#t1: are you sure they're even real ? they sound like something out of a fishermen's tale.

[aresenics]

they're pulling away, inked digits lingering over diego's chest in a pleasurable roam, taking map of such vastness. doe eyes glance through dark lashes, a mutter of encouragement for the man that pauses with clear anxiety for oncoming declaration. ❝ digame, ❞ he coaxes, ears open & alight for the fire that threatens to burn the taller man's throat. still, vero had always been vero. without shame. with a shimmer & then a glitter refracting against diego's pupils, slits distinguishing growing lights that consume the ocean floor in a symphony of colors. like a kitten, bell jangling around soft tufts of spotted fur, flexing its small claws & ready to jump as a laser pointer flickers across wooden flooring, vero's gasping; leaving his lover's confession lost in the wind that blows synchronized sea creatures around in a ballerina's concierto. ❝ no mames. ❞ a low whisper. he's turning around with a hurried step of boots, nearly launching himself over the deck once more, eyes black marbles in the depths of his skull as he stares. a childlike wonder overtaking the usual salacious gaze reserved for those who pursued him in a carnal fashion. the real boy who had hidden himself for decades, uncaged & released back into the wild with a hearty grin: a wolf boy on all fours. ❝ mira los de ahí ! parecen un paquete de skittles ! ❞ as he points to the colorful group a few metres out.

closed  starter​​​​​​​   ⇢​​​​​​​  𝖛𝖊𝖗𝖔 𝖉𝖊 𝖑𝖆 𝖗𝖔𝖘𝖆. ( @aresenics ! )

𝓼𝓮𝓽𝓽𝓲𝓷𝓰 . . .  summer 2006 on a borrowed sailboat, around 10pm.

𝐓𝐇𝐄  𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆  𝐁𝐎𝐗  𝐁𝐔𝐑𝐍𝐒  𝐀  𝐓𝐖𝐎-𝐁𝐘-𝐓𝐖𝐎  𝐒𝐐𝐔𝐀𝐑𝐄  into  the  place  where  it  rests  against  his  chest  even  through  two  layers  of  fabric,  tucked  safely  within  the  pocket  of  his  flannel  —  a  sharp  contrast  provided  by  the  press  of  cool  metal  in  the  form  of  the  cross  he's  worn  since  he  was  a  child,  nestled  just  a  few  inches  away  against  his  sternum.  the  difference  in  temperature  grounds  him,  keeps  him  tethered  to  the  here  &  now  despite  how  he  could  vibrate  out  of  his  skin  at  any  moment.  a  cool,  clear  night  &  calm  waters  set  a  serene  backdrop  for  what's  about  to  happen  —  what  vero  has  no  idea  is  about  to  happen.  in  retrospect,  this  wasn't  diego's  wisest  of  plans.  practically trapping  his  beloved  —  flighty,  uncontainable  vero,  skittish  &  wily  by  nature  —  on  a  boat  out  in  the  middle  of  the  bay  so  he  can  pop  the  question.  diego  knows  little  about  where  vero  came  from,  but  wherever  it  was,  it  ingrained  within  him  an  instinctual  need  for  means  of  egress  —  always  with  his  back  to  the  corner,  dark  eyes  flitting  around  in  calm  cautiousness.  it  should  chill  him,  but  instead,  diego  finds  a  warmth  flooding  from  his  fingertips  to  his  cheekbones  at  the  idea  of  vero  bending  one  of  so  few  rules  he  has  in  order  to  spend  a  night  with  him  on  a  borrowed,  worn-down  sailboat.  “  they  should  be  visible  soon,  ”  diego  calls,  voice  strained  as  he  pulls  the  last  sail  in,  stationing  the  boat  amongst  a  sandbar.  he  hopes  —  prays  —  that  he's  chosen  the  right  night.  it's  only  once  a  year,  &  he's  gotten  it  wrong  before.  meticulous  planning  &  several  pairs  of  eyes  (  in  the  form  of  his  meddling  sisters  )  keeping  careful  watch  of  the  weather  leaves  him  fairly  confident  that this  is  it.  he  moves,  perhaps  a  little  bashfully,  to  the  bow  of  the  boat  where  vero  stands,  leaning  over  the  railing  to  peer  into  the  water.  diego  —  still  shy,  somehow,  even  after  a  year  of  learning  each  other  —  sidles  up  behind  him,  curling  one  strong  arm  around  the  smaller's  waist  to  gently  tug  him  backwards.  “  i'm  afraid  you'll  fall,  ”  an  admission  that  comes  out  meek,  as  if  it's  an  apology  for  even  attempting  to  control  vero's  movements.  a  concealed  adjustment  of  his  shirt  serves  as  a  subtle  attempt  to  assure  the  ring  is  still  safe  in  its  temporary  home  —  the  press  of  the  box  into  his  ribs  assures  him  so.  a  careful  move  to  spin  vero  in  his  arms,  an  awestruck  little  smile  on  his  face;  he  wonders  if  his  eagerness  betrays  him,  if  it's  obvious  that  his  nerves  are  alight  with  anticipation.  regardless,  he  leans  down  for  a  kiss,  overcome  with  a  devotion  so  intense  that  he  simply  can't  go  without  verbalizing  it  any  longer:   “  mi  amor,  ”  words  pressed  almost  urgently  into  vero's  lips  before  he  pulls  away  to  speak,  forehead  resting  gently  against  the  other  man's  temple.  “  i  know  it  hasn't  been  long  .  .  .  ”  .  .  .  &  if  he  wasn't  so  enraptured  with  the  man  in  front  of  him,  he  might've  more  quickly  caught  sight  of  the  way  the  water  around  them  begins  to  glow.