Florida
Summer
Kissing Nick
is like biting into summer, half-cruel, half relentlessly beautiful. Justin
knows in the back of his head that he is just as beautiful, just as cruel, but
Nick. Nick is somehow different, a blinding shining sunshower.
Because no
matter how much Nick wants to be romantic, poetic, artistic, deep, he is only as
deep as the shallow end of the ocean at noon. He is a pure Florida summer,
undistilled, like when Justin was a kid. Uncomplicated, all beauty and heat and
no reason.
When Justin kisses his way down Nick’s body, he tastes ocean
water, oranges, warm yellow beaches.
When Nick flips him over, presses
his face into clean white sheets and fucks him, Justin wants to cry because its
scorching sun, painful and exhilarating all at once. Nick kisses the long arch
of his back, his shoulders, and it feels like he’s lying on hot sand with the
sun streaming all over his face, blinding him with white-hot beauty and
burn.
When Nick leaves, Justin feels sunburned all over, raw and red and
ugly.
But like a sunburn, it always heals, and he’s always left craving
summer, and sunshine, and oranges.