Hot Jocks

by J. M. Snyder

  Neither she nor Megan relents. Dropping her bag at Colby’s feet, Megan nudges her cousin and points at their side of the court. “Breathe later. Now we have a game to play.”

  Reluctantly, Colby stretches as he stands. Van’s hand is still on the small of his back like a lingering promise. “Good luck,” Colby says. “You’ll need it.”

  Van grins. “Win or lose, I get another night with you. I call that damn lucky.”

  With a shake of his head, Colby tells him, “You’re bad.”

  “And you’re mine.”

  The ref’s whistle sends both guys hurrying to their respective places on the court. As Colby runs up behind Megan, his cousin half-turns. “What’s that all about?”

  “Nothing.” Colby’s cheeks feel sunburned, but he knows he’s blushing. Did she hear Van? God. He gives her a quick push toward the net. “Let’s just play this game.”

  When the whistle sounds a second time, the ref tosses the ball to Colby. It’s his serve, and he nails it perfectly—the ball sails over the net with ease. This is going to be the easiest game he wins all day. How many other teams have they faced off against? And how many have they beaten? All of them. All—

  The shrill whistle cuts through the cheers ringing in his head. In a no-nonsense voice, the ref calls out over the crowd, “Score one point, team eight.”

  Megan whirls around. “Colby! Watch for my signal. You should’ve had that ball!”

  What ball? His gaze rakes the sand in the court, then he spots the ball off to the left side, as far away from him as it could get and still be in play. “Sorry,” he mutters, hurrying to retrieve it. Focus, he tells himself as he scoops up the ball. Don’t let Van get to you. He’s right, you know—whatever happens, you two hook up.

  But if he loses, Megan will kill him. And he doesn’t want to have to deal with that.

  So focus.

  * * * *

  The twins take the first match with little effort. Colby’s feet seem rooted in the sand—he feels like he’s standing on the sidelines, a gawkish teenager watching professionals play the sport. The sun glistens off sweat beading along Van’s tanned arms, and his hair looks impossibly blond in the light. Whenever he sees Colby looking, he puckers his lips in a kiss, or winks as he grins, anything to distract Colby.

  It works.

  Colby stares whenever he can, and more than once Megan backs into him, her heel grinding down hard on his toes to wake him up out of his stupor. When they switch sides for the next match, she pinches a hunk of flesh at Colby’s waist and twists, forcing him to pay attention to her. “We’re a team,” she hisses, releasing him. “If you want to watch, sit in the stands. Otherwise play the fucking game.”

  The second match goes better. The sun is at Colby’s back and the sunglasses Van dons to play hide his pale eyes. Now Colby can follow the ball instead of return that sexy gaze. The score is close—eighteen to twenty-one—but those three points make all the difference. With the second match their win, the game goes into the tie-breaker.

  They switch sides again. This time Colby dodges Megan’s pinching fingers and ducks under the net instead of circles it. Van does the same, flashing Colby a winning smile as they pass. The net isn’t even down yet before Colby feels a strong hand slap his ass—the touch tingles through the skin-tight shorts he wears, and because the crowd’s in front of him, oblivious to the little tap, he feels Van’s fingers dip between his buttocks to cop a quick feel. Goosed, Colby dances into position as he laughs. This is it, the deciding match. He’s no longer playing for the money. He’s playing for a chance to do whatever Van wants from him. As long as it involves the both of them naked and pressed together, Colby knows it’ll be a prize worth winning.

  Unfortunately Megan saw the love tap, and she glares at Colby over her shoulder. “If we lose, you better see if he’ll let you sleep with him tonight because you’re not coming home.”

  Colby just laughs. “Hollow threats, hon. I’m sleeping with him win or lose.”

  The whistle sets the game into play. Colby serves the ball over the net; almost immediately, Vallery jumps for it, fist curled to spike it back. Megan meets her at the net and flips the ball back into their court with a cobra—her thumb and forefinger curled together, hitting with those fingers alone. Vallery’s too close and can’t get under the ball, which rolls off the top of her head and down her back. Van’s there, hands laced together to bump the ball back into play, but Vallery doesn’t recover fast enough and the ball just falls to the sand, Van unable to hit it a second time without faulting.

