A MOMENT IN THE SUN

TOM stretched out on the long leather lounge arms over his head.

He was exhausted it was May – late May.

There had been Much Ado About nothing for the past two months. And then a short stint of filming and now he was finally home.

No Tory though.

She was out at a fitting or other secret women's business.

He'd hardly seen her.

She and Mon had moved practices and joined with two other Doctors. Mon was pregnant again and, if all things went their way, Tory might be too before the end of the year. After 20 years in each others company and the past five in an on and off and now very much on relationship, they didn't want to waste anymore time. The fact that Em was pregnant made Tory even more determined. Tom didn't mind, he wanted children and now seemed the right time and she was the right woman plus he didn't mind the practise runs. Practise made perfect his mother always said. Their children would be superb. He'd see to that.

The lounge was long, a three and a half seater, comfortable beyond belief and perfect for entertaining or for someone six foot or more to stretch out on. They'd chosen it wisely. Beside him on the rug Greigy was dreaming, sleep barking, his little legs going like he was chasing something.

If Tory had been there it would have been perfect.

But it didn't matter, he was tired, no exhausted. Awards, weddings, movies, doctors and stage plays had worn them out. She wouldn't be back for an hour or two and then she'd slump into bed exhausted and be out again before he even opened an eyelid.

They needed to get away.

They would have the honeymoon away after the wedding but that looked like including a week working in Africa now.

He wanted her to himself. He was only home for three days and he'd be off again for two weeks.

He wanted four days – just four – to drink her in – to talk to her, to make love on the warm sand and in the cool water, but he wanted more than that too.

The wedding was going to be as much their own as they could make it. Certainly not the ceremonies that either of her brothers had – much more intimate. But still, if they got their way, they'd have eloped, run away and been married on a beach somewhere – just them.

He sighed and stretched.

He still wanted that.

It couldn't be official – he knew that – but it would be nice. Perfect. He rolled over and grabbed his phone from the nearby coffee table as the gears and cogs of his brain whirred into action.

Two days later, as he kissed her goodbye in their bed, bundled against each other, coming down off an orgasmic high, he dropped it on her.

He leaned over and retrieved an envelope from the drawer beside the beautiful old four poster they now shared and handed it to her.

He hoped it would make the next two weeks, hell the next six, go faster. He wasn't sure it would but at least it gave them something that was theirs.

"What's this?" she asked eyeing the envelope he'd slipped into hands wordlessly. Inside were four plane tickets to Australia and an itinerary.

He kissed her neck seductively.

"I thought we could take a break – have our own ceremony – make our own private commitments," he said as he moved his lips down to her shoulders, soft and warm on her salt-tanged skin.

"It won't be official but it will be ours, and you can wear a bikini a lot or not," he said low and slow as his lips found her breast and claimed her nipple.

"Heavenly," she sighed and he wasn't sure if it was what he was doing or what he was talking about. It didn't matter, the word, the sigh got his attention and he rose to the occasion as her hands tangled in his hair. It was still long, perfect for running your fingers through. His Benedick beard tickled her breast, her tummy, her thighs. Her hand tangled more in his hair. His lips found what they were looking for and his tongue teased her to the point of ecstasy and beyond. There was no talking now.

No talking as she pulled him back up her body and strapped her legs around his arse, pushing him on, up and in. A coming home just before he left. He moved within her as she moved her hands through his hair. He moaned, they kissed, she moved, he moaned. Her nails scratched down his back, found purchase in his English countryside and he rode his way to heaven, hard, quick and dirty, his fingers taking her with him quickly, noisily and so hard she'd remember it until they were on the beach together.

She read the note, the information when he left. Still warm and smelling of their coupling. Hazy with a blissed-out smile on her face. She had a bit of shopping to do but other than that everything was arranged.

The next time she saw him they were changing planes in Brisbane, Australia with Marcus and Matt on their way north to Cairns and then south again – but not far. A car ride, a boat and paradise.

A new resort reopened just a year earlier. A friend of a friend. They were the only ones there – favours were called in. They held hands through their combined journey but no time for kissing however they were shown to their small private hut – bags already inside. Doors were shut with feet and though it was winter it was still warm, warmer still in their cabin. Clothes were unnecessary.

Matt and Marc just smiled and left them to it.

They'd come up for air eventually.

They had their own reunion to initiate.

The two couples had dinner the next night.

Matt tried not to notice the bite and scratch marks on his friends.

Marc gave Tory the thumbs up.

They discussed the next day – the private island, the picnic lunch and the perfect spot.

And when morning came – Tom emerged from the cabin first, a run, a shower and then out again. No suit black linen shorts, and a matching loose black open shirt, no shoes.

Breathtaking none-the-less according to Matt who put the hot pink orchid in his button hole as the pair headed down to the pier. Matt wore a similar outfit in cream.

The resort's small boat carried them – and a celebrant from the mainland to the small Island where caterers had set up a marquee and tables and chairs. The smell of barbecue and seafood filled the air.

Tom was nervous now as the boat went back to fetch the rest of their party.

He watched the horizon, bouncing up and down on to the balls of his feet. Humming the wedding march though she'd be walking up the beach to the sounds of Duran Duran.

Matt saw them first – he tapped Tom's shoulder.

He looked to the dock and there they were. Marc in the same cream as Matt – Tory on his arm. A vision in..............black.

No shoes.

Her hair circled with hot pink orchids as she carried a bouquet of the same flowers spilling from her hand in a cascade – bright against the dark of her black lace and chiffon dress. The back was longer and trailed like a gentle train, a cloud behind her as she made her way up the dock on Marc's arm.

She was a vision.

Not the bride she'd be in a month's time – all white and traditional. Today she was his and he was hers - their way. Matt had been surprised they hadn't gone all taupe and cream and natural but he supposed they were making a point.

He laughed as Rio rang out – a nod to her mother. A nod to the unconventional that no one else saw and they showed very very seldom outside their own home.

It was perfect.

He took the only pictures as she arrived under the palm tree.

The vows, the words, were their own too. The rings they exchanged were claddaghs, Irish wedders,  both would wear on their right hands. Blue stones for Scotland glinting in the early morning sun.

And then they were married. In their eyes at least.

Matt looked over at Marc and smiled, happy that they could be there for their friends as Tom and Tory had been for them. Privileged to be here, to be the only ones to see this private and personal commitment.

And then the champagne flowed as a wedding brunch of fresh barbecued prawns and fresh fruit filled the tables. A cake two-tiered, hot pink trimmed with black sat as centre piece – chocolate not the traditional fruit cake of next month.

The two couples toasted each other and enjoyed a time out. And then Marc and Matt, the caterers and celebrants left and the bride and groom elect strolled the white beaches of the small Island hand in hand.

A million miles from care. A million miles from work. A million miles from responsibility. Two anonymous people in love. 

She shed her dress and his breath caught. No matter how many times he saw her body he still had the same reaction. Her bikini was black, boy-legged and bandeaud. She was his bond girl and he was her Bond in speedoes as they ran to the blue of the pacific and made love in the still blue of the ocean..

He carried her out and up to the cabbana they had set up and there slowly he kissed his way across her body until he had claimed her skin along with her heart. And then she turned tables and he was on his back, naked in the fresh air and slowly torturously she sunk her body down on to his and they were one. Connected soul to soul and body to body as she rode him hard to climax with his hands on her breasts steering her to the abyss.

They lay on the blankets then, in each other's arms. Talking. Wedding plans, life, just talking. He recited love poetry she sang gently.

And they just were.

Two days later they flew home.

Relaxed and ready for what ever the world and the wedding planners threw at them.