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***
There were waves on the lake.
They were small lapping things that broke over Jim's body, splashing into his face on occasion, prompting him to sputter and whip his hair back and paddle for a few moments before going back to floating.
Artie was stretched out on a blanket, occupying a carefully curated section of the sandy shore which was free of rocks and sticks and pinecones. His head was pillowed on his crossed forearms, and he doubtless would have been asleep by then if Jim weren't so compelling to look at.
The sun beat pleasantly against Artie's bare back, its heat tempered by the consistent breeze.
Artie listened to the low humming buzz of the bees that danced across nearby plants and the constant rippling crashes of the waves against the lakeshore.
He blinked sleepily as Jim flailed and shouted and dove deep.
Jim surfaced a few moments later, grinning, and pointed at the water. "Trout!" he exclaimed, and dove again, as though he might catch up to one.
Snorting fondly, Artie turned his face and hid his eyes against the back of his wrist. He breathed deep and even into the small, hidden space around which his arms curled. The sounds around him blended together and faded away.
He slept.
The next time he opened his eyes it was to see Jim's feet, crusted in wet sand an inch or two up the sides, toes and tendons flexing. He followed the lines of Jim's legs up to see him standing close, his nude form backlit against a pale blue sky.
Artie squinted up at him with one eye. His neck protested the angle. "What is it?"
"Budge over," Jim replied.
Artie sniffed and stretched and uncraned his neck, watching drops of water race each other down Jim's legs and drip off his bony ankles, or soak into the sand.
He budged.
Rolling onto his back with a groan, he stretched out near the edge of the blanket. He closed his eyes, the vast bright blue of the sky turning orange as it filtered through his eyelids.
Jim settled down beside him. His skin was cool and damp where he brushed against Artie.
Artie turned his head, peering out through slitted eyes, unwilling yet to face the full brunt of the sun.
Jim was on his side propped up on an elbow, facing Artie.
A hand stroked low over his belly, fingers brushing over the waistband of his pants. Artie curled his toes and draped a wrist across his forehead, blinking at Jim. "Hmm?"
"Bee," Jim said.
Artie accepted his explanation with a wrinkle of his nose, and watched interestedly as gooseflesh prickled in a wave across Jim's neck and chest.
"Gonna burn," Jim predicted, shifting to lie on his stomach, watching Artie over the tanned slope of his shoulder.
Artie stretched a leg out, digging his heel into soft sand, cool in the shifting shadow of a pine. "Mm-mm," he sighed and smiled, turning his face once more to the sky. Orange glowed beyond his eyelids. "Shade's coming."
***
The fire crackled and popped. Jim poked it unnecessarily with a stick and watched Artie hunch closer to the flames. As he watched, Artie reached out and snatched Jim's blanket from where it was piled atop his bedroll.
"It's not that cold," Jim pointed out.
Artie shot him a glance and wrapped the blanket snugly around his shoulders. "Then you won't mind me borrowing your blanket."
"Well I did get yours, what was it - Sopping wet?"
"Soaked," Artie agreed, glancing over to where his slightly damp blanket was hung over a nearby branch. His grin flickered devilishly in the orange glow of the fire. Jim snorted and tossed his poking stick into the flames. He stood, straightening from his crouch, and strolled over to his bare bedroll.
"I'm feeling magnanimous," Artie announced, and when Jim looked over he found he was being watched.
"Oh yeah?"
"Mmm," Artie nodded, indicating the space beside his bedroll with a raised eyebrow. "I'm willing to share."
"You're willing to share my own blanket with me?" Jim clarified, bending down to grab his bedroll.
"As I said-" Artie flapped the blanket happily, lying down beneath it as Jim dragged his bedroll over. "Magnanimous."
Smiling despite himself, Jim settled down beside Artie. He inched his way over, scooting in closer when Artie lifted the edge of the blanket.
It wasn't a terribly big blanket.
Jim tucked himself carefully in behind Artie, relaxing when he let out a happy sigh and wriggled back into him.
"You're just using me for my body heat," Jim accused mildly, curling an arm under his head.
"Nonsense," Artie declared. He reached a hand back, patting searchingly until he came across Jim's wrist. He tugged, pulling Jim's arm around himself and tucking it up to his chest. Jim was forced to roll even closer, knees and thighs and chest pressed against Artie as he was adjusted according to Artie's wishes. "I'm simply being magnanimous," he said, once he had positioned Jim to his liking. "Now hush and think warm thoughts."
Jim found he already was.
He resettled his head against his arm and tilted his chin down, craning his neck the slightest bit until the tip of his nose brushed the back of Artie's collar.
"Jim?" Artie asked quietly after a few moments had passed.
"Mm?" Jim replied, his lips whispering across the fabric of Artie's shirt.
"You don't actually have to hush."
"Thank you for sharing the blanket," Jim said after a beat. His fingers flexed against Artie's chest as his spoke, and Artie's hand ghosted over his, a fleeting caress. He bent his head and bit his lip, rolling his forehead against the nape of Artie's neck, eyes shut against flickering licks of orange.
"Anytime."
Artie's fingertips came to rest against the backs of Jim's knuckles, light but intentional.
Jim's heart beat steadily in his chest. He breathed deeply, listening to the crackles and infrequent pops of the fire, the wet slosh of waves in the distance.
Jim felt, for an instant, as though he were back in the lake, tossed about on waves of sun-warmed snowmelt, directionless.
Artie's fingers swept back and forth across the back of his hand, his arm was solid where it rested over Jim's. His back was wide and warm where it pressed against Jim's chest.
Jim flattened his hand, searching for Artie's heartbeat through his shirt.
"What is it?" Artie asked, fingers slotting between Jim's, curling into a clasp.
Jim pressed closer, swallowing. "Nothing," he lied, squeezing Artie's fingers back. "Just colder than I thought."
Artie huffed out a laugh, clever and indulgent all at once. He settled Jim's hand more directly over his heart, pressing until Jim felt the faint, steady pulse against his palm.
"Goodnight, Jim."
"Night Artie."
***