The sun catches on the water, sparkling and bright and blinding, but nothing can compare to the radiance of Aion’s smile when he tells Eros that he is all he wants. He feels as though he could sprout wings of his own. Aion doesn’t need anyone else: no one smarter, prettier, kinder—doesn’t even want them. Just me, he thinks, with a dreamy smile.
He’s still smiling when they kiss, and still smiling after. He can’t remember ever being this happy, this carefree and at peace with his life. He doesn’t want it to stop. Something deep in his chest tells him it never will.
But Aion takes off down the shore and into the ocean, sending a spray of wet sand across Eros’ white coat. If a game of tag is what he wants, a game of tag is what he’ll get, Eros decides, chasing him into the shallow water with a splash aimed to hit.
And so they spend the day—playing in the waves, lounging on the sand. The world, the Gods, Aion—no one could have ever planned a day more perfect.
@aion
