Georgebur prompt: Wilbur taking pictures of George with a polaroid (or an old camera) on the beach during a date.
i really am standing on the forefront of the georgebur as like, old timey lovers movement huh. not that i'm complaining!!
send writing prompts pspsps
Click. A picture of George with his fingers idly running through his hair, pushing against the rushing wind all around them. Click. A picture of George, grinning, through the hole of a small rock he found lying around by the shore. Click. Him bending down to touch the seafoam as it curls around his ankles. Click.
“Are you just going to take pictures of me all day?” His voice cuts through the sound of the shutter closing on a playful, fond smile, wet fingers curling around Wilbur’s wrist and tugging. Wilbur struggles to pull his shoes and socks off before the ocean rushes past both of them, getting the ends of his pants wet. Wilbur thinks that he’s going to regret not rolling them up later, but at the moment he can’t find it in him to mind.
Wilbur cycles through all the reasons and excuses he could give before settling on one: “Think of the memories, Gogs,” he says as George scoffs.
“There won’t be many memories to think about if you have your eyes stuck to the lens the entire time.” George’s face twists in the way that he knows something about what he said isn’t quite right, but he’s too lazy to fix it and simply shrugs. “I’m going to jump into the ocean.”
“It’s, like, 10 degrees out, George.” George shrugs again, this time with a wide grin as he rolls up his pants. “You’re really–” Wilbur is beginning to say, when George whoops and takes a few steps further into the ocean. Wilbur grabs him by the arm before he can get too far out.
The camera in his other hand suddenly feels so much heavier when George turns his face to look back at Wilbur, and Wilbur’s eyes immediately fall to his lips. Quirked, probably chapped from the wind, and slowly moving as George opens his mouth to say something, if not for the wind suddenly picking up and drowning out the sound.
“What?” Wilbur asks, quickly letting go of him to brush his hair out of his face. George does the same to his just as unruly hair and shook his head.
“I said, you too scared of a little water?” George stumbled back into the tides, shrieking as the cold no doubt splashes up his back. Wilbur laughs at him, pulls his arm up to his face–
