Genres: Angst, oneshot, steamy
Spoilers: Beach Games, small spoilers for The Job.
A/N: Beach sex, as requested by broken__records!
You can’t really breathe as you step into the water because you feel exhilarated and completely terrified at the same time. Your feet hurt and your chest feels tight and it’s quite possible that you’ve never felt so alive.
The glow of the firelight disappears as you round the corner of the bank, and for the first time tonight you feel like you’re actually alone. You don’t have to take notes and you don’t have to watch everyone else having fun and you’re finally able to take a moment to just think. You can hear silence and crickets and wind in the grass along the shore.
You’re pulling off your hoodie and tank top and capris and you’re before you realize it, you’re suddenly under water. It’s cold and pressing and even quieter than before, and when you open your eyes, everything is dark. Soon your lungs are starting to ache, so you break the surface, and it takes a moment to notice that you’re laughing. Loudly and helplessly.
Because the man you love isn’t even your friend any longer. And your job is going nowhere. And you live alone and you feel alone and it seems like no one cares. And you’ve spilled it all to everyone you work with. And your feet are burnt. And suddenly, none of it matters, because now you finally feel free.
You gaze up at the sky and see the stars and the moon and your laughter dies slowly until all you can hear is quiet. You let the current pull at you, drifting against you and around you and you want to just stay like this forever.
By the time you make your way back to the beach, you’ve got goosebumps and your teeth are chattering and you wonder briefly if they’ve left without you. And when you look up to find your hoodie, you see him sitting next to your clothes, and his eyes flash in the darkness.
You wonder if you should still feel bold, after everything that’s happened. You decide that you do, and you sit down in the sand next to him, turning your head back towards the stars.
It’s silent for a bit too long, and you can feel him looking at you, but you’re still looking up at the sky, trying to find the Big Dipper, or Orion, and you can’t remember which one is visible this time of year or if they both are.
He’s untied the top of your swimsuit by the time you find the North Star, and his breath is hot against the back of your neck. His fingers are delicate as they push the halter straps forward and pull your wet hair away from your shoulders, passing so lightly over your collarbones that it’s almost like a breeze.
Your head falls forward as his hands slip down, following the path the ties of your swimsuit have taken until his palms are resting against your ribs. His lips press once and then again along your right shoulder and you shudder when he pulls your bikini top down, down.
Your hands are brazen and pull at his fingers, placing them on your chest and pressing, and you arch towards them sharply. He’s kneeling behind you and you can feel him leaning forward, his cheek against yours, and he’s whispering words you can’t quite hear; something about bravery and cowardice and need.
You groan in frustration when his hands move away, but it dissolves into a gasp when his thumbs start tracing your hipbones. You can feel him hard against your back and Jesus. His left index finger is slipping below your bikini bottoms and you push back against him, wanting to feel him even closer.
His hips move of their own accord and his breath is ragged against your neck. And his finger has dipped further beneath your suit until it’s there and you whimper helplessly.
“Please,” he whispers harshly. “I need …”
You’re nodding your head and grasping his forearm, holding him against you as your other hand reaches blindly behind you, your fingers threading through his hair, feeling softness and sweat and oh God. His lips are brushing your ear and his hand is moving against you and you’re already there.
He stops abruptly and you let out a strange, strangled sort of cry because you’re so close but you hear him fumbling behind you and the sound of his zipper is almost piercing in the darkness. Then he’s pulling you against his chest again and panting into your hair and asking you and begging you and all you can do is say “Yes, Jim-” because you can’t think any more. One arm is around your waist and the other is pulling at your swimsuit and then he’s pushing forward and deep and you call his name a little too loudly because fuck.
And you turn your head and he finally kisses you, hard, like it’s the only thing he’s ever wanted to do.
Then his hand dips and his middle finger presses against you through the fabric of your swimsuit and you breathe out “I’m gonna … oh God.” You close your eyes as you tense and open them when you finally shudder around him, whimpering his name over and over until you can’t say anything else.
And he’s grunting in your ear and gasping and rocking against you once and then again before he stills, a low moan that sounds like maybe your name reverberating through him and then you.
Once your breathing slows, you can hear the crickets again. He’s handing you your clothes and running a hand through his hair as he cranes his neck to stare up into the night. You stand near the water’s edge and feel him come to stand behind you, and your heart jumps when you hear the cracking of twigs behind you. The jostling of camera equipment is unmistakable, and you sigh quietly.
“How are your feet?” he asks.
“Medium rare. Thanks,” you quip, afraid to look up at him, because you know it’ll make it that much harder to pretend.
And when you get home, you finally let yourself cry.