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Sebastian’s always loved fall.
His favourite is when it rains - when the smell of damp leaves rings across the valley like a song, and the wind whistles through the trees and everybody stays safe and warm inside their homes.
Well, everybody except him.
He never bothers with an umbrella. Feels weirdly free that way, sodden and shivering as he walks down by the river, on route to the beach for an evening alone. Maybe it looks depressing - maybe if someone saw him, they’d demand he come in for a hot drink, check he wasn’t about to fling himself into the tide - but in reality he’s never felt more giddy.
The prospect of the entire world roaring around him, quieting his own mind, makes him feel almost gleeful. He could skip (fuck it, does skip) across the wet sand to the pier, settling himself on the edge, legs dangling and the taste of saltwater spraying against his tongue.
With a contented sigh he pulls his smoke tin from his pocket and procures the joint he rolled before he left. Perfect. He lights up and doesn’t notice the figure appearing at the edge of the beach.
It materialises a couple of feet away, startles him.
It’s Sam. Of course it’s Sam. His best friend is like his fucking shadow and through the vague haze of his fresh high all Seb can think is god I want you . He knows that Sam wants him, too, on some level. But neither of them have ever said it to anyone ever.
He wonders why they’re both so terrified of it feeling real.
“Hey,” Sam greets, as he reaches the pier, his wet t-shirt clinging to his broad shoulders. He’s fiddling with a loose thread on his jeans. He approaches gently. “Can I sit?”
Sebastian nods, instinctively hands him the joint as he sits down. Sam accepts it gratefully, takes a long hit, gazes up at a sky polluted with clouds.
“Thanks,” he says. His hair’s wet, ungelled, blonde curls sticking to the side of his freckled face. Fearless in his favourite weather, Seb leans forward and tucks one behind his ear.
After a moment, his best friend hands the blunt back and continues talking. “Sorry. I know you come here to be alone. I just- um, I needed to get out the house, and I wanted to see you, I guess- and, uh I knew you’d be here.”
Seb’s free hand finds his knee. They’ve always been touchy, walking the line between friends and something else. “What’s up?”
“Oh, it’s okay,” Sam shrugs, eyes blurring and lip wobbling. Which is a telltale sign that it’s not. “Just mom getting all antsy about when dad’s gonna come back and stuff. And it’s like, um, I get it but I just can’t deal with it today.”
“That sucks,” Sebastian says. He hands over the joint again. “I’m sorry, Dude.”
Sam waves his hand dismissively and takes another drag from the joint. It’s over halfway through by now, so Sebastian pulls his smoke tin out again in preparation.
“Do you want a gummy?” Sam asks, glancing at him. “Shane scored some for me last time he went into the city.”
He hands the almost-fully-out blunt back to Sebastian and procures a bag of candy from his sodden tote bag. In typical Sam fashion, it’s already half-empty.
“Yeah, alright then,” Seb agrees, though he doesn’t usually crave sweets. He puts the roach out, leans forward to take a couple of candies from the brightly-coloured bag. Sam copies him. They both pop them into their mouths at the same time.
Even though Seb prefers smoking, he has to admit this tastes better; sweet and sugary and citrusy to disguise what lies within. He understands for a moment why Sam prefers these. He’s not masochistic like Sebastian, doesn’t see the appeal of bitter.
Their friendship remains a mystery.
“Those are actually good,” Sebastian admits eventually.
Sam nods. The two of them sit in silence for a bit, watching the sea, waiting for the high to wash over them. The weather roars around them, sea smacking against their dangling shoes, threatening to pull them in, while the rain rampages across their skin and clothes. Seb loves the way it makes him shiver.
“You look really good with wet hair,” Sam says softly, all of a sudden. Seb turns to find he’s being watched, find those big blue eyes scanning his face, lingering on his lips.
Seb flushes, suddenly far too warm in spite of the storm. Everything feels hazy and dreamlike, every sound dull and smoky except for his heart thudding in his ears.
“Don’t say things you don’t mean,” he whispers. “Please, Sam, I can’t take it. I want you too bad.”
