched — dense emerald foliage tumbled down toward an endless valley, where layers of green mountains stretched into the horizon, each ridge softer and more blue than the last until they dissolved into a hazy mist. Towering ceiba and guayacán trees framed the view, their branches swaying gently in the mountain breeze. Somewhere high in the canopy, birds trilled and called to each other, their songs weaving into the low hum of insects. The air smelled faintly of earth, wildflowers, and distant rain. Sunlight dappled the leaves, shifting and glittering as if the whole jungle were breathing. This was Colombia’s magical realism made real.

Inside, the bubble was more luxurious than I’d imagined. The transparent dome framed the mountains in every direction, giving the sense of sleeping under the open sky without giving up comfort. A king-sized bed sat at the center, draped in crisp white linens, stacked with fluffy pillows, and layered with thick, soft blankets that looked made for cool Andean nights. Woven rugs softened the polished wooden floor, and a sleek telescope stood ready by the panoramic window. A discreet mini-fridge hummed quietly, stocked with chilled drinks, and a large flat-screen TV — yes, in the middle of the jungle — was mounted on the far wall, connected to DirecTV. Everything gleamed in the soft, filtered light, and the air inside carried the faint scent of cedar and fresh linen.

Down a short path of flat, moss-flecked stones was the open-air bathroom, which could have been in a design magazine — smooth river rocks underfoot, twin stone basins for sinks, a rainfall shower surrounded by bamboo, and a small, enclosed space for the toilet. Climbing a short staircase brought us to the wooden deck, now covered in a scatter of red, heart-shaped balloons swaying gently in the breeze.

I froze, stunned. “Miguel…”

He just grinned. “Too much?”

“Perfect,” I said, and meant it.

The guide led us through the rest — pointing out the jacuzzi, its water steaming gently in the cool morning air, a charcoal grill ready for the evening, and a massive rope hammock slung daringly over the cliff’s edge. It looked equal parts inviting and terrifying. He showed us the red flagpole — if we raised it, staff would appear from somewhere hidden, since there was no Wi-Fi or phone signal.

The silence here wasn’t empty; it was alive. The air was so pure it felt like it buzzed in my lungs. We were alone, suspended between sky and jungle, a thousand miles from stress, from noise, from anything that wasn’t right here in this moment.

Miguel looked at me. “Entonces, what’s the first thing you want to do?”

His stupidly beautiful brown eyes were all soft edges and quiet trouble.

“Get naked.”

He burst out laughing. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

***

Sure, we’d been naked around each other before — quick flashes while changing, late-night skinny dips in the pool at my compound, brief glances as we tugged off our underwear to snuggle under a blanket — but never like this. Never outside, under the open sky. Never for the sole purpose of looking and admiring. This was different. Deliberate. We stood together on the wooden deck outside the bubble, bathed in brilliant sunlight, completely naked. No walls, no shyness. Just us and the world.

At first, instinct kicked in. I wanted to cover myself, to shield the parts of me that felt most exposed, but I forced my hands to stay at my sides. Miguel mirrored my hesitation — his eyes flicking over me, wide with curiosity and something that looked a lot like awe. For a long moment, neither of us spoke. We just looked. I might have even drooled a little. Of course, we were both as hard as rocks.

He was breathtaking. Otherworldly.

His body was lean but athletic, with just the right amount of definition. The soft lines of his chest led to the subtle beginnings of six-pack abs, his shoulders squared, his waist tapering gently. His skin, a flawless bronze, seemed to glow in the late morning light. His legs were toned and muscular, built over years of soccer, with a dusting of dark hair. There was a grace to his posture, something inherently elegant even in stillness.

"Turn around," I whispered.

He blushed slightly, but obeyed, slowly pivoting so I could take in the view from behind. The curve of his back, the strong lines of his calves, and — God — the perfect roundness of his ass, smooth and firm, a paler shade than the rest of him. A soft breeze ruffled his curly hair.

