The Sea Ain't Mine Alone

by Beaumont, C. L.

  And oh, they’d never really kissed before either, had they?

  James melts. Sydney groans when James’ hands fly back up to grip Sydney’s spine and shoulders, and the sigh James’ breathes into his mouth could be Sydney’s one source of air for the rest of his life. Sydney frantically tries to blink away the water in his eyes as he tells James a million things with the caresses of his wet lips that he could never hope to put into words—not even if he had an endless number of days.

  What feels like hours later, Sydney presses one last kiss to James’ mouth before pulling away, running his thumb along the soft, wet skin beneath James’ eye. They breathe in time together, long breaths filling the quiet air of the house.

  To his surprise, James grins, shaking his head as light creeps back into the lines of his face. He casually rubs Sydney’s upper arm. “Who the hell are you?” he whispers.

  Sydney smiles as James’ courage overflows to his own limbs. He tilts his head. “I’m the best surfer in Hawaii.”

  James laughs under his breath, the warm puffs of air flowing across Sydney’s face. He wraps one of his calves around Sydney’s leg. “Hang on, though. I thought you were the top surfer?”

  Sydney grins at the new lightness in James’ voice before leaning down to plant a kiss to James’ forehead. “Yes, well, I’ve grown a bit humble. Mellowed out a bit,” he quips.

  James raises his eyebrows. “Oh?”

  “Yes. In fact, I’ve met someone—someone very old and mature.”

  James rolls his eyes and brings his other hand to Sydney’s hip, gripping him firmly and briefly pressing his cock up into the inside of Sydney’s thigh.

  James plays along, eyes glittering. “Well, who is she then?”

  Sydney scoffs, then dramatically frowns. “James, you haven’t heard? I’m also the gayest surfer in Hawaii.”

  “Oh, right,” James laughs, reaching up to run his palm up Sydney’s lean chest. He pauses to run his thumb slowly over his nipple. “I might have heard something about that. Some wild rumors. So who is he?”

  Sydney smirks and rolls his hips languidly, rubbing his heavy balls slowly up and down James’ erection, causing him to shut his eyes and moan.

  “He’s a professional surfer,” Sydney says, starting to pant.

  James smirks with his eyes closed, hands gripping hard at Sydney’s waist. “Yeah? He must be good, then.”

  Sydney leans down to barely brush his lips across James’ mouth. “Very good.”

  Suddenly Sydney remembers holding James up against the wall behind the surf shop, picturing the way his uniform would drape across the muscles in his arms and thighs, the gleaming dog tags on his chest . . .

  The thought leaves him dizzy.

  “He’s also a sailor,” Sydney gasps.

  James flicks open his eyes and smirks, a flush spreading quickly across chest. “Oh, so we’re allowed to talk about how you have a thing for men in uniform, then?”

  Sydney scoffs, freezing like there’s a beam of light on him through pitch dark. “I do not!”

  James’ eyes are sparkling. He gently smacks Sydney’s thigh on top of him. “You fucking liar! Admit it. You’ve got a thing for it.”

  “That’s fucking insane. My father was a man in uniform.”

  “Oh yeah? So was your teenage wank photo. And so is the naked man you got underneath you right now. Well, so was.”

  James reaches around to grab Sydney’s ass hard, causing them both to groan at the friction. Sydney looks back down at James and feels a thousand words get caught in the back of his throat. He runs a hand slowly up James’ hard stomach, settling over his chest.

  “Let’s stick with ‘is,’” he says, trying to catch his breath. Then he rolls his eyes at himself. “Fine. You might have a point.”

  “Damn right I have a point. I’m not fucking blind.”

  “Well you don’t have to rub it in. You’ve got your own weird shit, too.”

  “Me?” James rubs idly across Sydney’s ribs. “No way, man. I’m normal.”

  “You mean you’re a square.”

  “Fine, I’m a square.”

  “But you’re gay.”

  James laughs as he pinches one of Sydney’s nipples. “Fine, I’m a gay square.”

  Sydney can’t help himself. He leans down to kiss James, the smile still on his lips, and they both relax into each other as the moment settles. Sydney gets lost in James’ warm eyes, becoming aware once more of every place their naked skin is joined.

