“Somewhere,” he says, and he regrets it a little when some muck gets in his mouth. There’s so little difference between the colour of his hair and the muck caked all over him.
"I think he'd find it quite funny," Jill says with a mischievous smile. Everyone would be amused but Clive. "Out the back door with you, then. Try to stand away from my flowerbeds. I don't know what this will do to them."
“Kill them, maybe?” He wonders. “They’d get gummed up.”
Obediently, Clive heads up, stinking and dripping the whole way — fresh tracks tracing his steps back to where he’d come in, albeit one with less gear. His heart is pounding. Cold water might stave off any premature impulses.
Jill follows, resisting the urge to give his bottom a smack as they go up the stairs. Even like this, smelly and gross, she adores him.
Once they're outside, she heads to the hose. The cool air bites at her bare legs beneath her nightgown, but it's far enough from winter that it's not terrible. She knows a hot shower is in her future, and a clean Clive, and so she can endure.
"I'm glad we bought this spray nozzle," she says, turning the water on and testing the spray and temperature against her hand, while at the same time rinsing off some of the goop.
"The water is cold," she warns. It's the middle of the night, after all. "Let me start with your back, first. Top to bottom."
Clive wanders onto the lawn, giving her a lingering look before he turns away. It is cool out indeed, and helpfully, his mind supplies the mental image of her nipples hardening under her sweet little gown, and the warmth between her legs.
“I’ll live,” he muses. “Spray at your leisure, Jill.”
He knows it’s coming, yet he still gasps aloud — he’d imagined a rudimentary shower, but it immediately feels as miserable as swimming. He laughs in disbelief.
“Right for the head,” he says. He can feel the torrent down his back, and the spray halos over his head. “Without hesitation!”
"I do what I must," she replies, the stream moving down to his shoulders. It's like washing away grime to find a treasure beneath. How fun. The pressure of the water can do most of the work, she thinks. She can help him with the finer details.
"Let this be a lesson to kill the beast quicker, next time," Jill says with a grin, moving the spray back and forth, watching the water and grime drip down his body as she chases it. "Unless you actually enjoy being hosed down like a dog in the middle of the night."
"I'm having a wonderful time," she says, sincere. The smile hasn't left her face since she picked up the hose. Maybe her tune will change once she's scrubbing behind his ears and in all cracks imaginable, but for now, it's fun.
She resists the urge to spray his face. It's not often she gets to bully him while helping him, and she must behave.
Founder, that’s cold. He rolls his shoulders, his shirt clinging to his back, near transparent. This sucks, but her cheer wears off on him, and he expects to feel a whole lot more than her hand.
“Depending on how that goes, I may stay my revenge plans.”
“I’m supposed to be the one making love to you after this,” he says, turning slowly, eye on her nozzle. He braces himself and lifts an arm to shield his eyes. “Mind the thigh.”
Even in the dark, she knows where his eyes went before covering them. How tempting to be a terror, but alas, she's careful to both be quick and not full on spray him in the face as she rinses him off.
"I'll clean that once we're inside," she says, more serious. "I hope it just needs bandages, not stitches."
“Busy night,” he remarks, briefly gritting his teeth against the spray, and he lowers his arm as she works her way down. “I think it’ll be okay… another scar at worst.”
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"I do think we should seriously consider the hose. I worry for the drains."
They already fight for their lives with all her hair.
"Then a good bath."
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“Alright,” he says. “Pray Joshua does not wake. That would be a sight.”
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She looks at her filthy hands. It reeks.
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Obediently, Clive heads up, stinking and dripping the whole way — fresh tracks tracing his steps back to where he’d come in, albeit one with less gear. His heart is pounding. Cold water might stave off any premature impulses.
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Once they're outside, she heads to the hose. The cool air bites at her bare legs beneath her nightgown, but it's far enough from winter that it's not terrible. She knows a hot shower is in her future, and a clean Clive, and so she can endure.
"I'm glad we bought this spray nozzle," she says, turning the water on and testing the spray and temperature against her hand, while at the same time rinsing off some of the goop.
"The water is cold," she warns. It's the middle of the night, after all. "Let me start with your back, first. Top to bottom."
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“I’ll live,” he muses. “Spray at your leisure, Jill.”
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Three comes with Jill pulling the trigger on the bright green nozzle, the spray hitting the back of his head.
She feels a little bad that it must be unpleasant, but she's smiling because it's sort of fun to spray him down like a dog.
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“Right for the head,” he says. He can feel the torrent down his back, and the spray halos over his head. “Without hesitation!”
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"I do what I must," she replies, the stream moving down to his shoulders. It's like washing away grime to find a treasure beneath. How fun. The pressure of the water can do most of the work, she thinks. She can help him with the finer details.
"Now you know how Torgal feels."
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“I think you’re enjoying this more than I expected.”
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"I'm having a wonderful time," she says, sincere. The smile hasn't left her face since she picked up the hose. Maybe her tune will change once she's scrubbing behind his ears and in all cracks imaginable, but for now, it's fun.
She resists the urge to spray his face. It's not often she gets to bully him while helping him, and she must behave.
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“Is that truly necessary?”
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"Yes. Truly."
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He will percolate on revenge in the meantime.
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"As tempting as that is, I do think that particular area should be washed by hand."
And in case he doesn't get it, she adds: "My hand."
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“Depending on how that goes, I may stay my revenge plans.”
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She'll fight her demons and not shoot him in the dick.
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Even in the dark, she knows where his eyes went before covering them. How tempting to be a terror, but alas, she's careful to both be quick and not full on spray him in the face as she rinses him off.
"I'll clean that once we're inside," she says, more serious. "I hope it just needs bandages, not stitches."
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