“A lot,” he confessed, tapping the cooler where he’d stowed the sunblock in order to keep it refreshingly chilled. “Like all the SPF 75 at the drug store. And some SPF 100. I don’t want you to burn.” He gave the umbrella a firm shake, then squawked as it clicked and closed on him, forcing him to fight it open again.

The truth was he enjoyed spending time with Alex no matter the time of day-- but Memo was a child of the sun. He loved being in it, its warmth and illumination, and there was something happy and jovial about Vitamin D that just made him smile. It was almost downright dangerous for Alex, though, being so fair complected.

“It’s-- fine,” he insisted through clenched teeth, “just-- want you to be-- safe.” He was sweating from forcing the damn thing up and open but finally, finally, blessedly, it stayed. It shadowed them both with protective darkness, with plenty of space on and around the beach blanket. Memo let it go with shaking hands, preparing to grab it should it fall down again.

“Thanks for coming out today,” Memo said, nervously watching the umbrella as he lowered to a cautious seat. “I know it’s not your preferred weather.”

Alexei Ivanov

☉

He turned to look at Alex, incredulous. Of course, it had never occurred to him to ask if Alex had a freakin’ umbrella. “I was more worried about--,” he started, then stopped, trying to think about what he wanted to say, “I didn’t want you to--,” nope, that didn’t sound right either. Arceus on a popsicle, feelings were hard.

He didn’t really want to impose, is what he was trying to say. He liked their dates and he was, if he had to be honest, pretty much terrified that Alex would say no if there were any complications. The only way he could ensure everything went smoothly is if he did everything himself.

But he couldn't just say that. He couldn't just say I'm absolutely terrified you'll say no to hanging out with me.

Wow, relationships sure did expose a lot of things about your character, huh? It was a double-edged sword. At all times, he felt so full of love and affection he could barely speak and, at all times, he felt the dread of losing it like a noose around his neck.

He just ended with a shrug and said. “I guess I didn’t think about it.” Then he smiled. “A big sunflower one checks out, though.” For someone who had an aversion to the sun, Alex sure did like sunflowers.

His expression faded into something just north of sullen as he looked up at the big umbrella-- which was staying open, thankfully. “Yeah. Probably. We can use yours next time.”

Alexei Ivanov

☉

Memo’s eyes fell to Alex, landing like a ton of bricks.

“Trust me,” he said, “I never forget that you’re here.”

No, the problem was much the opposite, in fact. He literally could not stop thinking about Alex. Being with him-- spending time with him-- was the most amazing thing that had ever happened to him.

He was just a lovesick fool.

And then Alex asked him to put sunblock on his back and his whole brain just crashed. Memo.exe has stopped working. His mouth went dry; he was staring, and he realized it at the same time as he remembered how to move his jaw, and his teeth closed together with a clack.

“I--,” he tried, swallowing his tongue. Oh god. Oh, god. Okay, act cool, act cool.

“Y-,”

Far too late to act cool. Brain straight down the gutter, an iridescent marble of indecency. Far too late to grab that train of thought and haul it back into normal land; a simple act of platonic care that he’s taken and tangled into a knot. Because it is a perfectly normal request, but it’s-- it’s the intimacy of the thing. The trust.

The proximity to bare skin and warmth of the person he cares most about in the world.

And he was pretty built up, right? Years and years of, just, horrendous examples of interpersonal physical contact. Applying sunscreen should not make his brain do dial-up noises like this!

He chews his tongue. Function. Function like a normal human being, you reprobate. “Yeah, are you-- do you want to put your scarf in the cooler? It’ll get nice and chilled and probably feel really good, after.”

There, that was human conversation. Breathe, Marceliño. We can do this.

Alexei Ivanov

☉

“Oh, I bought some extra plastic bags for chips and things,” Guillermo announced, ungodly grateful to have something productive to be doing with his hands and eyes and brain besides looking and touching and thinking about touching Alex. He dug around in his picnic pack for the promised box of gallon ziplocs, pulled one out, and shook it open.

