Dear friends, here is the next part of The Beach House. Erik and Mats are navigating and exploring this new universe that they've unfolded between them. Step by step learning and experiencing what they really feel about each other.
As always - you can read the full story in one
here on my Substack and I'm super happy if you share your thoughts and reactions to the story.
/Chris
He waited for me by the staircase, and when I walked up to him, he took my hand. Just like that. No hesitation. No second-guessing.
All it took was that small touch, and there it was again—the image of him by the sea, shorts clinging to his thighs, wind tearing through his hair, waves crashing high. And that grin, wide and reckless, like nothing in the world could touch him.
We walked down the stairs slowly, hand in hand, balancing glasses and the wine between us. He didn’t look at me, but it was obvious how he matched his pace to mine. That quiet, deliberate consideration. The kind that should’ve put me at ease.
But it didn’t.
Yes, his gaze was sincere. Yes, his touch was careful, steady, warm. But it had been a long time since we’d held hands, and all that carefulness didn’t make me feel any more comfortable.
I wished it had. I wanted to scream—shake off this damn melancholy.
The sand was still warm, and when we reached the spot where the girls had left their things, Mats buried the bottle under the surface.
– Old surfing knowledge. The sand keeps the wine warm enough to bring some warmth, as the evening gets chillier.
– Gosh, you
do that? Drink wine, I mean. That you bury stuff in the sand goes without saying.
– Yup, we do. Crazy, isn’t it? Men with boards and sails and all…
with wine?
–
Knowing about wine—that’s the real surprise here. Aren’t you the healthy-smealthy kind of guys? Up at five, some granola and stuff, three liters of coffee, and off you go? Then, after hours upon hours in ice-cold waters, straight to an Irish pub for two Guinness before bed at nine?
Mats turned to look at me.
– That is actually quite an accurate description. Sounds like fun, doesn’t it?
He grinned at me. That wide smile that reached his ears and deep, deep into my heart.
– Well… does it, now? Does it really? I’d say
you need some fun in that scrupulously nice and healthy gang of yours. Someone to
buzz things up a bit. Stir the Guinness, as they say—yes, I know they don’t, but they should, OK? Get y’all out partying more. An Ibiza/Galway kind of guy.
– Someone like
you, you mean?
– Nah, nope—not saying that. Just someone with a bit more pizzazz, to spice things up a little.
– Why would I need that in my surf gang when I already have it?
– Well… so that all of those travels won’t get so
boring for you. So your memories won’t just be of
that wave, and
thisbeach, and
that storm, and
those sea rescuers pulling you out from drowning… I mean, just to add some
je ne sais quoi, as we said before.
– Oh Erik, can’t you see? I go to those remote beaches, have those two beers,
because of that… I mean, that guy you’re talking about? He’s already spicing up every second I spend with him at home. This just makes it the perfect balance.
– Besides, do you think I want to share that guy with my surfdudes? Nooo way, José. Nonono, he’s
all mine.
– All the way, May?
– Erik, is there
any moment in life when you
don’t have a Madonna reference ready?
– Well, you’re the one who caught it. I’m just exercising my artistic liberty, no matter what the Pope says.
– And
there you go again. Maaah God!
He grabbed my shoulders, pulled me in close, and buried his nose in my hair. His grip was firm, his breath warm against my skin. I shivered.
– You smell good. You know that?
I shook my head, not daring to hold him as tightly as he held me.
– Well, you do.
He inhaled deeply, like he wanted to keep something of me inside him. Then, his hands shifted, palms resting on either side of my face. I watched his eyes move, scanning every detail of my face, every line.
And then, he kissed me.
Okay,
maybe the world didn’t tumble into a jigg, and
maybe the stars didn’t rearrange themselves into a Nike swoosh before sashaying away across the velvet-blue sky in a bold and sassy way that would turn Ariana Grande into Ariana Pequeña.
But maybe—just
maybe—they did. And that’s an alternative truth I’m willing to accept.
It would explain the dizziness in my head. The way the ground seemed to tilt beneath my feet. The absolutely
logicalreason why my arms needed to latch onto something—someone—very, very tightly. And for a very,
very long time.
Yes, he kissed me. And
boy, did I kiss him back.
No, scratch that—I
inhaled him. Every ounce, every drop, every wicked little thought that had ever had danced in my head now suddenly sprung to life—and I claimed them all.
