The rain started as a light drizzle while they were in the middle of the lake. Boone quickly spun the wheel heading the boat for home, pushing the throttles against their stops. The heavens suddenly opened and the rain started coming down in torrents. Reaching shore, Shannon scrambled out, dropping the fenders over the side and tying the small craft against the dock. He pulled out the protective covering; working together they made short work of securing it. They ran; laughing, up the short wooden structure, reaching the middle of the road, he put out his hand to stop her.
"Why are we running?" he had to put his mouth to her ear to be heard over the deafening sound of the water. He indicated their clothes, they were already soaked through to the skin, looking more like they gone for a swim fully dressed, than for a boat ride.
"Reflex action," she laughed, "It rains, you run."
They continued at a more normal walking pace, letting themselves in through the gate when they reached the back yard. He put his hand out to stop her again. "Would you like to dance?" he held out his hand.
Shannon inclined her head in assent, and took it. Boone pulled her close then spun her out, their arms extended, before pulling her back against his chest, almost immediately pushing her away again. He snapped her half way back then raised his hand and twirled her beneath it. Their movements were fluid, perfectly synchronized, almost as if choreographed. They'd taken a dance class together his senior year in high school; it hadn't been his idea. Shannon had tried to get her then current boyfriend to sign up with her, but when he'd laughed in her face and refused she'd broken up with him on the spot. She'd signed the two of them up for it instead and had informed him in no uncertain terms what he was going to be doing every Tuesday at 7:30 for the next eight weeks. That it conflicted with his tennis lessons hadn't concerned her at all. At first Boone had been flustered at having her in his arms, but had overcome his unease by focusing on learning the proper steps instead of obsessing on the smell of her hair as she pressed her head against his shoulder.
They continued for a few minutes, in the subdued light of the afternoon rain storm, before Boone dipped her low, then lower, finally letting her settle against the grass. Shannon closed her eyes as the rain beat against her face. He watched her for a second before joining her to lie on the lawn, his head, as he kissed her, blocking the rain. He slid his left leg around hers and flipped her so that she was on top of him. Something about it bothered her, it took a second for the underlying reason to surface, when it did she pulled away from him suddenly, he blinked as the rain suddenly ran into his eyes.
"Wait just a damn minute. How is it you didn't know it was going to rain?" Even with the proper medical facilities, his right leg had been so badly damaged that it was likely that he'd always have been able to sense an impending storm anyway. With the makeshift O/R that Jack had, for years after the Beechcraft incident he'd oftened end up hobbling around whenever it was going to rain, sometimes having to resort to using a walking stick. Jack had always avoided him during those times, as if somehow he'd failed him.
"Who says I didn't know?" Boone held his hand over his forehead to divert the worst of the water and grinned at her.
She thought back and remembered him massaging his right shin earlier in the day. "You're a dick, you know that."
"Yes, but you're still going to have sex with me in the rain." He tugged on the bottom of her tee shirt pulling it out of her shorts.
Their sodden clothes clung to their bodies like they'd been glued with contact cement, each article of clothing giving up its' grip on their skin reluctantly. His jeans were the worst, after a struggle Shannon managed to peel them down his legs, only to realize she hadn't taken off his shoes. He watched while she fumbled ineffectively at the rain-swollen laces, before toeing them off, still done up. She looked up his body, the thin jersey of his boxers clung to him, he might as well have been naked as the almost transparent material revealed everything. Boone reached forward and undid the clasp of her bra, brushing his hands across her breasts as he pushed the two halves apart and slid the straps down her shoulders. The rest of their underwear followed without putting up too much of a fight.
They rolled in the mud and the grass, kissing passionately before finally coming to rest, Shannon back on top again. Boone sat up, as she straddled him, neither one of them wanting the distraction of the rain in their faces. As she slid herself onto him, he threw his head back and closed his eyes; she took the opportunity to nibble softly at the exposed flesh of his throat, moving to bite down harder on his collarbone, finally sucking his ear lobe into her mouth. He groaned and shuddered at that. Shannon had first learned, all those years ago in his hotel room in Sydney, that for him it was one of his most sensitive erogenous zones. When she'd done it then, and every time thereafter, he quickly passed the point of no return. He supported himself on his hands leaving her to hold them together as she moved against him, his dark hair stained black by the rain. He slid one hand between them, when he touched her she mimicked his earlier motion, lifting her face to the rain and moaning in pleasure.
Afterwards, they lay on the turf, limbs entwined as the warm July afternoon rain continued.
They'd been waiting for this week all month. Andrew was finally away at camp. They both felt a little guilty that they'd been looking forward so eagerly to shipping him off. But the thought of a week alone together, in their own home, something they'd never, ever experienced before, was irresistible.
Boone breathed a small laugh, "I love you, you know." He reached out and ran his hand over her shoulder.
Shannon grinned back at him, shaking her head. "You're an idiot." She traced her thumb over his lips. 'I love you too,' she thought, softly.
He rose and held his hand down to her to help her up. As he turned to go into the house, she suddenly grabbed his shoulders; sliding her arms around his neck she lifted herself onto him, locking her ankles around his back, and burying her face against his neck. He staggered slightly under her weight, and then moved unsteadily towards the back deck, leaving their clothes behind, abandoned puddles of fabric on the lawn Climbing the slick wooden stairs he supported Shannon with one hand, while holding the railing with the other, praying he wouldn't slip. Inside he turned to lock the back door behind them, then moved across the kitchen to the back stairs and started up, only almost tripping once.
