hollanov vacation. beautiful coastal european beach. they spent all day in the sun, bobbing in the bright blue ocean, sprawling out under a shared chaise lounge under a bright orange umbrella, four fruity cocktails each that go down much too easily because of the heat, eating the orange wedge garnishes for lunch, juice dripping down chin. drunkenly stumbling back up the hill back to their hotel with wet towels slung over shoulders, clinging hands and wobbly steps, giggling. sloppy kisses as soon as they close the door to their room, pulling down swimtrunks even though the balcony door is wide open over the ocean, curtains billowing in the afternoon breeze. back of knees finding the bed, everything is fuzzy soft spinning, and hands only make it to lazy palming and fondling, tongues lapping lazily at wet lips before slowing, dozing off.
shane wakes first, hours later, head pounding. the sky outside is a misty purple, hard to see where the sky begins and ocean ends. ilya is sprawled, prone, tips of his hair brightened by the sun and stiff from the seasalt, tip of his nose red. shane runs a hand over his back, deep golden tan and hot to the touch, traces the chain on his neck, nudges it to the side to see the thin stripe of pale skin beneath it. shane noses in by ilya’s ear, kissing the soft skin there, smelling the sea and tasting the salt on his skin. ilya stirs, awake but barely.
“should we get dinner soon?” shane asks, feeling ilya’s warm pulse beneath his sunburnt lips, the slow relaxed thrum of it. groggily, ilya rolls over and throws an arm over shane, pulling him down against his hot chest.