  “God, you’re beautiful,” he says again, voice low.

  James breathes sharply out through his nose and blinks hard before reaching up and pulling Sydney down onto him by the shoulders. “Come here,” he whispers.

  Sydney falls forward and drapes himself across James’ body from chest to ankle, letting the full weight of him sink down onto James’ warm skin. James grips at his back and reaches up to meet Sydney in a deep kiss, open and wet.

  “Fuck, you feel good,” James pants into his mouth.

  “God, James.”

  “So fucking good on top of me.”

  Sydney groans into his mouth, licking and sucking at his lips. James’ muscles are warm and solid beneath his body, rolling up into Sydney’s touch, legs entwined at the thigh. Sydney wants to press himself so solidly into James Campbell that they become inseparable.

  But then James tenses beneath him.

  Sydney pulls back with fear in his throat, struggling to think of how to ask what’s wrong, when James’ hands are suddenly gripping hard at his shoulders, and he effortlessly flips Sydney over onto his back with a burst of muscle. It knocks the air from Sydney’s lungs. His head smacks the pillow.

  And fuck, James is on top of him, slotting his leg between Sydney’s naked thighs and pressing his cock down hard into his hip, stomach to stomach and chest to chest. Nipples brushing over nipples. Sydney tries to breathe as James devours his mouth, hands roving up his sides and gripping at his skin, reaching around under the small of his back and pulling Sydney closer against himself.

  The heavy, angular weight of James’ body on top of him is maddening. Sydney thinks he might disappear—float up out of his body and be carried out across the waves on the warm breeze, leaving poor James Campbell to hump an empty bed.

  But he doesn’t disappear. Instead, Sydney grows slick with pulsing sweat as James’ hands hold him down into the mattress. James presses one last kiss to Sydney’s lips before moving down on his elbows towards Sydney’s chest. James kisses him, every last inch of his bare skin. Sydney can feel him carefully tasting his skin with his tongue, covering his shaking, sensitized body with warm, wet traces of his lips.

  Sydney looks down at the golden sunlight glinting across the top of James’ bent head and curses under his breath.

  And Sydney thinks he can feel the smile on James lips as continues kissing down Sydney’s stomach, up his sides, and down below his navel, as Sydney clings to James’ back hard enough for his nails to etch deep into the tan skin. James looks up at Sydney, gasping a breath through swollen, wet lips, then he places his cheek in Sydney’s pubic hair and rubs.

  Sydney moans, staring down stunned at James pressing his face into his groin, slowly, deeply breathing in the scent of his skin. James’ stubble catches the hairs on Sydney’s upper thighs and pulls, and Sydney unconsciously spreads his legs for James to settle down between them. He places his shaking fingers in James’ hair before he can talk himself out of it.

  If there was a medal for being the hardest you’ve ever been in your life, Sydney knows without doubt he would currently win it.

  James lifts up his hand, hesitates for a moment in the air, then places his palm gently around the length of Sydney’s erection.

  “God . . .” Sydney breathes, then he realizes with a jolt James has never actually touched it before, and his cock swells impossibly harder in James’ hand, aching to be stroked.

  James twitches his fingers, testing the weight of Sydney’s cock against
his palm. Then he looks up at Sydney for a blinding moment before turning his cheek into Sydney’s groin and closing his eyes. Without looking, James takes a deep breath, tightens his grip, and strokes.

  Sydney nearly shouts, and James flings opens his eyes, looks at his own tan fingers wrapped around Sydney’s red and gleaming erection, and groans out loud, long and deep.

  “Fuck yeah,” Sydney moans. “God, touch it. Touch me . . .”

  He’s honestly not sure if he’ll survive. James looks up at him again with deep blue eyes the color of the ocean in a storm, and Sydney’s amazed that his own lungs continue functioning to take in air. He watches, chest heaving, as James slowly brings Sydney’s pulsing cock towards his lips, licks them, then places a soft kiss midway along Sydney’s shaft. He places another kiss closer to the tip, and another, covering Sydney’s erection with the open, wet heat of his mouth.

  James sighs, and if Sydney wasn’t half out of his mind right now he would think that the way James’ breath just quivered through his lungs meant that he was . . . that he was almost—

  James kisses his throbbing erection again, tongue tip tracing a vein. Sydney’s mind goes blank.

