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Fitzy wasn't the biggest fan of clubs.
They were too crowded and, thanks to all the dancing taking place, much too hot. People constantly bumped into him—purposefully and accidentally— as they bounced, gyrated, and rocked about. Sweat, floral perfumes, musky colognes, and cheap alcohol flooded his sense of smell; it would have been almost overwhelming if he hadn't been used to them, but he still found it to be a less than pleasing mixture.
But most of all, it was much too loud. Music he normally enjoyed had been altered to have a thunderous bass and its lyrical melodies replaced by computerized reproductions that the DJ would then blast at almost maximum volume. There were times when the bass was so strong, he could have sworn it took over for his heartbeat.
He always endured it, though. It wasn't like he went clubbing often—only when Emil wanted him to come along and that, blessedly, was rare. Tonight, though, was different. It had been his idea to go out and hit up a club for the night.
A bit of a final hurrah before they left Swansea in favor of a new life in Miami.
He did his best to keep up with the wild dancing and enjoy the thundering music. Did his best to ignore the cloying sweet perfume of the woman beside him that did not at all mix well with Emil's cedar-and-salt perfume. He kept his focus on his fiancée, who was breathlessly singing along with whatever song was playing; not that he could hear their voice over the music. But they were having fun and that was all that mattered to him in the moment.
Admittedly, though, when Emil grabbed his hand and started to drag him towards the exit, he couldn't help but feel some relief.
As they burst out of the club and into the nearly-empty street, they were greeted by blessedly cool air that smelled only of the sea. A sigh left his lips and he wanted to pause a moment to enjoy the quiet. Emil, though, gave his hand a small tug.
"C'mon, fy melys," they grinned. "The sun's rising soon—let's go down to the beach and watch it."
His brows furrowed and, as he allowed them to drag him down the street, he checked his watch only for his eyes to widen in a mixture of shock and horror. 4:03AM. "I thought the club was supposed to close at two?" he gawked.
They laughed, looking over their shoulder at him. "It is, but the owners bribed the Council into lettin' them stay open as long as they like on Fridays without consequence."
He shook his head disapprovingly. "At least it's just one night a week…"
Emil's brow rose and, pulling his hand up to their lips, brushed a kiss against his knuckles. "Don't act like you're above using bribery," they teased. "You use it with me constantly."
Thankful his cheeks were still pink from all the dancing, he playfully rolled his eyes. "You know as well as I that those two instances are vastly different." They turned a corner and Swansea Bay came into view. In the cool, dim light of predawn, it was a bit hard to make out the boats and ships anchored out in the bay, but to the west of them, the silhouettes of the Mumbles rose up out of the sea, impossible to miss.
By the time they made it down to the beach, it was a quarter to five and the eastern horizon was beginning to turn from pale blue to orange as the sun began its slow ascent into the sky. Finding a driftwood log to use as a seat, the pair sat down, sitting astride so that Emil could recline against Fitzy's chest. He wrapped his arms around them and, after placing a kiss on their shoulder, rested his chin atop their head.
A content hum left Emil's throat as the sound of the waves and sea breeze filled their ears. "Are you excited?" they asked after a moment. "About movin' to the States, I mean." They ignored the feeling of watchfulness that had come over them the moment they stepped onto the sand.
"Mm…I am," he said, "but at the same time, I'm not. The novelty of moving there is a bit diminished, given we already stayed there while you got your Bachelor's."
"That was in Washington, though, and only for four years. We'll be living long-term in Florida—a completely different place in terms of climate, culture, and cuisine."
His brow rose ever so slightly in amusement at their use of alliteration. "Yes…which means no more day trips looking for werewolves, Bigfoots, and glittering vampires. Instead, we'll have high chances of running into the legendary Florida Man."
Emil let out a hearty laugh. "Gods, I hope not. Some of the headlines I've read about the Florida Men make my paternal family look normal." Tilting their head back, they looked up at him; as usual, their eyes perfectly matched the rolling waters off to their right. "Be honest, fy melys."
He pressed a kiss to their temple. "I am looking forward to it. We can finally be ourselves without having to worry about keeping up reputations or conforming to aristocratic ideals…" Sighing softly, he looked up at the sky, which was now a brilliant shade of pumpkin-orange. "What does your father think of the move?"
Their brow lifted. "You know what my father thinks, Fitzy. He's the reason we're able to get away at all."
A soft chuckle left his lips. "I didn't mean Rolant, love. I meant your tad."
"Ah." They turned their head, gazing out at the bay, and the feeling of being watched grew stronger. As they stuck their tongue out at the bay, the waters nearest to them seemed to draw back in annoyance. "He's not thrilled by any means, but he says so long as I'm contributing to the conservation o' marine animals, he will remain supportive."
Fitzy chuckled once more. "Is that an honest answer, or are you saying that merely because he's watching us?"
"Yes." They shifted slightly before turning their head and nuzzling their face against the crook of Fitzy's neck, earning another soft laugh from him. "I'm glad we'll get t' be free of all this aristocratic nonsense, too. I miss being just Emil Drystan rather than Emilianna Traharne, bastard and black sheep of the noble Traharne family."
He held them closer to him and his hands found theirs. "Don't forget the bit about how you've managed to ensnare the Dalton heir's heart and have started corrupting him with your sinful ways," he murmured, the words soft, but teasing.
"No, that one I'm very much proud of," they grinned. "Even if said Dalton heir was the one who introduced the black sheep of Traharne to said sinful ways."
The rolling of the waves suddenly quieted, as if the ocean itself were trying to better eavesdrop—which is exactly what it was doing.
His cheeks pinkened anew and he cleared his throat. "Not in front of your tad, love."