Work Text:
Lying down on his sun lounger, Alex settles the straw hat better on his head, so to cover and protect his face from the raging sun, and spreads some more sunscreen on his legs.
He doesn’t like the sun. Doesn’t like the sea. Doesn’t like the sand or the screaming children or the horrible accent of Australian people.
But Timmy and Bram, for the first time in years sharing a holiday once the first managed to take a few days off from the extremely heavy duty of managing a farm and the other managed to steal a few moments of freedom from the equally extremely heavy duty of saving the world one protest for the human rights after the other, look so happy as they surf the high waves of South Pacific Ocean, that he can’t bring himself to protest out loud.
He mercilessly kills a mosquito and takes a sip of his orange juice, then settles down with Coco Chanel’s biography – his go-to book when he feels majorly bothered and annoyed. Must be the eleventh time he reads it. (Yes, he feels majorly bothered and annoyed a lot.)
Then, a few sprinkles of cold, cold water land on his sun-kissed, hot skin, and he glares up, ready to incinerate with his eyes the fool who dared getting him wet.
But when he does look up he sees Timmy and Bram, laughing and beaming like two very small but extremely bright stars, walking past him just to drop down on their loungers, tired but at the same time ridiculously happy of having shared a moment together, and he sighs.
He goes back to Coco. He will cling to her, for now. And comes tonight, when Timmy and him are alone in their hotel room, he’ll find another way to get him to make him wet – and this time he won’t be angry about it.