Carson was cool. Carson was hot. Carson was a lot of things Deke wasn't, really, confident and self-assured and an ace surfer. Just rich enough he could follow summer around the world and surf at -all- the best beaches, and have pretty much whatever he wanted. Whoever he wanted. So when Carson grabbed Deke by the back of his head and started tongue-kissing him, Deke wrote it off to the really good weed they'd all been sharing and tried, embarrassingly enough, not to squeak.
Because it was -Carson-, y'know? It was like suddenly being kissed by... damn, he didn't even know. Someone legendary. Lou fucking Reed, or Ewan McGregor playing him, maybe, if Deke was into the nostalgia-indie-gay-glam scene instead of surfing. But after that first startling moment, Deke mentally added "fucking incredible kisser" to the list of things Carson Was and just went with it.
There was plenty to go with; Carson was eating at his mouth like he was trying to taste Deke's last meal and his long, strong fingers were rubbing urgently at his scalp. Carson tasted like the weed, partly, and Deke thought he might've had one of those breath-mint-strip-things, but mostly he tasted like he really wanted to be kissed. So Deke did.
They were starting to tangle together, sprawled across Deke's big woven blanket in a heap of legs and salty skin and searching hands. Carson pulled away from the kiss with a gasp, and those clear blue eyes looked down at Deke's raised face and he said, "Fuck, you are -so- hot." Deke couldn't say anything at all to that -- strangely, for him -- so instead he stretched up and covered Carson's mouth again with his own. Carson's hands had wandered down to Deke's ass, and he must've meant the "hot" comment at least a little because he was pulling and squeezing and grinding against Deke like he wanted him, like this was going to be more than just a makeout session.
Deke didn't understand at all. But he wasn't about to fight it.
He didn't fight it when Carson rolled them over, eagerly followed his lead when tanned fingers slipped under the waistband of his swimsuit and was actually the first to get a handful of hot, twitching, silk-skinned cock. Oh, fuck, he felt so good. Carson moaned from somewhere deep in his chest, panted against the hollow of Deke's throat, and the hint of unexpected power gave Deke a headrush like almost nothing else he'd ever felt. It was a short-lived feeling; Carson was confident, and older, and back in control in the time it took to grip Deke's cock in his hand and growl sensuously into his ear, "Want to fuck you. Right now."
"Right... here?" It was Deke's turn to pant, oh yes, jerking a little helplessly against Carson's palm. It's not like anyone else was gonna -mind-, or even really pay attention... it could be done, yeah, if they were careful. And if Deke turned over... first rule of beach sex: the further from the sand, the better.
"Right here." The next kiss had Deke seeing stars -- okay, the kiss and the steady stroking of Carson's fist over his cock -- and his suit and Carson's both seemed to vanish while he wasn't looking. And Carson had a wrapped condom in his hand in the time it took to blink and what, was he conjuring this stuff out of thin air? Or was Deke just that far gone?
That far gone. And of all the things Carson might've thought of Deke, Deke hoped "cool" wasn't on the list because he was certainly blowing it by now, whimpering and writhing, on his knees with his ass in the air because that's where Carson wanted him. And he wanted Carson to want him.
Cool or lack of, it didn't matter anymore because Carson started running his hands over Deke's back, soothing him down off the edge even as slick fingers pushed and stretched at his hole. Carson was saying something to him, too, his deep voice barely a murmur above the noise of the surf, and he might've been telling Deke how hot he looked, or he might've been giving a weather report for all Deke knew, but it made him -feel- hot and wanted and maybe like Carson kinda liked him. Then Carson was pushing into him, and from the timbre of his groan Deke was pretty sure Carson like his ass, at least.
Deke sure as hell liked his cock. Carson's hands wrapped firmly over Deke's hips and he liked that, too, and he leaned over and licked the salt from Deke's spine and Deke worried he might like that a little -too- much. Carson was murmuring to him again, and Deke could make out the words "hot" and "tight" and "good" and was pretty damn sure it had fuck-all to do with the weather, and everything to do with the rocking, thrusting rhythm of their bodies.
Deke loved to fuck like he loved to surf, but he was pretty sure he was better at the one than the other; you had you and your board, or you and your lover, and the ocean was like sex itself 'cause you had to find the rhythm and just ride it, keep on it and keep going until it all broke over you (or you fell off, which happened more with the surfing than the sex). Carson was just as good at fucking as he was at surfing... maybe better, Deke allowed, as Carson hit an angle inside him that just made him want to buck and yell, and then those fingers, God, had wrapped around his cock again and Carson's voice in his ear urged him on, "C'mon, Deke, do it... do it now, wanna feel you...." Whatever else he said was lost in the rushing of blood in Deke's ears, and finally the yell as he came all over the blanket.
Carson buried his face against the back of Deke's neck and his cock in Deke's ass and just... shuddered, and sighed like the best thing in the world had just happened to him. Which made Deke blush, because damn he'd been so -loud-... one more notch lost on the cool-meter. Then he kept blushing because, really, he hadn't been sure until just then that Carson even knew his name.
Deke felt warm lips brushing across the nape of his neck, once and then again, and the roaring in his ears had cleared but there still wasn't anything but the ocean to hear. Carson was silent, draped somewhat-heavily over his back, and was drawing patterns across Deke's abs with his own come. And somehow all the quiet gave Deke the courage to find his own voice again.
"That was... God, that was good."
"Mmmh." Carson braced a hand on Deke's hip and Deke could feel him stroking little circles into his skin as they pulled apart... which was nice, but Deke whimpered a little anyway. His knees slipped out from under him and he simply sagged face-first onto the blanket, listening to the plastic-y snap of the condom and the sandy rustle of Carson moving around on the fabric, making himself comfortable. Resting that hand on Deke's shoulder, which he didn't expect, and rolling him back and over and into Carson's arms.
Oh. Wow. Deke was always pliable after a good hard fuck, and probably would have done just about anything right then but he thought maybe if someone had asked, he'd say he had wanted this. Carson was taller than him -- not that Deke was short -- and broader and just... more, somehow, and Deke laid his head on Carson's chest and felt his fingers in his hair and it was all so nice. So good.
He must've murmured the word, because he could feel Carson's quiet chuckle under his cheek. "You said that. Mmm, it sure was, though. Fucking good." He urged Deke's head up a little, enough to kiss him quietly, and murmured against his lips, "You'll be around tomorrow, yeah?"
"I... yeah. Tomorrow and pretty much... any day. I'm here a lot. All the time." And he was babbling, oh yeah, back in full motormouth form, but the look he got was thankfully more amused than irritated.
Carson laughed again, softly, and let his head drop back to the blanket. "Cool." Deke rested his head back on his chest and just sortof... basked.
Carson wanted to see him again. And Deke knew -- in that happy-fluttery way that you know the shake tastes best right before it's gone -- that they had a whole, beautiful surfing season ahead of them before Carson would leave.