  He holds his breath tightly in his chest as he stares at James looking down at his cock, then James licks his lips again, groans, and opens his mouth to rest the tip of Sydney’s cock against the flat of his tongue, holding the weight of him carefully in his mouth.

  Sydney cries out in a rush and fights the desperate, surging urge to thrust. It’s been years since anyone did this to him. Since he was barely nineteen and in the back of a seedy gay bar in San Francisco—fresh off his first win at the Billabong a few months before and right after placing second earlier that day in a local competition in Santa Cruz. And that man hadn’t kissed him, or traced the lines of his chest and stomach with his tongue, or kissed his erection.

  And now James Campbell is sinking the tip of Sydney’s cock deeper into his sucking mouth, running it between his wet velvet lips, tasting the heat of his skin and moaning out loud at the weight of it on his tongue.

  Sydney’s neck gives out. His head drops back down to the bed with a thump, and he grips what he can of James’ hair with his fingers as he gently rolls his hips, letting the tip of his cock start to thrust between James’ open lips. He gets lost in it—the puffs of air ghosting down his erection coming from James’ nose, James’ firm, smooth hand slowly fisting along his length, the deafening sound of their panting breaths in the buzzing air of the room, the tiny, trembling moans echoing from the tips of Sydney’s lips.

  Then it’s gone.

  His cock is suddenly wet and cold in the air, lying flat against his stomach. James is completely silent. Sydney flings open his eyes and pushes up on his elbow to look down.

  He sees James sitting up on his knees, one hand gripping Sydney’s thigh and the other one covering his eyes, head tipped down towards the mattress between Sydney’s legs.

  Sydney’s heart hammers in his chest, and he swallows down a punch of fear in his throat. James is regretting it; it was too much. Sydney pressured him, told him to touch it, made James take off his clothes and lie down with him in bed and put his mouth around another penis like a queer. And James was trying to tell him how he was forced to kill a man, telling him about the war, and he didn’t want—

  Sydney forces himself to speak, hating the weak whimper of his voice.

  “James?”

  James sniffs wetly through his nose and runs his hand over his eyes. “Fuck, I’m sorry,” he chokes out.

  Sydney’s heart shatters in his chest. He tries to sound calm, forcibly ignoring the fact that they’re both still naked in his bed, cocks now only half-erect.

  “It’s alright. We don’t have to,” he rushes out, perfectly even. “James, I . . . I never meant to make you—we can just . . . you don’t have to stay in our . . . in the bed with me. You don’t have to—”

  “No, you idiot.” James takes his hand away from his eyes, and Sydney realizes with a gasp that he doesn’t look angry. He sits up all the way, cowering back in confusion, when James reaches out to grip his hand hard.

  James’ voice is breaking and choked. “Just, do you have any idea how long . . . how long I’ve wanted to do that?” He pauses again to catch his breath, eyes shining when he blinks at the ceiling. “I can’t—seventeen fucking years, Sydney. I’ve wanted to do this. Be with a . . . with a man like this. And it feels—” He swallows down a cry, shaking his head self-deprecatingly before running his forearm over his face. “It just feels so fucking good.”

  “Oh, James.”

  Sydney rushes forward and cups James’ face in his hands, immediately kissing him softly on the mouth. He can’t stop. When James doesn’t pull away, Sydney kisses him again and again, tiny sips of kisses against his trembling lips, reminding them both that this is real.

  “You are a marvel,” Sydney whispers against his mouth, wiping at James’ wet cheeks with his thumbs.

  James huffs out a laugh and sniffs hard again. “God, could I cry any more fucking times today, do you think? Make it an even ten or something?”

  Sydney kisses his closed eyelid, brushing away the saltwater with his lips. “I don’t mind,” he says, honestly.

  James pulls back and looks at him skeptically. “Come on. I’m not exactly helping the mood. Came here with big ideas to . . . throw you up against a wall or something.”

  Sydney tightens his grip on James’ hand as James shakes his head and shrugs.

