"...hey..." He questioned, shaking the bottle towards me. "...you wanna get drunk?"

As usual, I said yes.


Although the first time might have been completely by accident, I still remembered it, despite what he thinks of me. We were sixteen, best friends and drunk for the first time together, and I was barely coherent when his hand fumbled with the front of my pants, his breathing heavy and his face flushed.

I pretended to be asleep, my eyes shut and my body relaxed over the couch, as he took me past his lips and sucked me off ineloquently.

The next day, when we woke up, he looked at me as if terrified. I knew why, but he didn't need to know that, and I simply shrugged it off with a faked assumption that I had fallen dead asleep and asked him if he wanted to go out for breakfast. I could see relief pass over his face and could only figure that would be the last time he'd bring out the alcohol that summer.


Three days later I came in to his room to find him with his mouth pressed to a bottle of rum and a question if I wanted some too.

The bottle was warm in my hands and the liquid burned down easily, though I could feel his eyes on me all the while. It made me feel rather superior, throat working down the foul liquid swallow by swallow, knowing that he had an ulterior motive that he thought was a secret.

We lay over his bed trying to watch the television, but when I let my eyelids drift shut I could feel him shifting besides me, restless, excited. I slowed my breath, relaxed my every muscle, trying to put on a convincing show. I knew it worked when I felt his fingers creeping up my thigh.

I was completely hard within a moment of him touching me, his lips gasping raggedly against my ear as he pushed his hand wrist-deep under my shorts, circling his fingers around my cock and tugging at it lightly. He was far drunker than I was and I could tell if only by the way he fumbled against me, how he didn't bother to question how I could sleep through his heated touch, but it still took every ounce of my remaining will to keep from rocking my hips forward and moaning out loud.

When I came all over his hand I did gasp, but I don't think he noticed, too busy feeling me over, pulling out his hand and playing with the sticky mess left between his fingers.

He ended up falling asleep before me, curled up at my side with his hard-on pressed against my hip.

I opened my eyes and started flipping channels, unable to keep the grin off of my face.


With nothing but a bottle of gin in hand, we walked to the lake.

It wasn't far, and bold in our youth, we walked with our prize from his father's liquor cabinet, looking to loose our inhibitions and shake off the summer heat with a cool dip in the lake. At high-noon the main beach would be packed, but we knew every beach and cove on the lake since we were ten and found a perfect little shaded inlay with a crooked dock and smooth, yellow sand blissfully abandoned.

We jumped in the water with only our boxers on, spitting water at each other and chasing the wild young goslings when they wandered too far from their parents and too close to us. Sitting in the shallows we cracked the bottle open, feeling it burn down our throats and laughing even louder as our reserves dropped and our faces grew warm from something other than the mid-day sun.

This time, I'm sure I'm the one who kissed him first.

We were waist-deep sitting in the shallows, feet dug into sand and minnows circling our bodies as I leaned, capturing his mouth and still tasting the gin on him. He stiffened, reflexively, and I couldn't help but smirk against his lips, pulling back if only to witness the wide-eyed expression. But the way he was looking at me, staring at me, made my breath catch in my throat and my body lean in once more, kissing him with an open mouth.

We weren't anywhere near drunk enough to shrug the movement off, nor drunk enough to pretend we didn't remember, and I think that's what scared him the most. He was still so stiff against me, one hand fisted in the sand underwater, legs tucked awkwardly to himself and the gin bottle balanced precariously between his hand and chest. He was clinging it to himself, I could see, even as I tried to slip my tongue past his lips, and couldn't help but pull back once more with a smug grin on my face.

"Gunna drop it and get the whole lake drunk..." I gestured to the bottle, his stunned expression falling if only for a moment as he looked to the gin in his hand. I could see the blush high on his features, his wet hair messy and clinging to the back of his neck. It made me want to touch him and I think he knew it, looking back up at me from the corner of his eyes.

"...we should drink more..." He tried to excuse, lifting the bottle to himself, though he was trembling so hard he could barely wrap his lips around the mouth of it. He wanted to drink more, wanted an excuse still, but this time I wouldn't let him. I reached between his legs and gripped him firmly through his boxers, rubbing against the hard-on he had been trying pathetically to hide.

