Warning: Slash like whoa, with a little bit of angst. Brody/Hooper, implied Brody/Ellen.

Authors: Pirate Hatter and murderofonerose

Words: 7179

Disclaimer: It would be nice to make money from this, but we don't...

Beta'd by HouseKeeper13.

Drunk Hooper is funtimes. Just ask anyone.


Part I


Brody stood on the closing beach, looking about all tall and policeman-like for any more stragglers. No one on the beach after sunset unless by special permit, the sign said, and he fully intended to hold the people of Amity Island to it.

He didn't notice Matt Hooper sneaking up behind him, making faces that grew more and more ridiculous the longer he could get away with going unnoticed. When he was close enough he reached out, snatched Brody's hat, and darted away.

"Hey!" Brody shouted, wheeling around so quickly he almost fell over in the sand. "Hey! You… I'm going to arrest you—" He caught sight of who it was in the dusky light and took off running after him. "Come back, Hooper, I swear to god! Give me my hat back!"

"You can't catch me," Hooper yelled, leaping from dune to dune and laughing maniacally. "I am a young and sprightly college graduate!"

Hell he's fast, Brody thought. Luckily Hooper seemed pretty unsteady in the soft give of the sand, so he was able to catch up.

"Yeah, well I'm older and stronger than you!" he shouted back, and tackled Hooper into the dunes face first.

The sand was still warm, and Hooper suddenly found himself discovering that it tasted of salt and grit as well. He also found that he didn't really mind all that much and that if he turned his head to the side a bit he could actually breathe.

"You got me, officer," he laughed.

"Hey—"

Hooper was squirming around to try and hide the stolen hat under himself so Brody couldn't get to it.

"Hey, stop… stop moving around so damn much!"

"I can't help it," Hooper protested, still laughing. "The sand gets everywhere, and it tickles."

"Look, I'm not in any mood to play games, Hooper, so just give me my hat."

"Can't. The sand sharks got it."

Brody rolled his eyes. "Oh you're hilarious. Really." He shuffled off to the side and pushed at Hooper and managed to turn him over.

"Seriously," Hooper giggled, "sand sharks!"

Hat in hand, Brody just sort of stared at him. "Are you drunk?"

Hooper stretched and put his hands behind his head with a big, dopey grin. "Maybe just a little."

Brody leaned down and sniffed his breath. It didn't seem like a lot of alcohol… maybe just two or three beers. Or maybe more. He frowned. "What the hell, Hooper?"

"It was a tribute," Hooper informed him. "To Quint. I heard someone singing one of those dirty sea ditties he liked to sing. God what a bastard…"

With a sigh, Brody sat back on his heels and pulled his hat onto his head. "Yeah," he agreed tiredly. It was almost time to go home for the day, and he didn't really want to have to deal with a drunken, reminiscing Hooper on top of that. "Yeah. Real bastard. I'm sure he's glad we killed the shark, though."

Hooper shook his head. "Nah, son-of-a-bitch probably stopped caring as soon as it bit him in half. I mean, you heard him talk about it, he was impressed by the damn thing. Once he knew he was dead he was probably just like, 'Eh, fuck 'em, I just want a beer.' So, yeah… beer. It seemed fitting."

The imitation (and sentiment) was so spot on that Brody had to suppress a smile. "That's very… cynical of you."

They sat there for a while, listening to the surf roll in and out. Hooper amused himself by scooping up handfuls of warm sand and letting it slide down his wrist into his sleeve. Every few minutes he had to heave half up and twist his arm awkwardly to dump out the sand accumulating around his elbow.

Eventually, Brody looked down thoughtfully at him and said, "I don't think I've ever heard you swear like that before."

Hooper levered himself up into a sitting position. "I've been communing with the spirit of Quint," he said. "Heaven didn't want him, obviously, and hell was too dry, so he broke out and haunts that bar on the corner of Main Street. Mouth is absolutely filthy."

Then he grinned and winked, and Brody didn't know whether grin back or shake his head. Finally he just bowed his head and laughed a bit.

"Is that right?" he asked. "Figures. And you're the only one that can hear him?"

Hooper shrugged, dumped the rest of the sand out of his sleeve, and flopped his hands down on his knees. "Nah, usually people just ignore him and wait for him to go away. Life as usual."

"If only he had a chalkboard," Brody said dryly.

That earned him another giggle from Hooper, who had no idea what he was even talking about since he hadn't been there.

And let's call it a night at that, shall we?Brody stood, brushing sand off himself. "You need help up?"

Hooper pouted. "But then you'll take your hat back."

