Well Balanced Pt. 03

"This is it, isn't it?" sighs Darian, "We're done? I mean, where do we even go after this?"

A pang runs through my chest that speaks to a younger me that I thought was dead. I am in a living room with a cream colored couch that has an old coffee stain on the arm. My bags are by the door and a car is waiting outside. The anger is just gone by now. There's a defeated exasperation that both our time has been wasted. My arm still shows deep red scratches that were intended for my neck. Those words hang heavy on my lips.

Then, I realize I am actually on a beach, eyes half closed under a set of dark sunglasses, all of me slowly browning into a more attractive shade. I did not say those words and when I did, there was much less of a question in them. There's a cold aluminum can to my lips that has just enough alcohol inside to require an ID. Granted, the clerk I purchased said can from did not check, but I am used to that. I am in a set of tight board shorts caked in fine sand. The ocean stretches out in front of us. We share our moment with an assorted crowd, toddlers to the elderly, where everyone is having a good time.

I wait because I do not believe that Darian has the emotional fortitude to break up with me without bursting into tears. I don't either, but he doesn't need to know that.

"Like," Darian finally continues, "I'm not trying BMX. I don't think either one of us would be good at rollerblading. Skating, snowboarding, and now surfing. What else is there, Ty?

"Have you ever considered polo?" I say with a sigh of relief.

"No. Horses freak me out. They're too big. Parkour. We're doing parkour next."

"I'm not doing parkour. You're not doing parkour. We are just going to sit on this beach and wait for the tide to turn so that we can surf. We will enjoy it. It will be fun."

"Can you even have fun without a camera?"

I stoop to his level with a soft glare he can't perceived behind my tinted glasses. He's smiling because that's all he can do. Sandy blonde hair, blending into the beach, freckling instead of evenly tanning, he just sits on his towel, knees to his chest and pressing his back against a rented surfboard. He's filled out a bit since we've started this whole affair, even rounded out in a few places, but heavier in the best way. I have made sure that he is the best version of himself that I can make and he appreciates it. He sits there like a playful cat, eager to bat at me again so he gets another reaction.

"I can think of some ways," I say after another sip, "but only if you take off your pants first."

He blushes and shimmies, endlessly pleased with the fact that I just want to take him, right here right now. His own tight shorts aren't helping, and the way his over-sized shirt shows off his collarbone is even worse. I know that my bare chest is doing the exact same thing to him.

"I mean," he mutters, "I'd be down for that."

"No," I say, "No you wouldn't. You think you would, but look at this."

I lean a bit and grasp a handful of sand. I hold it out to him and make sure he knows every single grain.

"Imagine this," I say, "Every grain. Right on your dick. Rubbing into every inch."

He considers and gently pokes at my palm, as if I am lying about how this would feel. I do not lie. I just state the sage truth of the world and hold it to him for his own benefit.

"Yeah," he says, "Fine. No beach sex, unless we somehow can remove the sand, which would also remove the beach. Ocean sex?"

"That I can't comment on. It might be a good idea, but I also imagine the fish would consider it rude."

"We do want to be nice to the fish. Especially considering I plan to eat some of them tonight. Don't want sex mixing with food in that way."

"Most of this stuff is probably flown in anyway. I think that's not a big worry."

"Still. I'd be a bit annoyed if some jellyfish barged in our room and started fucking now that I think about it. So no beach sex, no ocean sex, just regular old boring hotel room sex."

"Maybe some mile high club stuff on our flight back if I feel like it."

That perks up his dirty little mind. Everyone wants that. Everyone needs that. I doubt we'll actually go through with it, but I've been wrong before. My can is empty and I make the requites show of crushing the walls into a mangled heap with nothing but a thought. I carefully place it in our pack out bag so that the fish are even more undisturbed. They deserve a clean home, just as we do.

The wind shifts. I think I pick up on it first, but Darian isn't far behind. We've attuned ourselves to the rhythm of the world, whether it's concrete or ice or the unending churn of the waves. There is a flow the world, a dance of pressure and heat, always in flux. It responds to a gentle hand, a loving hand, an acknowledgment there is no dominance of the other. We all spin around the sun and play. We are wooden blocks and model trains, no stated purpose other than the general suggestion of our arrangement. Even then, the ones that want a more concrete game, the nonsense of teams and scores and referees, demand a structure of lies. I help Darian up and brush the sand from my ass. His fumbles a bit with the board. It will be fine. He's had the lessons and I'm just there to make sure he doesn't drown.

Together, we slowly march towards the water, past a brother and sister making a crumbling sand castle. The tide's coming in to blot out their hard work with a pressed thumb. We all come to that end. I work out my back and shoulders and that end's coming to me too. Not Darian. He's going to live forever on an adrenaline rush.

He hits the water first and freezes. All of him tenses and I watch the recoil from the sea, hissing teeth and I join him. I do the same. The sea is cold and terrible and we are not made for this type of existence. I soldier on, feel the water crawl to my thighs and I raise my arms. I am brave. I am strong. Darian is a coward who does not actually want to do anything even now. But I am farther out than him and he wants to come to me. He is brave. I am foolish. We come up to our collective waists and we can ignore the effects of shrinkage because we are slowly adjusting.

"This sucks," Darian whines, "I hate this. Can we go back to the hotel? We can just do this in the bathtub."

"If you want to spend your vacation cooped up in a hotel room, that's on you," I say, "I want to watch you surf."

He pouts but we keep the march out to our chests. The waves are coming harder now and I brace. Cold, endless cold and it is perfect. I feel it down to my bones and I am lave. It is a cold bit of pain, but invigorating, much better than the slowly drying bake of the sun. I feel all of ti crash against me.

Darian's struggling. It takes a bit, but I get him on the board and he starts paddling out. The water can't reach him and he is slowly drying out again.

We pass the breaking point and I tread water, hanging together at the top of the ocean. There's a world beneath us and we can't glimpse it.

"You doing ok?" I ask. Darian paddles up and scans the horizon. He sees the curve and decides that he should be with me.

"Yeah," he says, "God, it's cold though. Is that normal?"

"Probably. I imagine that some parts are warmer than others. I don't know. I trust cold water more than warm water, all things considered. Warm water is never a good sign."

He giggles because we are all children in grown up bodies. I turn my own attention to the water. Rise and fall, nothing breaking, just the breath of the world and its continued urge to exist beyond us. We gently bob like seabirds.

"I love you," Darian says, completely unprompted,

"Yeah and?" I ask.

He splashes me. Frankly, I deserve it. He also deserved what I gave because that little breakup stunt he pulled on dry land.

"You're such a dick," he says. I can hear the smile at the edges of the words though. There is no lie in anything between us.

I do not splash him back. I take my punishment on the chin.

"I love you too," I say.

"Fucking knew it," mutters Darian. I let him think the wind took it all away so that I don't have to respond. I am more concerned with the bit of swell heading out way.

Raw little kid excitement starts rising in my chest. There's still enough space for that. That's Darian's job. It's really the reason I've decided to keep him around. With his erratic thrashing, he spreads open my rib cage and soothes away my black heart. Right now, he's drumming against his board and goading me on. I paddle around and assume the position. Darian joins me. We wait.

For once in our shared lives, I'm better at him than something. I catch the wave just a hair quicker, come to my feet just a little bit smoother, don't wobble just as much as the water slowly rises underneath us. On my back, the spray pushes me and I keep low. I am a bullet in the rifle of the wold. Wind around me, sun above me, water beneath me, sand ahead of me, all of that combine to the moment and the will. A shift and I rise. Another shift and I fall. The bullets spins and falls along a set trajectory set upon us all by a spark no one struck. Then I hear a splash behind me and that brings me back. I turn and find myself alone.

