Anne marvelled at her reflexion in the long looking glass. The white gown contoured her slender silhouette perfectly, lending her an air of virginal chastity. Its sleeves were simple and straight, with only a discreet band of embroidery to decorate the hems, and not even a hint of the puff she'd coveted as a child. The bodice hugged her modest bosom, caressing the skin that was, at Gilbert's request, left bare underneath.
She hadn't been able to neglect her drawers, though: there was such a thing as too daring, especially if they were headed outdoors, as she supposed they were. The forgoing of petticoats would have to suffice - the simple skirt of the dress teased her bare ankles, stockings left aside for now.
She considered pinning back her hair, at least the sides: but Gilbert had clearly instructed her to leave it loose and flowing. Perhaps he'd wanted her to wear it as a natural veil? It might have made more sense, were her locks the fairest shade of silvery blonde... but, over the years, Anne had learned to indulge his appreciation of her coloring. It was an easy enough demand to fulfil, anyway, so she would not mess with it.
She floated down the stairs, to a silent house. He would be outside, then. Anne went through the kitchen, which was still bathed in reddish shadows. A slow, incredulous grin played on her lips as she thought of what had taken place in the room. Had it only been this morning? Anne felt like an entirely new person - rediscovering her own body, and facets of her mind she hadn't dared to explore before. A flame of passion had been lit within her, and her childish attraction to dark hair and lopsided grins had evolved into something much more savage.
Drawing the curtains open, she spotted the subject of said wild thoughts squatting down to inspect her flower bed. The grass felt cool under her bare feet as she went to crouch beside him.
"What are we looking for, dearest?"
"A bouquet," he replied without looking up.
"You're welcome to pick any you'd like," she invited, but he stood and offered his hands to pull her up.
"Not these. We might find something on the way..." His voice trailed off as he took in her appearance. A vision in white, just as he'd pictured in his mind: simple and elegant, Anne practically glowed. With a halo and wings, she would be an angel - with a crown and jewels, a princess. Without any artifice - not even undergarments - she was the most ravishing creature to belong to the real world.
"You're beautiful," he said reverently, catching an orange strand between two fingers.
"It's not too simple?" she asked uncertainly.
"It's perfect. It's you I want to see - the less on you, the better."
"Gil!" she smacked his arm with a giggle. "Wherever we're going, I hope it's not far: I can't imagine what I'd say if we were to run into anyone."
His eyes lit up with sudden inspiration. "Wait here," he instructed and dashed back into the house, returning moments later with a pile of dark material. "Would you wear this as a shawl?"
Anne unfolded the fabric and laughed. "Gil, it's a blanket! If you'll let me fetch my-"
"Please? We haven't far to go. Just wrap it around: that way, no one will see your dress - or lack thereof."
"And what of my lack of shoes?" she demanded.
He flashed her his signature lopsided grin. "I daresay, no one will be looking at your feet. We're sticking to grassy paths, anyway."
"Can't I wear shoes along the way, and remove them when we get there - wherever that may be?"
"Shoes mean stockings: we'll have none of those today."
"Fine, Mr. Blythe: if I'm not wearing shoes, why is it so important that you wear yours?"
"Why, the better to carry you when your delicate ankle gives out, my dear," he wagged his eyebrows cheekily at her.
Anne crossed her arms sternly, unable to completely repress her own amusement. "If going barefoot isn't supposed to be an issue, I don't see why you can't do it."
Gilbert heaved a long sigh. "Alright, you win."
She was rewarded for her insistence with the delicious sight of his taught hind muscles as he bent down to untie his laces. The bounce of his dark brown curls as he struggled to remove his shoes while standing, the waves of his shoulders under his shirt... Anne resisted the urge to pounce on him like the wanton woman she might have become. He'd gone to great lengths to plan out the afternoon, and so she would go along, keeping up the pretence that she hadn't guessed his intentions.
Having stashed his shoes and socks safely indoors, Gilbert offered his arm with a youthful smile so reminiscent of the adolescent she'd first loved, Anne might have swooned. Not inclined to such fits, she returned the smile instead and accepted his invitation. The fresh spring grass tickled the bottom of their feet as they traipsed around, hunting for the most perfect flowers. By the time they'd reached the woods, Anne held a floral arrangement fit for a queen.
