A/N: FrigidNorthWinds sent me a request to write this story out, so the credit for the creation of the plot goes to her, and this fic shall also be dedicated to her for being a lovely supporter. Enjoy!
P.S. Again don't flame me for mistaken preferences. No matter how much research I do, I still suck at writing about a country different from mine xD
Armadale Bay is one of the best tourist attractions in Scotland. It is a nothern beach enclosed by two rocky headlands, away from large cities and pure in its natural beauty. The location is also popular with surfers for its mostly excellent conditions, and it also enjoys some shelter from the wind due to the two main headlands on either side.
The summers of Scotland were not as sultry as other countries. As a matter of fact, it brought a mild, comforting ray of heat over the brilliant beach, rather than being downright hot. The elements of nature so perfectly combined brought a lot of tourists to the exotic location. People scatter about the sandy seaside—which stretched like a light brown highway surrounded by jade waters and vast green fields—swimming, surfing, playing sports or simply relaxing underneath a sunshade.
Wind was scarce in the afternoon and early evenings. It was at these times where the beach was usually strewn with young women and men lying down underneath the weather—when viewed from a distance, they all looked like meat on a slab.
Only when the day descended to four o'clock did the wind finally blow. Blissful laughter of children fill the air, active youngsters play volleyball and football, teens and young adults stroll about hand in hand, families and devoted married couples relax underneath a sunshade, about to have a picnic…
Alas, each day comes to an end. The crowds eventually thin out, leaving behind a thousand footprints, sandcastles and drawings on the damp sand. Brought with them is the noise—and with the visitors' departures, silence reclaims the beach as the sky descends into darkness. At night, however, the wind constantly blew, and with the fresh sea air and breath-taking view, it was enough to steal anybody's heart.
Price was satisfied. Although he had ambitions of becoming a soldier, he saw that a lifeguard was a wonderful alternative to take—just like a soldier, he looks after the lives of the innocent, only without any blood, bullets and explosions.
It had been about five years since he moved to Sutherland, Scotland. The reason as to why he moved out of Hereford to reside in the said part of the world remains a mystery to him, even to this day, for it was simply something he felt he had to do. He has no regrets, however, especially since he gained a few meaningful friends as he pursued his passion.
He was perfectly happy sitting up on the high lifeguard post, a roof above his head and drink in his hand, watching everyone who lingered about his part of the stretching beach. The beach, because of its wide stretch, was divided into two parts—he was in responsibilty of the east part, whereas Nikolai and Yuri managed the west part.
Price spent his days observing, listening, experiencing…and occasionally he would save a drowning child or teen. Nobody has ever gone down under his watch, and he always made sure it stayed that way.
Roach was his little assistant, more-or-less. The younger man was basically just another lifeguard, only under his command. After all, since their area of the beach was rather large, there was no way Price could handle the safety of the vistors alone. Roach was a dependable man, but sometimes childish and clumsy at times, but it was always him who walked around the beach, patrolling and interacting with the people, whereas Price remained stationary on the lifeguard post.
Roach, Yuri and Nikolai always went home early. They usually leave around seven o'clock or so, whereas Price wouldn't leave for home until an hour later. Why? Because Price is in love.
When dusk falls, the sun is almost completely setting into the sea, and the golden tint of the sunset mixes in beautifully with the purplish colour that increases every second. The gentle seaside breeze brings him a gust of fresh air and the sounds of nature and birds, and to add that with the two rocky headlands enclosed around the beach…the view alone is what conquered Price's heart.
He hates watching this beautiful sight with anybody else. This scenery is his little secret—only his to keep, only his to indulge.
However, that was all about to change.
"Hey, Captain?" Roach called out, looking up hopefully at Price, who was on the lifeguard post, as usual. When the older man hummed and looked down, Roach smiled. "Why can't you get down from there for once in your career and take over my job of patrolling the beach?"
Price took a sip of his iced drink, raising an eyebrow. "Now, why would I want to do that?"
"Why can't I sit up there for once in my career?" Roach answered with another question, pouting slightly. "Though Nikolai's the head of the west side, he still lets Yuri sit on the post and takes over Yuri's role of patrolling. Why can't you be as considerate as Niki?"
The edge of Price's lips curled upwards. "Roach, go do another round on the beach."
Sanderson stared at him, disappointed, before groaning and grudgingly turning around. Before he can take another step, however, he turned and shouted, "Get down here and talk with the tourists, at least. Maybe you'll finally find a soulmate, old man."
