#noah fleiss

The salty breeze sticks to your skin, the afternoon sun beating down in a way that makes the ocean glitter. You’d been hesitant about the beach trip but Chris had begged with those pretty blue eyes behind his glasses, and Josh had simply thrown you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes and practically threw you into his truck with your beach bag after you got your bikini on.

Now you’re waist deep in the water, the cold ocean lapping around your ribs. your bikini top is a pale version of your favorite color, more decorative than functional, the straps thin and tied in bows at your neck and back. You’d bought it because Chris had made a noise like a dying animal when you’d tried it on in front of him last week, his gaze snagging on the way the fabric strained against your tits, his face turning the color of a ripe tomato.

“Incoming!” Josh yells from your left, his dark hair plastered to his forehead, skin gleaming bronze and wet. He’s grinning, wicked, already lunging to splash you.

You shriek, turning to dodge, but Chris is right behind you, 5’11” frame of broad, beefy nerd with strong arms and a soft middle that presses warm against your back even through the chill of the water. he catches you around the waist easily, lifting you clean out of the water with a laugh that rumbles through his chest.

“Gotcha!” he crows, but his triumph is short-lived.

a rogue wave comes out of seemingly nowhere, bigger than the rest, rising up like a wall of water and foam. It crashes down with enough force to knock the breathe from your lungs, your feet leave the ground completely, body tumbling in the undertow, and you feel the sharp tug of the current pulling at you, but stronger than that is the sudden, mortifying release of pressure across your chest.

Your bikini top is gone.

You surface the water gasping, sputtering, hands instinctively flying to cover yourself, but the water’s surface level is at your stomach now and you’re exposed from there up, the cool air hitting your wet, bare skin like a slap, your water slick hands are struggling to contain your bare breasts. Panic floods your system.

Then Chris makes a sound, something between a choke and a gasp, like all the air has been punched out of him. His eyes go wide, huge, blue, fixed on you with an expression that is pure, unfiltered shock, before he snaps his gaze up to your face, then down again, then up, like his brain is short circuiting and can’t decide where to look.

"Oh my god—" he says, and his voice cracking. He turns his head sharply to the side, one hand coming up to cover his eyes, but his fingers are spread, and he is absolutely peeking. "O-Oh my god, I'm—sorry, I'm not—"

Josh's reaction is different. He goes quiet. That loud, cocky Josh Washington, who always has a comment, who fills every silence; goes quiet. he’s staring, mouth slightly open, and for a second he looks almost dazed, like he's been hit with something he didn’t expect.

Then the Josh filter kicks back in, and he lets out a low whistle.

"Damn." Just that, but his voice drops an octave, and his eyes are still on your chest, with an intensity that makes your stomach flip.

"Stop looking!" You cross your arms over yourself, face burning so hot you think your skin might actually steam. "Both of you, stop—"

"I'm not looking!" Chris says, still covering his eyes… still peeking, his ears are bright red. "I'm not—I mean, I saw—I didn't mean to see—"

"Chris, you're literally looking through your fingers." Josh points out.

"I'M NOT!”

Josh swims closer, and you can see his face now. the smirk, yes, but also something else underneath, something almost appreciative. "You want me to help you find it?"

"I want you to stop staring!" You squeak.

"I'm not staring." Josh shrugs.

He’s definitely staring.

"I'm... assessing the situation. for rescue purposes."

"Josh—" you start.

"Okay, okay." He holds up both hands, backing off a little, but his grin is still there, and his eyes keep flickering down. "I'll look for the top, stay there."

"I'm not going anywhere, Josh, I'm literally—"

But he’s already diving under, disappearing into the blue-green murk.

Leaving you alone with Chris.

Who has given up pretending not to look.

His hand has dropped from his face. He’s just... standing there, water lapping at his hips, staring at you with this expression you can’t fully parse. It’s not just embarrassment or shock anymore.

It’s hunger.

He seems to be deciding on something, looking back towards the shore and then to you, He moves toward you, big body cutting through the water, he wraps around you without a word, the full shadow of his large frame covering you, strong arms wrapping around you, pulling you against him in a desperate, fumbling attempt to hide you from view. His hands are firm against your back, pressing you forward, and the momentum of it makes you stumble, makes you grab onto his arms for balance, and then:

His bare stomach presses flush against your bare breasts.

The contact is electric. His skin is warm despite the cold water, soft with that little squishy middle he’s self-conscious about, but firm underneath with muscle. Your nipples, hard from the shock of the cold ocean and the adrenaline, drag against his abdominal muscles as he pulls you in tighter, trying to hide you. The sensation makes your knees weak, a sudden, inappropriate heat flooding your belly despite the public setting.

“Chris—” you gasp, your voice small and trembling.

"I got you—I'm shielding you—" Chris's voice is strangled, high-pitched, cracking on the words. His arms are still tight around you, and he’s holding you so close that there’s no space between you at all. Your tits are squished against him, your cold nipples poking against his skin, and every tiny movement either of you makes causes the most obscene friction. "I'm just—I'm being a human shield—Josh can't see—no one can see—"

"Chris—" you start.