"This hat?" Brody replied, tugging on the brim. "You're drunker than I thought, Hooper. C'mon…" He reached down and pulled Matt Hooper, resident shark expert extraordinaire, to a wobbly stand.

"You're no fun," Hooper grumbled, trying to find his footing in the sand. It wasn't easy; the stuff moved around too much.

"It's not my job to be fun," Brody retorted, supporting him as they started up the beach toward the main drag, where most of the hotels where. "Where are you even staying, Hoop?"

Hooper turned to look at him, blinking a few inches from his face. "Staying? Hm. Hadn't thought of that. Does your couch have a vacancy?" At Brody's incredulous look, he pouted again. "What? Now that the shark is taken care of, I checked out this afternoon. I was going to leave town, but then I got distracted."

Brody sighed. "Distracted… yeah, okay."

"I can crash on your couch, right?" Hooper asked plaintively.

"Yes, you can crash on my couch. Just don't talk to my kids about sharks. Especially Michael. He's terrified of the ocean because of that son-of-a-bitch fish."

The goofy smile returned about the time they hit sidewalk and it became easier to walk without tipping one way or the other. "What about sharks with no teeth?" Hooper asked. "Can I talk about sharks with no teeth?"

"You can talk about unicorns and rainbows. No sharks."

"But… I haven't written a thesis on either of those things…"

"No whining," Brody said firmly. "Come on, can't you move your legs at all? I've been dragging you for the last two blocks."

Hooper slumped comically against him. "Nope," he said, "it's my sacred duty to cause you scoliosis."

There was a bench nearby; Brody spotted it and steered Hooper in that direction. "You're doing a great job of it," he grunted, sitting the younger man down and slumping next to him. "I need a break."

Hooper didn't say anything, just waited for Brody to finish stretching and then rested his head on the Police Chief's shoulder.

Oh boy, Brody thought, looking at him. He was careful, though, to not actually dislodge Hooper. "You really are shit-faced, huh?"

"If I were shit-faced," replied Hooper with some amount of dignity, "I'd be slurring and trying to compare scars and cracking up every other half a sentence. I'm just…" He frowned faintly. "What comes after tipsy? I'm that."

Brody laughed and mused up Hooper's wooly hair. "All right then."

He sat back and gave his back a rest, stretching his arms over the back of the bench. Looking out to the dusky street, he saw that nearly everyone was either crowding around a restaurant waiting for a table, sitting in a bar, or back home with their families, leaving the streets empty and quiet. Brody liked this time of night. It was a good conclusion to every day whether the day was good or bad. He sighed.

A few minutes passed peacefully.

"Nickel for your thoughts?" Hooper offered.

Brody looked at him and almost managed to keep a straight face. He failed, however, and laughed just a bit.

"Just thinking about the whole thing. With the shark. I… can't stop thinking about it."

"Hmm." Hooper sat up and dug around in his pockets, frowning. "Because it was the most exciting thing that'll ever happen around here, even though it was a bad kind of exciting, or because it was a bad thing all around?"

Suddenly his expression brightened, and he dropped a shiny nickel into Brody's hand.

Brody closed his hand around it and smiled. "Maybe it was the kind of thing I was brought here to do. Like fate or God or some bullshit like that brought me to Amity to do something big. And… I'm wondering if this was it."

Hooper shrugged. "Well, even that would be better than never accomplishing anything in life, right? You've got this big, great thing you can look back on and feel good about doing. Lot's of people don't even get that."

"But I liked doing it. Being on the boat, helping Quint tie the knots, getting drunk… I never thought I could be that happy on a boat."

"Oh. Okay." Hooper thought for a moment. "I know. I have the perfect solution!"

"Oh yeah?" Brody eyed him skeptically.

"I," Hooper said importantly, "will buy you a boat."

"No," Brody said firmly, "you will not."

"What? Why not?" Hooper threw an arm around Brody's shoulders. "We could be on the boat, and tie knots, and get drunk. It's not a money thing, is it? Don't worry, I can afford it."

"Yeah, I know. I remember." Brody pulled his head back a little to escape Hooper's beer breath. "I just don't want a boat. As fun as it sounds."

"Well, okay. It could be my boat. But I'd still buy it because you want it. And then I could live on it!" Hooper's eyes misted over. "Yeah. I could live on it, and visit whenever, because this is a frickin' island, and then whenever I visit you can visit me. On my boat!"

"You're out of your mind," Brody chuckled softly and mussed the back of his head. "We gotta get you home. Come on…" Brody stood and held out his hand for Hooper to take.

Grinning lopsidedly, Hooper grabbed the proffered hand and hauled himself up a bit more enthusiastically than necessary, pulling Brody a little off balance.

