The beach was completely empty, save for the angry foreigner and the laughing Modeshi student. After sunset there was nothing left to see; the lapping of the waves in the darkness was the only proof that remained of the ocean's close proximity.

"Who was that guy anyway?" asked Michael.

"Huh?"

"The one you were smoking with. Is he a friend of yours?"

Tibur didn't appreciate the firm grip on his arm. As soon as he'd found a moment to relax and forget about his problems for a little while; the biggest of them all was suddenly latched to him and refusing to let go.

"What do you want from me..?" begged Tibur in frustration, "Why do you even care what I do?"

"You know what I want" Michael told him, unsure himself if he really meant what he was saying.

"To fuck you..? Was that it? Or is it the money you're talking about? I have no idea what you want, Michael. If you'd have the courtesy to tell me, I wouldn't have to keep thinking about it so damn much."

Michael missed the point of Tibur's words.

"You think about me..?" was all he really wanted to know.

Tibur didn't have the energy to deal with him any more. He tried to loosen the grip of Michael's fingers. A figure loomed towards him in the darkness, as Michael desperately tried to find his lips with his own.

Tibur had never slapped another person before. His fingers tingled after the sudden, sharp contact with Michael's face.

"Ow! What the fuck, Tibur?!"

"You tried to kiss me!" he said in his defense.

"Well yeah... you were holding my hand and giving me 'the look'."

Tibur felt his brain shrinking the longer he was forced to listen to the stupid things that Michael had to say.

"I was trying to take my arm back. And what look? It's pitch black! I can't even see your face."

Michael looked again. 

"Okay" he confessed, "So maybe I just imagined that part..."

"And haven't you heard of consent?" asked Tibur, "All those women you brought back, how many of them did you ask before you launched yourself at them?"

Michael didn't appreciate the implication that he'd been anything other than a gentleman.

"I admit I got it wrong this time; but your slapping me was enough. You don't need to drag my morals into this. I told you before, every partner I had was satisfied, and every one chose to be there. Just because you're so resistant, it doesn't mean everyone else feels the same way. I mean, fuck. You realize I'm attractive, right?"

It didn't matter what Tibur thought, so why did Michael care so much?

"You want me to ask for your consent? Fine. Tibur, can I kiss you? Just once. If you don't like it I won't bother you again."

His first thought was 'no'. It's not like Michael would stick to his word. If he didn't like it he'd probably still keep trying to make a move on him regardless. And yet a fear existed; that he really would give up trying if he told him to.

"Tibur..."

Michael stepped dangerously close to his body, waiting hungrily for him to respond. His aftershave smelled good. The heat from his breath was intoxicating.

"Why should I care if you kiss me?" asked Tibur, "Just hurry up and get it over with..."

Michael's fingers ran their way through Tibur's hair; the short length was unfamiliar, and yet surprisingly convenient. He didn't get tangled, and there were no strands he needed to push away from his face. His thumb traced the lines of Tibur's jaw, exploring wantonly until at last he reached his lips. No sticky lipgloss, no cakey lipstick... just Tibur's bare and velvet soft skin.

The kiss was slow. Curious and tentative, learning how it felt to kiss another man. It felt even better than he thought it would. More than that... it felt exquisitely right. Michael was rarely sober when he made his move, but this time, all of his senses were heightened. The scent of salt, the sound of the sea... the taste of alcohol on Tibur's lips.

He pulled him closer, his hands wandering across his back as he kissed him deeply; his tongue slipping inside Tibur's mouth and furthering his journey to romantic enlightenment. So this was what a kiss should feel like?

"Fuck" he said as he took a breath, resting his face against Tibur's, as his hands remained wrapped around his body; "That was..."

Tibur pushed him away.

"That was it, right?" he asked coldly, thankful that the night obscured his face, "You don't need to bother me again."

Michael was dumbfounded. Had he not felt what he had? If Tibur could have made out his features, he would have seen how his words had broken him.

"I should find Tristan before he leaves... If Caleb's here he'll probably want to take him home."

Tibur walked towards the lights of the glittering beach-side boulevard, silently wiping his tears as Michael was left alone in the dark.  

Fraser couldn't bring himself to talk to Tristan for too long. He was worried the act would slip; that he'd accidentally reveal the truth, and Caleb would never forgive him.

"I'll only be staying for a few days" Fraser explained, "I hope you'll put up with me until then. Though if the bartender looks at me like that again, I might not make it home tonight."

Tristan followed Fraser's raised eyebrow to the handsome Modeshi man behind the bar. Despite the chatty women he was serving, his eyes were trained on Fraser while he filled their glasses.

"Happy hunting" said Caleb, sending his brother off with a slap to his back.

"Do you want to stay a little longer, baby?"

Tristan didn't respond. He didn't even realize that Caleb was talking to him until Millie shook his arm.

"Your husband wants to know what you're doing" she said.

"Oh..." he said, his cheeks turning pink, "Well where did Tibur go?"

The downcast student suddenly appeared from outside. He'd taken a deep breath before opening the door, trying to dispel the lingering sensation of Michael's lips against his.

"I see another pitcher arrived while I was out" he said, "Can I pour you a glass, Caleb?"

