No Other Version
I don’t usually write fluff, but Erik Gets a COVID Test is drifting in that direction, so this little vignette could take place in that universe, with the OT3.
No Other Version
July 2022
They set up an umbrella for her, but she defiantly lay on a blanket, just outside the perimeter of shelter. Erik sat on the inside - a shade in the shade - observing her golden body with both pleasure and concern.
“Christine, aren’t you worried you will burn? Shouldn’t you come under here, with me?”
She propped up her chin on her crossed arms.
“Such an old man. I think I’ll have a swim instead.”
She pulled herself to her feet and waded into the waves, very aware that he hadn’t taken his eyes off her. Those curious eyes of his. On a bright summer day such as this, they appeared dark and dead, set deep behind his mask. They were the darkest eyes she had ever seen. But she knew with certainty they were not dead. She could feel the weight of them upon her, even as she slipped under the water. His vision was a tangible, invasive force that pierced through every barrier, every shred of cloth.
Her arms cut through the icy water. Her fingers stretched out, towards the green eyed man jumping the waves before her. Green, glassy eyes that seemed in turns as cloudy as jade or as translucent as emeralds. She pressed her wet face into his back and slid her arms around his chest. His skin was cold from the water, but his heartbeat was strong beneath her fingertips where she slipped them through the tblack hairs on his chest. He pressed her hands closer still. His skin warmed quickly beneath her touch, in a way that Erik’s never could.
“Let’s go back, Christine,” he whispered, turning his face to her. “You know he’ll feel lonely without us.”
She looked over her sunburnt shoulder and indeed, Erik was on his feet beneath the umbrella, pacing, watching them intensely.
“He’s like a parent, worried his children might swim out too far,” she giggled.
“He’s not worried about us swimming,” he laughed, passing a finger along her collarbone, but returning Erik’s gaze from over her shoulder. “He is worried about other things.”
They swam back to shore. And even though it had been his idea to return to Erik, he couldn’t resist wrapping his arm around her waist as they swam through the waves. They collapsed on the blanket in the sun, wet and sunkissed.
“Come under the shade,” Erik insisted. “Sit closer to me.”
Beneath his voice, Christine detected a whiff of the pathetic. Wishing to avoid souring his mood, they both complied, pressing themselves around the umbrella pole, tucking their feet under the shade.
Erik opened up the picnic basket and pulled out a chilled bottle and three little paper cups.
“Oh, please tell me it’s not Tokay,” Christine complained.
“It’s champagne,” Erik huffed.
Christine bit her lip. She hadn’t meant to hurt his feelings. She realized he was still fully clothed in a long black shirt. His black mask clung to his face in the heat, yet he still hadn’t taken it off. He was uncomfortable. Even with the two of them - the two who loved him most in this world.
“Are we celebrating something?” she asked sweetly, trying to reverse course.
“I don’t need a reason to give you champagne,” he said dryly.
It was too late. He was in a bad mood now. All because they had been swimming without him. They said “santé” and clinked their paper cups as best they could, but the sound of paper hitting paper fell flat and did nothing to lift their spirits.
They tried everything to fix it. Bad jokes and puns. They finished off the bottle. Erik even pulled out his cards and tried a few tricks. But they could only force a laugh. The buzz could only take them so high. And they had already seen Erik’s card tricks too many times to fake amazement.
What was wrong? What was this triangle of sadness that hung suspended between them? The sky was crystal clear, the sand blindingly hot. Beautiful, but too hot and airless to remain under the umbrella for long.
“Let’s go swimming, Erik,” he invited. “The water feels so good.”
Erik sat still.
“You like swimming. What’s wrong?” she whispered.
But she could see that there was no answer. Sometimes Erik was sad. Understanding that was part of loving him. It helped to have a partner to share in Erik’s sadness and in his love. She tugged at the hem of the black shirt.
“Please? Please come with us.”
With great reluctance and a little drama, he stood up and peeled away the shirt. Concave and hairless, the visual contrast with her other lover was stark. But there was beauty in this body too. She ran her finger along his protruding collar bone and laid a kiss in the cavity it formed where it met his neck.
Soon, the three were diving into the white foam of unkissed mermaids. Sunlight crashed through the salt that collected on their eyelashes; water pooled in the spaces between skin and bone. For a moment, everything was so bright and perfect, Erik might have thought it was Christmas in July. If he celebrated Christmas.
“Erik! Watch me!” she shouted like a child. “Watch me float! Like this - float with me!”
She spread out her arms and legs in the water like a starfish and raised her eyes to the sky. Buoyant and plump, she floated effortlessly. Erik sank like a stone.
He broke through the surface of the water with a choke. He had forgotten to remove the mask and it had trapped too much water between the leather and his face. He ripped it off with a cough and a wheeze as water poured from his cavities.
“Oh Erik!”
They both swam to him as he worked it out. He held his head in his hands in pain.
“Are you alright, my love?” she asked.
“It went all the way up there!” he hissed. “Right up my - my -”
“Let’s go back to shore.”
Once You Go Persian There’s No Other Version
“What is it?” Christine asked, raising her head from her nap. He threw a magazine at her.
“My cousin just sent me this from Tehran.”
Christine picked up the precious copy of Tehran Weekly gingerly, with sandy fingers. A wedding portrait of Britney Spears and her new husband, Sam Asghari, smiled back at her.
“What’s so funny about it?” she asked. “I’m happy for her. He’s cute. I wonder how they met?”
“No, no, Christine. Look at what it says, at the bottom.”
She covered her mouth with a gasp. Laughter burst through her fingers.
“What is it?” Erik asked, sitting forward.
She handed him the magazine. He looked down at it, reading it from top to bottom. She could see the exact moment his eyes fell upon the headline. He read it out loud slowly, deliberately:
They spent the rest of the afternoon quietly under the umbrella. Drinking, readying. Except Christine, foolishly sleeping in the sun, crystalline droplets sparkling off the red curves of her shoulder blades. Suddenly, laughter broke through the air.
“What do you say, Erik?” he asked. “Is it true? Is there any other version?”
Christine locked eyes with him, anxiously anticipating Erik’s response.
A sound rumbled from the depths of his sunken chest. Low, almost inaudible laughter that grew in intensity with each shallow breath. Soon, all three were laughing and rolling in the sand. They laughed until their sides ached. A musical laughter. A pure concert of the joy of absurdity. Erik wiped tears of amusement from his black eyes.
“No, no my pets. There could be no other version.”
She braced herself for his reaction. Would he find it as funny as they did? His sense of humor was particular. As tacky as his own sensibilities could be, he found it distasteful in others.
