Work Text:
When he wakes up, it's 1:56 in the morning. His patio doors are still open, and a summer breeze is blowing across the bedroom, raising goose bumps on his skin. He slides out of bed carefully, crossing the room to pull the French doors closed as quietly as he can. Tip toeing back, he slips back into the bed, hoping the dip of the mattress and the popping of the bed springs isn't enough to wake his bedmate.
Teemu's breathing is still even, and Paul thinks he's been successful; until Teemu rolls onto his side, dropping a warm arm across Paul's middle.
"Dammit," Paul mutters under his breath, and Teemu chuckles softly in response. Paul turns his head and is caught in Teemu's warm gaze. "I was trying not to wake you up."
"I'm a light sleeper. You know that."
"I know."
"We have time to sleep later," Teemu adds, leaning in to kiss Paul's mouth gently. It's one of those kisses that has the extra heat of sleep, and no real intent behind it. Just a leisurely twining of tongues that won't necessarily go anywhere, a gesture of affection, something that speaks louder than words.
//
It was late in the afternoon, edging toward night, the sun just winking over the crest of the surf as it lowered itself in the sky. Paul sat in the sand, grains leaking down the legs of his shorts, clinging to the bottoms of his feet. A slight breeze tousled his hair, warm air slipping over his bare skin in a very pleasant way. He'd taken off his sunglasses and he squinted at the horizon, watching slivers of silver and gold slide over the surface of deepening blue, the ocean stretched out before him with seemingly no end. It sang softly as it crashed on the beach, sinking back only to come up again, the chime of a thousand water droplets connecting with the earth.
He liked this time of day best, when he was back in California. The setting sun heralded just the right amount of coolness, the day-heated sand keeping him warm from below. He was a Canadian through and through, but years of SoCal living had spoiled him. Nashville was too hot in the summer, and he was always more than happy to be back in Orange County at the end of the season. Even if it was generally sooner than he wanted it to be.
The sun had disappeared by the time Teemu made his way down the beach. He kicked up dry sand with each step, sinking slightly as he continued on, hands pushed into his pockets. Paul caught his silhouette out of the corner of his eye and smiled softly to himself, body heating pleasantly with the advent of Teemu's arrival.
Moments later, Teemu stood at his side. Paul didn't look away from the waves, the sound of their crashing filling the air around them. They stayed that way for several long minutes, letting the water do the talking for them. Just before he turned to head inside, Teemu reached to brush his fingers along the side of Paul's neck, touching the warm, bronzed skin, sliding down along the curve of his shoulder. The waves said, Follow me.
Paul didn't let Teemu get too far ahead of him, standing to follow only a few steps behind. It was strategic; an opportunity to admire the way Teemu's shorts moved over the muscles of his ass, the completely unhindered view they left of his strong calves. Teemu stopped on Paul's porch to kick off his sandals, and then slipped into the house. Paul paused as well a minute later, shaking the sand out of his shorts. He dropped his sunglasses on a side table as he continued after Teemu.
His path lead him to his kitchen, where Teemu was taking down a glass to make a drink. "Do you want one?" Teemu asked, setting the heavy tumbler down on the counter in front of him.
"Sure," Paul responded, moving to stand to the side, hip against the center island.
Teemu grabbed another glass, going into the freezer for ice, and then to the liquor cabinet. Paul tried to pretend he didn't see the little patch of slightly paler skin on Teemu's left ring finger as he took the glass from him, allowing himself to be distracted at the feeling of Teemu's fingertips against his own. The vodka burned on Paul's tongue and he rolled it around his mouth a bit before swallowing. It was Teemu's bottle, he could tell, and for some reason he felt a sharpness in his chest at the realization.
"When does your flight leave?"
Teemu swallowed sip of his drink, trying to sound relaxed as he replied. "Two thirty."
Paul nodded, and they stood in silence again. He watched as Teemu took another drink, noted how his Adam's apple moved under the skin of his throat as he swallowed, saw the slip of Teemu's tongue over his lower lip as he licked the glaze of alcohol away.
It was always like this, the day before Teemu left for Finland. It didn't matter if they managed a week together, or just a couple of days; it always went by far too quickly. Paul hadn't learned his lesson over the years, never spent enough time appreciating the little moments they shared, let breakfasts and afternoon naps get away from him. And, before he knew it, their time together was almost over.
He knew it was different for Teemu. He was never the one that got left behind. Paul was the affair, the other man, the secret indiscretion. It was a miracle they got any time alone together at all. Paul tried not to feel bitter about it, but it was hard not to. He knew full well that he could have gone on to find a new relationship, be with someone that was around constantly, rather than just four times a year the Predators played the Ducks and the bare week (if they were lucky) after the season was over. Teemu even suggested it sometimes - partially out of guilt, and partially from the sincere desire for Paul to be happy - but it was easier said than done. Paul wasn't sure he could fall in love again. Especially since he was deeply in love already.
Teemu sat his tumbler down on the counter near Paul's elbow, and Paul looked up. From the expression on Teemu's face, he realized that he'd been brooding.
"Sorry..."
And then Teemu's fingers were around the glass still in his hand, setting it aside. The same hand moved to cup Paul's cheek, and it was cool with condensation from the glass.
"I can call and delay my flight another day, if you want me to."
In Paul's mind, he screamed at himself to say yes, to keep Teemu another day to himself. And yet he was shaking his head softly, and saying, "No, don't do that. Your family is waiting for you." He wanted to punch himself in the face when Teemu nodded sadly at him in response, casting his eyes down a little and taking his hand away.
When Teemu looked up again, Paul tried to apologize with his eyes, but Teemu shook his head. He reached out again, flingers slipping around the back of Paul's neck and tugging Paul forward. Their mouths met wetly in the kind of crushing kiss that radiated desire and had an undeniable intent behind it, tongues twisting together in a gesture of want, of need, something that spoke louder than words.