Kissing was delightful, decided Gilbert with a sigh. His lips matched Anne's perfectly, and the way she pressed against him, all softness and desire and need, made him feel ready to burst with pleasure. He was lightheaded from the lack of oxygen (how long their mouths been welded, he had no idea) but refused to stop. How could they stop, when it felt so good, and made them so close?
With the new rules in place, Gilbert was learning to trust that Anne would stop him, should he do anything that hurt her, or made her uncomfortable. Still, he was not able to lose himself completely: he couldn't help but remain in tune with her physical reactions, voluntary or not. A particular gesture was puzzling him now - the way she held her right hand out to the side carefully.
He wrenched his lips from hers, panting for air, finding no sign of displeasure on her face. "Gil...?" Her eyes were unfocused and glazed over with lust.
"Is your hand bothering you?" he asked, still out of breath.
She grimaced. "No, but you probably don't want to touch it. I'm afraid I've rather made a mess of your hair, in the back."
Confused, he eyed her sweaty palm. A closer examination revealed that it was not perspiration from which her skin glistened, but the pomade with which his unruly brown curls had been tamed into neat waves.
"I forgot myself there for a while," she admitted with a rueful smile. "I'm sorry, Gil - I'm sure it can be fixed."
He grasped her wrists gently, preventing her from reaching behind his head. "Don't worry about it. Give me a minute." He released her and stood up.
Had she offended him? Anne wondered, coming out of her daze as he walked away. He was always so careful about his hair. Perhaps he was vexed that she'd mussed it? The gesture hadn't been thought out, she'd merely reached up for the pleasure of touching him. It wouldn't be the first time she would regret a thoughtless impulse...
She watched in surprise as he leaned over the basin, reached for the jug on the washstand and emptied its contents in one swift gesture over his head.
"You don't happen to keep a bath sheet in the room, do you?" he asked from where he stood hunched, dripping into the basin.
Anne jumped up and searched frantically for a sheet, a cloth, anything: she found a washcloth and set it in his hand.
"Thanks." He quickly pressed some water from his eyes before running the cloth briskly over his hair. Anne felt herself growing parched as she appreciated the grace of his beautifully arched body, drinking in the sight of his well-defined hind quarters stretched against the fabric of his trousers, admiring how his arms moved with dexterous precision for a task as menial as towelling himself dry.
"There," he righted himself up. "Pomade free." Anne flushed furiously at being caught staring, but wouldn't avert her gaze. The man in front of her was far too tantalizing: tall and unashamed, dabbing at his cheeks and neck with the damp cloth. His hair, much darker when soaked, had lost most of its curl from the dousing: it stood up haphazardly in sections, and her fingers itched to smooth it down. More deliciously tormenting yet was the look on his face - the absolute smugness of his grin, for he knew she was staring at him like a dog eyed a steak. He stood proudly before her, all-too-aware of his own appeal, no doubt.
Anne, for goodness' sake, snap out of it! He's staring at you. Prove to him that you still have your wits about you. Show him that you aren't reduced to being a blundering idiot at the sight of a good looking man.
"Your shirt will get soaked now."
The twinkle in his eyes sparkled mischievously at her.
Well...that'll do.
"Is that a request?"
"I'm sorry?"
He pitched his voice lower, and his mouth was no longer twisted in a grin: "Do you want me to take off my shirt?"
The husky tone had its desired effect: her throat went dry, and her eyes widened. "You... uh, you probably should."
"Because it'll get wet."
His eyes are burning me. What am I feeling? Is this delight or terror?
"Yes."
Delight: definitely delight. He can see right through me, I'm naked to him...and the sensation is intoxicating.
"Not because you want me to."
What are we talking about?
"Anne?"
He waited for her to blink, and for the light of intelligence to return to her glazed eyes. "Tell me you want it, and I'll do it."
She blinked again in rapid succession, obviously lost.
"The shirt, Anne."
"Oh." She shut her jaw, which had been hanging slack, and swallowed. "Yes - I wouldn't mind. If you took it off, that is - please."
It was garbled and uncharacteristically inarticulate, but Gilbert would accept it as a clear demand. His easy smirk returned as he undid the trail of buttons, and peeled off the fabric that had gotten slightly damp at the collar and shoulders.
"You should probably go without your undershirt, as well," reasoned Anne, hoping that the thirst in her voice wasn't coming through at the same frightening intensity at which she felt it.
If Gilbert heard it, he didn't mind: merely pushed his suspenders from his shoulders and removed the white undershirt. He presented himself to her, half in the nude, as though he had inhibitions at all. Would she dare do this for him?
Not tonight.
Would her body have the same effect on him, that his was having on her?
Heavens, I hope so: it's magnificent. He's beautiful.
Gilbert Blythe from the Island, friend and classmate to many, had been the most wonderful specimen as far as male human youths: the body of an Adonis, paired with the confidence of knowing how he was perceived by the other sex, easily made him the most attractive boy ever to have grown from Avonlea's earth and water.
Dr. G. J. Blythe, husband and father, was resplendent in his own right. He wasn't twenty anymore; thirty had come and gone. But still, even in times of loneliness and misery, Anne had never had eyes for anyone but him. Remembering his concerns that perhaps she was more physically attracted to Jack, or even Kenneth, made her bite back a grin.
"And pray, do tell what has you so amused?" Gilbert asked sardonically, though the smouldering in his eyes would not be extinguished by insecurity. That was how strong her gorgeous man was.