  As the crowd surges around them, Colby’s blood rushes in triumph. And they’re back in the game!

  It’s close, there’s no denying it, and both teams put on a great show. But in the end, Megan’s more aggressive than Vallery, driving the ball over the net each chance she gets. Colby follows her hand signals, letting her block when she knows she has the ball, keeping a step behind her just in case she doesn’t. The match ends with a much larger gap between the scores this time, eight points instead of a measly three, and Megan almost knocks Colby down in her zeal at winning. “We did it!” she shouts into his ear, and Colby laughs as he swings her around in the sand. “We did it! We’re back tomorrow. We can win this thing!”

  When she disentangles herself from him, Colby sees Van on the sidelines, his numbered vest lying on the sand at his feet. Vallery’s pulling on a cover-up, and it’s only then Colby notices how late it’s grown. The sun has set, and the breeze blowing in off the sea has stiffened, chilling heated skin. He waits for Megan to retrieve her bag, then leads her over to where the twins stand. “Hey,” he calls out, offering his hand. “Great game. You two are really something.”

  Van’s grip is sure, the strength in his hand thrilling Colby. “You’re the better man,” he says.

  “Yeah, good play.” Vallery kicks her feet in the sand, then hugs Colby quickly. She moves toward Megan, seems to think better of it, then grabs Megan into a fierce hug anyway before either can prevent it. “We’ll be here rooting for you tomorrow. If you win the whole thing, I won’t feel so bad losing today. You guys were awesome out there.”

  “Lots of practice,” Colby says. He stands so close to Van, he can feel heat radiating from Van’s arm and chest, but they aren’t touching. Not yet. Around them the crowds have begun to disperse, and he wants to leave as well, but he can’t think of what to say or do to get them moving.

  Or rather, to get Van moving—he wants to ditch the girls. Fortunately when Megan digs into her bag, he hears his keys jingle. She pulls them out and hands them over, but he shakes his head. “You drive on home. I’m going to…”

  He looks at Van, who gets the hint. “Val, can you catch a ride home with Megan?”

  Her glare is palpable, and Colby turns away before she can direct her evil eye his way. From the corner of his vision, he sees Van clasp his hands together as if in prayer, and with an expression of groveling on his face, Van mouths the word, “Please?”

  Vallery sighs, perturbed. To Megan, she asks, “Do you mind? I’m over on St. Louis, in the Crest. If it’s out of your way—”

  “I can drop you off.” Megan jiggles Colby’s keys as she steps up to him. For one crazy moment, he thinks she’s going to give him a peck on the cheek, congratulate him again for playing so well this afternoon, but he should know better. Jabbing the key into his ribs, she growls, “Don’t stay out late. We’re not losing now.”

  “Hey!” Colby brushes the key away, then steps back out of reach for good measure. “I was on fire today and you know it.”

  Megan’s eyes narrow, relentless. “If you’re not in by midnight, I’m locking the doors.” She tangles his keys and a slow smile creeps across her face. “Without these, you’ll be sleeping on the porch.”

  Turning on her heel, she starts off across the sand, Vallery hurrying to keep up with her. Colby can’t think of a retort and just stands there watching her leave. He’s still trying to come up with something witty to say whe
n Van claps a hand on his shoulder and pulls him into a one-armed hug. “If you miss your curfew, you can sleep with me,” Van murmurs, his breath hot in Colby’s ear.

  * * * *

  With his arm still draped around Colby’s shoulders, Van leads the way down a side street a few blocks from the beach. As they approach a new Jeep Wrangler, topless, with half-doors on the front and a fiery burnt orange custom paint job that gleams in the last of the sun’s rays, Colby thanks God he didn’t offer to drive. His dumpy little Bug barely fit himself most days—there’s no way he and Van could cruise in it comfortably. Van’s Jeep has all the ruggedness of a beach buggy mixed with the sexy appeal of a sports car, and Colby has to refrain from leaping over the half-door to slide into the passenger seat like some overeager kid. As it is, he can’t help holding onto the roll bar as he climbs in, and once he’s buckled into place, he grabs the canvas hand grip that hangs from the bar above him just because he thinks it’s cool. “Nice ride.”

