Seashores of Old Mexico Read online

  Things like guys that did, uh, do it for him.

  “Hey, Ramon. How much have you skimmed off my till tonight?” Well, there was Jack, smiling and glad-handing the customers. The man did love his job, you could tell.

  Yeah. That was. God. Clint. No. No, he’s your boss, and he’s nice, and no. Lord.

  He focused harder on the scrubbing, making sure those glasses shone.

  Thing was, it was hard not to look. Dark curls came out from under that hat, tanned skin on the face and throat framing a white smile and brown eyes, and that was a cowboy body, no matter what the man did now. Rangy, with low-slung jeans and a tight, tight ass….

  Soap. Glasses. Rag. Damn.

  He needed to go to bed early tonight, get up close and personal with his hand and a nice, long fantasy.

  He missed Ramon’s reply, but it made Jack laugh out loud, the sound raucous and growly. Lord. He was gonna break something.

  “How’s it going, kid?”

  “Just fine, sir. Thank you.” He found a smile and pressed his hard cock against the sink, the zipper hurting enough to make it deflate. “You having a good day, Mister?”

  “Yeah. Been working on the books, and now I’m wanting a beer. Get me a Dos Equis?” Plopping down right at his end of the bar, Jack hummed along with the music, head bobbing.

  “Sure.” He played fetch and carry, remembering to get the slice of lime.

  See him. See him not fuck up. Go him.

  “Thanks, son.” He should be grateful that Jack thought of him as a kid. He really should.

  “No problem. I’m gonna go on, if there’s nothing else you need.” ’Cause, damn. There was something he needed.

  Maybe he could go for a swim.

  Did coming in the water draw sharks?

  “Oh.” Was that disappointment? Disapproval? Dis-something-else with two p’s? Jack nodded. “Sure, kid. It’s your time.”

  “There something else you want me to do?” He would. He wasn’t a fucking loser.

  “Nope. I was just thinking you might have a sit with me. Have a beer.”

  Well. That was new.

  “Yeah? I could handle that. Thanks.” He grabbed himself a brew, moved around the bar to sit. It almost felt normal.

  “So how’s it going?” Elbow nudging his ribs, Jack grinned over, cheeks creasing.

  His fucking face lit up in a blush—he knew it did—but he just nodded, grinned back. “Ramon ain’t killed me yet, and I haven’t broke a glass. I reckon I’m good.”

  “You are. There’s a reason Ramon wants you washing glasses. He can’t do it without cracking at least one.” That smile went wider, the nightly round of Ribbing Ramon starting up.

  “I gotta make sure I stay useful, huh?” He hadn’t saved any money, needing things like shirts and soap and all. He would, though, given a few more weeks.

  “Oh, you’re useful enough. And I like having you around.” That face went all noncommittal. “You ain’t thinking of moving on, are you?”

  “No. No, not unless. I mean, if you need the guest room, I can find another place.” He’d offered the man rent money already.

  “Shit, no. I got nobody else to give it to.” Jack winked. “Just making sure. I don’t want you thinking you gotta stay if you’re itchy.”

  “No. No, I… I’ve not got myself gypsy feet, as a rule.” Unless the federales came, anyway.

  “Well, there you go. So what all did I miss today?” That was a regular question too, even though everyone knew damned well nothing exciting ever happened.

  “Nothing much. People drank beer. Girls flirted.”

  “You flirt back?” It was always awkward when Jack asked that one, but he seemed to like to josh about it.

  “No, sir.” Them little chicas just wasn’t what he was looking for.

  “Well, then, you’re gonna lose them all to Ramon.” That tanned throat worked while Jack sucked at the mouth of the bottle.

  “I ain’t worried ’bout that. He can have ’em.” He could just lick a line right up….

  Jesus! Clint! Drink your fucking beer.

  “Yeah? You don’t like the local girls, there’s always the college ones.” One hand landed in the middle of his back, Jack clapping him right between the shoulder blades.

  He choked a little, the beer bubbling up on his lips. “You oughta… oughta chase them yourself.”

  He could watch Jack’s ass as the man hunted.

  “Huh? Aw, hell son. I’m too old to be chasing miniskirts.” Jack’s cheeks heated to a dark red, and Ramon laughed, the sound belly deep.

