RP: Let's Get Away From It All Who: Robb McLellan and Jon Snow When: 9 August 2013 Where:Hotel Vista Del Mar, Santa Catalina Island, Ca. Status: Complete Word Count: 3,728
Goldilocks had nothing on young British lovers. Or so Jon Snow thought, as he rolled a queer wrist, aerating his glass of Rusack Santa Catalina Island 2011 Zinfandel and smiled.
Porridge too hot or too cold form of modern-day bickering over temperature controls oft filled their summer days; air-con system and faucet settings when russet- and raven-coloured heads shared prime real estate beneath the spigot. Jon always nudging the left tap, Robb the right. Mattresses too firm or too soft turned squabbles over an unmade bed, state of cleanliness vs. tidiness, plenty of the usual domestic disputes that proved to all and sundry two people now called 915 South Van Ness Avenue home. Complete with His and His towel sets and names on the post box, just as Robb had promised.
But when carryalls were full to bursting and front door to reliable turn of the century style residence latched - porch light left permanently on to ward off any unwanted visitors their 300lbs and pregnant feline failed to dissuade - fickle tastes aligned. Luxurious accommodations for romantic, extended weekend holiday guaranteed to crest at minimum five hundred dollars a night purely for the sake of absolute comfort.
Money well spent in celebration of an early six-month anniversary. Twenty August, in fact, would mark monumental occasion of planetary alignment, all parties in the right place at the right time for two wandering souls to finally meet and fall in love. Become inseparable after Fate’s design.
A week after that you kissed me and my whole life changed for the better.
Lover clad in rare knee-length swim trunks, lads lounged on beach towels that night after a mutual float and tossle about the surf. First full day spent exploring their immediate surroundings had included a wine tour and peek at the local aquatic life, middle of the road perfection capped in intimate, seaside toast. A holiday unlike their previous and built entirely for amorous reconnect, with just enough adventure and plenty of downtime sprinkled on top.
Neither too much, nor too little of any particular thing.
“Reminds me a little of the lighthouse,” said Jon, digging toes into the sand. “Ohh.... do you remember that duck, babe? Cooked in a pound of butter, I reckon, and a fair amount of sage, as well.”