A(nother) very belated Christmas story/those pictures of Connie and Chip in the snow at Rayna's house were adorable and I couldn't resist. Just a little silly fluff.
The first flakes started to fall just after midnight. Rayna was laid on the couch in the living room, her eyes drifting closed as Richard Gere scaled a fire escape declaring his love for Julia Roberts, Deacon curled around her from behind.
'Baby,' he rasped in her ear in that hot-chocolate voice that made her belly contract and her skin shiver.
'Mm?' she attempted in reply, content as could be in his arms, both of them snug under an old favourite blanket she'd snagged from his house when he'd moved into hers.
She felt his grin against the back of her neck as he nuzzled her there, the scruff on his chin tickling her in all the right ways. 'Baby,' he said again, resting his hand on her tummy and pulling her even closer into his warm body. 'Look outside. It's snowing.'
Rayna opened her eyes a crack, and sure enough, on the other side of the glass, flecks drifted from the sky, illuminated by the light from the candles flickering on their fireplace.
'Snow,' she breathed, a little awe in her voice. 'Deacon…'
He rested his cheek on hers and they watched together for a few moments from their sleepy spot, until Rayna twisted onto her back and slipped a pyjama-clad leg between his. She smiled up at him and he smoothed the backs of his fingers over her temple, down the side of her face, tracing her lips with his thumb.
He leaned down and kissed her, and she melted into him, her hand on his chest for a moment before it found its way to her favourite spot, the back of his neck, and settled there. In the background the movie credits rolled and silence fell upon them, broken only by the spitting of the candles and the sounds of their slow kisses.
Rayna ran her foot up Deacon's leg and moved her mouth to his ear. 'Wanna go play in the snow?' she whispered, savouring the rising heat that always came with kissing him, and he nodded, his eyes twinkling at the prospect. He loved every one of the many sides of Rayna Jaymes, but her flirty, playful side was one of his favourites. He stole one more kiss, just deep enough to make her knees a little shaky when she moved to get up from the couch.
'Remember when we used to go sledging over on that hill near our first apartment?' he asked, holding out his hands to help her up. She kept hold when she was on her feet, and wondered as Deacon ran his thumbs over the centre of her palms if she would ever not tingle when he touched her.
'Of course I do,' she replied, replaying memories of the two of them, barely more than kids, tumbling from wobbly apple-box sledges into the snow. 'I bruised my ass more times than I could count that first winter we lived there.'
'Oh I don't think that's how you bruised it, baby,' he said with a wink, jumping out of reach of the swipe of her hand.
He disappeared into the cloakroom next to the kitchen and emerged with the two biggest coats he could find, holding out a padded parka he'd had for years. Rayna shrugged into it, the sleeves coming down past her hands, and tried comically to button it.
He watched her, covering her hands with his when she pouted in frustration. 'C'mere,' he said, amused, and finished up the buttons for her. When he got to the top one she reached up and kissed him, and when she was so lost in the moment she sighed into him, Deacon tugged the coat's giant hood up over her head and pulled back, chuckling at her.
'Deacon,' came her deadpan voice from the depths of the hood, her drowned hands on her hips making him laugh harder. She shook her head and the material fell to her shoulders. but she couldn't keep the stern expression on her face. 'I think this might be a bit big.'
'But it's warm, Ray. I caught a prize carp in that jacket a few Christmasses ago when the lake was almost frozen over. Didn't even catch a chill.'
'You caught a fish in this? Deacon tell me you've washed it since.'
'Probably.' He pulled a coat out of the closet for himself and turned away so she didn't see his teasing look. 'I wouldn't put your hands in the pockets though.'
/
They tiptoed through the dark kitchen feeling like school-kids sneaking out, about to be rumbled any second. The hush that swirled around them when they opened the door was a strange magic only fresh snow could bring, a muffling of the wind and a thickening of the air.
'Oh,' Rayna gasped softly, taking Deacon's hand in her gloved one and stepping onto the ground like she was dipping a toe into a hot bath to test the temperature. The snow crunched under her boots, Deacon close by her side as they walked across the yard.
'It really came down out here, huh?' he said, peering at their deep footprints, two of hers to every one of his as she kept up with his longer strides. Something about the sight struck him; he wanted to always see her footsteps beside his, for every winter as long as they lived.
They stopped when they were far enough from the house to look back at it, its roof covered in a thick layer of white, windows dark but for the one they'd left Christmas lights twinkling in while they'd dozed on the couch.
'It looks like a gingerbread house,' Rayna mused, tucking herself into Deacon's side, and he wrapped his arms around her, kissing her forehead. Her skin was cold and he let his lips stay there until it warmed under them. She closed her eyes and leaned into him, taking in the moment.
'I love living here with you,' she said, 'it's home now. It felt like just a house all these years, like it was never really mine, as beautiful as it is.' She looked up at him; he was gazing at her, and she felt the familiar thud in her stomach, the rush of love for him that washed over her so often. Her voice dropped to a whisper. 'All it was waiting for was you.'
Deacon smiled at her softly, and lowered his face to hers. 'I'm here now baby,' he said against her lips.
They stayed that way for a while, kissing slowly under the steadily falling flakes, their bodies swaying together. If anyone could have seen them, they would have taken the scene for a snowglobe, Rayna and Deacon the lovers forever frozen in a moment.