  “You ain’t that much older’n me.” He was fixin’ to be twenty-five, dammit.

  “I was probably fixing to graduate high school when you were born.” Waving to Ramon, Jack got another beer. “You can’t be what? Eighteen? Nineteen?”

  “Twenty-five in a couple weeks.” He rolled his eyes. It was the red hair. It put people in the mind of a baby.

  “No shit.” He got him another kind of look then, one that made something tight and hot spring up in his belly. Lord, if Jack looked like that when he was just being friendly, what would he look like in bed?

  “Honest to God.” He shifted his longneck down, hiding the sudden bulge in his jeans. Damn, he wanted him some of that.

  “Well, that’s a sight older than I thought.” Jack’s thigh brushed his, making it even harder to hide his reaction.

  “Yeah. It’s the freckles.” He damn near shifted, slid on the barstool before he caught himself.

  “It is. Though they’re almost running together now.” Jack got up abruptly, hitting his arm. “Come on back to the house with me. We can drink beer on the couch instead of here in the loud.”

  “Surely.” God, he was gonna have to walk with his Johnson trying to beat a hole through his jeans. He stood up, trying to camouflage his hard-on until he could thump it good and hard.

  Wasn’t easy either, watching Jack’s ass swinging in front of him. Damn. Just. Wrangler butt.

  The waves were crashing against the sand, masking the sound of his moan when he thumped his cock. Thank God. He just—

  Damn.

  They got to the little beach cottage, the homey serape-covered sofa calling to him.

  “Have a sit. I’ll get us a beer.”

  “Thanks.” He plopped down, took off his hat and set it aside. Lord have mercy, who’d’ve thunk he’d be sitting on a beach, running from the law, drinking beer with the finest man north of Mexico City?

  “No problem. You know, we ought to have a cookout.” The beer was cold against his fingers when Jack handed it over, just starting to sweat a little.

  “Sure.” Like he could cook anything more than microwave pizzas and oatmeal. “There ain’t nothing like meat over a fire, ’cept maybe the burritos next door.”

  “Yeah, they’re addictive, huh?” They’d shared more than one supper at Rosarita’s since he’d been there, and, man, those things got better every time. Like she put crack in them.

  “Mm-hmm.” He drank deep, relaxing a bit. “This is a fine place. I’m glad I stumbled in.”

  “Me too. Been a bit lonely.” Jack grinned and sprawled next to him. “Not that the locals ain’t great, and it seems weird to be lonesome when there’s all the tourists. But you came up like I did.”

  Clint nodded, licked the mouth of the bottle to keep the beer from spilling. “There’s nothing like hearing someone that sounds like home.”

  “Yeah.” They just sat for a bit, the silence as comfortable as could be. Jack’s leg bounced up and down, making the couch jiggle.

  “My momma always said that meant you had something you needed but hadn’t asked for yet.” Clint chuckled, remembering her telling him, “If you don’t stay still, son.”

  “Huh? Oh.” Chuckling, Jack nodded. “Guess so. Now, if I’m prying, son, just tell me, but you’re not leaving the girls by the wayside just so Ramon has more, are you?”

  “I….” Jesus, he didn’t want to get into an ass-kicki
ng situation. “No. No, I ain’t, I guess.”

  Shit, marthy.

  “Well, that’s not a bad thing. Just make sure you do smile nice every so often, or some of the boys around here will try to kick your ass.”

  “Okay. I thought I hid it pretty good.” Better than some, anyway.

  “Oh, you do. Let’s just say I know from experience, huh?” He got a grin then, one that had him blinking.

  “Oh.” Okay, now. That was not fair. Hot. Fine. Dear as all get-out and queer? God was teasing him.

  “’S that gonna make you nervous? Staying here with me?” One hand came over to pat his leg. Pat. Pat.

  “No. Not at all.” God damn it. His prick went sproing, announcing nice and loud that no, not nervous. Not at all.

  He really needed a swim.

  “Good. Because I like having you around.” Pat. Pat. He thought he was gonna lose it. Until Jack got up and stretched, that untucked denim shirt showing off a little patch of belly hair. Then he knew he was. “Wanna go have a dip?”

  “Uh-huh.” He wanted to lean forward and just lick like a cat with cream.