"Nearly there," said Gilbert as they stepped carefully: there were more pebbles and sharp things on the path alongside the creek.
"Oh, Gilbert!" gasped Anne. "The bridge!"
"Our bridge," he corrected.
"I haven't been out here in so long, I'd nearly forgotten all about it!" Sharp objects forgotten, Anne let go of his arm and raced towards the wooden structure.
"I haven't forgotten." His words were barely audible over the murmur of trickling water.
"Neither have I." Anne gazed dreamily over the planks. "This is where we said our goodbyes," she reminisced, the stolen moments before his imminent departure for medical school replaying in her mind.
"It's also where we said hello," he added, the rumble of his low voice now just above her shoulder, sending a thrill of delight coursing through her spine. It was a better memory: their secret meeting, on a perfectly mild September day at dawn... She recognized what the bridge represented, and her suspicions were confirmed.
"This place is sacred," she whispered wistfully as he pulled the makeshift shawl from her shoulders.
"I'm glad you think so." He leaned forward so that his head was right next to hers, his mouth within kissing distance of hers. "Anne?"
"Yes, Gilbert?"
"Keep your mouth closed."
An innocent kiss? she mused internally. Frustrating - but appropriate. She complied, closing her eyes as well.
"And you might want to hold your nose."
"What?" Her eyes flew open, but it was too late: a light shove sent her tumbling backwards, and before she could fully comprehend what had happened, she found herself immersed in icy water. Wriggling around with all her might, she lunged for the surface and promptly coughed up what she'd swallowed in surprise. Her feet touched the rocky bed of the creek, and she found that she could stand easily - the water only reached up to her chest. When she was able to gulp in some air at last, it was to the sound of a full-bellied laugh.
"GILBERT BLYTHE!" she sputtered, dragging wet hair from her face, receiving only more helpless chortling in guise of response. She cleared her eyes to glare at the culprit, who had succumbed to a most ungallant fit of laughter.
"You- you scoundrel!" She waded angrily to the edge, nearly losing her balance.
"Hold- hold on," he managed through chuckles, rolling his trousers up to his knees before wading in. What, did he honestly expect to stay dry?
"Not a chance," she bit out, flinging a wave in his direction: the cold water barely splattered the front of his shirt, and did nothing to douse his laughter.
"Easy, now," he raised his hands in defence as she approached.
"What on Earth possessed you to do that?" She was so adorable in her fury that Gilbert had a hard time concealing his amusement.
"I wanted to live out a fantasy," was his explanation.
"Drowning me is your fantasy?" she glowered.
"No, this is." He pulled her flush against him and kissed her soundly, unmindful of the cold seeping through his clothes. She resisted a moment before letting herself go pliable in his arms, her sinuous curves melding against him. She was liquid against him, her arms slithering up around his neck.
He broke the kiss when he felt her tremble against him. "You're shaking."
"It could have something to do with being pitched into a freezing creek," she shoved at him, but he didn't budge an inch.
"Oh, come on, Anne. It's not freezing."
"That's easy to say when you're not drenched from head to toe!" she raised her voice dangerously, gesturing at her soaked self.
"Alright, alright!" he swept her off her feet and carried her to dry land. "There." He set her back on her feet.
"Ugh, this dress is ruined!" she moaned, wringing out her heavy skirt.
"Don't be mad for keeps, now," he begged, draping the dry blanket over her shoulders. He knelt at the foot of the bridge and returned with a reconstructed nosegay from the flowers she'd dropped before falling into the water.
She yanked the lot from his hands and eyed him suspiciously.
"C'mon, Anne," he held out his hand. "Can't we be friends? I only meant it for a joke. Let's be friends, please."*
Anne felt her cheeks burn of an embarrassed blush. As usual, she'd jumped to the wrong conclusion - this had been his plan all along.
"You fantasized of me forgiving you," she stated more than asked.
"I've fantasized of a whole lot more." His eyes turned dark. "You clung to that pile with such pride and dignity - no, really!" he insisted when she huffed. "And then you clung to my hand, as though your life depended on me. You trusted me to save you."
"I wasn't left with much choice," she muttered.
