Body of Water (22 page)
Authors: Stuart Wakefield
He looked at me in horror.
I threw it down between us and laughed as I tore off my own clothes and threw them on top. "And I won't need these."
I launched myself into the water closely followed by Dom who tried to push me under. I twisted and swam away but he caught up with me and we eventually surfaced in each other's arms.
"Why did ye do that?"
"To show you that I'm as comfortable out here as you are on land."
"But Ah bet Ah can out-swim ye, moppy." He flicked water in my face and dove out of sight surfacing seconds later by the bedrock on which I had waited for him for so long.
As he hauled himself out of the water I admired his back, the muscles shifting like tectonic plates as they pulled him free.
I followed but I had the power to launch myself from the water and land gracefully next to him.
"Now ye're showing off," he chuckled and plunged his hand into the pile of clothes.
I looked down at what he'd handed to me. He'd given me his skin by accident. "This is yours Dom."
"Aye."
"But it's your skin."
He looked down at it in my hands and he smiled, his expression as soft as his voice. "Aye."
"But... why?"
"Because of the one thing Ah haven't said tae ye yet." He hooked his fingers around the back of my neck and drew my mouth to his.
The kiss was the longest we'd shared. I was lost in it, soothed by the lips I'd longed for and the feel of his warm body against mine.
When he finally pulled back the silver flecks in his slate-grey eyes reflected my devotion for him.
"I love ye, Leven."
∗ ∗ ∗
The story continues with Shaun in
Memory of Water
Continue reading for a preview...
I cowered in the corner, my hands over my face, curled into as tight a ball as possible. I swallowed hard but it wasn't enough to stifle a loud sob as I gasped for air. What the fuck just happened?
Bugbee and Powell had burst in, I remembered that much. There was lots of shouting and swearing. Powell had suddenly rushed me and pinned me to the wall. Bugbee made a move towards Leven and then...
I tried to control my breathing and risked a peek out from between my fingers.
The flat was trashed. Someone's remains smeared the walls and floor like a twisted makeover. I could make out clumps of hair the colour of Powell's dotting the wet meat that lay in chunks on the floor. That left just me and Leven, who stood at the front door, his forehead resting on the peeling paintwork, his eyes closed. Was he even aware of me?
Acid rose in my throat just at the thought of what Leven had done in this very room. I'd pleaded with the men not to hurt him but they'd ignored me and started throwing their weight around. Leven sprang to life when he saw Bugbee advance toward him.
Now the men were dead and I was fucked.
I needed an exit. There was a fire escape outside the bedroom window. With Leven blocking the front door it was my only chance. I pushed myself to standing and headed towards the hallway as carefully as I could, picking through the men's remains and not taking my eyes off Leven for a moment longer than I had to.
The hallway remained dark as I crossed the threshold and flicked the light switch. The power was out. Fuck. I looked around but could see nothing except the bedroom and bathroom doorways. If I tripped over anything I'd alert Leven to my presence and run the risk of being attacked. Just as well the lights were out after all. Now, all that stood between me and my only possible chance of survival was twenty feet of open space.
Cautiously, I took a step forward, and then another and another. I was just about to break into a run when I felt hands on my shoulders. Leven spun me around and the look on his face buckled my legs. I fell to the floor.
Leven towered over me, blood covering his face and teeth.
I suddenly felt awe at the sight of him. Raw power emanated from his core and his blue eyes glowed - fucking glowed - in the darkness.
Leven widened his stance and, behind him, I could see what was left of Bugbee's head, a trail of grey matter splattered behind the broken lump.
I felt like I was drowning.
"What happened to you?" I was so scared my voice cracked as I asked the question.
He raised his arms above his head and I saw the glimmer of metal in his grasp. "What happened to me?" His hands rushed downwards. "You."
About The Author
Stuart Wakefield was born with a creative drive and studied at art school before branching out into fashion design, theatre set and costume design, semi-professional stage acting, and direction.
Seeking wordy inspiration has always been a part of his daily life. With some fellow writers he founded Writebulb, an open and supportive community of writers based in Essex, England.
Stuart has written for print, web and screen and is happiest when writing about men who love men.
You can find out more about Stuart and connect with him at
