"Not out of reach anymore."

Shifting so that his chin rests against Tempest Quinn's chest, Gavin blinks at him as he curls a hand up to trace the line of his lover's jaw with the pads of his fingers. Gentle, where he'd ordinarily be rough, a subtle gesture of tangible proof.

A soft flush of pink blossoms across his cheeks under the praise.

"I remember that," says Gavin softly. "It was the first time I ever beat you in a fight."

He remembers the overwhelming adrenaline rush from the conquest, the brilliant flare of victory in his chest, but so too does he remember pulling Temp to his feet and clapping him on the back with a genuine sense of camaraderie.

"Wouldn't have mattered if you weren't," he admits, after a breath of silence. "I think I was still — not over him, y'know? Even if I didn't realise that's what it was. Don't think I'd have let Emma in, either, if she hadn't been crashing at my place."

It was the closeness that he needed, the ability to be vulnerable with another even if it hadn't always been by choice.

It was a choice, with Tempest Quinn.

"You have me, now." Firm, a promise. "S'all that matters."

"You have me too, Cillie." And Temp just wants to pull Cillian Quinn closer, to squeeze him tight, to roll him in a little ball and put him in his pocket, slide him between his ribs so Gavin can take the place of his heart where he belongs. It's such a guttural feeling. Temp wants to be closer to Gavin in some impossible way just to show the other how much Temp cares about him. How hot the fires of his love and passion for Gavin burn.

"If we had started dating or fooling around then... I don't think it would have went very far. I was, like, twitterpated with you, dude, but it wasn't anything too much more?" Which was hard to explain, even with all the flowery language he had just used.

"Those things were like, signs of falling? But looking back... I think... when I actually fell in love was... Well, you remember Pollet." And the name tastes bitter, he hates bringing it up in such a tender moment between them.

"That time he... with the water... and you were so scared, man. I thought you might die, too. I kind of had this moment of like, 'what would I do without him?', and that's so messed up to say and like, not realize it was deeper than just friendship. Just in that moment, the idea of a world without you in it, it made me so mad."

Cillie.

So warm in his chest, warm enough to burn out colder memories of others.

A barrier even against a name that spreads ice through his veins. Yes, he remembers Calem Pollet. He was the reason Pollet was in Hoenn at all, now.

You were so scared.

"I was," he admits, so quiet as to be almost inaudible. It's a hard thing for him to admit, fear. Fear is a weakness. But Temp makes him feel so safe, and he trusts that this vulnerability will be kept between them.

"It's what my dad used to do when he wanted to send a message."

Cold bathroom tile and a hand fisted in his hair, holding him down until he was choking, gasping, begging. Weak.

A boat out on the open water, no witnesses.

"Do you know how long it takes to drown, Cillian?"

Fingers fisted in Tempest Quinn's shirt clutch tighter at the memory.

"It's not messed up," he mumbles at last, belated. "I don't think it's messed up."

Cillian Quinn spills a pain soaked admission between them and Temp feels his grip tighten, for a moment, to the point of hurting.

Anger flares through him, indignant and hot and heady, at the idea of it.

He doesn't know details. Gavin might never tell him and that's okay, too. But the idea of water, life, the source of his whole culture and his beliefs being used for cruelty. To hurt someone he cares so much about...

Temp wants to knock Pollet's teeth out. He wants to feel bone crack as Gavin's dad begs for mercy for what he did.

Those angry and violent thoughts used to upset him more when he had them.

"I love you." It's fierce, anger simmering under the surface, but he means it so deeply. Temp feels it needs repeating, after that, an assurance. There is so much more that Temp wants to say, could say- but nothing feels like it could do as much as those three words.

Temp's grip is too-tight, painful, but at that moment it's everything Gavin needs. He focuses on that pain, on the anger that burns hot beneath his lover's tone, and lets out a shivering breath.

"I love you," he echoes, without the anger but just as fierce.

His father couldn't hurt him now. Pollet couldn't hurt him.

There is only the pain of love so brilliant that it burns, a welcome flame.

He endures it until Temp's anger smolders, then shifts to brush the tip of his finger against his lover's nose. Gentle, in comparison, teasing.

"Save that anger for the bedroom, love; it looks good on you." Gavin's grin is languid, his chin resting against the dip of Temp's collarbone. His eyes are half-lidded, weighed by exhaustion. For all his protests against sleep, he's on the brink.

"Tell me about the ocean," he requests, soft, as he listens to the rhythmic thud of Temp's heartbeat. "All the little things you love about it. I want to hear them."

I want to replace those bad memories with something more.

Cillian Quinn's touch does a good job of replacing the fire in his blood. There isn't any point in being angry now; maybe someday, if Gavin's dad ever had the misfortune of crossing his path... but not right now. His anger does embarrass him just a bit, when he thinks on it. It feels stuffy and hot when it's over.

So, instead of thinking about it, Temp tries to card his fingers through Gavin's hair and tilts his head back. It's hard to put into words why something means so much to him. It's just something he's loved every day; it's like trying to explain how a bee knows it loves flowers.

"The ocean... is our mother." Is what he finally starts with, his mind echoing back to old stories he was told around fires or under the full moon. The ocean would seem to light up those nights, as if embarrassed to be talked about, lapping gently at the pier her protest. "When the world was new, there was only the ocean. She became bored, so she made the earth and sky. When she was lonely, she made the creatures to live there... fish, birds, mice.... she created all of them. But she was very large, and they were very small, and there were so many of them, so she made us." His retelling isn't an eloquent as when the elders tell them. He hopes that Gavin understands. "She made us to help her look after the other creatures. She kissed us and gave us souls. Taught us how to love and laugh and be kind to one another. She gave us so many gifts and did her best to spoil us. Sometimes, she gets angry with us, but at the end of the day she still loves us. So, I guess I love her, too."

For Gavin, the ocean has never been kind.

It is a threat, a looming darkness without mercy, but as Tempest Quinn runs gentle fingers through his hair, Gavin tries his best to focus on the good, rather than the bad. The ocean as a source of life, rather than death.

He cannot see it as a mother. It's too far removed from his own view of the world. But it's nice, he thinks, the way Temp reveres it so.

"You see all that from the ocean?" There's no judgement in his tone. "Even though it can take as easily as it gives?"

There had been no love in the water filling his lungs, the taste of brine upon his tongue.

"... Does it bother you? My fear?"

"That and so much more. If you want to hear them, sometime I'll tell you more stories." It felt important to Temp to be able to share this with Cillian Quinn. Gavin might not ever have the same deep connections that he did, as far as Temp knew his own mother didn't, but the willingness to learn was what mattered the most.

"No, not at all. The ocean is filled with danger. She can be ferocious." He had seen the damage of hurricanes, of waves so high they could sink entire ships. He'd seen the wreckage that lay at her bottom, her own museum of human history.

He knows I'm afraid, but he doesn't think I'm weak.

It's the most important thing that Gavin internalizes in his state of shivering exhaustion. That his lover knew his fears but didn't pass judgement even when the thing he feared was one of the things Temp loved the most.

"I'd like to hear them," is barely audible, mumbled against Temp's chest. "Some time."

But for now, though he'd protested the need for sleep, the comfort of his partner guides him to slumber.

Tempest Quinn