A Splatter of Other #Wattys2015

XXI

Warning: Contains mature scenes ;) don't say I didn't warn you.

We don't go back into Durness, even when we pass two of his friends, waiting by the entrance with torches. He mutters something as we pass, and they disappear into the entrance. It's still dark, somewhere around midnight, and we tread carefully as we turn left and begin climbing. I know where we are going the moment we do, and my heart stutters, both with fear and excitement. A sliver of dark blue velvet, pricked with white glittering stars stretches out jaggedly above us, but within the crack we walk it is black as pitch. I don't know how he could possibly know when to turn, but soon enough we are squeezing through the gap, and the soft luminescence of the koi pool lights the cave before us. I drop my duffle and gaze in wonder, it seems even more beautiful knowing its dark outside. Archer produces three thick squares of cloth and sets two down, flicking the third, a blanket, out over the rock. He turns away from me, and I stand, transfixed as he starts peeling the clothing away from his painted skin. Mud cracks and flakes as he reaches for the strings of his pants, and I drop my eyes, embarrassed and hesitant. I hear the slap of water on the pools rim, and I look up just in time to see him disappear under the blue water. I step forward, eyes searching for him. A shadow rises quickly from the depths and he surfaces, slicking his hair back from his face.

"Are you coming in?" His voice is low, husky, and I shudder at the challenge under the surface. This is a test, to prove I truly meant what I said. I shuffle closer, eyes locked with his as I stop half a foot from the edge. I reach down and pull my shirt up and over my head, before pulling down my leggings. Then, eyes still on his, I reach back and unhook the clasps of my bra. Taking a deep breath of courage, I slip my knickers down, kick them to one side, and step down into the pool. The water is warm, and I shiver as I sink down to my shoulder. I stay there as the smoothly glides towards me, and can't stop the rush of disappointment as he stops before me, close, but not touching. "You're bleeding," he murmurs, reaching out to gently touch the bump at my temple.

"So are you," I reply, fingers brushing over the wound across his collar bone.

"A scratch," he shrugs, and I can see that it's not deep, it has already clotted and crusted.

"Why are you covered in mud?" I ask, more to draw out the inevitable than out of desire to know right at this moment. He blinks, then moves away from me to pull handfuls of moss from a low overhang. Coming back he reaches up and starts gently dabbing the blood from my temple and chin.

"We didn't want to be seen by any of the Shark scouts, we took them out first." I nod as he hands me the moss to wash with, before he uses his own to wipe away the dark layer on his arms and face.

"Are they all dead?"

"Most likely," I finish well before him, and silently start wiping his broad shoulders from behind, running the think, coarse moss down his back to scrub away the streaks. When that's finished I start running my fingers through his thick, straggly hair to remove the tangles, and grunting he sinks lower to make it easier. I like it, running my fingers through his dark locks as he tilts his head back, eyes closed in contentment. Eventually though he seems to be enjoying it, he pulls away and stands, turning to tug me towards him. I squeak as he presses his lips to mine, but before I can move closer he darts away, dragging me with him, up and out of the pool. He climbs out before me, turning slightly to offer a hand, and my breath shudders in my chest as I take it and he pulls me smoothly up. Grabbing the towels he tosses one to me before stepping forward to put his arms over my head, and he began rubbing me dry. With wide eyes, I begin to dry his broad chest, concentrating on where my hands were going, rather than whatever expression was playing across his face. Slowly, painfully slowly, we are dried from head to toe. What made me even more flustered was that every few strokes he'd press a kiss to whatever area he was drying, my collar bone, the valley between my breasts, the skin below my naval, my inner thigh. Each soft, butterfly kiss was more infuriating than the last, and I very quickly stopped drying him, twisting the damp cotton in my hands as I stood still. But then he takes the towel away from me, and a tight panic twists in my chest as he slowly guides me backwards to the thick blanket at our feet. We kneel together, and I stare wide-eyed at his beautiful face.