You remember it was summertime the first time he anchored in the port. The gentle breeze carried the smell of salt through town in a way that reminded you of chasing after birds to the shore as a child rather than of the cruel whip and sting of sea spray during a winter storm. He sailed in on a cutter that had been weathered with time, decorated in a paint that was a deep blue in some places and a faded, chipped mess in others. A' Bhean Uasal Gorm was painted on the side in beautiful cursive lettering. 

You heard him before you saw him; a booming laugh at the market on a Sunday morning, a deep voice talking proudly in a Scottish accent down at the docks. You learned through murmurings in town that he was a trader from the Highlands stopping to rest and restock before the final stretch to somewhere exotic, somewhere that you would only ever dream of. 

The first time you saw him you stopped short. Tan skin loosely covered by a thin old poet shirt, untied and revealing more of his chest than modest, and a flowing blue kilt. His hair was shaved on the sides with a strip down the middle that was wavy and untamed, just long enough to twirl around your finger. He was tall and broad. Strong, full in the way physical labour demands. His body was speckled with dark hair. Beautiful by all measures. 

He had brought gifts that summers day that he showed up, from faraway places that were otherworldly to those of you tethered to the port. He traded some of his treasures and others he simply gave away, to strangers he had never met before and would never meet again. 

The first night that he came into the tavern, he walked right up to you and introduced himself. Johnny MacTavish. You could still hear him saying it; the way his mouth moved around the vowels in a lilt that you had never heard before. You longed to hear him say your own name.

You let him distract you from work all night. He was a shameless flirt, saying your name as often as he could, moving just slightly too close to be casual, flexing his biceps when he caught you looking, calling you a ‘bonnie lass’ any chance he got (not that you knew what it meant). 

But while he flirted and teased, shamelessly showing off and demanding your attention, he told you stories of his travels. Johnny was beside himself when he told you stories of the things he’d seen; glaciers and waterfalls and fjords that stretched so high they kissed the clouds. He told you of dolphins and seabirds and schools of the biggest fish you could imagine. He told you of swells taller than the fjords, open waters so calm on days so clear you could see your reflection in the water, and being so far from land that there was nothing else as far as the eye could see. He told you of the deafening roar of a storm, and the all encompassing silence of still waters on a clear and windless day. He told you of crew mates, and solo sailing, and pirates. 

You felt every word that came out of his mouth. Saw the ocean reflected in his eyes. You could hear every bird call, feel every spray, see every sunrise and sunset on the water. You fell for him through his stories.

You'd taken him home after that first night in the tavern- something you had never done before. You told him just as much. It felt like you were ripping your chest open and asking him to reach in and grab your heart.

But he was an honest man and he told you the truth; that he was thrilled by you much in the same way that he was with the ocean. That he saw a fierceness in you, something enduring and formidable. He would give himself to you, learn you in this way and devote himself completely to you for this time, but he made it clear that he couldn't stay, no matter what happened. No harbour was his home; he belonged out at sea. You did your best to understand. 

Johnny was slow and gentle when he made love to you that night. He took his time with you, getting you ready and wanting. He undressed you and laid you down on the bed, holding himself up above you to kiss you before moving his lips down your body. He lingered at your breasts, taking each nipple into his mouth.

He moved further down, holding your thighs in his strong arms as he buried his head between your legs. You looked down at him, at his body; powerful sculpted muscles that rippled with each movement.

You found that he was a firm and steadfast presence all night. Something you could anchor yourself to. 

When he pressed into you, surrounding you in a way that stopped you from seeing anything other than him, the stretch of him brought tears to your eyes. His lips brushed yours as you panted, breathing in each other’s air as you tried to adjust to the pain and he tried to stay calm despite the tight warm squeeze you had on him. Once you adjusted his thrusts were slow and deep, letting you feel every ridge and vain of him. Johnny murmured encouragements and sweet things in your ear, ghosted his lips along your neck, caressed the peak of your nipple and circled your clit as the pressure of your second release slowly built up in your stomach. 

As he looked into your eyes on a particularly firm and deep thrust your mind went blank. All you could see, hear, and feel were Johnny and the ocean. You could see it fall and rise. You saw its raging glory. 

The rest of the week that Johnny was anchored in town followed that routine, until he took you down to the dock on the day he left. You stood on the edge of the dock while he stood on the hull below you, still close enough to wrap his arms around your waist.

“Tell me where you’re going again?” Your voice was quiet. Anything to get him to stay for even a minute longer. 

Johnny indulged you, stepping closer and circling your waist with his arms, resting his hands just above your rear. 

“Cantabria, in Spain. It’s in th’ north.”

“What are you going to do there?” You reached out and ran you fingers through his strip of hair. He blinked for a second longer than natural and leaned into your touch. 

“Whi’ever, really. Trade, meet new folk, see th’ country. A’ve never bin before. But it’s more aboot th’ journey there, lass.”

