not near the sea

The rain came in on a black cloud wind, thrashing breakers against the beach.  It spattered against the windows loud enough to wake Rodney.

John wasn’t in the bed; even his warmth had faded.

Rodney felt sick.

He groped for and found his watch on the nightstand.  Four o’clock in the afternoon, but the sky outside looked dark as night, lightning lashing the clouds into a furious roil.

The motel room felt empty, damp and cold, but Rodney called out anyway, “John?”  He found his pants and a shirt crumpled on the carpet and pulled both on, finding his shoes next.

“John?”

Rodney sank down on the edge of the bed, still clutching his shoes.  He’d been waiting for this.  He’d fought for John as hard as he could, but John had to fight, too.

He’d thought things were better.  John’s hands had been intent and gentle earlier.  His eyes had seen Rodney as they pressed together, lips and legs and arms pulling each other closer, skin on skin.  John’s neck had arched back, eyes almost shut, pleasure wiping out everything else for a moment.  His hand had curled around the back of Rodney’s neck afterward, absently petting the short hairs at his nape, before they slept.

He’d thought – he’d hoped coming back to the sea had made a difference.

Just the wrong one apparently.

The thought of John and the sea galvanized Rodney.  John might walk into the water and disappear like a changeling from some bastard fairy tale; everything rich and strange he’d given Rodney fading like magic without him, lost.  Damn him.  He wasn’t letting go that easily.  Rodney yanked his shoes on.  He was going after the fool.

He jerked the door open, letting the storm slap rain into his face, not caring for once.

“John!” he yelled.

Instinct sent him down to the beach.

“John!” he yelled again, finding the lanky figure almost dancing along the edge of  the foam and spray flooding up the beach with each wave.  “John!”

John paused, then waved to him.

John was an idiot, Rodney decided, who didn’t have the sense to come out of the rain, and now he’d forced Rodney out into it.  He could see the white gleam of John’s teeth.  The fool was grinning, gesturing for Rodney to join him, right until a larger wave surged up the beach and knocked him off his feet.

Rodney’s breath caught for a moment, but then John staggered to his feet and waved again.

What else could he do?  He walked down beach, avoiding the edge of the tide.

“You don’t have the sense God gave a goose,” he yelled over the wind.

John threw his head back and let the rain hit his face, spinning in place, his hands above his head, then spread wide as wings.  Water spattered out from his hair, hitting Rodney.  He watched John spin until he stumbled to a dizzy stop, still grinning at Rodney, swaying a little so that Rodney grabbed his arm.

“I’ve never seen anyone look so dumb before,” Rodney said.

John laughed.  “But I still turn you on.”

John laughed.

Rodney didn’t know if the salt he tasted on his lips came from sea.  It was warm on his face, warm like John’s hands coming up and framing his face, John’s thumbs brushing over his eyelids, wiping it all away, soft as his fingers in Rodney’s hair.  The storm was breaking, shaking them both and washing them clean, the rain running down their faces.  Warm like the wet body pressed close to his, like John’s breath and John’s mouth that was laughing and alive against Rodney’s lips, laughing and warm and alive, alive, alive again.