BESTMAN'S COUSIN
The beach filled up early.
Guests came in loud and bright, all sunscreen and linen and fake calm. The groom stood near the setup, trying to look like this was his moment.
It wasn't.
Everyone was looking at his bestman's cousin. And his wife-to-be's work bestie.
He walked in like heat. Green Brazilian trunks, tight and glossy, clinging to him like they didn't dare let go. Low on his hips. Too low. Showing that sharp V-line, that deep cut into his waist. His chest was wide and thick, skin tanned and glowing, still damp like he had just come out of the water on purpose. Every step made something move—shoulders, thighs, that heavy, round shape packed into the trunks.
The groom's jaw locked.
He hated it.
Hated the attention. Hated how the cousin laughed with everyone like he owned the beach. Hated how easy it all looked.
But his eyes kept drifting back.
The trunks were the worst part. Bright green, stretched tight across that full, perfect ass. Every turn, every step, it showed too much. The groom caught himself staring more than once. Not just a glance. A full, hungry look.
He told himself it was anger.
It wasn't.
That night, the noise died down. The beach went quiet, just waves and wind.
The groom found him alone.
Standing near the water, shirt open, trunks still on, still tight, still unfair. The moonlight caught the lines of his body—abs sharp, chest rising slow, thighs thick and solid. He turned when he heard the groom coming, eyes already knowing.
"You keep looking," the cousin said, voice low.
The groom stepped closer. "You keep showing."
The cousin smirked, slow. "Maybe I wanted you to."
That hit harder than it should.
The groom closed the distance fast.
Hands grabbed. Rough. Immediate. He pushed the cousin back toward the sand, bodies colliding hard, chest to chest. The heat was instant. Skin on skin. The cousin's hands came up just as fast, gripping back, pulling him closer like he'd been waiting all damn day.
Their mouths met, messy, aggressive. No hesitation now.
The groom's hands moved over him, gripping his sides, feeling the muscle, the heat, the slickness of his skin. He dragged his palms down to the trunks, fingers pressing into the tight fabric, feeling the shape underneath. The cousin exhaled sharp, hips pushing forward without shame.
"Yeah," the cousin breathed. "There it is."
The groom lost it a little.
He yanked the trunks down, exposing the cousin's hard cock. The cousin gasped, his hips bucking forward. The groom wrapped his hand around it, stroking him hard and fast.
"Fuck," the cousin moaned, his hands gripping the groom's shoulders.
The groom pushed him down into the sand, his own cock pressing against the cousin's ass. He spat on his hand, slicking himself up, and then pushed inside.
The cousin cried out, a mix of pain and pleasure. The groom didn't stop, thrusting into him hard and deep. The cousin met every push, his body arching back, taking it all.
The groom's hand found the cousin's cock again, stroking him in time with his thrusts. The cousin's body tensed, his breath coming in ragged gasps.
"I'm gonna cum," the cousin cried out.
The groom thrust harder, his own release building. "Cum for me," he growled.
The cousin's body convulsed, his cum spilling out onto the sand. The groom followed, his own release flooding the cousin's ass.
They collapsed onto the sand, both breathing heavy. The cousin laughed softly, still under him, still warm.
"Big day tomorrow," he said.
The groom didn't answer.
He was still staring at those green trunks, still thinking about how close he came to throwing everything away for them.
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