Work Text:
Pop!
Lucy jumps, like she hadn’t expected the noise from the explosion. Like there haven’t been dozens, maybe hundreds just like it tonight. Every time, she startles a little bit and shifts closer to Tim.
And every time, he wraps his arms tighter around her, runs his fingers up and down her arm, kisses the top of her head, whatever he can do to make sure she feels safe. She never takes her eyes off of the sky, but by now, their legs are tangled together, Lucy all but across his lap with her arms looped around his waist.
The bursts are slowing down, the last edges of the grand finale as the beachfront fireworks show draws to a close. By unspoken agreement, neither of them move as the crowd starts to disperse. They’re not going to get out of the parking lot anytime soon, and Tim would rather spend his time here, wrapped up in Lucy and watching the waves wash across the sand.
After a few minutes, she lets go of him, leaning just far enough away that she can reach her water bottle, a few feet across the soft blanket they’re sitting on. Down the beach, someone is blasting 70s disco music from a speaker, loud enough that the sound carries over to them. It’s the sort of thing that would usually irritate Tim, gross inconsideration for other people, noise that’s loud enough to make out but too far away to hear well, and frankly, terrible taste in music.
But tonight, it’s not so bad. Because when Lucy sits back up, instead of leaning back against Tim like she had been, she starts swaying back and forth, half-dancing from her cross-legged position on the ground. She’s drifting into and out of his orbit, moving with the music like she doesn’t even know it’s happening.
A breeze picks up, and every so often, the ends of her hair brush along Tim’s bicep, right underneath the hem of his T-shirt sleeve. The air is salty, crisp and a little muggy like only the beach ever is. The song fades out, and the speaker cuts off. Lucy settles against Tim’s side again, as he leans back, laying them down underneath the few visible stars. She slides her hand across his middle, and he wraps one arm around her shoulders. The partiers are gone, the beach practically empty since the festivities are over until next year.
Now it’s just the two of them, lying together, feet hanging off the blanket and digging into the sand as their breathing steadies and falls into sync. The streetlights over the boardwalk flicker off, leaving a handful of dim floodlights as the only brightness around them. Lucy sighs, and Tim runs his fingers through her hair. Neither of them say anything, both content to share a quiet moment in lives that tend to be anything but.
Then it’s Tim’s turn to startle, when Lucy jumps up suddenly, springing to her feet and kicking her sandals off next to the blanket. She unbuttons her shorts, wiggling them down her legs until she’s left in only her bathing suit, worn like a tank top all night. It had looked like a bikini when he picked her up, tied across her chest and open over her stomach, but there’s a bottom, connected right underneath the high waistline of her shorts.
Tim wonders about tan lines, but then Lucy is grinning down at him, and he’s not wondering about anything at all. Except why his girlfriend is taking off toward the ocean, at close to 10:30 p.m. on the Fourth of July.
He leans forward, pushing himself up onto his elbows to watch as the dark outline of her shadow hits the waves. He can’t see Lucy, so much as he can see the silhouette of where Lucy is, the interruption of the water on the shoreline. Still, he watches, listens to the way her laughter drifts back to him on the ocean breeze.
And she thought the fireworks were going to be the best view tonight.
It’s Lucy, hands down. The best thing he’s seen all day, all week maybe, is Lucy, up to her waist in the water, turning around and calling to him.
“Tim, come join me!” She waves, and Tim lifts a hand in response, but makes no move to get up.
He’s spent his whole life in LA, been to the beach since before he could walk, but he’s not that fond of being in the ocean. Being in front of it, sure; he’d sit on the beach all day with a good book, watch the earth slowly turning around the sky. But the water leaves his skin feeling all gritty, like he can feel the grains of salt sticking in his pores. There are always too many people, too many things going on around him. He can swim, but he knows he’d never be able to keep up with a riptide.
No, he’d rather sit on the sand and watch Lucy splash around in the waves. She’s made for this, for the way the moonlight reflects off of the water and casts a shiny glow around her. She’s more at home in the ocean than anyone else Tim has ever seen, right down to the surfers riding the crests of waves while he’s on his morning runs. All the things they’ve done together, all the places he’s seen her, and he thinks this might be the highlight of it all, watching the water cut around her hips like the ocean is making space for her in its endless depths. He could stand by and watch this forever.