"I'm protecting you—"

"Chris, my boobs are—"

"I KNOW." His voice cracks again, and you feel his stomach clench under your chest. His eyes are fixed somewhere over your head, deliberately not looking down, and his face is so red. "I know they're—I can feel—I'm not trying to—just until Josh finds your top. I'm not letting anyone see you like—like this—"

"Like what?" Josh's voice cuts through the moment, amused and sharp. You can’t see him past Chris's broad shoulders, but you can hear the smirk in it. "Like topless? Because bro, I already saw. The horse has left the barn on that one."

"Then stop looking!" Chris barks, and his arms tighten around you, pulling you even closer. You make a small gasping sound as your breasts press harder into him, the soft flesh squishing against his warm skin. You can feel his heartbeat, fast and frantic, hammering against your cheek where your face is pressed to his chest.

"I'm not looking, I'm looking for her top" You hear a splash as Josh dives under again.

But Chris’s body is betraying him. You can feel his heart hammering as he holds onto you, you can feel the way his breath hitches as he fights his desperate arousal while you both wait for Josh to find—

“Found it!” Josh’s voice cuts through the haze, dry and amused.

You tilt your head to peek around Chris’s frame, he’s rigid, unmoving, a human barricade, and see Josh wading toward you, something pastel dangling from his fingers. Your top. He’d found it in the churning surf, the strings trailing in the water.

Josh stops beside the two of you, his turquoise eyes flicking down to the way Chris is clutching you, the way your body is plastered against his front. One dark eyebrow arches, a slow, knowing smirk curling his mouth. He’s close now, invading the bubble of panic and intimacy Chris has created.

“Still protecting her virtue, Hartley?” Josh asks, voice low and teasing. He lifts the bikini top, twirling it around one finger. “Or just enjoying the feeling?”

“Shut up,” Chris snarls, uncharacteristically sharp, his arms tightening around you. You feel him unmistakably hard against your tummy, trapped in his swim trunks, and he is trying to shift his hips away but only succeeding in grinding you harder against his stomach. “Just—just help her get it on, okay? D-don’t look”

Josh laughs, a rich, cocky sound. “hard to see the goods when they’re squished against you like that, Cochise”

Josh moves behind you, and suddenly you’re sandwiched between them; Chris’s broad, warm chest pressed against your front, his stomach muscles flexing nervous and fast against your nipples, and Josh’s tan, dripping chest hovering inches from your back as he reaches between you and Chris to slip your top between the two of you.

Josh’s fingers brush your shoulder blades as he starts re-tying your bikini strings, his touch is casual but electric. you’re trapped, immobile, caught between Chris’s protective panic and Josh’s amused efficiency.

“You know,” Josh says conversationally, his voice pitched to carry over the rolling waves as he starts tying the neck of your bikini now, his hot breath ghosting over your cool skin, “it’s interesting, we have ‘Sir Modesty’ over here”—he tugs the strings tight, making you gasp as the fabric cups your boobs again—“squashing your tits against him like he’s trying to merge your bodies through osmosis…”

“Josh—” Chris chokes out, his face buried in your wet hair now. he’s still hard, you can feel it, pulsing and insistent against you, your cunt pulsing in a response he can’t feel. He hasn’t moved his hands from your hips, fingers digging in possessively even as he shakes with embarrassment.

“…and then there’s me,” Josh continues, ignoring him, tying the strings with deft movements. His fingers trail down your spine, just for a second, before he secures the knot. “Finding your lost property, returning it to its rightful owner, doing the actual heroic work while he just… stands there…copping a feel.”

Josh steps back, but not before his hand drops to your waist, giving you a squeeze that’s somehow both friendly and possesive, his fingers brushing the sensitive skin on your ribs above Chris’s grip.

“So,” Josh asks, stepping to the side so he can see both of your faces, Chris red and flustered and refusing to let go of you, and you; dizzy and breathless and soaking wet in more ways than one. He crosses his arms, smirk widening, turquoise eyes gleaming. “Who’s really your knight in shining armor here? The guy practically giving you a mammogram, or the guy who actually saved the day?”

Chris makes a sound of exasperation, his grip finally loosening just enough for you to step back a little. You’re facing him still, your hands braced against his heaving chest, your own heart hammering so hard you’re sure he can hear it. He looks down at you, his blue eyes blown wide with arousal and panic and that desperate, adoring obsession that’s become the gravity between you.

“I—I was trying to help,” he stammers, his voice cracking, “I didn’t mean to—I just wanted to—”

He breaks off, his gaze dropping to your mouth, then lower, to where your bikini top is now securely in place but your nipples are still visibly peaked beneath the wet fabric, aching and sensitive from the friction of his skin.

Josh clears his throat, loud and deliberate, and Chris flinches, remembering you’re not alone.

The surf crashes around your waist, Chris’s hands are sliding to cradle your hips again, proprietary and needy, while Josh is watching with that knowing half-smile, waiting to see which one of them you’ll reward with praise.

<3