(A/N: Warning for mild sexual themes and Wybie being a masochist)
The more time Wybie spent with Coraline, the more bruises peppered his arms. He considered this one night, the previous day having been the supreme luxury that was a hot summer day. He had navigated through reams and reams of woodland to a place half remembered from a summer before Coraline. She had ridden precariously on his handlebars, leaning back so that her blue hair tickled his vision and he could smell the sunblock on her back, applied by her mother earlier that morning. Her legs splayed dangerously outwards, and she curled her naked toes as dust from the road tickled them. She laughed in a way that sent him soaring. They came to their path, and Coraline jumped off the bike. Wybie started to get off the seat himself. Then she started stripping off her clothes, revealing a skinny, sparrow-boned body in a striped orange bikini, and he stumbled sideways onto the dirt.
"Where's the water Wybourn?" His mind replied something along the lines of 'get a stick and find it water witch.' But his mouth was too dry for witticisms, and he pointed to a downhill river, dotted with rocks that formed ledges and islands in the middle and jumping points along the edge. Coraline tackled the steep decline with the enthusiasm of a kid who couldn't remember a time without scabs on their knees. Wybie, once he mustered up the courage to remove his jacket, mask and gloves and leave them in a crumpled pile next to Coraline's clothing, meandered down to the rocky river nervously and slowly. He took off his shirt, his heavy leather boots, and his pants, now wearing only astonishingly green swim trunks. He slipped into the water, the rock shore gripping the bottom of his feet. Once he was up to his waist he put his hands into the water, and a halo of motor oil formed around them.
"C-cold-cold-c-cold." He muttered, finding his way to a deeper part of the river, where he could swim without wetting his neck, before noticing the absence of his blue haired friend. "C-Coraline?" There was an abrupt, Indian shriek of 'Geronimo!' from behind him, and he looked up just in time to see the girl plummeting from the precipice of a huge stone. Wybie had time to open his mouth and begin a yelp of surprise before Coraline hit water and the splash overwhelmed him. When he found his bearings again Coraline was treading water and laughing like a maniac.
"You should have seen your face Wybie!" Her smile offset the goosebumps dotting her skin. Wybie himself laughed nervously, shivering.
"C-colder than I r-remember."
"Dunk your head in. It'll make it easier." Coraline smirked at him. Wybie shook his head lopsidedly.
"No-no-no. I'll just get used to-" Coraline jumped, pushing Wybie's head under the water so that together they sank like a coin, pale sparrow limbs wrestling with darker, more frantic, arms and legs. Wybie's eyes, opened in shock, saw Corlaine's laugh in the form of bubbles, flying from her mouth to the surface of the river, and felt slimy stones dig into his back. He brought his foot up to her hip as if to push her off, only to feel the string of her bikini bottom between his toes and become overwhelmingly self aware, blood rushing to his face. She ran out of air soon enough and jumped back to the surface, arms wide, hair sticking to her face. He broke the surface, sputtering, after her.
"Used to the water now?" Wybie spit up some more river water in response, and Coraline hit him in the arm good humouredly.
Later that night Wybie was awake, petting the Cat in his pajama bottoms, sitting atop his bed. He glanced at the new bruise on his arm, brilliant against the older, fading records of Coraline's wrath and laughter. He remembered the feeling of her nails against his skin and of being pushed to the riverbed. He remembered her gleeful laugh and the feeling of his toes against her swimsuit and her skinny hips. It had felt good. He remembered that sunset came too soon, and letting her dry off with his shirt before she ventured into the trees and put her clothes back on, returning with her bikini in one hand, reminding Wybie of how close to naked she really was. He himself put his clothes back on without drying, the leather and denim only slightly uncomfortable when wet. He didn't put his shirt back one, because it smelled like her, but pushed it into the pocket of his jacket and covered his flushed cheeks with the skull mask. Coraline jumped back on the handlebars and Wybie was uncomfortably aware of the droplets that made their way from the tips of her hair to her lower back as he peddled her back home. His stare traveled from his bruised arm to his shirt, laid out in front of him. The Cat looked up at him as if to say 'You humans and your affections.' Wybie sighed, picking up the shirt and throwing it into his laundry hamper reluctantly. He wished it would stay hot outside. He wanted to see Coraline's stomach again. He wanted her hair to be wet against her cheeks. He wanted more bruises on his arm.