Tides

"Adam, it's cold outside."

Your voice comes from behind me, interrupting the rocking of the waves against a craggy seashore, so close against the distant, blurry horizon ahead.

"I know."

Another slow in and out of the ocean, and you walk up softly next to me, your footsteps nearly silent on the fine, wet sand. Another beat, another grain of earth washed off the shore, another pebble sent swimming into a vast expanse of water.

“I, ehm, made a pot of tea back at the house…if you want some.”

We never should have gotten here in the first place. It was supposed to be me, you, Bono, Larry, and Gavin, all on our own little holiday. Your parents had this house for the weekend but couldn’t go, so offered you and the boys the chance of a lifetime – a whole two days alone, not only without our parents, but miles away from any sort of authority that would make us stop our fun. There would be drinking – then Bono got grounded and couldn’t come – there would be loud music – then Larry had to go to a distant cousin’s wedding – there would be laughter – and then Gavin forgot he had promised to pet-sit for his neighbors, and whined about needing the money.

So there was you, and there was me, and not much to do about it. Determined as ever to have our raucous weekend, I snatched a bottle of cheap wine from the local shop and hid it in my luggage as your father dropped us off at the tiny little cottage where we would spend the next two days and two nights. Paradise, really.

Your parents had failed to mention that much of the house did not work, or at least, had not been fixed since it last worked. There was no hot water in the shower to talk about, the windows let a draft in, and the faucet in the kitchen leaked incessantly.

We’d also forgotten to buy firewood at the last town, so it was a good thing the temperature chose to drop to seven degrees.

That’s why, last night, we were at the fireplace rubbing our hands together, laughing at ourselves for not bringing decent firewood out with us, and shivering in our thin socks on stone floor. I moved the couch so that it faced the hearth, and we huddled under mothballed blankets, watching the pathetic damp twigs and branches we had foraged for outside disintegrate and turn into cold ash.

“Bloody BBC weather,” you grinned as you blew warm air into your palms. “Moderate and sunny all weekend my arse.”

I murmured in agreement and pulled a cigarette and lighter, putting one in my mouth and the other in my hand just in time to hear you interject.

“Oh come on, Adam, if we leave this place smelling like smoke my parents will kill me, then ground me, then make me quit the band. In that order. We don’t own this house, remember?”

I rolled my eyes at you and clicked the lighter on, sucking on the cigarette. “One fuckin’ cig isn’t going to leave any smell, and besides,” I said, offering the smoking gun to him, “it’ll warm you up real nice.”

You wrinkled your nose. “Adam, that’s not true and you know it.”

I shrugged. “Up to you, scientist.”

You gave me a hopeless look, sighed, and took the cigarette between your fingers, putting it to your mouth, taking a drag,

…and proceeding to cough wildly, your fresh lungs unaccustomed to the rough poison that had entered them.

I grimaced and took the cigarette back from you, stubbing it out on the table to save the rest for later, feeling a little guilty.

“You alright, Reg?” I asked as your nodded, still coughing into your fist. You breathed deeply through your nose, the fit over, and looked at me, embarrassed.

“It’s just bloody toxic, that’s all,” you sheepishly grinned, nodding to the dead cigarette.

“Ah, shit, Edge. I don’t even know how you managed, but you have a bit of ash on your lip, here…”

I put my thumb to your lip gently and smudged away the dot, and I saw your eyes stare at my hand against your mouth. I slowed down, your lips hanging open ever so slightly, watching you watch me, and traced the pad of my thumb between your lips. You exhaled on me, your breath infinitely warmer than the cold room around me and laced with a hint of smoke. My hand traveled down below your bottom lip, my thumb still barely touching your skin, and felt the fine hairs there, soft, smooth. You started to breath heavier and my thumb moved down under your chin, hooking up and drawing you closer to me, and suddenly, I was kissing you.

Your mouth was still barely open, and mine was too. Our lips met for a shivering moment, and then you closed around me, moving onto me, aggressive, kissing me full on, hard, quicker, faster, more urgent. You were burning up all over…

We were both hard within minutes and rubbing our cocks against one another through our clothes and blankets. There was no saying ‘No’ to each other’s warmth and soft skin. It was only Yes, Yes as my hands traveled down your chest, Yes as your fingers fumbled to undo my belt, Yes as we took each other and stroked furiously, Yes to the friction, Yes to the heat, Yes Yes Yes –

It was over before either of us really knew what was going on, and you lay on top of me, breathing against my chest. Warm.

That was before, of course, your eyes widened, your hand dropped my softening cock like hot coals, and you muttered something under your breath, casting your eyes down, fastening your belt again, and retreating to your room, stuffing your hands down your pockets as you walked away without looking back.

And leaving me alone on the couch, next to a dead fire and a stubbed-out cigarette.

“Adam?”

Your hand on my back is warm, delicate, and I'd forgotten how cold I was, standing out here without a jumper on. I give a quick shiver, and your fingertips tighten against my shirt. But it only lasts for a moment, and your hand pulls back, fast, wondering if it had made a mistake.

“Yah,” I say quickly, trying to cover my daydreaming. I rub my eyes with the end of my palms, my skin pulsing where you had touched it. “Yeah, I’d love some,” I said all-too-sweetly, faking a great big smile.

You frown, not surprisingly – but it was less of a frown and more of a look of – what? Disappointment?

“Adam, there’s no tea.”

“There’s no tea?”

“No, ehm, I thought there would be some here, just like the firewood,” you said, forcing a little smile. “Listen,” you continued, looking down, “about last night – “

“Look, you don’t need to say anything,” I blurt out. “It’s all right.”

“No – no, not that – it’s just that – well – that was the first, ehm, experience like that that I’ve – had.”

“With – with another bloke, you mean?”

“Not exactly.”

“Oh.”

There’s a small pause as another gentle wave falls onto the shoreline.

“Oh.”

“Yeah,” you respond, suddenly interested in the sand under your feet.

Shit.

You couldn’t have been blinder, Adam. I bet he didn’t even know what he was getting into. And now he has that – a quick, clumsy handjob in a cold room – to base everything off of?

Congratulations, Adam, you’re the biggest wanker in the world.

“Jesus Christ, Edge, I’m sorry,” I manage to eke out. “I really should’ve – asked you first or something, talked to you about it.”

“No,” you say, rolling your shoulders up a little. “No no no. It’s not that –“ you bunch them up all the way against your neck and let them fall, shaking your head a little bit, “it’s not that I didn’t – like it – it’s just that – it kind of took me by surprise, yeah?”

Talk about catching me off guard. From your silence all this morning and your relative quiet when we fished off the docks this afternoon, I thought we just weren’t going to discuss it. Forget it ever happened, let it vanish. It’d be healthy that way. Sanitary.

“I thought you—“

“I just got scared, that’s all. I didn’t know what happened and I was scared.”

You’ve finally managed to stop playing with the sand at your feet and square your chest, looking at me with stars that match the starlight above.

What can I say to that, Edge? I can’t say I’m sorry, because I’m really not, and I can’t say I won’t do it again, because I already know I’d do anything you asked me to with those eyes.

And so I’m silent when I let your hand take mine, I don’t speak as I press my palm against yours and follow as you lead me in from the cold, leaving the shore behind us.

The mountains sighed as the oceans rumbled, and I made quiet love to you with the rocking of the tide.



(c) Kate Finneran 2004



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