Once again my lips twisted up watching him tense, eyes clenching shut and hand jolting hard enough to make him miss his mouth completely, gin trickling down his chin and the side of his neck. I had to fumble my other hand clumsily to the bottle to keep him from dropping it completely, one hand still under the water line and groping between his thighs as the other reached across, taking hold of the bottle firmly, and jammed it into the more shallow sand behind us with the neck just barely above the water.

He was too distracted to notice, his breathing coming in shallow pants and eyes clenched shut so tight that he almost looked like he was in pain. I could feel his cock throbbing, hot despite the chill of the water, and let my palm stroke over him once through the thin barrier of his wet boxers.

"S-shit..." The word came out past his stuttering lips, cursed under a strangled moan, both hands now clawing into the sand at either side of him as he shifted tensely, trying to hide his enthusiasm even as I leaned in closer next to him.

The gin smelled strong against his sun-kissed skin, combined with the salty-sweat of him and the deep musk of lake water, though as I ran my lips against him all I could taste was the pure kick of the alcohol and the excitement that was radiating from him. He shivered and bucked his hips when I bit lightly just at his pulse, feeling it quicken as I pulled him out through the slit in his boxers.

With how hard he was I could tell how bad he wanted it, as if he had been waiting forever. With the soft, encouraging noises he was making and the way he scooted closer when I pressed my thumb to the swollen head, I knew he had been waiting and wanting, had only been bold enough drunk to admit it until now. And I felt horribly stupid for waiting all this time, for never noticing, and only could hope for his forgiveness as I made a tight ring with my fingers and stroked him over firmly.

It wasn't so different as touching myself, really, and that's all I had ever known, quirked my wrist and watched in fascination as his hips bucked up to meet my hollowed hand, how he dug his heels into the sand and tossed his head back with a stifled moan as I felt him slowly, thoroughly, from base to head.

Soft waves rocked our bodies back and forth, splashed against our sides as I tried different things, holding my hand just so, rubbing him soft, then quickly, and each change in his breath made my own heart race faster, my own cock that much harder.

"...won't...someone see us...?" Was the first thing he finally said, his voice weak and evolving into a shuddered groan as I tightened my fist and pulled upward.

"...touch me too." I ignored what he said, murmured my own request against his ear, secretly delighted at the chill I felt run through him. What he said, really, could have been of some importance, but I couldn't bring myself to worry-- we were rather enclosed, either way, for anyone to see us by boat, it wasn't a popular beach by far, and I had so much more in mind.

For a while, I didn't know if he'd actually do it, even if he had done it many times before, despite the fact that he had actually gone further when he had thought I was asleep. My hand still stroked him over, lips were still against his ear when I felt his hand, so strangely shy, move to rest on my knee.

The anticipation was almost painful, my own pace quickening, my breath hitching, as he ran calloused fingers further up my thigh, teasing against me when he felt my muscles tense. He paused, so close that I could feel the water just between his palm and my cock, before suddenly gripping me, so roughly that I almost came on the spot.

The sensations sobered me instantly, his hand tight beneath the water and tugging me almost frantically, once more his eagerness showing in that brash, honest way of his. My own hand must have tightened, as well, from the low noise of pleasure he made beside me, and soon I found myself matching him, fingers stroking at the same heady pace.

Before I knew it, we were moving, him pushing me slowly backwards and nearly crawling over me, leading me to drier land. I barely even registered the movements, releasing his cock momentarily as we scrambled toward the shore. He stopped me only a few feet out of the water, my legs teased by the lake's softly pulsing waves, and as I tried to murmur out in question he was already tucked between my spread legs and running fingertips along the elastic of my boxers.

He watched me closely, his eyes nervous and bright as he tugged my boxers down, a far more bold smile renewed on his face when I gasped out and lifted my hips. The air felt cool on my overheated skin but my nerves burned under his stare, fingertips starting to explore my thighs shamelessly even as he lowered his eyes between my legs.