  “Trust me,” Sydney says, “I’ll be the last one to stop you from doing that.” He kisses his mouth. “Right now, though.” Kisses him again. “God, you have no idea, James.” And again. “You have no idea.”

  James deepens the kiss with a groan, the caress turning heated. “I think I do,” he whispers.

  A thought pops into Sydney’s head so suddenly, so forcefully, he’s amazed he hadn’t planned it out in perfect detail before. It’s dark and twisted, sending shivers across his skin. It’s beautiful.

  “Would you—” He pauses, licking his lips. He summons the courage he’ll need to surf Waimea tomorrow and tries again. “Do you want to try doing that at the same time?”

  James pulls back and frowns, thumb running over Sydney’s bottom lip. “What, su—” He stutters, then pushes through. “Suck you off?”

  Sydney tries to breathe. “Suck us off.”

  James’ eyes pool black, blown open wide, lips trembling. “How can you even . . .”

  Sydney leaves one last sloppy kiss on James’ lips, then grips the back of his head and pushes him down hard onto the bed, overcome with hot desire thrumming through his veins.

  “Fuck yeah,” James breathes. “Sydney, fuck . . .”

  Sydney twists away from him, lying down the other way so his head is near James’ cock, now half-hard and swelling again, bobbing maddeningly into the air. Sydney licks his lips, shifting to awkwardly try and better position them both, mouth-watering.

  His brain frantically flies through the potential steps—how they should move, where they should be. He thinks maybe he’s taking too long, that maybe this was too twisted—too fucking much. Then James’ hand is on the back of his head, gripping his curls, and he abruptly pushes Sydney’s lips down hard around his cock as he groans.

  “God, suck me.” James’ fingers tighten. “Take it.”

  Sydney takes it.

  He grips the base of James’ cock in his hand, wraps the other around James’ warm thigh by his cheek, then takes James down as far back in his throat as he can, feeling him swell to hardness on his tongue.

  He licks along the skin, sucking as he swallows, reminding himself of the beautiful weight and rhythm, and he knows that James is watching, his head resting on Sydney’s hip. Sydney can feel the stubble from James’ cheek on his bare skin like electric shocks of pleasure. James rubs at his side, wraps the other arm around Sydney’s thigh, and rolls his hips slowly, pressing himself deeper into Sydney’s open mouth as Sydney gr
abs desperately at the back of his ass, pulling him close against his face.

  He groans around James’ cock, half a curse and half James’ name.

  Without warning, the stubble is gone from his hip, and before Sydney can even process that he’s dripping precome down his own erection, his aching cock is suddenly enveloped in tight, wet heat—swallowed.

  James groans against his penis, sending vibrations through his throbbing skin, and Sydney cries out with his tongue wrapped around James’ cock. James’ erection is swollen and heavy on his tongue, leaking and hot, and James’ cheek is rasping against his inner thigh, and James’ lips are sucking down the length of his erection and groaning like he can’t get enough of the taste. Sydney clings to James’ thrusting body, face buried in his groin, James’ full cock hot and throbbing in his mouth, and thinks that he could do this forever—forget lying innocently in each other’s arms.

  They roll into each other—press and push and thrust. The room is filled with the wet sounds of thick cocks slipping across lapping tongues. Sydney breathes out his nose, grips James’ ass harder in his hand, and grinds him deep against his face, taking him all the day down until his pubic hair rubs a rash against his chin.

  James pulls off and reaches down to grip at Sydney’s hair. “Fucking hell, Moore,” he pants. Sydney opens his eyes to glimpse spit on James’ chin, and James licks his lips. “God, fucking look at you.”

  Then those lips are back around Sydney’s cock in a deep moan, licking up the precome from his slit and moaning at the taste before sucking him down again deep.

  Sweat trickles down Sydney’s back as he bobs his head and rocks his hips, overcome by the sensation vibrating through both ends of his body. James’ thighs are sweating under his palms, trembling as they rock into his mouth, every moan thrumming straight into his own cock.

  He’s not going to last. With a gasp, he pulls off, rubbing James’ cock against his cheek. “Fuck, James, I can’t—shit I’m gonna come.” He squeezes his eyes shut and moans, wildly thrusting his hips, shoving himself across James’ sweet tongue, straight down his throat. “I’m gonna come.”