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This was written for Fiola, because she loves these boys so much.
Beyond the Sea
by Riley Cannon
~Beyond the Sea~
Toby's standing outside the hotel, lounging back against the sunwarmed stone and looking out across the stretch of beach, the water surging forward and then rolling back. It looks good, and he's tempted to walk over there, kick off his shoes and let the ocean wash over his feet. Off in the distance, though, he hears the thrum of a poweful engine, getting closer ... closer ... And he raises his hand to shade his eyes, squinting into the sunlight as the motorcycle rounds the corner and pulls up to the curb. The rider sits there, watching him a moment before pulling off his helmet and climbing off the bike.
"Been here long?" Chris says as he walks toward Toby. He's wearing tight, faded blue jeans, the left knee worn away to white thread, and Toby's jealous of how that denim cloth clings to his lover's ass and crotch. That flesh belongs to him; his fingers, lips and tongue are all that should ever stroke and caress it. His envy encompasses the white wifebeater molded to Chris' chest, and his one consolation is that he will soon be able to strip it all away.
No, Toby pauses and thinks about it, and amends that. His consolation is knowing Chris craves his touch, his -- and no one else's. Discarding the clothes and laying him bare is merely a thoroughly delightful fringe benefit.
"Not too long," Toby says as Chris stops in front of him and slips off the black leather jacket. He reaches out to touch, fingers gliding along those beautiful arms, loving the hardness of muscle, tracing the blank ink outlines of the tat. Not for the first time, he dwells on how beautiful Chris looks in the sun, glowing with it, eyes bluer than ever against his tan. "Are you hungry?"
Chris crowds him -- he doesn't mind -- and pulls Toby against him, hands massaging the small of his back. Head tilted close, lips grazing Toby's ear, he whispers, "Not for food."
Liking that answer, Toby smiles and pushes against him, grinds their crotches together right there in broad daylight. He doesn't care. He's fucked him right on that beach there, under a clear blue sky -- and he'd do it again. Right now, he steps back and clasps him by the hand, draws him inside where the air is cooler and the light softer. In the lobby, heads turn, covetous eyes follow them and that makes Toby feel even more smugly satified.
The greedy-eyed strangers are soon forgotten as he and Chris reach their room and go inside, locking out the world. The bed's been straightened since this morning. That won't last long. Chris drops the jacket and helmet on a chair as he walks over to the windows, pulling back the billowly white curtains so the last ray's of the sun can flood the room, the soft ocean breeze feeling better than any air-conditioning.
Toby joins him, stroking the back of his neck as they look out at the beach and palm trees, the ocean stretching further than they can see. He smiles and bends his head to kiss that strong neck, smiling as Chris angles to give him better access. Taking it, Toby licks along a tendon, darts his tongue against an ear, murmurs, "I missed you."
"We made love this morning."
Toby kisses his shoulder, pulls the wifebeater out of his waistband and slips a hand underneath to caress his belly. "That was ages ago, practically a lifetime."
Chris turns to him, hands cupped along his face and smiling -- eyes lit with it -- like he's never seen anything in his life that compares to Toby. "Maybe we should get reaquainted then."
"Yes, because you know, we might have forgotten a spot here," Toby kisses his jaw, "or there," his lips touch the corner of Chris' mouth. "How about some visuals?"
Chris' smile is slow and sexy and he takes a moment to kiss Toby's mouth. More than a moment, lips and tongue tasting him like his mouth is a gourmet appetizer and he can't get enough. No problem with that. Toby would gladly stand there and kiss him until all the stars in the sky burn out. Before anything so apocalyptic can occur, however, Chris stands back, eyes dark with desire, hungry for Toby, but curbing that and playing along. He strips off the wifebeater first, taking it slow, inching the cloth up bit by bit as Toby watches, mouth watering at every strip of skin revealed, starved for a taste of the nipples that are finally revealed.
When the shirt is discarded, Toby satisfies his craving, bending to flick his tongue around hard, tiny nipples, feeling the shudder of pleasure that courses through the other man's body. He draws his tongue upward, feasting on that beautiful throat again, working a hand into those snug jeans, fingers brushing against coarse hair, hardening flesh... He stands back, stroking the trail of hair that peeks over the waistband. "Those too, I want you fucking naked."
Chris smiles. Clearly that's in his game book as well. Of course he makes a show out of this as well, shedding boots and socks before unfastening the jeans and s-l-o-w-l-y peeling them off, letting Toby look his fill before moving to the next stage. Right there, for instance: for long seconds all Toby wants is to memorize that picture of him standing there, jeans open, dragged halfway down his hips, dark pubic hair glimpsed through folds of faded denim. Toby closes his eyes for a moment, already able to feel it against his cheek, his lips, the musky perfume imprinted on his memory. He opens his eyes, nods, and Chris sheds the jeans, kicking them out of the way and stands there in all his bold and brazen naked glory.