Price glared, this close to pouring his lemonade over Roach's head, but calmed himself and said coldly. "I'm already in love, mate. And I'm not old. And now, go do your bloody job."
"I doubt that," Roach grinned boyishly, referring to when Price claimed he was taken by heart. He said nothing more and continued down the beach, restarting his daily routine of making the whole round of their part of the seaside.
Price grunted and returned to his original activity of observing the beach. The women have pointed out more than once that Price looked younger for his age and often flirted or tried to talk to him, but their attempts always resulted in zilch. There was honestly nobody on the beach he found attractive.
It was three in the evening. Traces of wind were lightly present. Price watched with his usual awareness as, in the small distance, a few groups of young adults and some families gingerly made their way down the paths leading to the beach…
Among them were two young men. They didn't seem a part of the trendy, rich-looking group of kids that followed up behind them—they looked a bit older and, for some reason, didn't have that rich-kid flair. The two were engaged in a conversation, laughing, dressed in sleeveless shirts and swimming trunks like everybody else.
Price's eyes locked on one of the two companions. For some reason he couldn't get his eyes off of him…
He was not as tall as Price was. Square shoulders, muscular arms that he obviously worked quite hard to get. A straight posture, and with his dark green trunk reaching his knees, Price noticed his calves. His legs were those belonging to one capable of amazing athletic feats. As a lifeguard, it was always a pleasure to see somebody in such perfect health.
A smirk threatened to show on his face as his eyes examined this stranger's facial features. It was strange, though this good-looking young man had a baby-face; he was the first person Price had ever seen who could sport a Mohawk right. Hell, the incredulous hairstyle actually suited him. Made him hotter, in fact.
Price caught himself at that moment. Did he just consider that stranger 'hot'? He wiped his face several times. The not-so-hot heat must be getting to him or something.
Despite uncomfortable with his own thoughts, his azure eyes still wandered back to the Mohawk-sporting man. He and his friend—who was a stunning six-feet-tall, at least, with dark hair—had already chosen a comfortable spot on the sand and was setting up a large sunshade and two fold-able chairs.
Price watched curiously as the stranger of his interest settled underneath the shade, whereas his friend headed out into the water. He just sat there, leaning back against the small chair, and within a few minutes had taken out a small book and pencil. Then he opened it, and constantly looked up from the view of the sea to his book, scribbling something on it…
Strange. Was this man an aspiring artist? That was the last thing Price expected, especially since he was in such perfect shape and health. Did he have some kind of fear of going into the sea? It was a normal thing, but rare among people of his age.
Price wasn't sure how long he spent staring at him, but it must have been about twenty minutes.
"Hey, Captain," Roach called out as he passed the lifeguard post. "I'm done with the right side of the beach. Heading for the left side, now."
Price inwardly groaned. Since the lifeguard post was in the middle of the East Beach, Price had a panaromic view of the area, so when Roach was patrolling the left side, Price would watch the right, and vice versa.
Without saying anything, Price turned away from the Mohawk-sporting man of interest and stared blankly at his right. Nikolai's guard post was visible in the distance, with an equal number of people on his side of the beach, as well.
However, there must've been some sort of disapproval on his face, because Roach, perplexed, inquired:
"Um…you don't have any qualms with me going to the left side, do you, Captain? I mean…if you want to continue staring at whomever you were staring at, I can take care of the right for the rest of the day."
"Who the bloody hell said I was staring at anybody?" Price snapped, causing Roach to flinch. Then, softer, he said, "Sorry, lad. No, it's alright. Go ahead."
In front of him, the mid-high tides of the sea were ridden by the daring and lively surfers among the tourists. Roach was, for some reason, very quick with patrolling the other side of the beach, because he reached the lifeguard post again in only ten minutes.
"I'm going to make some drinks," Roach sighed, wiping his towel over his forehead. He walked towards the small guard house behind them. "I'll be back in a few, Captain."
Price's gaze redirected again to the duo. He was still sketching, roughly dabbing his pen against the paper, before licking his thumb and sliding it across the surface. Seeing this rather impressed Price, he really had the artistic flair.
Even as Roach returned with the drinks, Price's eyes were still locked onto the two young men. He subconsciously accepted the drink Roach offered him and sipped on it, as the tall friend got out of the water, approached the Mohawk-sporting man, and began talking.
Roach desperately followed his captain's gaze, hoping to see who the hell caught his hard-to-get friend's eye, but to no avail.
Price concluded they were going to be on the beach for a while, and returned to observing the area to keep the safety in check. This drifted on for an hour, with him and Roach doing their jobs as usual; only Price would occasionally snap his head back to the left to glance at the unknown duo.
