Disclaimer: I do not own the characters of this work of fiction, and am making not profit, monetary or otherwise, through the writing of this.
A/N: AU, inspired by rain and written for my friend, suerum.
Spinelli likes the rain. It's soothing. Reminds him of simpler times, when all he had to do was grab a box of crayons and a coloring book, and sit at the kitchen table and color, feet curled up underneath him, or dangling over the edge of the chair.
When he was older, though, he exchanged his colors and their accompanying books for a computer, and whiled away the rainy days with games that enabled him to become someone else, and forget who he really was - a friendless, oft picked on geek.
On days like those, he could almost pretend that he wasn't nursing a bloodied lip, or bruised ribs from his latest scuffle with bullies, and that he really was some bad-ass computer character able to pummel the bad guy with alacrity.
When he was in the zone, he could become anything and anyone he wanted to - a sword-wielding ninja, a gun-toting mercenary, a cool guy who never let anything, or anyone, touch him.
And then he'd become embroiled in crime in an effort to make his life more exciting, still half-believing that he was only playing a game, and not quite realizing that what he was doing was real, and that people were getting killed. That some had even been killed as a direct result of the services that he'd provided.
Rainy days then became opportunities for him to hide away from the oppressive reality that his life had become, and he exchanged his computer games for inexpertly rolled joints, an occasional stolen beer, or orange soda, and a bag of barbecue chips.
Wasted, he'd watch raindrops gather on his fogged up windows and giggle at the patterns that they made. Sometimes, if he wasn't too far gone, he'd borrow a magazine from his uncle's special collection, and, lotion and sock in hand, he'd pretend that he was a real ladies man. That girls didn't take one look at him and make a joke, or automatically place him in the 'friend zone'.
He'd use copious amounts of cologne and sunglasses to hide what he did from his grandmother, though he suspects that, on some level, she knew. On a rainy day, his room would reek of pot and the aftermath of making love to his left hand.
Now, though, Spinelli spends his rainy days curled up on a couch, ensconced in an afghan with edges frayed by age, head resting on a solid chest, muscular arm wrapped around his shoulders as he nurses a cup of hot chocolate, or,if he's in the mood, tea. Looking into blue, stormy eyes sparkling with warmth that not many others get an opportunity to see, Spinelli can't help but think that he's come a long way from coloring crayons, role play games, and mind-altering drugs.
He loses himself to lips, firm and chapped, against his own, and the soothing sound of the rain is drowned out by that of breathy moans that express need beyond what Spinelli feels he can give. A knot forms in his stomach, and the moment builds and builds and builds until with a muffled shouts of: "Stone Cold!" - "Spinelli!" accompanied by a clap of thunder that shakes the walls, he's spilling over like Mt. Vesuvius, and wondering why it took so long for him to get from crayons to this.
Spinelli loves the rain.