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Let Me Take the Waves Out of the Ocean

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"I didn't move to California to go swimming in lakes," Brad yelled.

"C'mon," Adam called back, totally ignoring Brad as he headed toward the so-called beach.

Their first day skipping school of senior year, and Adam had driven them over an hour to a goddamn lake, when there was a perfectly good slice of Pacific Ocean just two miles from their high school. Brad sniffed. If Lake Perris didn't have waves, salt water, and a frat-pack of hot surfers, he deemed it totally unworthy of the title 'beach.'

The mid-September sun was sweltering. He could practically feel the asphalt melting his flip-flops. Adam was almost out of sight, carrying four towels, a cooler, and the fucking car keys. Brad grabbed his beach bag off the trunk, glared at the locked car, and followed his boyfriend toward the water.

He flopped down on the first towel just as Adam got it spread out on the sand. (And okay, it was actually white sand, not the grass and mud he'd expected.)

"After you, Princess," Adam said.

Brad ignored him. "I don't get why we aren't at Mission Beach."

"It's too cold," Adam said in a high-pitched voice, with that god-awful faux-Texan accent he used when he was imitating Brad. "The waves are too rough. The salt water is bad for my skin. There might be sharks."

"Or even a swimming pool," Brad continued. "Like the one by my house. It's fabulous—so many hot guys, so little clothing."

"Swimming pools are boring," Adam said, rolling out another towel.

Brad scoffed. "You're just embarrassed."

"Of what?"

"You don't want everybody seeing that spare tire around your waist. Too afraid to take your shirt off in—"

Adam tackled him flat on his towel. "Don't be a dick," he growled, his hips pinning Brad's legs, his hands keeping Brad's shoulders down.

Brad couldn't meet his glare, but he couldn't apologize, either. Flushing with embarrassment, he turned his head aside. "Yeah, yeah, it's just 'cause you burn so easy, sure."

"That's right," Adam said. His voice quavered a little—fuck, Brad had really hit that nerve hard—but Adam kept looking stern until Brad slid his hands around Adam's waist and tugged him closer.

"Don't be mad," Brad said, and craned his neck up for a kiss. Adam tasted like sun block—the same sun block that had been stinking up the car for the past hour. "Ugh, I hate that stuff," he muttered.

So Adam kissed him again, the asshole, hard and messy, a smirk on his lips as he sucked on Brad's tongue and made him taste the greasy, chemical tang.

Eventually, Adam rolled off onto the second towel and sprawled his arms wide, looking up at the sky through his sunglasses.

"Today is perfect," he declared.

Brad wiped at his mouth to hide his smile.




There were already a few dozen people spread out across the wide beach, and more people arrived as the sun crept higher in the sky. Brad dozed, drifting in and out with the sounds of outboard motors and jet skis from the marina just around the spur. He had a dream of sitting in Spanish class in just his swim trunks and ordering a soda from a cabana-boy version of Adam, who, in his dream at least, was wearing a thong.

Brad blinked his eyes open, the sky bleached out and brilliant through his shades. When he turned his head he saw Adam lying on his stomach, reading a magazine.

"Hey," Brad said, giving a slow stretch, lazy in the heat.

"Hey," Adam smiled, and turned another page.

Brad imagined Adam in that thong and grinned to himself. "So this is nice," Brad said. He rolled over to lie on his belly and inched close enough to bump his shoulder against Adam's.

"Yeah," Adam agreed. He set the magazine down. "Do you wanna try the water?"

Brad looked over his shoulder at the shimmering lake. "Is it warm?"

"Warmer than the ocean. And absolutely zero sharks."

Brad considered that, caught the hopeful look on Adam's face, and pushed himself up. "Alright. Let's get it over with. But if I get bit by leeches, I'm breaking up with you the day before prom."

"No leeches," Adam promised, standing up.

Brad tucked his sunglasses in his bag and headed down to the water. He stopped a foot away from the gently lapping waves and stood, hands on hips, as he eyed the families splashing happily in the calm water.

Adam stopped next to him, and Brad said without turning his head, "I'm not a lake person."

"Having a crisis of confidence?" Adam laughed. "Don't worry, I promise not to tell your friends in Dallas that you swam in a lake."

