Archive of Our Own ^beta

Shane awoke to the late-morning sunlight beaming through his window. Sitting up and rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he sighed. Another mundane, ordinary day, it seemed. Another round of the same routine. Slumping off of his bed, he stretched, hearing nearly every joint in his body crack at once. Lumbering to his bedroom door, he sluggishly turned the knob. He was greeted by the sight of an empty dining table with a solitary envelope atop its surface. 

“Shane? You up?” called Marnie from the other room. Shane gave an indistinct grunt in response.

“A letter came in the mail for you today- I left it on the kitchen table.” 

Picking up the envelope, he inspected the front. And right there, lo and behold, was his name, etched in that overly elegant, flowy handwriting that nearly always made his heart skip a beat each time he laid eyes upon it. He immediately knew who the letter was from.

Leaning through the door frame, letter in hand, Shane called out a “Thanks, Marnie,” before retreating back into the kitchen. Taking a brisk step towards the cupboards, then the fridge, he poured himself a bowl of cereal, placing the envelope down briefly before snatching it up again to return to his bedroom, ensuring that the door clicked shut behind him. 

Plopping himself down on the floor, cereal bowl to the side, he held the unassuming parcel with both hands, anxiety pricking at his fingertips. Eventually gathering the courage to tear open the delicate paper, he was greeted by a neatly folded piece of stationery. 

Dearest Shane,

Please come by my cabin sometime this evening, after sunset. There’s something I want to do. 

-Elliott

Shane had been sent plenty of vague messages from the writer, but this one definitely took the cake. Usually, he would at least be given a bit more context as to what Elliott wanted from him; to read over the newest chapters of his books, to get drinks together at the saloon; but this one didn’t give even the slightest clue as to what the bizarre man could possibly have planned for that evening. Naturally, Shane’s mind jumped from possibility to possibility, his nerves tying knots in his chest.

Had he done something wrong? Could this be something more sinister? Was Elliott going to confess his love for him?

Flustered, he shook that last possibility from his head. Sure, Elliott seemed suspiciously flirtatious and seemed to pounce at any opportunity to spend time with him, but that didn’t mean anything, right? They were just friends, right? Doing normal friend things? Right?

Despite the amount of times he had desperately tried to convince himself otherwise, Shane couldn’t deny the fact that he had taken a particular liking to the eccentric writer. But… isn’t it normal to be entranced by your friend’s sharp, chiseled features? By his gorgeous, flowing hair? To be enamored by his deep, velvety voice and to burn the image of his beaming smile into your very consciousness?

God dammit. He had the hots for Elliott. Bizarre, awkward, charming, beautiful Elliott. How the hell did this happen?

Shane collapsed onto the floor, just narrowly avoiding collision with his bowl of cereal. He sighed deeply, trying his hardest to calm his nerves. He glanced back at the letter a few times, trying to decipher whatever the hell the author could possibly want from him. 

Nearing the sandy expanse of the beach, anxiety was making Shane’s stomach do backflips. Assuring himself with each step that everything was going to be fine, he took his first stride onto the soft sand beside Elliott’s cabin. A few crabs scuttled about at his feet. The last remnants of the day’s Sun were sinking below the ocean, painting the sky with a brilliant palette of orange, pink, and yellow. 

He had actually decided to wear some nicer clothes, for once. He wasn’t exactly sure why, he just felt as if he should. Almost like he was going on some sort of date. He had dug out a black leather jacket from the back of his closet and opted for a pair of ripped jeans instead of his usual cargo shorts. Perhaps it wasn’t fancy by Elliott’s standards, but it was fancier by his own.

Approaching the rickety wooden door of the author’s cabin, Shane ran a hand through his hair, still slightly damp from the shower he took earlier that day. Hesitantly, he raised a shaky fist to knock on the door, recoiling backwards ever so slightly as the shuffling of footsteps sounded from within the walls. He heard the sliding lock on the door click, and shortly afterwards the door swung open, revealing a somewhat frazzled-looking Elliott.

“Ah! Shane! Please, come in. It’s such a pleasure to see you.” The towering man joyfully greeted him, a warm smile spread across his face. His eyes seemed to fixate briefly on Shane’s clothes before returning to his face.

That was something that Shane found especially strange about Elliott; he was always so thrilled to see him. Him! Of all people! The moody asshole who stands (or rather, stood) in the corner of the saloon by himself every night! He never quite understood why someone as sophisticated as Elliott would even want to speak to him, but here he was, cheerfully inviting him into his own home. 

Shane noticed immediately upon entering the cabin that something was… off. A few lit candles sat atop both Elliott’s writing desk and the small table beside the entrance. As the taller man turned his back to him, he noticed that his golden hair was tied into a loose ponytail with a thick green ribbon. Gathering his wits, Shane asked the question that had been at the forefront of his mind.

