Lessons In LA
by Pilar

Dawn. Not a time anyone should be awake let alone standing above the beach in the chill of the air. Brandon clutched his arms tighter around himself and leaned back against the Mustang still wondering why he had let himself be convinced that this was a good idea.

Only one word came to mind. Not even really a word. A name.


And it still didn't seem all that convincing.

The beach was silent in the dark blue morning, the sun hadn't begun to rise yet and the further he looked out over the horizon, the darker it got.

Before they'd all moved here, Brandon had never seen the ocean, not like this.


The sun broke behind him at about the same time as the Porsche pulled up.

"Hey, man. Ready to hit some waves?"

Brandon turned to look at Dylan behind him, shielding his eyes from the huge, orange sun that had just moved over the hills and struck him. The light was still dim around them, a peach-colored halo misting around the slightly older, but far more worldly, boy as he pulled the waxed boards from the back of his car, leaning them against the stone wall over the beach.

"Here, catch." Dylan flung a slick, black wetsuit from the back seat and Brandon snatched it from the air. "I figured we're about the same size, it should fit."

"We need wetsuits?"

"Dude." Dylan looked at him with that 'do you have any clue whatsoever?' look that Brandon was starting to finally recognize in most of the people's faces in Los Angeles. Damn, he missed Michigan sometimes.

Not that he wanted to be trudging around in three feet of snow right now, or wearing five million layers of clothes starting with thermals and ending with a coat so thick he couldn't lay his arms at his sides. But, even after being in Beverly Hills for the time that he had, not really all that long in the scheme of things, he still missed the simplicity. And the feeling of knowing what things were like.

He never knew what to expect from LA.

So when Dylan had pressured him into personal surf lessons, despite more than a few reservations, he took him up on it.

And he was sure he was going to hurt himself, or something.

"Where do I go to put this thing on?" Brandon looked at Dylan, already dressed in his wetsuit.

"Right here, man. You see anyone around?"

He knew he had to have been making a face, no matter how hard he tried to keep his lips straight and his jaw unclenched. With a quick glance over each shoulder, he pulled his shirt over his head and dropped it through the window of his car.


Dylan started them on dry land, near the ocean's edge. The sky had started to lighten to that soft pinkish greyish blue that it gets on slightly overcast days; the water was a threatening grey.

"Dude, it's really easy, you'll see," he said laying flat on his stomach on the board. Brandon tried to pay close attention, but found his mind wandering. His wetsuit was like wearing a huge body condom, not that he really knew what that would even feel like considering the last condom he'd seen out of the package was being rolled over a banana in Health Ed.

His limbs felt heavy, he was still too tired, Dylan had a way better body than he did.

It was really no wonder that Dylan had dated all the prettiest girls at West Beverly; he didn't have to wonder what Brenda saw in him.

"So first, you paddle out..." Dylan's arms did the crawl stroke, fingers dragging lightly through the sand cutting short grooves into it. He looked up at Brandon, definitely noticed the blank expression spread across him. "C'mon, man, let's see it." He smiled at him, deep creases in his forehead furrowing deeper.

Brandon mimicked his friend's movements feeling much like an ass.

"Perfect, dude. I told you, even with that thick, Icelandic skin of yours; you're a natural with this. You've got the body for it."

Brandon watched in slow-motion as Dylan's eyes traveled the length of his body, from head to toe and back again, even slower until their eyes met again. The air was thick between them; a headiness that Brandon tried to blame on lack of sleep but knew inside had nothing to do with anything but the company.

"All right, this next move is a little harder," Dylan said with a small smile. "It's called a pop up, okay?" Their eyes met again while Dylan waited for a reply.

"Yeah, pop up. Sure."

"OK, watch me first." Brandon sat up and centered himself on the board, his eyes trained on Dylan's movements.

