peascrabbles - Tumblr blog

peascrabbles · 8 hours ago

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blurred horizon / 海天相接

tags: 🔞vaginal fingering, dry humping, coming in pants, light daddy kink, semi-public sex, use of ge/gege. no y/n. tapping the calebmc sign for their usual pseudo-incest.

As soon as you step out of Caleb’s big fancy air-conditioned car the hot air outside engulfs you. You squint at the glare of the sun reflected back at you on the sparkling blue rush of waves and inhale deeply; on the exhale you taste the silt on the back of your teeth. Already, impossibly, there’s sand in places it shouldn’t have gotten the chance to get into yet.

The car door closes with a soft thwack, and you hurry over to help Caleb unload his endless hoard of things he declared “beach essentials” from the back.

“No, that one’s heavy, pip. Leave the cooler for me.”

“So? I’m strong too,” you say, and stubbornly reach for the handle anyway. Caleb cheerfully swats your hand away and grabs the cooler in a flash, adding to his already heavy load. You huff.

“Show-off.”

“Only for you, pretty girl. Can you grab my sunglasses?”

You do, opening the legs and motioning for Caleb to lean down. He does so with a smile, nuzzling into your hand for a second after you’ve put his sunglasses on for him. “Ready? Don’t forget your hat.”

It’s a gorgeous day, the peak of summer, hardly any clouds in a deep azure sky. Just like the traffic jam predicted, the beach is busy. Seagulls caw overhead, children laugh and scream as they play in the water, and under the scent of salt and sand there’s the unmistakable hint of sunscreen. The stone path leading to the beach is lined with vendors selling pretty shell bracelets, local charms, and glitter domes in which dolphins jump over glimmering waves. Their tents provide shade as you walk down to the big stone stairs, pausing briefly to take off your sandals.

In the distance merchants cry out iced tea! hot chocolate! ice cream for the kids! as they march over the sand, selling drinks and snacks to the beach-goers. Of which there are many. You got here early despite the traffic, but the best spots are long gone; everywhere you look people have laid out their towels or set up their beach chairs.

“Let’s go over that way,” Caleb jerks with his head. “I think I see some open space.”

You trudge through the sand, already sweating under the load on your back and under your arms. The sun is harsh on your skin, but it doesn’t dim your excitement. You’ve been looking forward to this weekend away with Caleb all month. It was your suggestion to go to the beach, but Caleb took it upon himself to arrange everything else, from the hotel to the food in the cooler he’s carrying, and all you had to do was buy a new swimsuit that would hopefully distract Caleb enough to make him forget to scold you for not wearing enough sunscreen.

Because he likes looking at you, your ge. You know this. He does so a lot more openly after returning from the dead; doesn’t deny it even when you poke him and ask if there’s something on your face.

Yep, he just says with a smile, and taps your nose. Got cute all over you.

You let him look. It gives you a strange sort of satisfaction that he wants to, not unlike how you felt when you discovered the tracker in your phone. You held the little chip in your hand, looking at it quietly, and wondered if you should be angry or shocked.

In the end you put it back in its slot, screwed the case shut again, and pretended you didn’t know it was there.

You like looking at Caleb too. You openly admire his naked back when he sets down your stuff to pull off his shirt. His strong arms, his shoulders, the muscles shifting and moving under his warm, sweaty skin. It makes you want to lean in closer to breathe him in just as much as you do with the ocean air. His necklace glints in the sunlight.

“C’mere, hold this for me?”

You drop your bag and your sandals, and together you set up the parasol. Caleb arranges the windscreen, Evol effortlessly twisting the pegs into the sand, and you roll out your towels. Caleb holds up his hand for a high five once you’re done and you smack it, the loud clap making you laugh.

“Ow-ee, pips. You’ve got a strong backhand,” Caleb teases, shaking out his hand in mock-pain. “You wanna show me how hard you can hit later? I brought a volleyball so we can play.”

You nod. “Yes,” you say. “Later. I wanna swim first.”

“Then we’ll swim first.”

You gather your swimsuits and find your way to the changing booths. You pass by the outdoor showerheads where people can wash off the saltwater and the public bathrooms, in front of which is a long line. You make a face when you think about inevitably having to join them at some point today.

You and Caleb go in your separate booths and you change quickly, stuffing your clothes back into your bag as you go. Your bikini is a cute shade of apple-red, with cream details running along the sides of the shorts and along the strings that tie the upper part together at your back. You haven’t really had much opportunity to swim before, and during your child and teenhood there simply wasn’t the money to afford anything but your school-issued swimsuit.

It’s the first time wearing swimwear you picked out yourself.

Maybe that’s why you’re a bit nervous. You’re not used to exposing so much of yourself, either, though you’re sure it’ll start feeling more normal once you’ve been in the water. It’s not like you’ll be the only one wearing a bikini. You’ve spotted plenty of other girls wearing pretty two-pieces, see-through shawls tied around their waist when they’re not splashing around in the sea.

When you open the door of your changing booth Caleb is standing right outside, arms crossed, bag slung over his shoulder. He turns his head at the sound of you stepping out and looks at you—then freezes.

Before you can ask what’s wrong he’s crowding you back into the booth. You stumble, hand smacking against the wooden wall for balance. It chafes at your skin. The door closes behind your ge’s back.

“That’s what you’re wearing?”

The booth very clearly isn’t meant for two, and you’re forced to crane your neck so you don’t talk directly into Caleb’s naked chest. “…Yes? People wear swimsuits when they go to the beach, Caleb.”

He makes an indignant noise in his throat. “That isn’t a swimsuit.” You can’t see his face very well like this, but his voice sounds strained. You huff and push against his chest.

