The Sea Ain't Mine Alone

by Beaumont, C. L.

  James sucks him hard and fast, cheeks hallowed around his cock while his hand slaps Sydney’s ass hard and grips. Sydney buries his face in James’ groin at the base of his throbbing cock and looks down to watch his own erection disappear again and again into James’ mouth, wet and glistening, precome and spit dripping down his chin in a thick sheen. Spreading his lips.

  “James,” he moans. “James, I—fuck!”

  James nods around his cock and grips his hip hard, and Sydney’s climax explodes across his skin, pulsing out of his cock straight down James’ throat as James moans deep and slow at the taste.

  Sydney lets out a silent cry, gasping for enough air. James waits until the last pulses burst across his tongue, then pulls off Sydney’s cock with a grunt deep in his chest. He places a wet kiss at the base, burying his nose in Sydney’s hair.

  Sydney’s lungs heave. His limbs are loose and wild. He grabs for James’ arm, yanking him hard back up towards him.

  “Sit on my face,” he hears himself beg.

  James curses and hurls himself down to lick into Sydney’s mouth, forcing Sydney to taste himself in a hot and frantic kiss, then he scoots forward on his knees until his hips are over Sydney’s neck. He holds himself up over Sydney on shaking thighs and grips his erection with his hand, guiding it gently towards Sydney’s lips.

  Sydney looks up at him and wants to cry. He looks beautiful. The light off the ocean reflects and ripples across his sweating skin, and his hair is rough and wild, his skin glistening and flushed. Muscled chest heaving. Lips pink and swollen and wet. Sydney reaches around to grab James’ ass firmly in both hands and pulls him towards himself, letting James guide his bobbing cock to the tips of Sydney’s lips. Sydney laps out with his tongue at the wet slit, licking up the precome and swallowing it with a consuming moan, then he opens his mouth wide and pulls James forward until his cock sinks all the way in.

  Sydney looks up at James, lips almost painfully stretched around his throbbing erection, and winks.

  James laughs, eyes blown wide. “God, you’re something else,” he whispers. He plants one hand on the wall in front of him and grips Sydney’s hair with the other. They share a brief, breathless look—raised eyebrows from James, and Sydney gives a small nod. Then James slowly rocks his hips forward on his sturdy thighs, driving his cock between Sydney’s wet and open lips. Straight down his throat.

  James bites his own lips and groans. “Fuck, just look at you. Look at your fucking mouth.”

  Sydney sucks hard at the tip as James pulls out again and immediately thrusts back in, hitting the back of Sydney’s throat with a grunt. “Your mouth . . .”

  Sydney stares up, eyes blown wide, as James traces the outline of Sydney’s stretched lips with his thumb, feeling where they grip around his thick cock. James looks wrecked—thoroughly fucked. The most desirable thing Sydney has ever seen in his life.

  Sydney grips him hard as James rolls his hips, clenching the muscles in his abs and brushing his tight and heavy balls against Sydney’s wet chin.

  James’ hand on the wall turns to a fist. The deep thrusts of his cock pick up speed. “Shit, Moore,” he growls, eyes black and mouth open. “Swallow me. God . . . Gonna come down your fucking throat.” James gasps once up at the ceiling, baring his glistening neck and chest, before he stares back down at Sydney and grips Sydney’s curls with both hands.

  He wails. “God, Moore. Fuck, your mouth. Gonna come . . . come down—”

  He lets out a breathless cry and grips Sydney’s hair hard enough to sting, frantically fucking into his mouth as Sydney’s tongue is blasted with a wave of hot and salty cum. He gulps it down, eyes blown wide, staring up at James Campbell’s face as he comes with Sydney’s name a moan on his lips.

  He remembers he is in love with James Campbell, although he never really forgot.

  Sydney pants for breath when James slowly guides his cock back out of his mouth, lips and chin and mouth absolutely dripping with James’ cum, the hot taste of him still rolling down his throat. James looks down at him, shakes his head slowly, then flings himself down on top of Sydney’s body, covering him with his weight and wordlessly pulling him into a kiss, deep and slow.

