Work Text:
The air shimmered with heat, thick with salt and sun. The sea stretched endlessly in every direction, an infinite blue that seemed too perfect to be real. There was no horizon, not really—just the blur between sky and sea, the kind of view that made you feel impossibly small in the best kind of way.
Dan leaned over the edge of the boat, arms resting on the warm metal railing, watching the light fracture and shimmer across the waves like molten glass. The water sparkled with such clarity that he could almost see through to the depths, dark shapes shifting below like secrets waiting to be uncovered. He squinted against the glare, salt drying on his lips from the ocean spray, and smiled to himself, the kind of quiet smile he didn’t often let slip.
Behind him, the soft, chaotic clatter of someone fumbling with gear broke through the haze. Phil was bent over, wrestling with the last strap of his scuba harness, the tank gleaming in the sunlight. His blonde hair, was already damp and clinging to his forehead in unruly tufts. His cheeks were flushed pink from the heat, a smear of sunscreen not quite rubbed in along his temple.
“You good?” Phil asked breathlessly, yanking on one of the clips with a grunt. “Or are you still contemplating your inevitable watery demise?”
Dan turned, dragging his gaze away from the sea. His lips quirked into something fond and familiar. “As good as I can be when voluntarily plunging myself into the abyss.”
Phil rolled his eyes but grinned, securing the last strap with a satisfying click. “It’s not the abyss. It’s like… Nemo’s garden. Colorful fish. Pretty corals. Less death.”
Dan gave him a dry look. “Still a chance of sharks.”
“Statistically unlikely,” Phil said, adjusting his goggles.
“That’s never been comforting,” Dan muttered, but there was no edge to it—only the lazy curl of affection under every word. He stepped into his flippers with theatrical reluctance, wobbling a little and nearly tripping over his own foot.
Phil snorted. “Graceful as ever.”
The dive instructor—broad-shouldered, tanned, and impossibly serene—gave them both a thumbs-up from the stern and shouted something that sounded vaguely like, “Let’s go!” Dan wasn’t listening. He was already watching Phil, who looked somehow radiant in his gear—like he was meant to be here, surrounded by salt and sun, wild and free.
They checked their regulators, gave each other one last glance, and then, in one smooth motion, slipped into the water. It closed around them like a second skin.
Underwater, everything changed.
The noise of the world above vanished, replaced by the strange, hollow quiet of the deep. It was a silence not of emptiness but of fullness, like the ocean itself was breathing. Every movement felt slower, dreamlike. Dan’s ears adjusted to the pressure, and his chest rose and fell with the rhythm of the tank’s hiss and release.
The reef unfolded before them like something from a forgotten myth—bright corals in every color imaginable, branching and spiraling like living sculptures. Schools of fish shimmered past in coordinated bursts, scattering light like underwater fireworks. A sea turtle, ancient and slow-moving, passed only inches from Dan’s mask, its eyes impossibly calm.
Phil was already ahead, his body gliding effortlessly through the water like he belonged to it. His arms moved with practiced grace, each kick sending him deeper into the vibrant maze. He turned occasionally to glance back at Dan, his eyes crinkling with joy behind the mask, and Dan felt something loosen in his chest.
It wasn’t fear or panic that filled him—it was awe.
Dan watched him, really watched him, and not for the first time wondered how someone like Phil had become the constant in his life. How someone so full of light had never once burned him, only warmed.
They drifted together through caverns of coral, their hands brushing now and then. A particularly brave fish darted between them, and Phil’s body shook with silent laughter. He reached out, gently hooking his pinky with Dan’s, and Dan’s lips curled instinctively around the mouthpiece of his regulator.
They spent what felt like an eternity down there, not needing words, not wanting them.
When they finally surfaced, breaking through into golden light, the sun was melting toward the horizon. The sky blazed in hues of fire—burnt orange, dusky rose, the kind of colors you only believed in when you saw them for yourself. The dive instructor helped them back on board, chatting excitedly, but Dan barely heard. His focus was on Phil—on the way his hair clung to his temples, on the flush in his cheeks, on the water that dripped down his neck in slow, golden trails.
