The Sea Ain't Mine Alone

by C. L. Beaumont

  “I actually do listen to you sometimes, you know.”

  Sydney’s tone is oddly light, and James looks over to expect to see him laughing. But instead Sydney’s gaze is still focused on the horizon, as if he’ll sink down into the sea if he even looks away from it or blinks.

  James frowns. He glances down to Sydney’s now-flaccid penis, tucked between his legs and resting against his board. For some reason, the sight of it looks incredibly vulnerable, and James wants to reach over and cover it, protect it with his hand.

  He releases some of the tension in his chest with a long breath, unable to believe that just minutes ago they were gasping hot filth in each other’s ears, wild and reckless, naked and grasping and erect, and now he’s tongue-tied and trying not to hunch down over his board.

  “Okay . . .” he tries in a steady voice. “Right, so what—”

  “I mean, now. Marriage. Being . . . being bonded like that. Is that something you still want?”

  “Now . . . what—with you?”

  Sydney doesn’t even blink. He stares straight ahead, and his chin rises the tiniest inch. “Yes, with me.”

  James’ brain stops, then a surprised laugh explodes out of his chest. He thinks he must have sunk down beneath the waves and died without realizing it, and now he’s living in a dream world where Sydney Moore sits next to him out on the ocean and says absolutely unthinkable things like, “marriage . . . with me . . .” after James has just orgasmed with a screaming, filthy groan into his hand.

  James forces his lips to move, words exploding into the buzzing silence. “What the . . . I thought you meant with, you know a . . . a wom—Sydney, we can’t even get married,” he finally chokes out.

  Sydney doesn’t move, pale eyes still fixed on the thin silver line between sky and sea. He swallows, and if James wasn’t so completely out of his depth already, he would think Sydney looks scared.

  “Maybe not technically,” Sydney says, tilting his head in that way he does, but it’s a bit more exaggerated, a bit too choreographed. “But we could get as close to it as we can.”

  James gapes, mouth open, watching Sydney calmly sit on his board like he hasn’t just said the most earth-shattering and ridiculous words James has ever heard in his life—more unbelievable than when the nurse asked him if he was finally awake, and told him yes, he was still in ‘Nam, and yes, he was alive.

  James coughs to clear his throat and tries to speak again, voice shaking just below his forced calm. “Look, Sydney, I’m not sure where this is coming from right now, but it’s . . . I mean, you’re right, I guess. Technically. I’m sure people have done it. People like us. But it’s . . .” he stops, not even sure what he wants to say. Then he hears himself blurt out, of all the goddamn things, “But you’re so young.”

  Sydney laughs, the sound bursting out of nowhere to vibrate over the water. James watches his eyes crinkle at the corners.

  After what has felt like ten years without seeing his eyes, Sydney looks over at James, blue eyes reflecting the sunlight rippling across the waves like a perfect mirror. “That hasn’t bothered you before,” he says, shrugging.

  “I didn’t say it bothered me. I mean, hell, you practically don’t even have an age. You’re something else. But, still . . .” James allows himself to trace Sydney’s body with his eyes, the smooth and marbled lines of lean muscle, the unscarred skin, the sturdy spine.

  He pictures the same man before him as just a kid, waking up alone on that beach. Remembers him dropping in on the massive wave the day before, raising the hair on James’ arms. “Still, Sydney, this is new . . .”

  “You know I didn’t know what the ocean looked like when I was little?” Sydney suddenly says. His voice sounds far away, like he’s telling this story to the farthest island on the other side of the world. “I mean, really little. I didn’t know at all. Just knew what my mom told me from the creation story—you know, the seven days and the guy’s rib and shit.”

  James laughs, shattering the tension like a pick through ice. “Yes, I believe even a heathen like me has heard of the ‘seven days and the guy’s rib and shit.’”

  Sydney grins at him, and his voice grows crisper, more present. “Well, I saw it for the first time in a magazine. Playboy, actually—”

  “Ha, you were probably vastly disappointed at the male options in there . . .”