Adam stepped forward, wading into the clear water, and Brad gaped. Adam had taken his shirt off. In public. Fuck, Brad had really pushed too hard. He trailed guiltily behind, getting his toes wet, and then his ankles, and then his shins. The water was actually fine. A little chilly after lying out in the sun, but not nearly as bad as the Pacific. Brad waded in a little deeper, until the water was up to his knees, and then stopped keeping track of his progress, distracted by the sun hitting Adam's broad shoulders and the pale skin of his back and waist, where his gut hung over the elastic of his trunks.

Adam had been dieting all summer, since just before Brad moved to San Diego, he'd said. And over the past three months, Brad had definitely seen the effort paying off. But Adam's shoulders were a little hunched, his posture weird like he was trying to suck in his stomach. Maybe Brad should give him more compliments. They always made Adam squirm, uncomfortable and babbling about how fat he still was, and Brad hated to listen to that.

But Adam would have to believe him sooner or later.

Brad crouched down to get his shoulders wet and then moved quicker, pushing his way through the water with big strides. When he was just behind Adam he jumped up on his back, wrapping wet arms around Adam's dry shoulders and sending Adam stumbling to his knees in the cool water.

"What the hell," he laughed, prying at Brad's arms.

"Incoming!" Brad cried belatedly, giggling into Adam's neck. He got his thighs wrapped around Adam's hips and squeezed. "Giddy up."

Adam caught Brad's wrists and pulled them apart. Standing up to his full height, he leaned back and dumped Brad into the waist-deep water.

Brad thrashed and sputtered, wiping drops from his face, but Adam caught his wrist before he could find his feet and started dragging him out into deeper water.

"Hey," Brad yelled between giggles. "You caveman! Lemme go!"

Adam ignored his mock-protests and towed him out past the other swimmers to where Adam could just touch the sandy bottom. Brad climbed his hands up Adam's arm and hung onto his shoulders, taking a look around. It was surreal to be in such a large body of water with no strong currents and no real waves besides the occasional ripples from passing water skiers.

It was peaceful, miles of blue sky, quiet voices along the shore, and no crashing surf. It felt completely separate from San Diego, from high school, from the persona Brad was trying to project to his new friends.

"What do you think?"

Brad looked up at him and smiled. "It's really nice. I'm sorry I was such a bitch about this."

"An apology? Who are you, and what have you done with my boyfriend?"

Brad kissed him anyway, and then let go and drifted out a bit, his feet kicking to keep him afloat.

Adam followed, never more than a body-length away. They swam circles around each other, lazy and enjoying themselves, savoring the feeling of isolation even on a busy, public beach. Until Adam noticed Brad squinting at the shore. "What're you looking for?"

Brad shaded his eyes against the water's glare. "Restrooms. Does this place have porta pottys or what?"

"There's restrooms the other side of the marina." Adam frowned. "I told you to go before we left."

"Yeah, and then you bought me a 20-ounce mochachino. It's not my fault." Brad looked toward the marina and pouted. That was easily a half-mile walk. "Suck."

Adam laughed. "Just pee here."

Brad scowled at his joke—and then realized Adam looked serious. "You're not serious."

Adam shrugged. "Why not?"

"Ew! You probably pee in the swimming pool, don't you," Brad accused.

"You've never peed in the water before? What do you do at the ocean?"

"I don't go in the ocean," Brad snapped. "Cold. Salty. Sharks, remember?"

Adam swam a little closer and caught Brad's elbow. "Aw, you're a peeing virgin," Adam teased.

Brad splashed him in the face.

Adam laughed it off and reeled him in closer. "See all those people?" He turned them toward the shore, where there were at least a dozen men and women wading and standing in the water. "The ones who only go waist-deep? They're pissing in the water."

Brad rolled his eyes, but Adam nodded.

"That's what everybody does at the lake—and at the beach."

"That's disgusting," Brad said.

"Not when you're standing in a million gallons of water. It doesn't really make a difference at that point."

Brad refused to even think about it. Except for how that meant— "You mean we're swimming in their pee right now!"

Adam rolled his eyes. "You are so fucking adorable. C'mere, I can't hold you up when I can't touch the bottom."

