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“Come on, you’re playing like a girl!” CJ yells across the net, and Fir tumbles to the ground, trying to hit the ball.
“Hey!” Parky crosses arms over her chest, and Poo lightly slaps CJ on the back of his head, giggling.
“Sorry, Parky, you’re right, you’re not a girl,” CJ says, rubbing the spot.
Fir scoffs, returning with the ball to their makeshift court. Parky rolls her eyes, not really offended. She winks at Aggy on their team, and he tosses the ball right on CJ’s head. CJ feigns a whine.
“Guys, I want to go get some more drinks from the car. Anyone with me?” Tanner says, stretching in his chair. An empty freezer box in the shadow of a big umbrella speaks for itself.
Fir responds, but his eyes are locked onto the ball, now in play again. “I’ll go with you. Just gimme, like, five minutes, I wanna recoup.”
“Take him.” CJ smirks. “This is the lost cause for him.”
Fir is about to protest when he feels arms around his middle, and he yelps as his world suddenly turns upside down.
He grabs onto Tanner's back for dear life, and he can't help but laugh, as Tanner slightly tosses him to readjust his position. “Smant! What the heck!”
Everyone around them stares and loses their shit. The game can't continue with all players doubling down in hysterics.
Tanner ignores the reaction and says, “Sorry, we're gonna be late,” as he turns around and leaves the field, grinning.
CJ yells after them, “Don't fuck in the bushes!” and Fir rolls his eyes but doesn't find it in himself to reproach him.
They make it nearly halfway to the end of the beach when Fir says, “You can put me down now,” Tanner parries with, “Nope!” and Fir has to kick his feet to wriggle out of his hold.
They laugh but in the end Tanner complies and puts Fir down. It's the first time in a few hours Fir has made eye contact with Tanner, and somehow Fir wishes this gap was even longer.
It's absolutely normal to steal glances at your close friend, shirtless and smiling widely at you, looking so pleased with himself—Fir repeats it to himself all day. He turns around because he feels blush creep to his cheeks, and he knows it is never subtle for him.
They get a pack of back-up ice from the truck and as many cans as they can fit in their arms. Almost too many because in the end Tanner can barely press a lock button on Poo's car keys.
They go back to their beach spot, which is actually too far away from the car, now that they have additional weight to carry. But it's an area, separated by a small cliff, which is nice because nobody is going to bother them and vice versa.
Water turns into fine foam as it reaches Fir's feet, and Fir idly studies the way his ankles break the waves. He doesn't dare to look up. He knows what he will find in his sight immediately: strong arms, the defined muscles of a tanned back, the relief of Tanner's chest, surprisingly smooth, the dark hair on surfaces, and the color of his nipples. His sun-kissed face, wearing a soft smile, the deep brown of his eyes behind the glasses, his hair, combed-back and standing up, soaked in salt water. The contour of his neat lips. Fir closes his eyes and exhales heavily through his nose. He can't get the image out of the back of his eyes.
Until Tanner shoves him in the shoulder. Fir nearly loses his balance, splashing the water where he steps into the sea.
Fir stares, and Tanner is wearing that smug expression Fir can't stand. He comes closer and returns the move, putting his whole body into it. Tanner grins and shoves Fir again. Fir scoffs and runs after Tanner, who sprints away until they both make several circles on the dry sand and end up in water. Fir tosses his drinks to the ground and runs against waves after Tanner.
One jump, and Fir surfaces, spitting the salt water out. Tanner is still knee-deep in water, but a step away, laughing so hard, the sound echoes through Fir. He tries to catch Tanner's legs and drown him but Tanner backs away just in time.
They get out of the water, and Fir takes a moment to catch his breath. He can't help but grin, although he hates every second of it.
Tanner sits on one of the huge rocks, a little farther away from the waterline, and leaves a place on it for Fir to join him.
Fir drags his feet because dry sand sticks to them, but he is determined to get a proper revenge on Tanner. His shirt clings to his chest, and Fir tugs on it, but it just hugs his skin back immediately—he should've brought something more comfortable for the beach day, probably, if he cared a little more.
Tanner's eyes follow the action. “You should take it off,” he says when Fir sits next to him.