The wave peters out and I am left alone in the water. Someone tosses a beachball. Someone cracks a beer. A family takes a toddler down to a tidal pool to play with the crabs. Darian's gone, just gone. My heart quickens and my eyes go wide. The water is deep and dark and cold. The world is ending and the one bit of light is about to go out.

Then a matted head of blonde hair breaks the surface, sputtering icy brine and scrambling to a board. He's laughing. He's laughing as the world has failed to kill him once again. I slowly drop and angle myself over as comes back to his perch.

"You ok?" I ask.

"Fine," he sighs, "I'm fine. Met a shark. Saw a hot mermaid. Or I just hit my head a little bit. I don't think I like surfing."

"Don't be like that. We've finally found something where you have to try."

"Then how come you get to be so good at it?"

"Because sometimes the world is nice and everything is exactly as it should be. Come on. Unless you want to go for a full swap and pull a camera out of your ass."

"I don't think a camera would fit in there."

"Well, I guess we know what we're doing tonight."

He laughs again and he starts attacking the world again. It's an empty threat anyway. I have too much money wasted on those to waste them again.

---

The night is hot. Not quite as hot as the day, but the crowd is thicker and that just makes it worse. The beach was open. The town is blocked off with bodies and buildings. All that heat has nowhere to go but back into us as we mill around a sputtering fountain with charmingly cracked tiles. A full band sits in their under the table assigned spot and serenades us all with heartache and passion. Darian squeezes my hand and I squeeze back. The song ends and the gathered tourists clap. A wave of the more generous push forward to toss loose bills and coins into an open guitar case.

I fumble with my wallet and Darian snatches it from me before I can do anything responsible. He rummages around until he satisfied and hands ti back to me, slightly lighter. And before I can stop him, he's off, nudging the crowd aside so he can slip through. I miss him. Even for this short little jaunt, I miss him. A hole by my side, a lopsided weight slowly caving away at my hips. I can still see him. There's no threat. He bends right at the hips and causally tosses the bills in. One of the musicians gives a jaunty tip of the hat and sends him on his way. He's smiling on his way back.

Something in my pocket buzzes at me and all my attention is pulled from the moment.

"Where are you guys," says the angry little screen.

"On our way," I reply and shove it home.

"Isidro's getting impatient," I sigh as I pull Darian along out of the crowd.

"Did you tell him we're on vacation?" he says.

"No. Because technically we're not. It is his dime and that means he's a client. Clients are naturally cranky and always annoying."

"Am I a client? You take pictures of me."

"No. You're a subject. The magazine is usually the client. But I'm also a partner on that, so I'm really the client."

"You started a magazine just to take pictures of me? That's kind of sweet, but also kind of creepy."

I nudge him along without bothering to correct him. He deserves the attention and I make sure that he knows that his physicality is appreciated with a good hard grip on his ass. He yelps and presses into me and makes sure that he wants to drag me to the alley and show his adoration. He doesn't. We are late for dinner and we're both starving.

Slowly, the world around us changes. The streets get a bit more cracked. The buildings have peeling paint. The world is more lived without a care for the facade for the traveling masses. Just as bright, just as lively, but the language of life shifts. Even as the sun sets, a quartet of kids are kicking a ball back and forth across the street. It crosses some invisible line and the score changes. No one is keeping track. It doesn't matter. Endless and eternal, movement for movement's sake and nothing more.

The ball escapes and finds its way to me. They stare at me and Darian. He waves and I do my best to kick the ball back as gently as I can. The kids wave us on and we take a corner. My phone buzzes again and I don't want to check. Isidro can wait. We still have a block to go and that will take us like 10 seconds at most. I can even see the sign from here. The kids go back to their game and we are forgotten. They rapid fire the ball and Darian pulls me along.

The door to the restaurant opens and a man steps out, gazing down the road. A thin mustache cuts over his lip before bleeding into a thin layer of stubble. I glimpse a snaking tattoo under his collar.

"Hi Izzy," Darian calls with a full body wave. The snake turns away from us and a thin pair of glasses greets us from above the mustache.

"Where the hell have you two been," Isidro says with a light accent.

"Having fun," I say, "Didn't think we get any of that here, so we had to stock up."

Isidro just rolls his eyes and gallantly holds the door open for us. Or at least, I thought so. Darian was allowed entry no problem. The door closes as soon as I try to cross the threshold. My almost bruised nose is fine as I enter, catching the scent of a really good meal.

It's a simple restaurant. It's been in his family for a few generations and he's seen no reason to hand it off, even when he decided that he'd be better on a skateboard and trying to break every bone in his body. Then a cousin had an idea to open one on the other side of the border. That turned into another, and then one closed down, and now he has a farm that's also a pseudo resort where we can stay and gawk at alpacas and organic produce operations. That's whats in the conditions for our vacation and we will be there tomorrow.

Darian gives Isidro a big hug. I get a hearty handshake before I forgo the formalities and pull him in too.

"Surprised you two came here with clothes on," he mutters.

"I'm not the married one here," I say, "don't be jealous that I'm getting some now."

"Do you see Flora? Where do you think she is?"

The question is answered by a string of fast Spanish swearing that Isidro returns with equal parts hostility and affection. I am now unhugged. Darian fills in the gap with a pressed shoulder. I guide him to what I assume are our seats.

A frazzled head of long hair, thicker glasses and a weary smile as she sees the two of us.

"Dinner's almost ready," Flora says, "Make yourselves comfy. Isidro, get them something to drink."

"I'm working on it," he calls out.

More Spanish, ragged and blindingly fast, but lively and pure. I collapse in my chair. I don't have the energy to follow along. I don't even know the language all that well in the first place. Darian's looking around like a curious cat at all the signs on the walls, all the pictures. I spy a particular one and point it out.

It's him, catching the lip of a long dry swimming pool. I took that, on my side on a bed of hot concrete, slowly baking again and burning to a bubbly red. It wasn't my first of him, and it certainly wasn't my last. He sees it. The photo is missing a good bit of length on his hair, but it is still him.

There's more of us on the walls, even me scattered about like landmines. Darian is there. So is Isidro, his wife, his brother Leo, me again, and every other name I've seen as a caption. It's a good collage. it's a good mix of everything, a good history of everything I've ever done.

Isidro comes back, balancing a set of drinks in his hands. I see limes and salted rims.

"We're not tourists, Izzy," I say as he sets a margarita in front of both of us.

"Yes you are," he says, "don't try to pretend otherwise."

"I'm a tourist, if that gets me drinks," says Darian, "Does that get me free food too?"

"No. You get that because you are a friend, against my better judgment."

"And the suite at the farm?"

"Because I don't want to give Ty money."

"I wouldn't trust the check to clear anyway."

I knock back a good chunk of the drink and it is good. It is really, really good. Enough of a bite, good sweet lime, and the salt mixes just perfectly. Of course he can make a good margarita. Of course the food coming from the back smells amazing. To break the routine, Darian seems to like his little treat as well. He blinks twice and goes back for more. I have finally found a good vice for him and I will keep that in my back pocket for when it is most needed. Izzy's taking his straight and we are all impressed.

The back door opens and Flora comes out with a nice steaming plate lined with a red sauce that will actually probably just kill me. Izzy's back on his feet, swapping places and coming out with another large bowl. Back and forth, more romantic than any ballroom, slowly piling up at the table. The legs start to buckle and we are ready.

Darian kicks me under the table and I kick back. Something jostles on top and Flora makes us keep our hands to ourselves. We are going to be courteous guests and everything will be clean and polite. Flora nudges Isidro with her well used elbow and he is busy wiping his glasses and making sure that he can see the world clearly. He clears his throat and glances around. There are no threats here. Just two hungry travelers feigning nativity.

"So," he says, "First, thanks for coming out and doing this."

"Izzy," I say, "stop. Gratitude feels weird coming from you."

"It does and that's why he's working on it," says Flora, egging him on.