“Yes it is. Can we go now? Why are you being weird about this?”

“We can go once you put your dress back on.”

You poke his ribs, hard. You’re annoyed and more than a little flustered. Does it really look that bad? Caleb’s always nagged you about short skirts and crop tops, but he’s never been mean about it.

Stupid ge. “I don’t want to.”

Caleb exhales. His hand clench and unclench, hovering awkwardly at his side like he doesn’t know where to put them. When the silence stretches on you decide you’re fed up with this and turn for the door handle, but a hand on your elbow stops you. You look up again—and are startled by Caleb’s dark eyes. His hand travels from your elbow to your waist, rough fingertips sliding over your bare skin and settling on your hip. His fingers play with the ties there; they’re just for show, but they give the illusion all it would take is one tug and you’d be butt naked. Literally.

“You’ve been wearin’ different clothes lately,” Caleb murmurs. “Is that just for me? Or do you dress like that when I’m not around, too?”

Your face heats. Okay. So maybe you have. But it’s Caleb’s fault. He looks at you so intensely when you do, with eyes just as dark as they are now. You like when you can feel that dark gaze on you, when you don’t need to look to know that he’s looking. Whenever you show up wearing those outfits he’s clingier than usual, too, keeping closer than he normally would. He reaches for your hand more often. The weight of his arm slung protectively around your shoulders is as comforting as it’s always been, except now there’s a quiet thrill to it. The same kind when he makes you sit on his lap, or when he puts his hand on your thigh while he drives. His fingers splay so wide over your skin. Now, too. If he moved his hand just a little he’d be cupping your ass.

When you don’t respond he pulls on the ties at your hip. “Answer me.”

Oops, that’s the scary dad voice.

You avert your eyes, embarrassed but unable to lie when he’s asking so directly. “…Who else would I do it for?”

It’s true. You like dressing up nice—

but even more than that you like the way Caleb’s eyes linger.

Above you, Caleb sighs. You’re not sure whether that’s good or bad. Is he going to tease you again? You wait for one of his corny jokes about looking like a little apple in your red top and your red shorts, but it doesn’t come. Instead Caleb removes himself from you and steps back, opening the door with one hand and rummaging around in his bag with the other. “At least wear this over it.” Then he steps out, considering the argument resolved, and leaves you standing there holding his blouse.

“Dummy,” you mutter. To yourself or Caleb, you’re not sure. You shrug on the much too big blouse but leave it unbuttoned in hopes you don’t look any sillier than you feel. It has a beachy flower print on it in shades of yellow and orange against a white backdrop, very summer-appropriate, but you’re worried the colours will clash. Also, you’re swimming in it. The blouse is very clearly not meant to be worn by someone your size.

Caleb smiles at you when you join him outside, even if it’s still a bit strained at the edges, and holds your hand firmly while you walk back to your spot on the beach.

You don’t speak while you walk. You sulk. Even if he thought the bikini looked bad, couldn’t he at least have said something nice about it? Instead he just wants to cover you up. Jerk. Bully. You try to remove your hand from his grip, but Caleb won’t have it, squeezing down instead and swinging your arm along with his. You’re going to splash him with the coldest water you can find.

“Race you to the water?” he asks when you’ve deposited your bags with your other things. You purse your lips, pretending to consider, and then immediately give in. You meant it when you said you wanted to swim. Besides, swimming means you can take off his stupid blouse. Really, what was even the point, just for that short walk along the sand…

You shrug off Caleb’s shirt and count down. “Three, two…”

Caleb takes off.

“One—hey!” you squawk, quickly rushing into a sprint to catch up. You can hear Caleb laugh ahead of you, deftly navigating the other people walking or playing on the shore. He dives right into the water and you follow without thinking, yelping at the cold shock of the waves against your sun-warmed body. You squeeze your eyes shut and follow Caleb’s example, dipping under the surface to acclimate quicker. Ahead of you Caleb surfaces again and shakes his head like a dog, spraying water everywhere, and you wade-walk closer to scold him.

“Dummy Caleb, you cheater!” you launch yourself at him, arms circling around his body. You try to tug him down with you into the water, but the only thing you achieve is latching onto him like a little koala. When he just laughs and wraps his arms around you to keep where you are you huff, smacking your wet hands against his skin. “This doesn’t count, okay! You’re not getting a prize.”

“That’s fine,” he says cheerily. He squeezes you tighter and spins you around. Despite yourself you’re laughing; the rush of the water against your body feels wonderful. “I already got everythin’ I want right here.”

You settle for splashing him when he releases you, immediately triggering a fierce splash war that Caleb declares he wins when he’s soaked you so thoroughly you look like “a little seaweed driftin’ around.”

“Ew,” you say. “No way. I’m like… something very cool and big. A whaleshark. I’ll just open my mouth like so, wuaaah… And eat you.”

Caleb laughs. He pushes his wet hair out of his face, which is unfair. He looks so handsome like this with rivulets of water dripping down his torso, over his necklace, his pretty eyes crinkling with mirth. They veer towards the blue end of purple reflected by the water’s surface.

It’s blinding. Even the summer sun in the sky is no match for him.

“More like a little piranha,” he teases when you chomp at him. “Look at those sharp teeth.”

You wrinkle your nose at him. “Whatever. If you’re so scared of my teeth I’ll go swim over there, then. Wouldn’t want you to get bitten.”

When you actually paddle away from him Caleb immediately follows you, dragging you back by your ankle. “Aww, no, come on. Play with me. You can bite me all you like.”

“Spin me around instead,” you demand, and Caleb easily fulfils your request. You spend a long time in the water, swimming and playing together; Caleb’s new favourite game is to chase you around, pick you up, and throw you to the waves again. He then pretends to “rescue” you as your personal lifeguard. Said rescue suspiciously involves a lot of tickling and splashing around.

