Pairings: Sonny/Brian. References to canon pairings.
Pampelonne
"Everything I love, I've got here. The sea, the sun, the hot sand, music… "
— Juliette, Et Dieu… Créa La Femme (And God Created Woman).
St. Tropez had been Brian's idea.
After Rio and Acapulco, and countless other places already forgotten, he wanted to see the iconic beaches where Brigitte Bardot had once pranced and pouted and driven men crazy with desire. Thanks to the films of Vadim and Girault, he had an idea in mind of picturesque white sand, sea-sweet air, and beautiful, bronzed jet-setters.
Sonny had merely shrugged at his suggestion of St. Tropez. After a whirlwind of exciting cities, he was content these days to spend most of his time lying around on the beach; it didn't seem to matter anymore whether the beach was in France or South America.
On Brian's part, he was ready to leave Acapulco in their rear-view. And since Sonny no longer seemed to care where they went, Brian would have them in France. It felt like a fair compromise.
He had a good feeling about France.
Before leaving the states, Brian had been warned about inevitable culture fatigue. But three months out of Salem and he still couldn't say he felt any inclination to return.
He was content where he was, and as long as Sonny wanted to continue his sojourn abroad, he was on board. His only regret was Sonny's unfortunate habit of keeping them in what Brian considered- kindly, he thought- glorified hostels.
He didn't know if it was a conscious thing or if Sonny genuinely chose their hotels at random. From the start, Sonny had seemed to want nothing more specific than a destination.
In most things, Brian was happy to follow Sonny's lead. But in choosing their hotel in St. Tropez, he happily diverged from Sonny's pattern of faux poverty and booked the most luxurious place he could find.
This turned out to be a seaside fantasy of white tiled floors, neoclassical columns, massages beside bright blue swimming pools, and soft curtains that fluttered with the ocean breeze over their room's balcony.
The room itself was larger than Brian's apartment back in Salem. For Sonny's sake, he appreciated the calming-yet-crisp whites and blues. There were white orchids waiting for them in the center of a large, glass dining table.
It was love at first sight. Plopping down on the lush bed and propping up his feet, he happily declared his travel palette officially cleansed.
He waited expectantly for Sonny to tease him, to maybe call him a snob, or to revive their old debate about whether one (Brian) should feel ashamed of coming from money. (An argument he found hilarious since Sonny came from more money than Brian would probably ever see in his lifetime.)
He waited in vain, because Sonny made no comment either way.
He hesitated to claim anything as a routine these days, but watching sunsets on the beach with Sonny was starting to feel comfortably habitual.
Sun-drunk, Brian stretched lazily against the sand. They had been there all day, alternating between swimming and napping, doing their best beach bum impressions.
(Though hardly just an impression anymore.)
Relaxing back onto the blanket, arm behind his head, he took in a truly exceptional sunset. Vibrant reds and purples over a darkening aquamarine sea. A Saint Tropez sunset. The kind you would travel the world to see.
Beside him, Sonny watched the sky with blank eyes.
They were alone now on this fairly remote part of the beach, accessed only from an unpaved road. There had been a handful of surfers and sunbathing teenagers. Once the night winds picked up, the last of them finally disappeared back up the trail.
There were goose bumps on Brian's arms. He glanced longingly up the way the others had gone, but said nothing. Sonny hadn't given any indication that he was ready to move yet, and that was fine. He could stand the cold if Sonny could.
Brian rolled onto his side, studying Sonny's face. Day after day spent in the sun, and Sonny's once pale skin had tanned into a light brown. He was leaner these days, his angles sharper. His eyes were serious and distant. He couldn't look more different from the boy Brian had met a lifetime ago, the boy with the coffee shop and the shy smile, who blushed and rolled his eyes at Brian's shameless flirting. Brian couldn't remember the last time Sonny had smiled at anything, let alone blushed.
He leaned over and gently kissed Sonny's bare, sun-baked shoulder, taking salt from the sea away on his tongue. Sonny didn't respond.
