Fic: In Water Honeycombed With Light

[coffeebuddha]

Title: In Water Honeycombed With Light
Author: coffeebuddha
Rating: PG/FRE
Characters/Pairings: Kevin Ryan/Javier Esposito
Word Count: 1264
Disclaimer: Nothing belongs to me.
Summary: Kevin never forgets the sea.
Notes: I'm having a crappy night and apparently my happy spot of the moment is a Castle/The Little Mermaid fusion fic. Title is taken from a quote by Ellen Meloy.





Kevin never forgets the sea.

In the very earliest days of his new life with Javier, such a thought would be laughable. How would it be possible to forget when they live on its very cusp? An entire wing of the palace is built into the side of a cliff, and on the day Javier had proposed, the entirety of the staff had flown into a flurry of action to prepare it as their personal rooms. During the height of the summer storms, all Kevin had needed to do was step out onto his balcony to feel the familiar sting of spray against his face. At night, when Javier rocked into him, it was to the slow, sweet rhythm of the surf.

The sea was Kevin's love song to his young husband, a symphony of gulls and crashing waves, and while Javier never felt the strong riptide pull of it as Kevin did, he loved it all the more fiercely for the infallible smile it brought to Kevin's face.

The first changes come gradually, backed by weighty words like 'tradition' and 'proper' and 'responsibility'. The court has always moved inland for the winter months, and there is no way for Kevin to voice an objection without sounding petty to a people who are already half inclined to distrust him and tend to shy away from his stories of witches and crabs. As the days grow shorter and the air gains a chill, the rooms are packed up around them by near invisible servants until Kevin wakes up and the only non-permanent feature in his room is him. A few too brief hours later sees Javier helping him onto a horse--riding is a task that never becomes fully comfortable--and then the long parade that winds its way out of the city.

That first year, Kevin stays twisted around in his saddle, neck craned to catch every possible glimpse of glittering blue water. After all these months, he's still an outsider, not quite accepted into the fold, and used to voices lowering to a hush in his presence so that he can't glean their meaning, but even he is able to make out the whispers that follow him for weeks after that.

The second year and every year after, Kevin keeps his back straight and his eyes ahead.

When the war comes, no one is surprised, not even Kevin. He's been walking on land for over six years at that point; most of the staff has forgotten or never known of his differences, and many can be counted on to bring him rumors that don't always make it to the official council meetings he so dutifully attends. There are enemy ships captained by men smart and wily enough to break through their defenses and equipped with cannons strong enough to smash through stone.

Javier kisses apologies along the tense, defensive hunch of Kevin's shoulders, smooths pleading hands down trembling, still coltish legs, murmurs a litany of please and I love you that intermingles with Kevin's wordless sobs in the damp, desperate space between their mouths.

Kevin goes and does not feel the warmth of the sand beneath his feet for seven long years.

After the war is over, Javier takes Kevin out on the sea for a month. The sun bleaches the brown from his hair and stains his fair skin with freckles that Javier delights in mapping out with fingers and tongue, regardless of how unfashionable they may be. The lapping of water against the hull is a soothing lullaby that tempts them into midday naps when the heat becomes oppressive. Nets are cast out daily and Kevin relearns the texture of non-dried fish that flakes delicately on his tongue.

Every night after Javier drops into a deep sleep, Kevin steps out onto the deck, abandoned by a crew superstitious enough not to spy or ask questions. He sings every song he remembers from his childhood: ballads, love songs, teaching ditties. He sings until his throat is raw and his voice is little more than a hoarse whisper, but never once do even one of his brothers break the surface to join in a duet. When the sun peaks over the horizon, he sneaks back to slip in at Javier's side, breathes in his familiar earthy scent, undiminished even in these circumstances, ​and closes dry eyes until the smell of breakfast rouses him.

The price and prize of the war is an expanded border.

The summer palace is no longer convenient, based as it is at the very edge of their suddenly much larger kingdom. Javier's advisers counsel relocating to the winter palace as a permanent base. Javier hesitates, though Kevin knows enough policy to see the wisdom in the suggestion. His heart aches as if bound tight by iron bands and his voice deserts him as surely as if it had been stolen back into a shell, but his hand does not tremble when he reaches out to touch his fingertips to the back of Javier's wrist, and his nod is small, but decisive.

It's impossible to visit the palace by the sea for any real length of time. Javier is still needed at the heart of his kingdom, where he can be most effective, and their resources are still stretched thin enough by the war that Kevin feels the tug of guilt every time he brings the entire estate out of resting just for his sake. For years at a time, the only salt he tastes is the flat, oddly metallic grain they use to flavor their food, and the only living water he dips his toes into is a small, freshwater stream that winds like a serpent through the gardens.

Each night after dinner, they retire to the small, private library with the huge westward facing windows. While Javier works through whatever documents need his attention that day, Kevin perches on the window seat that was specially built for him; if the weather is fair enough, he crack the window open to feel the breeze on his face. A book rests on his lap, some thick tome about the kingdom's founding. It's the same book he's picked up almost every night for the better part of the past two decades, a thin pretense neither of them have pretended to believe for years now; for all that the edges of the pages are worn soft from his handling, Kevin could barely tell the title if called upon to do so. No, all of Kevin's attention is focused out the window, eyes straining as if he could make out the winking of the sun against the waves if only he looks hard enough. His lips part and some nights he can almost imagine the tang of real salt, sharp and bright and almost alive, on his tongue. 

Once the sun has fully set, Javier sets aside his work and crosses the room to kneel on increasingly creaky knees at Kevin's side. He can hear the unspoken questions in every gentle, coaxing touch, see them in the uncertainty in Javier's eyes when Kevin cups his face between his hands and draws him in for a kiss that is still just as sweet as their first.

If Javier would but ask, Kevin would tell him what he wants to hear. Yes, Kevin is content and even happy with his life; no, he does not regret his choice. He would even be able to say it in full honesty. But Javier does not ask, so Kevin will not tell.

Because Kevin never forgets the sea.

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