The darkness fell about their shoulders in velvet folds, draping them with the warmth of an easy silence. She breathed deeply of the salty air, head tilted back to catch the breeze riding in with the waves. Moonlight fingered the folding waters and tickled the tops of the dunes softly, fondly.
She kicked off her sandals and toed out into the puddled shadows, wriggling her feet between the sandy goodness. He followed, fingers woven into hers and pale eyes catching the light in a way that gave back rather than demanded more. For a moment they stood, fingers twined, gaze tangling with the ocean. And then he drew her to him, slid his arm around her waist and began to dance, right there on the beach.
They didn't need a rhythm; their beating hearts were enough. And their music was that of the waves cleansing the sands, the plashing of their feet in the shallows, the tang of the salt moving in and out of their lungs.
They danced, lips meeting with a tenderness born of time, and were. For being was enough for them.