Pier 8 was one of the older ones, leaning heavily to one side, weathered and gray like a beached whale. John slumped against one of the rough, wooden beams in an alcove nestled against a high dune. He hadn’t bothered showering since leaving the beach earlier; he’d just run his fingers through his hair and thrown on a button-down shirt, gulped a beer and got down to the pier early, so he could watch the sun lower into the water.

Rodney’s sunscreen concoction smelled like coconuts and acorns, which really didn’t make much sense, but it was smooth and cool and creamy, summer and autumn all wrapped up together. His skin was tight from the sun, stretched thin and dry from overexposure, but the lotion was pretty soothing, considering.

He heard Rodney approaching before he saw him: annoyed grunts of frustration followed by heavy treading in the sand. As Rodney got closer John saw his mouth moving, muttering, his hat-less head a mop of loose curls, shaggy and still wet from the shower, curled over the tops of his ears. He looked painfully clean – scrubbed and shining, framed against the twilight.

His head was craned upward, brow furrowed as he squinted at the faded red number 8 painted on the side of the pier, worn smooth by the salty wind. Looking around almost like he didn’t expect John to be there, he stopped short suddenly when he saw John sitting in the sand, gripped the six-pack of beer he was carrying tightly to his t-shirt which proclaimed, ‘your inferiority complex might be justified’, and said, “Uh. Hi.”

“You’re wearing shorts,” John stated inanely.

Rodney looked at him queerly and pointed up. “Uh, no sun,” he said. John followed Rodney’s long slender finger and stared through the slats of the boardwalk. Tiny pinpoints of fading daylight mocked him.

Rodney slumped to the ground beside John, landing heavily on his ass to protect the beer he clutched between his hands. “Oof,” he said, and listed into John. He squirmed and shifted around until he was satisfied with the arrangement and then stuck a bottle of beer into John’s chest. “Want one?” he asked.

John stared down his nose at Rodney’s hand. “Sure,” he said, and took the bottle, and yes, he got the finger brush in there. He leaned over and popped the top off on the beam (oh yeah, he was smooth), tilted his head back and took a long sip. After he swallowed, he looked over at Rodney, who was sitting there with a still unopened bottle in his lax hands, staring at John’s throat. “Need some help with that?” John asked, and Rodney snapped straight, fumbled with the cap for a second before he handed it to John with a glare.

He traded out, handing Rodney his own bottle and he watched as Rodney closed his hand around it, looked at the wet rim where John’s lips had just been before he raised it to his mouth and took a long gulp. He wiped the back of his hand across his mouth, shot John a small smile and said, “Thanks.”

A light breeze ruffled the curls in Rodney’s hair, and it made John want to lean over and touch, but instead he tightened his hand around the cold neck of the bottle.

“So,” John started, eyeing Rodney, “are you even old enough to be drinking beer?”

“Excuse me?” Rodney exclaimed in way that expressed both insult and disbelief that John actually had enough brain cells to remember how to get out of bed in the morning.

John raised one hand in surrender. “I’m just saying, it’s hard to tell sometimes!”

“Well if you’re worried about corrupting a minor with your hairy chest, don’t be,” Rodney sniffed. “I’ve just graduated college,” he said, and looked at John triumphantly.

John’s eyes got wide. “College?” he asked, because there was no way Rodney –

“Yes. College.” Rodney looked proud. “I’m twenty, by the way, and don’t you remember the part where I told you I was a genius? I finished early.” He glanced up at John. “I, um, I’m starting a new job with the government in the fall.”

“Wow,” John said, because really, what other way could he respond? It was sort of impressive.

Rodney rolled his eyes. “And besides,” he went on, “don’t you know that hanging out with your family at the beach automatically subtracts like, five years from your actual age? It’s like retrograde or something, getting sucked back in time that makes you look like a high school geek.”

John cocked a knowing eyebrow. Rodney glared and pointed at his t-shirt. “So what, are you a beach bum year round or do you have an actual life?” Rodney asked, smugly.

John took another swig of beer before he said, “I fly planes.”

Rodney blinked. “Really?” he asked, because of course John was going to have to prove he really did have a brain.

“Yeah – hey, don’t look so surprised!” John said, “I’m in the Air Force Academy.”

Rodney blinked again. “Really?” he gaped, and John smacked the bottom of Rodney’s beer bottle, sloshing a wet streak across ‘justified’.

“Yeah, ‘bout to graduate,” and it was his turn to be proud, and maybe his chest was puffing out a little, but dammit he’d worked hard to get there, and Rodney should be impressed.

Swiping at his shirt, Rodney muttered, “Fine, fine,” but he looked up at John and said, “That’s really cool,” very sincerely and blinked his long eyelashes, and double dammit, John’s heart did not just thump around his chest like that.

They sat there in silence after that, while John tugged his shirt down over his crotch and the seagulls squawked overhead, and Rodney crossed his legs so that his knees bumped up against John’s thighs. He could do this, John thought, he could so totally do this, because if he’d snuck around at the Academy without getting caught, then he could buck up and lean over and make the first move on a guy who wore smart ass t-shirts and panama hats.