'You drop me, you're a dead man,' she warned him, without lifting her head.
Boone steadied himself and made the rest of the journey to the bedroom without mishap. Crossing the room he reached the bed, placing one knee on it and laying her wet, and muddy body on the clean bedspread, following her down, her legs still linked behind his waist.
They'd warned the staff that they were off limits for the week. They were to act like they'd gone away, there were to be no phone calls, no knocks on the door, nothing. Then they'd locked the doors and closed all the drapes. This was going to be their week. Hell could freeze over, Armageddon could reign, Satan could overrun the land; they didn't care.
While he was driving Andrew to camp, the bike carefully strapped down in the back of the stores' delivery van, she made a special trip to the grocery store, buying all the decadent things she could think of, and, giving a thought to him, all of his favourites as well. He'd introduced her to the man at the fresh seafood counter shortly after she'd gotten back. He'd wanted to be sure, if he sent her in by herself, that she got the same quality that he'd made the guy understand that he expected. Boone was careful to never appear demanding; he just approached the man with a level of professionalism that won him instant respect. Shannon thanked the man as he handed her the packages, he'd had a few things tucked away in the back, just in case his favourite customer made an appearance.
At the liquor store, she bought sake, champagne, wine and his favourite beer. He wasn't much of a drinker, in fact she'd only ever seen him drunk once, and that was thanks to Sawyer, what an asshole the southerner had been that night, but she wanted to be sure she had everything he might have a taste for.
She piled it all in the trunk of his car and drove home.
When Boone got back, she showed him her purchases. The sashimi grade tuna she'd acquired had been received with enthusiasm. The chocolate sauce had been a harder sell, but when she explained what she intended to do with it; it received the same level of excited eagerness.
They indulged every fantasy they'd ever dreamt up. Moving from room to room, watching T.V. naked, wrapped around each other, sitting in his office chair, even employing the laundry room. They were insatiable. After six days, they were happily exhausted. They were lying on the bathroom floor, cushioned by the mound of towels that had accumulated over the week, more covering them, when she stirred from sleep. Shannon's eyes opened slowly, she was trying to understand why the bed was so lumpy and soft. She rubbed herself against him. Boone was face down beside her, his arm thrown across her chest. Shannon looked at him for a minute; his hair was in his face, some of it caught in his eyelashes, his cheeks red and flushed, even in sleep. His lips looked bruised and swollen; she imagined hers' probably appeared much the same. In the back of her mind, she noted that he needed a haircut. She'd have to take care of that later. He looked so cherubic; she had a hard time believing what they'd done the night before. She realized where they were.
Shannon guessed from the light coming through the window that it was later than either of them wanted it to be. She gently stroked the arm that lay across her breasts. He moaned slightly. She poked him in the ribs, till he frowned and demanded, in an irritated tone, "What?"
"Hey Casanova, you have to pick up our kid today." She reminded him with hesitation, not wanting their time alone together to end.
"Just a few more minutes," Boone mumbled.
She laughed quietly, "Come on Sleeping Beauty, you have to get motivated. Little boy, blonde hair, grey eyes, nine years old, waiting for his dad to come get him?"
"Call and tell him to ride the bike home." He still hadn't moved an inch or opened his eyes. "Shit, I'm going to hell for that aren't I?"
"That's okay, I'll be right beside you, in fact I'll get us the room with the fireplace." She reached over and poked in him the side again.
She was rewarded as he opened one eye. Looking around he asked, "Why're we sleeping in the bathroom?"
"Jesus, just how sex stupid were you last night?" Shannon regarded him with amusement.
"I think, after that last time in the bedroom, I was pretty much cooked. Did we do it again after that?" Boone made it sound like a serious question, but the smirk on his face kind of ruined the effect.
"Why do you think we're lying on the floor in the bathroom?" she smiled back.
He finally rolled over, dragging his hand slowly across her breasts as he moved. "Well, seeing as we're already lying down, maybe it could muster myself up for one more. Come here."
"Okay, this whole role reversal thing is now going too far, I can't believe I have to be the responsible one here. We're not having sex again, well, at least not right now. You have to go and get Andrew." Shannon got a groan in response.
"Life sucks," he complained, trailing his fingers over her softly.
"Yeah, pretty much, but you'll get over it." Her hand slid slowly down his body, her breathing suddenly heavy. "No, we can't, oh, god…shit, yes we can." Her eyes closed as she stroked him, her self-restraint about as strong as tissue paper.
Half an hour later they were back in the bedroom, Boone already wearing jeans and a tee. "Back to reality," he watched her finish dressing.
"Reality bites," she pulled her hair into a ponytail.
She watched from the end of the driveway as he drove away in the van, and then returned to the house to pick up the detritus that was mute evidence of their debauched week. She wondered, idly, how the hell they'd managed to get chocolate stains on the curtains in the den, as she went from room to room picking up plates, glasses, bottles, and an empty spray whipped cream container, that for the life of her, she couldn't remember buying.