Coastal Trip
Oct. 16th, 2021 07:35 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
rage_rekkerFor 101 Ways to Say I love You #50 "I would go anywhere with you."
Bjorn had woke up wanting to see California because it wouldn't be long before the tour moved on. Rekker didn't know what the two were going to do once that happened and the ginger tried to ignore it while he packed up the back seat with a cooler filled with, mostly beer, but also sandwiches and some other things to spend the day out on Highway 1. He loved the coast and out of all the places he wanted to show the Swede, the beaches and the ocean were it.
That had been hours earlier. Bjorn had taken who knew how many pictures and they had stopped several times, mostly at boutiques Rekker had no interest in. This trip wasn't for him though and he felt good about the grinning singer in the passenger seat. They had fallen silent the last few miles and Rekker didn't mind at all. He loved to drive and feel the wind rippling through the open windows and T-Tops. Maybe that was something he shared with his older brother, a love for driving. He'd fallen into a rhythm of just watching the scenery roll by and indulging in the smell of the ocean salt in the air.
Truth was, for all the drinking and other less than ideal things the Swede encouraged him to do, Rekker found himself feeling a little better in general. He still wasn't sure why; the upbeat personality Bjorn seemed incapable of losing, someone hounding him to take his medication, or the endorphins from so much desperate sex? Whatever it was, he felt better and his therapist thought, even with the slip ups and the bout of cutting, the relationship was good for the older Brit.
He was losing himself to the thoughts, reflecting on questions his therapist had asked or things she had said he should try to think about. He was thinking about Solvang earlier in the day and watching the Swede get really confused about something that looked, sounded and smelled like a Scandinavian country but was on the hot coast of California. The childishness in the way he lit up and had an ungodly amount of booze filled chocolates at some Danish style chocolatier had caused Rekker's heart to thump hard in his chest, still did thinking back on it, and this wasn't accompanied by lust. His therapist's question kicked around in his head. “What do you want out of this relationship you're forming?”
He glanced at the Swede who was leaning way out the window, hair flying in the wind as he tried to take pictures of something. They were in the midst of Big Surr, going over one of the bridges between rock faces, with the ocean and beach jutting inland below them. It was a beautiful place. Even alone Rekker came up here from time to time just to clear his head. As his eyes turned back to the road the question rushed back and his chest tightened. Fuck! Maybe he was falling in love but he didn't know. The feelings in the past were always wrapped up in so much because of his illness, his trauma, and his past partners. His love for bitchy and demanding had no rhyme or reason and, to date, had not been the best for his mental health but here he was again.
Bjorn's voice caught his attention as the Swede tugged at his hand to look at the ocean. It was vast, out endlessly to the horizon and flaming yellow in the mid, near late, afternoon sun. He barely looked at the ocean aside to recognize how beautiful the singer's pink, wind flushed cheeks and glossy pink lips looked framed in the brilliant white of his hair and the deep blue of the sky. The chest tightness came back to the point that Rekker thought it might be the start of a panic attack. He laced their fingers, holding tight to Bjorn's hand while he focused on driving. The road would start winding down to the seaside again and the rocky coastline.
Bjorn finally sat back in the seat but held just as tightly to his hand. He was going to leave and Rekker knew, mentally, that it had nothing to do with him. He'd left girlfriends to tour, they all had, and now he was going to be the one left while the Swede went to tour. He didn't want to think about it. The whole thing made him feel angry inside. He knew, though denied, what he wanted from this relationship. He wanted the Swede to stay but it was wrong to even express it. He had a tour and a band that depended on him showing up, and still Rekker wished for it to be possible. The tightness turned to a stomach churning feeling like he might cry. His emotions were in full turmoil, choppy as the white waves rushing into the coast. There were moments of high when he thought about the Swede in his arms when he opened his eyes in the morning and they plummeted into fear and abandonment when he tried to put realism into the equation. He was a fucking mess and his mind latched on to that negative thought, then spiraled. There was no reason someone with so much life and energy would want to stay around a disaster like him. The only thing he was sure he had brought the Swedish singer was the terror when he had found Rekker bloody on the porch.
