DIGGING DEAN
Chapter 2
I know I said this one was complete, but ... well, a girl can change her mind, can't she?
When a guy digs a hole - what does he have to do next? Fill it in, of course ... I give you Dean, a heavy rainshower and still no T shirt.
Yes, I'm a perv, yes, I'm shallow ... your honour, the defence rests!
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Sitting among the long grass Dean stared at the massive trench containing the cow carcass, the fruit of his earlier labours, and the looming pile of soil next to it. Stiff forearms rested on bent knees, as he relaxed after his afternoon's work.
The burning afternoon sun had sunk to the horizon and left a chokingly oppressive evening warmth. Dean's chest tightened as he inhaled deeply of the moist, thick air; the hazy early evening sunlight casting long shadows across the contours of his heaving ribs.
He stood wearily and stretched his neck. Throwing his head back, he stared up at heavy grey clouds, pregnant with unfallen rain.
Calloused fingertips kneaded the long sinuous curve of his neck, pinching and rubbing tired, knotted shoulders. His aching spine arched into the stretch, muscles flickering and flexing beneath glistening, dirt-streaked skin.
His chest lifted with a long sigh as his whole body relaxed out of the stretch, and he glanced again at pile of soil with a scowl. "C'mon man," he admonished himself, "move your ass; freakin' hole's not gonna fill itself in."
Suddenly, his body jolted as a clap of thunder rolled across the sky and fat raindrops began to spatter down on him, cold against hot skin; soothing against shoulders sore from too much sun.
The pattering raindrops turned into a downpour. Relishing the cool deluge, he tilted his head back and tasted the sweet, fresh rain, allowing it to splash on his face; it trickled down his neck, streaming down the hollow of his chest, across the firm ridges of his abdomen, pooling at his navel and into his sodden jeans.
He revelled in the impomptu shower, washing the grime of the days work from his skin; his hands tracing the contours of his torso, spreading the fresh rain over his body like soap; goosebumps blossoming across his skin as the cold torrent washed the bitter tang of sweat and dirt away.
He shook his head as the downpour began to peter out and scraped soaked, dripping hair back from his forehead. Wiping a hand over his face, he blinked as a stray raindrop glistened on his wet lashes.
… and the hole still wasn't filled in.
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