Effortlessly, and Brandon didn't even start to think that it might be easier without water, Dylan pretended to paddle, speaking his movements the whole time, his mouth curling around each word. "So, you're paddling... you're paddling, and then you're where you need to be and you see the wave coming towards you. Then you turn the board back towards the shore--" He looked up at Brandon, "I can't do that here, but you know what I mean, right?"

"Yeah." Every word seemed to be trapped in his own throat and he really couldn't say why.

"Cool. So when the wave gets close, you do this." Dylan put his hands around the edges of the top of the board and pointed his toes against the bottom and he pushed up, leaping into a crouched position, then standing, his feet sliding and his arms going out for balance. "That's the pop up... then, boom! You're riding the wave."

From his seated position, Brandon turned his eyes upward to watch the other man ride the sand. Dylan's smile was infectious and he felt the corners of his mouth widening and curling towards Dylan's face.

"You make it look easy, Dylan. Why do I think it's a lot harder than it looks?"

"You wanna see it again?"


This time, Brandon stood and took a few steps back to watch from another position. The sun was higher in the sky then and he felt the sweat begin to trickle down his spine, settling in the small of his back. Dylan repeated the move three or four times with Brandon absolutely mesmerized.

The strength of his body, the way the muscles in his arms rippled as he pushed against the board and his powerful legs snapped to its direct center. The smile that passed over his lips every time the maneuver was completed and he looked towards Brandon and their eyes met again and again.

Brandon felt a blush take him, from his chest to the tips of his ears.

"All right, man. Your turn."

"I can do this, no problem." He said somewhat unconvincingly.

Brandon lay flat on the board, adjusting his weight to the center and thinking about the exact motions Dylan had made, the way that each limb moved during the pop up and how his feet had slid slightly apart to gain balance.

The first time, he slid right off the board and landed on his ass in the sand. He felt a bit embarrassed. Dylan laughed for a moment then caught himself, his own hand slapping over his mouth.

"Dude, it's cool... You almost had it," he said helping Brandon off the ground.

"Yeah, right." He laughed himself, better to try to enjoy himself than revel in a small failure. Brandon did not enjoy failures, but they were generally few and far between. But sporty, like this, he really was not.

He wondered why Dylan had been so eager to do this teaching him surfing thing. He'd been in Beverly Hills long enough that had he been anxious to learn -- it probably would have come up already -- but it hadn't. Until the night Dylan had sat at the counter at The Peach Pit -- hours passing over one, two, three cups of coffee and one of Nat's famous burgers -- and practically begged Brandon to let him teach him.

Of course, Dylan would never actually beg anyone for anything. But when he trained those eyes on you and asked for something, anything, most of the time it was very difficult to say no. Suddenly, you wanted to do whatever he did.

After a few more trips onto his behind, Brandon began to think that this might have been one of the worst ideas. Ever. For the millionth time, he clambered up off the sand and lay belly-first onto the surf board.

"Okay, I see the first problem, Brando." Brandon felt Dylan's fingers wrap around his waist and his body was slid slightly to the left, Dylan was so close, almost on top of him. Brandon's heart began to pump wildly, somewhat agitating him. Still the hands remained where they were and Brandon was only aware of their heat.

"I'll spot you man, but you've gotta get into the right position first. So, relax, lemme put you in the right position." Dylan's hands ran over his hips, adjusted his legs, while Brandon lay still and tried not to suck in his breath too sharply. He tried to remember to breathe at all.

"You've got to have your feet close together like this." Dylan's fingers grazed Brandon's feet, his thumbs running over his arches. "Got that?"

The question pulled him out of his haze.

"Unh... Uh huh."

Then Dylan was standing in front of him, at the nose of the board. Looking up at him, Brandon's mouth went completely dry. Dylan crouched and moved around to the side of the board. His voice was almost a whisper on the near-silent beach, his words melting into the sounds of the ocean.

