Someone’s phone went off at five o’clock in the morning, and it wasn’t mine. The shrill tune drilled into my skull like a jackhammer.
“Time to get up, sleepy-head.”
Blurry-eyed, I lifted my head from the pillow and groaned. “Go fuck yourself with that phone, or I’ll shove it up your ass for you, and you won’t enjoy it.” My head dropped back down onto the pillow like a brick.
“Ha. That’s a good one,” said Shane. His voice was far too cheerful for this hour. “You promised we’d get up early for the beach. And, just so you know, I think I’d enjoy it. You’re really good at putting things up my ass.”
I cracked one eye open and couldn’t help but smile, even though the rest of my body wanted to sink into the mattress and die.
“Come on. I want to get there before the sun comes up. Roger told me about a great place to watch it.”
“Alright already. I’m up,” I mumbled, trying to sound convincing.
“The hell you are. Your body hasn’t moved in six hours.”
I rolled over with exaggerated effort and finally swung my feet onto the cold floor.
“Need help?” His voice dropped into that teasing growl.
I shot him a look, one of those solid “fuck you” looks that was half a warning, half an invitation. Without another word, I trudged into the bathroom for a quick shower, shave, and tooth-brushing. The hot water was the only thing keeping me alive. By the time I’d pulled on clothes, ten minutes had vanished. Too many, considering the sun wouldn’t wait for us.
I came out and straightened my shirt. “I’m ready,” I announced. “Are you?”
“Just about.”
I groaned. “Rushing me, and you’re not done. Geeze.”
He finally zipped his bag and slung it over his shoulder. “I’m ready now.”
“Well, it’s about time,” I laughed, though the clock was ticking louder in my head. “Got your camera?”
“Everything’s in my bag at the bottom of the stairs.”
“You’ve already gone downstairs? How long have you been up?” I demanded.
“About twenty minutes before I made you get your bony butt out of bed.” He grabbed me, pulling me close.
I kissed him quickly, then pulled away before he got too many ideas. “I’ve never heard you complain about my bony butt when you’re humping it.”
“Probably because I’m too focused on my dick. You know, selfish-lover complex.” Shane gave me that grin, the one that usually led to a rumpled quilt and forgotten plans.
“Nope. Not happening. You’re not distracting me. We are leaving now.” I pointed toward the door like a drill sergeant. “And you know you’re not a selfish lover. You, my man, are the most unselfish lover I’ve ever had.”
I marched ahead, but his footsteps dragged behind me.
“You mean out of the one lover you’ve had, I’m the best?”
“Exactly. Although, I will admit that Shane Junior runs you a close second.”
He puffed out his chest, strutting after me. “He’s too submissive for you. You need a man who will take charge.”
I jabbed him in the chest with my index finger. “And maybe one day I’ll find him. Until then, you’ll do.”
“Damn straight, I’ll do.” He paused, then with all the subtlety of a Broadway extra broke into song from Oliver! with a few clumsy dance steps: “I’ll do anything for you, dear, anything…”
I grabbed his arm before he could spin into a pirouette. “You’ll do anything except walk faster, apparently. Move it, or we’re watching the sunrise from the car.”
He laughed, but I saw him glance at his watch. That put the tiniest bit of panic in his step.
I hugged him as we finally pushed through the door. He was, and still is, my forever guy, late or not.
The sunrise was everything Roger had promised and more. Golden light spilled across the water, climbing slowly and steadily until the whole horizon seemed aflame. Shane had his camera pressed to his face the entire time, chasing angles, shadows, and colors. I let him, because I loved watching him work, loved the way his excitement caught him up like a child, and how his grin widened with every perfect shot.
When he finally lowered the camera, the beach was still empty. The world was ours alone. I stepped in front of him, closing the lens out, pressing myself against his chest.
