Chapter 31
Andy and Diane were right: it’s a perfect day for a boat ride.
It’s blue skies and cotton-candy clouds, a salty breeze in Sasha’s hair, white-capped waves sparkling under the sun.
It’s seagulls swooping overhead, fish skimming just below the surface.
It’s the California coast turning hazy in the distance, a strip of mountain peaks that suddenly seem small and insignificant.
On a day like this, it’s almost impossible to stay angry at someone.
Sitting in the passenger seat, Sasha looks around the Hartmans’ boat.
It’s a decent size, maybe seven meters long, with a railing in the front and a small platform at the back.
There’s a tiny cabin for storage, currently holding two towels and a cooler, and a bench tucked into a corner behind the cockpit.
Almost everything is white, from the deck to the cushions.
And then there’s Danny, a blaze of color at the steering wheel, with bright-red swim trunks, blue-tinted sunglasses, and endless bronzed muscles.
He’s been quiet since the car ride. Well, quiet for Danny, that is.
He’d chatted with the staff at the docks, showed Sasha where the lifejackets were on the boat, and pointed out some of the sights as they left the harbor, but Sasha can tell he’s still upset about their conversation, his smiles not quite reaching his eyes.
Sasha doesn’t know what to say to him. He wishes he could give Danny what he wants, but he can’t—and Danny knew that and asked for it anyway, even though he’d already promised Sasha he wouldn’t tell his parents.
So Sasha had to be the bad guy, feeling guilty and also pissed off about it, because how many fucking times are they going to do this?
And now he’ll just be waiting until Danny brings it up again.
He shifts in his seat, trying not to let his frustration get the better of him. There’s no point in picking another argument—especially since they’re on a boat, with nowhere else to go—and he doesn’t want to ruin the rest of the day.
Danny must have made the same decision, because he starts talking more freely as they get further out into the water, and eventually his real smiles come back.
Once it’s been a while since they’ve passed another boat, he finds a quiet spot to anchor, killing the engine and doing some other nautical things that Sasha pretends to supervise.
They have their breakfast sandwiches on the corner bench, and maybe they don’t sit as close as they normally would, each of them taking one side of the corner instead; but then Danny moves his legs, knocking them against Sasha’s.
Whether it’s meant as an apology, or a reassurance that they’re okay, Sasha can’t tell, but he breathes a little easier after that.
When they’re done eating, Danny brings the trash into the cabin, then returns to the bench. This time, he sits almost in the corner, but not quite—still using the side of the boat for back support, one leg dangling off the bench while the other stretches out and nudges Sasha’s hip.
“Come here.”
Sasha looks at him, confused. Usually when Danny says that, he wants Sasha to hug him, which would be kind of awkward the way he’s sitting right now. Unless he means Sasha should get on top of him? But there isn’t enough room for Sasha to straddle him, and he’s not fucking sitting on Danny’s lap—
Danny laughs, like he’s read every last thought in Sasha’s head, and leans forward. “Dude, just get over here,” he says, tugging at Sasha until he moves closer, still not understanding, and then tugging harder until Sasha loses his balance and almost falls off the bench.
But Danny catches him, steadies him, laughs again. Before Sasha can protest, he’s being pulled into the space between Danny’s legs, his back hitting Danny’s bare chest, and—oh. That makes sense, actually.
“There we go,” Danny says, kissing the nape of his neck.
Sasha doesn’t have time to be embarrassed, since he’s too busy checking for other boats, twisting around to make sure they’re really alone.
“Don’t worry,” Danny murmurs through another kiss. “If anyone comes, we’ll see them like miles away. Promise.”
Danny’s right, Sasha realizes. There’s nothing on the horizon, just the seagulls and an endless expanse of blue. For once, they don’t have to hide—even out here in the open, under broad daylight. They can just… be.
So he lets out the breath he was holding, and when Danny wraps an arm around his waist, he resists the urge to look around again.
Instead, he leans back against Danny, and he enjoys this moment for all that it is: the warm sun on his skin, the gentle swaying of the boat; Danny’s commentary on the breakfast sandwiches they just ate; and the quiet, contented feeling of being exactly where he belongs.
He doesn’t know how he’s supposed to go back to Russia after this.
The thought drifts across his mind, like the shadow of a cloud over the sea.
He tries not to listen to it, tries to ignore the fact that thinking of home suddenly makes him feel hollow.
He still has another week with Danny, and when their time is up he’ll deal with it like he always does, like he’ll always have to do for as long as they’re together.
