Author's note: Big thanks to Caddie and Shiobani/Siobhani/Siobhan for reviewing.

Ceremonials

Chapter 3: What the water gave me

The weather was lovely. As a result, the garden looked beautiful. It didn't need sun or soil or water when it had Layla, but, like most things, the garden simply looked better in the sunlight. The vines trailing up the side of the house. The mass of flowers in their loose borders. The great oak in the middle of the garden. Everything was luscious and green and alive.

Layla sat in the tall grass and didn't worry about the dew getting her dress wet. It was an ugly dress anyway. A few grass stains could only improve it. She leaned back, fanning out her hair with her hands so she wouldn't lie down on it and closed her eyes. Insects buzzed all around her. It was a nice, productive sound. The sound of the future. A door slammed in the house. Layla ignored it. Warren had been in a bad mood for the past week. Ever since the wedding, in fact.

He got like that sometimes. All she could do then was back off and wait for it to pass. Warren got through his feelings on his own with no help from her. It was not the way Layla would've liked it, but it was what it was. There was no changing Warren. He was there for her if she needed someone to talk to or to hold her. That was her process, so she let him have his.

A warm drop of water fell on her cheek. Layla opened her eyes. The sky was a lot less blue than before. Maybe a storm was on its way. Layla smiled. She enjoyed storms. The violence and the beauty of them. There was something awesome about witnessing the forces of nature.

Another door slammed just as a steady drizzle started to fall. This time, Layla rolled onto her stomach and peered at the windows. She couldn't detect Warren anywhere. She touched the grass with her hands. Its long stalks slid through her fingers, almost cutting the flesh. It was a weird sensation. Unlike anything else.

Layla got to her feet and walked to the edge of a flower border. The dress stuck to her legs. She sank onto her knees. The sand was already becoming muddy. There was something fun about that. About getting dirty and not worrying about the state of your clothes.

She dug her hands into the black earth and relished the scrub of the slippery grains against her skin. It was good that no one could see into their garden, because the neighbours would probably think that she was crazy.

'Layla?' Warren called out from somewhere inside the house.

'I'm in the garden,' she shouted. She held out her hands, so that the rain could wash the dirt away. It was no longer drizzling now. It was raining. The drops were still warm, but they cooled on her skin quickly. That was the wind's doing.

Warren walked out of the back door. He stopped when he saw her. His dark hair whipped around his face. Layla tipped her head back a little to catch a rain drop in her mouth. When she looked at Warren again, he was striding across the lawn towards her. He was sporting a spectacular black eye. Layla's gaze dropped to his hands. His knuckles were bloody.

'What happened?' she asked. Warren picked her up with the same kind of ease with which the wind would pick up a leaf and carried her over to the big oak. Underneath its roof of branches, they were sheltered from the wind and rain. Yet, Warren didn't put her down. He took a step and then another until her back came to rest against the coarse bark of the tree. Their bodies were flush against each other. His forehead trembled against hers.

'That's okay. You don't have to tell me. Are you alright?' Layla whispered. Warren shook his head and kissed her. His lips were cold. His tongue was hot. Layla shivered when he moved his right hand up her bare leg, pushing up the fabric of her dress.

'I'll be gentle,' he promised. It was an odd thing to say. He was always gentle. Why would this time be different? He pinned her more securely against the tree. Layla wrapped her legs around his waist. They kissed feverishly while around them the summer storm was building.

His heart beat against her ribcage. She could feel the anger course through his veins the way she could feel the life flow through the flora around her. This was maybe the closest Warren would ever get to sharing his feelings with her.

Warren's fire kept Layla warm as the storm gained momentum. The wind began to whirl around the oak. Water dripped down from its branches and trickled down the trunk. It grew darker. Thunder rumbled in the distance.

'We should go inside,' Warren mumbled.

'We should, but let's not. Let's stay right here.'

'Okay,' he said, chuckling hoarsely. He pressed a kiss to her lips. His hair brushed against her face. His hands bunched up her dress to just above her hips. She watched him as he peeled away the layers that kept them apart.

Then he was inside of her. Layla clung to him and he clung to her. He kissed her slowly, softly, lingering on the simple pleasure of their mouths together, touching, before deepening the kiss. Somehow it was more intimate than it had ever been. It was strange to think that all the times that they'd had sex before, he had been holding back. But still, still, still he moved with a tenderness that overwhelmed Layla. As if words weren't enough and he needed to prove to her how much she meant to him. As if only this stunning intensity would do his love for her justice. As if... as if he wanted to put everything he couldn't say into this one moment.