"Okay, so when your body's in this position, it should be easier to get your balance when you pop up." Dylan positioned his hands on either side of Brandon's chest, leaning across him so that Brandon could feel the electricity zapping between their bodies. He could feel the tightening throb between his legs. Too close. Wanted him closer. Freaking himself out. "You ready?"

Ready? Oh, yeah. Pop up.

"Uhhh, yeah." It sounded more like a question than he'd intended. He worried about the state of himself in the far too-tight wetsuit that left nothing to the imagination. He tried to will down his cock, which felt like it was getting harder with every second that Dylan's fingers tightened into his sides. Nothing was going to ever happen while Dylan was still touching him.

And he was definitely still touching him.

And there was no way Brandon wanted to have to do this pop up thing. He'd already done all the popping up he wanted to do.

Dylan's hands slipped down to his waist, his thumbs pressing into the small of his back, Brandon felt the hiss of his hot breath wisp across the back of his neck as he spoke. "Stretch your arms up like a push-up, Brandon, but leave the lower half of your body on the board." He did as he was told; happy to not have to move said lower half.

He really worried about said lower half.

"Then you just jump into a crouch, stand up, put your arms out and slide your feet until their comfortable on the board. Ok? Do it."

"Okay, one second." He thought about baseball and his grandmother and her apple pie, the way his sister hogged the bathroom every morning before school and always left a pile of clothes on the floor that he had to kick into her room. He thought about everything unsexy that he could think of, but nothing seemed to work. Not with those blazing hot fingers branding his skin beneath the layer of neoprene.

"C'mon, dude, I wanna try this in the water. Besides, I got you this time, you're not gonna fall. Do it up."

There was a good chance, with Dylan practically behind him like he was, that he wouldn't even notice the bulge at his crotch. Brandon resolved himself to just do it, no matter the discomfort. There was going to be discomfort no matter what anyway.

"All right, I'm ready." As ready as he was going to be.

He performed the move and when he felt himself losing his balance as he stood, Dylan was right behind him, his arms catching him and his chest pressing his body straight. Brandon put his arms out and steadied his feet on the board.

"That's it, man. Perfect stance." He clapped his hands and Brandon felt his eyes burning into the back of his head. Turning his head over his shoulder, he was met with steamy eyes and toothy smile.

Bending painfully, Brandon picked up the board, eager to hide himself in the cold water.

"Race you!" Brandon ran towards the water. When his toes touched the ocean, all memories of his hard-on were immediately erased in the icy cold.


The paddling out was the easy part. After getting slammed, or as Dylan put it, 'eating it' so many times that he'd lost count, Brandon started paddling towards the shore. The sun was high in the sky, all morning clouds burnt away, and the ocean was a perfect shade of blue.

Out of breath, he laid the board on the sand and collapsed beside it. He unzipped the wetsuit and let the sun caress his chest as Dylan strode up the beach towards him.

"Tired already?"

"I was getting my ass kicked out there, figured it was time for a rest between bouts."

Dylan sat beside him stripping off the top of his wetsuit to the waist. Beads of water wept over his pecs and Brandon watched enraptured as his hand swiped away the droplets and crept over a peaked nipple.

"You hungry? I got a cooler in the car, we could go over to the other side of the rocks and have lunch..." Dylan laid flat on the sand, his back arching his chest towards the sun as he stretched his muscled limbs.

"A little, but it'll be more like breakfast. It can't be later than 9 or 10 o'clock. But, yeah, I'm kinda hungry."

Brandon had lost the discomfort that he'd felt earlier. It had just been some kind of fluke; he should have had a good wank in the morning like he usually did. But he'd skipped it in his rush to get out of the house; he'd chugged his morning glass of milk and ran out the door.

"'Kay, well, I'll go up to the car, you take the boards over there," he pointed past the rock wall ahead of them that separated two beaches. "I'll meet you there in a couple."

"Cool." Brandon found himself watching Dylan as he ran up the embankment towards their cars. Shaking himself out of his reverie, he tucked a surfboard precariously under each arm and started towards the rocks.