Brody stumbled back into the street with Hooper hugging onto him like a leech. After a panicked moment he regained his balance and heaved himself and Hooper back onto the sidewalk. Frowning pointedly at the smaller man, Brody began the torturously heavy duty of heaving Hooper back to his house.

Finally, just outside of the nice little beach house with white walls and blue shutters, Hooper straightened up and started walking properly. He didn't unwrap his arms from the taller man, but he definitely wasn't walking like a drunkard any more.

Brody looked at him curiously but decided not to question. He let him go, just for a second, to unlock his front door and open it quietly. His boys were probably already asleep, but he wasn't sure about his wife.

"Ellen? You awake?"

Silence.

"Guess she's not," Brody commented quietly as he led Hooper inside.

"Of course she's not," Hooper replied, sounding more or less alert. "It's past midnight."

"Is it really." Brody hadn't been aware of the time, but if it was past midnight… He shook himself. He didn't feel like it should be the middle of the night, and he wasn't the least bit tired. Maybe his sleep schedule was still reeling from the stress of the attacks – he didn't know. But he did know that Hooper was on him like white on rice and that… was a little disconcerting.

"Hey, Broody," Hooper asked suddenly, with his chin resting on Brody's shoulder again, "…what's your first name again? I forget."

"It's Martin," Brody responded distractedly as he had to practically carry Hooper over to his couch. The man simply refused to be any help whatsoever.

"Martin. Right. Want to go for a walk?"

"You said it yourself, it's past midnight. No I do not want to go for a walk. You're drunk, I'm late coming home, and we only just got here. No."

Hooper shot him a surprisingly perceptive look.

"So make me a cup of coffee. You're not tired, and if everybody's already asleep then it doesn't matter when you turn in for the night as long as it's before they wake up."

Brody frowned at him for a long moment and pushed him onto the couch. "I hope you have a really bad hangover," he muttered, and went to the kitchen to make coffee.

Grinning to himself, Hooper flopped on the cough while he waited for Brody to return. Tonight would be a good night, he could tell – even though it was, technically, tomorrow already. This time, at least, they wouldn't end up skulking around the docks and gutting a several-hours-dead tiger shark.

Brody returned with two mugs of black coffee and some sugar packets in his pocket. He waited for Hooper to sit up, then sat on the couch next to him, put the coffee down, and fished the packets from his pocket.

"You don't want cream or milk or anything, do you?" he asked, just to know if he had to get up again.

"Oh don't get up. I'll hold off on the cream for now," Hooper said, taking the coffee graciously.

All right."

Brody tossed the sugar packets on the table, save for one, which he tore open and poured in his own mug. Sitting back on the couch, he stared at the wall and sipped his drink. He thought about Quint and how he sort of blamed himself for the man's death. If only he could've gotten a hold of the man's hand… who knows, maybe Quint would still be alive. Maybe. Brody was suddenly consumed by his musings and his partial guilt he wasn't aware of Hooper scooting subtly closer to him.

"Good coffee," Hooper commented lightly.

"Mm-hm," Brody agreed, still lost in his thoughts. He took another sip of and swallowed slowly, letting it burn his throat a little.

There was a brief lull in the conversation as Hooper kept scooting, until their arms were touching. When Brody didn't protest, Hooper smiled faintly into his mug.

"Kind of hot," he murmured in the general direction of his coffee.

Brody made a small noise of agreement without really listening and drank another mouthful. Where are you really, Quint? Heaven or Hell? Kind of wish I knew I'm sorry.

Hooper looked up from the coffee and stared, close range, at Brody for a while. The older man didn't seem to notice.

"Quarter for your thoughts," he said softly after a while.

Brody didn't say anything for a while. After maybe a minute, he blinked and seemed to snap out of his funk. He sighed and sat the mug on the arm of the couch.

"Are you going to throw money at me so I'll talk to you?" Brody finally looked at Hooper with a mild, joking smile.

Hooper shrugged. "I could think of more inappropriate things to throw money at you for," he said under his breath.

"What?"

"Nothing." I did not just say that. Hooper sighed and slumped back against the couch cushions. "Will throwing money at you get you to talk? Because I have a pretty good arm."

"Just give me something to talk about. The weather? It's sunny. It's always sunny on this damn island." Brody took off his glasses and ran a hand over his face, leaving the coffee cup balancing on the armrest.

"It's nighttime. There is no sun."

"Oh sure there's no sun. But it was sunny today. And yesterday. And I'm damn sure it'll be sunny tomorrow…" Brody downed the last of his coffee and rubbed his eye with the heel of his palm.

Hooper patted Body's shoulder sympathetically. "Talk about something that doesn't make you so tense. What do you like doing around here?"