I walked a slow circle around him, tracing my gaze over every detail, memorizing him like a sculpture in a museum — only warmer, breathing, impossibly alive. Even though Miguel exuded confidence most of the time, I could tell that he felt exposed in a new way. There was a nervous energy beneath the surface, a slight stiffness in his shoulders.

"Arms up," I said gently.

He complied, raising his arms. I noticed his armpits were shaved smooth, just like the rest of his body, including his pubes. It was a common aesthetic among Colombian boys, gay or straight — but on him, it made him look almost ethereal.

"You're so beautiful," I whispered. "A literal work of art. You belong in the Louvre."

He turned back to face me, eyes shining, lips curved into a bashful smile. "Tonto," he murmured.

"I mean it. You're radiant. Spectacular. Irresistible."

The helplessly horny part of me just wanted to throw him on the wooden deck right then and fuck his brains out, but I knew I had to be patient. I knew he wanted romance … and so did I.

He blushed and took a deep breath. "Your turn now."

I felt my cheeks flush. I wasn’t usually shy, but under his gaze, I felt seen in a way I never had before. Like he wasn’t just looking at my body — he was reading me like a novel, page by page, exposing thoughts I’d never said aloud. I lifted my arms and let him circle me just like I had done with him. Unlike him, I didn’t shave completely, but I did keep myself trimmed. I wondered if he liked that or not.

His gaze was hungry, curious, admiring. Occasionally, I heard him mutter, "Qué rico," under his breath, and it sent chills down my spine.

He knelt for a moment, studying me from below, his hands resting lightly on my thighs. His eyes met mine, warm and sparkling with affection and something deeper. We were both hard, both trembling slightly with the thrill of it all, but neither of us reached out.

Not yet.

Miguel knelt so that he was at eye level with my hard boyhood, staring at it, studying it closely for several minutes. Then he stood up and leaned in to whisper, “Esto es lo que habrá dentro de mí este fin de semana.”

I didn’t quite understand his Spanish.

"What did you say?" I asked, breathless.

He gave me a slow, teasing smile. "Maybe I don’t want you to understand."

"Nooo, please! Tell me!" I whined.

He laughed softly, then leaned in again. "I said… this is what I will have inside me this weekend."

A full-body shiver passed through me, and I felt goose bumps. Our eyes locked. Everything felt like it was burning — the sun, the heat between us, the pulse pounding in my chest as I imagined what it would feel like to be inside him, to be that closely connected, that intimate. There was nothing more in the world I wanted to feel than him.

“I want that too,” I murmured.

Despite my past experiences, I had never felt such intensely erotic and sensual energy as what was passing between us. When we finally came together, I knew that it would be so different than anything I had experienced before; it would be like my first time all over again.

He reached for my hand and laced our fingers together. Then, like the devil in an angel’s skin, he said, “Later, mi rey. Seré tuyo. Todo tuyo.”

I nearly collapsed from restraint.

We were both on the edge, and the only thing keeping us from crashing into each other was the promise of what the night would bring. For now, we would wait. Delay the gratification. Build the tension. Let it simmer.

By the time our "inspections" ended, our stomachs were growling loud enough to drown out our hormones and the sounds of the insects in the jungle surrounding us. We decided to order room service.

The view might have been five stars, but the menu was a solid three. I ordered a club sandwich and fries, while Miguel opted for a massive tamale wrapped in banana leaves. We ate on the deck, still naked, under the shade of a large umbrella we’d managed to set up after a minor comedy of errors involving folding metal legs and Miguel almost hitting me in the face with it.

After lunch, we rubbed sunscreen onto each other — slowly, sensually, deliberately. Every inch. It was part protection, part foreplay, part art project. I couldn’t stop touching him, and I couldn’t stop watching him touch me.

The afternoon was hot, oppressively so. The sun beat down on the bubble like we were living inside a greenhouse, and there was no A/C, no fan, just two sweaty boys pretending they weren’t mildly dying. We drank water. We fanned ourselves with towels.

We went back outside and lay side by side on deck chairs, wrapped in a mix of blankets and desperation.