  They moan as their tongues brush, trading the tastes of each other. Sydney clings to James’ slick back and shoulders, nails digging into his skin, desperate for the weight of him on his chest. Then. finally, James sighs into his mouth before falling off Sydney’s body with a grunt, rolling heavily onto his back.

  He pants up at the ceiling, one arm thrown over his eyes. “You,” he whispers. He laughs once. “God, you.”

  Sydney turns onto his side and pulls James gently into his arms, and a warm ache tugs in his chest when James easily rolls into the embrace, letting Sydney pull him close and hold him. They come down slowly together, panting breaths gradually evening out, sweating skin starting to cool in the breeze as heartbeats fade to normal.

  Sydney buries his nose in James’ soft hair and inhales over and over, memorizing the combined scent of them. James’ penis is warm and soft now, pressed against his legs, the space between James’ thighs still damp from his release mixed with Sydney’s own spit.

  Finally, Sydney cups James’ jaw in his hand and pulls him back up for a last kiss, gentle and long. Sydney groans softly into his mouth, holding him close, reveling in every inch of their warm skin still pressed together. He shifts heavy and sated limbs, trying to grow impossibly close.

  James smiles at him, eyes glowing and soft in the late afternoon sun, and the three words Sydney had tried to say in the middle of a desperate kiss five days ago come flying up once again into his mouth, perched and buzzing on the tips of his lips.

  But he swallows them down. It isn’t time—not yet. Then he brushes James’ hair back from his face, resting with their legs entwined.

  He licks his lips and whispers, knowing his voice will be hoarse. “You know that Waimea is tomorrow,” he says.

  James nods. “S’why I made sure I got back here by today.”

  Sydney’s heart flutters hotly, and he leans forward to brush another kiss across James’ mouth. The breeze off the ocean dances across their skin with rippling shivers, and Sydney reaches down to pull a blanket up over them, holding James closer in his arms.

  James looks at him with serious eyes once they’re settled. “It scares the shit out of me knowing you’re surfing those waves tomorrow.”

  Sydney nods once. “I know.”

  He’s well aware of what he’s up against. Men die off Waimea. Brilliant surfers get flung from their boards, and crack their heads against the reefs and rocks below, and drown in the whitewater, bodies sometimes never to be found.

  James’ eyes are glistening. “I . . . Sydney, I don’t know what I would do if you don’t—I don’t know.”

  Sydney tilts his head up to press his lips between James’ eyes, trying to breathe a confidence he doesn’t quite feel into his skin.

  “Won’t be that bad,” he says, tone light. “I had to watch you surf the Pipeline, you know. You even wiped out and stayed under for a bit to give me a nice flashback. Test my nerves.”

  James laughs. “Those weren’t fucking fifty foot tall waves, you dick.”

  “Well, compared to your short ass, they practically were,” Sydney shoots back, desperate to see the fear fade away from James’ eyes.

  And it does. James barks out another laugh and rolls his eyes before smacking him hard in the arm. Sydney fights back, smirking, straining against James’ grip, and then they’re wrestling for leverage, the blanket pushed off onto the floor. James throws a strong thigh over Sydney’s hip and rolls on top of him, pinning him down and settling his weight on Sydney’s body. Sydney’s hands rub gently at the small of James’ back, the fine hairs tickling his fingertips.

  James runs his hand through Sydney’s curls, and Sydney lets himself arch into the touch, eyes falling closed. James’ thumb runs along the thin skin under his eye.

  “You look exhausted,
” James says. “I wanted to tell you earlier.”

  Sydney hums, warm tingles dripping down his neck and back as James’ fingers run through his hair. He feels hotly embarrassed now about his sleepless nights standing alone by the waves, not knowing that James Campbell was at that very moment finding his way back to him for good.

  He feels James’ lips suddenly brush against his face, kissing the sleep-deprived bags under his eyes.

