rareslash | "Sugar and Salt" - Big Top

Title: Sugar and Salt
Author: theratman
Fandom: Big Top
Rating: R (for sex)
Pairing: Randall/Bacardi
Warnings: Contains an explicit sex scene.
About: Randall searches a deserted beach for Bacardi, but the mink ends up finding him - and he wants to make up for lost time. But are they always destined to be alone?
Note: Also posted at contrelamontre , for the Water challenge.

Sugar and Salt

The night was raw and wet as Randall Flan made his way down the lonely dock of Port Usher. No one came here anymore, and the once-prosperous fish market had long since been abandoned. It seemed even the fish had left the drab stretch of gravel and rotted wood; nothing lived here, not even gulls, and the emptiness made Randall feel as if he was treading on someone's grave, stomping over bodies and ghosts buried somewhere beneath the vast expanse of gray rock. He had come looking for Bacardi, the mink, but standing on the wet dock with the only sound that of the crashing of crystalline waves against jutting black rocks made him feel as if he really ought to be worrying about losing himself out here.

The air was cold and wet, like after the rain, but despite the gray clouds hanging in the gunmetal sky there had not been a drop of rain since he had arrived. The water was all from the churning surf, beating on the gravelly beach and splashing onto the crumbling wood of the dock. His boots squeaked and slid now and then as he walked, the trecherous boards waiting for a moment to toss him into the hungry surf to be devoured.

A sigh fell from the feline's lips, a slight shiver dancing up his spine. He was weary from travel and days of sleeplessness; his bones ached within him, his dark eyes feeling hot and grainy, as if they were filled with salt. He spotted a boarded-up shop just down the harbour from him, with a worn red sign and faded yellow calligraphy sporting a long overhanging roof. At the moment it was the best he could ask for, so he made his way over the rotted booth, lying down stiffly under the overhang in a nest of shadows. He felt curiously lonely as he stared out at the vast plain of brackish water, almost sad as the white froth broke like candy glass when it hit the warbled rocks that lined the shore. His mind seemed to drift in and out of consciousness for a while, following the pattern of the ever-rocking ocean, until his vision blurred and doubled and grew dark and he drifted into the pleasant warmth of his subconscious.

"Randall."

Randall twitched at the sound of the low voice near his ear. Not fully awake, he wondered dreamily if he had imagined the velvet sound, if it had been nothing more than a fabrication of his dreaming mind. He drew in a breath - the sweet smell of malt liquor ghosted into his lungs, familiar and pleasant. Frowning, he opened his eyes.

Bacardi was crouched over him, his snub nose almost touching, his fire-gold eyes glowing like twin lanterns. "Bacardi!" Randall gasped out, jumping, his heart suddenly pounding in his chest so hard that it felt his ribs were being pumiced to dust. The mink smiled coolly at him, a strand of silver-black hair falling over his eyes and tickling against the blonde's face.

"'S about time you woke up," Bacardi teased, bringing his body closer to Randall, so that their stomachs were touching.

"Jesus," Randall muttered, shaking his head. "We've been looking for you forever. What-" His question was cut short as Bacardi's lips came over his mouth, warmth spreading between them. Randall let a soft sigh escape into Bacardi's mouth, letting his tongue probe deep, hungry and wanting. The heady taste of malt filled his mouth, arousing his every sense as memories flooded his mind, his heart beating faster in his chest. As the mink's own hot tongue writhed in his mouth Randall could feel nimble fingers undoing the buttons of his shirt, sliding over his nipples and ribs, making his hips arch by reflex as his cock grew hard against Bacardi's closeness. Finally they broke the kiss, panting, Bacardi's breath falling hot and wet on Randall’s face as he tugged off his own shirt, revealing his narrow chest and pale, soft belly. His teeth were glistening in phantom moonlight, his amber eyes glowing with heated fervour. He stripped himself of his pants, his silvery manhood reared up against himself, already damp and dripping. Randall clenched his teeth at the sight, his own flesh responding all the more as animal hunger coursed through his veins. Bacardi smiled knowingly, and slaked his tongue momentarily behind Randall's ear, growling hungrily.

Randall's lips parted just slightly, his breath sucking into burning lungs so that he could almost taste the sweetness of the wiry man, feeling the stinging bite of ocean on his tongue despite that they were far from the crashing waves. Bacardi's silken fingers slid easily over the blonde's skin, easing down his trousers, flesh mingling as his hands caressed Randall's most intimate bits, bringing a soft purr from the smaller man. Bacardi's eyes were flame-bright, hungry, but his demeanour was easy and calm - he was biding his time, enjoying the eager gasps and mewls from his lover, trapped beneath him.

Slowly, almost playfully but with an air of predatory lust, the silver-haired man sluiced his tongue along Randall's flushed cheek, licking him about his ear and neck, gentleness barely disguising animal roughness as he pinned the smaller man to the damp wood of the dock. "Oh, God," Randall found himself murmuring, almost involentarilly, as sharp electric shocks jolted through his thin frame from between his legs. His fingers dug into Bacardi's wrists, clamping down on the fine bones, his hips arching as Bacardi's tongue drew ever closer to Randall's erection. Blood was crashing in his ears, pounding behind his eyes, harder than the waves on the rock. The commixed smell of saltwater and flesh filled his brain, drugging him until it was all he knew - the taste of Bacardi's mouth, the scent of his skin, the caress of velvety fingers and tongue as they smoothed over his body. Finally after eternity, Randall felt the delicious, familiar heat as his lover entered him, filling his brain with buzzing, all-consuming electric pleasure. Long fingers wrapped around his cock, and Bacardi's hands guided him higher and higher until his mind seemed an explosion of light. A cry tore itself from his throat, not of pain but of lust and love and undeniable longing, drowning in the crash of the surf as his seed spilled against the softness of Bacardi's belly.

...Time passed after that, but Randall could not comprehend it. When he finally awoke, pale light was shining on the dock outside the overhang sheltering him. The warm, spicy scent of Bacardi had evaporated, replaced by the unmistakable odor of the sea. Randall sat up, confused and a bit frightened, scanning the graveled beach and sodden dock, but there was nothing to see but what had been there the night before - lonesome gray pebbles and jutting black rocks giving way to the emptiness of the ocean. The mink was gone, and Randall found he was left with nothing but the constant soundtrack of waves crashing rhythmically against the shore.