They felt so real.
So, freshly showered and dressed for the day in his woollen sweater and coat, beanie pulled down low, he took his secondcoffee and headed out to the pier. He wanted to look at the water from his dreams.
He needed to see it.
The wind howled in around him, biting his face, and he held his coffee in both hands, grateful he’d opted for gloves too.
It was fucking cold, but he loved it. Sawyer loved the low grey, solemn clouds, the promise of rain, and all things winter.
He always had.
Tobin’s boat was gone, but that wasn’t uncommon; it often was.
Sawyer hadn’t heard it go out, also not uncommon. He rarely did. He didn’t often hear the fishing boats come in to refuel either. Sometimes they bought some hot food from Otis’s store, but they never stayed long enough to chat.
No one ever did.
They couldn’t leave fast enough.
“Morning,” a gruff, gentle voice said as someone came to stand beside him.
Ciaran.
He was wearing jeans and a sweater, which was the most clothing Sawyer had seen on him. He wasn’t even disappointed because Ciaran looked as hot dressed like that as he did wearing nothing but wet board shorts.
Or naked, as he was in Sawyer’s dream last night....
Shit.
“Morning,” he replied, then cleared his throat as he tried to rid his head of those images.
“Sleep well?” Ciaran asked, his mouth twitching as if trying not to smile.
Sawyer’s gaze shot to his. Ciaran looked as if he somehow knew Sawyer had dreamed about him. Or... or that he’d given Sawyer the most intense orgasm.
Oh god. Had he somehow heard Sawyer cry out as he came...?
No. Impossible.
Sawyer cleared his throat again and focused on the view. “Not swimming this morning? Not that I’d blame you. That air has some bite.”
Ciaran chuckled as he looked out across the water. “Already been.”
Of course he had.
“You swim every morning? Even when it’s this cold?”
“It’s not even winter yet,” he replied. “And yes. Every morning.”
Sawyer could only shake his head in disbelief. He couldn’t imagine going in that inky black water even in summer.
“Is it too cold for you already?” Ciaran asked, still not looking at him.
“Nah,” Sawyer replied. “I love winter. I was only just thinking that very thing, you know. My perfect day is dreary, overcast and rainy weather, a good book, and being left alone.”
Ciaran flinched before his expression turned to stone. He began to step back. “Then I’ll leave you alone.”
Wait, what?