Brody thought. And thought. After a long pause, he shrugged and said, "I don't know. Talking to you is okay."

Hooper chuckled and finished his coffee, practically glowing.

Brody looked at Hooper and then his cup. "More coffee? I think… there's some left."

"Thanks, but no. Want to go on that walk now?"

"Depends. How are you feeling? Stable enough so I don't have to break my back?" Brody lifted an eyebrow skeptically at him.

Hooper stood up. "I'll be fine. How about you, Old Man?" He smirked and made a show of offering to help Brody off the couch.

Brody snorted at the comment. He couldn't have been more than… ten years? Ten years older than Hooper. Anyway, he wasn't an old man. He stood up by himself, shot Hooper a look, and picked up his glasses from the couch.

"Fine. We'll walk."

"All right!" Hooper jabbed a hand victoriously up into the air. "To the beach, Batman!"

Brody grabbed the front of Hooper's shirt and clamped his other hand over his bearded mouth. "No shouting," he hissed, "If you wake up Ellen, she'll kick you out on your ass. Capisce?"

For a moment, Hooper was seriously distracted from answering due to the feeling of Brody's palm over his lips. He resisted the urge to stick his tongue out, caught his breath, and nodded.

"All right." Brody let him go and headed for the door, now dragging Hooper along by his arm. The air outside was cooler than before, and for a moment Brody considered going back inside and grabbing a sweater. But he decided against it when a warm breeze passed by and reminded him it was still July.

Hooper opened his mouth to say something, but found that it had gone a bit dry. He swallowed and tried again.

"Beach?" he suggested softly, as if that whole geeky Batman thing hadn't happened. (Except for the part where Brody had shut him up. Hooper didn't really mind that part at all.)

"Sure," Brody agreed, slowing down his pace a bit so Hooper could walk by his side. He smiled a bit at the shorter man and looked ahead again at the street and sidewalk before them. One thing about Amity Island that Brody couldn't help but admit was convenient was the fact that no matter where you were, the beach was always in walking distance.

The smile didn't go unnoticed by Hooper, who was hard-pressed not to start skipping down the sidewalk or whistling something cheerful. He settled for a slight bounce in his step and letting their hands accidentally brush every once in a while.

Suddenly Brody turned down a road at random and it took Hooper a second to realize he wasn't walking next to him anymore. Brody knew he wouldn't expect the sudden turn, but as it has been stated before, 'All roads in Amity lead to the beach.'

"You keeping up there, pal?" Brody teased as Hooper raced up to his side.

"I can keep up with whatever you feel like throwing at me," Hooper shot back, rather proud to hear that he wasn't even out of breath. "Believe me."

"Oh really…" Brody smiled a devious smile and suddenly broke into a sprint, racing ahead of Mr. Money Bags Scientist Man.

For a moment Hooper stood in his wake, blinking in surprise. Then a shit-eating grin spread across his face.

"Oh you are so on," he said, and took off after him.

In the intercampus competitions, Hooper had been the marine biology department's champion in the triathlon for three years in a row. Passing Brody was a piece of cake, and he blew the older man a raspberry as he did it.

"I don't think so!" Brody nearly growled, but the indignation dissolved into laughter as he chased after the younger, shorter, and clearly faster man. They ran across the dark beach, with sand spraying up behind each footstep. Brody started to catch up with Hooper, and was nearly in arm's reach, but each time his arm shot out to grasp the man's shirt it would always be that just much out of his reach. Each time, Hooper looked back and laughed loudly, almost mockingly.

Brody was not going to stand for that.

With a final kick of speed, he jumped forward and tackled Hooper into the sand for the second time that night. That'd show him.

They went down with a final magnificent spray of sand and Hooper's surprised shout ringing out across the empty beach.

"Oof," Hooper jokingly complained, grinning, "you got me again, officer."

Brody sat up and pulled one of Hooper's arms behind his back, grinning and laughing breathlessly. "Y-You're under arrest, Mr. Hooper."

Laughing as well, Hooper managed to bat him off and squirm around so he was lying on his back instead of his stomach.

"You'll never take me alive."

If Broody noticed how obvious a lie that was, he didn't comment on it.

"Are you resisting arrest, Mr. Hooper?" Brody asked, unable to suppress a wide grin.

"You better believe it, copper. And hey, you know, there's still sand in my pants from the last time you tackled me. Can I get some help with that?"

Brody's smile didn't go away, but his head tilted a bit to one side in something that was vaguely mirrored surprise, only not. "You want me to get the sand out of your pants?"

Practically buzzing with hope and anticipation (because Brody didn't appear to be rejecting the possibility out of hand), Hooper half sat up and whispered huskily in the police chief's ear, "No. I want you to get me out of my pants."