But then the sun began to dip, and everything changed. The heat softened. The breeze picked up. Shadows stretched long across the valley, and birds called out from the treetops. The entire forest glowed with that soft, late golden light that made everything look sacred.

We ate dinner on the deck as the stars began to poke through the darkening sky — faint pinpricks at first, then glowing brighter, blanketing the valley in a quiet shimmer. Miguel had ordered a churrasco steak soaked in garlicky chimichurri, paired with crispy hand-cut fries and a simple salad tossed with lime. I went for a ribeye, thick and juicy, served with a baked potato and a medley of grilled vegetables charred just enough to bring out their sweetness.

The cook times, as expected in Colombia, were a mess — my steak, which I asked for medium-rare, arrived suspiciously close to well-done, and Miguel’s “medium” churrasco was practically leather. But neither of us complained. We were too hungry to care, and somehow everything just tasted better when eaten outdoors, with mountain breezes brushing our faces and the soft hum of insects in the distance.

The best part, obviously, wasn’t the food — it was the way we fed each other between bites, laughing as we fumbled forks, brushing fingers, sneaking little touches like we couldn’t keep our hands to ourselves. It wasn’t just dinner. It felt like something special, something ours.

We also put in a late-night snack order — two bacon cheeseburgers and fries to arrive around 11 PM, since we were both bottomless pits.

After dinner, Miguel went to turn on the hot tub. The sound of the jets humming to life was like calming music.

I stared up at the sky and exhaled. No cars. No city lights. Just stars.

While the tub warmed, we stepped into the open-air bathroom to shower off the sweat and sunscreen. The water cascaded over our bodies like a waterfall from paradise. We touched. We kissed. We explored. And finally, I was able to touch him and caress him the way I had wanted to earlier when we were modeling for each other.

With loving care and attention, we languidly washed each other from top to bottom. While I was on my knees washing his legs, eye-level with his gorgeous uncut cock, I momentarily lost all rational thought and decided to give him a little naughty surprise. I quickly took his entire boyhood in my mouth in one gulp. He certainly was surprised and gasped loudly at first, then settled down to only slightly softer moans as I continued to bob up and down on his hardness.

I was in pure hormonal lust. I loved the way he smelled — like a combination of soap and something more … masculine. His cock felt luxurious in my mouth, hard yet soft, as I worked him over with my tongue and lips. Miguel may have been “only” average-sized, but it was perfect for me. It fit perfectly, like it belonged there. His moans grew more urgent and intense as I continued to bob faster, apply more suction, and bury my nose where his pubes used to be as I took him in all the way. Unfortunately, within what must have only been five minutes or so, he had to pull me off as he was about to finish.

“¡Amor, eso fue increíble! But I want to wait until tonight to finish with you,” he gasped.

“Cómo quieras, mi principe,” I shrugged.

However, I wasn’t going to be satisfied with a five-minute blow job, so I turned him around, gently spread apart his fleshy butt cheeks, and dove into his most private of areas — his tight little pink ring — with my tongue, eliciting even wilder moans and squeals from him, as he reached back and grabbed hold of my head, forcing my face further into his crevice. I switched angles, depths, and techniques, anything I could think to do to please him and show him how much I loved him and worshipped every inch of his perfect body. Eventually, though, my tongue got tired, and I had to pull back. Miguel was so overwhelmed that he sat down on the floor of the shower, panting, as the water continued to wash over him.

He wrapped his arms around me tightly, and then with one hand grabbed hold of my throbbing cock. He whispered ever so softly in my ear, “¿De quién es esta verga? Mmmm? Whose is it?”

Nobody had ever talked “dirty” to me during sex, and I had to admit that I kind of liked it.

“Es tuyo,” I moaned. “It’s yours.”

“Good answer,” he said, smiling lecherously at me as he dropped to his knees and swallowed me in one gulp.