Toby looks ... and touches ... and kisses his way down along this living, breathing work of art to drop to his knees in worship. Memory hasn't failed. Hair tickles his lips and he smiles; that rich aroma fills his senses, and makes him want to taste, need to taste. Hands curve around slim hips, fingers digging in, his lips brush the beautiful cock jutting toward him, wanting the sanctuary of his mouth. He takes it in, soothing ... tormenting ... sucking and licking and drawing his mouth back along the shaft until only the tender tip lingers between his lips. He moves a hand, sliding it along a powerful thigh that trembles beneath his fingers as he licks that tip, lapping up pre-cum, caressing the soft, inner skin of that thigh, nails scratching over it and making the muscles quiver more. Fingers grip his hair, knead the nape of his neck -- breathless moans filled with protest as Toby moves, sits back and looks up at him.
"Fucking finish," Chris growls and tries to drag him back.
On his feet, Toby gives him a wicked smile and drags him to the bed, both of them tumbling down to the mattress in a tangle. "Mmmmm," he wrestles him onto his back, kisses his mouth and leaves him panting, "better idea: fucking fuck me."
Chris drags him back, kisses his mouth until he's begging to come up for air, nuzzles his throat. "Good idea."
One of his best.
"There's just one thing, Toby."
Toby gives him a frustrated look. He needs to get fucked, and right now. "What?"
"Mmmm," Chris undoes a shirt button for him, "you need to get naked."
Oh. Yes, that is an important point.
Chris puts his mouth against his ear and whispers, "And I want you to make it good for me."
Toby gives him an arched eyebrow back, but he's game and as Chris sits on a chair to watch, Toby slides off the bed for the impromptu striptease. If he lacks the other man's supreme nonchalance in his nakedness, all signs indicate he's putting on a good show as he unbuttons his shirt and drags it off, sliding it down his shoulders to drop to the floor. The shoes are easy, he just kicks them off, and then reaches for his pants -- pausing when Chris tells him to, holding still so he can be the one ogled as he stands there, the sun hitting him and making the hair on his arms glint like gold.
When Chris nods for him to continue, he does, stepping out of his pants and briefs and nudging them out the way as Chris looks at him, the erotic charge in that gaze enough to make his dick stand at attention. That look, raking over him inch by inch, tells him how sexy he is, how good he looks to this man, how much his lover wants him. "Come here," he says, reaching for him, luxuriating in the feel of that body pressing into him.
Arms wrapped around him, Chris kisses his mouth, his chin, pushes back to look some more, fingers caresssing along his collarbone. Toby knows he's beautiful there, Chris has told him, shown him. Standing there in the light, he knows this ridge of bone is lit to perfection because of the admiration in his lover's eyes -- and the way he lowers his head to kiss his way along it.
Toby falls back on the mattress, bringing Chris with him, wrapping a leg around his waist, hands rubbing over each other's back as they kiss. When Chris moves him, rolls him onto his belly, anticipation curls through him and he moans, arching up into the touch as warm lips graze along his spine. "Now we're getting somewhere," he murmurs as that amazing mouth moves lower, tongue teasing along his perineum and making him squirm with pleasure. It darts around his anus and he grinds his cock into the mattress, demanding more and faster and right now.
Lips brush his nape, Chris growls, "I want you on your hands and knees," and Toby wants this too.
He moves, breathing coming more rapid as Chris goes on kissing the back of his neck, his shoulder. "Where's the lube?" he asks, and Toby digs it out from under the pillow, pressing it into his hand. He reaches for his own dick, stroking as Chris works the lube in, relaxing him with fingers and tongue until he's ready to scream from needing that big, beautiful cock buried deep inside him -- and then it's there, seated in him, and Chris is draped over him, one hand wrapped around his waist, the other braced against the headboard as he thrusts -- in, out, in -- knowing just how hard to make it, how fast. Chris' mouth is at his ear, his voice hoarse and whispering about how good Toby feels, how hot he makes him. "God, so good, Toby, you feel so good." He kisses the nape of his neck, his shoulder, biting down just hard enough. There will be marks tomorrow to remember this by. "All I could think of all day was getting back here to fuck you."
Toby groans as Chris' hand covers his, stroking his dick, tells him, "How'd you know this... ah, fuck, fuck ... is what I'd have in mind?"
"'Cause I can read you like a book, baby."
"Don't fucking mark your place," Toby growls back, desperate for it, "keep turning the pages."
Chris does, lingering over all the best parts until they're both panting and slick with sweat as the pressure builds and bursts, semen pouring over their hands as Toby comes first, crying out with it and falling against the headboard as Chris comes, shooting into him. They slide down the mattress, soft against their skin, wet and sticky and holding onto each other.
The sun's almost gone and the ocean breeze has cooled them. There's enough light for them to watch each other, no need for words now when lazy caresses and soft kisses can express every thought.
Still, Toby parts his lips to speak, wanting to tell him how he feels, how much he loves him -- but Chris smiles, aware of everything Toby wants to say, those same promises bright in his eyes, and leans in to kiss his lips. Toby nods and smiles back, fingers trailing along his face. This is all they ever need to say.
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