Broody blinked and stared at the sand past Hooper's shoulder, unable to get a proper breath all of the sudden. "Wh-what? Hooper…" He looked at him now, eyes wide and confused. "Hooper, I'm married…"

"And I've got a girlfriend," Hooper lied. (He practically had to bite his tongue to keep from completing the stereotype and adding in Canada.) "What people don't know about doesn't swim up and bite them in half, unless it has gills and lots of teeth. We don't have gills. And, well, there doesn't have to be teeth…"

"I… I can't. You're a man and I don't exactly go… for men…" Brody furrowed his brow at Hooper's smile. "And you're smiling. I'm flat out rejecting you and you're smiling…"

Hooper's hands settled on Brody's knees and started to inch their way up his thighs.

"Martin, nothing you can say is going to cover up that bulge in your slacks."

Brody glanced down and— "Oh God…"

Well, that was embarrassing. Brody tried to catch his breath but caught one of Hooper's wrists instead.

"Listen, you, I'm not about to be demoralized on the damned beach by some… some half-wit shark enthusiast."

"Ouch, you wound me," Hooper said dryly. "I don't remember hearing any complaints when I was feeling you up under the table on the Orca."

"Oh hell, that did happen…" Brody frowned and looked downward, as if thinking back to a dream he'd had somewhat recently. It was fuzzy, but he could remember.

"Yeah. It did." Hooper gently pulled his wrist out of Brody's grasp and returned it to his leg. "Do you need to be on a boat to be okay with it? Because I can buy a boat. I've been meaning to anyway."

"Yeah," Brody said quietly, "yeah get a damned boat. That'll fix everything."

"Yeah, I'll—" Hooper blinked. "Wait, you aren't being sarcastic, are you?"

"Yes, I'm being sarcastic, Hooper." Brody rolled his eyes but couldn't help a small chuckle. Hooper really was too adorable sometimes. Brody looked at his puppy-like expression and smiled a bit. What the hell. Nobody had to know. "All right."

"What all right—?" Hooper asked right before he was cut off by a very solid kiss from Brody.

Shit, it actually worked, Hooper managed to think before his eyes slid closed and his brain shut off.

Brody found that kissing Hooper was… much hairier than kissing Ellen, or any other woman. But Hooper knew what he was doing and Brody was very much enjoying the kiss, which did in fact involve a bit of teeth. One of them would half pull away for a quick breath, and the other would refuse to let go completely and catch his bottom lip with just enough force to be noticeable and draw him back. It was tongues and lips and a little grainy (from the sand that had been caught in Hooper's beard earlier), and it wasn't long before Hooper's hands were in Brody's hair and messing it up something awful.

In response, Brody held on to Hooper's hips and dug his thumbs in somewhat painfully (for Hooper, at least). The harder Hooper pulled at Brody's hair, the harder Brody dug his fingers into Hooper's hips. It was kind of a warning and balance system. But even with that, Brody started to get ahead of himself and lowered his body onto Hooper's, pushing him into the sand a bit more forcefully than strictly appropriate.

Finally Hooper pulled their mouths apart, gasping. "Pants," he croaked. "Or shirts. Or, just, something…"

Brody grunted in agreement and pushed up Hooper's shirt, up, up, and over his head. He laughed and pressed his palm over Hooper's chest. "Broken heart?"

Hooper went to work on Brody' shirt too. "Like Humpty fuckin' Dumpty."

"Language," Brody reminded him, speaking softly against his lips. "You're a rich, sophisticated scientist, right?"

"Doesn't mean I can't swear like a sailor when I feel like it," Hooper insisted. He was having trouble with buttons.

"Swearing doesn't suit you," Brody replied and sat up to undo the buttons himself.

"Why the hell not?" Hooper pouted. "I could have gotten that…"

"No, and no," Brody repeated and shucked off the shirt. "You're too innocent and naive to swear."

Hooper's eyes narrowed. That was exactly what pissed him off about older men; they almost always assumed that he didn't know what he was doing when it came to things outside of college. Well. He'd show Brody. He'd show him all night long.

"I am," Hooper hissed, "neither of those things." And he dragged Brody's mouth back to his, rocking his hips just right to prove that he meant it.

Brody made a muffled grunting sort of noise and ground his hips against Hooper's. Pleasant surprise; Hooper did seem to know a thing or two in the ways of debauchery. Wasn't that nice. He grabbed Hooper's hips and pushed them down into the sand, reclaiming control of their position.

That grip was going to leave bruises, but Hooper didn't care. He slid his hands down Brody's back – not leaving marks, because Brody was married and would care – and groped the other man's ass.