  “James, I was six.” He huffs, and it’s the most beautiful sound James has heard since arriving back on Oahu. More beautiful than “stay here with me.” Sydney rubs a hand over his mouth. “It was . . . it was just a painted ad, actually. One of the airlines, if I remember right. But that picture . . . all I wanted in life after that was to see the ocean. Just, get the hell out of the landlocked hell hole Army bases we lived on and see it.”

  James blinks hard at the way Sydney’s eyes have lighted up, shining brighter than the reflection of the sun on the water. “I can imagine,” he says quietly.

  “Well, obviously you can. I’m doing a damn fine job telling it to you. But, James, the thing is . . . you have to understand . . .” His voice grows thin. “When I was staring into space in my hammock and I stood up and you were just there? That was like finding that picture. And I’ve kept that picture for fifteen years—still have it folded up somewhere—and my entire life is in the ocean and I’ve never looked back. From that first moment, I knew. And I haven’t once regretted it or doubted myself or gone back. And you are . . .” He shakes his head and helplessly shrugs. “You are. Do you see?”

  James does see. It’s the most beautiful, terrifying, unworthy thing he’s ever seen in his life. More beautiful than those two men surfing off China Beach, more terrifying than the lifeless black eyes on the jungle floor, more unworthy than a man like Rob Depaul asking him to surf with him the next morning.

  James grins sadly at the corner of his mouth despite himself. He feels a part of his chest sinking without fully understanding why. It all seems too good to be true, like a ghost of his potential future passing right before his eyes that will disappear into the clouds if he doesn’t reach out and grab it fast enough. Like trying to grab at a handful of water and hold every bit of it in his palm without leaking.

  And this is unbelievable—that he could say the words “I love you” to another person for the first time and then realize, just thirty-six hours later, that he had the definitions of those words all wrong. That they mean so much more. Bafflingly more.

  “We just met,” he says, nearly laughing, and then instantly realizes his mistake.

  Sydney bristles. “I thought we were beyond ‘we just met’? What about the ‘nearly one hundred percent sure’ and the coming back and the moving here and the ‘I love’—?”

  “No no no,” James quickly paddles to be closer to Sydney’s side, then reaches out to place his palm right over a rapidly beating heart. Sydney freezes, as if James will fling his hand away again if he moves.

  James takes a breath, remembers what it feels like to wake up next to a man like Sydney Moore, and leans forward to kiss his shoulder. “Sorry, shouldn’t have said it like that. Just . . . you were a fucking stranger to me a month ago. A terrifying stranger. And now you’re . . . you’re my entire life. You’ve picked everything up inside me and flipped it all around. It’s hard to believe.”

  James holds his breath as Sydney looks straight at him, curls frizzed and drying in the sparkling sun and eyelashes wet at the tips from the saltwater. James forces himself to meet Sydney’s gaze head on, not turning away, and he watches, amazed, as a thick emotion passes through Sydney’s clear eyes.

  Sydney smirks, but his lips shake. “I’m your entire life, huh?”

  James laughs through his nose. “Don’t get a fucking big head about it. It’s already too big to fit through doors—it’s why you gotta do a sport that takes place completely outside.” He tucks a curl behind Sydney’s hear. “But, yes. It seems you are.” Then he bites his lip. “But why this, now? Bringing up what I said before. Why marriage?” />
  Sydney blushes again, and James can’t stop himself from quickly glancing down at Sydney’s soft cock before adding, “We were kinda in the middle of something.”

  This time, Sydney laughs, but it quickly fades from his face, replaced by something that looks like he’s in pain. “What I said last night, about you giving up so much . . . and I heard you, what you said. That you made this choice and you’re a brave, strong, independent adult and can make your own life decisions and won’t be pushed around and all that—”

  “Wow, way to make me sound like an ass—”

  “But, that doesn’t mean that I . . . I don’t want you to give up anything for this. To have me in your life. And I want to . . . to celebrate that you’ve actually deemed me tolerable enough to live with and sleep with, and I don’t want you to wake up one day and realize that you’ve given up something gigantic just to be with me.”

