So, he swallowed it back down.
They ended up heading to Key West.
Aberlour didn’t ask why, he simply agreed to go wherever Oli wanted to go. He enjoyed having Oliver all to himself for a couple of days. They didn’t even tell the other guys, they just—packed their shit and took off.
It felt like their last days together, too. Aberlour wasn’t sure why. Maybe because he was a skeptical motherfucker. Good days, in his book, usually meant end days. It had always been like that, and so, the days they spent by the beach had felt like the perfect ending they wouldn’t get in real life.
It was the first time they acted like a couple in public. They never discussed it. Never planned for it. Oliver simply grabbed Aberlour’s hand as they’d walked out of the airport, and Aberlour hadn’t seen a single good reason to ever let go. They held hands the whole time. Like love birds on vacation, or newlyweds on their honeymoon. Sickening and sweet, and everything they had never been meant to be, and yet, you couldn’t have wiped the smile off Aberlour’s face even with a baseball bat.
Spending time with Oliver here was like a dream. One that Aberlour was wary of trusting. It was too much. Too—good. Oliver was back to his usual self, with no signs of any underlying anger and short fuse. He kept looking at Aberlour like he couldn’t quite believe they were here together, and Aberlour was too much of coward to ask him why that was.
Fuck—but he should have.
“Gentlemen,” their waitress said with a smile as she asked them to follow her to their table. They’d been living on takeout since leaving Oli’s house. They weren’t rich, and the hotel had cost a small fortune, but for their last night, it had felt right to go out and celebrate.
Aberlour placed a hand at the small of Oliver’s back and guided his—boyfriend?—lover?— hisDarlingto the table.
“This place is nice,” Oliver said, as he sat down.
The restaurant was right on the water, with a view of the low tide that was slowly rolling back in. There was a giant concrete dock where they’d strung garden lights for a romantic evening walk. If Aberlour got tipsy enough, he’d probably let Oliver talk him into taking a stroll after dinner.
“Thought you’d like it,” Aberlour said somewhat sheepishly.
He’d been a little hesitant to book a table there. Oliver came from serious money. A fancy table by the ocean wouldn’timpress him. That said, he was also a hopeless romantic. Aberlour going out of his way—and comfort zone—to please him would mean more than the setting itself.
“I’m fucking starved,” Oliver said, opening the menu, and eyeing the selections hungrily.
Aberlour tried to focus on his own menu, but the only thing he was craving was ripping that tight button-down shirt right off Oliver’s chest.
He looked delicious. Sinfully, beautifully put together. His white button-up shirt was opened a few buttons further down than he normally wore it, with a pair of navy-blue chinos that hugged his ass just right. Damn, but his man sure did clean up well.
“Steamers look good,” Oliver mused, yanking Aberlour’s mind out of the gutter and back to considering the entrée choices.
“Right,” he replied, clearing his throat. Oliver shot him a smile that said he hadn’t been fooled for a second.
Oliver talked. Aberlour listened. They ordered too much food. Aberlour grimaced at the thought of raw oysters as Oliver teased him about their reputation as an aphrodisiac. Aberlour replied he wasn’t quite that old yet.
Oliver ordered steamed clams and mussels. He told Abe all about how they were caught and cooked. He’d learned as a child spending time at his grandparents’ beach house. Aberlour had a steak, ‘cause he couldn’t be bothered with anything else. They shared a dessert while drinking too much wine.
By the time the bill came, they were kicking each other in the shins and giggling like schoolboys.
They were some of the last patrons to leave, and Oliverdidmanage to convince Aberlour to take a walk under the fairy lights of the pier, watching the tide roll in. Then, when the fairylights were shut off, and everyone had gone home, and it was just them under the empty sky, they went for a swim.
The water was cold, and dark, but strangely familiar. Force Recon Marines trained in the ocean regularly. They trained for all kinds of scenarios. They practiced survival skills when their boats capsized, learned to navigate hostile and shark-infested waters, trained to sneak into enemy territory or onto cargo ships in the dead of night. They’d been here before, it seemed. The two of them, surrounded by miles and miles of water, waves pulling them towards shore then dragging them back out again, forcing them to brace themselves against the force of the tide. Yet, for the very first time, it wasn’t the effort, or the training, or the pressure that had Aberlour’s heartbeat racing. It was Oliver’s hands holding onto his biceps, his beautiful smile visible even in the dim light coming from the nearby boardwalk. It wasn’t the cold that took his breath away, but the kisses peppered across his skin as they moved with the current.
“Let’s never go back,” Oliver said, sometime later as he sat on a part of the concrete pier that had been eroded by saltwater. “We have the skills,” he breathed out, like a confession.
“The skills?” Aberlour asked, confused.
“To disappear,” Oliver clarified, turning to look at Aberlour with an intensity he didn’t recognize.
Had the wind picked up? Was the tide rising faster? Were the waves bigger? It seemed, as Aberlour held onto the pier, his fingers gripping the rough concrete, that the swell was crashing against the pier now. Not merely rocking against it, but breaking, violently.
“We have contacts. We know how to go off the grid.” Oliver was staring thoughtfully towards the dark horizon. Chills ran up and down Aberlour’s spine. It was just because the water was so cold, he rationalized to himself.
“I’m sure we could do it. We could disappear, completely,” Oliver whispered, looking wistful.
He turned and grabbed one of Aberlour’s hands, holding tightly as the waves continued to crash against the pier.
