Kicks

by nonamouse

Summary:

One last night of kicks

One last night of kicks in San Francisco. That's what Dean and I promised ourselves, though I guessed that one last night would probably turn into two or three. Because Dean was never a man to do things by halves.

Our one last night found us on the beach with no real way of knowing how we got there, dizzy with Scotch and swimming with the sights and sounds of the Colored Section. We sang together, our own drunken renditions of the wailing trumpets and jangling keys and dark voices that could never have as much soul as the cats we borrowed them from.

We lay on the beach, the dark shape of the Golden Gate Bridge looming over us, Dean and I, listening to the distant sounds of the negro jazz clubs, jumping long into the night until the clouds turned pink and the sun washed over the Bay. There was quiet for a moment, and I shivered in the cool air coming off the water and Dean rolled into my side, caked with sand and smelling smoky and dark.

He lay against me, shivering, as I did, in the chill of the morning. He kissed the side of my neck. "You are one gone daddy, Sal." He murmured.

~Fin