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The sand was still warm beneath them, even as the sun had long since dipped below the horizon. The only light came from the moon, its silver glow rippling across the waves, and the distant flicker of torches from a nearby resort. The air smelled of salt and flowers, heavy with the heat of the day, and Ichiban swore he could feel the pulse of the ocean in time with his own heartbeat.
Nanba was beneath him, half-propped up on his elbows, his breath coming fast as Ichiban hovered over him, their bodies close but not quite touching. The only thing separating them was restraint, but that was slipping fast.
“You sure about this?” Ichiban murmured, his voice lower than usual, thick with something even he couldn’t name.
Nanba huffed, rolling his eyes, but there was no real irritation in it—only that familiar, exasperated fondness Ichiban had grown to love. “Do I look like I’m having second thoughts?”
He didn’t. His glasses were somewhere off in the sand, forgotten the moment Ichiban had leaned in, and his black hair was wild from the wind. The moonlight softened his features, casting silver shadows along the sharp angles of his cheekbones, his jaw, the dip of his throat where Ichiban could see his pulse fluttering. His skin was warm beneath Ichiban’s hands, his chest rising and falling in a rhythm that had nothing to do with the lull of the waves.
Ichiban swallowed hard. “You’re beautiful,” he blurted before he could stop himself.
Nanba blinked up at him, momentarily caught off guard, before he scoffed. “You sap,” he muttered, but his voice was softer now, his fingers curling at Ichiban’s waist. “What are you gonna do next, write me a love poem?”
“I might,” Ichiban admitted, grinning as he leaned down, his lips brushing against Nanba’s in the barest tease of a kiss. “Depends on how inspired I get.”
Nanba made a sound, somewhere between a laugh and a groan, and then all pretense of restraint was gone. He pulled Ichiban down, their mouths meeting in something slow and searching, tongues brushing as the kiss deepened. Ichiban could feel the warmth of Nanba’s body beneath him, the shift of muscle as he moved, the way he fit against him like they were meant to be like this.
The night stretched around them, the sound of the ocean drowning out everything else. It was just the two of them, here, now, with nothing between them but heat and want.
Nanba broke the kiss first, panting slightly as he rested his forehead against Ichiban’s. “If you don’t do something soon,” he warned, voice breathless but teasing, “I might actually make you write that poem.”
Ichiban laughed, pressing another kiss to the corner of Nanba’s mouth before letting his hands wander lower. “I think I can come up with something better,” he promised, voice rough with need.
And then, under the moonlit sky, with the waves crashing gently beside them, he did.