When his watch indicated half past five, the dark-haired friend patted Price's man of interest and headed back into the sea to resume surfing. And this time, Price watched intently as the stranger grinned and exited the shelter of his sunshade—but, instead of joining his friend in the waters, he walked along the beach.
The weak waves, which had lost all of their momentum as they rolled inland, stretched as far as they would go up the sand, soaking the land a shade browner than it originally was, before pulling back into the sea, bringing a good deal of sand with them.
Price watched as the stranger walked along the browner parts of the beach, the parts closer to the sea—and it was all but a flawless sight to see as he subconsciously smiled into the glittering, jade ocean, leaving a trail of footprints as he walked, which would only end up washed away by the retreating waves. He allowed the waves to soak him up to the ankles, but moved no deeper, and simply laughed when his buddy failed to complete a surf and fell into the water.
However, as the clock struck six, they began to pack up, just like the crowd. This left a sense of disappointment in Price. He was almost sure the two youngsters would have lingered around longer.
"Hey, Roach," he suddenly looked down at the younger man as they left, raising an eyebrow. "Are you taken?"
A little caught off guard with the inquiry, Roach stuttered, "W-What? You mean, i-in a relationship? Um…no, no, I'm not. Though some of the people here gave me their numbers, I'm still single."
Price nodded thoughtfully. "Has anybody caught your eye?"
"N-No," Roach answered, a bit too fast that it was suspicious. With the pink blush on his cheeks, it was blatant that Sanderson was lying. The young man obviously saw somebody today that was attractive.
Price smirked. Somehow, he had a good idea of who that person was.
The following day, the two youngsters were absent, and overall those hours were uneventful. On the other hand, the third day brought a usually-seen face to the beach.
Vladimir Makarov. He was a rich man who, having retired early from the multi-million world of business, constantly visited Armadale Bay. However, unlike most of the beach's loyal visitors, whose faces were always pleasant to see, the face of Makarov only meant trouble for the lifeguards.
He was one of the few bastards in the world who had no respect for the glorious natural beauty of the stunning location. His respect for the fellow visitors was zero, as well. Whenever he arrived upon the beach, it was as though it was his conquered land, as though it was a place under his command, a beach where he was in control. The lifeguards hated dealing with him.
As Makarov set foot on the sandy terrain of the beach, Price noticed him immediately and groaned. His hand flew to his ear and he spoke into his earpiece:
"Nikolai, Makarov's here."
"That is never good news," Nikolai replied, his voice grave. "Hopefully you can keep him under control, yes?"
"That's never easy," Price spat out. "The urge to strangle him always comes over me whenever I'm near the bloody bastard. Why can't we just kick him out and ban him from this place?"
Nikolai chuckled. "You know we cannot. This beautiful place is for everybody…even bastards like him. In case he starts doing anything wrong, tell Roach to warn him."
"Can't do that, poor Roach. You don't mind if I ask him to go over to your side of the beach? You and Yuri always seem to handle Makarov much better."
"You know that Yuri is always upset whenever he sees Makarov. And Makarov turns twice as hazardous when he sees Yuri. To tell you the truth, the burden is solely on my shoulders when the two are close to rearranging their facial features."
Though the radio connection was only available to Nikolai and Price, the two guardhouses behind the lifeguard posts on either side of the beach also had a small station where one could communicate with the two men through radio. Apparently, Roach was inside one of the guardhouses, and cheekily chimed in:
"Hey, I still think it's because Makarov has a thing for Yuri, just trying to get the attention of an old friend he always harboured feelings for."
Nikolai laughed, quite nervously. "Yuri will drown you if he heard that, Roach. You are lucky he is patrolling, not in the guardhouses listening in on what we are saying."
"I'm just sayin'."
Price said irritably. "Who said you could eavesdrop, Roach? Are you done with the routine?"
"For this hour, at least. Besides, I don't want to handle Makarov!"
Price's eyes darted back to Makarov. He released an exasperated sigh as the Russian threw an aluminium can onto the sand right in front of the 'No Littering' sign. Though most would see it as a light felony, Makarov was the first person in Price has seen who actually littered about the beautiful beach.
"Hmm, there's a lovely young couple sitting at his usual spot," Price said into the radio, slightly worried. "He's approaching them. Geez, I hate that bloody yank, always intimidating all the other visitors. It's a bad image for the beach."
Nikolai sighed. "Defend the lovers, Price. Makarov does not pay for his 'usual spot' every month so it is not his private property."