Adam pushed Brad closer to the shore, which was closer to getting out and getting to a proper restroom. Brad went willingly.

After only a few feet, Adam swept Brad close with an arm around his waist. "Here's good."

"Uh, no. I'm not peeing, Adam."

"God, you are so prissy."

Adam had his buttons, and so did Brad. He hated that word, had ever since the seventh grade. "I am not prissy," he hissed.

Adam's unrepentant look said he'd known which button he was pushing. "You're going to get out of the water, soaking wet, and walk all the way to the other beach just to do something totally normal you can do right here and now. I call that prissy."

"Fuck you," Brad said, but he couldn't walk away from that challenge, not with that word hanging over him. "Fine, I'll do it here. But if you tell anyone I pissed in a lake…." He let the threat dangle; he would come up with something suitably dire on the drive home.

He expected Adam to back off, keep his distance while Brad pissed, but Adam grinned and brought their hips together, trailing his fingers down Brad's chest. When he reached the drawstring of Brad's trunks, Brad raised an eyebrow. "What do you think you're doing?"

Adam looked down, following the path of his hand under the water. "It's been a few days," he said. "I just wanted to say hi." Adam's fingers plucked at the waistband, making Brad freshly aware of the cool water swirling against sensitive skin.

Brad gasped at the sensations. Adam's cool touch sliding into his trunks made his pulse pick up and his cheeks heat. He squeezed at Adam's shoulders and panted, "This isn't helping."

Adam mouthed a kiss against his jaw, another across his cheekbone.

"Adam," Brad tried again. They were in public, under the water, sure, but anyone could swim by….

Adam's fingers wrapped around his soft cock, and Brad groaned, losing his train of thought. "Hi," Adam said softly.

"Ugh, you're terrible."

"You're perfect," Adam said, which was so not fair when his hand was on Brad's dick, shivers running up Brad's spine, and eddies of current brushing him with every move of their hips. "C'mon," Adam urged.

"What?" he asked, feeling dazed.

"You're gonna pee?"

Brad wanted to say not while you're holding my dick, you fuck, but the words caught in his throat. Adam was holding him so close, his breath falling hot and fast over Brad's ear, turned on. Adam's hand dipped lower and cupped his balls. "Fuck," Brad breathed, squirming in Adam's grip, his feet kicking against the water. Adam was the only solid ground.

Adam's hand kept moving, fingers rubbing over his balls, tracing down his inner thighs, pinching his cock just below the head, a sudden jolt of pain and pleasure. "C'mon," Adam said again.

"What the fuck are you doing?" Brad moaned, but he didn't listen for an answer. He'd trusted Adam with a lot of firsts since they'd met a few months ago—with all of them, if he dared to be honest. They both had; they'd figured it all out together, from nervous hand-holding at the movies to blowjobs in the backseat of Adam's car. So what was one more? "Okay, okay, gawd."

He tried to concentrate on his body, on not getting hard, on making his bladder relax. And when the first hot current spread over his skin, his eyes slammed shut on a gasp.

Adam squeezed Brad's waist tight and moaned, "Yeah, baby, fuck." His fingers cupped the head of Brad's dick, and Brad was really doing it; he was pissing through Adam's fingers, over them, between them. Adam kissed his ear, his temple, his eyebrow, dropping kisses everywhere until Brad leaned up blindly and met his mouth. He let Adam devour him, sucking and biting like he couldn't help it, like he was getting off from Brad's piss hot on his hands, Brad's body shivering in his arms.

Brad didn't even realize he'd finished until the maddening swirls of hot and cold had settled back to cool, until Adam was pressing a thigh between Brad's legs and cupping Brad's face with that same hand, his tongue stroking deep and little moans spilling from Adam's throat.

Brad was getting hard impossibly fast, high on Adam's arousal, his desperation. And the part of him that wanted to die of embarrassment just got Brad even hotter somehow. He spared a thought for the people closer to shore, wondering how much anyone would see if they…if everyone would stare when they got back to the towels after they'd….

Oh fuck it, yeah.

Brad's arms were twined around Adam's neck, the water lapping just over their shoulders, and it was so easy to lift his thighs up, wrap them around Adam's waist. "Yeah, yeah," Brad said, and sealed his lips tighter to Adam's to drown their cries.