@lovelysandlonelys requested cute Sarchengsy fluff: I hope you like it!
“This is a bad idea,” Blue says, frowning in disapproval as Henry sets up the mason jars in the sand and pours in the lemonade.
“No, Blue, my dear,” Henry sings, “this is a brilliant idea.” He grabs a larger mason jar, the liquid inside a deep golden yellow that looks warm, illuminated by the firelight. He pours several fingers into each jar and then screws the lid back on and nestles the jar firmly in the sand.
Gansey is slumped in the sand, his back resting against a large driftwood log. He smiles cheerily as Henry stirs the drinks with a straw from the Chick-fil-A where they purchased the limited-time only! beverages.
“We don’t need alcohol to have fun,” Blue sulks. She’s grown up with a household of women who like strong drinks, watched as some of them handled their liquor and some did not. But Henry had bought the moonshine in Virginia from a small gas station off Sky Line Drive and he wanted to toast with it now, on the shore of the Atlantic Ocean, way down south on Saint Simon’s Island, Georgia.
“That’s quite true, Jane,” Gansey agrees easily. His bare feet dig down into the warm sand until he finds the cool, damp layer underneath. “You absolutely do not have to drink. You can watch Henry and I get ridiculous and blackmail us later.”
Henry snorts and passes a drink to Gansey. He holds the other sweaty jar, coated on the bottom by gritty sand, out to Blue, a question in his eyes. Blue scrunches her nose up and contemplates the worst case scenario but can’t picture anything more terrible than throwing up in the ocean; Gansey and Henry will make sure nothing bad happens.
“Okay, fine,” she huffs and takes the jar. Henry grins and picks up the remaining jar and they clink them together. Blue takes a sip. The tart, sweet taste of the lemonade mostly obscures the burn of the alcohol.
Gansey closes his eyes and groans. “Mint,” he says, his voice low and dreamy.
Blue mimics him and sighs, “Lemons.”
Henry makes a very exaggerated sexual noise before gasping, “Watermelon.”
They all burst into laughter at the same time.
“Damn! I wish I had recorded that,” Henry laments. “We could have sent it to Chick-Fil-A to use in a commercial for their new summer drink.”
“Oh yeah?” Blue asks. “And what would our pitch be? So good it’ll make you gay?”
Gansey laughs loudest of all. “Yes!”
“Or, so good it turns a potential love triangle into a polyamorous love fest?”
“That’s too many big words, Henry,” Blue chides before taking another sip. “Besides, that’s not even remotely catchy.”
Gansey hums thoughtfully. “I’m really trying to think of something but the mint!”
Henry laughs and kisses Gansey’s cheek, making a loud mwha! noise. Gansey blushes and it’s so cute that Blue gives him a noisy kiss too before leaning over him to kiss Henry.
“So good it spawns spontaneous saliva swapping!” Henry nods once, grinning at Blue and Gansey. “Good, right? Alliteration!”
“No one thinks ‘saliva swapping’ is a sexy phrase, Henry,” Gansey says.
The drinks go down smooth and Henry refills their jars. Blue gets up and dances around their bonfire, humming “Go Your Own Way” until Henry gets the hint and asks RoboBee to play the song for them. Henry joins Blue’s dance, both of them shuffling around the fire, hands waving over their heads, the firelight gleaming on bare limbs, sparkling off rhinestones and metallic accents on Blue’s skirt. Gansey thinks he could just sit and watch them forever but of course they have other plans.
“Come on, old man,” Henry teases. He and Blue haul Gansey to his feet, pulling him into the dance, mason jars raised as they sway and sing along.
“YOU CAN GO YOUR OWN WAY!!!” Blue belts out and Henry and Gansey back her up, “Go Your Own Way!” She’s doing a furious dance and more than half of her drink ends up on her arm and in the sand.