"Just let me get this out, please. It really does mean a lot and you are really helping us out. It's hard to find people that are willing to travel now. But, anyway. Thank you. Now I'll never say that again."

Flora keeps nudging him. He turns to her and another round of back and forth that I can't follow comes up. She sighs and Isidro has something that I'm not sure he should be blamed for. He is. He is being blamed for it and I'm sure they'll make up.

"I'm pregnant," Flora says with a bit of a sigh. Isidro coughs.

"Oh my God," Darian almost screams, "that's awesome."

I just laugh. I just laugh because I have nothing else to add. I'm smiling because I am happy for my friend and this will always be something to celebrate, especially when he's trying to hide everything sheepish and shied away. We know how it happened. Flora, for her part, just wants to be done with the whole thing. Probably needs to go to bed and get off her feet and just have a moment of quiet. She doesn't get that. She gets Isidro fussing over her, Darian giggling like a toddler and me just shaking my head.

I know how this can go. It didn't go too well for me, but I'm fairly confident that this scenario is at least a little different than my past. That's all it really needs to be.

---

People keep calling out to me to spend money. I guess I look like I have some or they want me to impress Darian. I don't know why. He's mostly impressed with the smooth tile banks and how they would feel rattling under a board. I've thought the same thing and I have to admit, it's tempting. The streets have a flow to them that seems very natural. More so than even the ocean. The only problem is all the people.

We're in the touristy part of the city and that's the worst part. It's no one's fault. The visitors don't know any better. The locals go for the easy marks. There's enough brightly colored signs to keep everyone distracted but I keep steering Darian away from the trinkets. We will get him something later that is actually cool and not some weird pastiche of local flavor cut as a plastic portrait.

He's having fun though. And so am I. It's hot, even under the dark night sky. A band plays in front of a weak fountain. People mill and churn, dropping money in an open guitar case, only for it o flow into small kiosk selling rough dolls, and trickling into a bar only to flow back out as slightly tipsy husbands and visibly annoyed wives. Darian tugs me along and we join the crowd in front of the musicians. I never picked two guitars and an accordion as a particularly sound musical arrangement, but ultimately, everything works out when played well enough.

I understand some of the words, I think. There's talk of love and the moon and love under the moon. Then there's talk of flowers and that's even better. Darian keeps bumping with his hips. I shove back and he boldly snakes his arm around my waist and pulls me close. I let him think he is strong enough to do that. Our art makes us thin and wiry and tough, like gristle, but not strong in any conventional sense. Still, it's an excuse to put an arm around his shoulders and just listen to a guitar player serenade a group of schlubby tourists. I think I'm drunk enough to be schlubby. Darian holds me close and we just listen to the music.

The band hits the end of the song and the gathered crowd claps politely. A few of the more charitable ones even offer handfuls of bills. The more technologically minded just go through the QR code so carefully arranged against the fountain. I go for my wallet, but Darian's beaten me to it. Again.

It's a quick transaction. Still, the absence hits me oddly hard, even over this short span. I'm lopsided. I shiver against the warm night as if the wind cut through me and battered my skeleton with hail. I at least get to watch him shove his way through the crowd, bend and flex and show off every part of him that I love and almost bound back to me. That's fine. That's beautiful. He should be let free and not attached to my hip for my own sake.

His hand wriggles its way into mine and he takes me away. There are more lights to dance under, more music to witness. We can't spend it here in the center of town with the others. We have corners to find and time to kill.

We cut a staggering path, almost dancing against the rough road. I'm just drunk enough to be a liability. My clumsiness is something that is his entertainment, pushing and pulling, making sure that everything is just off balance enough to keep me moving forward.

Our stumbling path takes us back to the ocean, a small overlook of the same smooth stone under a weak street light. We're alone. We're alone and we have a bench. It takes a bit of cajoling but he sets me down and I am slowly sinking.

"I don't think I've ever seen you this drunk before," Darian giggles.

"I haven't drank this much before," I say, "I blame Izzy. He kept giving me tequila."

"He did. And I had some, but I stopped. Are you ok?"

"Yeah, yeah. I'm fine. Just a little wobbly. Thank you for making sure that I'm not falling flat on my face."

"It's what I do. I have to make sure you're upright so you can talk to the airport guys on our way back. I can't do that. What if they're mean to me?"

"Then I have to beat them up. It's not that hard."

"Yes it is. It's like talking with someone on the phone."

I sway into him again and he takes my weight beautifully. He doesn't even try to shove me away. His hair is soft against my cheek. He fits so easily against me, folding together so neatly. He pushes a bit and nothing moves. He has my chest against his cheek, listening to my heart.

"Wow," he murmurs, "You are drunk. Don't think I've seen you this clingy before either."

"Do you not like clingy?" I ask.

"I do. I think I really do."

"Well then, I guess you'll have to keep giving me booze."

"No. Cause then you'll get chubby and chubby Ty isn't my favorite Ty."

I kiss his forehead. He loves every thing I can be and whatever adjective comes in front of my name. He'll take it and hold it and do everything we want together. But he has a point. I am good with my current blood-alcohol mix and how it swims under my stomach. I lean against the bench and pull him onto my lap as we watch the night. The tourists are all back in the city square, milling with their own lights, their own dances and we are alone.

There's too much light from the city to see the stars. Such a shame. We just get the few strongest of the bunch, what might be planets, but are probably just airplanes. It's dark. It's so dark. The sea chases against the shore and pulls the light back into it's depth. I can just barely see a brick cruise ship on the horizon, rows of cabin lights stacked in a grid. From this distance, it doesn't even look like crowded tomb set adrift on the water.

Darian twists until he finds my chin and gives it a soft kiss.

"You need to shave," he mutters.

"I'm on vacation," I say, "I can go a few days without shaving."

"Please don't grow a beard. It wouldn't work with you. Some stubble sure, but no more."

"Are you actually telling me what to do?"

"Yes. Yes I am. I can put down rules too. It's not that hard. New rule. You have to kiss me again."

Darian is such a hardass. I really should have expected this. It's what happens to all of my partners once we get comfortable. Incredibly harsh demands, yelling, things thrown both to the head and away in general, but for now I am whipped enough to obey.

And the ease is giving back with a shimmy against my lap to make sure the know that I am appreciated. He kisses me and tastes nothing but tequila on my lips. He grimaces and glares at me with a smile.

"I'm doubling down on the no alcohol thing," he says, "You're not fun to kiss like this."

I kiss his forehead and prove him wrong. I am very fun to kiss and he knows it, judging by the way the presses back into the touch. He wiggles again and I am feel the obvious urge run through me. Darian giggles.

"And now everything makes sense," he murmurs, "It has been a little bit, hasn't it. The night we got it?'

"And the next morning," I say.

"That was just you stroking me. That doesn't count. It only counts if we're even."

"Then doesn't that mean you owe me something?'

The thoughts run through that pretty little head and he blushes so deep for me. He looks back the way we came and we are still alone except for the lights out in the water. He grinds against me. That is one of the best things we can do. It's all intricate motions, whether it be land, sea or air. Or even just our bodies. It's small and that can move mountains. I sigh and feel something unwind in my core.

"There we go," he murmurs.

"Don't try to do the dom thing now," I sigh, "You're the one grinding on me. You're the one that will get so embarrassed if someone finds us."

"Like you wouldn't run away with your pants around your ankles screaming apologies."

"I might. I might not. We'll only know if you can get me loud enough."

"I like that idea. Is that the game now?"

"I think it is. Are we playing here or do you want to go somewhere else?"

"No. I like here. Unless you want to chicken out?"

I answer by swiftly moving my hand to cup his crotch. He's hard. All that talk and he's just as gone as I am. I roll him along my palm and he stops.

"Not the game, jackass," he says, "I'm supposed to do this to you."