  “Right,” James says firmly, clearing his throat. “Here’s what we’re gonna do. I’m gonna get all my shit that’s sitting outside melting in the sun, and you’re gonna clear out a drawer for me so I don’t feel like I’m in a fucking hotel. Then you’ll sit down and eat something because you look like you’ve lost ten pounds since I last saw you. And I’ll tell you about all the shit and fucking red tape I had to go through this last week so I could move my life out here, so you can be grateful I didn’t give up and just say fuck it all.”

  Sydney opens his eyes, and James is looking down at him with such quiet fondness that Sydney wants to say fuck it all to James’ plans and hold him against his body in bed all day instead.

  James chuckles under his breath and continues to brush through Sydney’s hair. Sydney feels like this should make him feel hopelessly young and naive, but it doesn’t.

  “I know,” James says, reading his thoughts. “Tonight we’ll . . . we’ll be back here. But right now you gotta eat something so you don’t drown on me tomorrow. You can tell me all about your strategy and whatever other weird science shit you’ve got going on up in there.”

  James leans down to kiss him softly, and Sydney melts under his touch. Then James pats his cheek and rolls up from the bed with a groan, standing to stretch out his arms above his head and giving Sydney an absolutely fantastic view of his ass.

  “Thought my legs were gonna fall off in that plane,” he groans.

  Sydney heaves himself from the sheets and follows James out into the main room of the house on shaking legs, embarrassingly desperate not to let him out of his sight. “How the fuck do you think I feel in a plane—my legs are three feet longer than yours,” he tries to joke back.

  He feels drunk as James mutters something under his breath back at him. Half-asleep and half-dead and half up floating in heaven. James walks naked through the house with steady, confident limbs, not hesitating in his steps as he walks over to the kitchen cabinets and looks through them for something to make for them to eat.

  Sydney watches him, openly staring. Amazed that James Campbell is naked in his kitchen, not clutching a bundle of clothes over himself, looking like he’s been standing there just like this every afternoon for decades. The broad lines of his back and shoulders are silhouetted by the vast, rolling horizon of the sea through the window, painting wisps of deep golden light across his skin.

  James talks casually over his shoulder. “Should take a shower while I do this. You smell like sex and it’s fucking distracting.”

  Sydney turns like a sheep to follow James’ instructions, then immediately whips back around.

  He needs James to know—needs him to somehow understand that just that morning Sydney had stood in this very same spot and contemplated whispering his own name into the silence just to be able to hear it. To pretend that James’ voice was echoing through his house, carried effortlessly on the salty breeze where it would never be carried ever again.

  And now James is here. Cooking. Telling him he smells like sex because they just had sex and not looking uncertain in the least. And he told Sydney about the worst moment in his entire life, and his shoulders aren’t even tense.

  Sydney stands in the place where James had stood five days ago with a bundle of clothes in front of his groin, and he hesitantly calls out his name in a weak voice.

  “James.”

  James pauses and turns around, feet firmly planted on the hardwood, brows raised.

  Sydney opens his mouth to try to speak again, but can’t. James Campbell is beautiful in his home. In their home. A powerful beam of the sun. Crackling and warm deep down in the pit of Sydney’s chest.

  James’ mouth softly twists, and his eyes glitter for a moment. “I know, Sydney,” he whispers. He gives a little shrug, as if that could somehow encompass everything they’ve just done. “I know.”

  His eyes roam quickly over Sydney’s body, taking in his still-damp thighs, and his soft penis, and the curls stuck to the sides of his neck with sweat. Sydney holds his chin high, not letting himself shrink away. Then James nods his head at the shower behind him and turns back around to keep cooking, hands working open a bag of pasta from the back of a cupboard.

  In a daze, Sydney tears his eyes away and wanders into the shower, leaving the light off as he does. He stands under the warm spray and looks down at his own body in the steaming darkness, tracing the faint marks he can feel from James’ fingers and teeth and stubble all over his skin.

  He’ll conquer the tallest waves on earth tomorrow. Gut strong and hands steady and neck held high, flinging himself down into the spray from the heavens, fighting against the great heaving force of the water and foam.

  He’ll do it because James Campbell’s deep blue eyes will be seeking him out from the sand.

  And Sydney now knows that they will be. They definitely, unequivocally will.

