Sexy Gay Stories - Volume One - three m/m short stories

together. 
    ‘I knew it’d be worth playing hooky,’ Lou gloats happily, breath soda-sweet against Ben’s. ‘Now come out into the water, dude. I’m not going to put on a show for any locals who wander past.’
    ‘Isn’t that the whole reason we’re in town at all?’ Ben teases back, letting Louis lead him down to the edge of the water, pulling off his excess clothing as they go.
    The water is cold against Ben’s sun-warmed, aroused skin, and the shock of the change in temperature feels like a jolt to every nerve in his body. 
    ‘Think I can blow you underwater?’ Lou asks, with another of his devilish smiles. Ben’s spine kind of melts at the sight of it, but he shakes his head and laughs. 
    ‘Maybe if you want to drown. But I don’t really relish the idea of going back to the festival grounds on my own and explaining to security what happened to one of the members of the most popular band on the tour.’
    Louis pushes his lower lip out in a mock-pout. ‘You’re such a freakin’ killjoy. Stopping me from having any fun.’
    ‘I wouldn’t go that far,’ Ben says with a wicked smile of his own, stepping in flush against Lou’s body and pressing up for another biting, hungry kiss. He moves one hand to the waistband of Lou’s shorts, down under the water where the waves press against them and make every movement slow and deliberate, like something happening in a dream.
    ‘Oh, fuck yeah,’ Louis says appreciatively as Ben gets the hand down in past the elastic of Lou’s shorts. Lou’s pubic hair is thick and wiry against Ben’s fingertips, because Ben is using his left hand – the calluses from guitar playing on his right hand are too rough for this, something Ben has learned from too many nights spent alone in his bunk on the bus with only his imagination and hands for company. 
    ‘Hnngh,’ Lou offers as Ben gets a hand around Lou’s dick – thick and heavy and blunt in Ben’s grip, hot within the cold of the water – and sets up an even, steady pace. Nothing like rhythm guitar to teach you the value of measured timing. 
    Their mouths connect again, messier and more frantic now, Lou’s hands scrabbling to mirror Ben’s so they can both touch. 
    ‘So fucking pretty,’ Lou mutters, hips snapping up to meet Ben’s hand on a down stroke. Lou’s hazel-green eyes are just a thin rim of colour around the blown black of his inky pupils, dilated wide and dark with desire. Lou’s hand rubs at Ben’s dick, thumb dragging against the head, and the combination of the look of want in Lou’s eyes and the perfect press of his hand is too much for Ben and he has to break the eye contact, to look down at the lapping water which brackets them on every side. 
    Lou has tattoos on his hips, blurred and murky now under the water, just shifting patches of dark, and the heel of Ben’s right palm curls around the sharp angles of one of those half-seen ink designs and holds on, steadying Lou as Lou jerks in the grip of Ben’s left hand and bites back a shuddering, frantic little moan.
    ‘Like that, yes, fuck,’ Lou manages to mutter, and his own pace gets sloppier and more uneven as Ben’s precise movements distract him. Ben smirks. Lead guitar players are all the same. They leave all the work to the backup guys and hog all the glory and the perks. 
    On the next upstroke, Ben twists his wrist at the last moment and Lou’s moan gets cut off as the guy apparently forgets how to breathe for a few seconds, his whole body trembling and curling forward in response to the change of sensation.
    ‘You want that again?’ Ben asks, his voice rough and low, twisting his wrist again without waiting for the response. This time Lou’s knees almost give out from under him, and his hand on Ben’s dick gets frantic, the strokes fast and firm, a bit of stop-start stutter to them as Lou tries to keep track of himself under the onslaught of Ben’s attentive touch.
    ‘Fuck, fuck, fuck,’ Lou manages, all his sunny charisma shattered into gasps and a high hectic colour on his cheeks, his teeth biting down hard into his lip as he comes. Ben leans in to taste the cherry-bright flush of the soft bitten skin, and the faintest trace of hot coppery salt in the sugary soda taste makes Ben whimper, his own orgasm hitting him without warning. 
    Louis rests his forehead at the crook of Ben’s neck as he shudders, his hair wet against the side of Ben’s jaw and throat and shoulder. Ben’s skin is dry and