He glanced at Rodney and found Rodney staring right back, intent and a little determined, like he was going through some kind of calculation in his head, and was about to –

Rodney plunked his bottle into the soft sand, beer spilling over the side in his haste. He grabbed at John’s shirt and before John could take a breath, Rodney’s lips were smooshed against his, their noses bumping painfully and teeth loudly clacking together.

“Ow,” John said. Rodney’s eyes were wide and he looked embarrassed but undeterred, and he muttered something about trajectory and jerked John forward again. “Whoa, whoa,” John said, pushing a hand against Rodney’s chest.

If there was anything John knew, it was trajectory, angles and graphed planes – he’d spent enough time in simulation cockpits to know exactly how this kind of thing should work, so he ran his hand up around Rodney’s neck, tilted his head to the side, and softly pressed his lips to Rodney’s mouth.

“Oh,” Rodney whispered into the kiss. Then his mouth spread open wide and here it was – finally, finally, the return oh GOD yes I’m gay, so let’s just get to it, okay? smile.

John whispered back, “Yeah,” and kissed him again. Rodney’s arm jerked out wildly, sending John’s beer spilling over on the sand, dripping across his bare foot. The kiss turned sort of sloppy, especially when Rodney made a noise that seriously sounded like a puppy mewl and jumpstarted into action: clutching at John’s shirt while he enthusiastically licked inside John’s mouth like he didn’t care that John was on the receiving end of a very serious endeavor to crawl down his throat.

Which really turned out to be okay with John, because he just pushed Rodney over on his back and kept right on kissing him, and Rodney’d given up on trying to stay within lip range because he was all over John’s face with his wet, eager mouth. John decided to go with it, draping his body over Rodney’s so he could – oh god yes – so he could push his erection against Rodney’s hip and hello, there was an answering hardness against his thigh.

Rodney whimpered and John said, “Yeah, yeah, Rodney,” into his mouth, but Rodney started thrusting up and squirming around and saying, “No, wait, I – ” and John thought if he turned out to be a cocktease that John would have to strip him out of his stupid t-shirt and hang him upside down under the pier, damn the justifiable consequences.

“Wait, just…” Rodney said again, and kept flailing around under John.

John was panting heavily and Christ, he wasn’t going to last long. “What,” he grunted, and it would have come out appropriately irritated if he hadn’t sounded so breathless and turned on.

“I – ” Rodney squirmed a hand between them, stuck it in his pocket and then jerked it out.

“Lotion!” he exclaimed, beaming, waving a small tube in front of John’s face.

“Rodney, god,” John sputtered, laughing and groaning, fumbling his shorts open with one hand and wow, Rodney could totally get with the program in a hurry because he started nodding frantically and groping his own shorts apart while clinging to the tiny bottle in his hand.

John didn’t care about the gritty sand under his knees or how it was probably going to chafe because they both had their hands everywhere, pushing aside shorts, pulling their dicks through the slits in their boxers and through it all, Rodney was gasping and murmuring, desperate tiny little sounds that John kept trying to kiss out of his mouth.

It would have all been kinds of sexy what with the purple-streaked sun sinking behind the water, waves lapping up to the sand in low murmurs and the breeze passing light and cool over their skin until Rodney elbowed John in his cheek in all the excitement.

“Ow again,” he said, and grabbed Rodney’s wrists, pinned him down and suddenly they both went really still: he looked down to see his arms stretching Rodney’s over his head, his own chest pressed against Rodney’s body and Rodney’s mouth open in a surprised gasp because yes, thank you god, their dicks were lined up and ready for anything.

John thrust, once, and Rodney’s face went from slack to turned on, eyes squeezing closed and mouth clicking shut as he thrust back, and then they were off, hands fumbling under shirts, over chests, rubbing and stroking, and the whole time John thought oh my god, don’t come yet, do NOT come yet. Rodney’s mouth was swollen and fervent, hot, slick tongue over John’s collarbone, teasing down the open V of his shirt.

He leaned into it and tried to kiss all of Rodney that he could reach – over his cheek and behind his ear, the skin there sweaty and damp. Their bodies wouldn’t stop moving against each other, and John didn’t care, didn’t care, he was so close, and when Rodney wrapped his arms around John’s back, he anchored his palms in the sand and ground down harder.

Something knocked against the side of his head, and he jerked up from Rodney’s neck and stared at him. “What,” he panted, “what, what,” and Rodney’s eyes were slightly crazed, but he licked his lips and panted back, “The lotion.”

John shook his head back and forth. “Right,” he said, “right, okay.” He forced himself to stop pushing into Rodney, grabbed the tube and flicked off the cap one-handed.

“Here, here,” Rodney said, cupping his palms.

In his haste John squeezed half the tube into Rodney’s hands, threw the mangled plastic somewhere over his shoulder and he’d probably be hunting it down later, but Rodney was already slicking his hands together, reaching for John, tangling their fingers and smearing the lotion all the way to John’s wrist.