"Damn him, always scaring away our visitors," Roach muttered, cursing underneath his breath. "I swear, I wonder why he decided to be a businessman instead of a terrorist. Terorrizing people seems to be his natural-born talent."
From where Price sat, he had a clear view as Makarov drew near the couple. He was arguing with the innocent young man, whereas the woman looked terrified. Excusing himself from the radio conversation, Price removed himself from the high post and jogged over to them.
He was too late, however, for as he approached, the couple stood up and walked away; offended looks on their faces, an amused look on Makarov's.
Price glared at the Russian. "Makarov, this isn't your property. There are a thousand other spots on the sand where you can sit down and relax. Why the bloody hell do you have to frighten other visitors?"
"I'm a regular here," Makarov spat out. "And besides, the man just now was more than willing to move away. Is asking him to do so a crime?"
"Offending the tourists is a bad image for our beach," Price hissed.
"A bad image for the lifeguards, too, am I right?" Makarov raised an eyebrow, his lips ever so slightly curving upwards into a smile.
"I swear, one day, when you push things too far, I'll knock you into the next week," Price warned.
"Isn't threatening people the only thing you are good at?" Makarov was unimpressed. "Ah, how disappointing. A lifeguard who does not save lives, but endangers them. I see that only the younger one patrols, whereas you just sit up there, perched like a smug cat after a meal. Do you think that's a good way to convey to tourists that the beach is safe?"
Price gritted his teeth and clenched his hands. "Keep this up, Makarov, and see who is going to save your sorry arse when the waves swallow you whole."
With that, he turned away and returned to the guard post.
Finally, on the fourth day, the man Price felt slightly attracted to, the one with the Mohawk, returned to the beach, only he came at four o'clock. Again, he was with his tall friend, and just like that day, he sat underneath the sunshade and stayed out of the water. Only this time he was eating on some home-brought food and was staring into the book instead of scribbling on it.
The tall one was in the water. Price noticed that the dark-haired man was also of great health, though not as muscular as his friend, but had great elegance in every stroke and skill in the way moved about the water. He was impressed by their genuine health and shape, which was, all in all, rare among the spoilt brats of kids nowadays.
Why wasn't the one with the Mohawk showing what he was capable of? Price longed to see how he moved in the water.
At that moment, Roach passed by in front of the lifguard post, as usual. He was halfway through his hourly routine of perambulation. Price noticed the young man walked by, but he also realized that Sanderson's eyes widened after he saw a particular someone on the left side of the beach, and that he cursed softly:
"Damn! He's there again…"
"Who's there again?" Price asked, smirking.
Roach looked up, startled. He flushed and mumbled something incoherent, before (reluctantly) heading forward to complete the patrol. Not to his knowledge, his captain watched with curiosity as he made his way along the beach.
The brownish-blonde-haired man ambled, walking leisurely, but seemed to slow down once he reached the sunshade belonging to the duo of Price's interest. At that moment, the tall dark-haired one exited the water and headed away from the waves, and approached—much to Price's surprise—not his friend, but Roach.
A smirk slowly grew on Price's face as the dark-haired man halted Roach and began talking to him, flashing flirtatious winks and lopsided smiles between his words. And Roach's embarrassment increased with each pick-up line. To see this was hilarious.
And then the one who flirted with Roach approached his friend with the Mohawk. There was some talking—and the usually quiet, aspiring artist blushed at some point whereas Roach and the other one laughed. Roach was quick to make friends.
And then, Sanderson waved a hand, as though to deny something, and then he said a few words before pointing towards Price.
When Roach did this, it caught the captain off guard. And with rising alarm, he cursed softly as Roach approached the lifeguard post with the tall, dark-haired man following him, and the attractive one with the Mohawk calling after his friends, but not moving from the sunshade.
"Hey, Captain," Roach grinned, though traces of pink still lingered on his cheeks. "These people need your help, and I can't do anything for them."
"Oi, old man!" The tall one behind him suddenly shouted. Price was startled by his thick British accent, and his rudeness, of course. "This lovely chap over here told me you're sitting on your arse all day every day, so why not come down and teach the muppet of my buddy over there how to swim?"
Price remained silent, particularly because he had a hard time registering what he said. 'Lovely chap'? Alright, he was definitely trying to tackle Roach. What did he mean 'muppet of my buddy'? Was he referring to the one with the Mohawk?
Did he just say his friend couldn't swim?
A/N: For my fans who await the sequel of News Worthy, you should know that I'm putting the project on delay until this, on the other hand, is complete! Hopefully it's a nice surprise, yes? And shall hopefully make up for the wait. x3 Please review!