  In the driver’s seat, Van starts the engine, then leans across the gear shaft to claim a quick kiss. Against Colby’s mouth, he murmurs, “You like?”

  “Whatever you have in mind for tonight,” Colby tells him, “we’re not getting out of this vehicle. It’s awesome.”

  Van’s laugh catches in the wind as they peel away from the curb. The radio blares out something hard and pounding, a rock song that sounds like sex. Once they get into sixth speed, Van’s hand drifts from the gear shaft to Colby’s knee. The beach and crowds roar by, and soon they’re alongside the boardwalk, catching glimpses of it between the houses as they drive. The hand on Colby’s knee drifts higher, over the hem of his biker shorts, and settles on a sweet spot where Van’s thumb taps against the tip of Colby’s dick. To be heard over the wind and the music, Colby raises his voice and asks, “So what do you have in mind?”

  “Nothing kinky,” Van says, but the wink he gives Colby suggests otherwise. His hand drifts to Colby’s side to poke at the meaty part of Colby’s hip. “Just what I wanted last night. This makes a second date, doesn’t it?”

  “What, no wining and dining?” Colby teases. Truth is, he wants the same thing Van wants. In the confines of his shorts, his balls throb, his cock aches, and each bump in the road, each rumble, each touch threatens to set him off. He tries not to dwell on it—he wants tonight to be special, and if he can just hold out a little longer, he’ll get what he wants. What they both want. Van in him, above him, driving in so deep that Colby won’t let him resurface until they’re both spent.

  He hopes Van has somewhere in mind he wants to go because Colby’s already halfway there.

  So he’s more than a little surprised when Van angles away from the beach. He keeps his mouth shut, wondering…they aren’t going to his place because Van didn’t ask where it was, and they can’t be going to Van’s, either, because Vallery will be there. Then where…?

  He gets his answer when they pull into the parking lot of a McDonald’s. Before he can protest, his stomach growls appreciatively and Colby has to admit, yeah, he’s maybe a little hungry. Pulling up to the drive-thru menu, Van cuts the radio and sits back so Colby can take a look. “I’m a cheap date,” Van admits. His hand is back on Colby’s thigh, higher than before, and Colby’s cockhead tingles beneath the touch. “I promise I’ll make it up to you. Hungry?”

  “God.” Colby orders three cheeseburgers, famished after playing volleyball all day in the sun. Van gets the same thing, then hands the bag to Colby before taking off again. The hot grease smells heavenly, but as it seeps through the paper, Colby sets the bag on the floor between his legs. “Where do you want to eat?”

  Van flashes him a quick grin. “I know a place.” The hand on his knee gives him a promising squeeze. “Gorgeous view, away from all the tourists. Alone, if you catch my drift.”

  Colby does. Suddenly the hunger in his stomach is secondary to the lust in his veins.

  They ride around for a little while—it seems Van isn’t really sure where they could go. Colby opens the bag of burgers and they split the order, Van driving with one hand on the steering wheel as he eats. When the burgers and fries are gone, Colby wipes his greasy fingers on the numbered vest he still wears. Dusk has settled, deepening the blue sky to an almost indigo shade. Near the boardwalk the streetlights begin to flicker on but down more residential streets, trees drape sidewalks and house fronts in shadow. At some point Colby tugs off the vest and tosses it into the seat behind him, careful to aim for the floorboards so it doesn’t get caught in the wind. When Van’s hand moves back to his leg, he knows he has to do something to get the ball rolling. As much as he wants to be with Van, Megan’s right—he can’t stay out all night. He has a tournament to win in the morning.

  At the next stop light, he unbuckles his seat belt. Van glances over when a warning light flashes on his dashboard. “What’s up?”

  With an enigmatic grin, Colby climbs over the gear shaft and between the front seats. The light changes, and when Van takes off, Colby’s tossed against the back seat of the Jeep. He meets Van’s gaze in the rearview mirror—for one brief second, those pale gray eyes flash in surprise, then Van sees him sprawled out, legs open invitingly, arms draped along the back of the seat, and his eyes warm. Colby eases one foot between the front seats to prod at the gear shaft and Van catches his toes with his free hand.