“I want you, too,” Sam murmurs back. His eyes are wide and fuzzy and honest, still fixated on Sebastian’s mouth. “You’re all I think about, Seb, can you please just kiss me?”
So he does. It’s so gentle - tentative - this always-unsaid thing between them finally taking form as their mouths connect. Seb takes Sam’s jaw in his hand, and Sam wraps his arms around Seb’s neck, and hours and minutes and decades and seconds and centuries and moments pass by as they kiss. They kiss so softly, for so long, refusing to part for air, refusing to let it be over.
Eventually, finally, they part, and the energy between them is this physical tangible thing in the air, pulling them closer to one another.
“Fuck,” Sam breathes, nestling in closer. “What were we so scared of?”
Sebastian wraps an arm around his waist. He’s crossfaded off the weed and the kiss - feeling impulsive, hedonistic. “Sam, I want to have sex with you,” he blurts.
He’s not sure what response he’s expecting; surprise, maybe, or disgust. What he’s certainly not expecting is the strangled whimper that claws its way from Sam’s throat, the way he whispers please like it’s a prayer - like he’s a sinner begging for forgiveness, for release. Sebastian pictures him on his knees and his mind is made up.
“Lie down,” he hisses, and even though the pier is soaking and splintery and cold Sam complies so quickly he almost slips off.
No time for foreplay, Seb yanks Sam’s sweats and underwear down to his mid-thighs in one gesture. His cunt and t-dick are pink and twitching in the sliver of moonlight that’s fought its way through the clouds, and Seb groans with want.
“Tell me you want this,” he half-begs as he wrestles his cock out of his jeans. “Please, Sammy, tell me.”
“I want it, I want it so bad” Sam breathes, and he’s not even been touched yet and he’s already arching his back. Seb brushes the tip of his cock against Sam’s entrance and he’s so wet, soaking, and warm and inviting and so antithetic to the weather around them. It takes every ounce of self-control for him not to immediately bury himself to the hilt like an animal, fucking in the rain.
“Fuck, no condom,” Sebastian realises, goes to move away. Sam grabs ahold of his hips and looks up at him with pleading eyes.
Sam grinds up into him, whining needily. “I don’t fucking care, I’m clean, I’m assuming you’re clean, Harvey sells morning after, please Seb. I’ve wanted this for too long for it not to happen now.”
Seb slips his cock a little ways in, moaning at the way Sam contracts around him and claws at his hoodie.
“You’re a little freak, aren’t you?” he teases, burying himself further. Sam gasps. “Want to be bred so badly, huh, Sammy?”
He can’t even speak, just whimpers again, nodding and moving their hips together with something like delirium. Seb can’t help it, he sinks the rest of the way in until they physically can’t get any closer, meets Sam’s mouth in a messy kiss. His tongue traces the seam of Sam’s lips and he moans, parts them, arches his back again. The sounds he makes are addictive, more beautiful than even the roar of the rain, and Sebastian finds himself wanting to hear more of them; his hand snakes down Sam’s body, brushes over the downy hair on his stomach, finds its way to his clit.
“Oh my fucking god, Sebastian ,” Sam chokes out, clutching at the sodden ground beneath him. He pleads for more - to be ruined, bred, claimed. Seb’s cock twitches as he increases his pace, hard and fast, obsessive, making up for lost time. He fucks Sam like he’ll never get the chance again, like the moment he pulls out the thing between them will disappear, never again to be spoken of.
And Sam looks so fucking handsome like this, splayed out on the boardwalk with his pants shoved halfway down his legs. His blonde curls are plastered to his head, his eyes are wide and a little red and full of something unspoken, and his muscles tense with every thrust. It’s so weirdly perfect, so perverse, so animal; he can feel his stomach tightening, his cock straining, Sam’s cunt leaking.
“I’m gonna cum,” he pants, can’t help but bury himself to the hilt as he lets out a gutteral moan and unloads his spend. Sam cries out as he’s filled with cum, pulls Sebastian impossibly deeper, tangles a hand in his own hair in a moment Seb can only assume is his own orgasm.
They slow, foreheads resting against each other.
“I love you,” Sam blurts, as Seb goes to pull out. “Please stay.”