As soon as I pulled him off right before I came, I wrapped him up in my arms and greedily kissed him all over his face, neck, shoulders, and lips. No one else had ever made me feel so good. It was beyond intense … so far beyond intense. And that was just a tiny indication of what, presumably, would continue later tonight.

And as I finally calmed down from my hormonal frenzy, I stood back and just looked at him, and he looked right back at me with those hypnotic brown eyes, and I could literally see the love he felt for me. It took every ounce of willpower I had not to start crying right then and there; it was that emotional. That intense.

***

After our shower, we each wrapped ourselves in big, fluffy towels and stepped out onto the deck. The night air kissed our still-damp skin, cool and refreshing after the warmth of the cabin. The hot tub sat at the far edge, gently steaming beneath a string of café lights that cast a soft golden glow over everything. The sky above was ink-black, studded with stars that looked close enough to touch. It was quiet — almost reverent — except for the occasional chirp of insects and the low hum of the jets bubbling in anticipation.

Miguel was the first to drop his towel. “Let’s see if this thing is actually hot, or if it’s just pretending,” he said, stepping into the tub with a theatrical hiss. “Ay, carajo. Okay. It’s fucking hot.”

I laughed and followed him in, still light-headed from our experience in the shower. The water enveloped me like silk, thick and scorching at first, but gradually easing into something luxurious. We settled in side by side, letting the heat work its way into our muscles. Our legs brushed beneath the water, but we didn’t pull away. Miguel rested his arms along the edge of the tub, eyes closed, breathing slowly. The outline of his collarbone glistened in the light, and I found myself staring a little too long.

“This is so much better than I thought it would be,” I said.

He cracked one eye open and smirked. “You doubted me?”

“No. I just didn’t expect to feel this…peaceful. Relaxed. Like the world actually shut up for a minute.”

Miguel reached for my hand under the water, intertwining our fingers, and gave it a gentle squeeze. “That’s what I wanted,” he said softly, “for both of us.”

For a while, we didn’t talk. We just sat there, hands linked beneath the water, listening to the mountain night. My head found its way to his shoulder, and his lips brushed the side of my temple. Every now and then, we’d shift, our knees bumping, his thumb tracing circles over the back of my hand. I could feel my heartbeat slowing, my mind letting go of everything that had been gnawing at it. This moment, this warmth, his closeness — it was exactly what I needed to … let go.

But after about twenty minutes, I started to feel like I was being slowly poached. My limbs were heavy, and I could feel beads of sweat trickling down my face.

“Ugh,” I groaned, pulling my head off his shoulder. “This is getting intense. I think my organs are cooking.”

Miguel tilted his head back and groaned. “I was trying not to say anything, but yeah — I feel like a tamal.”

We both chuckled and scrambled out as gracefully as we could, which wasn’t very, as we managed to slip and slide, and Miguel even fell on his ass. Our skin was pink and steaming, and the cold night air hit us like a slap — sharp but oddly refreshing. I wrapped a towel around my waist, shivering, while Miguel stood there grinning, water dripping from his dark curls.

“We’re definitely doing that again,” he said, grabbing his own towel, as his cock dangled temptingly in front of me.

“Agreed,” I said. “But next time, we need a giant glass of cold water and a timer.”

Miguel leaned over and kissed my cheek. “Deal, mi vida.”

And just like that, everything felt lighter again.

Miguel gently took me by the arm and led me into the small airlock entryway. We slipped off our flip-flops, leaving them by the door, and stepped barefoot through the second entrance into the bubble itself.

Inside, it was quietly breathtaking.

Only a single floor lamp glowed in the corner, casting soft, golden light across the translucent walls. Above us, the night sky stretched in every direction — clear, endless, and full of stars. It felt like we were floating in space, completely alone in the universe.

I stood there for a moment, awestruck. The air was warm and still, the silence deep and calming.

“Wow,” I whispered. “This is… incredible.”

Miguel squeezed my hand, his voice low. “I thought you’d like it.”

We turned to face each other, eyes locking in a gaze that said everything words couldn’t. This was the moment — the one we had both been quietly moving toward, step by step. It felt like we’d been waiting for this forever, not out of hesitation, but because we wanted it to mean something. Something vastly different than the others who had come before.