A nameless frustration seized him. Without warning, he rolled over on top of Sonny's body, covering him. Sonny made a surprised noise, and Brian smirked down at him.
"What are you doing?" He shifted uncomfortably, trying to adjust his body into a more comfortable position beneath Brian's.
Brian brushed a lock of hair back over Sonny's ear. "This is our seventh night here."
"Okay…"
"Seven means good luck."
"Brian, you're heavy."
"Sonny, you've barely said two words to me today."
He hadn't meant to sound hurt, had only meant to tease, but Sonny's eyes flitted away guiltily.
Brian sighed. Guilt wasn't what he was after. Cupping Sonny's face, he turned him back so they were eye-to-eye. "Lucky for you, I'm in a forgiving mood."
In truth, Sonny's reticence was pretty typical nowadays. He seemed to withdraw more and more into his own head every day. Sometimes, Brian liked to remind him that there was a very good reason to remember who he was with.
He rocked slowly, watching Sonny's eyes darken with understanding. When he glanced around nervously, Brian assured him, "We're alone."
Making sure he had Sonny's full attention, eyes held, he leaned over and kissed his mouth. He kissed him over and over again until he felt drunk from it. Sonny took his time in responding, but Brian was persistent, and he eventually gave in and put his arms around Brian's neck. Brian felt Sonny's eyelashes brush his skin when he finally closed his eyes. For the first time since the sun had begun to set, Brian felt warm all the way down into his toes.
Sonny dislodged him after too-brief a time. Standing, he brushed sand from his knees, not looking at Brian.
"Not here."
Brian's smile was tight. "Then where?"
But Sonny was shaking his head. "I'm going to take another lap."
He didn't wait for Brian to remind him that the water would be cold by then, that they should probably head back to the hotel. Jogging down the beach, he dove into the water with a determination he rarely displayed toward anything else these days.
Defeated, Brian pulled on his sweatshirt and dug his feet into the sand, seeking warmth.
He watched Sonny disappear under a wave and sighed.
Brian wandered the city alone that night, content enough for the moment to take it all in as a spectator.
At night, the city seemed a different animal, and it called to him in a different way than it did during the day. The narrow streets, crowded in by tall, narrow buildings of tan and white, were full of people, locals and tourists mingling together, the summer season in full force. Tantalizing music poured through the doors of nightclubs, each with long lines of beautiful people trying to get in.
He felt the urge to touch everything, sensing that the heat from the day was still packed into the buildings and the streets and the smells. There were perfumes all around, pulling him in every direction.
Brian had tried to get Sonny to join him. He desperately wanted to see Sonny under an exclusive club's strobe lights or to sip wine with him outside under a striped balcony— anything really to create a memory to differentiate this place for Sonny from all the places that came before.
Sonny hadn't been interested in leaving the hotel room. Brian wished he could say this surprised him.
Nearby, there was a street musician playing conga drums under a tree covered in lights. Brian merged with the group of people gathered around to listen. He was just thinking about how Sonny would enjoy this— he enjoyed the street musicians in Rio— when he caught the eye of someone across the group.
An attractive man with dark hair and eyes met his gaze. Somewhere near Brian's age, he was tall and dressed simply but flatteringly in a dark t-shirt and jeans.
Brian felt awareness prickle at the back of his neck. The man looked Brian up and down with obvious intent, his generous mouth curving into a grin.
He smirked, amused by the shameless appraisal. The handsome stranger took his smirk as encouragement. Brian watched as he casually maneuvered his way through the small throng of people so that he was standing beside him, presumably to watch the musician play.
Brian waited and, sure enough, the man's arm brushed his. "Excusez-moi," he said in a pleasing accent, as if it were an accident.
Brian eyed him knowingly. "Pas de souci." No problem.
The man said something else, but Brian's French was already exhausted by this brief exchange. He shrugged, unashamed, and said, "Sorry, I don't speak French."
The man laughed, seeming to understand. He touched Brian's arm and indicated toward one of the bars, where one could assume that the language barrier wouldn't be as much of a problem.