What started out all tinkly tankly—soft kisses, nose tips brushing, teasing smiles—slowly, inevitably, turned into something more. Mouths open, tongues wrestling, breath hitching.
At first, his hands held my face still, close, like he was memorizing every pore, every eyelash, every detail—as if he was seeing me for the first time. I might have stopped breathing, but his breath washed over me like waves – steady, warm, relentless.
He pulled me in, steering me closer, like a giant Star Destroyer locking onto that tiny, helpless Rebel ship. Those lips, so gentle at first, so deceptively kind. Then his skin—warm, rough in just the right places—brushing against mine like the flickering wings of a hummingbird.
He kissed me. I kissed him back.
He was the one to open his mouth first, the one to let his tongue tease, testing the edges of my lips, easing its way in—searching, playful.
My tongue met his at the border, standing at attention. Armed, saluting. And, well… salivating as hell.
One of his hands let go of my chin, sliding down—first grazing my neck, then lower, tracing the valley of my spine. Gentle, deliberate, determined to find more.
I pushed into him, fingers threading through his thick, dark hair—flowing like floating water lilies between my hands. My palms traced the sharp, smooth contours where his shoulders met his triceps, feeling the shift of muscle beneath my touch, the hunger in his movements as his tongue searched deeper.
It wasn’t until his hands grabbed my ass and pushed my groin towards his that I noticed that huge bulge of his. Rock hard.
All my mind could think of was:
Hell yeah!
The kissing turned feverish after that. I locked my arms around him, holding tight as his fingers dug deep into my ass, dragging me towards him, steering me like I was fucking him.
Back and… no, not so much back actually, but
a lot of forth. One hand moved up, holding my waist, looking for a way in, under my shirt.
Our kissing was so intense, it was borderline mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. We forced our hips to dance like serpents—cobras looking to play, wanting to sting.
Then his hand slid past my waistband, fingers pressing between my cheeks, claiming space.
I was
dry fucking him now, and he wasn’t just letting it happen—he was pulling me into it, grinding back, his grip firm, his cock lined up perfectly with mine. Heat, friction, barely any fabric between us.
In my mind, his pubes were already teasing mine.
His cock throbbed against me, hard, desperate. His hands dragged me closer, forcing me into his rhythm, hips slamming into mine. My back arched instinctively, muscles tense, body wired. One hand stayed locked on my ass, the other slid under my shirt, palm hot against my back.
Then he pushed my shirt higher. I let him. Almost undressing me as we flushed together, skin burning, damp from heat and motion.
His lips left mine, trailing lower, breath rough against my neck. A slow lick. A sharp graze of teeth. Then a bite—harder this time, enough to make me jolt, to send a rush straight to my dick, to make me clutch at his back, his arms,
him.
And then, just like that, he stopped. Smirking. Taking one step back. Then another, letting go of my hand.
— C’mon, catch me.
And then he
ran.
Water splashed as his feet cut through the waves, his body moving fast, fluid.
I had never been more grateful for all those hours on the treadmill. I went after him.
Now, that boy had
very long legs, and he knew how to use them. But me?
Never underestimate a man who
yearns.
Also, I think Mats had had way more wine than I had.
Not that it stopped him from teasing me—no,
hell no. He ran backwards when he could, flashing that infuriating grin, turning just as I lunged for him. Laughing, reaching out, then pulling back.
I wasn’t laughing. I was too focused. There was a prize, and I would claim it.
Then he started unbuttoning his shirt as he ran, slow, deliberate, letting me catch glimpses of his chest, his stomach, muscles shifting under smooth skin.
— You want this?
He spun toward me, opening the shirt wide. Then, instead of running, he
stopped, just long enough to drag a finger down the trail of hair leading below his waistband.
Watching me.
I grunted in response, too busy
longing for him to bother with words.
— C’mon, Erik, I thought you were good at this!
— If you’re looking for
good, find a saint! I shouted back.
He
laughed. Then he tossed his shirt at me, a challenge—his hands already on the drawstring of his shorts.
He laughed and threw his shirt at me, now focused on untying his shorts while still running.
We had passed one or two houses, all dark now, resting behind the dunes. The night had settled in, but that didn’t seem to bother Mats. And as long as I could see the outline of him, I was more than happy.
Then, suddenly, he stopped. Turned. Watched me as I halted just a meter away. Both panting for breath.
