The waves crash on the sand before them as they emerge from the Pacific, dripping ecstasy and saltwater in equal measure. Ray tackles Brig and they roll around on the hot sand, wrestling for control of a game with no loser. The beach of one of Hawaii’s more obscure islands grants them relative privacy on their day of leave, so they giggle in each others’ arms with abandon. Ray manages to pin Brig beneath him and lowers his lips onto those of the shy future senator. Brig opens to welcome his tongue with a timid moan.
They’re scared. They have every reason to be scared. But what they lack in confidence they make up for in urgency, bodies rutting against each other in desperation. They know not to go any further than this, that anything more would be too honest for their relationship to survive. But they’re not complaining, because the friction of their members and the heat of their mouths and the frantic beating of their hearts in counterpoint to heavy breaths is all the honesty they need.
They stay like this until the salt of their orgasms mixes with the salt of their sweat and the drying ocean brine, hands clasped tight as they ride out each others’ waves.
“I wish…” Ray starts.
“I know,” Brig forces out. “Me too.”
If memory served them correctly, a beachgoer then appeared in the distance and they separated once again to return to the realities of wartime America. But they’re dead now. They can make their paradise whatever they please. They run back into the sea and swim like there’s nothing in the world but two boys and the ocean.
The waves crash on the sand before them as they emerge from the Pacific, dripping ecstasy and saltwater in equal measure.