You dive to the bottom a few times, looking for cool stones and finding absolutely none, just more of your supposed green-leafed relatives. And when you get tired of paddling around you simply float, watching Caleb cut through the water with impressive speed. His arms and legs pump their way through a perfect breaststroke. Like you said. A total show-off.

When you start to feel pruney you call out to Caleb that you’re leaving, and he splash-paddles his way to you. “You feelin’ hungry, pip? Wanna go back?”

“Yeah, I wanna dry off. Also, we should reapply sunscreen.” You both put some on before you left the car, but by now everything’s probably long washed away.

“Okie-dokie,” Caleb says. “I just wanna do one last thing. You stay there, don’t move.”

Confused, you watch Caleb disappear under the water, then startle when two big hands grab your legs and spread them apart. Something—someone—is pushing through and up and out, and you’re lifted with a yelp. You nearly lose your balance as Caleb suddenly breaks through the surface—thank you, Tara, for that brutal core routine—with you now perched on his shoulders. He’s holding you firmly by the thighs so you won’t fall, but—

“Can’t you give me a warning before you do something like that?” you ask, flustered.

“You don’t like it?”

You can hear the smile in Caleb’s voice. His wet hair feels ticklish against your stomach, and you push it out of his eyes for him. This is the most skin-to-skin you’ve had in years. Probably since you were kids.

“…I didn’t say that. Onward, my noble steed!”

Caleb laughs. “What am I, a seahorse?” But he obediently wades all the way to shore and gently lets you back down on the sand. You squeeze out the remaining water in your hair best you can, then find your way back to your spot together. You drag out the cooler from its corner in the shade first thing. You’re starving.

“Chew your food, pips.”

“I am. Don’t baby me.” You hand Caleb a bottle of water, and he twists it open before handing it back to you.

“But you are my baby,” Caleb says, mouth ticking up into a smile. “Drink up. Gotta stay hydrated with all the sweating we’re doin’.”

You finish your lunch, tucking the food wrappers back into the lunch boxes and brushing the crumbs off your laps. Despite the breeze the air is very warm—your skin is already dry again.

“Okay, sunscreen time.” You fish a bottle from your bag. “Want me to do your back?”

“Sure,” Caleb says, surprised but pleased, and obediently lies down on his stomach.

You scoot over to sit next to him, patting his shoulder. “I think you have a new record for freckles. How is it that you’re already starting to tan?” you say. Then, without waiting for a reply, you unceremoniously hold the bottle upside down and dump a dollop of sunscreen directly onto Caleb’s lower back. He jerks with a surprised, bitten-off grunt, and cracks one eye open to give you a half-hearted scowl.

“Oops,” you say innocently. “Is it cold?”

“Little troublemaker. Be nice, or I’ll throw you back in the water.”

You giggle, unfazed by his idle threats, and proceed to spread the cold sunscreen all over Caleb’s stupidly broad back. Seriously, he’s so big. You’re tempted to swing one leg over him and straddle him for better access, but decide against it. You don’t want to accidentally hurt him. Instead you settle for hurting him on purpose by bullying out the knots in his back.

“Geez, Caleb. You’re so tense. Are you stretching properly after your workouts?” you tsk, pressing your thumb into his shoulders. Caleb groans, turning his face away from you.

“Nngh. Little lower…”

“Bossy.”

But you go a little lower, and Caleb rewards you with low throaty noises he tries to muffle into the towel. You hope the windscreen prevents them from being carried by the wind; the spot you eventually settled on is a little removed from the main throng of beach-goers, but you still don’t want anyone to hear. Even if they’re just from tension being relieved you selfishly want these kinds of sounds to belong only to you.

Caleb’s back, his freckles, the funny little tan line from his necklace that’s already starting to peek through. You want all of this to be yours, too.

You smooth your hands over his skin. Maybe you’ve always been a little like this. After Caleb’s death you felt as though you could see the shape of your relationship with your brother more clearly—because hindsight is always like that, isn’t it? You don’t think about the sun shining every day until it disappears from the sky altogether. And the long, dark night that follows makes you ache for its warmth even more.

There are still things you feel uncertain about, secrets you keep from each other, truths you tiptoe around. There’s plenty of frustration. Anxiety, too, sometimes so bad it keeps you up at night. That’s why this trip is supposed to be time away from your usual world of worries. A place where you can be you, and Caleb can be Caleb.

You want to cherish him.

When your hands are tired and your mind starts to wander a little too far about what else could produce these kind of moans from your ge, you decide it’s enough and pull back. Caleb sighs, stretches, and rolls onto his side to give you a lazy smile. “Thank you, sweet girl. That felt really good.”

You pretend the flush on your cheeks is from the heat of the sun. “See. I am nice.” You start lathering up your own arms and legs, but Caleb pushes himself upright and stops you.

“Let me do it.”

“Okay…?” you say hesitantly. “I can reach it myself though…”

“I know.” Caleb takes the bottle from you and squeezes the sunscreen in his hand. He diligently starts coating your legs in even strokes. “But I wanna do it.”

There’s a finality to Caleb’s tone that makes it feel impossible to argue against, so you just sit back and watch him work. He spends way more time on it than you ever would have yourself; every little spot is carefully treated, from the top of your feet to your back of your knees. He spends a long time on your thighs, kneading the muscle and fat with a strange, concentrated expression on his face. His thumbs brush so close to the edge of your shorts that it makes you want to squirm away. That, or burst into flames.