  An old sandy blanket covers the back seat. Pulling his foot back, Colby tugs the blanket free and repositions it over his lap. In one corner of the seat rest a pair of sunglasses, a bikini top, and a half-empty bottle of coconut-scented suntan oil. Colby knocks these items to the floor and settles into a comfortable position in the middle of the back seat. He watches the rearview mirror, but Van’s concentrating on the road, only occasionally glancing at Colby. An intent look furrows his brow—hopefully he has someplace in mind, because Colby wants him in the back seat as soon as possible. If he thought they could get away with it, he’d suggest Van just park on the side of the road somewhere. It’s getting dark out, and all the tourists spent their evenings on the boardwalk. Who’d see?

  Beneath the blanket, Colby strips off his biker shorts. As the tight material pulls away, his skin feels like it can breathe and his whole body relaxes. Music pounds from the dashboard and from speakers set in the roll bar above. Colby’s surrounded by the beat that throbs in time with the ache in his crotch. Covered by the blanket, he massages his half-erect cock and fondles his balls, stiffening his dick. Over the sound of the radio, he calls out, “Some time tonight.”

  Van laughs, a ribbon of brightness that curls around Colby before the wind whips it away. “I know a spot,” he says. He half-turns to look at Colby over his shoulder. “What are you doing back there?”

  With a flick of Colby’s foot, his biker shorts smack Van in the face. “Come on back and see.”

  Another laugh as he brushes away the shorts and the Jeep jumps ahead as if goosed.

  By the time he finally stops, Colby’s hands are slick with the suntan oil and the scent of coconuts laces the air. They’re on an empty stretch of beach south of the boardwalk, out where developers have bought up the land. In a few years, condos will dot the landscape here but at the moment, there’s nothing but chiseled black rock poking up through dark sand. The waves roar beneath a strong breeze, and every few moments the sounds off the boardwalk blow down around them. Here it’s dark, night already fallen, the stars not yet awakened, the moon hovering somewhere at the edge of the world out of sight. The only light comes from the small bulb set in the roll bar above; it washes everything inside the Jeep with a faded glow. Van cuts off the Jeep and stretches in his seat, then unbuckles his seat belt and turns to give Colby an arched look. Holding up the shorts, he asks, “Lose something?”

  In response, Colby tosses aside the blanket. His cock glistens wetly, his balls and thighs and hands oiled, the tip of his dick a deep plum crowned with white flecks of pre-cum. Sliding down a little, he places his feet on the backs of the seats in front of him, righ
t foot on the passenger seat and left foot behind Van. Colby bends his knees, spreading his legs wide, offering Van a glimpse at the tight darkness between. One finger dips below his balls to rim around his trembling hole—as he eases into himself, he lets his eyes close and a soft moan escapes his lips.

  He needs no further prompting. Van almost trips in his haste, standing and shucking off his shorts in one fluid motion before clambering between the seats to land in Colby’s lap. With a hand on either side of Colby’s hips, Van presses him back to the seat, mouth hot against Colby’s lips, tongue eager as it delves between them. “Yes,” Colby moans, grasping at Van’s hard length now alongside his own. He’s been wanting this all damn day. “Please.”

  Squirting the rest of the oil into his palms, Colby encircles Van’s cock with both hands and kneads it fully erect. When Van starts to hump against him, Colby guides him in—the flared head of his dick pushes at Colby for one tense moment before it slips in. Raising his hips up off the seat, Colby meets Van thrust for thrust. His mind is a blur of sex and lust and coconuts, his senses reeling from the oil and the man above him, his feet leveraged flat on the seats before him. He grips Van’s arms, massaging the length of corded muscle as he pushes up to rub his erection along Van’s hard, flat abdomen. Together they move in an ancient rhythm as harsh, as pounding, as eternal as the surf that beats the shore.

  At the last possible moment, Van pulls out and rubs his cock against Colby’s. The friction sets him off, his orgasm triggering Colby’s own as he fucks into Van’s hand. “Yes,” Colby gasps, “yes, yes.”

  Kissing the words from his mouth, Van promises, “You win again tomorrow and I’ll give you a repeat performance.”

  Colby grins, his lips curving against Van’s. Those words are more incentive than all Megan’s pep talks combined. He knows he’ll win, both the prize money and this guy.