And now it did.

There was no more doubt. Miguel was mine, and I was his. We had chosen each other — completely, freely, and with full hearts.

It was time to cross that final threshold, to seal what we already knew with the most intimate expression of trust and love.

I gently guided him toward the bed, and he lay down on his back. We’d been naked all day, so there was no need to remove our clothes. The anticipation of this moment had been killing me. It was one of the only things I could think about over the past few weeks, when I wasn’t thinking about the chaos outside of my door.

Miguel looked up at me, meeting my eyes. “Hazme el amor, Hunter.”

I slowly crawled on top of him, pressing our bodies — and our hard cocks — firmly together, our mouths meeting passionately and our tongues wrestling for control in our mouths. I wrapped my arms around him, placed my knees inside his. We began grinding, writhing against each other slowly, gently, lovingly, until I became so overtaken by the sensations that I began to grind harder against him. He pushed his hips upwards to meet my thrusts. I never thought just rubbing against each other like this would feel so damn good, but it did.

He broke our kiss temporarily to whisper in my ear, “¡Qué rico, bebé, te amo tanto! Ufff, ¡qué rico, mi gringo!”

At that point, I was already speechless and couldn’t even respond, just moan in his ear as our grinding became even more frenetic.

In an instant, I had to pull away, as I was already so close to finishing, and we had other things to do first. So, I flipped him over on his stomach — remembering him telling me how he preferred to be the more “passive” partner in bed — and crawled between his legs where I had a perfect view of his round, fleshy butt. I took a few long moments to caress his soft, smooth cheeks before I slowly pulled them apart, bent over, and began lapping at his tight pink hole, first gently licking around the edges, then licking from his perineum up to his hole, and finally, exploring deep inside him with my tongue. Miguel was about going out of his mind, whimpering relentlessly, gripping the sheets as if holding on for dear life, and moaning, “Sí! Sí! ¡Que rico!” over and over.

When I pulled back to let my tongue rest for a moment, Miguel suddenly took charge and flipped me onto my back, immediately swallowing my raging, hard boyhood. As I looked down to watch his ministrations, he looked up at me, and I saw the most incredible combination of love and lust in his eyes. He wanted me, and it felt so good to be wanted.

While what Miguel was currently doing to my cock felt so fantastic, I needed to taste more of him. Very cautiously, I guided him with my hands, and we contorted ourselves into a sixty-nine position, with me on the bottom. This new position allowed me to take turns sucking on his boyhood — which was oozing with precum by this point — and again tonguing his perfect ass to my heart’s content. I’d never been very vocal during sex, but Miguel’s moaning and whimpering more than made up for it. But as with the shower, I didn’t know how much longer I could hold off, and it wasn’t Miguel’s mouth where I wanted to finish. He must have been reading my mind, because a moment later, he let my cock slip out of his mouth and insisted, “¡Lo quiero dentro de mí!” I just hoped I could hold off long enough to make it pleasurable for him instead of just a three-second fuck.

We somewhat awkwardly got out of our current position, and Miguel rolled over to lie on his stomach, looking back at me over his shoulder with those gorgeous brown eyes, tearing at my soul. He was sweating profusely from all the activity so far, and so was I. I quickly grabbed a hand towel and wiped off my face, and then did the same for him.

“Do you have any lube?” I asked breathlessly.

“No, just use spit,” he answered.

I wasn’t about to argue, so with his ass already wet from my tongue lashing, I added another mouthful of saliva there, and a mouthful for my aching cock. He spread his legs apart, and I positioned myself between his knees, aiming my cock downward toward his pink hole. I pressed my crown against his hole, but it wouldn’t go in at first; he was so tight. I added some more spit, tried again, and finally pushed past his tight ring, but not without eliciting a hiss of pain from Miguel. I tried pulling out, but he grabbed onto my hips and held me in place.