“Yeah, yeah, let’s just – ” John said while Rodney kept repeating, “God, god, god,” and before he knew it they had their hands wrapped around each other (yes, yes, yes) slick with lotion and impatient need, stroking fast, dirty and careless, kisses falling everywhere but on each other’s lips. John tried to keep up – one hand grasping at the sand and the other sliding 80 Proof over the head of Rodney’s dick, intent on matching the flurry of motion Rodney’s grip on his own dick seemed to be generating.

John was starting to get a cramp in his leg from how tightly he held himself over Rodney, arm dug into the sand, cupped around the curve of soft curls brushing the inside of his elbow.  “Have,” John gulped in some air, “have you ever done this?” he asked, because wow Rodney’s hand seemed to know exactly how tight to squeeze, how fast to move and it was sending John to the edge really damn fast.

“Yes,” Rodney said, breathlessly, “of course I have,” and twisted his fingers, slicked a thumb over the head of John’s cock, and John was having a hard time following everything Rodney was saying, “… just, you know… never – ”

Rodney’s neck was pale as the white sand underneath them and John licked it, sucked on the lobe of Rodney’s ear and heard Rodney finish breathlessly, “never – with anyone else.”

“Rodney, jesus,” he groaned.

It was sort of monumentally classic that John’d been preparing for this summer – sneaking around giving quickie blowjobs in dark hallways at school, watching tons of gay porn so he’d know exactly what to do – and plus he’d worked out, getting tanned and buff and all kinds of alluring so that he’d be able to pass himself off as experienced when he finally got laid by some glistening hot-bodied not-chick, and here he was totally jacking off with a moonpale, lube-making, panama-hat wearing, future brilliant scientist virgin.

It was turning out to be the hottest thing ever, with Rodney mouthing up the tendon in his neck, biting his jaw, and John was pretty sure he could overlook the hat thing, especially when Rodney hooked his arm around John’s neck, tugged him down tight against his chest and put his lips to John’s ear.

“John,” Rodney whispered, “John, John,” and then he shuddered, wetness seeping between them onto their bellies. “Oh, god,” he intoned, and his arm fell from John’s neck in a boneless heap to the sand.

John wasn’t sure if he was supposed to stop moving, because while most of Rodney’s body was a useless lump, his hand was still tight around John’s cock, but then Rodney blinked slowly and smiled up at him, dopily glazed and absurdly dazzling and when he extended a shaky finger to John’s cheek, John groaned and came all over Rodney’s lotion smeared hand.

He fell in a graceless sprawl on top of Rodney, which must’ve been okay because Rodney just patted his hair with a lazy hand until John rolled over onto his back and said, “Damn,” in a voice that sounded way more awed than he thought he was. After that, they both just laid there for long minutes, breathing slowly evening out, sweat turning cool and dry in the crook of John’s elbow and on the back of his neck.

All in all, it was about the most clumsy and impossibly hot sex he’d ever had.

John sat up and swiped at his belly with his shirttail until a brown napkin was stuck under his nose. “Thanks,” he said, and since there was nowhere to put it when he was done, he shoved it in the neck of the beer bottle. Beside him, Rodney squirmed upright and adjusted himself with what was turning out to be his characteristic huffs and puffs, and John watched the moon slide out from behind the clouds.

“So I think your sunscreen works,” John said conversationally. Rodney snorted and kicked at the sand, sending it showering over John’s ankles.

After all this, John figured he could just go ahead and give in to the way Rodney’s hair teased his fingers so he reached out and tucked a stray curl behind Rodney’s ear.

Rodney shivered.

“Are you chilly?” John asked.

Rodney snorted. “No, because I’m not a girl,” he said, “and also, it’s ninety degrees.”

John punched him in the arm and flopped back onto the sand. “This doesn’t mean that we’re pen pals, right? Like, don’t be upset when I don’t write long love letters and shit.”

“Please,” Rodney said, but there was an edge to his voice. “I’ll be lucky if I get a phone call.” He lay back in the sand next to John, their arms brushing. It made the hairs on John’s arm stand up.

“I can do that,” John blurted out.

“What?” Rodney asked, drowsy.

John leaned up on one elbow, over Rodney. “I can call,” he said, and put his hand on Rodney’s chest. “If, I mean – if you want me to.”

Rodney swallowed, his mouth forming a tiny smile, like he was fighting against it. “I – I think I’d like that,” he finally said. “So,” he continued, fingering the collar of John’s shirt, “how did you know I was gay? I mean, I could have just been being nice, or considerate, or concerned about your epidermis.”

John looked at him seriously. “Well, Rodney,” he said, “you did offer me lubricant as a hello.”

Rodney’s eyes got wide and he gasped, sputtered, “That…lube – what?” and John broke out into a grin as Rodney tugged on John’s shirt, toppling John on top of him. They rolled and tumbled down to the surf, laughing.