But being used to leaving doesn’t make it any easier, and a heaviness settles over him, like he’s already mourning this moment before it’s even passed.
“Your hair’s so long.”
Sasha only catches the tail end of what Danny’s saying, but he clings to it, needing a distraction. “What?”
“Your hair.” Danny runs his fingers through Sasha’s curls. “It’s insane. But like, in a good way.”
Sasha smiles, tilting his head so Danny can have more access. “Yes, very long. When I go home, I will…” He forgets the word for cut and mimics using a pair of scissors.
“Wait, really?” Danny sounds crestfallen.
“I can’t see for gymnastics,” Sasha explains. “My hair is everywhere.”
Danny grumbles a little, but there’s no arguing with that. “Are you gonna grow it out after Worlds, though?” he asks hopefully, and Sasha’s mouth twitches.
“Maybe.”
Danny goes back to stroking his hair, but slowly now, like he’s savoring it while he still can. “You excited for the beach tomorrow?”
Sasha makes a noise that he hopes conveys an acceptable amount of enthusiasm.
He’s checked his weather app twice over the past twenty-four hours, scouring the screen for rain or even cloud icons, but no luck—only a straight line of suns.
He’s not getting out of this unless there’s a freak hurricane, and he checked for those, too.
It’s not that he doesn’t want to meet Danny’s friends.
Well… that’s a lie. He doesn’t want to meet them.
Not because he has anything against them, but because it’s a lot of pressure, having to impress that many people at once.
Trying to keep up with their conversations, their slang, their in-jokes.
Knowing Danny will notice if things aren’t going well, and wondering the whole time if he’s disappointing him.
He’d much rather stay on this boat, where it’s just the two of them.
Danny’s started talking about everything he’s looking forward to tomorrow, from catching up with his friends to watching the early-morning surfers. “Plus,” he adds mischievously, “I get to see you in your bathing suit.”
Sasha raises an eyebrow. “I am wearing my bathing suit now.”
“Yeah, but you’re still wearing your shirt,” Danny complains, so Sasha takes the hint and takes it off, discarding it on the deck.
“Better?”
Danny kisses his bare shoulder. “Yeah.”
Clearly, getting Sasha shirtless was only part one of the plan, because Danny doesn’t stop there.
He kisses the back of Sasha’s neck, which makes him shiver, then under his ear, which makes him hard; and just as Sasha’s eying the cabin, wondering if they can crawl into it for more privacy, Danny’s hands slide into his swim trunks.
“Danny—” Sasha means to pull away, but he somehow ends up arching into Danny’s palm instead.
“It’s just us,” Danny reminds him. His free hand slips lower, cupping Sasha’s balls as his other hand starts to move, and Sasha almost forgets what they were even talking about. “Relax. I’ll take care of you.”
The sun is burning hot, or maybe that’s his skin, set on fire by Danny’s touch. He’s squirming now, trapped between those strong, calloused hands; and Danny’s torturing him one stroke at a time, kissing him breathless, senseless, until he’s ready to beg for mercy.
“Fuck, you’re so hot like this,” Danny murmurs in his ear, and that nearly undoes Sasha then and there, the heat of those words on his skin, the fucking vibrations that shoot straight to his cock.
He can’t keep still anymore, no matter how hard he tries; he’s thrusting into Danny’s fist, his fingers digging into Danny’s thighs before he realizes what he’s doing.
“Sorry!”
Danny laughs, another warm rush of air in his ear. “It’s okay, I like it.”
But Sasha doesn’t want to leave a mark, doesn’t want anyone to see—Shit, he suddenly remembers, the other boats!
He has to check, has to make sure it’s safe. But his eyes aren’t cooperating, he can’t blink enough of the stars away—
“Danny, can you…” His voice is ragged, ruined. “Can you see—are there—”
He cuts himself off with a gasp, toes curling as Danny teases his slit. Jesus Christ, he’s so close—but he can’t—he shouldn’t—
“No boats,” Danny promises, understanding what he needs. “Don’t worry, I’ve got you.”
And Sasha shatters, a strangled cry ripping from his throat as he falls apart in Danny’s hands.
Afterwards, Danny puts him back together one gentle kiss at a time, loosening his grip to help him ride out the tremors.
Once Sasha’s sated, slack-limbed, and fully uninterested in doing anything other than breathing—or maybe sleeping—Danny tries to wipe him off with his hand, which only makes an even bigger mess.
