Sand

Sequel to 'Sticky.'
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Sand

X

And now I must confess, I could use some rest
I can't run at this pace very long
Yes it's quite insane, I think it hurts my brain
But it cleans me out and then I can go on—Jimmy Buffett, Trying to Reason with Hurricane Season

X

Rude opened his mother’s refrigerator, seriously considering sangria for breakfast. Whiskey for supper hadn’t been so bad, had it? In the end he reached for orange juice and started the coffee pot. His mother would be in town most of the day, leaving him and Vincent in the house alone and putting off the awkward “So ma, we’re more than friends” conversation that he had been dreading.

Not that his mother would mind. He suspected she already knew. It wasn’t Vincent’s first visit to the beach house and in spite of the whole guest room ruse, mothers knew things. Partners knew things too; he had seen a calculating look in Reno’s eyes of late, as well. It wasn’t like he had anything to hide so much as he didn’t really know what he was doing. He’d had no idea what he was getting into in the beginning and he sure as fuck didn’t know now.

This was Vincent Valentine, of all people. He had teased Reno about going high profile when he had set his sights on the Planet’s Hero. And now here he was. Gods, the only way he could outdo himself was to shag Rufus himself, though that was debatable. Not to mention a little gross. Talk about a road well traveled.

He glanced out the kitchen window to the porch bed, where they had collapsed the night before. Most large beach houses had beds lining one side of the porch; it was the only bearable place to sleep in the heat of summer, when the cool breeze would come in off the water. Not everyone could afford the luxury of glass and air conditioning. Vincent still lay there, part of a pillow shoved over his eyes in a losing attempt to keep daylight at bay, his cotton beach clothes rumpled from their tryst the night before.

Rude’s mother would have walked by him, on her way out of the house.

Yeah, she knew.

Sighing, he poured a second glass of juice and carried it out. “Breakfast, babe?” He brushed back strands of black silk from a pale face, now wrinkled with sleep and crusted here and there with damp sand. Pushed aside the near empty bottle of whiskey so he could sit.

“Nnnft.” He took the glass of juice and downed it in one swallow and blinked a few times. “Get back in bed with me.” He moved to unfasten the brass gauntlet and dropped it to the floor, leaving his scarred and mangled arm open to the beach air. It was something he almost never did; he confessed to Rude once that it made him feel defenseless, naked. “That thing’s gonna be fun to get the sand out of,” he muttered. He seemed to feel safe enough now as he slipped back into sleep, trusting Rude to keep him safe.

Rude watched him for a time. They would have to get up soon. The sun was climbing higher in the sky and even the sea breezes would not keep them cool for long. Last nights clothes smelled still of the sea, of salt and well, sex. They were beginning to sweat in the increasing heat but neither wanted to move. Rude only brushed his lips against Vincent’s forehead, and scattered the sand still sticking to his cheek down into the inky blackness of his hair. His bare feet made him look vulnerable, like the lack of gauntlet. He lay there a while longer. Just a little while longer, he decided, holding this beautiful man against him, feeling him breathe. Like the ocean.

“We should go in. We need to shower.”

Vincent sat up, grabbed the gauntlet with his good arm and knocked it against his leg to dislodge as much sand as possible, and padded through the dark house to the bathroom. He peeled off his clothes and joined Rude in the shower, much too small for two men their size but they didn’t mind. They managed to get clean enough, at least to fall back into bed and make love again.

Rude really hoped Ma wasn’t expecting company. If she was, they got an eyeful of the woman’s only son being soundly fucked by a former Turk, with his legs tossed back over his shoulders like some cheap hussy. Hell, when it came to Vincent, he was a cheap hussy. And feeling those slim hips pistoning in and out, his lover’s hard length filling him again and again until he fisted his own cock crying for relief, he was willing to be one any time Vincent wanted him to be.

A second shower later, they were sitting on the lanai sharing a pitcher of mojitos when Reno walked up, bearing Vincent’s shoes and his sunglasses. “Lose something, partner?”

“Thanks, was a little drunk getting home last night.” If Reno thought anything of Vincent’s presence on the lanai, he said nothing. They talked shop for a few minutes before Reno scurried off, eager to get back to his own member of the AVALANCHE dating pool.

Rude chuckled to himself. This sleeping with the enemy thing was getting to be a habit. Vincent gave him a sleepy look. “Any limes around here? I’m in a tequila mood.”

“I could scare some up.” Rude moved off to get the shot glasses as he heard the screen door slam. His mother had returned with dinner. Tomorrow they would both be back in Edge, trying to wash the smell of sunscreen out of their clothing and the nostalgia from their minds, wondering when their friends’ suspicion would finally get the better of them. For now, it just didn’t matter. For now it was just them and the taste of limes, of stolen passion and endless white sand.