“We can put it in here, then it won’t get wet but will still get cold.” He took Alex’s scarf from him, forcing himself to look at the stacked square of fabric and not the icy pale column of Alex’s neck. It wasn’t the scars (he didn’t care about the scars) but he had only ever seen Alex without the scarf that one time, mid-breakdown, and he knew the other man felt weird and on display without the protective covering. Actually, that was the only time Memo’d seen most of Alex’s skin, was when he was recounting the tale of his attack and doing a play-by-play complete with disfigurement visuals.

Memo felt warmed by the trust of the simple action of Alex taking his damn clothes off in a completely non-sexual fashion. But also kind of in a sexual one, too. Hey, he was dumb and he thought his boyfriend companion was hot, so sue him.

Once the scarf was safely jacketed in a protective layer of plastic, Guillermo squeezed the air out and zipped the top, sticking it in the cooler underneath the (still high, but steadily shrinking) stack of ice cream sandwiches, mochi, and various ice implements. If it seemed like he was moving slowly that’s because he was, psyching himself up for the very normal and platonic way he was going to put sunscreen on Alex’s back nevermind like this seemed like a scene from a stupid rom-com and he felt very much like the stupid rom-com protagonist right now.

Alexei Ivanov

☉

He inhaled evenly through his nose and slowly exhaled out his mouth, squeezing his eyes shut for a few beats to remind himself to calm down. Calm down, this is a perfectly normal, platonic request, and you can do it without being a freak.

“Sorry!” he practically squeaked, turning to grab the bottle of sunblock and remembering to practice his calm, normal, not-a-freak breathing, “Just daydreaming.” Which wasn’t a lie.

The sunblock was cool and smelled faintly of coconut as he hovered for a second, wondering how to go about it. Hands or back first? Which was the normal, platonic, not a freak way to do it?

Eventually, he ended up applying it straight to Alex’s back in a little zig-zag pattern down to the small of it, and he had the ridiculous image of frosting a cake. Once that was done he snapped the bottle closed, mentally said a little prayer for the deliverance of chaste thoughts, and finally, finally, finally, went to work, starting from the center of his back between Alex’s shoulders. He ran one hand up the column of his neck, thumb pressing gently to smudge the sunblock up under the spread of his hair, the other dragging across Alex’s left shoulderblade and around the curve of his shoulder.

Inhale, exhale. Not too audibly. Don’t make it weird. Chaste thoughts, chaste thoughts.

Alexei Ivanov

☉

Oh, god.

Oh, god.

Think normal thoughts. You’re not a freak. You’renotafreak--

He was losing this battle, rapidly; as he followed the curve of Alex’s right shoulder, over the acromion; his left hand trails over the swell of Alex’s shoulderblade and down his spinal erectors, thumb a gentle but insistent pressure alongside the ridge of his vertebra.

And that was before Alex started making noise.

“Ah--.”

His fingertips stilled, featherlight, on Alex’s skin, his slightly-north-of-wanton moaning doing fuck all for Memo’s resolve. Heat shot straight through him, pooling in his stomach, and his mantra of chaste thoughts shattered into a thousand pieces. Because, oh god, if this is what he sounded like just getting sunscreen applied imagine what he sounded like when--

--he shook his head and exhaled a shaky breath, and realized he’d been still for a beat longer than normal. He was at a crux, a precipice, and he could either abandon ship or keep going.

So, Memo being Memo, he doubled down.

“Yeah?” His voice was strong, with just the hint of breathiness, an unavoidable tenure with how stupid turned on he was. He did a preliminary swipe down the rest of Alex’s back, making sure he was doing his job of actually applying sunscreen, before refocusing at the apex of his spine. He presses firmer, rubbing small, direct circles into the muscle at the base of Alex’s neck, fingertips gentle pulses on the well of his shoulders.

“Tell me if it’s too much,” he said, leaning in just a bit, digging with the heel of his palm and moving up, then back down again with little thumb circles in a proper massage.

Alexei Ivanov

☉