Even if Nate wasn't blocking out the sun, Brad would still know he was there because Nate is dripping on him. And laughing. "Get a fucking towel," Brad grumbles, shading his eyes and squinting.
Nate's grinning. "Look at you out here on your beach chair with your beach towel. I didn't think you knew how to relax."
"I will dump you back into the ocean," Brad replies, the emptiest of empty threats, because he is not moving from his beach chair now that he's gotten the towel properly positioned and both his beer and his bottle of water are directly within reach.
"You will not." Nate climbs on top of him, settling himself over Brad's thighs, and the chair makes a protesting squeak - there's probably a weight limit that they're surpassing - but none of the joints or hinges give out, so Nate just looks smug. Water is still dripping from his hair and running down his neck. "And I take it back, you're not relaxed."
"Someone just sat on me like a ton of bricks."
"Calm down," Nate murmurs. "No one else is here. It's just us."
Brad allows himself one small grumbling noise and Nate laughs. "Relax," he repeats. His hands stroke over Brad's stomach, then pluck at the waistband of Brad's swim gear.
"Out here, really?"
"I just said we're alone," Nate huffs.
Brad sighs in acceptance and very carefully lifts his hips so Nate can free his cock. "It feels good, out in the sun like this," Nate murmurs. It's not a question. He leans forward to brush his mouth over Brad's. "It's just us," he whispers, his tone gentler this time, softer. "Let me do this."
"Nate," Brad groans, and apparently that's all the permission Nate needs to start jerking him off with smooth strokes, nothing fancy. Brad can feel his gaze like a weight.
It's already hot, this stretch of beach they paid a ridiculous amount of money to stay at for a week, but Nate sitting on top of him and watching the movement of his hand stroking Brad's cock makes Brad feel even hotter, almost parched. He knows there's no one else for quite some distance, but the open air on his bare skin is making him want to squirm, even whine, half embarrassed and half insanely turned on. He closes his eyes.
"I never would have pegged you to be so distressed at getting off in public," Nate says.
"That is an untrue statement."
Nate makes an I don't believe you noise and circles a thumb lazily around the head of Brad's cock. Brad manages to catch his breath after a second and adds, "I simply think sex with someone you love should be a private thing."
"Again, we're alone," Nate replies and Brad can hear in his voice that he's smiling. Then he teases, "Save the fucking for behind closed doors, God, Brad."
"That's not what I said, and a bed is much sturdier than this chair." He doubts Nate will take the bait, though, and Nate doesn't, just drags slow fingertips over the whole of Brad's cock. Then he moves slightly and Brad squints at him. "Hm?"
"We're going to fuck right here."
Nate unbuttons the pocket of his swim trunks - Brad should not be surprised his shorts have a pocket - and pulls out a single-use packet of lube. "I can't believe you planned this," Brad says, because such a thing cannot be allowed to pass without some response.
Nate only grins at him, wide and dazzling. Then he looks down at Brad for a moment with a contemplative gaze, before moving back towards the bottom of the long chair. Warm hands yank Brad's trunks the rest of the way off before Nate pushes at his knees. "Get your legs up."
"Really," Brad deadpans, but he lets Nate arrange his limbs as desired. It's no small feat on this chair. Brad's sweating for real now, but the sweat dries quickly in this climate, and when he brings a hand up to touch Nate's hair, it's completely dry.
Nate turns his head into the touch like a cat, smiling as Brad drags a hand down over his face. He bites lightly at Brad's fingertips as Brad sweeps them over his mouth. Then he slaps Brad's hand away. "Enough mushy touching. I'm gonna fuck you."
"That's quite the declarative statement," Brad says, hitching himself back enough that he can put his legs over the arm of the chair. The towel he's lying on is scratchy against his back. Lightly, he palms his cock, pressing it upwards against his belly, and watches Nate's gaze track the moment.
"You respond well to declarative statements." Nate rips open the lube. All of the skin from his waist to the middle of his thighs is startlingly pale in contrast to the rest of his tanned body, but his cock is beautifully flushed. Anticipation curls in the center of Brad's chest, nearly as hot as the sun.
Nate smiles at him again and slicks his cock generously. Brad lifts an eyebrow, feigning casualness, and Nate's smile turns dirty and knowing. He doesn't ask Brad if he's ready, just aligns their bodies with the front of his thighs against the backs of Brad's, and pushes in slowly. Brad tips his face up to the sun and breathes, appreciating the kisses Nate is pressing open-mouthed to his neck and collarbones, giving him a few seconds to acclimate.
"Relax," Nate breathes in his ear, then starts to move. The pace is almost maddeningly slow compared to what Brad usually likes, compared to what he knows his body can take. He groans, shifting in an attempt to coax Nate into going faster, but Nate hums against his neck, then bites.
Brad feels his ears burn in embarrassment as he whines. Nate laughs and does it again, scraping a little with his teeth this time as he gives a sharp thrust. "Yes, that," Brad groans. He gets a hand between them to wrap around his cock, stroking mostly in time with Nate's movements. It's just on the uncomfortable side of dry, so he licks his palm and tries again.
"Good?" Nate whispers, his mouth now at Brad's ear.
"I'm definitely getting fucked," Brad says, and in reply Nate bottoms out and stays there. That same hot shiver runs through Brad again, catching in his throat, and his grip tightens on Nate's shoulder. "Fuck, Nate."
"Should be done just in time to reapply the sunblock." Nate closes his teeth gently on Brad's earlobe before he finds a rhythm again, not pulling out as far with every thrust as he was, minimizing their movement on the chair.
Brad pulls on his cock, groaning. Between them, the sweat can't dry as quickly, and the backs of his fingers catch against the soft skin of Nate's belly. He turns his hand over to trace the flexing lines of muscle, then over Nate's hip and around to squeeze his ass. "I think you might be getting a little burn here," he manages to say, words punctuated by noises he can't stop himself from making. He pulls one leg up higher, hooking it around Nate's thighs.
"Put aloe on it for me later." Nate mouths at his neck. "Touch your cock again, I want you to come with me."
Brad does, and it's close enough. Nate grinds in, hot and heavy, and Brad clenches around him purposefully, because the noises Nate makes are the greatest. He feels the heat in the air pressing all around them. It shouldn't feel good, but right now in this moment it seems almost as tangible as Nate's weight keeping him pressed to the chair, still inside him and hitching his hips in bare millimeters simply to make Brad sweat. "Come on," Nate breathes, damp into his ear, his hand snaking between them to join Brad's, and that extra touch is the last push Brad needs.
"Love you," he hears Nate say as he goes limp. The towel is now bunched weirdly into the small of his back. Whatever, he'll fix it in a minute. "Thanks for coming to Mexico with me."
"I think it was my idea," Brad mumbles. He lifts his clean hand to toy with Nate's hair. "Love you, too. Now move before you turn into a complete lobster."