Logan Echolls

(from here)

Logan was still leaning in slightly, long after the kiss was over, one hand on Donald's arm as he looked at the other man again. His words made something inside him twist in anticipation, and he couldn't stop his smile from brightening, despite a desperate attempt to seem casual.

"You can come over as many nights as you want," he said, shrugging his shoulders and chewing his bottom lip, as if that might stop the smirk that was playing on his lips. "Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday... You get the idea, right?" he laughed, a little cheeky this time as he tugged Donald back in and kissed him again, his hands slipping around the other man's waist for a moment as he deepened the kiss.

"Go on then, tell me something good about the past. Hell, tell me something bad. Tell me anything. You look hot when you get all 'days of yor' on me," he smirked, reluctantly letting go and smoothing his hands over the other man's shirt, his chin tilting up slightly as he met Donald's eyes with his own.

It hadn't been easy, but after spending all weekend poking and prodding the other man, Logan had somehow convinced Donald to meet him on the beach after his regular surfing lessons for a one on one session. The waves were right and the weather was perfect, and Logan had even managed to find Donald a wetsuit that wasn't neon pink or yellow. In fact, it was nearly as nice as Logan's own from home. ...Nearly.

In fact, things were going almost too well, and when disaster struck... Well, maybe they should have seen it coming.

Donald slipped on his third attempt at standing. Logan might have caught him, except, well, he was still holding the board. Long story short, they'd ended up on the beach with Donald holding his ankle and hissing in pain.

Nothing like waking up in a bed that you didn't recognize, beside a man who you could hardly stand to be around for longer than five minutes without wanting to slap him. Though really, Logan was sort of used to it. ...Sort of. Usually it was a woman, not a man, and usually it was some overpriced hotel, not a hut, but really, it was all the same when you got down to the core of it.

He stared at Donald for a long moment, blinking the sleep from his eyes and yawning quietly. He still had one arm draped over the other man, their bodies touching in some sort of perverted mockery of intimacy. As if either of them had any right to touch one another that way.

Though maybe they did, Logan wasn't really sure where they stood now. One night of screwing around and self pity hardly made way to flowers and picnics by the sea, but it did mean admitting that something had changed. Were they friends now? Were they just a one night thing? Logan couldn't be sure, and he carefully slid away so he was just out of reach.

He didn't get out of bed though, he didn't want to. Not yet. It was safe in Donald's hut. Like hiding in some sort of bizarre alternate reality. No one would ever come looking for him here.

The other man stirred and Logan bit his lip. His own eyes slid shut again, as if he honestly believed that if he wasn't looking, Donald wouldn't see him or something. As if he could just pretend to be asleep forever.