“You’re welcome,” the young man said gravely. He raised his eyebrows and, at Sam’s nod, scooched over the sand until they were sitting shoulder to shoulder, hip to hip. Sam braced himself for a repeat of what had happened back in LA, in the parking garage, but instead of lunging for his zipper, the young man used his free hand to touch Sam’s cheek. He ran one thumb, feather-light, along Sam’s left eyebrow. “Hi,” he whispered.
“Hi,” Sam whispered back. The young man traced Sam’s cheekbones, his chin, his lips. Sam let his eyes slip shut. He wondered if he was supposed to do something; kiss the young man, or touch his face, but he felt like he wouldn’t have been able to move if he’d tried. He was frozen; enchanted, stunned into immobility, just from the feeling of this man’s body close to his, the warmth of his breath, his scent, and the feel of his hands on Sam’s skin.
Warm fingers stroked the skin of his neck, then his ear, then delved down to touch his collarbone. A hand, strong and assured, gripped his chin, tilting his face. Sam opened his eyes.
“Can I kiss you?” the young man whispered.
I’ll die if you don’t, Sam thought. He nodded and shut his eyes again. The boy’s mouth tasted fresh and sweet, like apples, and his lips were warm and soft. Then his tongue slid against Sam’s, and Sam’s mouth was open, and they were kissing, gently at first, then more eagerly.
The young man’s mouth was warm, utterly thrilling, and it was all Sam could do to keep from groaning out loud when he felt the young man’s tongue flicker against his own, and the rasp of stubble against his cheeks. He reached out, blindly, catching the young man’s shoulders in his hands, turning him and pulling him forward until he was more or less sideways in Sam’s lap. This, Sam thought. This is what I need.
They kissed for what felt like an endless length of time, sometimes almost desperately, lips and tongues and teeth all crashing together; sometimes gently, almost sweetly. Sam kept one arm locked around the man’s waist and the other one around his shoulders, holding him with a grip just short of desperate, thinking that there was nothing in the world that would make him let go, and that he’d never felt, or even imagined, anything like this, not ever. There was none of the awkwardness he remembered from previous encounters, no worrying about what went where or if he’d been eating onions that day or if he was moving too fast or too slowly or what he was supposed to do next. Everything he did, everything that happened, all of it felt completely natural, absolutely right. Sam raised his hands to cup the young man’s face, the soft skin and strong bones. His brain had gone blank, every worry gone, replaced with a low hum of happiness, like bumblebees droning through the lavender in his mother’s garden.
“Lean back,” the young man whispered. Hypnotized, feeling almost drugged, Sam complied. He could feel the sand, firm and cool, against his back, and the young man’s hands moving against him, smoothing and petting their way over his chest, reaching up under his shirt. Clever fingers reached down to gently tweak his nipple. When Sam gasped, the boy pulled away and sat on his heels, looking at Sam, his eyebrows knitted in concern.
“Was that okay?”
It was more than okay, Sam thought, it was the most incredible thing I’ve ever felt in my life. Already, this was better than any sex he’d ever had, either alone or with Julie or with long-lost Gracie Chen Cohen, better than anything he’d ever imagined.
The boy was still looking at him, a smile on his face. “Just tell me,” said the boy. “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want.”
“Okay,” Sam croaked. His voice was hoarse and strange in his ears. Yes, he thought. Please. Do anything. Do everything.
He shut his eyes. A warm hand cupped his shoulder. Sam arched up, leaning into the touch. “Yes,” he said, and leaned back, settling his hands lightly on the young man’s hips, tugging him forward against him.
It went on and on, until Sam pulled back to look at the young man. His brain was still humming with that feeling of rightness and with wonder. This easy? Sam was thinking. Can it really be this easy? The young man’s pupils were dark, blown wide, his mouth was swollen, his cheeks and chin abraded by Sam’s stubble. Sam brushed his thumb over the boy’s lower lip. “Are you okay? Did I hurt you?”
Smiling, the young man shook his head.
“We—we don’t have to do anything else,” Sam stammered. And then, because he couldn’t stop himself, he blurted, “God, you’re gorgeous.”