But she’s relentless, calling him again a moment later. And again, a minute after that. She insists that the water is warm, the waves are tame tonight, he’ll have fun.
And Tim is nothing if not a sucker for anything Lucy asks of him.
So the next thing he knows, he’s heaving himself off of the ground, crouching back down to untie his sneakers. He rolls his socks up in the toes of his shoes and pulls his shirt over his head, even though he’s not planning to go far enough away from the shore for it to make a difference.
The sand squishes between his toes, wetter and wetter with every step he takes, but he hardly notices it. Because Lucy is walking toward him, water dripping down her legs as she gets close enough for the floodlights to illuminate her again. She meets him where the water hits halfway up his calves, and he has to admit that it is pretty cool and refreshing. As soon as she’s close enough to reach out, Lucy takes his hand and starts walking backward, dragging Tim deeper into the water.
When they’re back up to Lucy’s waist, the ocean barely covering his hip bones, Lucy stops and runs the fingers of her free hand through the surface. Tim feels the ripples lap at his skin where his shorts are riding down, sodden enough that gravity has started to intervene. He’ll need to tug them up soon, but for now he’s content to hold Lucy’s hand underwater and try to figure out if there’s any discernible rhythm to the patterns she’s drawing through the waves.
He can’t find one. Maybe there’s no rhythm at all, no tune running through Lucy’s head, but Tim would be willing to bet money otherwise. He knows her too well for that; this must be a song he doesn’t know well enough to pick it out from the sway of Lucy’s fingers.
After a moment, Tim reaches into the water as well, drags his own fingers back and forth a few times until Lucy stops paying attention to the movement.
Then he flicks them up, splashing water across her abdomen. Lucy laughs, recoiling as the droplets land on her bare skin. She dances away from him, bobbing through the water until she decides she’s a safe distance away.
Tim watches her size him up. Her poker face isn’t half as good as she thinks, at least off-duty. She’s scheming and it’s obvious, even if he can't be sure what, exactly, she’s thinking. It’s even less of a surprise when she lifts one arm back and bobs it in the air a couple of times, gaining momentum before she swats against the ocean’s surface, sending a wave back against the current until it collides with Tim’s stomach. He’d seen it coming, but he doesn’t move, just lets the water splash against him.
“Careful, Lucy,” he says, baiting her with his words. “Don’t start something you don’t want to finish.” He pushes his hands through the water, not quite splashing her this time, but making the water ripple.
“Hang on, who started it? Because the way I remember things, you splashed me first. Everything after that qualifies as self-defense.”
“From eminent threat of harm,” Tim splashes her again, laughing. “Not from a boyfriend trying to have a water war.”
“Ah! ‘War!’” Lucy jumps away from him, splashing as she goes. “You said it yourself!”
Tim forgoes a response, other than to stir up an even bigger wave. They go back and forth a few more times, both soaked up to their shoulders now, even though the water hasn’t gotten any deeper.
Lucy’s next assault sprays ocean mist up onto Tim’s jawline, her laughter bright in his ears. He draws his arm back, cupping his hand to give more force to his retaliation. He swings fast, feeling the muscles in his shoulders stretch and contract as his pinky hits the water.
It’s a beautiful wave, the moonlight catching as it rises off of the surface. Tim can’t help but admire his handiwork, crisp and even, cresting sharply just before it reaches Lucy.
Lucy, who Tim realizes at the last second, has become distracted by a seagull swooping down a few yards away. She’s turned toward the bird, one arm outstretched and her mouth open. Tim thinks he sees her lips forming his name, but he can’t hear anything over the pounding echo of the water rushing through his own ears.
He thinks about calling out to her, but knows she’d only turn to look at him and take the brunt of the wave to her face. So he watches, helpless, as her head bounces sideways when the water hits. She doesn’t fall, but it’s close. She’s out of his reach, teetering back and forth, trying to keep her balance as the ocean rocks her back and forth.