That felt like truth more than the fact he was falling desperately in love with the bitchy, bleach blonde, Swede in his passenger seat. Self loathing always came easier than anything else, than any other feeling. The only thoughts he had was the expression of worry on Bjorn's face when he came home to Rekker having sliced himself up. The same feelings he had now had caused those cuts, caused his desire to damage anything he thought was good. But the hand in his where they rested on the center console felt so good even in the hell-storm of his self hate. Bjorn's touch felt good.
“What are you thinking about?”
Bjorn's voice cut through the wind and his thoughts. “Nothing.” He answered without any desire to talk or reveal what his mind was on right now.
“You're a liar. I know what you're thinking about.”
Rekker wasn't ready for the Swede to reach over and grab his crotch, hand shoved tight between his legs. The Brit swerved on the dangerously curvy road from surprise.
“You can't do that while I'm driving.” Rekker scolded while regaining control and slipping his hand out of Bjorn's to push the hand from his crotch. His pulse was racing, adrenaline surging which cleared his head of some of the negativity. It brought a full alertness that overwhelmed the internal grinding, demanded he pay attention to here, the current and concreate.
“Fine!” Bjorn sounded bitchy as a teenager and it caused the Brit to glance over at him, to see that his expression perfectly fit the tone of voice, right down to the defiantly crossed arms. “Then stop driving.”
“What in the middle of the road, you crazy fuck?” Rekker snapped. They fought sometimes, verbally snipping at each other. It didn't really have any effect on their affection as far as Rekker could tell.
“No, you ginger bastard.” The Swede sighed like an exaggerated teenage girl in some high school based movie then fell silent. They were farther along now, where the rocky coast gave way to some beach between castle like spires and crags. “The Beach.”
“What?” Rekker had drifted off into this thoughts again while staring at the double middle line of the road.
“The beach!” Bjorn shouted as if louder would make him more understood. “Can we get down there?”
Rekker glanced over to see where the Swede was wildly pointing a short way up the coast from where they were. “I don't know.”
It was an honest answer since not every sliver of beach had a way down or a pull off but surely there would be one soon enough.
“Don't lie you bastard.” Bjorn's words had bite but without looking he could hear the smile in the Swede's words. “I know you know every beach here.”
It was true. In fact, he had bragged about that at one point. These ones he didn't know well though since they were for swimming, mostly, not surfing. However, soon enough there was a road that turned off toward the coast, angling steeply down. It was a good candidate for getting down to one of the beaches. This late in the day, nearing dinner, they would likely be empty as all the tourists looked for somewhere to eat. Bjorn was squirming around in the passenger seat but the road was too steep and windy, between rock faces and trees for the Brit to take his eyes off the road to see what he was doing.
Rekker pulled into a concrete parking pad that was right on the sand, sand obscured the edge of it. He barely got the car into park before Bjorn was climbing into his lap. His hand brushing against bare thighs as he put the manual shift into park. Of course, he has stripped down to just a little tank top and panties, now straddling Rekker in the driver's seat. The tank top was already coming off. That explained the bitching at least. Leaning up he kissed the Swede while he felt the soft fingers and manicured nails unbuttoning his shirt and shoving it off his shoulders. Car sex at some random pull off was something he hadn't done since he first came to California over 20 years ago.
The thought was enough that he had to break the kiss to laugh but his hands were down on those soft white thighs. Bjorn sat there laughing for a moment, erupting into giggles that shook him as he ran his nails roughly down Rekker's chest. The Brit watched those hands that had all too quickly learned his weak points. They went down farther, popping the button on his jeans and Rekker felt the flush of arousal as he realized the Swede might have a mind to ride his lap right here in the parking lot, in the driver's seat. He took a ragged breath when his eyes turned up to his blonde lover and the way his body stretched out with his hands up on the edge of the open T-Tops.
Bjorn was still giggling when he suddenly pulled himself up and stepped on the door before bounding out onto the sand in just his panties, running for the ocean.
“You fucking BITCH!” Rekker growled from being left at this moment. His mind kicked into high gear as he shoved the driver's side door open and reached in the glove box to get the key strap for his ankle that he used while surfing. He stood up, stripping down to his boxers and staring at the Swede now standing in ankle deep water with waves running riot around his legs. The wind carrying his giggles inland. He wrapped the strap on his ankle and walked toward the ocean in just his boxers since he was in too much of a hurry to fish his swim shorts out of the bag in the back seat.
