Disclaimers: Don't belong to us, we're just borrowing, and will return one day... maybe... or not...
Notes: Self-beta'd, and proof that, contrary to popular opinion, we can both write something that doesn't involve bashing or crunching Chris in any way...
I'm in the galley of my little sailing yacht and reality is upside down. I was making tea when the yacht capsized and now everything's topsy-turvy.
Through rushing water I try to get out, but something's blocking the doors; there's nothing I can do but stay put, lodged by the toilet door as the water rises around me, trying desperately not to panic. The water slows, but doesn't cease as the boat stops subsiding and simply floats in the rocking current.
I take a deep breath and dip under the water, trying the doors again, but they won't budge so I go back up to my air pocket, frightened, yet resigned as I can see no way out. Time stretches into an eternity, as seconds seem like minutes seem like hours.
Something thumps outside the hull, and the yacht tilts alarmingly. Something heavy falls across me and I'm pinned. My head is jammed against my perception of the ceiling as I try to tilt my chin enough to access the diminishing air. Water closes above my face and darkness flits across my vision...
Then...
Hands caress my cheeks, strong fingers grasping the back of my head. Full lips touch mine, softly at first, but becoming insistent as an agile, probing tongue seeks entrance. Fading fast, I allow that access, fully expecting water to cascade into my mouth and my surprise is complete as warm air blows gently into my lungs, feeding me life.
A hand moves to cup my jaw, firmly pushing my mouth shut as those life-giving lips draw away. I open my eyes in protest and gaze through clear water straight into the face of an angel. He smiles slightly, a dimple making a brief appearance in a strong face, blue eyes flashing as he lets me go.
I'm left with the vision of a tight, muscular body, clad only in a black wetsuit; hands, feet and face stark white in contrast, short hair dancing in the currents, as he flits away, wriggling his way through the tiny gap he's made in the doorway. As my air runs away, I think I must have been dreaming, but I watch for him, hope burning inside.
As the darkness begins to take me once more, the angel returns, and this time, I am ready for him, opening willingly this time, accepting the air he so freely gives as tender fingers along my jaw keeps me steady. Three more times my angel brings me his gifts of air and contact...
Then...
Something shifts and the doorway seems brighter. My angel comes to me again, and I'm strangely disappointed to see that he brings canisters with him, able to now that the doorway is unblocked. He moves to put a mask over my face, but must see the disappointment in my eyes, as he all too briefly puts his lips to mine. No air is forthcoming this time, just a simple touching of flesh, a flicking of tongues, then the mask is over me, and while I no longer need his air, I long for his touch. He shrugs the canisters in their harness over his back, his form silhouetted against the doorway in all its powerful glory and pulls a mask over his own face before working to move the board away from me.
He checks to make sure I'm unhurt. I know that I'm fine, but don't make any effort to communicate that to him, enjoying the feel of his hands running quickly and efficiently up my legs and arms, over my torso, searching for broken bones or bleeding wounds that aren't there, his eyes never leaving mine.
He holds out a hand and I take it, obeying as he moves me through the doorway. Once we're under the cockpit, he encircles my waist, pulling me close and I respond, slipping my arms over his broad shoulders, feeling his powerful muscles working beneath mine, striving to bring us to the surface.
Finally we're there, and I throw off my mask as he does his own. I watch droplets of water, running from his hair, clinging to his lightly tanned skin and cannot help but cave into the urge to return his air to him...
...I am lost in the moment, feeling his arms tighten automatically around me, wanting the kiss to last for ever. But much too soon he pulls away, eyes dancing with laughter at what he probably sees as my natural life-affirming reaction to my too recent brush with death. Releasing me, he gestures to the yacht bobbing gently in the water nearby, but the feel of his hand catching hold of mine to start me moving in that direction still sends sparks through me.
We swim together towards his boat, his encouraging glances and the occasional gentle touch of his hand on my back giving me the strength to cover the distance. We reach the stern and I cling breathlessly to a trailing line as he removes the harness and pulls himself effortlessly from the water, the close fitting black neoprene of the wetsuit enhancing rather than disguising the rippling of his muscular frame. He turns and leans back towards me, reaching with a strong hand to pull me aboard, where I stand dripping in the warm sunshine, shivering with cold and shock at my near escape. I admit secretly to an additional cause for my tremors as he unleashes his dimpled smile on me, blue eyes warm and compassionate.
Then...
He guides me down into the cabin, finding towels and blankets and urging me to remove my wet clothes, but leaving me feeling strangely bereft when he immediately climbs lithely back into the cockpit again. As I pull my clothes off and wrap a blanket around my nakedness I catch sight of him through the open hatchway, attention held as he runs a hand through his short hair to shed the water there, turning his face up to the sun, eyes closed, welcoming it's warmth. I can only gaze silently at his strong profile; the high forehead, the firm line of his jaw, the straight eyebrows.
He reaches over one broad shoulder to unzip the wetsuit and begins to peel it from his well-muscled torso. I watch mesmerised as more smooth and water-sheened skin is uncovered, admiring the ease with which he frees himself from the clinging confines of the wet neoprene, wriggling his hips slightly to draw the suit down over them, revealing a tight lycra-clad butt and powerful thighs. Bending with supple grace to push the wetsuit the rest of the way off, he picks up a towel to rub away the droplets of water clinging to the sun-kissed skin. I have to swallow a cry of protest at the waste, the image in my mind of myself licking them lingeringly away too vivid to ignore.
Then...
He turns back towards me and drops lightly into the cabin again, finding me still shivering in the depths of my blanket. As he approaches my legs give up the fight to keep me standing and I sit down with a thump on the bunk behind me, unable to do anything more than stare at the scantily clad form filling the small cabin with strength of his presence. Concern fills the blue eyes, and I realise he has misunderstood the reason for my trembling. But I make no move to reassure him.
He sits beside me, putting one strong arm around my shoulders and raising the towel to rub gently at my wet hair, telling me softly that I'm safe now, no need to be frightened. But I don't want to be safe and I raise my face to his, losing my battle to control the flooding emotions his nearness provokes.
He gazes back into my eyes, comprehension finally dawning and pushing the concern aside as he reads the longing there. He drops the towel and wraps both arms around me to pull me closer, which only serves to increase my trembling. Staring up, revelling in the warmth and scent of him, losing my grip on the blanket as I lose myself in his embrace, I hear him whisper, "Let's see if we can warm you up," as he lowers his full, soft lips to mine...
Then...
We're falling...drifting, floating slowly back onto the bunk...and I'm drowning again...
THE END
Back to Fantasy Index