Ren’s hair was plastered against his head, damp to the touch—curls washed out by the waves. The water from his wetsuit leaked onto Takaya’s shirt. His lips tasted salty, he smelled salty, but it was a normal Ren smell. Ren always smelled like the ocean; it was comforting.
Takaya held the smaller male against his chest, let the cool water seep into his shirt—he ran a hand up the back of Ren’s neck. His fingers getting tangled at the base of Ren’s nape. Ren took that as an invitation to press even closer, arms curling around Takaya’s neck.