“Don’t take it out,” he said, wincing. “Solo dame un momento para acostumbrarme.”

So, I held it in place, only the crown of my cock inside of him, trying not to move while he got used to it, but it was hard to resist the urge to start pushing in further. After a few moments, he pulled gently on my hips, pulling me in slowly, a little bit at a time, as he continued to wince in pain.

“Are you ok?” I asked. “We can stop if you want.”

“No, keep going,” he grunted. “Don’t stop.”

After a few more agonizing minutes, I finally felt my pubic hair brushing up against his ass, and he let out a low moan when it was finally all the way in. I gave him another few moments to relax, catch his breath, and get used to the feeling. I still worried that I was hurting him, which was the absolute last thing I wanted to do.

“Hazlo!” he moaned, so I started slowly pulling out and then slowly back in. He was still wincing, but his hands on my hips kept guiding me slowly in and out. I spit again where we were joined to add a little more lubrication and kept moving in and out slowly until his grunts of pain started gradually changing to moans of pleasure. I then pushed all the way until he stifled a loud groan into the pillow, and then gently lay myself on top of him, my chest pressing gently against his bare back, and wrapped my arms tightly around him as I continued thrusting as slowly and gently as possible, each time earning me a moan of pleasure.

Our bodies were pressed so tightly together that it felt like we had transformed into one single being. While being inside him was giving my cock the most tremendous pleasure imaginable — warm, wet, tight — it was my heart that was throbbing the hardest. I’d never felt so close to someone before. I placed my mouth at his ear and whispered, “Miguel, yo te amo tanto; eres mi príncipe azul y soy tuyo para siempre.” My words must have caused some reaction, because he immediately began bucking his hips up into my thrusts, and urging me to go faster and harder with his hands on my hips and ass. That was all the encouragement I needed to start thrusting faster and holding him tighter. The quicker I pounded him, the louder his moaning and pleasurable grunts of “¡Qué rico!”

I tangled up my legs with his and locked them in place as I continued to drive into him. His hands were gripping the sheets, and I was now propping myself up on my elbows. I momentarily worried that he was going to rip the silk sheets apart, but I kept going, pulling all the way out to my crown and then driving in until I hit bottom. Over and over again. I’d already lasted much longer than I had expected, but I couldn’t go on much longer. I worried that I was going to be a disappointment to him by not having more endurance, but I was soon approaching that point of no return. “I’m gonna cum,” I warned him.

“¡Dentro de mi! Inside me!” he moaned. “¡Por favor!”

And with a few more hard thrusts, I was emptying myself inside of him. Three, four, five spurts, I eventually lost count, and when I was finished, I collapsed onto his back. I was completely breathless, and it was several very long minutes before I could even move, but I did feel him continue to squeeze down on my cock that was still inside him, attempting to squeeze out every last drop.

Eventually, I rolled off of him, still gasping for air, and he turned to his side and looked at me with a vast and loving smile.

Despite being out of energy and breath, I said to him, “Let’s take care of you now.”

“No, we don’t have to,” he smiled, pointing to a wet spot on the sheets. “You literally fucked it right out of me.”

We both giggled and then embraced each other in a tight hug, and our mouths met again for a long and sensual kiss.

“Estuviste increíble, mi rey. Nunca me habían follado así”, he said, still breathless.

“Sorry, I didn’t quite get that,” I said with a shy grin.

“I said that you were incredible. No one has fucked me like that before,” he said, looking into my eyes and running his hand along my cheek.

“Never?” I asked, completely surprised. This was far from Miguel’s first time having sex, as far as I knew.

“Never,” he confirmed. “Because you did it to me with love, and that made it so different, so much better.”

I had to admit, I was kind of proud of myself. But I understood him; I’d never had sex like that before either. It was so much more … I couldn’t even find the words.

But I also figured that he was probably just trying to boost my ego a bit, since Colombian men are known to be among the very best lovers in the world, and I was sure he’d had much better. I was still happy, though, and totally satiated.

“Why don’t we take a shower and then go relax in the jacuzzi for a while?” he suggested.

