[ She's a minx and a siren all rolled into one and Dean wouldn't change a thing. With all the skin molded into the palms of his hands, with her heat surrounding him, warming him, making him ache, he can only hang on for the ride as she slides, positioning herself just where he needed her: on him.
But he groaned, feeling her slide away, losing that heat and the need and feeling empty as his hands lose contact. He blinks open his eyes as another the wave crashes over him, filling his mouth with salt and stinging his eyes. It takes another moment for him to realize that Lacus has been washed out to sea, looking more the siren with each passing moment.
Damn, but she was beautiful. Scrambling to his feet, he waded after her, taking only a moment to pull his trunks back up and fastening the string. ]
You need a hand?
[ as much as he hates it, the haze is already clearing from his mind and, of all things, he's remembering. Lacus isn't his and never will be. He really hates having a conscience. ]