Good Old English Weather

She's beautiful in bad weather – more alive. That's not to say she isn't beautiful at other times, but there's something about Alice with her face scrunched up defiantly against the wind and delicate beads of rain against her skin like diamonds that makes Isabel want to kiss her senseless, or pull her into a dance, right there on the street.

So she does, flinging their suitcases down, grabbing her arm and whirling her into a waltz with the sound of the rain hitting the pavement for music. Alice looks confused for a second, then shrugs, relaxing into Isabel's arms with the sort of secret smile she'd never dare show to anyone else as she dismisses this as another of her lover's quirks.

They spin faster and faster, the street swirling into a kaleidoscope of noise and colour. The wind tears a whoop of laughter from Isabel, and still the rain beats down around them. Isabel won't stop, refuses to stop until Alice looks as exhilarated as the defiant glint in her eyes made Isabel feel back when they were fighting against the storm instead of joining in.

Finally, she notices a breathless edge to Alice's giddy laughter that lets her know she's done her job, and collapses exhausted against a nearby shop window.

"Are you quite finished?" Alice remarks dryly, and while Isabel knows that she's probably embarrassed, she can't quite bring herself to care when Alice is standing, panting with that disappointingly rare gleam in her eyes, in front of her.

"Yes," sighs Isabel, tired now her mission's complete. Then another drop of rain lands on her already bedraggled curls, and her sneeze of surprise heralds another excellent idea.

"Race you to your flat!" She yells, and takes off running with her suitcase thundering beside her. There's a bemused silence for a second, and she starts to think she's made a mistake, before Alice calls back "You're going the wrong way!" and starts to run in the opposite direction.

All according to plan, of course. She chases her, laughing, through the streets of London, delighted that her reserved, well-mannered partner has finally forgotten about the bystanders watching in confusion.

It takes a little longer than expected, owing to a few detours through puddles and a suspicious lack of Tube stations on route, but finally they're both toweling off in Alice's bedroom, soaking wet and giggling.

"I was going to apologise about the good old English weather on your first day of the conference, but now I see that that's unnecessary." Alice's words are cool and professional, but her voice is anything but, and the butterflies start all over again, as if Isabel was still a young colony without all her decades of experience. It's almost embarrassing, really – she's never like this around anyone else. Then again, Alice isn't quite like anyone else.

"No. It's wonderful." She sneaks a glance at Alice's pink-cheeked, rain-streaked face, and realises she's never seen anyone so stunning in her life. "Just like you."

And though Alice blushes, she can't mind the compliment that much, because the kisses Isabel receives then knocks her off her feet far harder than the wind outside could ever hope to achieve.

A/n: Written for Rainbow it up in here from Caesar's Palace, and bonny-and-blythe contest on Timvlr.