I could see the blush rise on his cheeks and felt my own darken in turn, though I murmured softly out to him in encouragement when he hesitated. That small breath on my part seemed to tell him all he needed to know and everything I felt-- I want it as bad as you do, it's okay. Just touch me more.

Fingertips wrapped around me loosely then, though his lips were a far better means of physical communication, exposing his own needs and losing his own inhibitions as he leaned down and swiped his tongue over the very tip of me.

This time, I could actually watch him, though keeping my eyes open seemed to be the hardest thing as he ran his tongue up and down in a tease. When he took me past his lips, so much more confident this time, my eyes fluttered shut and my head fell back as the wet heat of his mouth surrounded me. It was dizzying, almost maddening, and I reached down and tangled my fingers through his messy hair as he took me in as far as he could manage, his clumsy little tongue sending an aching pleasure through every nerve in my body.

It didn't take long for me to come. One last grip of his fingers and flicker of tongue and it was impossible to hold back, my hand pushing him down a little further on instinct as I cursed out in words I barely understood and released over his tongue. I felt him fumble again, choking softly as it dripped out of his mouth and back over me, but it was only a distant realization as my body tingled from head to toe and I was washed over in afterglow.

Before I had even recovered I had taken him by the arms and rolled us over, smothering him into a heavy kiss and tasting myself over his gasping mouth. He squirmed against the sand as I pressed my stomach against his insistently hard cock, a lazy smirk over my lips even when I dipped my tongue into his.

I was more nervous than I acted when I crawled down his body, pressing messy kisses along his stomach and feeling it quiver the lower I went. He was propped up on his elbows, breathing frantically and watching me as if I was the only thing that ever existed. I watched him back from where I was, nuzzling against his hip, watched as his tongue darted out against his own lips and his nostrils flared the first time I ran my tongue against him.

He didn't taste like anything I would have imagined-- his skin was salty and clean and surprisingly hot against my lips as I traveled the length of him with a slick lower lip. I finally watched as his eyes flinched shut, him nearly panicking in his pleasure as I opened my lips and took him in. I didn't know what I was doing, didn't know a thing about technique in my alcohol-clouded mind, but it didn't seem to matter at all with the way his cock twitched even harder and he did his best to bite back a groan.

I had to hold his hips down to keep them from rolling forward and pushing in too fast, his body suddenly restless as I swiveled my tongue and gripped at the base of his member. It was only then that I shut my eyes, trying to concentrate as I bobbed my head up and felt him slide wetly in and out of my mouth.

I was surprised by how quickly he came, even if I had done much the same, my mouth suddenly flooded and ears registering his surprised gasp as he was overcome with pleasure. Impulsively I raised up and spit into the sand, though it was less repulsive than I would have thought it to be. Looking up at him, I saw him open glassy eyes as he panted softly and slumped back into the sand, the same slow, dumb smile stretching over his lips as it had done to mine only moments before.

We lay there only for a moment, young bodies still buzzing and bonelessly collapsed into the warm, damp sand. We didn't talk, really, didn't need to, perfectly comfortable laying side by side with our shoulders barley touching.

Afterwards, our bodies reddened by the high summer sun and our limbs growing eager to move once more, we sat up and adjusted our boxers carefully, feeling a slight tension between us. I looked to him just from the corner of my eye but he seemed suddenly so shy, flushed down to his chest and clambering up on long legs to find the rest of his shed clothing.

"…not mad at me, are you..?" He finally asked, his question so meek that it was rather surprising. I was used to his lips being so brash and confident that it left me speechless and him awkward as he slipped on his shirt.

"…not at all." I finally managed to work out, my voice lower than I meant it to be but earning his gaze back. He watched me, and I felt his eyes wander from my own flushed cheeks to my glazed, kiss-swollen lips. I offered a smile and he gave one in turn, both of us reassured by each other's mouths once more.

Walking back with our clothes sticking to our bodies and the bottle of gin in hand, I couldn't keep the smile off of my face again. The silence was far more comfortable then, our elbows brushing with every other step we took in time, his eyes seeking out mine every so often and only refreshing the smile on his lips.

It made me curious, seeing him like that. I wondered if he'd ever offer me a drink again. Or if he'd even need to.