Bjorn had all but doubled over in laughter while Rekker walked toward him, hands busily putting his long hair up into a ponytail. He was going to get that blonde brat for leaving him in the car like that. He got closer and Bjorn stepped out farther to knee deep water before Rekker charged at him full speed. He jumped on the back of the fleeing Swede, toppling him face first into the water. Rekker went down too, struggling to surface after.
The Swede came up, soaked hair and running make up, sputtering as he struggled to wipe his hair back out of his face. “What the hell was that?”
Rekker laughed at the sassy tone while drifting out to deeper water. “What was you climbing out of my fucking lap like a teasing whore?”
Rekker shot the words back while laughing at the disoriented singer. This was not the first time Rekker had thrown him into water. In fact, it could be argued that he did every time an opportunity arose to throw the Swede in. Bjorn was walking toward him, even in the water there was a posturing sway to his movements that had Rekker laughing even more. The guitarist dipped down underwater, disappearing, only to reappear with his arms around the Swedes thighs, lifting him out of the water.
“Put me down!” Bjorn wiggled wildly and it only got worse when Rekker kissed his navel, one of the ticklish spots he'd learned early on.
“Ok.” Rekker laughed and shifted quickly to toss the Swede backwards into the water.
“You bastard!” He came up yelling again especially when he saw the Brit snorting with laughter.
Bjorn came in and tried to shove Rekker off his feet but he lived in the water when he could. This was his element. Another shove from the slimmer singer and Rekker grabbed him, arms around the middle and took a kiss that was quickly returned. The Swede wrapping his arms around Rekker's neck and his legs around his waist. Rekker paused to push the matted blonde hair out of Bjorn's face, which soon had the Swede returning the favor and pushing Rekker's wisps of red curls back.
“What did you think I was going to do at the beach?” Rekker couldn't stop laughing, maybe the release of tension from the earlier thoughts or just his love of the ocean and safe feeling in the water leaving him feeling giddy. He just nestled against Bjorn while the waves lapped around him. This was what he wanted from this relationship, whatever nameless feeling inside was. Whatever what they were doing was. This was what he wanted.
Bjorn had woke up wanting to see California because it wouldn't be long before the tour moved on. Rekker didn't know what the two were going to do once that happened and the ginger tried to ignore it while he packed up the back seat with a cooler filled with, mostly beer, but also sandwiches and some other things to spend the day out on Highway 1. He loved the coast and out of all the places he wanted to show the Swede, the beaches and the ocean were it.
That had been hours earlier. Bjorn had taken who knew how many pictures and they had stopped several times, mostly at boutiques Rekker had no interest in. This trip wasn't for him though and he felt good about the grinning singer in the passenger seat. They had fallen silent the last few miles and Rekker didn't mind at all. He loved to drive and feel the wind rippling through the open windows and T-Tops. Maybe that was something he shared with his older brother, a love for driving. He'd fallen into a rhythm of just watching the scenery roll by and indulging in the smell of the ocean salt in the air.
Truth was, for all the drinking and other less than ideal things the Swede encouraged him to do, Rekker found himself feeling a little better in general. He still wasn't sure why; the upbeat personality Bjorn seemed incapable of losing, someone hounding him to take his medication, or the endorphins from so much desperate sex? Whatever it was, he felt better and his therapist thought, even with the slip ups and the bout of cutting, the relationship was good for the older Brit.
He was losing himself to the thoughts, reflecting on questions his therapist had asked or things she had said he should try to think about. He was thinking about Solvang earlier in the day and watching the Swede get really confused about something that looked, sounded and smelled like a Scandinavian country but was on the hot coast of California. The childishness in the way he lit up and had an ungodly amount of booze filled chocolates at some Danish style chocolatier had caused Rekker's heart to thump hard in his chest, still did thinking back on it, and this wasn't accompanied by lust. His therapist's question kicked around in his head. “What do you want out of this relationship you're forming?”
