Status: fin
Sea Salt
01/01
“Chocolate or vanilla?”
His words are nearly swept past me, stolen by the breeze. It winds through the pier and the palms and the people, tossing all the horrors of the beach into the sky as it passes. I shrug, brushing away the sand and hair, not having given his question much thought. The lights and cries of thrill seekers on rattling rides and the reek sun blasted kelp are holding the better part of my attention. There’s only really room for a resounding, God, I hate this place.
He laughs softly, chapped lipped smile crooked, jungle green gaze patient. One flash of him and it’s all I can do to bury myself in the crook of his neck, muffling my own grin in the folds of his jacket. I breathe deep, drawing in the scent of the charcoal dusting the artist’s hands, of the takeout shared over midnight movies and shadow kisses, and of our home. It’s a nice trade, I think. A nice break from the chaos of the beach.
He’s waiting for me when I look back, each calloused hand wrapped around a sloppy sugar cone. The sun wastes no time, the ice cream sweating beads in seconds. I take mine in a brush of fingers, the milky streams staining us and the ancient wood below. I lean in for a thank you, neck stretched and cheeks blazing, but pull back to find a lungful of salt where he’d stood, he already having started for the edge of the dock.
I’m sweating for all I’m worth when I take my place beside him and he turns as I do, his eyes laughing, ashen legs dangling over the sea.
“Rough day?” I wrinkle my nose, thinking I’ll never be rid of the salt in my veins. I try the ice cream, but the taste of fish is a ghost on my tongue.
“Such a goddamned pansy,” he sighed teasingly.
“Asshole,” I snort, shoving hard against his ribs, slender and patient beneath the cotton veil. He stumbles, sending his ice cream skidding across the sun splintered boards and despite myself, I smirk.
It’s a last thought before his arms snake around mine like a vice, his growl scorching my hairline, and I’m swept from the safety of the moaning wood.
“Motherfucker,” he laughs, voice breathy, jaw tight. His lips clash with mine, hot and heavy but that’s all there’s time for because gravity does its job well. It’s barely a second before we meet the sea in a cloud of bubbles, the schools of fish glaring pointedly at those who’d dared to disturb their waters.
We drift past the crests of sunlit waves, tangled and fierce, hearts begging for air. His tongue drags slowly over salted lips when we finally surrender a gasp of air, wrenching a groan from my chest.
And it’s through the haze of another saltwater kiss that I think that maybe, just maybe, the ocean doesn't seem so bad anymore.
His words are nearly swept past me, stolen by the breeze. It winds through the pier and the palms and the people, tossing all the horrors of the beach into the sky as it passes. I shrug, brushing away the sand and hair, not having given his question much thought. The lights and cries of thrill seekers on rattling rides and the reek sun blasted kelp are holding the better part of my attention. There’s only really room for a resounding, God, I hate this place.
He laughs softly, chapped lipped smile crooked, jungle green gaze patient. One flash of him and it’s all I can do to bury myself in the crook of his neck, muffling my own grin in the folds of his jacket. I breathe deep, drawing in the scent of the charcoal dusting the artist’s hands, of the takeout shared over midnight movies and shadow kisses, and of our home. It’s a nice trade, I think. A nice break from the chaos of the beach.
He’s waiting for me when I look back, each calloused hand wrapped around a sloppy sugar cone. The sun wastes no time, the ice cream sweating beads in seconds. I take mine in a brush of fingers, the milky streams staining us and the ancient wood below. I lean in for a thank you, neck stretched and cheeks blazing, but pull back to find a lungful of salt where he’d stood, he already having started for the edge of the dock.
I’m sweating for all I’m worth when I take my place beside him and he turns as I do, his eyes laughing, ashen legs dangling over the sea.
“Rough day?” I wrinkle my nose, thinking I’ll never be rid of the salt in my veins. I try the ice cream, but the taste of fish is a ghost on my tongue.
“Such a goddamned pansy,” he sighed teasingly.
“Asshole,” I snort, shoving hard against his ribs, slender and patient beneath the cotton veil. He stumbles, sending his ice cream skidding across the sun splintered boards and despite myself, I smirk.
It’s a last thought before his arms snake around mine like a vice, his growl scorching my hairline, and I’m swept from the safety of the moaning wood.
“Motherfucker,” he laughs, voice breathy, jaw tight. His lips clash with mine, hot and heavy but that’s all there’s time for because gravity does its job well. It’s barely a second before we meet the sea in a cloud of bubbles, the schools of fish glaring pointedly at those who’d dared to disturb their waters.
We drift past the crests of sunlit waves, tangled and fierce, hearts begging for air. His tongue drags slowly over salted lips when we finally surrender a gasp of air, wrenching a groan from my chest.
And it’s through the haze of another saltwater kiss that I think that maybe, just maybe, the ocean doesn't seem so bad anymore.
♠ ♠ ♠
Word count is 497.I'm cringing reading it over again, but, uh, I hope you like it?