Sasha groans. As much as he doesn’t want to move, spending the rest of the day with dried cum on his stomach isn’t a very appealing thought. “Where are towels?”
“Nah, you don’t need a towel,” Danny says confidently, pulling Sasha’s phone out of his pocket. “You’ve got the whole ocean.”
By the time Sasha realizes where this is going, he’s already being tossed overboard. He resurfaces, spluttering, just in time for Danny to cannonball into the water, landing a foot away from Sasha like an absolute dick.
“Your face is hilarious,” Danny says when he comes up again, looking so smug and infuriatingly hot that Sasha immediately splashes him.
The water fight doesn’t last long—they get distracted by trying to make out with each other instead, which is a lot harder to do in the middle of the ocean than Sasha was expecting—and eventually they haul themselves back into the boat and sprawl out on the deck, panting and laughing.
Sasha’s just started to close his eyes when Danny says, “Oh, shit, it’s Saturday.”
“…Yes?”
“I gotta do an Instagram post, I forgot last week.”
Danny sits up, and Sasha watches him, intrigued. He’s never actually been around when Danny takes one of his #noshirtsaturday pictures, so he has no idea what the process is; he’s always assumed Danny just snaps a quick selfie and doesn’t even have to try to look good.
Fully prepared to be both impressed and jealous, he’s caught off guard when Danny tosses him his phone. “You take it.”
“Me?”
“Yeah, you.” Danny grins, then gets to his feet and prods Sasha until he stands up, too. “Come on. I’ll do whatever pose you want.”
He winks, and Sasha fumbles the phone like a dumbass.
Then he has to unlock it again—which means squinting at the tiny letters on the keypad, since Danny’s passcode is BUDDY—and when he finally looks up, he almost drops the phone a second time.
Because Danny’s reclining on the bench, legs wide open, arms draped over the cushions like…
like… Sasha doesn’t even know. A swimsuit model?
One of those ancient Romans who always seem to be lounging half-naked in museum paintings?
Either way, art.
Unlike those Romans, though, Danny’s still gloriously wet and dripping from the ocean, each droplet like a diamond on the golden canvas of his skin.
And Sasha’s pretty sure he’s never seen a Roman smirking the way Danny is now, rolling down the waistband of his bathing suit until it’s almost past the point of indecency (and definitely past his tan lines).
It’s a miracle he manages to take as many pictures as he does.
Especially since Danny keeps changing poses, stretching out on his side to flaunt his abs before rolling onto his stomach, arms folded, ass tilted.
Sasha has to try not to pinch himself, because how the fuck is this his life?
After all the hours he’s spent furtively scrolling through those #noshirtsaturday posts…
his favorite always the one of Danny on the beach, kneeling in the surf…
his embarrassing fantasy about licking the salt off Danny’s skin…
And now the fantasy is right in front of him, sitting back up and tugging at his bathing suit again, smiling like he knows exactly what Sasha’s thinking.
The photoshoot ends with Sasha on his knees, yanking that bathing suit the rest of the way down and telling Danny he better fucking watch out for other boats.
*
“Okay, I need a code emoji for you,” Danny says when they’re back in the car.
“What?” Sasha’s only half paying attention. It’s boiling hot, the doors and windows open while they wait for the air conditioning to kick in, and he’s leaning out into the parking lot with a water bottle he’d found in the backseat, rehydrating after the world’s saltiest blowjob.
Not that he’s complaining.
“Well, I wanna credit you for the photos, but, like, secretly,” Danny explains. “So instead of tagging you, I’m gonna give you an emoji, and then it’s gonna be, like, a code.”
While Sasha’s still processing this, Danny pulls up the keyboard on his phone and starts reviewing their options.
“What about a cat emoji? You seem like a cat person.”
“What? No,” Sasha scoffs, even though he actually kind of does like cats.
“Really? Hm.” Danny gives him a skeptical look before going back to the keyboard. “Wait, I got it. Here we go.”
He shows Sasha the draft of his Instagram post, and Sasha scans the caption. All hands on deck, Danny’s written, followed by a winking emoji, a sun emoji, and… a crab emoji?
“What? This… this animal?”
“Crab.”
“I am not crab!” Sasha yelps, and Danny just laughs. Laughs.
“Yeah, you definitely are.” He laughs again when Sasha shoves him. “But that’s okay, you’re my crab.”
And now Sasha’s as red as that damn emoji.