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Anne stomped down the path, the two empty buckets she toted clacking violently against each other, her boots punishing the dirt beneath them with every step. She placed one of the pails on the ground and activated the pump with more force than necessary, sending the jet of water several inches beyond the diameter of the recipient.
Pushing the handle more gently would have been the reasonable solution, but Anne was in no mood to be reasonable or gentle: instead, she moved the pail a bit further and pumped furiously: the aim was correct, but the water pressure was too strong, and the bucket tipped over.
A lion wouldn't have matched her mad growl. She kicked the bucket, watched it roll lazily two feet away. Picked up the second bucket: tossed it as far as it would go, which turned out to be smack in the middle of the flowerbed. Left with nothing else to kick or throw, Anne paced about restlessly, working a hole in the grass. She wanted to throttle Gilbert Blythe.
It did not escape her attention that she'd had this very thought in this very place many times: as a young girl, she'd practically lived off her violent urges toward the boy with the smug grin. The irony that Anne was now acting like the child she'd been then was not lost on her either.
And while she was dredging up history, another point to score: Gilbert had been (mostly) innocent then, as he was (mostly) innocent now. Technically, he hadn't done anything wrong. And that precisely was the problem: he hadn't done anything.
Since waking up an hour before dawn that morning, Anne had resigned herself: today, she would show Gilbert the physical attention and affection he deserved. Watching him sleep, brown curls tumbling on his forehead, a light purr of a snore escaping his parted lips, she prepared what she would do, what she would say. How she would caress his face, and let her hands work their way along his neck to his shoulders, then continue their downwards trajectory to his torso, tracing his stomach lightly, further still until reaching his private appendage, which was already standing at attention now underneath the sheets.
Just thinking of it made her flush: would he like it? Could he appreciate her touch as much as he'd enjoyed his own last night? She was itching to try now, but it felt wrong - a bit like stealing, taking advantage of his state of unconscious. So, she'd let him sleep, appreciating the easy rise and fall of his chest, the elegant shape of his hand curled beside his head on the pillow.
Finally, his breath caught: he groaned and shifted, yawned and moved his head. Blinking up at her, he'd smiled sleepily. "Mmm. Morning."
"Good morning to you," she breathed in what she'd hoped was a sultry tone. His eyes popped wide open, and he sprung up in a sitting position.
"Ready to start the day?" He stood up without waiting, giving Anne a splendid view of his naked buttocks.
"I was thinking - maybe, we could stay in bed a little longer?" She toyed coyly with the ribbon in front of her nightshirt.
"Why, did you not get enough sleep?" Gilbert stepped into his underwear, pulling it up briskly.
He didn't. Even. Look. Back.
"No. I'm fine." Anne swallowed back her disappointment as she stood up, and started to make the bed. Maybe he hadn't read the signals she'd been emitting, or maybe he was just in a hurry to use the wash room.
He slipped on his robe with practiced efficiency. "I'll go see if Marilla wants a hand with the morning chores. See you at breakfast?"
No! I want you now! Why won't you look at me?
"Alright. Sounds good."
She'd started the morning off on the wrong foot, and the rest of her day had gone accordingly. On her way back in from the chicken coop, Anne dropped an egg right on the doorstep. Jem was asked to scrub it off, and ended up making a bigger mess, which Marilla then had to clean while Anne made sure that the bacon didn't burn. Walter spilled his drink at breakfast, upsetting the good blue tablecloth; overcome with guilt (and milk), the boy began to wail, and Gilbert had to see to him while Anne and Marilla quickly cleared the table, leaving Jem to pout because he hadn't been able to finish his biscuit.
By the time order had been restored to the kitchen, Gilbert had stuffed Walter into a fresh set of clothes. Anne saw the opportunity to get him alone: her hopes fell when he gathered his coat and hat. "Walk me out?" he'd asked casually.
Anne grabbed her shawl and followed him out the door. "Leaving already?"
"I promised my father I'd help him out with a thing."
Anne eyed him skeptically: John Blythe asked help from no one. It was a trait she admired in the man, though at his age, it was becoming a source of constant worry for those near him.
"Oh, really?"
"This branch that's growing near the bedroom window. Birds built a nest right there, and have been chirping rather loudly. We're going to move the nest further away from the house."
"A nest."
"We'll probably saw off the branch, too, so that no one else makes themselves at home there." This week was supposed to be theirs, and Gilbert was missing out on their quality time to relocate a birds' nest?
Anne breathed deeply and chastised herself: it was natural for Gilbert to spend time with his parents, even sweet of him to give a hand at home. But his timing was horrendous.
"Will I see you at all today?" she asked, trying with all her might not to sound sullen.
"Not sure," Gilbert shrugged nonchalantly. "I've been meaning to call a few people, catch up on some reading. I might even take a nap at some point." He stretched languorously and yawned, as if to prove a point.
Anne felt as though she had sunk to a new low: rest was taking precedence over her. Did you not get enough sleep? she wanted to throw his words back at him, but pettiness would get her nowhere.
"Alright. I'll see you at suppertime, then."
"I'll be over on the later side." He bent over to deposit a quick peck on her cheek and walked away.
It would have been fine, had he not paused at the gate, and turned around to offer her a damning wink.
Gilbert knew exactly what he was doing, Anne decided as she bent to assess the damage done to the crocuses on which the bucket had landed. He'd been riling her up, on purpose! How dare he? After the beautiful moment they'd shared last night, the precious gift he'd bestowed upon her, he was going to play dumb and aloof?