He glanced at the Swede who was leaning way out the window, hair flying in the wind as he tried to take pictures of something. They were in the midst of Big Surr, going over one of the bridges between rock faces, with the ocean and beach jutting inland below them. It was a beautiful place. Even alone Rekker came up here from time to time just to clear his head. As his eyes turned back to the road the question rushed back and his chest tightened. Fuck! Maybe he was falling in love but he didn't know. The feelings in the past were always wrapped up in so much because of his illness, his trauma, and his past partners. His love for bitchy and demanding had no rhyme or reason and, to date, had not been the best for his mental health but here he was again.
Bjorn's voice caught his attention as the Swede tugged at his hand to look at the ocean. It was vast, out endlessly to the horizon and flaming yellow in the mid, near late, afternoon sun. He barely looked at the ocean aside to recognize how beautiful the singer's pink, wind flushed cheeks and glossy pink lips looked framed in the brilliant white of his hair and the deep blue of the sky. The chest tightness came back to the point that Rekker thought it might be the start of a panic attack. He laced their fingers, holding tight to Bjorn's hand while he focused on driving. The road would start winding down to the seaside again and the rocky coastline.
Bjorn finally sat back in the seat but held just as tightly to his hand. He was going to leave and Rekker knew, mentally, that it had nothing to do with him. He'd left girlfriends to tour, they all had, and now he was going to be the one left while the Swede went to tour. He didn't want to think about it. The whole thing made him feel angry inside. He knew, though denied, what he wanted from this relationship. He wanted the Swede to stay but it was wrong to even express it. He had a tour and a band that depended on him showing up, and still Rekker wished for it to be possible. The tightness turned to a stomach churning feeling like he might cry. His emotions were in full turmoil, choppy as the white waves rushing into the coast. There were moments of high when he thought about the Swede in his arms when he opened his eyes in the morning and they plummeted into fear and abandonment when he tried to put realism into the equation. He was a fucking mess and his mind latched on to that negative thought, then spiraled. There was no reason someone with so much life and energy would want to stay around a disaster like him. The only thing he was sure he had brought the Swedish singer was the terror when he had found Rekker bloody on the porch.
That felt like truth more than the fact he was falling desperately in love with the bitchy, bleach blonde, Swede in his passenger seat. Self loathing always came easier than anything else, than any other feeling. The only thoughts he had was the expression of worry on Bjorn's face when he came home to Rekker having sliced himself up. The same feelings he had now had caused those cuts, caused his desire to damage anything he thought was good. But the hand in his where they rested on the center console felt so good even in the hell-storm of his self hate. Bjorn's touch felt good.
“What are you thinking about?”
Bjorn's voice cut through the wind and his thoughts. “Nothing.” He answered without any desire to talk or reveal what his mind was on right now.
“You're a liar. I know what you're thinking about.”
Rekker wasn't ready for the Swede to reach over and grab his crotch, hand shoved tight between his legs. The Brit swerved on the dangerously curvy road from surprise.
“You can't do that while I'm driving.” Rekker scolded while regaining control and slipping his hand out of Bjorn's to push the hand from his crotch. His pulse was racing, adrenaline surging which cleared his head of some of the negativity. It brought a full alertness that overwhelmed the internal grinding, demanded he pay attention to here, the current and concreate.
“Fine!” Bjorn sounded bitchy as a teenager and it caused the Brit to glance over at him, to see that his expression perfectly fit the tone of voice, right down to the defiantly crossed arms. “Then stop driving.”
“What in the middle of the road, you crazy fuck?” Rekker snapped. They fought sometimes, verbally snipping at each other. It didn't really have any effect on their affection as far as Rekker could tell.
“No, you ginger bastard.” The Swede sighed like an exaggerated teenage girl in some high school based movie then fell silent. They were farther along now, where the rocky coast gave way to some beach between castle like spires and crags. “The Beach.”
“What?” Rekker had drifted off into this thoughts again while staring at the double middle line of the road.
“The beach!” Bjorn shouted as if louder would make him more understood. “Can we get down there?”
Rekker glanced over to see where the Swede was wildly pointing a short way up the coast from where they were. “I don't know.”
It was an honest answer since not every sliver of beach had a way down or a pull off but surely there would be one soon enough.
“Don't lie you bastard.” Bjorn's words had bite but without looking he could hear the smile in the Swede's words. “I know you know every beach here.”