Brian held his stare, took in his perfect smile and the hint of cologne. Suppressing a grin, he shook his head and turned his attention back to the musician. The tempo was beginning to gain momentum, earning some clapping from his delighted audience.
Undeterred, his friend leaned into Brian's personal space. His voice became a hot whisper against Brian's ear as he murmured a string of French that could have been anything but sounded like some truly sinful promises in that accent.
Brian allowed himself an appreciative shiver. It was nice to be reminded what this felt like. It had been a while. Sonny didn't exactly…
In another time, another place. Which was why he smiled apologetically even as he gently removed the man's hand from his back. "Sorry, but no" he said, knowing the man understood him even if he didn't speak English. His friend looked disappointed.
Brian felt his own smile falter. Despite an iron will to the contrary, an old bitterness had risen up. Would Sonny even notice or— God forbid, actually care—if he went home with this man? Brian hadn't been with anyone else since Sonny had reentered his life four months ago. He knew Sonny hadn't either. He had always assumed that it went without saying, but…
Would Sonny care?
Brian didn't know. His doubt settled over him like a dark shroud, instantly poisoning his mood. His expression must have become off-putting, because the man's smirk slowly disappeared, and he glanced away with obvious discomfort.
No longer charmed by this encounter, Brian allowed the uncomfortable moment to stretch until his admirer finally took the hint and drifted off.
He waited until the musician's song was over. Then, feeling annoyed and out of sorts, he headed back to the hotel.
By the time of his return, Sonny was in the shower, and it was half past midnight. Brian wondered what Sonny had to wash off at this time of night.
A part of him, maybe an irrational part, was annoyed by Sonny's odd timing; though, if it were because he was spoiled for a fight or because he wanted Sonny in their bed so he could save this night from being a complete wash, he couldn't say.
Another part of him, a particularly tired part, just wanted to crawl into bed and wrap himself around the other man until he fell asleep.
Sleep sounded good about then.
Brian kicked off his shoes. He was just taking off his jacket when Sonny's phone began ringing.
Surprised, he let the jacket resettle on his shoulders. It was too late for phone calls. Who would be…?
No, he thought with a bitter smile. The right question was who else?
He followed the familiar ringtone until he located the phone in Sonny's top dresser drawer. It was late, but France was seven hours ahead of Salem, where he suspected the call was coming from. It would be about 5:30 there.
Even with the disregard for the time difference, Sonny's caller was lucky because, half the time, Sonny forgot to keep his phone charged at all. It figured that, this one time, it would have some leftover juice.
The call was coming from an unknown number. Brian glanced at the closed bathroom door, considering. He could still hear the sound of running water.
Definitely ready for a fight now, he answered the phone.
But the voice on the other end gave him pause. "Sonny? Um, hey. It's me. I'm… I'm really glad you answered."
Brian frowned. His anger shifted to confusion. He had expected to be talking to Will, unknown number or not. This man's voice was unfamiliar.
"I wanted to… No, I needed to… Are you there? Hello?"
Brian said nothing.
The voice said Sonny's name again, sounding small and uncertain. "Baby, please. Talk to me. I miss you. I'm so, so sorry—"
Brian hung up the phone. He stared at it for a moment, so small and innocent in his hand.
Setting the phone aside, he went to the bathroom and opened the door without knocking.
Sonny had the temperature of the water turned so high that the window over the sink was fogged up and a thick cloud of mist hovered just under the bathroom ceiling. He turned and blinked bemusedly at Brian.
Brian quickly shed his clothes. There was a moment when the naked man in the shower had looked like a stranger, but no, this was Sonny. His Sonny, who moved passively aside to make room as Brian crowded him in. He pressed Sonny, naked and wet, back so that the hot water poured over both of them.
He embraced Sonny from behind and rested his chin on Sonny's shoulder. With a soft sigh, Sonny leaned back into his arms and closed his eyes. Brian mentally cataloged every movement as he gently stroked Sonny's flanks. "You got a phone call."
