She's a lot like rain. She can be warm and gentle and refreshing like summer rain, that rain you dance in barefoot, the kind you can kiss in like the movies, the kind that washes away the chalk drawings on sidewalks. But she can be cold and harsh like a storm, a thunderstorm. The storms that cancel baseball games and make you jump with each clap of thunder and wish you had someone to snuggle with under the blankets. It's either one extreme or the other.
Tonight she's summer rain. He's glad for that because he doesn't feel much like listening to Roger bitch about her bitching. And when she's summer rain, she'll cuddle. And for some reason, he's lonely tonight. He's always lonely, but tonight, it's bad. Benny left for the airport a few hours ago. Kid brother got in a car crash late last night and he's in the hospital. Benny went home to see the kid. He understands, would've done the same thing, but still, he's lonely.
She climbs into his lap, pushing his book away, kicking papers onto the ground, making a mess because, hey, she's Maureen and she can. He lets the book drop onto the cushion beside him, isn't mad that she's sent his applications that he's spent all day working on flying to the other corners of the loft. He can feel her soft hair tickle under his chin as she leans her head onto his chest, ear over his heart, listening to the gentle rhythm it makes.
She's got on one of his shirts, his favorite actually. She's taken a liking to it and thus decided that she has permission to wear it when she feels like it and this is one of the times she feels like it. It's horribly ugly, plaid and ripped in the seam of the arm and her tiny body is swimming in it and he just picked it up from Salvation Army but she loves it because it smells like marijuana and cigarettes and Collins and it's warm.
He wraps an arm around her, cradling her like a baby as she hugs his chest. His dark fingers weave through her hair, brushing it out of her face, tucking it behind her ear, just feeling Maureen. That's something he's always liked about girls. Their hair. It's long and soft and hers is wild and crazy just like her and it's gorgeous just like her and he loves how she snuggles closer when he plays with it.
He runs his hand down her leg as it drapes across his lap, toes playing with the pages of his book on the cushion beside him. She's smooth and clean and soft and she smells like strawberries and she kisses him like she means it and he kisses her back and hopes he means it. His nose rubs against hers, momma said that was an Eskimo kiss, and she hums against his lips. He can feel the buzzing and it's just one note and it's not a moan or anything, it's just this sound she makes when she's happy.
He makes her happy.
And there's her tongue in his mouth, warm and wet and he holds her closer, her chest against his. She wraps her arms around his neck, wiggling around in his lap, trying to reposition herself and she knees him on accident, sorry baby, and she's finally comfortable, straddling his lap, her bum resting on his thighs. His hands grab onto her ass, squeezing it and she rocks her hips forward, up on her knees, pelvis against his chest as his fingers dig into her bottom. She kisses him harder, biting at his lip, pressing her face against his.
The collar of the shirt slips down her shoulder as she hasn't got it buttoned properly and her skin is revealed and he kisses her collarbone and her shoulder and she wiggles her arm out of the shirt. His mouth wanders over the fleshy part of her chest above her breasts and she tries to unbutton the shirt but his mouth on her chest makes it hard and she giggles. He pushes her hands out of the way and helps her out of the ugly plaid shirt, which he should remember to steal back later, and there she is, almost naked in his lap, her chest in his face.
He kisses her breast and this time, she does moan. She tips her head back and arches up towards him. He pushes her back down and kisses again. Her hands make for his shirt and she tugs the tee up over his head. He cradles her back and head and lays her down on the couch underneath him. She's used to being on top but she's always up for trying new things and she lets him lean over her and kiss her mouth. His fingers pull at the lace of her panties but she grabs his hands and pulls them up, teasing him. He nips at her ear and bites her neck, perhaps a little too hard because she growls and he kisses the tender spot, massaging it with his lips.
And off come his jeans, his ripped dirt covered grass stained jeans, flying over the side of the couch because she's hot and ready and a good boy doesn't keep Maureen waiting. Now she lets him pull off her panties and she rolls the rubber on, biting at his collarbone and without waiting, he thrusts hard up into her. A whiney groan spills from her lips and he kisses her hard, fingers running through her hair.
And she's not even rain anymore. She's the lightening, bright and dangerous and fast and hot and he's thunder, big and strong and loud and they crash together, making one hell of a storm. She's panting and near screaming and he's egging her on, wants to hear her scream. Another crash, another thrust, another kiss, another inch closer.
And here she comes, beautiful and brilliant and he follows right after her and the storm settles. He holds her close, kissing her face, stroking her head and she holds onto him because if she lets go, he might leave her and she needs him. He pulls out and cleans up and he scoops her up in his arms and carries her naked into her bedroom where he sets her down on her bed. He's intent on going back to his book, taking his shirt back, cleaning up the couch, but she calls out his name and he sees that look in her eyes. He climbs onto her bed and lies beside her, his arm draped across her belly and she falls asleep on his shoulder.
And it starts to rain.