I've basically prompted myself to reinvent a very cliched fic trope. Hope you like it.
Of course, it started to rain in the middle of their walk, when they were in the middle the path in the middle of an open field. They pressed on a little way, hoping that it would clear. It didn't. The water became heavier and icier.
"Oh God," Phyllis muttered, "It's going down my neck!"
"This is horrible," he agreed, "Listen, we're much closer to the village than we are to the house. Do you want to nip in to my dad's place and see if we can wait there?"
"Yes!" she agreed, "Let's do that!"
"Right, then, follow me," he told her, stepping off the path into the long wet grass.
"Where on earth are you going?" she asked him.
He looked back at her, caught the look of uncertainty on her face.
"It's just over there," he pointed ahead of himself, "Past those trees, they come out at the lane round the back of my dad's house."
Through the rain, she could see the vague line of low rooftops through the thin trees. The path veered off in the other direction. He was right, his way would be quicker.
He was offering her his hand.
"I don't want you to slip," he told her, as if to explain herself.
During this hesitation, she realised, they were only getting more bedraggled.
"Alright," she told him, slipping her hand into his and allowing him to lead her through the grass.
And then they half, ran through the long blades of grass, only avoiding slipping and sliding in all directions by moving at speed. The rain blurred her vision, she could barely see and relied on him to direct her. Their hands locked tightly together, too tightly to slip away with the rain. He had the advantage of not having to do this in a skirt, she thought as the grass sloshed unpleasantly around her ankles. Water was running down her forehead, over the bridge of her nose. The trees gave very thin cover and only slightly eased the downpour for them. Her eyes were practically shut, and so it was a gentle surprise when the horrible sloshing grass feeling stopped and his pace slowed and he was leading her into the lane behind the house, where they were at least sheltered from the gusts of wind.
He unlatched the back gate.
"At least the garden will be getting a bit of a water," he remarked as they made their way up the path.
He was still holing her hand.
"I think we've had a bit of a water ourselves," she replied.
He laughed loudly, and she could not help giving a little smile, cold and wet as she was.
They had reached the back door.
He gave one knock but without waiting for a reply turned the handle and went inside. She was grateful for his swiftness.
"Dad! It's only me!"
The cottage was warmer than the outdoors so they did not notice immediately that it was not as warm as it normally would have been. There was no fire in the grate and a plate lay on the table that looked like it had been used for breakfast and then left.
"He must have gone up to the farm this morning," he concluded, "He sometimes goes up to help Daisy's dad."
"That's nice of him," she replied.
"It will make things less awkward for us," he responded, "He won't be asking awkward question about what I've been up to, dragging a lady through the wet on a day like this."
She smiled.
"I doubt he'd find me very ladylike in this state," she told him, and then, catching sight of her dampened state in the mirror above the heart, "Oh Lord, look at me!"
He did, just in time to see her taking her hat off and letting down her hair, trying to see what could be salvaged from the bedraggled mess. A lump formed in his throat.
"I'll get the fire on," he somehow managed to say, "Here, let me get your coat."
He hung her coat up with is own on the stand by the door to the hallway, swiftly kneeling down to see to the fire.
It had been a nice day when they left, and she'd only had her thin coat on. The water had gone clean through, and through her sleeves too, dampening her skin. She tried not to shiver as stood there watching him light the fire, watching the fire spread through the kindling, willing the heat to radiate out to her.
Turning on his knees, he saw the hem of her skirts, soaking and covered in stray blades of grass.
"Oh Lord," he murmured, looking apologetically up at her, "Look what I've done to you."
She looked down at him. There was something affecting in the way that he was kneeling there at her feet, in the look on his face.
"It doesn't matter," she told him, giving her skirt a quick brush, "See look it's fine."
He stood as she straightened up herself, and caught sight of the way the water had gone through her sleeves. The dark fabric had gone a little transparent with dampness. Her hair, half wet, half dry was falling down her back.
"You're soaked through," he said, unnecessarily.
"You're the same," she replied.
"I don't matter," he told her, "I've got some spare clothes in my bedroom."
"Well, we'll just have to go to your room and we if there's anything there for me," she replied softly.
"Alright," he agreed.
She sensed a hesitation in him.
"That's if you don't mind me borrowing your clothes," she added tentatively.
"No," he replied, "Of course, I don't."
It was a bit of a stretch for both of them to leave the fire, but they managed it, and he led her into a little room off the sitting room that emerged to be his bedroom.
"It's only a small house," he explained, "I got a bigger room if I went downstairs."
She smiled.
"Fair enough," she replied.
There was a large chest of drawers by the wall.
"I haven't got anything very flattering, I don't think," he told her softly, shuffling through one of the drawers for some spare shirts, "Nothing as nice as what you usually wear."
She smiled at the compliment.
"I don't mind," she replied truthfully, "I'm going for dryness more than anything else."
He rested the shirts on the top of the chest of drawers, ready for them both. Without thinking about it, she began to undo the buttons on the front of the dress, ready to put the shirt on.
"I'm afraid I definitely don't have any skirts," he was telling her lightly, "Here or at the big house, so it'll have to be-…"
He straightened up, turned and saw her with her buttons open, her collarbone and the top of her chest glistening with rain, a stray droplet trickling down towards her breasts. She hadn't quite made it on with the shirt in time, and he was staring at her speechless. The folded pairs of trousers he had been holding in his hands gently thudded to the floor. There was a deep silence. The way he was looking at her was almost alarming, no one had ever looked at her that way before; like she was a work of art, like she was-…
"So beautiful." He did not know if the words came out of his mouth fully or even half formed or just in a strangled moan.
Her eyes widened a little in surprise, and the corners of her mouth lifted into a little smile. Maybe that was some indication. Her hands had left her buttons now and her dress was lying open, exposing her chest, her brassiere to him. He could not take his eyes off her, he was reaching out for her:
"Joseph," she said softly.
"Yes?" he managed to say.
"Are you sure this is what you want?" she found the courage to ask, "Are you sure I'm what you want?"
"More than anything," he replied.
His hand raised and traced the path that the raindrop had taken around her neck and down the curve of her throat. She knew he could feel the hitch of her breathing, the pounding of her heart beneath his fingers. Her mouth met his, and he slipped his hand underneath the damp dress.
And then they move swiftly, as fluidly as the grey rain still streaming down the window pane of his bedroom. They left their wet clothes on the floor, stumbling together towards his bed, pressing their shivering skin together, sharing the heat, warming each other, cradling each other and kissing. He lavished her skin with open-mouthed kisses, her hand tangled in his hair as he pushed her brassiere off her shoulders.
"I love you," he whispered, "I want you."
"I love you too," she replied, pulling his mouth back to hers.
It made sense: it was hurried and it was impulsive but it was so loving. His bedsheets became damp with the residual water clinging to their skins as they tumbled around his bed together. She smiled up at him, latching her arms around his neck, lifting her legs around his waist.
"Wait," he whispered.
"Why?" she asked him softly.
"There's something I want to do," he replied, "For you."
He disentangled himself softly. He was kissing his way down her body. He was kissing her between her thighs. No one had ever done this for her. Her mouth fell open in a soft croon as his tongue touched her, slipped inside her. Her pelvis arched towards him of it own accord.
"Yes," she murmured softly,"Yes!"
His fingers slipped gently inside her and he worked her to her climax. He held her as she rocked against him, his face next to her hair.
She looked at him adoringly as she finished.
"Come here," she whispered, reaching out for him again.
end.
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