“Your turn. Lie down for me,” Caleb says, and you tie your hair back so it won’t get in the way. You close your eyes. Caleb’s hands feel even bigger like this when you can’t see them, warm despite the sunscreen. It’s comforting in a strange way. Memories flood you of Caleb stroking your back after you bust your knee, after you got a bad grade, after you woke up crying from a nightmare. It’s almost enough to soothe you into a doze.

When you feel him untying the strings keeping your top together, however, your eyes fly open wide awake. You make a noise that’s half a question, half a protest—what’s he doing? You try to push yourself up, but Caleb gently presses you back down between the shoulder blades.

“Shh, it’s okay. I’ll retie them when I’m done.” When Caleb sees you visibly hesitate he adds, “No one can see you, baby. Don’t worry. Just me here.”

…You lie back down.

Your heart is hammering against your chest so hard you’re certain Caleb must feel it, but he doesn’t say anything and so neither do you. You’re acutely aware of where the fabric falls away, peeling you open like a tangerine. Sweet and sour. Caleb’s fingers brush over the side of your ribs, just shy of touching the skin that was covered up previously. His hands on you feel wonderful, but it’s impossible to be lulled back into the sleepy state from before.

Your ge likes to watch.

Does he want to do more than just look?

This is the thought that pulses between your heartbeats, but even though you turn it over and over in your head you don’t find an answer. If he did, if he did touch, if he turned you over and took off your top entirely and looked at you then, what would you do? What would you say? Would you say anything at all? Would you let him do as he likes, quietly, letting those nimble fingers go where they please? Taking you apart with the same motion he used to slot the tracker chip into your phone?

You never find out. As promised, Caleb reties your top in a perfect bow once it’s done, and you sit back up feeling—you don’t know. You’re torn between feeling relieved that it’s over and disappointed that it’s over so soon.

You sneak a glance at Caleb, but his face betrays nothing. Maybe you’re the only one getting worked up. It’s just sunscreen, after all. With a sigh you reach for your book—thank you once again, Tara, for the excellent trashy romance recommendations—while Caleb finishes with the sunscreen on himself.

Eventually he pushes his sunglasses back on his nose, lies down with his arms behind his head, and for a while everything is peaceful while the two of you bask in the shade of your parasol.

The rush of the waves is calming. You feel at ease, even with the cry of seagulls and the occasional screams of children up ahead. There’s no mission, no Association, no Hunter’s Watch. It was Caleb’s one request before you went that you leave it behind. I don’t want to share you with any Wanderers this weekend, he’d said. Caleb so rarely asks for anything. It was an easy decision.

You peek at him from behind your book and find he’s already looking at you. You can see the movement of his lashes through the sunglasses as he blinks.

“Hi,” you say, lowering your book. “Are you enjoying yourself?”

“Yeah. It’s a great view.”

You nod and look at the ocean. “I like it too. I’m not sure if I’d want to live on the beach—the sand, you know. But I’m really happy we came here.”

“You feel like doin’ anything else today? Wanna swim some more?”

You hum, considering. “What about beach volleyball? Do you still want to play?”

Caleb lights up. He pushes his sunglasses on his forehead, smiling. “You betcha. Wanna go now?”

You snap your book shut. “Loser buys the winner ice-cream?”

“Oh, you’re on.”

Grinning, the two of you set off to find a patch of sand where you can play without disturbing anyone. You find it a little ways away from the water; families are playing badminton, kids run after frizbees, and there’s a couple flying a wind kite. It flutters prettily in the ocean breeze—you think it’s supposed to be a bird.

“Ground rules,” you say, holding the ball in serving position. “No using Evol. And no hitting it super far—let’s say our field is from over here—” you draw a line in the sand with your foot, then point to the other side where Caleb has put his bag, “to there.”

Caleb salutes. “Roger. Hit me, pipsqueak. Show me what those little legs can do.” Little legs? You glare at him, and Caleb chuckles. “There’s that fighting spirit.”

You swear to yourself that you will make Caleb Xia eat sand today. You serve first, hitting the ball hard straight out of the gate. Caleb catches it easily, tapping it right back to you. His height gives him an unfair advantage: all he has to do is reach up with his stupid-long arms and smack the ball down. It means you have to play smart, serving high balls that twist followed by mean low hits that have Caleb scrambling to get them before they touch the sand. Take that, Mr. Top Shelf. How’s it feel to have your height work against you?

Not that Caleb is making it any easier on you. Soon your forearms are red from the impact of his hits, tingling every time the ball touches them again. The sand makes it difficult to keep your balance; you stagger under his serves more than once. But you persist, and the first point goes to you.

“Look at you, pip,” Caleb praises. He’s breathing hard, his chest rising and falling rapidly. He wipes off the sweat on his brow with his arm. “You’re not pullin’ your punches, huh?”

“Duh. If I go easy on you I don’t stand a chance at all!”

True enough, Caleb scores next. His serve is too fast for you to follow, and you lose your balance. You end up in the sand, fingers just touching the side of the ball as it gleams at you mockingly. Caleb teases you as he pulls you back up to your feet, calling you a little crab and a sand monster. You take off his blouse that he made you wear again to shake it out best you can, but you fear the remainders of your fall will follow him far beyond your little trip. You give up, tossing it to the side, and throw the ball up for the final round before Caleb has the chance to nag you again about your choice of swimwear.

It’s touch and go for a while, but then—

“…Gh!”

—it’s Caleb’s turn to fall on his ass. The ball rolls over the sand, coming to a stop in one of his footprints.

“Ooh, someone’s lost their touch,” you tease. “What happened to the captain of the basketball team? Can’t keep up when there’s no net?”

“Yeah, yeah, you did a good job,” Caleb says, laughing. He ruffles your hair when he stands, tucking the volleyball under his arm. “You wanted ice cream, right? I’ll go get some. Wait for me at our spot.”