He smiled. "And you had no idea what kind of effect you had on me. Sitting right across from me, dripping wet, in that white dress...I was so hard, I could barely remember how to row."
She clenched her chattering teeth to keep from smiling. It wouldn't do to leave him off the hook so easily. "You were only seventeen. What were you thinking?"
"At seventeen, what wasn't I thinking?" he dared a grin. "I wanted to reach out. I wanted to touch your hair - more gently, this time - and see what it felt like when it was wet. I wanted to taste your lips, to lick the rivulets that ran down your neck."
He traced a finger down her cheek and hooked it gently under her chin, tilting her face so that their eyes met. "I wanted you to look at me, to forgive me. I wanted us to be friends."
"Just friends?" she blinked, batting her darkened lashes.
"There's no such thing as being 'just friends' with you, Anne." Gilbert hovered over her, his lips just a breath from hers. "I want you to love me, the same as I love you."
She raised a hand and placed the tips of her fingers to his mouth. His eyes flew open, but he found no trace of censor in hers. The gesture was not an indication to stop or step away: it was an invitation to stay. Her tall finger traveled downwards, grazing his Adam's apple, then pausing at the hollow of his throat; continuing down his damp shirt, hooking onto every button on its way, until it reached the waistband of his equally damp trousers.
Her other hand joined the first to pop the button open: Anne emitted a little gasp as his shaft sprung free, stiffer than he'd ever been.
"You aren't wearing drawers!" she exclaimed, the blanket falling from her shoulders, and Gilbert found that he could hardly breathe from excitement.
"Are you disappointed?" he forced out, sounding completely winded already.
She shook her head and reached out tentatively. It was bobbing, and nearly purple from the strain - he'd hoped to present himself under better light, or at least a bit more poised - but poise was absolutely unattainable in the present situation. A deep inhale was about all he could manage, and then her hand closed on him, and he forgot all about breathing.
Anne watched in fascination as a fine line of clear moisture glistened from the hole. Bringing her hand up to the tip, she touched the liquid experimentally, then smeared it down the length of him: her grip was now slick and firm, and made him moan in a most encouraging way.
She hadn't expected it to be so easy. She'd thought she'd be scared of touching him, or at least unsure of herself, but the act turned out to be quite natural. Intuition seemed to serve as an adequate guide, judging by how heavily he was panting.
Gilbert screwed his eyes shut, torn between the desire to prolong the sensations and the race to relief. He tried to talk - to beg her to stop, or to urge her to go faster, to express how he felt - but all that came out was a series of choppy sounds.
"Oh...oh, I... An-" he choked out, aware that it was coming out all wrong, unable to care. The squeeze of her hand was perfect, and when she experimented with a little twist of the wrist, he had to hold on to her shoulders so as not to keel over from pleasure.
That was all the encouragement she needed: aided by the bucking of his hips, Anne quickened the pace, her hand moving back and forth faster and harder, and faster yet, until a hard thrust accompanied by a wonderful guttural sound indicated he'd reached the summit. While his warm release shot out, spilling over her hand, she drank in the look on his face, eyes wide and glazed, mouth hanging open as he gasped for air, his brow contorted in agonized bliss.
When his feet touched Earth once again, Gilbert blinked and stared at the woman in white standing before him. The pride on her face made him blush a bit, but he also felt proud that she'd bravely taken on the unknown - and humbled that the merest touch of her hand could bring him out of his own body.
"Anne." His voice quivered on her name, and his weakened knees began to shake. She smiled and glanced down at her hand, which gripped his slowly softening phallus.
"Um... sorry 'bout that," he uttered, the red traces on his cheeks deepening.
"I'm not," she grinned up at him. "But, uh... I think I might need to rinse this off."
"So do I," he agreed with a bashful smile, and they bent down by the creek. She swished her hand under the flow while he awkwardly scooped fistfuls of water to clean his privates.
"I feel foolish," she said with a self-deprecating smile.
"You have nothing to feel foolish about," Gilbert assured her, praying that she wasn't already regretting their actions.
"No, I mean- when you said to dress like this, and then you brought us out here, I thought...oh, this is so embarrassing." She giggled at herself, despite being mortified. "I thought you wanted us to, perhaps, give us a second wedding."