"You," she said, giving free reign to her smile. "To think that I could ever find anything more attractive than your body... well, frankly, it's laughable."
Pleasure blazed in his eyes. "I'm very glad to hear that."
Anne licked her lips. She wanted to touch: she was certain he wouldn't mind. Still, she extended him the same courtesy with which he treated her: "May I?"
A short nod was all she needed: Anne stepped up to him and brought a hand to his torso. His pectoral muscle spasmed, from the cool of her hand or from the very nature of her touch, she couldn't tell. His skin was surprisingly hot, and she could feel his heart racing, strong as an ox's. Her other hand joined the first in symmetry, and they both inched up, caressing his collarbone on the way. One settled on his shoulder, holding on firmly as the other travelled on, her major digit tickling his neck, grazing his jaw, tracing a light pattern on his cheek, circling his temple.
At long last, her fingers threaded through his hair, and his lips reached to meet hers halfway. His hands steadied her as hers continued its exploration: his sodden locks yielded to her touch like silk, no longer dripping, but still fairly wet. Anne leaned further in yet, unable to get close enough, and barely registered that they'd tumbled onto the bed. She rolled them around blindly so that she was on top and gasped: "Trousers. Off. Please. Now."
Gilbert's jerky movements spoke the same language of arousal and clumsy need as he shifted against her, somehow managing to locate the buttons of the offending garment. He found that his arms hadn't the strength to properly undo them against her weight, and even if they had, his fingers were shaking too badly to complete the task. Growing impatient, Anne sat up to lend her own hands. In the blink of an eye, he was unbuckled and shucked down to his underwear and socks.
A hint of fear worked its way past her bravado now, a sign Gilbert could not miss, even in the heat of the moment. He made to sit up, but her weightless hand kept him pinned to the mattress.
"Stay here. Just let me put out the candles." Anne pushed off him and went about the task quickly, hastening to return to the bed where laid the incredible, incredulous, mostly naked man.
Gilbert couldn't believe what was happening. Only in his wildest dreams had Anne ever gripped the underwear at his waist, asked him for permission to remove it. He had fantasized many times of her dainty fingers undoing the buttons at his crotch, but not even in his imagination (turned vivid by necessity) had he dared to feel her touch his hidden parts with her stare.
A tentative hand brushed where her eyes had been, and his eager shaft twitched with anticipation, making her jump back a bit. He wanted to apologize, to explain that he wasn't at all in control of the muscles there, but his voice was lodged somewhere in his throat. Gilbert began to panic, sure that all progress they'd made was annihilated, when her voice reached his ears.
"Will you show me, please?"
He could do nothing but stare at her, naked and vulnerable, attracted and terrified. What was left for him to show? He was at her mercy, entirely without defence before her. What part of him was there yet to see?
"Show you?" Gilbert managed to croak, trying to sit up - a task made difficult by his own underwear constraining his ankles, and he had to flop on his side to gain enough leverage to sit up.
"How to...please you." She looked at him expectantly. "I'm not quite ready to do it myself, but if you don't mind me watching - I would very much like to learn."
Ah. That was another story altogether.
"I'm a very good student: I doubt you'll have to do it more than once."
His silence was damning: Anne knew she'd taken things too far. "Or, we don't have to. Of course, we shan't do anything that displeases you." Vile girl, she chastized herself. It hadn't sounded so obscene in her head - what had she been thinking?
"Anne." Could he? It was odd and almost shameful...but not quite."Nothing can displease me, if you like it that much." Of this, he was quite convinced. "If you want to look, then look."
He grabbed himself before his courage waned, and kept his eyes on her as he moved his hand, using slow, bold strokes at first. Anne watched, transfixed on the act, her eyes as wide as they ever got. In the darkness of the unlit room, she could only see his outline shadowed against the moonlight, but she could feel the heat radiating from his face, the veins bulging against his throat for the effort, the vibration in his thighs as they rocked with urgency.
Gilbert expected shame to take over him anytime. There was a modicum of embarrassment in his pleasure, but mostly, he felt arousal possessing him in effervescent tingles all over his body, on his skin, everywhere inside him. She was witnessing his happiest little death. The self-comforting gestures which had left him with an aftertaste of loneliness and isolation in the past had now become a love poem, he recited to her with his heavy breaths and accelerating thrusts. A loud gasp escaped him as he released himself over his legs and in his hand.
When his senses returned to him, Anne was still staring at him, her eyes shining against her shadowed face.
"Gil," she breathed, a hand on her throat. "That was... incredible. You are so very beautiful."
Blood rushed back to his face, and he leaned to reach the damp washcloth discarded carelessly at the foot of the bed, to wipe himself clean. The mattress shifted next to him, and her hand closed over his sore bicep. She deposited sweet kisses on his shoulder; one assuring him of her unwavering affection, one thanking him for his private gift to her, one that told him not to be ashamed or embarrassed for sharing himself so freely with her.
Gilbert took her hand in his own and kissed it in return, speaking of his everlasting love for her.
PelirrojaBiu: Glad I still have the ability to surprise ;)
oz diva: Ah, yes, there most definitely was some research done for this! More on that soon :)
OriginalMcFishie: Yes, there will! Hopefully not too slow, as I'm alternating between this story, Our Own Way and Haunt Me :)
NotMrsRachelLynde: Slow build ups are becoming my MO now!
Lavinia Maxwell: I have never actually experienced this is real life, but I did dream of it once...
elizasky: Yes, Gilbert might even be going a bit overboard to some extent, but he is going in the right direction!