It is a cool, summer night on the beaches of Australia. The colorful lighting from the summer festival a few blocks away illuminates the sand under your backs, turning each and every granule into a fairy tale glimmer. The breeze is gentle. It's a nice night, but despite the fact, you feel cold-- winter in Russia can not compare. Even when the warm water laps at your exposed, sand-encrusted feet, you still feel out of place and discontent.
"So you're moving back to Japan."
It isn't as much of a question as it is a statement.
The red-headed youth at your side nods, face a mask of indifference, which causes your frown to deepen twofold. An invisible force claws at the beating organ in your chest, and you bring your hands up slowly, as if it would help the pain. You've been friends with the boy turned man beside you for years now, ever since you met each other at the train station on that one fateful evening. He took the eight o' clock train to his prestigious swimming school, and you took the nine o' clock one to your boring, plain school. You woke up hours earlier than need be because you didn't like being in your house at the same time your parents woke up, who would usually force feed you 'nutritious' meals for your martial arts regimen.
You take a deep breath, try to say nothing. The two of you are not ones for words, even when the situation calls for it.
Your heart continues to feel heavy, a pain pricking at your eyes.
You say, "But you'll be back, right?" and curse it all, you can hear the quiver in your voice. The pain grows because you won't allow yourself to cry in front of him. You, who has never cried even through all your martial arts wounds. The callous that is your emotional state hardens further.
Rin is still, but you can't force yourself to look his way-- but you don't have to, because his head is the first to lull to the side, and you catch the shimmer in his eyes through your peripheral. The trees above you dance under the pressure of the gentle winds wafting off the ocean.
You almost don't hear him when he says, "Probably not." Then you realize, and you realize it too late, that you're in love with your best friend.
"Oh," you say, and then the tears finally fall.
Silence once again reigns, then you feel a warm hand against your cold cheek. The tears slip over his rough skin and he says, "Hey," his arm coaxing your body over his. Your legs straddle just below his midsection, your tight swimsuit straining against your legs at the odd position you've never been in before. "Stop it." You think you hear a 'please' muffled after that, but the tears that you shed clog up your ears.
You remove your hands from his chest, just as a tear falls along his bare collarbone, and bring them to your face, shielding yourself from his gaze. You feel ashamed for crying, embarrassed for the weakness that you've let him see, but his gentleness knows no bounds when his hands pull your arms down and over his shoulders. You know he's holding back, because Rin isn't a gentle person. You want to tell him that you're not a doll, not so weak that you would break if handled roughly, but you're not sure if that's the truth anymore.
His mouth opens a fraction of an inch, and you think he's about to say something, but instead his fingers thread through your soft hair and your face is brought to his. He kisses you with a gentleness that goes beyond the friends-with-benefits relationship you once had. No longer are you two needy teenagers trying to get as much in their mouths as they can before their parents come home, no longer are you touching each other because you need the feeling but not the relationship; instead, you are two people whose actions finally match what their hearts feel.
Your toes curl against the sand as he bites your lip with his shark-like teeth, tugging at your lower lip, before melding his lips to yours once again. The gentle facade breaks in half from that point on, where he no longer feels your tears but instead tastes your sadness and sees you raw and as you truly are. "Rin," you whisper, his name tasting like sin when it breaks the surface of the air.
"[your name]," he also grinds out your name, and it sounds like he's hiding his concern under the word, but you let your actions speak in the place of your voice. Your hands find the material of his swimsuit, fingers folding around them to release his half-hard erection.
He allows you to pull it past his knees, before taking control and peeling the remainder of the material off himself. Free of the strain his swimsuit brought, you feel him against your inner thigh, so close to your center. Your swimsuit bottoms are not the first to go, however, and instead his hands favor untying your top first. With one, well thought out tug at the strings containing your breasts, they're released. The music from the festival hums a tune in your ear, the lights shining against the light sheen of sweat beginning to glisten across your bodies from the pent up tension.
He takes a pert nipple into his mouth, tongue roving the delicate skin as his hands move up and down your body and down to your backside. You groan, biting your lower lip when the fire in your abdomen burns hotter than you've felt in a long time. It's like your first year of high school all over again; you're fifteen years old and blushing like a school girl as all too-familiar hands touch you in places no one else ever has. And God, does it feel good. You almost forget the sting in your eyes and the throbbing in your chest, if only for a moment.
But it's just you and him right now and nothing else matters so you push it from your mind and he continues his assault on your breasts, littering nearly bruising kisses all over your chest. His hands sweep your backside, peeling your swimsuit bottoms off and flinging them to the side. Your hand finds his chest, running your hands over his abs until you're just above his erection, but instead of taking hold of it you grasp his hips in your martial arts grip and pull away from his kisses. You place your own sloppy kisses all over his collarbone, his chest, his midsection, before your lips greet the tip of his now fully hardened erection.
He hisses something under his breath, something unintelligible, before you feel his hands thread through your hair once again. He's up now, his one elbow his only support.
"Fuck," he curses and you can hear him just fine this time, but he's silent after that save for his labored breathing. You kiss the tip of him, tongue folding around it for a moment, before you allow his hand to coax your mouth fully over his shaft. Perhaps involuntarily, you feel him buck up against you but the only thought on your mind is that he's never been so eager to draw sex out so long. Even the first time your head hit his pillows, he didn't try to savor the feeling. For the first time since you stepped out into the summer air, you felt your body regain a bit of warmth.
His eyes find your head, sucking him, and he thinks that you've never been so beautiful. Your head bobs up and down along him. It's a rinse and repeat session of pulling all the way back, dragging your teeth gently along his tip, before sliding back down and starting the process all over again. You only leave him when you taste the warm liquid seeping out of his erection and his fingers falling lax. You gasp, winded, but Rin's a swimmer and he doesn't take breaks.
Your knees and hands find the rainbow sand, Rin's body looming over you. You see his shadow once before he enters you from behind and after that you can't see anything because your eyes are squeezing shut. You find the feeling different from the time he first took your virginity, because unlike that time you feel his want all along the bite marks and clumsy grasps for any part of your body he can get his hands on. You feel him raw, in more ways that one.
"Rin!" you say-- no, scream-- his name. Fresh tears fall, hitting the sand your face has been pushed into. The melancholy fills the pit of your stomach, because despite the pleasure building with each and every stroke of him inside you as he hits that spot over and over again, your heart still knows this is the last time you'll ever be with him for a long time, if not forever. A few more thrusts against you, and you're spent. You come against him, frantic gasps leaving your lips as you claw at the sand. He feels it, and he groans too as you clench around him and for the second time, he spills his seed into you.
He pulls himself from you, falls to your side when your body crumples. This time, he's also gasping for air, sweat sticking to his body. You turn to face him and he sees the tears rolling down your cheeks, his teeth folding over his bottom lip and you see that look of distaste in his eyes.
Again he whispers, "Stop it," before bringing your forehead to his. This time he looks you in the eyes and you also see his sadness. "You have a phone, don't you?"
You wipe a tear away and nod. You have a phone, he knows you do; his number is your first speed dial, before your parents and everyone else.
"Then stop worrying." We'll see each other again.
At that, a shaky smile blooms upon your lips, but the pain still remains. The tears still roll, and in an attempt to staunch the flow, he grabs your arm in a rough grip and forces it over his heart. Your eyes meet, and in that moment you understand and you feel just how sad he really is.
And maybe, you think, he's just as sad as you are. Maybe even more.
Your lips meet again and you taste the words,
"This isn't the end."