“Lucy!” he shouts, when he’s confident that she’ll stay upright if she turns toward him. “Shit, I’m sorry, are you-”
But Tim doesn’t get to finish the question, or the apology, before Lucy’s grin turns wicked. Then she’s flinging herself at him, throwing her arms around his neck. It’s not quite a hug, but Tim has played enough football games to know that there’s too much affection for a tackle.
He catches her by the waist, barely, spinning them both around as he absorbs the impact. Lucy’s knees bounce against his thighs underwater, and one hand comes up to hold onto the back of his head. Tim lowers her gently, waits for Lucy to put her feet down before he loosens his grip. He leaves his hands on her skin, though, holding her close to him, his favorite place in the world for her to be.
Lucy leans back just far enough to catch his eye before she smiles again, just as mischievous as the last one. Tim braces himself, ready for Lucy to try and topple them both over. But she surprises him again, dropping her gaze to his lips a split second before pushing their mouths together.
The first kiss lasts only for a moment, before they’re breaking apart to adjust their positions. Lucy wraps a hand around his bicep, squeezing the muscle that flexes when he reaches for one of her hips. Then they’re kissing again, pulling the breath from each other's lungs as the water ripples around them.
Tim tangles his fingers into Lucy’s hair, holding her in place as he nips at her bottom lip. She responds by dragging her hand down his chest, raking her nails across his skin. The salty water laps against the scratches, cool in comparison to the July air and frigid against the heat sparking between them.
Tim bends his knees just far enough that he can reach down and slide one hand along Lucy’s thigh, guiding her leg around his waist. She gets the message and locks her ankles behind his back, letting him support her bodyweight. His hands settle high on each leg, thumbs brushing against the edges of her bathing suit, and he breaks the kiss to press his nose against the soft, tender spot behind her ear.
“Back to the blanket?” he whispers against her skin, voice low and raspy, even to his own ears. Lucy shivers against him, fingernails digging into his shoulders. Tim tightens his grip and starts moving them through the water, back toward the shore.
Tim almost trips over his own shoes when he gets to the edge of their little stake of the beach, stumbles forward but manages to keep them both upright. Lucy squeezes his shoulders and yelps, but makes no move to drop her feet.
She trusts him not to drop her, and Tim’s heart swells at the sudden awareness of it. He crouches down carefully, resting one knee on the blanket as he lowers her to the ground. She drops her feet and Tim braces himself with a hand on either side of her head.
Lucy squeezes her eyes shut when water droplets fall from Tim’s hair. They form little beads on her eyelashes, and Tim shifts his weight to one arm, pushing his hair back and looking around.
“How’d we forget the towels?” he chuckles when he realizes their error, sitting up to kneel between Lucy’s thighs.
“We weren’t planning to swim,” Lucy giggles, opening her eyes and leaning up onto her elbows. “We’re impulsive.”
“Every so often,” Tim leans forward to kiss the end of her nose and she wrinkles it at him with a smile.
“I guess we’ll have to air dry.”
“I guess so.” Tim trails off. “As long as we can come up with something to pass the time.” He runs his fingers up and down her side, tickling lightly. Lucy curls away from the touch, but toward Tim, who slides his hands around to her bare back.
“I’m sure we can think of … something.”
“Yeah?” He leans forward, shifting his weight to roll them over until Lucy is lying on top of him. Her hair falls around them in a curtain as she kisses him deeply. Tim reciprocates, pulling Lucy closer to him. Pressed together like this, he wonders how the air is supposed to dry them, but quickly decides he doesn’t care enough to do anything about it.
Besides, the breeze picks up a few moments later, and Lucy shivers. Tim feels the goosebumps prickling her exposed skin and lets go with one hand, long enough to grope blindly for the edge of the blanket. He pulls it around them, shifting until they’re lying on their sides, cocooned in soft fabric, the darkness and each other.
Tim runs his tongue along Lucy’s bottom lip and she gasps, bringing them closer together. He cradles her jaw with one hand, smiling when she settles into the touch.
He never wants to tire of this, doubts he ever will. He could stay like this all night - hell, all summer – wrapped up in the perfect ebb and flow, the easy back and forth of him and Lucy. The energy rises and falls, but the passion never fades, always coming back to rush between them.
Just like the waves.