  “I don’t feel that way. I wouldn’t feel that way. I feel the opposite of that wa—”

  “I’m not saying it needs to be now. Just, I want you to know. Maybe you don’t have to give that up. Because I know you want it. And it . . . it could really be something.”

  “I just wanted to stop being lonely forever, Sydney, not specifically marr—”

  “You had Rob.”

  “For one hour a day when he wasn’t at work or with Lori, yeah.”

  “Look just keep it in mind, would you? I’m telling you I would do that for you. I would want that for you. That’s all I’m trying to say.”

  Something finally clicks in James’ mind as he watches Sydney cross his arms in irritation—the missing puzzle piece to all this that had still been drifting wildly in the wind for the past five minutes. “This isn’t just about me,” James says quietly, as if it’s a question. “You bringing this up, it isn’t just about what I want . . . ?”

  Sydney stares down at his board, uncharacteristically twiddling his fingers. “You’re it,” he finally whispers. He tilts his head. “I dunno.” Then he sighs and flings one hand out towards the horizon, scrunching his mouth. “And fine. I guess you’re right. I do . . . this isn’t only about what you might want. Maybe I . . . well, I want things, too.”

  James takes one last look at him, beautiful and glowing and earnest in the sun, then he closes his eyes for a long blink, chest panging. The cool surface of his board suddenly feels invasive against the bare skin of his buttocks and thighs. He wants desperately to cover himself. To shield his skin from the open horizon and block the water from rushing across his naked legs and groin.

  He swallows hard. “It wouldn’t be a real wedding, Sydney,” he says gently, voice breaking. “It wouldn’t . . . it wouldn’t mean anything. Just words. We don’t need to have that to make any of this real, yeah? And who the fuck would even be there? Who would do it?”

  Sydney sighs softly beside him, chest deflating as his skin glows a gentle gold in the early light. “It would mean something to us,” he says back quietly, still staring down at the water. He shrugs. “I just think . . .” He whips his head up to look straight at James. “Why can’t we celebrate? Why can’t we have that part of it? I . . . I found you and I can’t do fuck all about it!”

  James blinks back sudden tears, breath stolen from his lungs. He has the vivid, undeniable sensation that he’s staring at a vision of himself from the day he first set foot onto that ship, his brand new uniform freshly starched, and the dangerous, unknowable excitement in his limbs, and the wild fear behind his eyes that everything could catch fire, could go up in red smoke. When he’d wished his mom was there at the bottom of the gangplank to kiss his cheek, and wondered if he should have looked Billy Madden up in the phone book to give him an awkward, haven’t-seen-you-in-years goodbye.

  And at the same time, James feels like he’s looking at a version of himself he hasn’t even met yet—one who is incredibly brave, and feels things, and won’t settle for absolutely anything less in his life except the very pinnacle, beyond anything anyone thinks he deserves. Beyond what’s humanly possible.

  He’s looking at Sydney Daniel Moore.

  And it makes James want to wrap him in his arms and kiss him—gulp down a deep breath and hold him close and scream, “I lived, I lived, thank God” up to the heavens.

  “Love, listen to me,” he finally says, his voice choked. He takes Sydney’s wet hand in his and holds on tight. “The only thing that I will ever suddenly realize when I ‘wake up one day’ is that you and I haven’t killed each other, and we aren’t destitute and out of jobs, and I’m not stepping back on a plane to LA, and you’ll be asking me to swim with you at six in the morning, and then the only thing I’ll realize in that moment is that I remember every word of this conversation. And we can do whatever the fuck we want with that. Whatever this . . . marriage could look like. I don’t care if a piece of important paper isn’t involved. Yeah? You . . . you’ve just told me everything I ever need to know. And I won’t forget it. And I hear you.”

  Sydney sniffs hard as he stares down at their joined hands, which catches James so completely off guard he almost asks if he’s just gone and upset him, or somehow broken his heart. But then Sydney looks up at him with eyes the color of the sea across the tidepools, and he kisses James once before pulling back with a small smirk. “It’s a shame,” he says.

  James finds himself smiling for no reason at all. “What’s a shame?”