“How long will it take?” You started playing with the hair at the nape of his neck.

“Three months. Mibbe more.”

You sighed. 

“Will you…” you focused your vision on where your other hand sat on his shoulder, “Will you be back?”

“Aye, bonnie. Soon as ah can.”

You leaned down and kissed him, offering up everything that you were just for him. He seemed to do the same. 

“Wait for me?”

You nodded quick and hard before pulling him in for another kiss, this one more desperate than the last. You stayed at the dock until he wasn’t visible anymore, past the horizon. 

You tried to continue on like normal in the months that Johnny was away. Though it seemed he flipped your life upside down; the sailors travelling in and out no longer entertained you. Their stories outright bored you. You missed Johnny’s touch, his voice, his weight on top of you, his eyes. You couldn’t remember what life had been like before him. 

You saw beauty in the sea now. Before Johnny you’d mostly ignored it; growing up beside it your entire life led you to barely even notice it. Such a constant that it no longer occurred to you. But now, you went down to the dock as often as you could. You watched the tides come in and out, watched the waves break. 

You saw Johnny when you looked at the ocean; strong, wild, unbeatable and untameable. While Johnny was gone you never felt truly alone, not when you were by the ocean, the only thing that connected you to him while he was away. 

It was late Autumn when he returned, and this visit was much the same as the first. He brought gifts for everyone again; treasures of all sorts from the north of Spain. For you, he brought a silver locket hanging on a braided chain of the finest silver.

He gave it to you the first time you laid together in the afterglow since he had been back. Johnny had finally invited you to his boat, and you found the inside was far nicer than you’d thought; homier than you pictured, a welcoming warmth to it. It brought you peace of mind to know that Johnny still had a comfort when he was out at sea, not just a paper thin mattress covered by a dry rotted quilt in a dinky, mouldy cabin. 

You were laying together, touching each other in any way you could, when he started to get up.

“What are you doing?”

“Hold oan, bonnie. Got something for ye.”

You watched him from the bed as he moved around the cabin searching for something, as naked as the day he was born. He seemed to be somehow stronger than the last time you had seen him.

“Can you come back to bed? It’s freezing, Johnny.”

“Hang oan. Ahm tryin’ tae mind where ah put it.”

He held his hand behind his back when he finally came back to bed.

“Alright, hold yer hand out an’ shut yer eyes.”

“Can’t you just give it to me?”

“Why wid ah dae that when this is so much more romantic? Just dae it fur Christ’s sake.”

You relented and felt something cold and solid land in your palm, followed by the coil of something lighter. You opened your eyes. It was the most beautiful piece of jewellery you’d ever seen. Beautiful engravings adorned the outside and it shone even in the dark. 

“Open it up, bonnie.”

Johnny sounded nervous for the first time since you’d met him.

The inside revealed his name engraved in beautiful swirling cursive lettering on one side. The other side held a tiny photograph cut to shape and size. You looked closer and saw a portrait of Johnny; waist-up and from a slight distance, you could see the bright smile he wore, the one that you loved so dearly. His hair was as messy as ever, and his posture was tall and brave. The portrait had captured him joyful and proud- just as you knew him to be. 

“Ah found it at a market an’ it made me think o’ye. Ah, erm, got ma picture taken in town. Thought it might be nice for ye tae have something tae mind me by.”

“Put it on for me?” Your voice was wet with unshed tears. You held it up for him to grab as you sat up and moved your hair out of the way.

He followed suit and sat up behind you, clasping the locket around your neck. He leaned forwards and gently kissed your shoulder.

You leaned back into him and he embraced you so tightly you thought you might stop breathing. You needed him to hold you that way. 

“Ah missed ye sae much, bonnie. Thought aboot ye th’entire time- aboot comin’ back tae ye.” His hand snaked around your front, ghosting it over the top of your thigh and inching it closer to your centre. 

You sighed heavily and nodded, urging him to continue.

“Ah fucked ma hand thinkin’ aboot you. Aboot the noises ye made, how bein’ inside ye felt, th’look on yer face when ye came aroond me. Wanted tae taste ye again so bad.” 

Johnny was panting now. His fingers gently circling your pulsing clit. You’d never even imagined someone could say such vulgar things, let alone imagined that it would get you so hot. 

He slipped a finger inside of you and your breath caught. Then another, then a third before he started pumping them in and out in a way that made your spine cave in on itself. 

That night was long, and the next morning you were gently rocked awake by the movements of the boat. The empty space next to you urged you to get up.

You found him sitting at the bow, looking out at the sunrise against the water. You draped a blanket over the two of you, uselessly trying to stave off the cold Autumn chill. His broad palm reached over and grasped the fat of your thigh, pulling you closer. You sat there together, unmoving, for a long time. 