Sheltered from the crosswinds on the other side of the rocks, the heat from the sun blasted onto him and he felt the sweat drip down his back. As Dylan came over the rocks carrying a good sized cooler, Brandon stopped attempting to wriggle out of his impossibly tight wetsuit and felt himself blush again, even though he had no clue why.

"Bitch to get out of, eh? Hang on, I'll help you." Dylan jogged over and set the cooler into the sand in the minimal shade of the rocks. Walking to Brandon, he stood behind him, his hands going around him and fingers curling into each side of the zipper. As he pulled the slick suit from Brandon's skin, his finger tips grazed over his chest and shoulders then down his arms.

Brandon's heart started pounding again.

The air was so thick between them, the hair on the back of Brandon's neck stood on end. He didn't move. He couldn't move. He didn't want to.

He felt Dylan step closer, just one small step that closed the space between their bodies.

"Pull your hands out, Brandon." His voice was deep and throaty, thick with seduction, Brandon realized. And he wondered whether this had been all part of Dylan's plan when he convinced Brandon to do this in the first place.

As he freed his hands from the sleeves, Dylan dropped the suit, he felt the arms slap his thighs as he was turned around and into Dylan's arms.

Brandon stiffened then relaxed as he felt Dylan's lips touch his. First gently, but then with a heat and a hunger that Brandon had never experienced before. Dylan's hands moved up Brandon's body, from his waist to his neck and up to cup his face and pull him even closer. Brandon leaned into him, felt himself melt into the slightly taller man's embrace, felt himself respond to his fevered kisses. His own hands finally moved around Dylan's waist and pulling him further so that the only thing between them was the thick neoprene and their swim shorts.

Brandon was aware of both layers.

Dylan released him, pulling away for just a moment before lunging in again and pulling Brandon down to his knees onto the sun-warmed sand.

There was no one around: on this side of the beach even the surfers and normal beach traffic seemed to stay away. Did Dylan know that when he brought them here, had he wanted to be alone with him? He pulled out of Dylan's embrace to look around them, to look back into Dylan's eyes and find him staring back at him with an electric passion that tore down his spine and hit him directly in his groin. He felt his cock twitch and harden as Dylan pushed his back onto the rough sand.

Dylan's body covered his and Brandon felt his cock beside his own, just as hard. His body ground against Brandon's, his breath coming in harder gasps into Brandon's mouth as his tongue delving deeper and lapping at the backs of his teeth. Brandon moaned.

It was a tiny sound, just hardly escaped from his lungs, but he felt it's power as Dylan pressed him harder into the sand and let his hands move over Brandon's chest, his lips and teeth moving over his jaw and his tongue slipping over his neck. His cock strained beneath the constricting wetsuit, pulsing against the flat of his stomach. Dylan bent his mouth to one nipple, touching it lightly with his tongue, teasing it to a rigid peak then biting it softly and Brandon hissed.

This was crazy.

But it felt so good.

And Brandon had almost stopped listening to the warring voices in his head and just succumbed to the feeling of Dylan's stubbled jaw raking over his chest, his lips worrying his other pebbled nipple, his hand moving torturously closer to Brandon's dangerously stiff cock. Dylan's matching rigidity pressing harder and harder moving slowly against the side of his leg.

It still wasn't real. It wasn't real. It was, god, so real. Better than real.

Dylan's hand moved closer, laid between his legs pressing up against Brandon's balls, then (finally) moving up to grasp at his cock through the thickness of the suit. His tongue traced up Brandon's stomach, trailing back across his pecs, stopping to nibble lightly on his collarbone then up to his ear. Brandon felt the teeth tense down over his lobe, just softly enough not to hurt the sensitive skin.

"Let's take this thing off, 'kay?"

