Swim

It all started with Allelujah diving into the water in one of those lung-bursting, head-spinning dives that leaves you disoriented when you finally break the surface. He came up for air, and his hair had fallen into his eyes and there were drops of ocean water sliding down his skin (so much skin), and Lockon had looked at him and thought, oh.

There’s really nothing like a trip to the beach to change someone from ‘sibling figure’ to ‘sex object’ in the blink of an eye.

Allelujah had looked at him, said something, but Lockon wasn’t listening – there was, after all, a rather large issue presenting itself, and he’d spouted some garbled excuse and fled toward the bathrooms at the edge of the sand.

And now he’s here, locked into a small blue-plastic stall in a public bathroom, his breath coming fast and his erection pressing insistently against the fabric of his shorts.

He shoves his trunks partway down his hips and squeezes his eyes shut when his hand encounters only hot flesh. This is a bad idea, a part of him says, but maybe that’s the thrill of it – any one of the Meisters (or better yet, anyone on the beach) could walk in at any moment, could find him here touching himself in a bathroom stall, and the thought makes his cock twitch in his hand and arousal thread its way down his spine. “Fucking Allelujah,” Lockon mutters, resting his forehead against the cool plastic of the stall, and isn’t that a good idea, fucking Allelujah?

He groans and moves his hand. Take it slow, he tells himself, and twists his wrist, presses his thumb against that spot right below the head that sends sparks bursting behind his eyelids.

Lockon rests his head on his forearm and exhales heavily, biting his lower lip to keep quiet. This is sort of like jerking off to his kid brother, except that Allelujah isn’t his kid brother, he’s an adult (obviously, with a body like that) and a Meister and a brilliant one at that, but there was still a part of Lockon thinking What the hell is he doing running around in that outfit, doesn’t he know what he’s doing?

He slides his thumb over the head of his cock and murmurs Allelujah’s name, catches a sound in his throat that is released only when he hears Allelujah’s voice say “Yeah? Uh .. are you okay?”

“All – Allelujah?”

“You ran in here so fast, I thought you might be sick,” Allelujah says by way of explanation, and his voice is hesitant and Lockon just knows he’s watching the way Lockon’s feet are pointing the wrong way and his voice is too close to the door. Fuck.

“I’m – okay,” Lockon says, and even to his own ears his voice is debauched, breathless, a little too low-pitched to be perfectly normal.

Allelujah pauses. “Are you – doing what I think you’re doing?”

“Probably.” He thumbs that spot again and only barely contains a groan. “Well, this is awkward.”

Through the gap below the door of the stall, Lockon watches Allelujah’s feet take a step back, then a step forward, and he imagines the legs that those feet are attached to and imagines touching them and almost comes right there. He stops moving his hand and waits.

“ .. Do you need something, Allelujah?” he asks, and can hear how tightly-strung his voice is.

“No – well, I mean – I’m just – ”

Lockon can’t decide whether to laugh or cry – of all of the times for Allelujah to lose his usual coherency .. “What?”

Allelujah mumbles something unintelligible and kicks an invisible rock, and Lockon – for a split second, Lockon wonders if Allelujah’s asking what he thinks he’s asking. “One more time,” he says, “with volume.”

“I said, do you want any help.” Allelujah sounds embarrassed, and Lockon shudders into his own hand, biting his lip to keep from groaning aloud. “That might be too forward – ”

Lockon pulls Allelujah into the stall before he can finish the sentence, presses him back against the door and kisses him so hard he’s sure they’ll both feel it for a week. Allelujah’s words are lost in Lockon’s mouth, and he fists his hands in Lockon’s hair, tries to ground himself in something – he feels lightheaded, like oxygen deprivation but hotter, like Lockon’s body against his is sucking all of the air out of the room.

“Oh,” he says when Lockon pulls away for a moment.

“Yeah,” Lockon says, and grins, and it’s his usual smile but darker, carrying all sorts of unspoken promises and Allelujah shudders, and he knows that Lockon can feel it by the way that Lockon’s hands slide up his back and his fingernails dig in.

“If you want to back out, this’d be the time to do it,” Lockon says against Allelujah’s throat, his tongue writing spells across the skin it finds there.

“I – uh,” Allelujah says, his train of thought thoroughly derailed.

Lockon’s hands slide down his back, over the curve of his ass, and Allelujah shouldn’t be surprised when Lockon picks him up by the backs of his thighs and presses him back into the door – after all, Lockon is a Meister as much as he is – but he can’t stop the surprised sound that escapes him. And Lockon holds him against the door, buries his face in Allelujah’s neck and bites, gently of course, but enough that it’ll be a red mark tomorrow.

“Oh,” Allelujah says when Lockon’s fingers find the front of his swimsuit. He’s almost painfully hard, and when Lockon slides his hand beneath the fabric and wraps it around his cock there’s a resounding thud as his head makes contact with the door of the stall. But it’s okay, because Lockon’s hand is on his cock and his other hand is curling in Allelujah’s hair, an unspoken apology, and when Lockon presses his own hips forward and wraps one hand around both of them it’s almost too much for Allelujah to handle.

“Oh,” he says, and curls his fists against Lockon’s shoulders, pulls his hair, arches into the touch. It’s all heat, and slickness on places that are unaccustomed to such feelings, but any and all discomfort is forgotten when Lockon strokes once, twice, and then shudders against him, and Allelujah feels the sudden rush of warmth and wetness between their bodies and almost comes from that alone.

“Give me a second,” Lockon pants, his forehead pressed against Allelujah’s collarbone. A moment, and he sets Allelujah down and there’s a split second of Don’t leave me like this – But then Lockon sinks to his knees, and someone really ought to tell Lockon that his mouth has somehow become a furnace. He sucks, hard, his tongue doing things – unspeakably incredible things – writing secret messages on the blood-suffused flesh. Allelujah tries valiantly not to tangle his hands in Lockon’s hair and fuck his mouth, and it’s almost successful, but when he comes he can’t stop his hips from jerking forward and his fingers from tightening to the point of pain.

Allelujah’s knees threaten to buckle, and Lockon stands, slings an arm around his waist and holds Allelujah there, against his body. “You okay?” he asks, his breath warm against Allelujah’s ear.

“I’m fine. Good. Great.” Allelujah slides his hands up Lockon’s chest and curls his fingers against the muscles he finds there. “We – I’m sure everyone’s wondering where we are.”

Lockon chuckles, and the sound rumbles through Allelujah’s body as well. “Can you imagine the look on Tieria’s face – ” he begins, and Allelujah, scandalized, slaps a hand over his mouth.

“Don’t even joke,” he says, but he’s stifling a smile as well.

***

When they emerge together from the bathroom – a poorly-planned maneuver, in retrospect – Tieria looks up from his book, one eyebrow raised behind his glasses. Lockon offers a jaunty wave; Allelujah just avoids eye contact, and Tieria heaves a long-suffering sigh and returns to his novel.

“Disgusting,” he mutters, just loud enough for Lockon to hear.

“You know, if you wanted in, all you had to do was – ” Lockon begins, and then breaks into laughter as Allelujah chases him all the way into the ocean.