“Good idea.”

***

The steam from the hot tub curled around us like mist from some enchanted spring, softening the edges of the world. Stars blanketed the sky overhead in a dazzling canopy, unfiltered and alive, stretching endlessly in every direction. The only sounds were the gentle bubbling of the jets, the insects in the jungle, and the occasional whisper of the wind brushing through the trees. We were miles from anywhere, and yet I’d never felt more grounded.

Miguel and I sat close, our knees touching beneath the water, our bodies warm from the soak but still flushed from earlier. He had his head resting on my shoulder, a lazy hand drifting under the surface, tracing invisible patterns on my thigh.

It was perfect.

“I can’t believe we finally did it,” I murmured.

Miguel lifted his head slightly and gave me a sleepy, satisfied grin. “Mmm, believe it. Although I may need to send you a bill for damages.”

I laughed. “Please. You’re the one who made it sound like we were making a porno.”

He gasped dramatically. “Excuse me, those were sounds of passion and bliss. Besides, you were the one saying, ‘Oh God’ every three seconds. I thought I was going to have to call a priest.”

I smirked. “Well, if that’s what heaven feels like, I’ll start going to church.”

Miguel chuckled and leaned in to kiss my neck. “Don’t joke. With the way you were going, I’m surprised the bubble didn’t fog over permanently.”

We both laughed harder at that, the tension lifting into something playful and safe. We were naked in every sense — physically, emotionally, spiritually. And somehow, it wasn’t scary. It was liberating.

After a moment of quiet, I let out a long exhale. “But seriously… it wasn’t just sex. It felt like something deeper. Like… I don’t know, like you let me into every part of you, not just your body.”

He looked up at me, his eyes soft. “That’s exactly what it felt like. I’ve had sex before, but this… this was the first time I felt like it meant something real. Like… we connected on a whole other level.”

“Yeah,” I whispered. “Like we became part of each other.”

Miguel was quiet for a moment, then added, “I didn’t know I could love someone this much. I never knew feelings like this existed.”

My chest tightened. I turned and kissed him gently, just once. “You’re my everything, Miguel.”

“Careful,” he teased. “Say one more romantic thing and I might cry into the hot tub.”

“You already cried earlier,” I said, nudging him. “Don’t pretend it was just sweat.”

“I told you, I was just leaking from the eyeballs due to overwhelming physical excellence,” he said proudly, puffing his chest out.

“Please,” I snorted. “You nearly knocked over the lamp when your leg cramped up.”

“That was strategy. Distract the enemy with dramatic flailing.”

I rolled my eyes and pulled him closer. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you love it,” he whispered.

I just smiled and held him tighter.

We sat like that for a while longer, watching the stars, our laughter slowly fading into quiet comfort. The kind of silence that only comes when you feel completely safe.

Eventually, the cold began to creep back in. The hot tub could only fight off the night air for so long.

We wrapped ourselves in towels and padded barefoot across the deck, slipping into the glowing bubble. The massive bed looked impossibly inviting, surrounded by soft lights and the faint scent of eucalyptus from our earlier shower.

Once inside, we dried off and climbed under the covers, limbs tangling instinctively.

Miguel curled into me, his cheek resting against my chest, his fingers tracing lazy circles on my stomach.

“You’re not going to sneak attack me in the middle of the night, are you?” he mumbled sleepily.

“Only if you ask nicely.”

He smiled. “I already did.”

I kissed the top of his head and whispered, “Te amo.”

His arm tightened around me. “Te amo más.”

Somehow, I felt like we turned a corner, or reached some kind of new level tonight. I was curious to see how — or if — our relationship would change now that we’d finally done it, and how mind-bogglingly fantastic it was.

The stars shimmered silently above us through the transparent dome. Somewhere in the forest, an owl hooted. The rest of the world didn’t matter.

We fell asleep like that — wrapped up in each other, hearts synced, dreams melting into one another beneath the Colombian night sky.

NEXT CHAPTER

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