His body answered before his mouth did. Heat rose between us, undeniable. I slipped my thumbs under the waistband of my shorts, tugging them down just far enough. My palms cupped my cheeks, spreading them as I ground back against the hard length pushing at Shane’s zipper.
I said nothing, but Shane read me without a word. The snap and slide of his zipper filled the silence, then the cool air, then his hand guiding himself against me. The first press of him stole my breath.
A hiss slipped from my throat as he eased inside. His movements were unhurried, reverent, like he was savoring every inch. The rhythm built not with urgency but with intimacy, each stroke brushing my own arousal higher. The tide whispered and the gulls cried overhead, but all I felt was him, his arms winding tight around me, his lips brushing my ear, his heartbeat hammering against my back.
Release came too fast, too bright, too consuming. His shudder, my groan, our bodies locking together until there was nothing left but breath and the aftershocks of love.
We didn’t speak. We didn’t need to. I leaned back into him and he held me, our bodies still joined, our silence saying more than words could. A cool breeze finally stole through, and with it, he slipped from me. I shivered, but not from the cold.
It was the kind of morning that made me believe in forever.
The drive back blurred into drowsy contentment. We’d had a great day running at the water’s edge, playing in the waves, dodging a jellyfish, and watching the hermit crabs. I must’ve nodded off, because when I opened my eyes, we were pulling into the garage. The dashboard clock glowed 6:37.
“Go on in, babe. I’ll get the gear,” Shane said, brushing my knee with a tenderness that made me smile all over again.
“You’re sweet. I do need a shower.”
“Yes, you do,” he chuckled.
I was too sleepy to jab back. My steps were slow as I climbed to the back door. The house was quiet, the kind of quiet that promised hot water and maybe another nap. I slipped inside the mudroom, bent to unlace my shoes, then froze.
Voices. Low, conspiratorial, from the kitchen. Gretchen and Mrs. Smith.
“I’m sorry that seeing the two of them together upset you, Mrs. Smith,” Gretchen said. “I had no idea they were… well…”
“Homosexuals?” Mrs. Smith’s tone dripped venom.
A pause.
“My husband calls them fudge packers,” Mrs. Smith added.
“My husband uses the word faggot.” Gretchen’s voice hardened. “I just wish those cocksuckers had stayed home. I’m sorry they’ve ruined your vacation.”
Ruined? Just by existing under the same roof? My jaw clenched. I could handle Mrs. Smith’s ignorance; plenty like her had come and gone, but Gretchen? Her words sliced deeper.
“Well, Roger and I will figure out a way to make sure they don’t keep this house,” Gretchen went on. “I’m going to convince them to sell it to us somehow. And once they leave, I’m burning the sheets they’ve… God knows what indecency has happened on them.”
“Don’t forget to bleach the sink and tub. They carry disease, you know.”
“I’ve already taken precautions with the dishes and silverware,” Gretchen said with a laugh. “We’ll be a few plates and forks short, but better safe than sorry.”
That was enough. The air in the mudroom turned sharp, metallic in my lungs. I wanted to storm in, to call her every name she deserved. But I didn’t. Not yet.
Because she was right about one thing: I wasn’t keeping this house for her. I’d burn it to the ground before letting Gretchen and Roger claim it.
But burning wasn’t the plan. My plan was cleaner, sharper. I’d already pictured the bed-and-breakfast bustling, run by someone in town who accepted everyone. There was no shortage of men or women, gay or straight, who’d jump at the chance to manage a place like this. We’d make it a haven. A sanctuary. A welcome place for unbigoted humans. And Gretchen? She’d never see a dime from it.
The sound of Shane’s footsteps climbing the porch steps shook me back. I pulled the door open deliberately, loud enough to give Gretchen a warning. No hint that I’d overheard. Not yet.
First, I’d need to tell Shane. Then together, we’d make sure this house became exactly what it was meant to be.
Ours. Forever.
If you enjoyed this story, consider visiting the author's website.
To get in touch with the author, send them an email.
