Dom was lying flat on his stomach on a beach towel, hands splayed in front of him on the sand, busy messing up the area immediately beneath his fingers. He pressed his hands to the gritty-soft pile and then lifted them, staring closely at the flecked coating there.

It was full of more color than he ever considered might be in sand—primarily black, orange, blue, and beige. Little bits of long-broken and worn seashell dotted it interestingly. And it glittered with hundreds of clear, diamond-like pinpoints.

For several silly, thoughtful seconds it seemed important that he review and update his existing thoughts on sand. He tilted his head up, keeping his chin just above the ground, and stared out at the expanse of sand that spread out for hundreds of yards in front of him.

There was a fairly sprinkled distribution of people across it; it was the height of late afternoon. But he felt alone, because of the thoughtfulness, because of how it made him feel awake in the parts of his brain that only he knew about. Because it was sort of disconnected, lying on the ground—made you feel as though you weren't exactly in public, so you didn't identify the people around you with a typical crowd.

Taking a piece of broken shell that was still a decent size, he began to dig a hole in the sand. He liked the damp smell of what was unearthed just inches below the dry, top layer.

He remembered being a kid and thinking that if he dug far enough, he was sure to find something, even if it was just a nicer shell or garbage or whatnot. He also remembered being vaguely worried, because his cousins told him that things lived under the sand. He remembered being nervous that he might disturb them and wouldn't have time to avoid touching them. Never did find anything, though—and today was no different than all those years before.

Noticing the wind picking up, he stopped digging. He was satisfied with the nothing he found and also didn't want to admit that the adult in him was bored up to a point with digging in the sand.

Carefully he smoothed the mound of dug up sand back into the hole and did his best to make it look the way it was before he had started. Never quite got back to the point where it looked untouched, but he reminded himself that he shouldn't care. Sort of silly to care about that, wasn't it?

He folded his dusty forearms under his chin, eyes panning sideways to inspect the dots of black, orange, and beige sand grains that were caught in the hair there. He closed his eyes, letting the large churning noise of the surf and the chatter of the people all around form a washed, peaceful backdrop to his thoughts.

Just as he began to drift off, he felt a heavy, sudden warmth collide with his right side. He opened his eyes, blinking against the strong sunlight and the wind, and identified Billy as the offending torpedo. Billy grinned, leaned over and smacked a loud kiss on Dom's cheek, all playful-like.

Hullo, said the kiss.

Dom grinned when Billy made a squelchy face and dropped his lips open.

"You're all sandy," he informed Dom.

Dom darted close and kissed Billy's cheek, too, happy to get Billy just as sandy as he was. Hallo to you, too, said Dom's kiss. Please do that again, thought Dom's kiss.

"Y'ever really look at sand, Bill?" was Dom's reply, though it wasn't really a reply to the stated fact at all.

"I...think so?"

Dom nodded, though that wasn't really a proper answer to the question at all. It didn't matter, when he thought about it. He fell to pondering again, but Billy wasn't satisfied with the almost-glum look on Dom's face. He leaned in, kissing Dom's sandy shoulder.

How's it going, then? asked Billy's kiss. Billy had never kissed Dom there before.

"What about sand?" he asked.

"It's very interesting. Lots of different things in it. Always think of sand as just beige flecks, but it's the exact opposite. There's lots more too it than that. When you take a step back, it's all one thing. Step forward? Hundreds of tiny things."

Dom brushed his mouth on Billy's shoulder—pretending to wipe off sand there, which he was, he guessed, but also wanted to return the affection with an equal gesture. Not too bad, answered Dom's kiss. But if you'd just repeat that, I'd be fantastic, thought Dom's kiss.

"Someone's complex and thoughtful today," Billy replied, giving a comical grin. "S'pose you're right, though. It's very beautiful close-up." He gave a dramatic, contented Man, I love the beach sigh and laid his cheek on Dom's forearm, his mouth smooshed there for a moment.

Really? Oh. He's not talking about the sand, you know, informed Billy's kiss.

Dom tilted his head, feeling the sand all stuck in the tangles, feeling it grind between his and Billy's skin. He laid his cheek on Billy's hair, closing his eyes while the corner of his mouth brushed the messy tangle there (a texture: hair salty from the water, sticky from gel put on that morning, and tangled from the strong ocean wind coming off the water).