Brandon could only nod and lay still, flat on his back, as Dylan stood up and pulled his own wetsuit over his hips leaving him clad in nothing but a pair of mid-thigh board shorts that rode down over his hips and showed just the tiniest inch of white skin that the sun had never gotten to. Again, Brandon hissed, felt the heat of the sun on his skin, felt his cock pressing tighter against the material of the suit and his shorts and aching, begging to be set free.

Dylan flung the wet suit towards the boards and knelt down in the sand next to Brandon, he leaned over him touching his lips to Brandon's so softly, his tongue lashing out to lap at his lower lip. When he moved away, Brandon gasped.

Then one hand was at his waist as the other pulled the rest of the zipper down and Dylan's fingers scraped along the length of his cock slowly and the only noise other than the roar of the ocean, was the sound of each tooth of the zipper slowly being opened. When Dylan's hands went to either side of his waist and pulled down the suit, Brandon lifted his ass from the sand to allow him to pull it off completely.

After tossing the wetsuit over towards his own, Dylan crept between Brandon's legs and bent his head to him, nipping the skin on the insides of his thighs. Brandon couldn't believe this was happening, couldn't believe he had let this happen, that he had probably invited Dylan to seduce him.

And that's what this was, plainly and simply, a seduction.

Surfing lessons, my ass, he thought as Dylan's tongue dipped into his navel and he felt his shorts being untied and unvelcroed and Dylan's tongue wasn't teasing his stomach anymore. With a hot exhale, Dylan traced the vein of Brandon's cock, licking up it's length and Brandon realized that for as many girls as he'd dated and who'd felt him up, he'd never gotten the coveted blow job. And here it was.

As Dylan took him into his mouth, wet heat enveloping him, Dylan looked up at him with hooded eyes and Brandon whimpered softly, tangling his fingers in the short hair at the base of Dylan's head.

"Ohhhh... god, man. Just... wow." He heard Dylan grunt or laugh or some sound from his throat that made his cock hum. Dylan sucked harder and did some great thing with his teeth that made Brandon tense and relax and jump all at once and Brandon's head was digging into the sand and he was moaning so loud and he didn't care. Because this was heaven, Dylan's mouth moving so teasingly slow and then achingly fast and, god, he was going to come any minute.

"Dylan, man... dude..." And Dylan stopped and looked up at him as if expecting him to have finally gotten his mind in order and decided to call this whole thing off. "I'm gonna... and, well... you don't have to..." And Dylan smiled and went back to sucking him off. When Dylan's fingers, wet with his own spit and Brandon's pre-come, pressed at his ass, he lifted off the sand a bit and spread his legs instinctively. Holy shit. And fuck. And then Dylan's fingers were inside him, fucking his ass slowly and it hurt a little bit, but it was nice and then there was this spot and Brandon groaned even louder. And fuck.

It felt like the orgasm came from the tips of his toes, like he was one great, big volcano. Dylan's mouth like a hot, wet vacuum and his tongue and those fingers and, oh god, that spot. Brandon's fingers tightened in Dylan's hair and on his shoulder and he knew that there might be bruises, but he didn't care. His back arched and he shot off and he thought he might have seen stars and fireworks and when he opened his eyes, Dylan was looking up at him, his cheek resting on Brandon's thigh and his lips glistening with Brandon's come.

And it was beautiful. The most beautiful thing he'd seen, like, ever.

And he forgot about everything else.

Until Dylan moved and slid his body up against Brandon's and he was still wearing those board shorts. They kissed slowly, Brandon's heart pounding beneath his ribcage and his breath short in his lungs. Dylan's mouth tasted like salt and soap and seawater and it was musky. It was good. They were good. This wasn't so crazy anymore. Dylan's cock rubbed up against his leg.

"Mmmm..." It was the only thing Brandon was even capable of saying. Other than, "C'mere, dude." But that was mumbled and breathy.

His chest was covered in sweat. Brandon ran his hand over it, fingers grazing over one tight nipple, smaller than his own, he noticed. And they kissed long and hard, tongues tangling and dancing, then Dylan rolled off him and moved away and opened the cooler. He pulled out a bottle of Pepsi and something else and came back, only seconds had passed.

