Chapter Text
A generic, tinny sounding Caribbean tune played through the ancient speakers hanging above Chris’ head. He stood behind the bar and chewed on a toothpick while he watched the hotel’s guest amble on by, their skin various shades ranging from pasty to lobster red. He sighed, taking a deep breath of the salty air and focused his attention to the water, waves lazily licking higher and higher up the sand. He could hear Elsa somewhere behind him, repeating an order in her still occasionally broken English and the clanking of glass as she mixed drinks.
Chris’ aimless staring was disrupted by a man walking into his line of vision, his curly blonde hair frizzy looking from the humidity and his shirtless back bright white in contrast to his black swim trunks. He held a thick book in the crook of one thin arm, along with a garishly colored beach towel and a bottle of sunscreen in his hand. Chris watched as he fumbled a bit before dropping the book and sunscreen in the sand and laying his towel out. He must’ve bought at a souvenir shop, Chris thought, only they would sell a towel so hideous. He continued to watch the man as he settled on his towel and slathered himself in sunscreen, giving himself a thick white coating. Chris chuckled as the man did his best to cover his back with it, eventually giving up and slapping it behind him, so his back was only covered in a few globs of white. The man shook the sand from the pages of his book, finally laying back and reading through the dark lenses of his sunglasses. Chris sighed again, forcing a stupid grin onto his face as a middle aged couple walked up and ordered some fruity cocktails.
Chris kept his eye on the man for the next few hours. He’d move around occasionally, but kept his eyes glued to his book. Chris couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled up when the man had nodded off, causing him to drop his book smack himself in the face and wake himself up.
Chris and Elsa shoved fresh bottles of overpriced beer into ice filled coolers set in the middle of the bar. Chris glanced away to look at the man. He was still reading his book.
"I think you have a fetish or something," Elsa said suddenly, forcing Chris’ attention back to her.
"Hm?" He quirked an eyebrow at her.
"You only fuck tourists."
"I don’t only fuck tourists,” Chris said defensively.
Elsa shoved a couple more bottles into the ice before putting her hands on her hips and looking up at Chris. “The last… six people you fucked. Where were they from?”
Chris stopped, holding bottles in each of his hands as he looked up and thought for a few moments. He bit his lip and looked back down at her. “Okay, so the last six were tourists…”
"Ha HA! Tourist fucker,” she said valiantly, jabbing her finger into the air at him.
"But that doesn’t make it a fetish or anything… Fetishes involve outfits. Don't they?"
"Whatever man, you have an issue," Elsa said as she jabbed the last two bottles into the ice and started walking away.
Chris scoffed and rolled his eyes. “I do not have an issue,” he called back to her, mimicking her voice. She flipped him off.
He still resisted the urge to look back and see if he’d fallen asleep again. Not that he had to after a little while.
He sat on a bench almost directly in front of Chris and began tapping his fingers on the tabletop. Chris almost laughed when he looked up.
"So… what’s good?" He asked quietly, looking uncomfortable.
Chris leaned onto his elbows on the bar and gave the man another appraising look, his face was tanned unevenly, with blotches of bright, angry red here and there. Chris could only imagine how bad his back looked. “I would suggest… aloe. And maybe something to forget the pain.”
He made a face and shifted in his seat. “Sounds great. Nothing too sweet though,” he said, flicking a nearby decorative coconut.
Chris gave him a lopsided grin and pulled a plastic cup from a stack and scooped ice into it. He was dropping lime wedges into the rum and tonic when Elsa walked by.
“Tourist fucker,” she whispered. Chris rolled his eyes and sighed in annoyance.
The man’s eyebrows furrowed. “What’d she say?”
Chris laughed and shook his head. “Nothing.” Chris set the drink on a napkin and slid it in front of him. He looked around and made sure that no one else needed to be served at the moment before resting his arms on the bar again, his attention going back to the sun burnt man as he sipped happily on his drink. “What’s your name?”
"Tom," he said after swallowing another sip and clearing his throat. "Yours?"
"Chris."
“Chris the bartender,” he said, almost in a sing-song, tipping his head back and draining the half-filled cup in one go.
"Careful there, mate. I haven’t seen you eat or drink anything all day."
Tom set the cup down and leaned in. “Have you been watching me?” He smirked at Chris.
Chris laughed a bit, pointing over to the spot Tom had been laying at all day. “Well, you were kind of directly in my line of sight all day.”
Tom turned and said, “oh.” He shrugged and turned back, sliding his cup back to Chris. “More please.”
Chris snatched the cup. “Drink this one slower.”
It was twilight by the time Tom stumbled away, along with some other drunken guests, finally allowing Chris and Elsa to clean and close up shop for the night.
"You’ll be in his pants by tomorrow." Elsa wiped away puddles of water made by the melting ice.
Chris tossed his head back and groaned. “Elsa…”
"I know it, I can see it in your eyes." She punctuated her sentence by poking him on the nose. "You want to fuck him."
"You make me sound like I have no control over my dick."
Elsa shrugged and wiped the counter again.
"I do. I bet I won’t even see that guy again.”
"But what if you do?"
Chris sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’m not a tourist fucker, Elsa.”
She just shook her head and laughed at him.