Author's note: Requested for a friend. Felt strange to be writing for Beyblade again. It won't become a regular occurance though.
You and the rain
Yes, it did rain in Paris, especially during autumn, and as the tourists quickly discovered, the city wasn't quite as romantic when everything was wet and dripping. It had been such a promising, sunny day, so when the first drops did begin to fall from a clear sky it caught Oliver and Enrique completely off guard.
A lot of shops were closed by now, and the boys sought cover in front of a jewellery store whose door had been built further in than the walls. In this little dry square they huddled together, wet and cold and a little cranky that their plans for the evening had been put on hold.
"Don't worry," said Oliver, trying to be positive. "It's usually over quickly. We can go dry off at my place once it lets up, and still make the concert."
"Sounds good," replied Enrique, shivering.
But as if it had heard them, the sky clouded over and the patter of rain turned into a roar. After half an hour, all traces of hope had been wiped out.
"This stinks!" Enrique complained. Their hollow hideout was no longer shielding them properly, so their shoes were soaked through, and moving around, as much as they had space to anyway, wasn't doing anything to warm them up.
"We might as well forget about the concert; it's probably cancelled."
Oliver seemed deeply disappointed, which didn't sit well with Enrique, who liked his lovers happy. "Then how about we go with your drying-off plan and add some blankets and hot coco?"
"Sounds good," said the green haired boy in an echo of the Italian's words half an hour ago.
They ran through abandoned streets, over cobblestones and past statues and restaurants, until Oliver's overly large home came into view. At some point it became a contest to reach the door first, and once they got there they were both breathless with laughter, cheeks flushed and eyes twinkling. They stumbled inside and leaned on the door to catch their breaths, smiling at each other.
Then Enrique bent down and pressed his lips to Oliver's. They kissed between giggles, until the green haired boy broke away and ran up the stairs with a mischievous grin at his lover. "Come catch me!"
He was caught in his bedroom and clothes were tugged off before the boys fell down on Oliver's huge bed, warming each other with hands and mouths until their cries of lustful abandon rose louder than the rain pounding against the windows. Later there was a fire and hot coco, an abundance of blankets and a cool CD in the player, making the perfect evening, even though their plans hadn't come through.
Who said Paris wasn't romantic in the rain? It all depended on what you made out of it.