He tosses you the ball and his bag, taking just his wallet, and you watch him walk off to. The sight of his back fills you with a strange, bittersweet feeling. You’ve always trailed after Caleb like his little tail, asking what are you doing, ge? Can I do what you do? Can I do it with you?

Show me, teach me, tell me. Make it a secret for just us.

You still have nightmares where you reach for him without ever being able to get close. You can’t touch him. Caleb’s broad back, his shoulders, the slope of his jaw peeking just behind his neck. The fine hairs tucked behind his ears, cropped neat and short. When the ringing in your ears picks up you close your eyes, shaking your head. You won’t let the memory of the past sour what you have now in the present. You won’t allow it.

Maybe Caleb feels you watching him, because before he disappears up the stone stairs he turns around and waves, big arm swinging wide over his head. The bubble of anxiety in your stomach deflates, slowly, until it’s the size of a pearl you can hold in your hand. You smile and wave back. Go on, your wave says. I’ll wait for you.

You’re so lost in thought as you walk back you completely miss the “hey! with the volleyball!”. It’s only when a hand grabs you by the shoulder that you come to a stop, startled. You blink up into the grin of a guy around your age. He’s wearing iridiscent sunglasses that have been pushed up on his brow; they glimmer under the light whenever he moves his head. He points to the volleyball in your arm.

“Were you looking to play? We’re just missing a fourth for our team.” He points his thumb over his shoulder, and when you follow its direction you see two other guys standing a little ways away, tossing a ball back and forth.

“Just one round?” sunglasses guy asks. He has a cute smile; his canines are sharp, same as Caleb’s. “It gets boring going one versus one.”

“Um,” you say. Sunglasses’ friends have noticed you by now, and they’ve jogged over.

“Whoa, whoa, you said you’d get us a player! Not try to pick up cute girls.”

“Are you trying to get her to join so we’ll be distracted when we play?”

Their loud chattering seems amicable enough, if a little suggestive, but when the latter friend’s eyes linger on your chest you start to feel uncomfortable. “Sorry. Someone’s waiting for me, so…”

“Come on, it’ll be fun! You’re out here alone, anyway,” friend number two says. It’s the guy that’s looking at you a little too intently to just be friendly.

“Nah, leave it. If she doesn’t want to…”

“Yeah,” a voice says behind you. “Leave it. She doesn’t want to, so back off.”

A shadow joins yours on the sand, and when you turn you feel your shoulders un-tense in relief. You look up to see Caleb’s dark glare. Even the ice creams he’s holding somehow look menacing—then you realise it’s just his Evol, rolling off him in waves to increase pressure in the air. You tap his arm. Relax, you mouth at him, but Caleb’s scowl only deepens.

“What are you, her dad?” the creeper friend scoffs. “Whatever… Let’s just go.”

He slinks off, and the two others follow. Sunglasses gives you an apologetic smile before he turns. “Sorry,” he says, and then they’re gone. You sigh.

“Caleb. You can stop now.”

“Stop what?” Caleb says, sounding a little too innocent to be genuine. He hands you your ice cream—two scoops of your favourite flavours. He didn’t even have to ask. “Here you go, pip. Eat it before it melts.” He takes his bag and the volleyball, stuffing it under the arm that’s holding his ice cream so he has one hand free to hold yours with. “Don’t be nice to guys like that. Just run away. Or punch them and then run away.”

You laugh a little. “You want me to go around punching strangers? It’s fine. I was just going to say no and walk off.”

Caleb grips your hand a little tighter. “Good girl. But you can punch them if you want to. Don’t say sorry, and don’t smile at them.”

“Okay, dad,” you say, a teasing smile creeping onto your lips. “Don’t look so angry, dummy. Look, we have ice cream. You can’t be upset when you’re eating ice cream.”

“Uh-huh. If you’re going to call me dad you had better actually listen to what I say.” Caleb gives you a pointed look. You haven’t put his blouse back on after you stopped playing; you’re feeling way too hot for the extra layer. “Like when I tell you to wear something over your swimsuit.”

“Ah, but I’m in my rebellious stage right now. This is a delicate time for me, you know. I basically have no choice but to go against everything you tell me to do.”

Caleb abruptly pulls on your hand, making you stop short mid-step. He leans down, nose brushing against your ear. “Go ahead,” he murmurs. His voice is low and heady, scraping over his throat and curling up right against your eardrum. “That just means I’ll have to discipline you.”

You nearly choke on your ice cream. You stare at your ge with wide eyes and warm cheeks, then quickly look away. That’s… that’s not allowed. Using that kind of voice is evil. Where did he learn to do that? Has he spoken to anyone else like that?

“…Bully,” you mutter. Caleb chuckles, but otherwise doesn’t reply. You eat your ice cream in silence. It’s delicious, but it doesn’t do anything to cool you down. Nor does the shade of the parasol, or the water bottles from the cooler. The heat stays, simmering low in your stomach and your chest, making your palms sweaty as you turn the pages of your book. You stare pensively at the words without taking anything in. Was he just teasing you?

You glance at Caleb. He’s gone back to his usual pose on his back, elbows wide, palms cradling his skull. His eyes are closed behind his sunglasses. You lie down on your own towel, resting your head on your arms so you can look at him.

Caleb opens his eyes when he hears you shift. “Tired?” he asks.

“A bit.” You curl your fingers into the sand. “Caleb—be honest. Do I look bad?”

Caleb’s brows shoot up, then furrow. He takes his sunglasses off so you can properly witness his look of bewildered indignation. “Why d’you say that? You’re the prettiest girl in the world.” He narrows his eyes. “Did those guys say anything to you? Tell me honestly.”