"But you aren't. So you should start."

He huffs at me, but I give him the freedom he needs to work. A moment of clarity, a moment to collect and come up with a plan of attack, he decides on a good game from what I can glimpse of the future. He goes long against the bench, kicking his feet over the edge and pressing his cheek against my thigh, so close the shape of my length. That's the worst part. There's a suggestion of more and I am not getting in. I am in control. I am calm. I am slowly expanding my chest so that I remain as such. Everything is perfect. The night air hangs heavy across my neck, still hot from the day. I taste the salt on the air as it bleeds into the rest of me.

More of me is edge away under his attentive care. We know the act. We've given and received, traded the small sparks and crashing waves back and forth over an eternity at this point. It's comforting, even under the threat of detection. Or the cops. The cops tend to interfere in the worst times. It's in their nature, both here and back home. This is much more important.

It's all over the fabric for the moment and I am perfectly fine with that. I spread wide and long as he kiss my bulge. I amuse myself with his has, the way it's hugged and tight and swaying back and forth with the rest of him. We've both settled into our perfect shapes. I glimpse the underlying form from the clothes. He's still lean. He's still tight. He's still strong. Softened at certain parts, but always in the best way. I take my hand along his back and stroke his spine. The muscles underneath respond and bend to me. It's all call and response, riding a flow of energy so far beyond the both of us.

I hear a soft noise from his chest as he works his mouth. In a beautiful bit of dexterity, he takes his teeth to my zipper and takes it down without a bit of hesitation. I laugh, deep in my chest and take my legs a bit wider. I am a generous game board, nice wide lanes with plenty of room to knock over the pieces.

His hands come into play, unsurprisingly. The mouth is a miracle worker, but even miracles have limits, such as a button and a tight band of elastic. His hands are warm. His touch is soft. His gaze is focused on me and my length, the gentle bob of my heart beat. I slowly scan the area and find ourselves with nothing but the gently crashing waves for company.

Softly, Darian hums as he presses his cheek against my shaft. Heat, careful heat, right into my core. He's so soft and careful, surgically unraveling me. I let out a shaky breath.

"Careful," he murmurs, "you want to be quiet, remember?"

"Maybe," I sigh, "Maybe I want everyone to know that I'm getting head. They'll look at you and realize that they'll never get it this good."

"Nope. No changing the game mid round. Just let me win and you can give me a prize afterwards."

I slowly take my hand to the back of his head and urge him on. That's not against the rules. If anything it is even better than what he had planned. It is goading him and nudging him. It's a bit more than what he was planning for, but that's much better. His mouth takes the band down. I spring forth and hit the night air right before landing on his cheek. He's nervous now and I certainly have a thrill run through me. Even now, there's a threat to our sanctuary. The waves crash and break and I am aligned with every sound. I push him a bit harder. As much as we like the game, there is a set time limit and it is best we get there sooner rather than later.

He knows. He doesn't waste his time kissing and licking and pulling and doing everything in his power to do what he knows. I hiss through my teeth as he lips break open over me and take me in. Softly, so softly, he hums over me and that's enough to close my eyes and hold every sense still.

I've lost count of how many times I've gotten this. It will never be enough because I can never get enough of him, his body, his touch. I would drink a sea of Darian and still find myself parched. My grip turns harsh and I get the faintest squeak of protest as I pull his hair. He doesn't stop. He knows better than that. He just bobs and pulls on me and takes everything I am deeper and deeper. I hiss through my teeth and just let him work as he wants.

Darian knows what's best for me. He really does. Back on my tip, tongue slowly working round and round and round, swirling my thoughts. I melt in the drone of the sea, rising and falling with the noise just as easily has my core tightens and breaks. It's all the same thing. It's all the same rhythm.

My grip loosens. I am not that cruel as to interfere past my post. He goes back to taking me inside, down just before halfway, back to my summit. My existence makes him work so hard. I stretch his jaw and make him wince. I'm too big for him in the best way. He loves the pain, the pinpricks behind his eyes. It is beautiful. I make him work. I make it all so terrible and that ignites my core and forces me to goad him further.

A deep groan rolls in my chest. I stifle it down and hold it close. A soft grunt, a shift in my stance and once more I scan the world. Lights in the difference, a rumble of a crowd behind me but of no consequence, and a soft head of blonde hair worshiping me as it should.

His hips are shivering. I see his own erection poke at the edges. He needs his own bit of attention, but I can't so far removed from giving him what he wants. Even as this is our great equalizer, we are still uneven. The act is should always be given and received, even if the act is different. I go back to his head pushing my nails along his scalp, trailing down the back of his neck. He takes me deeper and I feel how my shape changes throughout the rest of his body.

I hear something laugh from behind us. Darian hears it as well. Our defense mechanism kicks in. He curls into a little safety ball while I keep a periscope up. There's a pair of shadows behind us, teetering with a drunken dance I recognize all too well. I keep a protective hand on his head, right to the base. The breath from his nose tickles my stomach. He's safe and he has enough air for the moment.

It's a drunken couple, bloodstream swimming in cheap tequila and a honeymoon that is sure to last forever. I'm being mean, but I am also dealing with a tight panic in my chest. They play, hands and lips and pushes and pulls. It's chaotic, that whirlwind passion. The dim lights catch a shiny glint on each of their ring fingers and that explains absolutely everything.

Darian is an absolute bastard. Even as deep as he is, there's still a swirling tongue. It turns my breathe shaky and harsh, but I make no more noise. I am simple man, alone along a resort walk, simply existing. We all have the right to exist, even if that beautiful solitude is being encroached upon by vagrants. They keep getting closer and closer and I'm not sure if they don't notice us, or are looking for more participants. They jostle again and the man's fingers are getting very adventurous. A throaty moan from the woman means that his advances are absolutely encouraged.

"Evening," I say, raising a hand in greeting. They are too lost to their each other for the moment, but the act needs a response as soon as the sense is made.

They freeze like startled deer. I should not be here. I can not be here. I am an aberration of the highest order and they don't know how to deal with me. I'm pretty sure they don't notice poor Darian all huddled and safe. That particular treasure is absolutely glaring at me and trying his best to hide so that nothing bad can happen to any of us.

"Uh hi," says the woman. Her hair's nice and wavy, with a simple clip to keep it up. I like it. I think Darian needs to experiment more with stuff like that, but that's only a suggestion.

The obvious solution doesn't seem to present itself to them. They have the right to be here. They have the need to be the ones in our spot. A such, they have the right.

"Are you gonna be here long buddy,' says the man. I understand. I am in the way of him getting laid. That is truly a grave slight. Every second I'm here is a second he's dealing with a hard on and not in the designed way.

"Eh, probably. It's a nice night out. It'd be a shame to spend it in a hotel room."

"I don't know. I don't mind our hotel honey," says the lady. Always the level headed ones, or so I've heard.

It's a mix of the alcohol, the denied act, the fact that I don't seem intimidated, that gets him going. He breaks away and I see him quickly stretch out his gait so that it's comfortable as he starts walking towards us. I glance down to Darian. He's scared but it's a fun scared. I'm still in his mouth and he's still working me. I roll my shoulder out so that the urges in my core have something to do. It's not laying into him with my full weight but it's something. A burst of courage and he slowly raises a hand.

Just over the lip of the bench, he gives a shy wave.

The man stops and stares as the hand descends and the mystery continues. That bravado is now even more displaced. I am in the exact same situation, with the exact same problem and I'm in the process of getting it all taken care of. With dime like precision, he turns on his heel and marches away. The woman takes a moment before bursting out with her laughter.

"You pretty little idiot," she giggles, "You thought you were going to be so bad. Come here. Kiss me."

"Shut up," he mutters before he's led away, "You brought up the public thing."