  “That you didn’t stick around in the Navy long enough to get to the level where you get a nice dress uniform. You wouldn’t look as handsome in anything else, if we ever did do it.”

  James barks a laugh up at the clouds and kisses Sydney again, open and uncontrolled with his relieved lips. “You’re something else, you know that?” he whispers against Sydney’s mouth.

  Sydney licks his grin. “How could I forget with you telling me every five fucking minutes?”

  They hold each other, stretched almost uncomfortably across their boards, and yet James finds himself utterly relaxed as the water bobs under his board, breathing in the scent of Sydney’s sun- and salt-covered skin. A cool breeze rushes along the surface of the water, washing away the remaining sleep from his skin and covering him in shivers. He suddenly wants to be back in their bed with Sydney resting on his chest more than anything, buried deep and safe under the sheets and breathing in the scent of his curls for the rest of the morning.

  “You’re shivering, and I’m still tired and hungry,” Sydney says. “Should head back. Swimming at this time is a stupid idea.”

  James rolls his eyes, then swallows hard as Sydney reaches forward and presses one last soft kiss to his forehead before lying down on his board and paddling in towards the shore.

  James follows behind after one last glance out at the water, watching the last tendrils of the dawn fog wind their way across the surface of the black and blue deep.

  Sydney calls back over his shoulder, effortlessly even as he paddles. “I’ve had more emotional fucking conversations in one week than I have in twenty years combined. So you owe me a fucking mind blowing orgasm when we get back to the house. Or money for my resulting therapy.”

  James laughs into the surface of his board, grinning as the water rushes past his skin in a cool kiss. It sucks away the tense ghosts of fear still clinging to his bones from the day before, washing him clean like he never even used to keep a bullet casing in his pocket. “The orgasm I can owe you, at least,” he calls back. “Can’t pay for your mind doctor until you get our shop up and running.”

  James waits to ask him until they’re in the sand walking up to the house, after Sydney has risen out of the water like a god, golden bare skin glittering in the full sunlight and shoulder blades clenching as he lifts his board up under his arm. James waits until he walks just behind Sydney, following his footprints in the sand, transfixed by the movement of the backs of Sydney’s thighs, the curves of his buttocks, the sway of his hips as he walks naked across the soft shore, calves and ankles sinking deep into the cool, velvet gr
ains.

  James waits, until he realizes he has to say it now, before they reach the house. One last question niggling at the back of his mind that won’t let him easily climb back into their bed and wrap his arms around Sydney’s body, holding him impossibly close.

  “What made you do it?” he asks quietly, stopping to stand still in the sand.

  Sydney freezes ahead of him and turns, a frown forming between his brows. “Do what?”

  James shrugs, frustrated at himself that he didn’t just get straight to the point. “To . . . in Hermosa. Your wipeout. And I know it’s stupid I’m still stuck on that, but, I need to know. It’s the only mystery in all this I still have left, and you’re already a pretty fucking mysterious person to begin with. So . . .”

  Sydney looks back at him straight through his skin, the same way his eyes had peered into his chest that first moment back on the pier. James holds his breath as Sydney walks towards him naked in the sand, the fresh clouds casting rippling shadows across his smooth skin as he seems to glide above the earth.

  Sydney stops just inches in front of him, and James lets himself drown in Sydney’s eyes. They’re glittering. They look like the little glimpses of crystal ocean water that had peeked out at him through the thick and steaming jungle when he’d run for his life with fresh blood wet on his palms—the promise of safety and silence and life.

  The whipped cream-topped promise of shelter.

  Sydney bites his lip like he’s thinking of just what to say.

  “You don’t think it was out of pity anymore,” he says, not really a question.

  James shakes his head. “No.”

  “And you don’t think it was just me being nice to a serviceman, or me fucking with you just to see what would happen?”

  James bites down a grin. “No, and no. Hence the remaining mystery.”

  Sydney squints at him, like he’s trying to read James’ sincerity in the lines of his face, then his eyes suddenly clear, open and wide and staring down at James like he’s the only thing worth looking at in the world.