Brody broke the kiss and pressed his nose to Hooper's cheek, rocking his hips between Hooper's hands and his groin. He'd never been so turned on before, especially not on the beach and especially not with another man. First time for everything.

"Hey," Hooper panted, "do you know what to do here? Know where everything goes?" He gave Brody's ass another grope and added tauntingly, "'Cause I do. I've done it before and everything."

"Methinks you doth overcompensate too much," Brody mumbled into his ear and tugged on the waist of his jeans.

"I have nothing to overcompensate for," Hooper retorted smugly. "It's called college experimentation, my friend."

"So you're a slut, huh?" Brody sniped back, but with a joking grin. "Been around the block a few times?"

"No." Hooper made a face. "Ew. Sluts are those sorority girls with skirts three sizes too small who get drunk and throw themselves at anything with a dick. My friend and I had so much more class than that."

"If you say so," Brody said distractedly and looked down at Hooper's jeans. The bulge was rather… noticeable. And as much as Brody knew that it shouldn't turn him on or even attract him in the slightest, it did.

Maybe it's just Hooper? he thought. I don't remember feeling like this about any other man It's probably just Hooper.

"Hey, we were," Hooper told him, suddenly serious. "I am. And, uh, right pocket."

Brody looked at Hooper for a second and then pressed his hand to Hooper's right pocket. There was, what appeared to be, a small bottle inside. Brody dug it out and looked at it curiously.

"Lubricant… Do you just carry this with you or what?"

Hooper flushed a bit. "It's not, exactly… It's sort of a hand oil. To keep from getting calluses."

"Oh like you weren't coming onto me this whole night," Brody said huskily and kissed Hooper very passionately.

"Mm…"

Hooper felt his eyes roll back in his head and fairly melted into the sand, and felt way to comfortable to even open his eyes when the kiss ended a couple of minutes later.

"Yeah," he panted. "Yeah. Condoms too, same pocket."

"You're prepared," Brody kissed his neck and bit it a little. That earned him a wonderful little squeak from his friend.

"W-well yeah, I usually am… I mean, I didn't actually expect… you to… want…"

As Brody nipped lightly at the base of his neck Hooper, groaning, gave up on finishing that sentence.

Brody hesitantly laid his hand over the bulge in Hooper's jeans. After a long, deep breath, he popped open the button and undid the zipper. The jeans were pulled down to Hooper's knees but the underwear remained. Brody looked down and saw Hooper's tented white briefs. He nearly laughed.

Hooper blushed bright red. If he'd actually been trying to get into Brody's tan, police-issue slacks tonight, he would have worn impressively expensive silk boxers or something. As far as proof of his pure intentions went, he would have preferred to be mistaken for the man-whore Brody seemed to think he was anyway.

"You're blushing," Brody pointed out as smugly as anyone could. Hooper covered up part of his face with his hand. "Aw, don't be like that."

Brody removed the hand from Hooper's face and kissed his palm.

Oh god. Hooper could feel that simple, soft press of lips go straight to his heart. Straight – ha, how appropriate.

Brody was straight. Hooper only was half the time. Brody was married. Hooper hadn't had a date or even been laid in months, partly because of the shark hunt. They had nothing in common except for maybe Quint and the Orca, but neither of those were around anymore anyway.

So what would happen after tonight? The answer was obvious. Brody would go back to his wife and his job, and Hooper would go back to the mainland, and that would be it.

Hooper didn't want that to be it. That whole thing about better to have loved and lost, he knew, was absolute bullshit; leaving Amity was going to hurt like hell. Better to put a stop to things now, before he got an even better taste of what he would be missing. At the very least, he should have admitted that he didn't have a girlfriend (Canadian or otherwise), or anyone that he cared as strongly about as he'd recently come to care for Brody.

This was an amazing, miraculous, wonderful mistake, and Hooper should have put a stop to it. But he couldn't. He just couldn't bring himself to.

Instead, his free hand slid down Brody's chest. His fingers hooked deep past the waistband of Brody's slacks and he couldn't stop himself breathing out needily.

"Martin…"

God. He did sound like one of those sorority girls.

Brody smiled at him and kissed his palm again before kissing his wrist, then his forearm, then his upper arm, then his shoulder, then his neck… and he stayed on his neck. He kissed and sucked on his neck until it made Hooper squirm and moan and beg for more. And he gave him more. Brody gave Hooper's still-clothed cock a long, tight stroke, to let him know that he was there. And that he needed Hooper. And that he maybe even loved him a little bit, even if it was just a friendship. Hooper was the one of the most amazing, funny, silly, cynical, and creative people Brody had ever known, and he wasn't sure he wanted him to leave. Sure, he loved Ellen and the kids, but Hooper… there was obviously something about him that Brody couldn't help but be attracted to.