I didn't think so, replied Dom's kiss honestly. I love when my symbolic, metaphorical mental rambling accidentally becomes something else.

Billy's eyes were closed. Dom did the same, just to feel that they were going through the exact experience at the same moment. He backtracked; thought that was also a bit silly, but then realized he didn't mind.

It went like this, usually—a short series of physical gestures that brought them closer together. And then it would stop at a point where anything more would be crossing a line. They didn't care if half the beach saw them like this, because everyone saw them "like this" at one point or another. And anyway—the "line" kept nudging itself gradually farther ahead of them.

But with the misty roar of the surf and the lazy late afternoon sun and the gritty sand covering their bodies and the warmth between them and how far Billy's light touches with his mouth had gone beyond the point of their normal affection, Dom felt silly and brave and bright like the citrus-flavored light glowing behind his eyelids.

Billy turned his head up just a bit and his mouth brushed Dom's jaw, as if accidentally. That's a bit closer, I think, said Billy's kiss. And in return Dom pressed his cheek back down, his lips once again squishing the springy give of Billy's hair. That's very nice, replied Dom's kiss. You can go ahead and do that properly, if you want, it went on to say, forgetting this time to think that.

Their entanglement was getting sort of complicated. (Layers of sand.) So Dom leaned back slightly, pushing up on his elbows, and Billy slumped on his side, cheek coming to rest on Dom's shoulder. Dom compared it for no reason at all to hitting the reset button on a video game.

"Afternoon's getting on," Dom observed. The wind was just a little cooler and the crowd had thinned considerably. There weren't many people around them now; most had moved back away from the water, which was giving off the mainstay of the breeze.

"Mm," replied Billy, two fingertips from his right hand busily swiping sand from Dom's upper right arm. I could, I guess. You've got a great bottom lip, you know, said the touch.

Dom's eyes ticked down to where Billy's fingers were bent meticulously at their task, tripping gentle circles round the Fellowship tattoo. When Billy stopped, he looked up, smiled cutely as if to say you're welcome, only he didn't, and Dom gave him a silly sort of you are completely bonkers, you know that, right? look back.

Dom forgot for a moment that the silent conversation he kept hearing wasn't the actual conversation they were having. And so when he leaned in very quickly and pecked Billy on the mouth with a playful kiss, he didn't process that it might have been something Billy wouldn't want him to do.

Billy laughed and grinned that mad Scottish grin, eyebrows going up.

"Hello there," he said, voice laced with chuckling, to the tune of Well, well, well, Mister Kissy McSneakyLips.

"Hi," Dom replied in a cutely high-pitched tone. He leaned forward and did it again, just a half-second slower—long enough to feel Billy's mouth touch back. When he sat back again, Billy was silent, though his eyes were smiling. This is a fun game, said Billy's gaze.

And then Dom cracked up giggling, because it was all very silly and childish and fantastic and odd how it happened so easily like that. He wondered how long their gestures would go on speaking for them, as they had always had trouble speaking for themselves.

But he didn't think for long, because Billy's jester grin faded with the heavy, hot seconds and he leaned in and pressed his lips to Dom's bottom lip softly. Now, that's serious! reacted Dom's mouth. Billy's lips fell back just a centimeter or two. Dom could feel the smile there and Billy's warmth breathing alongside it.

"What're we doin'?" Dom muttered, borderline whispering.

"Kissin'," Billy answered matter-of-factly, rubbing the tip of his nose to Dom's.

"We supposed ta be doin' that?"

"Ehm...yeah," supplied Billy helpfully.

"Mmm," was Dom's only gruff reply as he claimed another kiss, eyelids falling slowly with the weight of the day on them. (A second texture: the gritty sand that somehow stuck to the corners of Billy's mouth and crept into the kiss, salty-grinding-rubbing.)

The mental landscape was entirely quiet when they stopped, but Dom perked an ear for further comment anyway. There was none. Smiling, he rolled onto his back and sprawled on the towel, the packed sand under him wonderfully supportive. Billy lay down next to him.

And it goes on that they stay that way; stuck in the deep space between two heartbeats.

He raised his hand above his eyes, looked at the black-blue-orange-brown glitter, and then dropped the arm. He tilted his face up in the direction of the burnt, yellow light; still couldn't open his eyes to it...but this time it burned through on its own.