Excerpt: Klapperschlangen

It was a lovely afternoon. Veronica enjoyed watching the boys play in the river, even though they complained of it being cold. They brought her water periodically and small fish, which she was charged with making sure they didn’t wiggle out of the little rock-walled pen Remy made for them at her side. She laughed as they laughed, joined in their catches and mourned their losses as the fish slipped away. She couldn’t take her eyes off of Remy, standing knee-deep in the river. Damian stood closer to shore, at about the same depth. Remy had rolled up his right sleeve, and left the left one down, and he still wore the glove. She felt her smile drain away as she watched, wondering again at the circumstances that would cause him to keep it covered, even in this heat. She resolved to find out.

The water from their fishing efforts occasionally splashed up, soaking through their clothing. Both of them had removed as much of their clothing as decency allowed, despite the chill of the water and the heat of the day to contrast it. Both stood in the river with their pants rolled up past the knee, dressed only in their shirts. She enjoyed watching the water cleave the fabric of Remy’s clothing to his body, and she was entirely unaware of the wistful little sigh that escaped her lips.

Time seemed to slow down. He was waving the make-shift fishing rod back and forth over the water with his right hand, holding the string out in his left hand. He turned his back towards her as he did so, the sun shining through the cloth of his shirt to outline his body clearly through the thin fabric. His hair had been left partially down, only the top half gathered into a braid, the under layers left free against his neck and back. Such long hair was out of fashion on American and other European men, and she found that she didn’t care. He was gorgeous. Every line of his body seemed designed especially to tease her, from the broadness of his shoulders to his narrow waist and hips, the curve of his extremely well-sculpted ass, the length and bulge of his thighs, his calves which she couldn’t see beneath the water but knew were just as shapely as the rest of him. She was glad that he didn’t face her, because her mind was more than occupied enough with his back. She wasn’t sure that she wanted to contemplate the front of him, while a part of her deep inside was eager to. Surely it was just as magnificent.

She was startled out of her reverie as Damian came running out of the water towards her. “I caught one!” He was yelling. She turned her attention to him, and then smiled as the fish he carried on the end of the hook was only marginally bigger than the ones already trapped in their rock pen.

Remy appeared out of the river too. “Congratulations,” he said, his accent turning the word into a marvel of construction to her ears. “Here, you saw how to remove the hook?”

Damian nodded eagerly, and then knelt beside the rock pen, demonstrating his knowledge of the technique. It was clumsy, but he managed it even on the first attempt, which made everyone smile. Remy then decided that this was the perfect time to start cooking the little fish, and the rock pen quickly became empty.
He set a small fire that was much longer than it was wide right there on the bank, and then found suitable twigs and sticks to form a frame over it. Each little fish was threaded trhough one gill and out of its mouth before being wound onto the stick so that it hung over the fire. When all the fish dangled above the heat, he and Damian returned to the water, ostensibly to fish some more, but as their lines were now being used to cook fish, it turned into a fish-grabbing lesson. The results were pitiful, as they caught nothing, but by the end of the escapade, they were soaked from head to toe, and retuned to where Veronica sat, both grinning from ear to ear and looking inordinately pleased with themselves.

Veronica grinned in reply, feeling it freeze on her face as she took in what she was seeing. Damian disappeared from her vision entirely; she was focused solely on Remy. His clothing clung to him even more now, all over. She had an excellent view of the front side of him that she was trying hard to ignore. It was impossible to do so now. His shirt outlined his chest and abdomen in a way that still left everything obscured. His shirt still managed to be tucked into his pants, which clung to his hips, especially at the front and… She imagined that if her mind had been like a flour mill, something had gotten stuck in the gear. It was quite apparent that he was, indeed, a man. She didn’t even get to his legs.

His steps slowed and then quickened as he rushed towards her. “Are you alright?” he was asking her. She shook herself out of her day dream, looking up into his worried face as he slid his arm around her back. “You’ve been in the sun too long,” he declared, pressing a hand to her forehead. “You’re heating up. I shouldn’t have left you sitting here all afternoon!” Without a seeming second thought, he pulled off his shirt and used it to press the soaked cloth to her forehead.

She marvelled at his tenderness. He was such am enigma. She wished men were easy to understand. She did feel overheated now, however, and his wet shirt was cold and refreshing.

Eventually, she reached up to still his hand, feeling immensely better. The skin under her fingers was warm and still damp. He lowered the shirt, ignoring the fact that it dripped all over her chest and legs. She didn’t care. Their eyes met, their faces close enough together that she had only to lean forward and lift her face just so and their lips would meet…

Remy seemed to realize it, his gaze lowering to her lips, and for a heartbeat or two, she thought he might. Then he pulled away, a little too sharply, retreating from her and yanking his shirt back on. But not until she had a good look at his arms. The left one was so dark, it seemed black. Or it made his skin seem white. She wasn’t sure. But the sight of it shocked her right out of the cloud of lust (she cringed inwardly to realize what it was) and she leaned forward, greatly intrigued.

“Wait, your arm,” she started.

“Is none of your business,” he finished flatly, yanking the shirt down violently. He stood back and glared at her. Distantly, she wondered if he realized how lovely he looked, his hair plastered to his skull and a strand or two across his cheeks and clinging to his neck. His hands clenched at his side as they just stood or sat there, staring at each other. Remy’s face was defensive and angry, while Veronica was insatiably curious.

“Remy, please,” she tried. “I just-”

“No!” he said sharply. “I don’t want to talk about it! Pretend as if you never saw anything!”