Author's Note: This has been sitting in my writing bin for a while, so I figured, in the spirit of summer, I'd post a continuation of the last Romantica drabble I wrote. Anyway, what better excuse to talk about nipples than a beach setting? :D

Okay, I need to stop. Here's a fic for you all. Happy reading~

The Seashore's Kiss


"Usagi-san!" Misaki shrieked when a splash of cold water slapped against his hair and bare torso, thoroughly soaking him with seawater. He whipped around to glare at the man who was bending over to scoop up another handful of water to throw at the boy. "Stop it!"

Not that it seemed to matter much to Akihiko, who threw another splash of water at Misaki with an unusual, yet ever enticing chuckle. "Come back in the water Misaki," he said through a smirk. "I wont bother your nipples anymore."

Misaki gasped in horror at the man's bluntness…although, that was truly the situation at hand. Akihiko apparently found that a swimsuit clad Misaki's bare nipples were too much to handle for one afternoon. And although they had the beach all to themselves, Misaki was horrified each time he felt one of those wicked hands slinking their way down his chest in order to squeeze and pluck at him. Early in the day he had attempted to slip away, in order to fetch a t-shirt back at the beach house—of course, Akihiko immured him between those two masculine arms, pleading (or rather purring) for Misaki to forgive his perversion and spend the rest of the day comfortably, sans his nipple harassment…not that this decree lasted more than ten minutes.

It became the day's routine; Misaki would be minding his own innocent business when he'd suddenly feel two very large, calloused hands, stroking and playing with his teats.

With Akihiko, Misaki followed the three strikes form of punishment…three strikes and you're out. Of course Akihiko had managed to get by with fifty strikes…and then some. But once Akihiko had leaned down in a lame attempt to catch one of the perky nipples in his mouth Misaki had finally had enough.

And Akihiko, having the maturity of a three year old, was retaliating by dowsing Misaki with handfuls of seawater.

I should defend myself more often, Misaki thought sourly as he stormed away from the shore. Not that he could run very far with the white sand grasping at his ankles, dragging his embroidered sandals further into its clutches. Behind him, the waves crashed against the shore, carrying the summer in their wake.

He couldn't believe that four or five years ago, he would have killed to be in a lovey dovey relationship with someone—a barefoot kind of love that you'd see in the movies…the kind of spontaneity he and Akihiko often shared (although he hated to admit it). But spontaneity wasn't always magic as Misaki's pride found out the hard way, and embarrassment was a prime factor of their expeditions. If only Akihiko understood… not that it would matter, Misaki figured. Akihiko was aloof and teasing by nature.

He stomped (or rather hiked) up the strip of sand and toward their camp, where Suzuki-san was lounging underneath one of the umbrellas. It was bizarrely quiet, the sound of circling sea gulls and the hiss of seawater crashing into the shore filled the void of the two men's voices. Why isn't he following after me? Misaki scowled. He always follows me.

When I run away, chase after me.

The round sun had made its peak in the crisp blue sky, burning hotly against Misaki's dark hair and shoulders. The air was warm and salty; Misaki swallowed hard. Akihiko was being awfully quiet back there…and that alone was terribly haunting. Perhaps I hurt his feelings…should I go to apologize to him? Stomach knotting, mind reeling, Misaki's heart suddenly felt heavier than the pull of the sand.

"U-Usagi-san," he called out, fidgeting. "I-I'm…. I guess I…er…"

At that moment, an extended arm snatched his hand, the palm cool and slicked with water.

One kiss. One quick kiss, an Akihiko kind of kiss, sweet and sour just like their first. Large eyes slipped shut; the sea breeze tussled his hair and masculine fingers stroked the small of his back.

They'd been standing there for a while, Akihiko nuzzling Misaki's hair, pressing him close as he toyed with the waist band of Misaki's shorts. "Misaki," Akihiko hummed. "Your hair smells nice. It must be that new shampoo." He dug his nose further into the hair and sniffed. "Smells like cherry." Misaki buried his face into the chest of the man's t-shirt, his face burning and his heart swelling. He didn't respond; there was no need. Not when he was listening to the drumming of the man's heart against the sounds of the sea.

Akihiko, who was a stickler for attention, grabbed Misaki's chin between his forefinger and thumb and pushed the boy up into another kiss. Misaki's toes curled into the grains of the sun kissed sand.

They stayed like that for a while, exploring each other while the sea clutched at their ankles—but standing and kissing was much more difficult than Akihiko planned it would be (especially since Misaki was only 164 centimeters tall and he was nearly 30 centimeters taller), so they eventually went to the sand where they could embrace more comfortably. Misaki didn't complain. He remembered later that night, when he and Akihiko were tangled in the bed, back at the beach house and groaned at his own lack of tact. He practically sunk into the mattress. Crap! Stupid Usagi-san! We were supposed to be normal and go play in the water and look for seashells and…. and…

Then Akihiko shifted in his sleep, pressing Misaki closer into his bare chest. That languid heart beat calmed him down in a second.

We always have tomorrow.