“Hm?” Fir looks at him, confused, and brushes his hair out of his face.
“Your shirt,” Tanner says. “It will dry faster.”
Fir looks at his hands, picking at his nails. Easy to say that when you have the physique of a Street Fighter character.
“I'm good, thanks.”
They fall into silence, watching the shore change the finest details of its landscape and yet stay the same. It's calming.
After a bit, Fir decides to take his revenge and shoves Tanner with his shoulder. Tanner doesn't return it but smiles.
They sit a little more, listening to the sounds of nature, faint yelling of their friends.
Fir can't help but steal a glance at Tanner. Tanner's awareness is all time high, apparently, because a smirk forms on his lips, and he asks, conceitedly, “Like what you see?”
If only it didn't make Fir blush as hard as it really does. His life would be so much easier.
“You're very fit,” he says before he can remind himself that he can’t afford being this obvious. That he shouldn’t fall for Tanner fishing for compliments.
“I like you without a shirt too.”
Fir stares. He stares because he can’t comprehend it: why would Tanner say something like that? Sure, he has seen Fir shirtless—they have slept in one room, in one bed even, and have been at the same pool a few times. He has seen Fir like that. And Fir’s body is far from being something to like. Even though he is not extremely underweight anymore and not as chubby as he was after the quarantine times, he isn’t hitting the gym nearly enough to become what he would find attractive himself. He knows how he looks in the mirror. And if there was a single chance of Tanner not being fully straight, Fir wouldn't bet a single chip on him liking someone like him. In terms of both body and personality.
Tanner squints at Fir's silent reaction, too pleased with himself. “Wanna touch?” he says, and Fir temporarily loses his ability to speak English.
He opens and closes his mouth, but no sound emerges.
Tanner reaches from his half-laying position, and Fir's gaze traces every frame of his hand's journey. He takes the wrist Fir has been leaning onto, so Fir's natural instinct is to turn, follow the lead. He struggles to find a place for his new base, and then the next thing he knows—he's leaning over Tanner.
Tanner's hand holds Fir's to his bare chest. Fir can feel tingling in his finger tips whenever Tanner's heart thuds beneath his palm. Like his skin is conducting electricity.
Fir doesn't move and can barely allow himself to breathe. Tanner's skin is smooth to touch, almost silky. He initiates it, slowly pulls Fir's wrist down his chest, and Fir's eyes lock onto the motion.
It's the feeling of Tanner's abs under his touch, it's the confidence Tanner emits. When the fuck did he actually get so... perfect? His hand doesn't stop leading the way. Fir swallows hard when his fingertips reach the band of his trunks. Tanner doesn’t move past that line, but he watches, intently. And Fir is terrified to look up.
“Wow, you’re really down bad for me.”
Fir’s world shutters, and he is finally able to tear his gaze away from Tanner’s body. He looks at him, terrified, confused, almost heart broken. He opens his mouth but words come without proper grammar, “What? No— I— You— It’s not—”
He tries to pull away, create some distance between them. Tanner sits up and doesn’t let him go. He looks down at Fir, cocky, so close Fir can sense his cologne. Fir’s heart misses a beat in his chest.
“Tanner,” he chokes out.
“Am I wrong?” Tanner’s smirk is cutting Fir’s heart like a knife. Until there’s a knuckle under his chin. Fir barely realises what it means when Tanner tilts his head up. “You’re very lucky,” Tanner murmurs, as the tip of his nose brushes against Fir’s.
Fir forgets how to breathe. He can’t choose what to look at: his eyes or his lips. He is surely misunderstanding it, there is no way it’s happening to him. “Am I?”
“Yeah. If you really want it,” Tanner says and doesn’t ask.
Fir would have pushed away anyone who dared to violate his personal space like that, but it’s Tanner. It’s Tanner kissing him, holding him close, pouring his soul in touching Fir’s lips, chin, neck. And Fir takes it—all he can take, all Tanner gives him and a little more.
Ice pack melts on the warm sand, waves rowdily meet the shore.
Fir has his hands all over the body he couldn’t take his eyes off. He doesn’t know if he’s allowed to have the soul too. He hopes he has a grasp on it the way Tanner has it on him. It is a thought for later. His brain is too occupied with Tanner’s lips.