“So… what is it that you need from me? No offense, but that letter was, uh, vague.” 

“Oh, I’m sorry. I suppose it was quite ambiguous.” Elliott turned to face Shane, a piece of his long hair falling in front of his face before he reached up to tuck it back in place. “There’s just something I wanted to do. Please, do not worry.”

“Yeah, that’s… still vague.”

“Have patience, my dear. You’ll see.” The author chuckled. 

Despite the fact that Shane nearly went into anaphylactic shock upon hearing the sugary-sweet pet name Elliott had bestowed upon him, he did as he was asked. Fidgeting with his hands, he watched as Elliott reached beneath the small table and pulled out a record player. Then, crouching down and rummaging through a box on the floor, he pulled out a single record. Taking a deep breath, he placed the disk onto the turntable.

A brief crackle of static followed by a soft melody poured out from the speaker. The song sounded like some kind of waltz. Confused, Shane opened his mouth to question Elliott’s intentions yet again, but stopped when the latter held out his hand. 

“Dance with me?” Elliott muttered, each word laced with honey. 

Shane froze, barely processing what the other man had just said. Elliott wanted to dance? With him? No fucking way.

Nevertheless, he hesitantly reached out, taking Elliott’s hand in his. The contact burned as if he had touched a hot stove, scorching him down to his bones, but he didn’t pull away. The tall man gently tugged on Shane’s hand, leading him out towards the center of the room; pulling him close enough to snake his vacant arm around his waist. Shane felt his spine nearly jump out of his body, but he returned the gesture, growing increasingly flustered with each passing second. Elliott was considerably taller than him, so he had to take extra care to avoid accidentally touching his ass. 

“Just to warn you,” Shane began, locking eyes with Elliott before tearing his gaze back away, “I’m kind of a shit dancer.”

Elliott chuckled. “Don’t worry, just follow my lead. You’ll do just fine.”

Swaying gently to the music, Shane tried his hardest to mimic Elliott’s movements. Left, right, left again. Turning, swinging. With each beat of the song came another movement, their fingers intertwined. 

In the blink of an eye, Shane lost his footing, nearly colliding with the floor if not for a strong, slender arm firmly wrapped around his back, just barely keeping him upright. The two men locked eyes, a concerned look about Elliott’s face and a bewildered look about Shane’s. 

“Are you alright?” Elliott asked, voice twinged with worry.

All Shane could do was stare. 

From the way Elliott’s caramel-colored hair framed his sharp yet gentle features, the genuine concern in the way he spoke, to the look of care and compassion swirling in the deep hazel pools of his eyes. To Shane, it was as if he was gazing directly upon the visage of a god. In that moment, he had never seen anyone more beautiful. 

As Elliott gently eased him back up, he just stood there, heart beginning to pound as the reality of just how close together they were gradually set in. 

“I’m truly sorry… we- we can stop if you wish.” He sounded so… distressed. Gradually, Elliott loosened his grip, now only holding the other man's hands. The cold emptiness left after their bodies separated made Shane’s chest ache. 

Shane couldn’t bear it a second longer. With only a moment’s hesitation, he sprung forward. He was just barely able to reach Elliott’s lips to slot them against his, meeting in a quick, sloppy kiss. Shane quickly retracted as he realized what he had just done, face turning washing over in bright pink. 

“S-sorry… you’re just… god dammit. You’re too goddamn pretty.” Shane stammered, turning his head away in embarrassment. 

Before he could even begin to formulate another apology, a bony hand gently grasped his jaw.

The world slowed. The only sounds that Shane could hear were the pounding of his own heartbeat and the distant melody still pouring from the record player. His vision blurred, his body froze, and all he could feel was a pair of soft lips pressed firmly against his own. 

Then, pulling away as if emerging from the depths of the ocean, the world returned to normal. Elliott gazed down at him, cheeks dusted in red, locks of hair draped over his oh-so pretty face. He laughed, crouching down ever so slightly to envelop Shane in a joyous, loving embrace. 

“I’m so happy.” Elliott cooed, pulling away just enough so he could look the shorter man in the eye. 

Shane began to tear up. It seemed so silly, ludicrous even- to cry over something like this, but truthfully, he had never had his feelings for anyone reciprocated like this before. To have his affections be so enthusiastically accepted, and by someone like Elliott no less, it was almost too much for him to bear.

“Me too,” he choked out, failing to contain the tears that streaked down his face. “I’m happy too.”

The two men stood for a little while, quietly and loosely embraced. Shane relished in the comforting warmth of Elliott’s chest, the urge to cry gradually depleting enough for him to raise his head.

“Well,” Shane said quietly, breaking the silence. He took a step away, holding his hand outward. 

“Shall we continue?”