  “Well, come on, then.” The boots hit the floor, followed by the shirt, and damned if Jack didn’t shimmy out of his jeans on the way out the door and leave them on the little deck.

  Oh, man. He took his time getting down to his skivvies because Jack’s ass was finer outside of those jeans, and there were these two little dimples up there at the waist, and, Jesus, he hoped that water was cold.

  It wasn’t, though, it was warm and right, sorta feeling like little licks where it met his skin.

  “Aw, yeah,” Jack said, swimming out just enough to turn on his back and float. “Ain’t nothing like being able to go swimming in the evening.”

  “You….” Damn, his voice was all husky. “You know it.”

  He kept low enough that he wouldn’t embarrass himself, then focused on swimming.

  And watching.

  And possibly wanting.

  Jack stroked lazily around, swimming and humming and just sounding happy as a pig in shit. And the man was hard as a brick. That was obvious when he floated up to the surface again.

  His moan sorta… escaped him, coming out loud as all fuck.

  “Mm-hmm. Feels good, huh? I tell you what, it makes me horny as hell.”

  Yeah. Yeah, he could see that. “Yeah. It’s… it’s something.” He caught himself floating closer, drawn like his prick was a dowsing rod and Jack was an underground spring.

  Jack turned and dog-paddled right up to him. “You okay?”

  “Yeah. Just.” He blushed, and thanked God that it was dark enough that Jack couldn’t see it. “I’m a little riled up is all. Blood’s too hot.”

  “Uh-huh. I hear that.” One of Jack’s hands landed on his shoulder, fingers rubbing a little. “I surely do.”

  “Yeah? It don’t…. I mean, I don’t want to offend you or nothing.” No, he wanted to push close and hump like a naughty puppy.

  “Not gonna. Even if you turn me down.” Thank goodness they were shallow enough for his feet to hit the ocean floor, because Jack kissed him, and there was no way he could take that and keep afloat. Clint groaned and opened right up, the kiss enough to make his head swim even before he pushed right back into it. Oh. Oh, he.

  Yeah.

  Uhn.

  That man could kiss. Hell, Jack might not be that much older than him, but he obviously had years of experience in this. Soft lips, a hot tongue, and Jack’s hand on the back of his neck were all conspiring to drive him crazy. His body floated close, belly rubbing against Jack’s and he groaned, thighs going tight. Hello.

  “Mmm.” Looked like Jack liked that too, because one hand went down to cup Clint’s butt, holding him close. So his cock… Lord.

  He shifted just a little, and oh. Oh hell yes. That was. Uh-huh.

  Clint stopped worrying about that whole thinking thing and went with feeling it. The water rocked them together, then apart, and it was weird and good and not enough friction. Jack kissed him like he was starving, deeper and harder, holding him tight. He wrapped his hands around Jack’s shoulders, panting a little into Jack’s lips. He could feel those hands, rolling and rubbing his ass.

  The waves tried to drag them out, so Jack pulled them in a little, pushing him down in the shallows and straddling him, bending to kiss him again. That rubbed them all along each other, Jack’s cock against his belly, his sliding along Jack’s heavy balls.

  Fuck him, that was hot. He arched, hand curling around Jack’s hip to give himself a brace, something to push against, even as the sand slid and slipped under his ass. Sand was gonna get in bad places, but he didn’t even care. He just moaned as Jack stroked his chest and belly, fingers playing over his nipples and his navel. His own fingers were working over Jack’s shoulders, down the muscles in the strong back. That was. Uhn. Slick. Fine. Yeah.

  “Feels good. Real good.” Oh, Jack could form sentences. That was impressive. So was the cock rubbing him, over and over.

  “Yeah. Don’t stop.” He groaned, balls going tight. So fucking close, man. He just needed a little.

  “Not gonna.” No, sir. Jack didn’t stop. He squeezed down with his thighs, instead, giving Clint some amazing friction to work with.

  Man, Clint shot so hard he thought the top of his head was gonna pop off, throat working as he groaned and grunted like a newborn fool. Jack gave him a hot moan, then a kiss, and that cock against his belly jerked and danced, Jack coming for him good and hard. The look in those brown eyes was kinda surprised.

  He reckoned it was better to kiss again than worry about shit like talking or anything, so he took Jack’s mouth, tasting the man and salt and…. Yeah. Yum.