You shake your head. That’s not it. And even if they did, well, who cares. It would just mean they’re jerks. It’s Caleb’s opinion that matters to you. What he likes, what he dislikes—you thought he’d like the red. It’s his favourite colour. Is it too childish?

“No, no. But you’ve been telling me to cover up all day, and, I don’t know… Does it not suit me? Do you think I should try another style?”

Caleb quirks a brow at you. “You know what you look like.”

“I’d know if you’d tell me.” You push yourself upright again, putting yourself in his line of vision when he turns his head. “Caleb.”

“You look very cute,” he says, stubbornly keeping his eyes on the windscreen.

“That’s not what I meant,” you huff. “Come on, I’m not fishing for compliments. I just want to know if you dislike it.”

Caleb sighs. “It’s not that I dislike it.”

“Liar.” He’s still refusing to look at you properly. Drastic times call for drastic measures, and therefore you do what you were thinking about all those hours ago when you were applying his sunscreen. You sling one leg over his hips and straddle his stomach. “You’re being weird. Don’t avoid me.”

Caleb’s hips jerk when you settle on him, hands instinctively flying to your hips. He’s finally looking at you, be it with an expression of surprise. His cheeks are a pretty rosy red; the flush slowly creeps down his neck, spreading over his big pecs. They twitch when you place your hands on his abdomen.

Caleb stares at you for a moment, then exhales, dragging a hand over his face. “You’re actually serious.” A statement, not a question, and so you wait for him to continue with a puzzled frown on your face. When he doesn’t you poke his arm.

“Hey. Aren’t you going to tell me? What do you mean, I’m serious?”

You poke him again, and this time Caleb catches your hand. Your stomach swoops with the way he looks at you then; it’s dark and heady and heavy, just like his voice in your ear earlier. You think about his hands on your back, untying the strings of your top. The way he pressed you down. His fingers, long and wide, smoothing gently over your skin.

“Let’s go change.”

You blink. “Huh—now? Why?”

Caleb sits up, lifting you off his lap like you weigh nothing. “C’mon. Or did you want to swim some more?”

You shake your head; you’re properly worn out for the day. All you want to do is shower, eat, and crawl in your hotel bed. You follow Caleb along the beach, up the big stone steps and along the rows of little changing booths. The beach is slowly emptying; families with kids are starting to pack up. Others are about to go off in search of a restaurant that hasn’t yet fully been booked. The stalls lined along the path are thriving; you can hear music overhead, as well as the sizzle of open fires cooking food. The smell of grilled meat wafts through the air.

Caleb’s holding your hand again. He guides you to a booth on the far side of the space, way further than is necessary—you pass by at least five free ones as you go and tell him so, but he just shakes his head.

“Caleb,” you say finally, “what are we doing? Are you in a bad mood again?”

“We’re changing. Here, let’s go in this one.” Caleb opens the door to a stall and pulls you inside. It falls shut behind you with a clack; Caleb’s Evol pushes down the simple wooden slot so it’s locked.

“Of course,” you say drily into his armpit. “Because this one has plenty of room. They’re all the same size, you know. I don’t know why—”

“Shush,” Caleb says. He turns you, stepping behind you to crowd you against the very close quarters of the little hut. His hands rest on your hips, playing idly with the strings. “I’m trying to answer your question.”

Your mind feels a little fuzzy. Your question? Right—the swimsuit. If he liked it. He said he did, but he wouldn’t look at you. And Caleb likes looking at you, so that means it’s actually bad. He’s noticed you’ve been wearing different clothes around him. You admitted as much. Was that bad, too? Does he dislike it? Was the thrill you’d been feeling just Caleb’s irritation at your clumsy attempts at—what, exactly?

Trying to rile him up?

“You don’t look bad,” Caleb says. His fingers play with the hem of your shorts. “You never do. You’re beautiful. The bikini is just…” He exhales roughly. "You wore it for me. Right? Isn’t that what you said?”

In the lingering silence you realise he’s waiting for an answer and so you nod hesitantly, uncertain where any of this is going. You can’t see his face, which makes you feel uneasy; instead you’ve got only that low voice in your ear.

The voice tells you: “So all day, I’ve been thinking… If it’s just for me, why does anyone else have to see you like that?” A thumb hooks into the waistband. “Those guys were lookin’ at you like they could touch you. But I’m the only one who gets to do that. Riiight?”

More silence. The hands on your hips squeeze. Answer me.

“Yeah,” you breathe. “You’re—you can touch me.”

“And I’m the only one.” The thumb pulls, and takes your shorts down with it. “Right? Tell me.”

You whimper when Caleb’s other hand pets over the curls on your mound. Your hips twitch, and Caleb pushes into you harder. He’s hard, you realise, his dick pressed firmly against your ass. Practically outside. Voices and footsteps drift by every so often, though never so near that they’re right on the other side of this very public, very flimsy changing booth.

“Caleb,” you whisper-croak. “Caleb. There’s people. We—we shouldn’t, not here—”

“Then you’d better be quiet.” Caleb moves his fingers down, pressing against your clit, and you gasp. “Don’t worry,” he murmurs. “I’ll only use my fingers. I’ll fuck you when we’re back in our hotel room.”

Little consolation, when just his finger has you biting down on your hand to muffle the noises starting to spill out. He circles your clit slowly; his other hand releases your hip so he can wrap his arm around your waist. And thank God for that, you think faintly to yourself, because when he picks up the pace your knees start to feel like they’re no longer committed to the cause of keeping your body upright.