After the song ends Gansey charges towards the surf, stripping off his teal and salmon stripped Polo, then his khaki shorts until he’s just a blur of tanned skin and navy blue boxers decorated with a print of tiny ravens (a present from Ronan). Henry follows after him, shedding his Madonna tank top and bright purple shorts; he’s wearing a pair of cheeky briefs they bought at Victoria’s Secret because Blue was so mad about the entire concept of the store. Blue sets down her jar and pulls off her shredded shirts and artfully embellished skirt and skips to the water, glad she wore the cute underclothes she had spent a solid month crocheting (much to Orla’s amusement).
The water is warm, like stepping into a bathtub. Blue squeals as a wave crashes against her shins, the water slapping up her legs and over her stomach. Gansey and Henry have made it out far enough that the water is up to their chests, meaning it’ll be at about neck height for Blue. She paddles out to them. They’re all laughing and shouting, splashing. The full moon shines down making the beach look silvery and the ocean a heaving black expanse frosted in white.
Blue shrieks when she steps on something that moves! Most likely a sand dollar, Henry assures her but Blue has already latched onto Gansey, her legs around his waist, refusing to let her feet touch the bottom because she could step on anything.
“We’ve been camping out here for days, Little Blue Peep, and we’ve survived,” Henry reminds her but Blue isn’t letting go. Holding onto Gansey is nice, especially when the water takes most of her weight, leaving her drifting gently against him.
“Look!” Gansey points towards the horizon and they turn and see a pod of dolphins swim by, sleek bodies cresting above the surface, tails slapping down. They chatter and call to one another. Gansey tries to mimic them and they respond with upbeat chittering.
“Ladies, gentlemen, others: Richard Campbell Gansey the Third,” Henry intones solemnly, “Dolphin Whisperer.”
“The real world applications for this skill are enviable,” Gansey replies before breaking out into what sounds like whale song.
“Oh! I speak whale, too!” Blue shouts. “Listen: hhheeeeellllllooooooooo hhhhhooooooowwwwww aaaaaarrrrrrreeeeee yyyyyyooooouuuuu?” Her voice goes deep and she drags out each word to the point of absurdity.
“Nope,” Henry shakes his head. “That’s straight up Entish. Listen to the real whale speak, children.” His imitation is hilarious, making Gansey and Blue crack up until they’re gasping.
Henry floats over and wraps his arms around Gansey and Blue. A change comes over them and they go quiet, drifting together, watching the play of moonlight on the waves, feeling the currents tug them back and forth, legs bumping, torsos sliding together. Blue tips her head back on Henry’s shoulder and he kisses her chin, making her giggle. Gansey kisses her throat, then Henry’s lips and it’s so nice and natural and good, trading kisses and touches, being cradled together in the ocean’s embrace.
At some point they decide to head back to shore. Blue clings to Gansey’s back until they make it to the fire. They’re drowsy, the buzz of the alcohol blurred by the mellow waves and the late hour. Tomorrow they’ll head farther south, through swamplands and into Florida (Henry doesn’t believe that Florida exists; Blue has promised to visit some distantly related cousins in Cassadaga; Gansey wants to see what he can find at various Spanish ruins). But that’s tomorrow, for tonight they curl up in their tent and talk until sleep finds them. Their dreams are soft and peaceful, their hearts open and full and wondering.
[Notes: As the author I feel compelled to tell you that night swimming in the ocean is not an idea I endorse! And drinking on a public beach is almost always illegal (underage drinking is 100% illegal so...). Swimming + alcohol = not a great idea.
Saint Simon’s Island is a real place and it’s pretty chill. I think the kids would have fun exploring, eating good food, and camping on the beach. Cassadaga is also a real place and you should Google it. This fic was 90% inspired by the new Chick-Fil-A drink: watermelon mint lemonade. I may have purchased moonshine from a tiny gas station in Virginia where they did not bother to card...]
Inspirational tunes provided by: https://8tracks.com/paigeherondale/camaro-jams