You spent three miraculous weeks together, never apart and intertwined in ways you hadn’t known were possible. Your entire world shifted when you met Johnny. It was useless to try and explain it to yourself. There were simply no words in any language that could describe what you felt for each other. 

His last night anchored in town was immeasurably harder than the last night on his previous trip. This time you both knew he wouldn’t be coming back.

You knew that he was unwavering in his love for you. Knew that he believed it could move mountains and part seas if he needed it to. He had told you that he was certain that he could find you no matter where you were on this earth- that there was something cosmic and undeniable that tethered you to each other. A piece of you was forever anchored in his heart. 

But his honesty still didn’t falter. 

“Ma life is the sea, bonnie. These sea legs barely ken how tae walk oan land anymore.” 

You did your best to understand. Vowing to yourself never to be so selfish as to ask him to stay. He belonged out at sea. The open ocean was his home, and it would go against all of your love for him to try and deny him of that.

The last night that you spent together before he sailed out was the most punishing and beautiful night of your life. 

Your tears began mingling with his the last time you made love. The stretch of his cock felt as wicked as ever, soundly pressed against every surface of your walls, hitting each spot over and over again. Johnny's eyes locked onto yours, seeing you in your entirety- parts of you that would have never otherwise known the light of day.

He moaned loud and unrestrained as your walls gave him a particularly tight squeeze.

“Fuckin’ chokin’ me, bonnie, Christ almighty.”

“I want... want you to cum inside of me.” You spoke quietly, feeling bashful about the request.

He moaned even louder, and slowed his thrusts to a gentle roll.

“Cannae say shite like that tae me unless ye mean it, bonnie.” He sounded pained, choked.

“I mean it, Johnny.” He sped up again, thrusting harder this time. “I want to feel you- need to feel all of you.”

You knew it was almost over, and soon he would be leaving you. His thrusts grew more frantic, more desperate. He knew it would be the last time, too.

He started speaking to you in a voice that you hadn’t heard from him before. There was a pleading tone, one of defeat. It almost sounded like a prayer. 

“Iarr orm fuireach. Mas e do thoil e. Iarr orm fuireach agus nì mi.”

You hadn’t heard him speak in his native tongue before. It felt like you’d had the wind knocked straight out of you. He held your cheek in his palm, gently caressing it with his thumb, his eyes locked onto yours.

“Dhutsa. Rud sam bith dhut. An-còmhnaidh. Dìreach iarr orm fuireach.”

The desperation and need in Johnny’s voice sounded like he was out of control, like he didn’t even know he had slipped into his native language. 

You felt a tug in your heart at his words, despite not understanding them. The sense that he was gathering himself in his hands and holding it up to you in offering, raw and pure and wholly open, washed over you like the break of a wave that had been forming since the beginning of time.

“I’ll be here waiting for you, Johnny. Always. You can always come back to me.” You softened your voice, whispering in his ear. A loud moan forced it’s way out of his chest, a beautiful and melodic sound. You came together, grasping at any skin you could get your hands on. He came inside of you, hot and full, and you came around him, squeezing him with all of the strength in your body.

Johnny left in the early hours of the morning without waking you. He hadn’t fallen asleep that night, and spent the last couple of hours in town watching you as you slept. Memorising every detail on your body. Memorising the feeling of you hair running over his fingers. Memorising the steady beat of your heart and the constant rise and fall of your chest. If anything was going to keep him from the ocean, it was going to be you. But you hadn’t understood when he’d asked you earlier. Maybe a part of him did that on purpose, knowing that he would’ve said yes in a heartbeat if you had asked him. Deep in his chest he knew that no matter how badly he wished he could stay, wished he could be with you, he would never be able to give you the life you deserved. His love for you couldn’t override his nature. 

He was restless, and wild. Reckless to a fault, risking far too much in storms he knows he shouldn’t be facing. While he would never grow tired of you, he would grow tired of his surroundings. And it wasn’t fair to make promises to you that he would come back when even he couldn’t predict what might happen on a voyage- what the ocean might do.

He knew he couldn’t give you what you deserve, what you need. So he knew he had to leave. 

After he finished dressing just before dawn Johnny took one last look at you. He leaned down and caressed your head gently, feeling you one last time. His lips ghosted your ear as he whispered to you.

“Smaoinichidh mi ort. Is leatsa mo chridhe.”

All you could bring yourself to do that day was sit at the dock and look out at the horizon. More than once you convinced yourself you could see his boat floating out there, but he was long gone. The only traces of Johnny were the locket, and the smell of the sea that he left in your bed.

You waited for Johnny for a long time after that. Years, truthfully. Your love for him never faltered, you never questioned it- but you slowly stopped expecting to see his blue cutter sail into the port.

Still, he was always on your mind. You prayed that he was safe, and that he was looking after himself at sea. You prayed you might see him again one day.