– Pheeew, that was a race, Erik. Fuck, you’re good.
I just saved my breath, watching him, holding his shirt in one hand.
– Wow, you got my shirt. Thanks. Then… I’m sure you’re happy to… catch this!
He dropped his shorts to the ground, kicking them over to me.
– Here you are, handsome.
He laughed, hands resting on his hips as he stretched after the run. I couldn’t see much, but I could see enough to get hard again. And so did Mats. Apparently.
His hand moved to his crotch, fingers wrapping around his dick, propelling it slowly, visible like a pale propeller against his dark pubes.
Now
that was a semi about to launch if I’ve ever seen one.
– You like what you see? He asked.
– Can’t see much.
I took a step closer.
– Oh, age has gotten to your eyes, has it?
– Fuck you, asshole.
– Not just yet.
He grinned, leaned in, and kissed me—slow, long, teasing. His hand moved away from his dick just as I was about to reach for it, and instead, he grabbed something from the sand.
I hadn’t even noticed the floating device before he snatched it up. Some kind of long, tubelike thing, probably left behind by some kids earlier in the day.
Then, with a laugh, he turned and sprinted toward the water, waves crashing around his ankles.
– Come and geeeet me!
I loved this.
I dropped my clothes in no time and ran after him, making bigger splashes than the waves. Then, as it got deeper, I dived into the sea and crawled toward that pale lighthouse waiting for me.
Was it cold, you might wonder? I have absolutely no idea. Again – never underestimate a man that yearns.
Mats swam away as I reached him, not far, but far enough. I followed, not far, but far enough. He was short on breath, pacing himself, leaning on that ridiculous tube thing, never losing me from sight.
-Fuck you’re hot, Erik.
-No,
you’re hot, Mats
No, you’re
hotter.
And then we burst out laughing.
We swam closer, finally treading water, just inches apart.
-You’re a fucking hunk, Erik.
I stopped myself from answering. Didn’t want to lose this moment.
-You are. A stud.
-Yeah, I am. A
fucking beefcake.
- Hell yeah, man. Give me that biceps.
I stretched an arm up, flexing it.
-Too bad with the lighting, but I’m sure it must have been hot, he said and laughed and swam backwards.
-Fuck you, asshole!
I threw myself at him, splashing water. He grabbed me, held me tight, our legs slowly moving against each other beneath the surface.
He leaned back, gripping the tube with one arm, panting slightly as our bodies drew closer. I grabbed onto it too, hands on either side of him, feet treading water to keep us steady. The waves nudged us toward the beach, slow and unbothered.
I had no problem balancing with the help of the tube. Mats’ grip around my waist kept us both stable, but that was when I felt it—his cock, hard, pressing against my thigh.
He must have felt it too.
Our eyes locked again, breathing almost in sync, so close we could have been breathing into each other’s mouths. The only sound was the water clucking softly between us.
Then Mats smirked and began humming, somewhat unexpectedly:
-Oppa Gangnam style! He waved his arm under the water, making noises, mimicking the dance. Then again, louder: Oppa Gangnam style!
I laughed, shaking my head, then leaned in, burying my face into the crook of his neck, my breath warm against his skin.
– You. Are. Insane. You know that?
Mats exhaled, his breath ruffling my hair.
– Am I? Well, you seem to like it.
I could hear the grin in his voice. Smug. Playful.
– And also, this moment needs a proper soundtrack.
I tilted my head just enough to meet his eyes.
– Does it? And
Gangnam Style is it?
His hand slid lower on my back, fingers pressing lightly. Not demanding. Not quite. But enough to remind me of the little space between us.
I didn’t move. Didn’t pull away. I just felt him. His warmth, his grip, his cock still pressing into me, the tension shifting, tilting into something heavier.
– Thought it was appropriate, he murmured, not moving away this time. – But it doesn’t seem like you agree.
I kissed him.
– No, it was
very appropriate.
– Appropriate as in
Perfect in every way?
His voice was teasing, but his legs were anything but. He let them spread open for me, then locked them around my thighs, drawing me in until our cocks met, slick from the water, pressing and shifting with the slow movement of the waves.
I adjusted my body, floating just above him, feeling every inch of him against me. Our dicks, hard and restless, rubbing with the motion of the tide. My breath hitched. So did his.
– Yeah, I sighed, pressing in just a little more. – Just like Mary Poppins.
Perfect in every way.
To be continued…