Ryden Oneshots

Beach Boy

“Bren, hurry up, or we won’t get a good spot on the beach!” Jon shouted up the stairs of the cool, white, Spanish villa. This was the fifth time he’d called, the first being over 25 minutes ago, and the fifth time he’d been given the reply of

“Chillax, I’m coming!” It was safe to say Jon was beyond exasperated. Just as he was thinking about going back out onto the terrace to read his book, because really, it was better than standing around for a further half hour, Brendon came crashing into view at the top of the stairs, weighted down with all manner of items. It seemed this time, he actually was coming.

Brendon had a flowery messenger back slung across his toned torso, the plain white t-shirt pulled up slightly by the strap, causing a strip of smooth - but still pale - flesh to be exposed where his swim shorts hung low on his hips. The bag was stuffed full with assortments of books, pens, notepads, money, and for a reason Brendon himself had not yet worked out, a shiny silver spoon. Dangling from his left wrist was a clear, PVC drawstring bag containing the obligatory sunscreens, ranging from factor 50 , ‘for extra sensitive bits’ to factor 2 carrot oil, ‘for the last couple of days when I’ve got a golden glow, but still need to fry a little bit more. I refuse to go home pasty.’ Tucked under the same arm was a neon green lilo and Brendon’s personal favourite towel, the one with penguins on a beach. He just found it so goddamn funny. Wedged underneath his right armpit was a parasol, raffia mat to put his beach towel on top of, and a six pack of mineral water. He had a rubber ring placed around his neck, blocking his chin and mouth from view, and the brand new highlighter pink Ray Ban Wayfarers placed precariously in his dark brown hair. Finishing off his ridiculous appearance were the flippers, mask and snorkel which he’d tied to his messenger bag.

“Brendon! What the hell is all that stuff?!”

“Well, I’ve got -”

“Actually, don’t answer that. We’ll be here for another 3 hours. You look ridiculous by the way, with all that crap,” Jon pointed out simply.

“Hey, don’t mock me, Walker. You’ll thank me later,” Brendon replied indignantly.

Once they were finally settled on the beach, in the spot which, by the way Jon, wasn’t crap just because they got there after 11am, and the various inflatables had been weighted down with stones, the two boys were able to look around properly and take in their surroundings. Jon was suitably impressed. No matter which way he looked, he could see at least 2 women sunbathing topless. In his opinion, they should visit Spanish beaches more often, where this seemed to be extremely common.

“Jonnnnnnn, I’m so hot!” Brendon whined, snapping Jon out of his stupor.

“Brendon, I know you don’t exactly have self esteem issues, but could you try to be a little less arrogant,” Jon commented.

“I know I’m insanely hot, and if I was looking at me, I’d want to fuck me senseless right here on the sand, but actually I meant heat wise. It’s 98 degrees and I feel like I’m about to pass out. Come in the sea with me? Please?” Brendon pouted and looked at Jon with the puppy dog eyes he knew nobody could say no to.

“Okay, fine,” sighed Jon, pulling himself up from his towel, and his eyes away from the particularly pretty blonde who was giggling with her friend and throwing the occasional glance his way.

Brendon put one foot on the sand before cursing loudly as he realised quite how hot the sand was, and burnt his feet. He stepped into his flip flops and made his way toward the water’s edge where he kicked them off and went running toward the water, intending on executing a perfect, impressive dive into the wave which was just breaking. However, as soon as his shins made contact with the salty water, he retreated quickly, squealing about how cold the water was.