  Sydney covers his face with his hands, then slicks back his wet hair. He lets the steaming water pound against his face and chest, then finally whispers into the spray the words that had been hovering on the tip of his tongue for one hundred and forty-seven hours.

  “I love you.” Lost immediately to the rushing hiss of the water.

  “God, I love you.”

  23

  James stands in the middle of the darkened bedroom and looks down at Sydney sleeping on his stomach like the dead, sheets tangled around his waist and curls plastered to one side of his head.

  It’s just before six in the morning, and James has been wide awake since four. They’d fallen asleep early the night before; Sydney was so exhausted his eyes had been drooping shut over dinner, head slinking back in the chair out on the porch overlooking the ocean while James rambled on about finding a new renter for his apartment, and quitting his job, and finally getting that call from Val’s, and deciding whether to ship his board out to Oahu or just say screw it and use some sponsorship money to buy a new one.

  He hadn’t told Sydney about Rob, though. The words had been certainly hovering there in the air the whole evening, desperate and yearning to come out. It would have been so easy to wait until Sydney’s eyes were closed, his head sleepily rolled back, and whisper that he actually told someone he was gay, in those exact words and out loud. That the world didn’t end. And that all he could think about in that moment was how the hell he was gonna get back to Sydney’s arms.

  But the second James opened his mouth to do just that, he knew he needed Sydney to be fully awake to hear it all, not drifting off in a doze with half a smile on his lips, one hand reaching out to gently cling to the hem of James’ shorts, not even letting go when he drifted off to a deep sleep.

  And James had done exactly what Sydney did for him a week ago. Had woken him up gently and lead him half-asleep by the hand into the bedroom. Slowly stripped him of his clothes and climbed into bed beside him after taking one final piss and washing his face. And Sydney had nestled against his chest and clung to him tightly as he started slipping back effortlessly into his dreams, breath hot and damp where it blew on James’ skin. James had listened to him sleep while tracing the lines of his tattoo with his fingertips, watching the moonlight ripple across his back through the window.

  At first James hadn’t dreamed at all. Then he’d dreamed of Los Angeles—palm trees with giant green surfboards for fronds, and Lori begging him to find Josie, who was lost, and Sydney finding her miles out in the ocean treading water, then hauling her back through the sea in his arms only for all of them to realize he’d accidentally captured a dolphin instead.

  James ha
d fallen out of the dream with a jolting thud and blinked open his eyes to discover that Sydney was pinning him down to the bed—one thigh draped across both of his legs, one arm flung across his chest and his nose buried right in James’ armpit.

  And James had chuckled and kissed Sydney’s curls. Smiled like hell into the darkness that this was his life. He’d taken advantage of the private dark to be awed by the sensation of hard lines of muscle weighing him down with tender sleep. And he’d blinked hard up at the ceiling knowing that this was now his home—that he lived here. With him.

  Then he’d closed his eyes again and dreamed of Waimea. Of surging waves one thousand feet tall, black as tar, rushing towards the shore with the sound of screams echoing through a hot jungle. And Sydney had been dangling like a ragdoll from the crest, reaching down for his falling aviators, and James ran and ran and ran to catch him, but his shoulder exploded before he could get there in time to break his fall.

  James had gasped awake and stared at the ceiling with greying vision, heart pounding and limbs covered in a thick sweat. Once he finally convinced himself that Sydney was safe and alive next to him, he’d realized that the ache in his shoulder was real. Pain radiated out from where Sydney’s head was pressing down onto him, heavy with sleep. He tried to slip his arm away, but Sydney clung tighter to him in his sleep.

  So James had tried and failed for almost an hour to look down at Sydney’s soft and vulnerable face and not picture it pale and draped with seaweed, floating endlessly in the depths of the sea like a ghost. Swallowed up whole by the deep.

  And when sleep failed him, and his shoulder felt on fire, James had pressed one last kiss into Sydney’s curls then quickly slipped out from under him with a grimace, fighting against Sydney’s pull. He told himself that if he lay there any longer, it would be like admitting that they might never get to do it again.