Caleb moans into your ear when he dips his finger down and feels how wet you are. “Oh, look at you. That’s for me, right?” When all you can manage is a stuttering moan Caleb moves his mouth down your neck and nips at your shoulder. He pushes your legs further open by nudging one foot against the inside of your own, rolling his hips against your ass as he does so. He pushes one long finger inside, and you desperately try to choke back the high whine in your throat.

“You’re so tight,” Caleb says. There’s an edge of despair to his voice. “Come on, loosen up. I can’t fuck you like this.”

“Can’t,” you whimper. “Can’t, ge, s’too much.”

“Too much? But I thought you were a big girl now.” Caleb curls his finger, slow and wet, and you tremble under him. He leans in, hooking his chin over your shoulder so he can watch. “Or are you just bein’ difficult? Need your dad to make you listen like a good girl?”

You clench around him involuntarily. It’s impossible not to, pressed so close against him, feeling so much of his skin, his breath, and then there’s the low simmer of anxiety about other people hearing you at the edge of your awareness. Your heartbeat is so loud in your ears.

Caleb laughs quietly when he feels you tighten around him, breathless and excited. He adds another finger. Knuckle by knuckle, stroking against your inner walls, stretching you wider. He fucks you open, loosens you up with his thumb on your clit and his lips at your neck. He spreads his fingers as he moves them, pushing against your slick insides. Like he’s preparing you.

I’ll fuck you when we’re back in our hotel room.

After the initial burn of the first stretch ebbs away you start squirming again. That low heat that’s been sticking to you all day is starting to spread through your whole body, starting from the place Caleb’s touching you and rising up, up, all the way up your throat and your mouth and spilling out like bitten-off whimpers sounding vaguely like his name.

Caleb’s making sounds too, little breathy groans when you move your hips and arch your back. Sweat slides down your neck. You feel submerged in his embrace, held from every side, the slight bite of his necklace against your back. There’s no place Caleb doesn’t touch. Like the ocean water he presses against you, filling your eyes and your ears with nothing but him. You can smell the bitter-salty scent of his sweat. Feel his big arm wrapped around your waist. His hand filling you, fucking you, the veins spidering down his skin dilated from the warm air.

“Ge,” you croak. “Ge, Caleb—need more, can I have more?”

“Good girl, asking so nicely.” Caleb licks the sweat up your neck; you jolt, tensing around his fingers. “Been driving me nuts all day, prancing around wearing practically nothing. Looking at me with fuck-me eyes.” He exhales, shaky. His voice turns stern again. “Tell me you only get like this for me.”

“Who else?” you say weakly.

Sharp teeth prick against your pulse. Caleb’s fingers work you mean, shallow and teasing, pulling out further when you try to chase them. “I said tell me.”

You whine, then abruptly bite your lip. Too loud. “Only you, Caleb. Only for—for you.” You curl your hand around his arm, tugging at his wrist. Unsure if you want him to hold on tighter or let go. “I wanted you to look at me.”

“Little dummy,” Caleb says. “I’m always looking at you. But when you’re wearing these kind of outfits…” He pushes his fingers back in, hard, shlick-shlick-shlick in and out, curling in time with his thumb rubbing quick little circles around your clit. “You’re makin’ it real hard for me to only look.”

The sudden onslaught of pleasure makes you hiccup. Another moan spills out unbidden, and in response Caleb’s hand comes up to cover your mouth.

“Need to be quiet, pips. Want something in your mouth—? There you go,” he coos as he gives you his fingers. He pushes them down on your tongue, strokes them over the gummy flesh of your mouth. You breathe open-mouthed, grazing your teeth over his fingers. Drool slips out of the corner of your lips. You lean your weight back against Caleb for support, head lolling onto his shoulder. Through the slits of your eyes you see his looking back at you. Dark and wanting, a pretty purple sunset spilling into inky waves.

Caleb’s fingers curl and stroke and press into you until the heat turns blazing, scorching, burning over you like water. Your name in his mouth, panting hot breath in your neck. Your release builds until it can’t anymore, then throws you over without so much as a warning—you stiffen, toes curling against the sandy stone, fingers scrabbling against Caleb’s arms. Broken throaty moans that he shushes, steadying you as you shiver. Your hips buck and jerk, swinging between ohfuckyes and stoptoomuch until you come down fully, slumping against Caleb’s chest.

He gently removes his fingers from you; distantly, you note his quick heartbeat. “Good girl,” he rasps. “Good girl, pip, perfect girl, coming so nicely like that. You’re so—fuck, you’re so cute. So sexy. Just—ngh. Stay like this, don’t move. Let me use you for a little bit, okay? Be good for your gege. Like that. Oh, fuck.”

Caleb brings the fingers that were just inside you to his mouth, hooking his arm around your chest. He’s sucking them clean, you realise. The wet sounds next to your ear sound obscene, and your stomach swoops again despite your jelly-like fatigue. His other hand travels down to your hip again, squeezing firmly. His hips have been mindlessly rutting into you while he fingered you, but now he’s moving them with purpose. You try to turn around—you want touch him, want make him feel good—but when you make an attempt to move Caleb makes a low warning noise.

Bossy.

If you didn’t feel so wrung out you’d complain. You settle for listening to Caleb’s muffled moans with burning ears as he uses you to get off. It doesn’t take long; with a final groan his hips stutter, pushing insistently against your ass as he rides out his release. Caleb buries his face in your neck while he catches his breath. You feel a damp warmth on your ass and lower back, and realise that he came in his swim shorts. What a waste, you think grumpily, then blush at your own thoughts.

“Phew,” Caleb sighs. He pulls back, releasing his python grip, and gently taps your ass to let you know you’re allowed to move again. “Now let’s get you out of your swimsuit. Turn around.”

“But—there’s no room. I’ll… I’ll find my own booth. Um. Hand me my bag…?”