"Oh come on, Martin, please, just, please," Hooper groaned, twisting this way and that trying to keep some sort of consistent angle against Brody's always-moving hand to press against.

Withdrawing his hand, Brody undid his own pants and pulled them down. With some readjusting and climbing on top of Hooper, Brody ground their hips together and groaned with relief. He kissed Hooper's neck, bit it lightly, and kissed it again, mumbling little half-words and ill-formed sentences of happiness and pleasure.

Meanwhile, Hooper's hands were all over him, doing things that couldn't possibly be legal – reaching around behind and between his legs to massage his balls, tweaking his nipples in time with random thrusts, and even, at some point, wrapping around both of them at once and squeezing in some sort of Morse code. But Brody didn't protest to a thing he did; Hooper, for all his talk, was really as experienced as he claimed to be, even if he seemed a bit… flailing with his actions. Everything felt amazing and he found himself wondering why he hadn't had the idea to do this from the moment he'd met Hooper on that damn dock with all those morons going out to find the shark. Brody huffed and groaned and ground down against Hooper, never wanting this amazing feeling to fade.

"Want you," Hooper whispered, the words sounding sudden and raw. He could feel himself almost at the edge and it was way too soon for it to be over, so he clutched desperately at Brody to keep himself anchored and whispered, "You need to s-stop and, I don't care who's where, I just, I want, need you…"

Hooper didn't notice he was shaking, but Brody did.

"Oh…" Brody grabbed the lubricant from where it had fallen into the sand and popped it open. He realized that Hooper needed to have some sort of preparation but… he didn't know how comfortable Hooper would be with him doing… that. "H-Hooper…"

Hooper fixed him with a wild, slightly desperate look – kind of like the look he'd given Brody when those air tanks had been accidentally untied, only with a bit less actual anger.

"Don't give me that," Brody nearly growled. "Fine, fine." He squirted the lubricant onto his right hand and made sure the majority of it was near his fingertips before pushing them slowly into Hooper.

"Oh f—" Hooper bit his own lip hard to keep from crying out, and scrabbled in the sand trying to push himself further along those fingers. Because, sure, Brody didn't really know what he was doing and really should have started out with just one finger and it really kind of hurt, but those were only minor concerns and Hooper was beyond being concerned about anything that wasn't Brody inside of him.

"Does it hurt?" Brody found himself asking as he moved the fingers hesitantly. "Hooper?"

"Dothatagainrightthererightnow…"

Brody's eyes widened a bit and rubbed his fingers like he had just a second ago. "Really? It feels that good?"

Hooper pressed his face against Brody's neck. "Yes," he moaned against his skin, shuddering violently at every brush of those work-roughened fingertips against his prostate. It felt so good he could have cried. "Yesyesyesyesyes…"

Either it really has been too long since the last time he'd gotten laid, or he was about to be well and truly fucked. Pun intended.

"Okay," Brody agreed huskily. He'd never seen Hooper get so… passionate about anything like this. Even when trying to convince the mayor to close the beaches – this was something else entirely. Slowly, Brody withdrew his fingers, thinking Hooper was ready, and grabbed the lubricant again.

When Hooper began to whine and cling closer, Brody hushed him and kissed his neck.

"Just… just hold on." Brody shakily unwrapped the condom and rolled it on, then put lubricant on that. He took a slow, calming breath and grabbed Hooper's hips. "You ready?" he asked quietly, as if not wanting to disturb the peace of the nighttime beach.

"Yeah," Hooper breathed, nodding emphatically. His eyes were big and wide and dark, and once never left Brody's face.

"Okay," Brody said again and pushed little by little into Hooper. He groaned, loudly, at the tight warmth. God, it was amazing. His entire body shook and he buried his face in Hooper's neck, taking short, quick breaths. "Hell, Hooper…"

In reply, Hooper pushed Brody's head back far enough to find his lips and kissed him desperately. Brody kissed him back with a soft moan, slowly beginning a rhythm with his hips.

He broke the kiss as the pace sped up, panting against Hooper's cheek. "God… Hooper, you're… amazing…"

Hooper whimpered, and wrapped his legs around Brody's hips. It was awkward, with his jeans still bunched up at his knees, but he could still get the proper leverage to arch his back just right.

"I know," he gasped. "Th-thanks."

"Smug bastard," Brody groaned, smiling against his cheek. The rhythm was turning erratic, needing, and forceful. "Uhn… Hooper… 'm close…"

Yeah, I can tell, Hooper thought. He didn't say it, though, because sure the smug bastard thing made Brody smile now, but he didn't want to push it too far. Because some tiny part of him was actually allowing itself to be convinced that this was too good not to happen again, maybe even before the bruises faded.

