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It is September in Austin, and Ted thinks he could stay here forever.
Summer is in the air, and autumn, too. The sky is honey-golden, bruising into purple as the minutes slip by, and the air is thick with dew.
Despite the humidity, it's beautiful out, and Schlatt wanted to watch the harvest moon rise. He's kind of a sentimental guy, Ted's come to realize, all hardened on the outside and soft inside.
They're sitting on the verge of a pond right off of the property ("the old farmer won't know we were here, I've been down here plenty of times," Schlatt had grinned,) drinking some shitty beer and skipping rocks.
The view is gorgeous; pond, trees, sunset, Schlatt. They're a little buzzed, and Ted's internal filter is completely down, and God, there's something about Schlatt's drowsy eyes and wide grin that really does it for him.
He realizes he's staring a split second too late. Schlatt looks at him with those starry lightning-bug eyes, and Ted sees his entire world inside of them.
There are no words to describe how he feels when Schlatt looks at him, that little smile on his face. Maybe there was a time, a place. Maybe a thousand years ago a man looked at his love and felt a flower bloom in his chest and he gave it a name that was lost to time, Ted thinks.
For now, "love" will have to do.
"That toad kind of looks like you," Schlatt says.
"What toad?"
Schlatt points, and Ted finally locates the little bastard, a floppy little guy with far-apart eyes.
"Shut the hell up, no I don't." He bumps his shoulder into Schlatt's.
Schlatt shoulder-checks him right back (and God, he's a strong guy,) nearly knocking Ted off-balance. He doesn't back off, though, afterwards. Instead, he just sort of... leans his head on Ted's shoulder and stays there.
Ted isn't prepared for this situation. He's run over a lot of over-specific scenarios in his mind, but this isn't one of them. He decides to follow his heart, not his head, and wraps his arm around Schlatt.
"Your heart's beating fast," Schlatt murmurs, and oh, what the hell is Ted supposed to say to that? It's just that I would sit in this moment for a thousand years if I could, Ted thinks, but he doesn't say it.
"You should take the hat off more often," he says instead, "your hair's growing out nice."
He can't see Schlatt's smile, but he can feel it against his shoulder. "You think so?"
"Yeah," Ted responds, and he hopes Schlatt can't feel the way his heartbeat is screaming I want you, I need you, I love you. Can't tell how utterly smitten he is, sitting on a blanket on the smooth dirt bank of the pond as the moon rises.
They sit like that for a few seconds or a few years- Ted couldn't tell you if you put a gun to his head. Schlatt's breathing is soft and solid against him, and Ted realizes: Schlatt is more to him, in this fragment of time, than anything he's known before. He is yesterday and tomorrow, now and forever.
Schlatt shifts, and Ted looks down at him, meets his eyes. A million thoughts flit through his mind in a split second— he can’t afford to ruin this moment by kissing Schlatt, but he can’t bear not kissing him. He doesn't know if he can even live with himself tomorrow if he doesn't go for it.
As it turns out, he doesn’t need to decide.
Schlatt leans in, puts a hand on his cheek, ever-so-gentle and soft and loverly, and God, could Ted be misinterpreting this? There’s no way, but the doubt rings clear in his head anyway.
"Are we okay?" Schlatt asks, right there with their noses brushing.
You are a prayer in the early early morning, you are a sand dollar on the glassy shore, you are a prism holding colors yet unnamed, you are everything to me in this moment, Ted wants to say.
"Yeah," he says instead.
Their lips brush, scratchy and quick and absolutely breathtaking. Schlatt pulls back as fast as he'd swooped in, and Ted makes a pathetic little whine at the sensation.
“Oh, Ted,” Schlatt says, fucking reverent, and doesn’t even finish the sentence before he goes back in, all chapped lips and greedy tongue. It’s flour-on-the-apron, mud-on-the-boots messy; harsh and uncoordinated and tangible. Schlatt pushes against him, firm and gentle, making Ted brace himself on his elbows, leaving Schlatt to clutch his face in those big hands of his.
Eventually, Schlatt pulls back, runs his tongue over his soft-bitten lips. He doesn't look fucking real, Ted thinks, with those sparrow-brown eyes gazing down at him (at him!) like he's something special, something important.
Ted has always thought that direct communication was underrated, so he opens his mouth. "I like this. I like you."
"Yeah?" Schlatt grins, big and genuine.
"Yeah," Ted smiles back, and goes in to kiss him again.
The night is hazy now, the moon a ripe peach in the sky, and Ted and Schlatt might just be the only people in the world.