She just laughs at her favorite person because that's what you're supposed to do. Darian's laughing at me, for sure. He finally comes up for air and glares at me with beautiful sparks.

"You're such a jackass," he says as he wipes his mouth. We are alone again.

"Yeah and?" I say as I lean down and kiss his forehead pushing a side a thin lock of soft hair. He really would look good if it had a band or a clip or something in it. We've talked about using something colorful on his lips. Nothing garish, just something more. I've offered to join him, but he was adamant that I lean into the dark, shadowy figure he thinks I am and go full smoky dom. We'll talk about it some more, and go off into the thoughts of boring fantasies we may or may not ever follow through on. I tap the back of his head and push him back to me. He's not done. That's the trailing thought at the end of the act.

He knows it too. He's eager to get back to the work. The game is forgotten and that is just the act. He's quick to bring the tongue and lips together, force and grip, working it all over me. He knows the length, the shaft, the ways to get me all over the edge.

It hits quick too. The work beforehand, the thrill of someone actually seeing us, all collapsing into a tight ball in my core. I let out a rough breath, almost, almost the groan he's going for. It's close enough for him. It's close enough for him to smile over me and that just makes the knot in my core even worse. It's hard, that ball under my navel. He thrums and twangs in time with my hart beat. I wish I had something to brace my legs on. There's nothing. I am adrift again in the sea of rough stone, following the crashing waves. My hand wanders for a bit before it finds his hair again. Threads into my fingers, I knot and tie us together. I set his pace and keep him deep. He knows the every inch of my. He hums again and that's enough to set me of.

The core tightens and breaks and I hunch over. The foundation breaks down and hold his head down as he simply takes what I give. Heavy, heavy pulses enoguh for me to set my breath tight in my chest and keeps me quiet. Only grunts and huffs, a muttered swear just to make sure that he knows he is so good to me. He keeps working me as deep as he can manage. I feel the pab kf his throat take my realese away. It's a soothing rhythm we have, give and take, push and pull. He's swaying his hips back fnd for like a pendule, just enough force to hyptnoize me. I watch him move as another long deep pulse runs up my spine.

I give in and toss my head back, staring up at the black sky. I fall into it. I fall into the thin wispy clouds, into the abyss, into everything I can see so that I can just feel the thin tendrils of lighting trace their way through my body. It's so easy with him pull out of my senses. I am gently stroking a soft head of hair and it presses against my palm.

My flow winds down as my vision returns. Darian slowly rises off me, taking away every bit of evidence. With a soft pop, he is free. He hiccups and wipes his lips with the back of his hand. Even then, he missed some. I carefully take my thumb and wipe the corners of his mouth. He opens, takes it inside, no prodding needed. A moment later, I am clean, he is clean, and the only evidence left is the shared flush across our faces and the fact that I am still hard. He hiccups again and laughs softly.

"That's your one," he says, "If you want anymore, then we have to go back to the hotel and keep it even."

I reach over and grab his ass. That's definitely more on my side of the deal, but it's also not just for me. He yelps and squirms burying his face into my stomach and trying his best to take more from me. The night is long and vast and we are nothing but adrift in it.

Another laugh breaks the moment from behind us before echoing into another set of stumbling footsteps. Darian snaps out of it and quickly puts me away. As much as I want the moment to last forever, we have to give up the space. It's only fair.

---

God, this place is so fucking touristy. There's parts of it I like and Isidro's doing good business out here, ethically sourced, organic, all natural and whatever other bullshit he can slap on the label, but I can't shake the nagging sense in the back of my head that this is all a veneer. There's a grand machine under us with sharp toothed gears ready to churn the entire landscape into useless sludge. Staff's all local, at least. All those tourist dollars sow the lands of people that actually matter.

And I do like the veneer. I like the wide hat they gave me. I like just looking over a rolling set of hills with herds of alpacas and shrubby grass. The fences are miles apart and paper thin. There's a breeze, a hot breeze, but a breeze none the less. I pull the camera from around my neck and take a few of the landscapes. It works. It's not my best, but it's something. I am earning my vacation. Isidro needs ad photos. It kills me, but I can do that much. I get another one and that's much better. There's an alpaca on the crest of the hills. It's such a noble beast.

"Alright," I say, wiping the sweat from my forehead, "Let's get some of you now."

Isidro takes another sip of water and saunters over here. He's in costume, loose shirt, very similar wide hat, and a good pair of leather boots. I should have asked for a pair of those instead of the hat. Darian's getting a poncho out of all this and I think he's getting the best deal.

He stretches an arm long across his magnificent, holy fence, head turned and contemplating his land. I take the shot and it's pretty good. I take another safety take and it's a bit better. He changes position and we go through the motions there as well. He can make the weathered farmer look good if it puts a bit of effort into it.

"Did you ever consider being a model," I ask. He just gives me the finger. I get a landscape and we move along.

"I'm thinking of the tree on the hill," Isidro says, "probably get some good ones up there."

Wherever you want man. It's your farm. I also do maternity shoots if you're interested."

"Fuck off. Just take the pictures I tell you to."

We hop back in his official golf cart, kicking the gravel path behind us. I hold onto my camera and enjoy the ride.

"I have no clue what the fuck I'm doing," he says as we stop, "God, I am such a wreck with all this. How can I be the one to have a kid?"

"Would you prefer it to be me," I say. I get out and take in the land. Definitely more to see, a forest at the edge of the property, the main building with suites off to the side, a swimming hole to cool off, all in all, it is an encompassing endeavor.

"Fuck no. That kid would have been in a terrible home. The divorce would have just wrecked them."

"Probably. I don't know. Divorce isn't the worse thing in the world. It got me out of a bad situation at least."

"Yeah, I guess. I don't know."

The poor man is not paying attention to me, gazing wistfully out at the main house, back down the road to town, out to the sea that is endless and vast. He can just follow all that into an open ended statement, no responsibility, just freedom.

"I'm so fucking excited," he sighs, "I'm scared as hell, but I can't wait to hold the little monster in my arms."

Now I know everything is alright. Nothing can get in the way of that. Nothing can change the fact that his heart is aflutter and looking forward to the future. A little spark happens in the back of my mind and I take the shot. A pure smile, a wistful gaze, enough of the tree caught in the wind, and even a small herd of his animals off in the distance, I capture it all and hold it down into a small SIM card and that's the one we're going to use.

"You're a monster," he says, "Can't even have the moment to actually look forward to my life without a camera man butting in."

"I have a hotel room to earn," I shrug, "You wanted photos. You get photos. Flora may or may not want a boudoir shoot. I'll do that pro bono."

"Only if I get to do the same with Darian."

"Y'know I never actually though about that before. Bet he would go for it?"

"Absolutely. You ask that kid to walk on broken glass, he'll do it for a bit of hand holding."

"I'd do more than hand holding for that. Maybe a peck on the cheek."

He laughs and shakes his head. He looks at his land, his grand project to mix the world and blanket it with fertile growth in one way or another. It might work. It might not.

"We're adults now, man," I sigh.

"I know," he says, "Never thought it would happen."

"Me neither. But here we are."

"We're doing alright?"

"Probably. I help run print magazine, so that's not a sound investment. You run a farm, so you at least have food covered. I'd say you're doing better than me."

"Eh, print might make a comeback. Like vinyl. Gotta have some kindling when the lights go out. Can't burn a tablet that easily."

"I'd figure it out."

"That's really all we can do isn't it?"

I nod and sigh and look down the path. There's a lone figure coming up the dusty trail, moseying along with a poncho and wide hat. He better have a six shooter too, otherwise I'd be disappointed that the bit stops at the point of violence.

Isidro reaches into his pocket.

"Aw shit," he sighs, "There's something going on with the composter."

"Sure there is."

"There is. There absolutely is. And I'm going to take the golf cart, just for that suspicion of me. You'll be forced to walk back with Darian and take in the landscape as only lovers can do."