It was true. In fact, he had bragged about that at one point. These ones he didn't know well though since they were for swimming, mostly, not surfing. However, soon enough there was a road that turned off toward the coast, angling steeply down. It was a good candidate for getting down to one of the beaches. This late in the day, nearing dinner, they would likely be empty as all the tourists looked for somewhere to eat. Bjorn was squirming around in the passenger seat but the road was too steep and windy, between rock faces and trees for the Brit to take his eyes off the road to see what he was doing.
Rekker pulled into a concrete parking pad that was right on the sand, sand obscured the edge of it. He barely got the car into park before Bjorn was climbing into his lap. His hand brushing against bare thighs as he put the manual shift into park. Of course, he has stripped down to just a little tank top and panties, now straddling Rekker in the driver's seat. The tank top was already coming off. That explained the bitching at least. Leaning up he kissed the Swede while he felt the soft fingers and manicured nails unbuttoning his shirt and shoving it off his shoulders. Car sex at some random pull off was something he hadn't done since he first came to California over 20 years ago.
The thought was enough that he had to break the kiss to laugh but his hands were down on those soft white thighs. Bjorn sat there laughing for a moment, erupting into giggles that shook him as he ran his nails roughly down Rekker's chest. The Brit watched those hands that had all too quickly learned his weak points. They went down farther, popping the button on his jeans and Rekker felt the flush of arousal as he realized the Swede might have a mind to ride his lap right here in the parking lot, in the driver's seat. He took a ragged breath when his eyes turned up to his blonde lover and the way his body stretched out with his hands up on the edge of the open T-Tops.
Bjorn was still giggling when he suddenly pulled himself up and stepped on the door before bounding out onto the sand in just his panties, running for the ocean.
“You fucking BITCH!” Rekker growled from being left at this moment. His mind kicked into high gear as he shoved the driver's side door open and reached in the glove box to get the key strap for his ankle that he used while surfing. He stood up, stripping down to his boxers and staring at the Swede now standing in ankle deep water with waves running riot around his legs. The wind carrying his giggles inland. He wrapped the strap on his ankle and walked toward the ocean in just his boxers since he was in too much of a hurry to fish his swim shorts out of the bag in the back seat.
Bjorn had all but doubled over in laughter while Rekker walked toward him, hands busily putting his long hair up into a ponytail. He was going to get that blonde brat for leaving him in the car like that. He got closer and Bjorn stepped out farther to knee deep water before Rekker charged at him full speed. He jumped on the back of the fleeing Swede, toppling him face first into the water. Rekker went down too, struggling to surface after.
The Swede came up, soaked hair and running make up, sputtering as he struggled to wipe his hair back out of his face. “What the hell was that?”
Rekker laughed at the sassy tone while drifting out to deeper water. “What was you climbing out of my fucking lap like a teasing whore?”
Rekker shot the words back while laughing at the disoriented singer. This was not the first time Rekker had thrown him into water. In fact, it could be argued that he did every time an opportunity arose to throw the Swede in. Bjorn was walking toward him, even in the water there was a posturing sway to his movements that had Rekker laughing even more. The guitarist dipped down underwater, disappearing, only to reappear with his arms around the Swedes thighs, lifting him out of the water.
“Put me down!” Bjorn wiggled wildly and it only got worse when Rekker kissed his navel, one of the ticklish spots he'd learned early on.
“Ok.” Rekker laughed and shifted quickly to toss the Swede backwards into the water.
“You bastard!” He came up yelling again especially when he saw the Brit snorting with laughter.
Bjorn came in and tried to shove Rekker off his feet but he lived in the water when he could. This was his element. Another shove from the slimmer singer and Rekker grabbed him, arms around the middle and took a kiss that was quickly returned. The Swede wrapping his arms around Rekker's neck and his legs around his waist. Rekker paused to push the matted blonde hair out of Bjorn's face, which soon had the Swede returning the favor and pushing Rekker's wisps of red curls back.
“What did you think I was going to do at the beach?” Rekker couldn't stop laughing, maybe the release of tension from the earlier thoughts or just his love of the ocean and safe feeling in the water leaving him feeling giddy. He just nestled against Bjorn while the waves lapped around him. This was what he wanted from this relationship, whatever nameless feeling inside was. Whatever what they were doing was. This was what he wanted.