They'd just spent their first Christmas together since everything had fallen apart all those years ago, before the girls, before she'd married Teddy, before they'd tried to live their lives apart and failed at every turn. It seemed unthinkable now, like it couldn't possibly have been that way; how could they have gone without this?
The holidays - the lights on the tree, lazy days of presents and full bellies - had them both taking stock of the past year. It had been a tough one, Deacon's all-too-near miss with his cancer, Beverly's death, everything that had happened in the aftermath, but it had also been one of the most beautiful they could have wished for, the hardships bringing them back to each other once and for all. There was much they were grateful for - his survival, their engagement, the happy future they'd dreamed about and mourned for now their reality. There was a part of both of them that still couldn't quite believe it, and barely a day passed when they didn't find themselves staring at each other with goofy grins, no need for explanations.
Rayna curled her hand into a ball and felt the ring on her finger beneath her gloves, cool against her skin, and for the millionth time since Deacon had dropped to his knee on the bridge, she felt the warmth spread from her toes all the way through her body. She was going to be his wife, finally, after almost three decades of loving him.
'Your nose is cold,' Deacon said eventually, rubbing it with his. He pulled back and looked at her as she scrunched it up to regain feeling, and she saw a smirk cross his face. He was gone in a flash and she whirled around, confused.
'What are you doing babe?'
The snowball just missed her and she jumped, spotting him at the other end of the line of fire.
'Call that a shot?' She mimed rolling up her sleeves and bent down, gathering a generous handful and packing it into a loose ball. When she looked up again, Deacon was nowhere to be seen, and she scanned the garden, listening for any telltale steps.
His next attempt landed on her shoulder, and she stifled a squeal, spinning in the direction it had come from and launching her attack in the direction of Deacon's retreating figure. She clipped him right on the head, and he held up his hands in surrender, shaking it from his hair.
'I'm the unbeaten snowball champion,' she called to him, 'you should know better.'
She missed him pluck a handful from the bush behind him and was too busy rattling off her achievements in her natural forte of winter sports to see him lift his hand until he was smushing it in her face.
Their laughter had no echo, caught and captured by the snow, and she took off after him down the driveway, too hysterical to turn fast enough when he stopped suddenly and launched himself at her. They tumbled to the soft ground, cheeks flushed, snowflakes on their eyelashes.
'My ass is wet,' Rayna wheezed, and Deacon slid his hands down and cupped it, nodding an affirmative.
'Mmhmm,' he replied, his laughter fading to a suggestive grin, and she swiped at him.
'Perve,' she breathed, already feeling the coil in her stomach she knew so well as he moved her so she was laying on top of him and tightened his grip.
'Just warmin' it up for you.'
'Such a gentleman.'
'Always at your service, baby,' he quipped, licking his lips and letting his fingers trail to the tops of her thighs and curl around them.
She kissed him hotly, her legs opening of their own accord and straddling him. Deacon unzipped their jackets so he could pull her closer and slipped his hands inside hers, looping them around her waist and stroking her back. One found its way up to the back of her head and he threaded his fingers into her hair, holding her to him. He could feel her heart beating against his own chest.
He wanted to roll her onto her back and slide his hand into her jeans but he didn't want her to get any colder, figuring he was a barrier between her and the snow. She pressed on his chest and lifted herself slightly, and he seized the opportunity to push his luck, moving his fingers under the hem of her T-shirt and up her ribcage. She shrieked against his mouth, but he was stealth-like, and his hand closed over her bare breast before she could pull away.
'Deacon you're freezing,' she admonished, but he was already massaging her in just the way she liked, his icy thumb rolling relentlessly over her nipple, and she was torn between batting him away until he'd warmed up, and being immensely glad she'd taken off her bra earlier in the evening. 'Watching a movie' usually ended up with them making out on the couch until one of them blindly knocked the remote to off and they humped their way upstairs to the bedroom, and she'd thought she'd give him a headstart tonight. Underwear was no match for Deacon, it may as well be taken out of the equation.
'Hmm,' she hummed, and if only he could have figured out a way to get his damn mouth on her in their current position, he'd have had her gasping his name in a heartbeat.
She nibbled his earlobe, sucking on his sensitive skin, and worked her hand down to his pants. 'Think it's too cold to get this out?' she teased, her hand stroking him through the material, and Deacon barked out a laugh.
'If you want it to freeze like a popsicle,' he said, and she flashed him a naughty look, considering the notion.
'I think you can give it but you can't take it, Claybourne,' she said, a little breathlessly as he moved his other hand inside her shirt.
'Is that so, huh?'
He strained towards her, both of them riled up beyond return, and she let him distract himself trying to entice her lips back to him, peeling off her glove as she dipped her tongue into his mouth for only a moment, much to his frustration.
'I love the snow,' he grunted, his hands full of her breasts, and she smiled indulgently.
'Oh, me too,' she said, and before he knew what she was doing, her hand was inside his pants and she was grasping him in her icy palm.
If his bellow hadn't woken the girls, it had probably woken the neighbours a half a mile away. She was still laughing when he dumped the handful of snow down her back.
They were lost after that, running around the garden hurling it haphazardly at each other, until he chased her to the kitchen door and kissed her up against the frame. They called a truce somewhere between his shirt button pinging off and her pants hitting the floor, leaving a powdery white trail that melted all the way up the stairs to their bedroom.