The only indication that Sonny had heard him was the slight stiffening of his back. He lightly gripped Brian's wrist, neither stopping nor encouraging him. Just touching.
He didn't ask, but Brian told him, "I think it was a wrong number."
Sonny turned around slowly, maybe even warily, and searched Brian's face with dark, serious eyes until Brian could no longer stand it. He cupped Sonny's face, fingers splayed possessively over wet cheeks, and kissed him, hot and hungry, under the spray.
His exhaustion melted away, and his entire focus narrowed down to the man in his arms. Brian officially didn't want to think any more tonight. He just wanted this. He always wanted this. Giving in to the urgency that buzzed furiously beneath his skin, he pressed Sonny back against the tile so their bodies were flush against each other.
Moaning softly into his mouth, Sonny slid his arms languidly around Brian's neck. He was soft and surprisingly pliant under Brian's hands.
It hadn't escaped his notice that Sonny no longer initiated this, not like before, when he would press Brian up against walls, with a searing tongue in his mouth and firm hands on his body, but he usually didn't turn him away either.
(Not usually. But he had turned him away just hours ago.)
He wouldn't turn him away now. Determined, Brian slid down Sonny's body, sucking at wet skin on his way down to his knees. The tile was hard and unforgiving beneath him, but he didn't care.
Overwhelmed by his own need, Brian pressed his face to Sonny's stomach, breathing in the clean scent of him. The thick steam had gone to his head. He felt dizzy.
"Brian?"
He looked up into Sonny's confused gaze. Holding his stare, he ran his hands up the back of Sonny's legs and over his ass. A million unspoken things passed between them when Brian's palm settled over the scar tissue on his lower back. He swore he felt Sonny shiver under his hands even as he looked away, cutting the connection before it could truly be established.
Heart heavy, Brian hid a bitter smile against Sonny's thigh. He traced the scar carefully. A rush of fierce, protective anger hit him, and he had to remember to breath. Water streamed down his face and into his eyes and mouth. For a surreal moment, he thought he might drown like this, as an eager apostle at Sonny's feet. It wasn't an unpleasant thought.
Outside, beneath the stars, with the sound of the sea a distant roar in their ears and the lights from the city blinking innocently off against the horizon, he made love to Sonny right there on the balcony.
Sonny gripped the railing with sweaty hands, gasping and moaning under Brian's hands.
This time, it didn't bother Brian so much that Sonny didn't seem particularly interested in the view. There was more than one way to make a memory.
The next day, Sonny spent most of the morning on the phone with his lawyer.
Brian waited in bed, sampling various things from the breakfast tray he had ordered from room service. He tried not to listen to what was being said on the balcony. It wasn't particularly hard, since Sonny's end of the conversation was mostly a series of curt yeses and noes.
Brian was halfway through some French movie on television when Sonny finally came back in the room. He looked shell-shocked.
"It's happening."
"It" being the divorce proceedings they didn't talk about. Brian knew this was coming, had been eagerly anticipating it, but now that "it" was finally here… he didn't know what to say.
Sonny laid on his side of the bed and stared up at the ceiling, his expression tense and unhappy.
Brian watched him warily for signs of a meltdown, but Sonny merely laid there, the picture of self-contained suffering. This should have assured him; however, there weren't any signs before last time either.
Possibly sensing Brian's chain of thought or just tired of being stared at, Sonny rolled over onto his side, presenting his back.
Brian ordered a congratulatory bottle of champagne. He only poured one glass.
He had originally planned for only a week in St. Tropez, but they were closing in on a month, and their travel trajectory had obviously stalled.
An email from his mother gently reminded him that classes for the fall semester at Salem University had started a week ago. A glance at his friends' feed confirmed that life in Salem was going on without them.
For better or worse, Brian couldn't bring himself to care.
Part two, the conclusion, will be up soon.
Note: Some mature scenes were lightly edited down so as to stay in accordance with the rules of this site. The full version is available at Ao3.