"My knees are going to explode."

"They are. You'll live. Darian's strong. He can carry you back if it gets to bad. See you, brother. You guys going to be around tomorrow?"

"Planning another day at the beach. Darian's determined to actually ride a full wave this time."

"I'm pulling for him. I'm pulling for the both of you."

I get another strong hug and I am perfectly find with that. The golf cart carries him away and I'm left to swat the dust from my shoulders and wait under the one bit of shade for the next mile. Darian's keeping a good pace. I curse him and his young knees. They take the hill nice and quick and he's not even that winded.

"I got the poncho," he says, arms wide and turning round. It is nice, light enough to breathe, gray and white, not quite his color scheme, but it works for him. More than anything it goes with the hat. I say nothing, just raise the camera and take the shot. He turns again and I take one more. I walk over and pull him close. He gets a kiss on the cheek and I guide us over to the pastures. I can still squeeze out a few more bits of work out of this.

Darian's having fun at least. He wants the animals to get closer so he can pet them. He didn't pay for the privilege at the front desk so he is beneath their notice. I take the view in through another set of photos. There is nothing there. I slowly pan over to Darian, leaning against the beaten wooden fence. He doesn't notice me.

He's slight. He's always been that way and it would take a drastic lifestyle change to make him any different. His clothes hang off of him, but not in a bad way. He's just designed for flowing motion. The wind packs at his shirt and slowly turns it to a banner of color. A bit more force and he could take flight, over the hills, over the sea, into the wild pale yonder of being more. A stray hand slowly moves a lock of his hair out of his face. I capture the moment, freeze light and time with an errant twitch.

"You posed that, didn't you," I say.

"Eh, maybe," he says. Then he sticks out his hips and makes sure I know exactly how he looks, like I don't already know. I take a picture of that too, because I could always use a reminder. He stretches a bit and we both grow bored with this particular vantage point. He peels away and waits for me. I take one more, trying it get a bit more of the herd in view. It works. Isidro's got a decent eye for this and ultimately it's his choice.

I start walking and Darian falls in line beside me. Almost down to the same moment, we reach for the other's hands. Our fingers interlock and we match pace.

It is still very touristy, the paths too clean, the marks of golf carts ferrying both staff and the more sedentary visitors about. Off in the distance, through a perfectly manicured orchard, there's a clubhouse with a restaurant, a cafe, a gift shop, even a small spa. That is one particular thing I kind of regret missing out on. A good day spent together, getting a good rub down with too calming music. Really, it would just be a chance to get bare chested and taken care of. I'd get to see him just melt into his posture. Instead, I get to watch him in tight shorts, working those toned thighs back and forth, the way his hips swell just enough and go into a tight stomach. He's swaying those for me again. I just watch and he watches me.

He's more interested in my arms, it seems. Then my shoulders, my back, my neck, all those shapes and forms all for him. He watches me watching him and ultimately decides that he is best served by snaking our arms together eve tighter and laying his head on my shoulder. That's a much better state of affairs, I have to admit. I take it even farther, breaking from his arm and snaking around his hips.

It was all a ruse. Darian slips his hands to my camera and snaps it away from me. He's running now, full tilt, down the path. He's laughing. He's laughing because he is a dastardly little sneak thief who will be brought back over the line with the palm of my hand.

He's faster than me and I will not hear the end of it. Just a bit of effort and my knees are creaking, threatening to snap and splinter. I keep pushing until we get to a hill. I haven't stretched and then my thigh cramps. The ground comes up to greet me as softly as it can.

I'm coughing up trail dust and sparse grass. I give up. I just give up, turn and flop onto my back so that the sun can bake me dry and the vultures can pick me clean. A sky burial sounds nice. I've thought about the pods that you bury and end up becoming trees. I will be a tree, right here, where the alpacas can find under shade under.

A light shoe kicks me in the head. I am in hell. I am just in hell, right where I always belonged. I hear the camera click

"Are you dead?" Darian asks.

"Yes. Yes, I am. You can just leave me here. You're not in my will, so I need the camera back," I huff.

"Well, hmm. I like the camera so I think I'm going to keep it. I won't touch your other stuff though. Can I have your cast iron pans though? I want to try making stuff with that."

"Sure. Sure. Take my stand mixer too. I don't really use it."

He makes a pleasant little hum and flops down next to me in the dirt. I don't know why. He should have helped me up so that we can go back to the clubhouse, have some iced coffee with ceiling fans and air conditioning. Instead, we are mummifying into dust in the alpaca fields.

I grunt and sigh, ignoring the twinge in my knees as I slowly roll over onto my side. Darian's there, looking trough the camera and into me. I smile, lopsided and in pain, but here with him and nowhere else. The camera clicks again and I am shown myself.

Darker than I usually am, with a bit more stubble than should be considered clean, wrinkles I want to ignore, streaks of gray around my temples, but I am smiling. Laugh lines, I don't remember having so many of them, but they look good.

My own ruse springs into action as I snatch the camera again and take a picture of him before he can have a moment to prepare. He looks shocked, but that just means I get more of his eyes, bright and shining. He's tan too, naturally. I would be more worried if he wasn't. He hairs a mess. All of him is still wired for movement and flow, coming along the ride of the world in erratic spirits. Courses and lines, cutting against the world like a narrow rapid. A light dusting of freckles cross his nose. I take another as he starts sticking out his tongue at me.

We rise, slowly, mostly so my knees don't actually shatter into dust. He uses me to clamber to his feet. We've spent so much time just dicking around in the dirt like kids. There are pictures to take and I think we should do more of the actual clubhouse with the air conditioning and cold drinks. Darian agrees with me as we once again start off, nice and slow. He grabs at my ass and I do just the same.

---

We really should have gotten a spa day out of Isidro. He's put us up, fed us, got us surfboards and beach access, but really, massages don't seem to be too out of pocket at this point.

In poor Isidro's defense, we also didn't really deliver on a lot of the promised photographs today. I blame the alpacas and the chickens and all the other uncooperative farm animals. The landscape was perfect. The weather was perfect. The pictures that we took of one another were also perfect, but they were less desirable from a marketing standpoint.

Our sliding door is open to the night. I like this sky better than the one in town. More stars, even if there is that bleeding glow off on the horizon that swallows a good number of them. We have the moon as well, just over half full, slowly shrinking back into a void. I work out my leg. It's still bugging me from my fall and that's just my life now. I know it's going to bug me on the flight back, but that's another thing to heal with a nice, long nap.

The faucet squeaks from the room behind me and the shower turns off. Darian rummages around for a towel and can't seem to find the one I so carefully laid out for him. He manages, slowly plodding around our share space, looking from something to entertain him. It takes him a while to find me out on the porch.

It also seems that he couldn't find the clothes I put out for him as well.

I smirk and gesture for him to join. I'm a little worried now. He can't find his own seat and decides that my lap is now his. He might need glasses.

"You didn't dry off," I say as he curls up on me.

"I did," he says, "I totally did."

"Then why are you leaving a wet spot on me?"

"I don't know. I might just be a naturally moist person. Constantly sodden. Just absolutely dripping every single moment of every single day. It never bothered you before."

I make him shut up with hand grip across his thigh and kiss along his neck. He yelps and melts into it once he realizes that it's happening again. Just like he always planned, he has kicked me over the edge and I can no longer be held responsible for my actions.

Then I stop and leave him alone to deal with that terrible urge to lay down and open himself for me. I'm much more interested in the moon tonight.

Weight, slow gentle weight, he is grinding against me, giving as good as he got.

"You always forget how much you love this ass," he murmurs in my ear. I just toss my head back and sigh into the motion.

"Really? Right into it tonight?"

"It's how I know to fix you. Feel old? Thigh job. Broken leg? Some cowgirl. Bad fall? Absolutely railed. I mean, it's how you fix me.

