I Told You I Would Show You The Ocean
The sun is setting and it casts long golden shadows on the man before me as he stands gazing out at the ocean. Swathes of bronze pattern the back of his tattered grey t-shirt and fall from his lean outline to stroke the sand beneath his bare feet, and for all the world, it looks like he has wings. The tracery of light is delicate but then he stretches, his back becoming a fluid, feline arch, and the wings appear to flex powerfully.
It makes me smile and my own wings unfurl as I step across the shingle toward him.
He knows I am there but he does not turn and I raise my hands and rest them gently on his broad shoulders. He cants his head to one side and the stubble on his chin grazes my skin as he drags his face against my arm.
"I told you...if we survived...I would show you the ocean."
My voice is hoarse, desire tightening my throat as his hair brushes my flesh. I step even closer to him and my hands trail from his shoulders to trace the muscles of his back. He rocks on his heels, leaning into me and my hand slips round his waist to rest on the tight plane of his hip.
"You did...and you have..."
His voice is gravel, torn and bruised...and languid. It stops the breath in my chest and my fingers crest the waistband of his jeans, seeking the heat of his skin.
He flinches at my touch and his lips part to release something that is part sigh, part growl.
And then he is turning. His strong arms close around me, pulling me urgently toward him and, whimpering, I make a pretense at resistance. He growls louder and his hand snakes up my back, winding into my hair pulling my head toward him. I feel his thigh push at my leg, off-balancing me, and I must lean into him or fall. So I lean in.
His lips are every bit as brutally soft as I imagined they would be and my breath ghosts against them as he finally, finally kisses me.
I am glad we both survived.
The end.