Brandon sat up, sand in so many places that sand wasn't supposed to be and Dylan still had on those shorts. And he still had that hard-on and Brandon wanted to see it for himself. Dylan stood over him, droplets of icy water hitting Brandon's chest.

"Pepsi?" Dylan said and made it sound like "fuck me." Brandon nodded, his eyes watching Dylan so intensely. He watched as Dylan's head lolled back and his throat opened and closed as he drank down half the bottle before passing it down to him. The suntan lotion fell from his other hand landing icily beside Brandon's left thigh, just touching his blazing hot flesh.

Brandon couldn't stand this. They way that Dylan stood over him, gazed down at him with eyes black with passion, his body silhouetted against the unnaturally blue sky. And Brandon was glad that they'd left Michigan where he'd already be up to his ass in fucking snow. He held out his hand and when Dylan took it, Brandon pulled him down next to him, needing to feel him near him even though he still had no idea why. But then, maybe, for once, why didn't matter. Why didn't always have to matter.

Dylan stared back at him, lips curled into a delicious smile, and he reached over and laid his hand on Brandon's chest pushing him back again to lay in the sand. Kneeling between Brandon's legs, their eyes still locked and the heat of the sun and their bodies radiating over them both, Dylan went for the velcro of his own shorts and pulled it apart. Pushed the shorts down over his hips and under his knees and tossed them over his head where Brandon couldn't see where they'd landed. And he really didn't care.

Dylan's chest and legs so tan, Brandon's eyes fell to the whiteness of the tops of his thighs, at the patch of springy curls that led from his navel to his cock standing at full attention casting a dark shadow where it separated from his body. He leaned over Brandon, then. Reached out hand grabbing for the sun lotion, his lips descended onto Brandon's and Brandon felt his mouth opening to welcome his tongue as it swirled around his mouth in fast spirals and he heard the cap opening and the burp of lotion as it was squeezed into Dylan's hand.

"Didn't... think... about... lube." Dylan said into his open mouth and Brandon guessed it wasn't as premeditated as he'd thought. Not that he cared. Not that he cared about anything anymore. "Sorry... cold..."

And his fingers were cold as they entered his ass again and he felt his cock shudder when Dylan hit that spot. Then there were three fingers, then four and Dylan's other fist was greasing up his own cock and Brandon's head was grinding into the sand again and he was pushing back against Dylan's probing hand. His knees were lifted and pressed towards his chest and the fingers eased slowly from inside him. Dylan's hands held tight to Brandon's legs, slipping down to his hips and Brandon felt the urgent pressure of Dylan's cock against his ass.

When it broke through the tight ring of muscle, they both hissed. Brandon felt the searing pain first and a whimper escaped his lips, Dylan came down to him and kissed him again, his movements so slow, sliding inside Brandon in tiny increments as Brandon's body relaxed slowly and the pain started to abate.

"Jesus, Brandon..." And he caught Brandon's lips between his teeth and pushed deeper, a little harder, still agonizingly slow. "Good... gahhhh... so good." Brandon's hips urged back at him wanting him deeper now wanting to feel him fill him completely. He felt his cock, hard again under Dylan's weight and throbbing against him.

Dylan stretched his arms up and pushed Brandon's knees further against his chest and pushed into him harder, faster, the sweat rolling down Dylan's sun-browned skin in long rivulets and glinting in the light. They both moaned, words flowing unintelligibly from Dylan's lips until they came within seconds of each other in a hard push and his fingers digging into Brandon's thighs.

Dylan collapsed exhausted on to Brandon's chest, his cock sliding slowly from inside him. Brandon wrapped his arms around Dylan and licked at the sweat from his jawline.

"Now, I'm hungry." Brandon whispered huskily and nipped at his lovers lips.


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