"You're right. Concussion means you getting railed. Broken arm means you get some good toy time. What does your almost drowning yesterday get?"

"I don't know. And I didn't drown. I just got bored and decided that swimming is more fun."

"Well, ok then. When we're back at the beach tomorrow, I'm assuming you'll just completely show me up and wow everyone within a 5 mile radius."

"I do that naturally. Everyone claps as soon as I enter a room. You'll immediately cum and beg to kiss the ground I walk on."

The hand comes back to drag him in line. That also just so happens to be straddling me, rubbing up against my own excited length and I kiss him again. He's soft. I am rough. He leans into the act and begs for more because he is not immune to his own body either. Circles, he gives me circles, riding the shapes I make in him and giving them back with hos own devious route. I kiss him and he holds my head still in case I decide to actually do anything. Teeth and lips and tongue and pressure, all o fit is given and taken and swapped until the moments bleed together into a dance.

We break with a thin line break between us. All the play and teas is gone and he just rests his head on my shoulder, I stroke his back and feel every bit of heat the gives me, even if it is still slightly damp.

"We need to go skating again," he murmurs, "It's been forever since we've done that."

"It has. This is nice, though," I say as I stroke his back.

"It is, but it's just not us, y'know? We need concrete and graffiti and paper coffee cups."

"And energy drinks."

"And energy drinks. And french fries. Maybe some onion rings too."

"When we get back, we'll take a week off and just bum around the city. And cuddle and watch movies. But also skate and run away from the cops sometimes."

That seems to mollify him and frankly I am now looking forward to that more than this. We should have just done that. He rocks again, rolling up and down. He's getting antsy. The perfect picture of youth, constantly horny, constantly begging, always ready for another round because there is always the threat of impending doom. That threat has become baked in to my skeleton and I can't do anything about any of it. I rock back because he reminds me that the threat is just as ethereal as everything else. I can just reach out and reclaim the time I've lost with a thought and push. I kiss in his neck and rock back, rubbing up against him. I shift and pull and roll along with it.

"You always feel so good at this part," he murmurs, "What do you do to get like this?"

"What do you mean?"

"You're just fun to grind on. There's so much of you. That came out wrong. You're broad and full and kind of big now I'm just making it worse."

"You're not. I know what you mean. I just wanted to watch you fumble this for a while."

He pouts and I win again. He kisses me and I don't stop. Anything he does just makes this entire act even better. He's hard and pulsing, flags and signals and goading me to make sure that he knows that he is already so far down the path. I'm with him. I'm right there with him, eager and hard and begging for this. The wind picks up and runs across his back. He shivers. Even in this heat, naked and wet usually leads to shivering. I can only do so much, but I can definitely do a bit more. It's an ordeal. My hands get underneath him and my feet get underneath me. It all works to lift and rise and he is doing his best to cling to me.

It burns. I can do it. I'm a bit surprised, but I can. A few faltering steps and we are moving. He's laughing and trying to send us to the ground because he is convinced that he is actually made of rubber. I do not fall. I slowly carry us both the bed. In a bit of undignified strength, I toss him to the bed. He bounces while the bed creaks and almost breaks.

"That was amazing," he laughs, "you're amazing. Kiss me."

I crawl along his body and do exactly as he asks. He has good ideas and he might actually be made of rubber. We do this same dance again and again and it is always nice. He drapes his arms around m shoulders and I fall into him. We just hold one another in our room on a cheapish bed pretending we don't hear the springs creak and the ceiling fan hum. We pretend that there's enough light in the sky to see and we just have one another to play with. We don't use the sheets. Even that thin layer would trap in so much heat and suffocate us. We need space. We need room. I roll us and feel him settle on my chest. He goes to my cheeks, my chin, my neck, pressing into me. He works his teeth softly, making sure that everything is whole and exactly as he left it. Not even a bruise, but he still kisses them away.

He keeps rolling down until the hands have to come into play. Those get my pants off and I work my shirt. Both get tossed to a corner where I will never need them again. Darian keeps getting lower.

"Are we doing that again?" I sigh.

"No, but if you want to believe that, you can," he says with another little giggle as he gets to my stomach. He kisses what I will say is hard muscle. I know it's there even if it is hidden most of the time. Darian says he likes it and that's something I can accept to soothe my ego. He lays atop me and gets us aligned lengths touching and sharing heat. He moves. Hands planted along my shoulders, up and down, giving me that beautiful friction. I think he's found something else that he likes and I can certainly see the appeal, especially when he presses against my stomach. it's enough. He can put force behind his hips even as he lacks the leverage. He buries himself in my heck and again I am left to watch the ceiling fan turn as I just set into the motion and take it all in.

"You're going for it, aren't you," I whisper in his ear. He rises again and towers over me.

"Oh yeah," he says, "I'm gonna rock your world. You won't be able to walk tomorrow."

"Big talk. Real big talk. Do you even know how this works?"

"Come on. Course I do. I've seen porn. I've seen you do this to me. It can't be that hard. How about you? Have you done this before? I mean, this arrangement of it?"

"You know what? No, actually. Never had the opportunity."

"Then it's a night of firsts for everyone. Don't worry. I'll be gentle. Wouldn't want to hurt you."

I roll my eyes. It doesn't work. He is trying so hard to be intimidating, but it is just him looming over me, trembling and shaking and begging for something we've never done. Maybe this is our cure for a bad fall. He steps back and I can't help but take notice. I'm bigger than him. He knows that, even if he tries to ignore it. It's nice and hard and we have the path forward where we know how it ends. We love how it ends. It can be so good and we just have to trodden down the single path of familiarity. But we don't. We don't take the path of least resistance.

I'm nervous too. This is a new configuration and that always makes it a hard sell. He does now to get his hands under my thigh and gently lift. I don't fight him. I don't fight any of him. I ride the wave of what he wants and to my surprise, I can actually get where he wants to. My hips protest a bit and a quick click in my knees gets them nice and loose. He doesn't have the strength to get me fully in half, but I'm certainly proud of myself. Darian is impressed by the way he just stops and stares at me.

"You're really going to let me do this?" he asks.

"'Let' is probably not the best word right now," I as a rock my hips, "I want this and you want this. I'm waiting for you and you seem to be nervous. We don't have to play it like this."

He senses the fact that I am being a bit of an ass and decides that I need punishment. He grips my length and it doesn't work. So much of me is outside of his hands. The path is laid out before him and it's just a matter of starting it.

He musters his courage and stares at me. I am as relaxed as can be. More than him, but less than my most, he stalls and waits and wants everything to do a good job for me.

A bit of strength and a bit of patience he is inside me.

For a moment, it doesn't quite register. It's pressure, tight pressure, slowly burning up into me. It's not quite enough to hit as something pleasurable, but we are still early. Darian's doing much worse. I am apparently a vice tight enough to shatter bones from the way he's hissing through his teeth. I take that as a compliment. We are still with one another, adjusting and readjusting. I give minute twitches to get him settled.

"Please don't," he whines, "This feels so good."

That does get a hard line through me, a flush in my cheeks and clench in my core. I just have to lie here and that alone is enough to simply overwhelm him. His thighs are already shaking and trembling. The poor thing is about to break apart at the seams. I go still and wait for him to gain his composure. There is no ruse here. He is just overstimulated already, caught up in his head of finally, finally doing something to me that is supposed to just break me.

I stretch and bend and he is reminded that everything can be more. He's careful. He might break me. He might slowly be ground to dust. We both can just let this get the better of us and we'll never do anything else again. He moves, slowly, carefully, mostly for him. I'm still doing alright, really. Never had the curiosity to have this done to myself, whether naturally or experiencing something more artificial. This is nice. I feel a pleasant burn dancing under my navel and we deal with that. I breathe deep and calm, riding his length and making him actually work for it.

