Sixteen

I know better than to argue with you. [Gently, so gently he passes Ellie into Clay’s arms, standing for a moment to rest his hand atop the infant’s head, still a bit of a tired smile lingering on his face. Yeah, someone’s smitten with being a dad.]

[The baby gets settled into his arms and it’s been a while since he’s held a baby. And even so, little Ellie was going to be a baby he’d need to get used to holding, as much time as he spends around Dane.]

Okay, okay. 

That’s the reason why I’m here. 

And here I thought I was just good company.

I could get behind nude beaches and group sex. 

See? Not all my ideas are terrible.

Ha-ha, hilarious. 

[Clay laughs, even though it was barely funny.]

Sounds wonderful. 

[ He takes another drag before leaning back. ] 

I think I need a vacation. 

That you do. I hear Australia’s nice this time of year.

Malik is still in his clothes, setting down the armful of picnic supplies and dropping his little pack into the sand where Clay had abandoned all burden and left him to be one with the sea, a thought which brings a quick little smile to Malik’s lips in amusement.  He watches closely, never far away enough from the bureau to forgo protective nature in favor of relaxation; Malik has insisted on layers of sunblock, on said umbrellas and packed lunch and lots of water – though there are a few cold beers stashed in the ice underneath.  Insistence that, perhaps, can be construed as unnecessary.

He has his reasons.

“You did tell me that, yes,” Malik agrees, laying out a towel on the sand for himself as Clay opens the umbrella, “whether or not I agree with the statement remains to be seen.”

The smile, however, lingers there on his lips, patient and content.  For all his worries, every wrinkle in his brow carved by stress, the number of thoughts that even now remained with his people back at the bureau, Malik found often that it merely took Clay’s own felicitation to satisfy him at any given turn.

“You’ll be rethinking that by the end of the day.” Clay unfolds and flops down his own lounge chair--which is barely even a chair at all--once the umbrella is opened up, and situates the cooler appropriately in the sand, beneath the shade and within reaching distance for them both. His knapsack gets leaned up against it and shirt tossed lazily atop it, and Clay looks the picture of satisfied sun worshipper. 

Oh, he’s going to love today.

For now, he settles in his own seat, pulling the easy-carry straps off of his board and fishing a can of wax for said board out of his bag. You bet your ass he’s going to get ready to ride the waves first thing. Not that the waves are nearly high enough yet, but it doesn’t hurt to be prepared. Though it mainly gives Clay’s excited hands something to do before he just bails out and becomes a fish.

Kinda got busy for a little bit. 

So I heard.

[Clay takes another long drink before sitting his bottle on the floor next to the couch. Coffee table has too many electronics on it for booze bottles.] 

[ A hand loops around his waist while he leans back. He takes a drag from the cigarette and looks at him. ] 

So. 

[ He kisses his jaw. ] 

Hey. 

[Thankfully he manages a good long drink before there’s lips on his jaw. Either way, he’s for it.]

[ He moves over to the couch, plopping down and taking a cigarette out of his pocket. He needs to do something now. ] 

[ Fred walks in, closing the door behind him and placing his jacket on the nearest surface. ] 

It’s whatever you wanna do. 

Drink first. 

[ The moment he sees the address, things get awkward for him. The last time he was even at that loft he was getting fucked and it looks like that is happening again. 

He wants to say he changed his mind and that he’d rather do this at his place, but he arrives thirty minutes after the text is sent and knocks on the door (instead of using the key he still has). ]

[Clay answers the door in something entirely casual. Old jeans and a tank top that’s way too big for him. There’s some sort of indie music soft in the background, and an open laptop or three on the living room table. He gives a nod for Fred to come on in and stands to the side so he can do so.]

[text] yours. 

[text] i’m still in the process of moving. 

[SMS: Dive Bar:] Sending. Head on over whenever.