Caleb turned him down. As much as he would have liked to join them, he still needed to drive Tristan home. A soda was enough, so long as he got to sit with them.

When Michael returned, he didn't say a word to any of them. Instead, he went straight to the bar, ordered himself a double whiskey, and introduced himself to the disgruntled women that had failed to catch the bartender's attention.

Tristan noticed Tibur's quiet discomfort.

"Are you happy to stay?" he asked, "Or are you about ready to head home?"

Tibur motioned to Millie. She was already yawning as she rested her head against the garden trellis. Ensuring she got to her bed was as good an excuse as any for them to leave.

"Better call it a night" he said, "there's always next time."

As they walked to the car, Tristan thought they should probably check in with Fraser. If he was going to be staying with them, then offering him a ride was the least they could do. Caleb called it ahead of time when he said they needn't bother; his brother already had his tongue down the bartender's throat in the side alley.

"He'll come home when he gets hungry" said Caleb, "He's a lot like a stray cat." 

Tibur had his arm around Millie. When they left, Michael had looked in his direction. It was only a second; and yet Tibur couldn't shake his face from his memory. That angry look... and how he turned with a smile to the woman beside him.

"I'll drop Millie home first" said Caleb, remembering the way. 

His fingers tapped on the steering wheel as he drove, trying to phrase his next question carefully.

"Tibur, I don't think I remember asking. Do you have a balcony too?"

"No balcony..." he replied.

So not the fifth or seventh floors... 

"Our neighborhood's pretty quiet, at least from the penthouse. What's it like for you? Are you pretty high up?"

"I'm on the fourth floor. But it's loud enough..."

Caleb nodded and made a mental note. It would probably be too much to ask which unit; at least with Tristan sitting in the passenger's seat. Knowing where to start looking if he went missing again was enough.

Thinking of Michael and all those sleepless nights proved to be too much. Tibur opened the window and let the evening breeze wash over him. He could still smell the salt in the air... 

It wasn't long until they'd made it back. Tibur had barely fallen asleep when the noises started.

A woman across the way was screaming in pleasure. The volume was so much louder than before, they must have been right by the broken door. Tibur wrapped his pillow around his head, trying to block the sound. It was the first time that the screams from Michael's guest had made him cry. Deliberate and intrusive; Tibur knew that it was meant for him to hear.

In the west, Fraser's moans were getting louder. The barman's hands were all over him; it was time to find somewhere more private.

"Should we go back to your place?" he asked, "Or should we find a hotel..?"

The bartender tried to slip a hand inside Fraser's pants.

"Here is fine" he said.

On the boulevard, people were still walking past. Although they were partially hidden by a dumpster and likely unnoticed, Fraser didn't feel comfortable doing it so openly.

"It's a little awkward going to my brother's place... why don't I get us a hotel room?"

The bartender's shift wasn't over. A quickie was fine, but then he'd still need to close up. Fraser had started something, as far as he was concerned, he should be prepared to finish it; right there and then. Ignoring his words, his hands continued roaming over Fraser's body and trying to make their way inside his clothes.

It had been a while, and Fraser was prepared to relent, until-

"Do you at least have a condom?" he asked him.

The bartender turned him around.

"No need" he said.

Fraser had heard enough. He shifted his body away from him and zipped up his pants, unwilling to catch something all for a dirty tryst in an alleyway.

The bartender was pissed. He shouted in Modeshi before trying to lay his hands on him.

Farang had just finished his delivery and was lighting up another cigarette. He caught sight of a familiar looking late night scuffle and was about to step away; but when he heard the foreigner crying out for help, his hero instinct kicked in. 

The foreigner was clearly out-matched, and Farang couldn't bear to see a local start a fight when he clearly had the advantage. He was about to lecture him about fighting fair when the little foreigner ran up and hid behind him.

Fraser couldn't make out the heated conversation that followed between the two men. Unlike Caleb, he had never thought to learn Modeshi. After some raised voices and a little shoving, the bartender spat at them as he walked away. Fraser was shaken by the whole experience.

His savior wasn't much taller than he was, but his build was sturdier; without knowing a great deal about manual labor, Fraser assumed he must work out regularly for him to be so muscular. As he tried to leave, Fraser gripped hold of his arm.

"Thank you" he said with genuine awe and gratitude.

Farang nodded. "Home?" he asked in return.

Fraser gratefully complied, not answering Farang's question about whether or not he lived in Modesh, but following him to his delivery van and installing himself in the passenger's seat.

He hadn't intended to drive the little foreigner there, but his shift would be over soon anyway.

What Farang meant to follow up with was 'Where is your house?', but he'd never quite grasped the basics of English determiners.

"My house?" he asked instead.

Fraser blushed, and stroked a hand along his saviour's thigh.

"Okay..." he said, letting his fingertips wander dangerously across Farang's lap.

"My house?" he asked again, confused by the foreigner's avoidance of the question.

Fraser loved a man that understood consent.

"Yes" he said, landing his hand firmly on Farang's dick and leaning in seductively, "Let's go to your house..." 

Farang always knew that foreigners were crazy, but what did it matter? He couldn't remember the last time that someone had touched him there.