Well, it was a very Gilbert-y move, she'd give him that much. And if he was going to be predictable, then, so would she.
Gilbert sat with his mother in the kitchen, sipping tea: he with the latest copy of The Canadian Pharmaceutical Journal, she with a letter from her cousin Ruth.
"Those toddlers of hers are running her rugged," Sarah chuckled, then sighed. "Twins - be glad those don't run in our side of the family." A knock on the front door made her stand up. "Now, who could that be? Mrs. Lanwick isn't due till tomorrow..."
Gilbert didn't look up from his periodical. He relaxed in his chair and read on.
"Oh, Anne! I didn't know we were expecting you."
"I apologize for dropping in without checking first, that was rude of me."
"No, that's quite alright! Won't you come in? Gilbert's in the kitchen."
There was a strained silence, and then a controlled "thank you." He grinned to himself and swiftly drained his tea, bracing himself for Hurricane Anne.
"Gilbert, dear, see who's come to pay a visit!" his mother announced a bit too brightly. He looked up from the journal and affected surprise.
"Anne! Everything alright?" He bit the inside of his cheeks so as not to let his smile betray him, though by the look of things, Anne was already onto him.
"Quite alright, thank you," was her prim reply. The urge to grin was overwhelming: Gilbert's eyes were watering from the effort to repress it.
"Would you care for some tea?" his mother offered.
"No, thank you. I just...er, needed a word with Gilbert."
"Alright." He set down his journal and sat up. "What's on your mind?"
Her head twitched once, then twice, towards the exit. "Outside," she uttered through gritted teeth. Sarah Blythe did them the courtesy of pretending to fuss with the kettle, and the two took their leave at last through the backdoor.
"Where's your father?" demanded Anne once the door had been shut behind them.
"In the fields, I guess, why-" Gilbert had no time to finish his sentence: Anne had grabbed him by the collar and strode up to the barn purposefully, leaving him to scramble behind like a ill-functioning kite. He let her tug him past the structure and to the orchard, where she finally came to a halt.
"Anne, wh-" Before he could ask, she'd pinned him against the nearest tree. "Darling, I-"
She propelled herself against him with unforetold strength: in a flash, she was stealing his breath, her mouth sealed firmly over his, her hands fisting his shirt. At his halfhearted attempt to push her off, Anne took his hands and placed them on her hips. Gilbert's fingers flexed tentatively. When she didn't balk, they dug deeper.
Anne responded by leaning closer into him. Somehow, she managed to tear her lips from his, to deposit a trail of kisses along his jaw, alternating with teasing bites that intensified down the way. By the time they'd reached his neck, the biting had turned feral, almost vicious: she latched on to his hot skin and sucked passionately.
Gilbert threw his head back, hardly able to process the situation. He groaned when Anne raised her knee between his legs, rubbing her thigh sinfully against him, cutting his breath short.
"Anne, wait-" With a herculean effort, he heaved her off, his big hands firmly grasping her upper arms. A pathetic whimper escaped her as he pried her fingers open, which still clutched his shirt desperately. "Just- let me...like this." He rustled her skirt and cumbersome petticoats, rearranging them so that they covered his knee, then yanked her back to him. Propelled forward by the momentum, Anne braced herself against his chest: Gilbert's hand reached behind her thigh and lifted her leg up, back to where it had been.
"Oh!" Anne cried out, as his own leg now pressed against her. A most delicious friction, the sensation she'd believed lost forever, now overwhelmed her. Her hands anchored on his shoulders as her hips bucked of their own volition, encouraged by the fingers gripping her through the fabric her dress.
They rocked in time against each other, their bodies fitting together like two pieces of a puzzle, pleasure thickening between them like tension before a storm. Sensing that she was close as well, his hands assisted her disjointed movements, increasing the pressure for her. Anne rewarded him with a precious series of gasps, each more vocal than the last.
Her hand plunged into his hair, tugged at his curls as she lost herself. "Oh, Gil..."
He spiraled out of control: Gilbert lurched forward frantically, hips jerking wildly as he raced towards the edge, her sensuous moans spurring him on, closer, closer, so close-
Anne watched, transfixed, as a soulful, almost painful groan escaped from Gilbert's lips. He was lust personified, with his eyes closed, neck strained, jaw slack. His hands loosened, hard grip turning into a gentle caress.
"Anne," he sighed, his chest still heaving, eyes unfocused. With trembling fingers, he reached for a silken strand of red that had come loose, tucked it reverently behind her ear.
"Gilbert." She searched his face, a timid smile forming slowly on her lips. He answered with a smile of his own, then grunted.
"Did I hurt you?" Her concern made him chuckle despite the discomfort.
"No. Well, not in a bad way."
"Oh - Gilbert, I'm sorry!" she exclaimed in dismay, tracing the red imprint marked on his neck by her teeth. He and shook his head.
"I might ask you to do that again - or return the favor. That was delightful. The whole thing was..." He stood up from the tree with his legs awkwardly apart. "Too delightful, in fact," he grimaced. Anne looked down to where he was tugging at his trousers, and laughed.
"How will we explain this to your mother?"
Mischief twinkled in his eyes as he grinned. "I'll sneak back in when she brings the laundry out, in about an hour."
"Won't she miss you? What will you do out here for an hou-"
He silenced her with a kiss, and Anne went boneless all over again.
"I can think of something to do."