Phil dropped down onto the edge of the boat, legs still dangling in the sea. “That was… incredible,” he murmured, breathless, almost reverent.
Dan nodded, dazed. “It’s just… quiet. In a good way.”
Phil tilted his head, smiling. “You looked peaceful down there.”
Dan looked at him then, really looked, and the sunlight hit Phil like it had underwater—soft and radiant and otherworldly. For a second, Dan felt something shift. Something fall into place.
Phil bumped his knee against Dan’s. “Wanna go back in? Just us?”
The question hung in the air like a dare.
Dan hesitated, only for a second, then nodded.
This time, the water felt different. Cooler. More intimate. They stripped out of their gear, left the constraints of the tanks and masks behind, and dove back into the sea like they belonged to it.
They swam past the boat, farther than before, until they were nothing but two specks in the vastness of the ocean. The world around them faded—the boat, the shore, even the sky blurred above. The only thing that remained was the sound of their breathing and the slow lapping of waves.
They floated on their backs for a while, hands drifting close, not quite touching. The sky above was streaked with clouds, soft and stretched like cotton, the last sliver of sun sinking low.
“I feel like we could stay here forever,” Phil said softly, voice barely above the wind.
Dan turned in the water, rolling toward him. “Maybe we already are,” he whispered.
He kicked closer, slowly, until they were chest to chest. The water wrapped around them like silk, their movements fluid and easy. Phil’s eyes searched his, unreadable and open all at once.
Dan reached out, his fingers trailing along Phil’s jaw, down to the curve of his neck. “Can I…?”
Phil answered with a nod, but the way his mouth parted, the way his breath caught—that was the real answer.
The kiss was soft, at first. Careful. Salt on their lips, breath shallow. Then it deepened, grew hungrier. Dan’s fingers tangled in Phil’s hair, pulling him closer, and Phil made a quiet noise, muffled by the water.
Their bodies moved together instinctively, a rhythm forming in the way their chests pressed, the way their hands explored. Dan gasped as Phil’s palm slid over his side, slow and deliberate. His skin burned where Phil touched him, like sunlight underwater.
The sea rocked them gently, but nothing could disturb the gravity of that kiss. It felt like drowning—but the kind you didn’t fight. The kind that felt like coming home.
Phil’s leg brushed against his, and Dan shifted, closing the space between them. Every inch of their bodies was wet and warm and wanting, and the tension coiled low in Dan’s belly wasn’t just desire—it was something more. Something raw and terrifying and beautiful.
Phil pulled back, just far enough to look into Dan’s eyes. “You’re beautiful like this,” he murmured. “Out here. Raw. Real.”
Dan laughed quietly, resting his forehead against Phil’s. “You’re such a sap.”
“You love it.”
Dan didn’t deny it. Instead, he kissed him again, slower this time. More sure.
They stayed like that for what felt like hours, trading kisses and soft touches, their legs tangled beneath the surface. No words. Just the sea. Just each other.
Eventually, reality returned. The boat loomed in the distance, the sun almost gone. Phil sighed, brushing a strand of hair from Dan’s face. “We should probably go back.”
Dan nodded, reluctant.
They swam slowly, hands linked, moving as one. The dive instructor gave them a knowing look when they climbed aboard again—dripping, dazed, glowing—but said nothing.
They dried off on the deck, wrapped in towels, the night creeping in. The first stars blinked into view above, faint and shy.
Phil turned to him, catching Dan mid-stare. “What?”
Dan shook his head. “Nothing. Just… I’ve never felt like that before. Like the whole world was just us.”
Phil leaned over, kissed his temple. “It still is. If you want it to be.”
Dan didn’t answer with words. He just reached for Phil’s hand and held it, firm and sure.
The sea rocked the boat gently beneath them, and above, the sky opened wide.