"Me too," he mumbled, and pulled Brody as close as he knew how – close, and over the edge.

Brody came with a long groan that disappeared into a sigh. His hand moved from Hooper's cheek to his cock and stroked him roughly to help him climax as well. As he did, Brody watched and, in some part of his mind, he knew he would remember that expression and sound every time he saw the man from now on. He smiled, kissed Hooper, and groped in for his shirt.

Hooper relaxed into the sand, looking up through heavily-lidded eyes and idly pondering the stars. He didn't feel up to thinking about much else for the moment; just the stars and the deliciously close memory of Brody inside him.

Brody was slowly getting dressed again, and noticed that Hooper wasn't even trying. He reached out, aiming to shake his shoulder, but ended up combing his fingers through Hooper's curly, curly hair instead.

"I don't really want to move," Hooper admitted, trying to disguise his wistfulness as laziness.

"At least pull your pants up," Brody urged him softly, leaning forward to make sure he could hear him.

Hooper sighed. "Do it for me?"

"You're a free loader. Ought to kick you off the couch," Brody said with a smile, but pulled up the man's pants anyway. He eyed Hooper's fairly hair chest and stomach, and snorted a small laugh. "Wearing a sweater?"

"Maybe," Hooper replied with a yawn. "Why? Do you not like sweaters or something?"

"Nah. It's good on you." Brody pressed his hand flat to Hooper's flat but fuzzy stomach.

He blinked. "Oh. Um. Thanks."

Brody smiled and looked out towards the ocean, still keeping one hand on Hooper's stomach, not really rubbing, but curling his fingers a little bit on the hair in what seemed to be an appreciative way.

Looking down at the hand on his chest, Hooper felt content. He sat up, and smirked when it accidentally slid down to his groin in the shuffle.

Brody looked at him, smirked back in an 'I don't think so' kind of way, and moved his hand back up to his stomach to resume his rubbing.

Oh well, Hooper thought carelessly. He was sated, for the time being, and hadn't really been angling for anything else anyway. It was enough just to be there, reveling in the afterglow, pressing his lips against Brody's still bare shoulder in not so much a kiss as a light tap.

"What are you thinking?" he murmured.

"Not a whole lot. Kind of hazy." Brody muttered back, still petting Hooper's stomach absently, as if he were patting a cat or a dog or something. Fitting, Brody thought, he's hairy enough.

Hooper tilted his head, trying to decide whether this was good or bad. "Hazy like with drugs?" he asked.

"Wouldn't know." Brody grinned and glanced at Hooper. "Why? Did the naughty rich boy scientist get a little crazy with Mary Jane?'

"Maybe a little. I wouldn't call it crazy, per se… But actually, I meant, you know, antidepressants. I, uh, had a friend who was on them for a bit."

Brody just looked at him for a moment. His stomach tightened and his hand clenched.

"Well… no. Not like drugs."

Hooper looked away awkwardly. "Well… okay."

"C'mere," Brody said after a long pause and pulled Hooper up to him, arm around his shoulders and heads pushed together almost uncomfortably. They sat and looked at the ocean, and Brody found himself hoping that they'd ended up on the east side of Amity. So they could watch the sunrise.

"Hey, maybe," Hooper said after another while (because he was, after all, a masochist), "maybe you should be getting home. Before your wife wakes up and worries."

"…Yeah. We gotta go." Brody nodded and stood, bringing Hooper up with him.

"We?" Hooper blinked. "Oh. Yeah. Right. Couch."

"Yes, the couch. You're out of it, aren't you?" Brody nearly laughed, but instead chose to go with a condescending scoff. "And don't forget your shirt over there."

The shirt lay in a crumpled up heap on the sand. Hooper picked it up and shook it out without comment, not daring to admit that he half hadn't been expecting the invitation to still stand.

"Just…" Brody moved up a bit closer by his side and looked down calmly at Hooper. "Don't tell Ellen about this." He waited until the shirt was over Hooper's head before wrapping his arms around his shoulders and kissing him like it was completely and absolutely normal.

Hooper relaxed into the kiss. Okay, he thought, I'm on dirty little secret duty. Better than nothing.

"I won't," he promised. Ellen was a nice woman, and he didn't really want to wreck her marriage. Even though he kind of was. But, surprisingly, he didn't feel very guilty about it at all.

And neither did Brody. He wasn't going to leave Ellen for Hooper. He loved her, still, and loved his children. Hooper was just… icing. But Brody didn't dare tell him that.

"Let's get going."