Eli had finally made it to the hostel as he pushed open the heavy door to Room 6B with his duffel bag swinging awkwardly against his hip. The air inside was thick with the scent of saltwater, clean laundry, and something muskier, older. He stopped short just inside the threshold, blinking.
Three men looked up at him from various spots around the room.
"Hey," Eli said, voice a little higher than he meant it to be. He smoothed his hair out of his face--a soft mess of golden blonde that always made him look younger than he was. He adjusted the strap on his tank top, acutely aware of the way it clung to his slim, sun-kissed frame.
The man closest to him stood up from the bottom bunk. Tall, thick, with graying hair cropped close to his scalp and a trimmed beard that framed a teasing smile. Tattoos curled up his forearms and disappeared under a tight black t-shirt. He offered a hand.
"Name's Marcus," he said, voice low and smooth. "Welcome to the party."
Eli smiled shyly and shook his hand, feeling the calloused grip.
On the other side of the room, lounging against the headboard of the top bunk, was a man with messy brown hair streaked with silver. He had strong arms, a bit of a belly under his white tank, and a slow, lazy smile that made Eli's stomach flip.
"Ben," he said, raising his beer in greeting. "You're a little late to check-in."
The third man, sitting cross-legged on the floor by the window, didn't get up. He had a sharp jawline, rough stubble, and dark, knowing eyes. A thick, half-finished book sat open in his lap. He gave a brief nod.
"That's Jordan," Marcus said, chuckling. "He doesn't talk much until he wants to."
Eli nodded, feeling a flutter of nerves--or maybe excitement--as he stepped fully into the room. It was simple: one bunk bed, two single beds, battered wood floors, a cracked-open window letting in the heavy night air.
"You traveling alone?" Ben asked, taking a sip of his drink. His eyes raked over Eli casually but not unkindly.
"Yeah," Eli said, tossing his duffel onto the empty single bed across from Jordan. "Supposed to meet some friends later in the week, but... figured I'd come early. Get some beach time."
Marcus grinned, sitting back down on the bed. His thighs stretched the denim of his jeans. "You picked the right hostel for that. And the right room."
Eli flushed under the three sets of eyes. He could feel them taking him in: the slim waist, the soft curves of his arms, the sun-kissed glow of his skin, the mischievous glint he tried--and failed--to hide behind his lashes.
"So, what brings you three here?" Eli asked, desperate to fill the charged silence.
"Annual thing," Ben said, tossing his empty bottle into the trash. "Old college buddies. We pick a spot every year. Surf, drink, pretend we're still young enough to pull all-nighters."
Jordan closed his book with a soft thud and finally spoke, voice rough like whiskey. "And meet interesting new people."
Eli swallowed hard, feeling the heat creep up his neck.
"You surf?" Marcus asked, leaning forward, elbows resting on his knees.
Eli shrugged, biting his lip. "A little. More beach bum than surfer, honestly."
Ben laughed. "That's okay. We need a mascot anyway."
The three men shared a look that made Eli's heart pound. It wasn't threatening--it was teasing, charged, like they knew exactly what he was thinking.
He set about unpacking, pulling out shorts, tanks, sunscreen, a dog-eared novel, all while feeling their eyes drift back to him every few minutes. Each glance was casual on the surface, but it buzzed under his skin, raising goosebumps.
Jordan stretched out his legs, muscles shifting under faded jeans, and asked lazily, "You comfortable sharing a room with a bunch of old guys, kid?"
Eli turned, facing him fully. He smiled sweetly, wickedly, the way he knew he could when he wanted to.
"I think I'll manage," he said, voice soft but daring.
Marcus leaned back on his hands, laughter rumbling low in his chest.
"Oh," he said, exchanging another look with Ben and Jordan, "I think we're going to have a lot of fun this weekend."
Marcus cracked open another beer with a loud hiss and tossed it toward Eli, who caught it clumsily, laughing. He popped the cap and took a sip, the cold liquid washing over the nervous buzz building in his chest.
"You legal, right?" Ben teased, his eyes glinting.
"Twenty-one," Eli shot back, rolling his eyes with a grin. "Barely."
Jordan smirked behind the rim of his own bottle. "Barely's our favorite."
The words hung heavy in the room, thickening the air almost immediately. Eli felt it--not just the flirtation, but the way their gazes lingered too long, not bothering to be subtle now.
They dragged a few chairs over, forming a loose, casual circle. Marcus sat the closest, legs spread wide, his knee brushing against Eli's every so often like it was an accident. It wasn't.
"So where you from, pretty boy?" Ben asked, tipping his chair back just enough to look lazy, dangerous.
"Sweden," Eli said. "From a small town. You blink, you miss it."
"Figures," Jordan muttered, his voice low. "You've got that...fresh look."
Eli chuckled, taking another sip to hide his blush. Fresh. Like he hadn't been looked at like this before. Like he was some prize they were already unwrapping in their minds.
Marcus reached out casually and brushed a piece of blonde hair from Eli's forehead. His fingers were rough but gentle. "You're gonna get eaten alive out here, kid," he said, voice low and rough.
Eli's heart hammered against his ribs. He should have been intimidated, maybe even scared. Instead, he just smiled--slow and daring--and said, "Maybe that's what I'm hoping for."
Ben whistled softly under his breath. Jordan let out a low laugh and leaned back, his hand slipping under his shirt to scratch idly at his toned stomach, lifting the fabric just enough for Eli to catch a glimpse of dark hair trailing downward.
"You hear that, boys?" Marcus said, his voice a growl, but a playful one. "He's trouble."
"The best kind," Ben added, winking.
They talked for a while longer--about nothing and everything. About the best bars in town, about the waves, about stupid things they'd done on previous trips.
And all the while, the air between them thickened like syrup. Every glance was a little longer. Every brush of fingers when they passed another beer a little more deliberate.
Marcus reached for the cooler again and, this time, let his fingers skim up Eli's bare knee as he leaned forward. Jordan casually slid his foot under Eli's chair, bumping against his ankle, leaving it there.
Ben watched him over the rim of his bottle, his gaze slow and heavy, like he was already picturing what was underneath Eli's flimsy shorts and tight tank.
"So," Ben said, after a lazy silence, "you a good boy, Eli?"
Eli tilted his head, playing innocent, but his smirk gave him away. "I guess that depends," he said softly. "Good for what?"
Marcus laughed, low and dirty, and clinked his beer against Eli's bottle.
"I like him," Jordan said simply, voice like a rumble of thunder.
Marcus leaned closer, his breath warm against Eli's ear. "You planning on sleeping tonight, blondie?" Eli turned to him, wide-eyed, playing up the sweetness even as his heart thudded wildly in his chest.
