This one is for Jeannie Marie, who Started It   

This one is for Jeannie Marie, who Started It. This was supposed to be a
snapshot, but I guess I left the camera shutter open and it got a really,
really long exposure. Rated G or just maybe PG, sap alert as usual. 

I don't own the boys. The northern California beaches own me. 

For once, no children involved. Promise. :) 

~~~How To Spend an Airport Layover~~~ 

"Are you sure about this, Ray?" Ben glanced out the window at the
landscape flying past. The road cut a sinuous path along the coast, and
they had been following it northward for over an hour. 

"Perfectly. Our plane being overbooked and us getting an extra day here is
a cosmic message telling us to go to the beach, and that," he paused as he
pulled the rental car around a particularly sharp curve, "is exactly what
I am going to do." 

"Are you sure it's not merely a comment on the airline industry?" 

"Fraser!" His glare lasted only a millisecond, as the sheer drop on the
left side of the car and the steep hillside on the right demanded his
attention, but the amused exasperation was evident in his voice. "Think
about it. Where do they hold these seminars? Last year it was Miami, the
year before that it was L.A. This year it's San Francisco. What do they
all have in common?" 

"They're all large metropolitan areas with international airports?" 

"They're beach towns, Fraser. Somebody, somewhere is sending police
officers to beach towns as a little reward for dedicating our lives to
serving and protecting and maintaining the right, and I for one am not
going to let it go unappreciated." 

"What about the trade summit in Chicago?" 

Ray shrugged. "Hey, so somebody's a little confused about Lake Michigan.
You're not gonna hold that against them, are you?" 

Ben turned to the window again to hide a smile. "So where are we going?" 

"We're looking for a good spot." 

"What was wrong with the hotel's beach? 

"Fraser, it stank." 

"Well, all cities have a certain odor..." 

"No, I mean it stank like dead fish. It was right downwind from that dock
where the guy was selling dead fish glop to feed the seals." 

"Pier." 

"What?" 

"The wooden structure that extends out above the water is called a pier. A
dock is the inlet of water that allows a ship to moor to the pier." 

"What about the song where the guy is sittin' on the dock of the bay?" 

Ben shrugged. "Perhaps he had a boat." 

A few more turns over increasingly sandy and windswept country brought
them to a small parking lot containing eight other cars and a tiny,
off-white public restroom. "Not a real popular place, is it?" 

Ray's puzzled expression was swept away as he stepped out of the car and
into the cool wind that showered his ankles with sand. He could see the
waves as he stood up, and he watched as the deep grey-blue ocean drew
itself up to an impossible height, then rolled over on itself to rush
halfway up the sand with a foamy hiss. Rocky cliffs rose on either side of
the parking lot, and the beach itself was dotted with large boulders and
driftwood that testified to the strength of those waves. A wooden sign at
the edge of the lot warned of dangerous undertows and the risk of shark
attack. 

He turned to Ben, about to suggest that they get back in the car and look
for another beach, but stopped as he caught sight of his friend. Ben had
gotten out of the car and shut the door, and now stood gazing out to sea
with his shoulders back and his head up, breathing deeply of the salt
spray that ruffled his hair into curls. Some of the wildness of the place
was echoed in the lines of his body, and he looked relaxed and free. Ray
closed his mouth, wondering if he was being allowed a glimpse of Ben as he
might look at home, undistracted by bereavement, betrayal or major head
wounds. Sighing mentally, he reached into the backseat for the canvas bag
containing their dinner. Suddenly, he didn't feel so silly for buying that
beach blanket. 

***** 

Wrapped up in that blanket a few hours later, his cold feet propped close
to their driftwood fire, he almost regretted his decision to stay. Ben
would have agreed if he'd asked to leave, he knew. At the thought, he
glanced across the flames. Ben was leaning back against a boulder, his
face turned away as he watched the deep orange ball of the sun disappear
beneath the horizon. His fair skin was tinged with red from the
combination of sun and wind, and the hint of wildness was back in his eyes
and the tiny smile that played at the corners of his mouth. As though he'd
felt Ray watching, he turned toward him, a question in his eyes. He
started to speak, then seemed to change his mind. 

"What?" 

Ben took a deep breath, paused, then let it out. "Nothing." 

"No, come on, Benny, what?" 

"I was just wondering why you decided to stay here. I know it isn't what
you had in mind for your day off. From what you described, I imagine you
would be more comfortable with a more... subtropical setting." 

Ray shrugged. "Yeah, maybe. But you just looked, I dunno, at home here." 

Ben looked faintly surprised as he turned his face back out to sea. After
a moment he said, "I suppose in a way, I am. Objectively, of course, it's
nothing at all like the tundra, but it does have a similar quality." The
joy slowly melted out of his expression, replaced by a touch of
homesickness that Ray hadn't seen in months. He cast about for a way to
change the subject. 

"You want some more lemonade?" 

Ben shook his head slightly, absently, then suddenly looked directly at
him and smiled. "Yes. That would be nice." He got up and held out his cup
for Ray to fill, but instead of returning to his seat across the fire, he
settled himself the log Ray was sitting on, his sleeve just brushing Ray's
knee. 

They sat in silence, listening to the thunder of the waves and the high,
lonely cries of the gulls, until the sun had disappeared completely and
the only light was the flickering glow from the fire. Somehow, by a
process neither was aware of or could afterwards remember, their bodies
shifted until Ben's head rested against Ray's thigh as long fingers gently
stroked the dark curls. 

At last, with a deep sigh of contentment, Ben lifted his head and slipped
his empty cup back into the bag, accepting Ray's as well without a word.
They slowly cleared away all traces of their picnic, covering the embers
of the fire with sand. The sea breeze was dying as the land cooled, and
there was a sudden calm as they stood to go. Time slowed to a crawl,
caught in the spell of the ocean. The two men stared at each other, caught
up in it as well.  

Ben spoke first, a single word, murmured softly enough to fit the mood.
"Thanks." 

"No problem," Ray whispered back. 

And then time jumped suddenly and they were in each other's arms, lips
pressed together in a kiss that was warm as the blanket now wrapped around
them both, soft as the first touch of the breeze returning to blow back
out to sea. Leaving Ray's lips, Ben nuzzled his way down his jaw and
throat, coming to rest where the throat curved out to meet the shoulder.
He breathed in slowly, inhaling the scent of skin and sea salt and the
fainter traces of soap and fabric softener intruding from the outside
world from which, for the moment, they were exempt.  

But the moment couldn't last forever, and time returned to its normal
flow. Ben turned to pick up the canvas bag with one hand, the other still
wrapped around Ray's waist as they headed back toward the car, the hotel,
Chicago, and the rest of their lives by the light of the rising moon. 

~~~END~~~ 

Feedback? Email me at rpt813@hotmail.com. Compliments and otters received
with equal joy.