He gathers his confidence and starts moving a bit more. IT gets more intense for me as well. I can take him easy and calm. I Ride it and feel him try to go harder. He braces his forearms against the mattress and that gets him a bit deeper.

I hiss as he finds the spot that actually starts building the heat in my core. He laughs.

"There we go. Knew I'd find the hot button sooner or later," he huffs.

"I can still talk," I say, "If I can do that, you can do better."

"Don't test me. I can still make this hurt."

"I don't believe you. I really, really don't."

He climbs up a bit more and takes my legs a bit more bent and turned. That's going to be the thing that actually gets me moaning. Something twinges and I wince. He doesn't pick up on it. He's too lost. I am tight and warm and doing everything right. The burn in my core is slowly growing up to my chest and into my breathe. I take it and give him something more to work with.

He's working to a good steady rhythm and we've finally found a good pace. I hold him close as he is buried in my chest, thrusting and panting. I feel a sharp bit of teeth run across my chest and he is finally getting something fire in him. I welcome it with raw abandon. He works hard, sweat beading across his back. I focus on the knot of heat and fell it to slowly break. My own length twitches and pulses in time. A drop of slick prerelease flows from me and hits his stomach. I can feel the grin through his kisses.

"There we go," he mutters, "I knew you were getting into it."

"I never said I was having a bad time," I say, "Just that you could be doing better."

He is so easy to rile it. He takes he even higher, curling my spine and getting his legs up on the bed. He's doing more than I thought he could and I am surprising even myself with my flexibility. I roll and rock taking him even deeper. The pressure is off my knees and he is working me hard, in and out, in and out. There's no speed to the act, but he's putting his entire frame into it.

It is really getting to me. I keep the pace, work with him, feel it all collect in my core. I'm pulsing with him, feel that slick preseed spill from me and I keep the pace. I take the pace. He's naturally talented, it seems, once he gets his confidence. He is trailing now, finding his own end coming so soon when he isn't trying all that hard. I'm just that good.

I feel it come through him. It's all the same, even in this new arrangement. I can just push and nudge and throttle him until he falls apart. Even folding in half, even getting fucked into a mattress, even as my legs burn and my back aches, I can take a thumb and plot him out to a warm puddle under my care. I huff in time with his work, a pool flowing on my chest as he keeps pulsing the preseed out of me. He is naturally good. He is naturally always just enough to get me over the edge and this isn't too different.

I think his hits first, but the warmth blooming in my stomach might be the start of my own. A dull knife scrapes against my thoughts and I am lost the act as I have been time and time again. It's what we're all here to be at the end of the day. It's what we're designed to be, slotted together and constantly burning each other into nourishing ash and spread across the plains.

His definitely hits first as the warmth grows and my comes out in fill. Long, heavy pules, painting my chest at first, pooling in my stomach, before growing in time with his and hitting my chin. The second comes and it's over my forehead. Heat, raw, animalistic heat, both given and take and share and spread over each other. It hits my forehead to joint the flow across my chest.

Darian pulses again hard and I feel every ounce of pressure change and shift. He's trembling. He's trying so hard to be tough and intimidating, but I hear the whimper and whine come through the edges. I push back. He pushes back against me. He does everything he can think of to assert his dominance and he is failing.

The entire structure collapses and we both fall onto our sides. Something snaps in my knees and that's going to hurt in the morning. I'm only vaguely aware of it and I don't care. I'm still a lost vast white star of my lack of thoughts. It's nothing. It's everything. There's a head of soft hair so close at hand and I feel it ticking my cheek. There's a balled fist near my head that is shaking. I take it and hold it still, prying it open until our fingers interlace.

I murmur something that even I can't quite make out. It's something soft and warm and reassuring. I stroke his back and feel him just shake and collapse.

"Yeah," he mutters, "Made you my bitch. Fucking whore."

I sigh nice and heavy and just tuck his chin. He slowly, slowly opens his eyes and gazes at me, covered in my own cum, staring him down and making him realize what he just said.

"Are you sure about that," I ask, kissing his nose.

"No. No, I'm not. Do you need a towel? I can get you a towel. I'll get you a towel."

He flops and rolls and does his best to get to the edge of the bed. The mattress is so, so soft. And I am so, so warm. His feet hit the floor and all of him wobbles and teeters and am I absolutely worried that he's going to fall down and break his fragile skull. I am so far away.

He teeters and slips but the couch is there to catch him. Shaky as a newborn fawn, he carefully skids out to the bathroom again and I get to watch his ass as he walk away. I can take that later. Despite everything in my ego saying otherwise, I don't think I could do any better. I am just going to lie here and make sure that he never knows how wobbly he made me. I don't want to know. More than anything, I want to him to know. I just want to get cleaned up and have a good night's sleep and remind him what we are supposed to do in the morning.

---

The sun's out again and it will be there forever. It will boil away the seas bake the land into dust, scorch everything until cinders remain and even then the cinders will crumble into even finer ash. Before all that, I will probably get a nasty burn, even though I was very generous with the sun screen and Darian was very generous when he did my back. The sun is stronger than all of that.

Darian's going to burn too, and I was just as safe with him. If we had my way, he'd be under a three inch layer of the stuff, but he was eager to get back on the water. So that's where we are, bobbing slightly with the rise and fall of the waves. They break too small and too far in for our purposes. We both just straddle Isidro's boards and wait. Even with the sun, I like it. It's a day at the beach and that will always be something to brag about. The water rises a bit and we both come with it.

I try to work out the lingering aches in my hips. That will always be there now, just like me knees. It's life, just an accumulation of time slowly piling on my shoulders until they give way. I have people around me to shift and change the weight, and I am there to carry theirs.

"Stop it," says Darian, "You're getting all philosophical again, talking about weight and time. Just stop it."

"I was not getting philosophical," I say.

"You were. You totally were. You were thinking about giants and knives and probably how this is actually some weird sweat puddle from the earth's workout and we are constantly in churn of the cosmic sauna."

"It is pretty hot out. It is kind of like a sauna."

"No it's not. It's like a beach because we are on a beach. Beaches are beachlike and that's all they can ever be."

"Such a little mind you have."

"Hey. be nice. I have taken multiple head injuries and that means you should be nice to me."

Instead, I just splash him. That should cool him off and we can get back to witnessing the majesty of our shared planet. He splashes me back and now were are just playing with one another.

Another high wave comes up beneath us, but we were not prepared to take it.

"It's fine," Darian says, after a long moment, "you can think about time. I think about time too."

"And we've talked about time," I say.

"Yeah, but this is just one of those things that's going to keep coming up. Time together, time apart, time between us. How do we deal with that?"

I sigh and stretch out my shoulders.

"I don't know," I say after my own long moment of contemplation, "At least, in any permanent way. I really don't. I didn't know when we first met, and I didn't know after our first night, and I still don't know. You said it yourself. I'm going to be 80 and in a wheelchair at some point where you're not."

"I'll be balding though. So that's something."

"That is something, but I don't know if those versions of us are still like this. All I can say is that we keep talking about it and that's a lot better than what I was doing before I met you."

"You're supposed to say that we'll be together forever and it'll be perfect and we'll be immortal."

"See, I tried that last time and it failed completely. I just want to be with you now. I'll want to be with you when we get back. And I'll also want to sleep for like a week and you can share my bed while I do that."

I hear him paddle over next to me, inadvertently splashing me, but with no malice in anything he does. He taps my shoulder and I turn like a fool.

He's there, right in front of my face and pressing his lips to mine, in full view of the entire beach. As far as I can tell, no one really cares.

"Fine," he says as we finally break, "But only because I think you're cute."

I shove him away. The compliments still sit weird on my shoulders but they're not unwelcome. The water's rising again and we need to get ready.