‘I almost lost you’ Kiss
Michael pants harshly, kneeling down at where Ryan’s body lays in the sand, hands hovering near his face as he slowly opens his eyes. There’s shouting behind him, the muted staccato of gunfire, but that moment, there, of a conscious Ryan fills his senses, leaving little room for anything else.
Ryan takes a breath and coughs. For nearly two minutes it’s just him hacking, rolling around on the empty beach and spitting out sea water before regaining his composure, though his breath still comes in short gasps, and his nose and mouth sting from salt.
“You almost fucking drowned, jackass,” Michael says, shaking hands grabbing the front of Ryan’s sodden jacket. “I almost lost you.” Ryan stares up at Michael, who looks like he’s about to split at the seams from grief and fury. His lips land so hard on Ryan’s it feels like a punch and he can taste blood in his mouth, and he’s pushed further into the beach from the movement, becoming intimately aware of how covered in wet sand he now is. “Don’t ever do that again,” Michael growls, not letting Ryan get a breath in before he’s kissing him again, and again, and again, not caring about who can see them or what they think because Ryan needs to know that he’s not about to throw his life away, not for the money, not for the crew, not for anyone. Not while Michael has anything to say about it.