  When they broke for air, Jack was smiling again. “Well, honey, I don’t know about you, but I’m getting sand and stuff up my crack. Wanna take this inside?”

  “Hell, yeah.” The sand was getting less slick and more gritty.

  Besides, he still wasn’t real sure on that whole spunk-attracting-sea-critters thing.

  JACK LED Clint back to the house, just buzzing from his orgasm. Man, it had been longer than he thought, but it felt damned fine. Damned fine. And Clint was looking good, all naked and wet and sandy. He sure did like the sight of that.

  “Want a shower, Clint?” he asked, needing to get the grit out.

  “Surely.” He kept getting these long, hungry looks from the kid. It made a man feel his oats, to be all eat up like that.

  He took the kid’s hand, feeling good all the way to his toes. “Man, that water was nice, but I’m starting to itch.”

  “Well, that ain’t good for you.” The orgasm made the kid a little looser in his skin, made that grin a little easier.

  “Nope. Or you either.” His bathroom was small, but they’d both fit, and under the bright lights he’d get to look his fill. “You get the water going, and I’ll get us some towels.”

  He got himself a nice look at that fine little bubble butt as Clint bent over, the skin as milky white as he’d’ve guessed.

  “Sweet.” Hell, he didn’t have to leave the kid gloves on no more. The kid was way older than he’d thought. He reached right out and grabbed a double handful. Clint groaned and jerked a little, then pushed right back into his hands, eager as all get-out.

  “Mmm. You’ve got a sweet ass, honey.” He felt up a little more, just jonesing on it.

  “I…. Thanks.” Those muscles went tight and then loosened up, hips shaking a little in his hands. “You feel real good.”

  “Yeah? I’d best get those towels.” He bent and put a kiss on each cheek before going and digging out a couple of hefty towels.

  That little groany, gaspy thing?

  Pretty fucking cool.

  Clint stepped into the spray, sluicing the sand from him, hands sliding over that fine skin. Jack stepped right in with him, reaching out to help Clint get clean. Yeah, that skin was something. Smooth as a baby’s butt, but not a baby at all. Perfect. His hands
slid down that flat belly, over hips that were sharp as spades, framing a sweet, thick cock that was capped by bright red curls.

  Sweet. Hot. Curling his hand around that cock, Jack pulled a little, seeing how much it would harden. Oh, look at that. It perked right up, going heavy and firm against his palm. Grinning to beat the band, Jack stroked and pulled, loving the heft of the kid, the heat. The water helped give him a little slick, and he went to town, torn between looking at that sweet prick and watching the kid’s face.

  “Damn.” Clint leaned back a little, pushing up toward his hand. “You… you got amazing hands.”

  “I used to rope, back in the day. Had to have some skill.” His other hand turned Clint into his touch more, slid them together. “And you’re the hottest thing I’ve seen in a month of Sundays.”

  “Header or heeler?” That tanned throat worked, and he leaned in to lick the water right off it. Hot little shit.

  “Heeler.” Damn, the kid still tasted like sea salt and sunshine. Fucking A. Wanting more, he licked down one collarbone, lips moving to suck a little.

  “Mmm. Takes. Uh. Takes damn good timing.” Clint’s fingers tangled up in his hair.

  His tongue slid over one tight, brown nipple. “I have excellent timing.”

  That little sound might have been agreement, might not. Didn’t matter, because, damn, someone liked that. So he did it again, licking and biting, humming at how that cock in his hand danced. A man could get used to this. Dangerous thoughts.

  “Jack. Damn. I. Lord have mercy.” Clint tugged him up, eyes a little wild. “I never. That felt. Jesus.”

  “Good, huh?” He took up one of Clint’s hands and put it on his own chest. “You can touch me too. ’S okay.”

  Clint nodded, pinked up. That hand started moving, started exploring his chest, his belly. “Sorry. You just. It was big.”

  “Hell, honey. I’m not picky. I just like the touching. We’ll do whatever you want.” His own prick was finally perking up again, reminding him that he was older than he wanted to be, but still good for more than one.

  “I want.” One of those hands wrapped around his prick, scars feeling fine on his skin.

  Jack went up on his toes, slipping a little on the wet shower floor. “Lord, that feels just right. Run your thumb under… oh, there.”