“Nope,” Caleb says. He nuzzles his head against your cheek. “You’re stayin’ with me.” He tugs at you to spin around and you acquiesce, reluctant but still flustered enough to go along with his demands.

Caleb undresses you. He towels the remaining sand and damp patches off your naked body like you’re a child, then helps you steady yourself as you step out of your shorts and into clean underwear, followed by your dress. He could have used his Evol for this, but he doesn’t. When you think about it he never has, not for things like this. He wants it to be his hands that take off your clothes and put them back on again.

He cleans himself up quickly and methodically, shoving his cum-stained swimming trunks into his bag and pulling on his own set of clothes. You get a glimpse of his cock before quickly looking away, which—it’s too quick to tell clearly, but was he still hard? Or is he just always that big? Just two of his fingers in you felt huge. You don’t know if you’ll survive anything bigger.

Caleb leaves his blouse unbuttoned, zips his necklace neatly back into place between his pecs, and gives you a sunny, albeit slightly smug, smile.

“Let’s get some food,” he says breezily, like this is business as usual, and holds your hand while you go down the stone paths in your sandals. You eat as you walk; grilled vegetables, skewered meat, steamed dumplings. Festival food. You’re not sure how to look at Caleb right now. What should you say? He’s not acting any different than usual. This wasn’t some kind of sunstroke-induced dream on your part, was it?

You browse the trinket stalls to distract yourself. You pick up souvenirs for friends and colleagues—local snacks, little shell hangers, a sweet-smelling pack of incense for Tara. You linger over the bracelets you saw earlier. They’re braided in all sorts of colours, with small cowrie shells woven into the threads. You rub your thumb over their smooth tops, imaging their little dark spots as freckles.

Caleb notices and nudges your arm. “Let’s get some.” You nod and take out your wallet, but before you can pay Caleb’s already handed the stall owner money. You give him an exasperated look. Caleb just smiles.

He thinks he’s so slick, huh.

You keep walking until the stalls and the crowd start to thin. There’s a park area attached to the stone walkway that looks out over the beach—right now it’s pretty much empty save for people that are on their way home. String lights have been draped over the trees, twinkling between the heavy summer branches. The dune you’re on is pretty high up: you’ve got a clear view of the waves in the distance when you look out over the stone wall curled protectively around the courtyard.

A breeze brushes over your hair. The sky is starting to get dark—the sun has already sunk into the water. Caleb joins your little looking post, finishing the last of the stall food you gave to him when you were full.

“Wanna put on your bracelet, pip?”

You nod and hold out your hand. Caleb doesn’t place the bracelet in your palm as you expected, but puts it around your wrist for you instead. “Green,” he says with a slight smile as he tightens the string, “for my little green apple.”

You laugh a little and point at the other bracelet. “What about this one? Is that red for a red apple?”

“That’s right. You catch on quick.”

When Caleb takes it out to put it on you stop him. “No, I want to do it.”

Caleb wordlessly offers you his hand. It’s his left one—the one he likes to hold yours with. It’s also the hand that not so long ago had its fingers inside you. Remembering this brings the flush back to your cheeks, and you quickly get busy with the bracelet to keep Caleb from noticing. After you’ve slid it on his wrist you carefully pull it closed so that it’s not too tight and not too loose. It looks good on Caleb. Everything does.

“You should’ve let me pay for it,” you tell his hand with a chastising tug. “This red apple is a real stubborn one.”

“Sorry,” Caleb says, even though he doesn’t sound very sorry. He takes your hand when you’re done, lacing his fingers through yours. “Being with you makes me want to be selfish.”

“Waa, what a bad guy… Selfishly spoiling his little sister… How terrible. I can see the evil ooze out of you.”

Caleb chuckles. “You should also know that if you keep lettin’ me get away with it I’m not going to stop.”

You squeeze his hand. Your matching bracelets touch when you’re holding each other like this. “You don’t have to stop. As long as you let me do things for you too sometimes.” You hesitate, then quietly add, “Like… like before. I wanted to make you feel good, too.”

“Oh yeah? And what would you have liked to do with me?”

You flounder. “Um… Um. I would’ve… touched you with my hands?”

Caleb laughs and hugs you against his chest. “My cute little pipsqueak. But then I would’ve come all over your pretty little shorts. I can’t do that when you wore those for me, can I?”

“Okayyy,” you grouse, halfheartedly pushing at Caleb to let you go. “Don’t let it get to your head.”

“Hmm,” Caleb says. “Too late for that. I’m gonna be thinking about that for a looong time.”

His lips brush over the crown of your head. It occurs to you that for everything that just happened you haven’t even kissed yet—but how do you bring something like that up now? Did Caleb mean what he said, back in the stall? About what he wants to do when you get to your hotel?

…You decide you’ll deal with that when you get there. It’s hard to be worried now, here, standing in the sound of waves crashing softly onto the shore, with a full belly and tired limbs. You wrap your arms around Caleb’s waist. The two of you hold each other while watching the horizon continue to dim until night has fully cloaked it in its darkness, and you can’t distinguish the difference between sky and ocean anymore.

crammed everything I wanted for the beach banner into a fic that I, once again, wrote for three days nonstop. shakes caleb by the shoulders. why does this always happen with you. give me a break already. was tempted to write the follow-up scene where they do in fact have sex in their hotel room but decided this madness has gone on long enough. happy beach banner everyone!!

#blabbed and hollered at u already #but once again u send me over the moon & back with your wonderful words #lovelovelove the buildup and the scene setting you did #this is the kinda beach banner i was imagining #thank you for bringing it to life #caleb #love and deepspace #lads fanfic #caleb x reader

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