He couldn't quite repress the grin forming on his face. "And why did you think I asked you to wear nothing but a dress? A command which you disobeyed, I might add. Certainly not appropriate for a wedding ceremony."
She quirked an eyebrow, and checked that her skirt hadn't caught or gotten stuck. "How can you tell? My drawers aren't showing, are they?"
"Ah," he intoned with infuriating smugness. "Well, that's the thing about white clothes, you see. When the fabric gets wet, it takes on a certain... transparency."
Anne looked down at herself and yelped. "Gilbert!" she shrieked, covering her breasts hastily. "You might have told me!"
"Now, where's the fun in that?" he laughed, buckling his trousers.
"Oh, really!" Anne stomped off in search of the blanket: she picked it up from the ground where it had been last abandoned, and wrapped it snuggly around herself.
"Aw, Anne, don't get all prude on me now."
"A kinder, more considerate person would have told me," she sniffed.
"Well, your roguish, uncouth husband was too busy enjoying the sights," he justified with mock contrition.
"Oh no." Her face fell. "My necklace!"
"What necklace?" he frowned in confusion.
"My necklace!" she repeated more urgently, feeling around her neck. "It's gone!"
"You weren't wearing any necklace," he attempted to reassure her, but she shook her head.
"I tucked it under the dress. It must have slipped off." She raced to the spot from which she'd fallen and searched the ground. "I did have it on me, I remember putting it on this morning. It's the gold chain, the one with Matthew's locket - you know the one!"
Gilbert's heart sank: he did know, and he had a good idea how much it meant to her. "Are you sure you had it on when we left?"
"Positive. I remember readjusting the chain just before getting to the bridge." Her eyes widened in horror. "Gil, you don't think it's in the creek?"
He grimaced. "I'm thinking that's exactly where it is. The current isn't too strong, it might still be around somewhere near."
Gilbert considered removing his shirt, but it was already covered in wet blotches at the front, and his trousers were in no better shape. He kept his clothes on and hopped in.
"You were right: it is freezing," he concurred belatedly, shivering.
"Oh, Gil, please find it!" begged Anne from the mossy bank.
"Just give me a minute," he called back, squinting through the water which reached up to his waist. The surface wasn't calm enough to see clearly: he'd have to go under.
Gilbert took a deep breath and immersed himself completely. He stayed down as long as he could, scanning the rocky bottom for a glint, a shimmer, anything shiny. When he could hold his breath no longer, he stood up just long enough to fill his lungs, then ducked back under. It had to be close by: if it wasn't...well, he would search the whole darned creek until it turned up.
He felt around until oxygen deprivation forced him back up: he broke the surface and gulped for air, to the awful sounds of sobs.
"Don't cry," he sputtered, blinking through the water coursing from his hair down his face. As his ears cleared, he realized that they weren't sobs at all. Flicking his wet hair from his eyes with a quick shake of his head, he saw Anne shaking with gleeful laughter.
"You sneak!" he yelled, recognizing the prank too late.
"Don't be mad for keeps!" she threw back at him. "We're friends, now, remember?"
"I told you, there's no such thing as being 'just friends' with you." Gilbert wobbled onto dry land, his trousers sticking to his bare legs most uncomfortably. "Ah, well, I guess I deserved that," he conceded, wiping water from his eyes and flicking it from his fingers.
"You more than deserved it," confirmed Anne haughtily, her smile mocking him.
"Argh, I'm soaked through!" he plucked at the shirt which was plastered to his chest, its translucent fabric like a second skin. "Don't suppose you'd be sharing that blanket?"
"Nope!" she giggled and took off, leaving him to chase after her.
Gilbert gave her a head start, grinning to himself. Never a dull moment with Anne, not when water was involved.
*LMM, AoGG
Thank you all for reading, and for your kind comments! Seeing as I won't be updating On Our Way until we've reached the end of "the week", I'll answer to your reviews to the latest chapter here.
Lavinia Maxwell: Thank you! I still have this "week" to finish before resuming OOW. Hope you enjoy!
OriginalMcFishie: I'm glad you liked the last OOW chapter, because it was a massive struggle to write. The first dozen of drafts were overly melodramatic - simple forgiveness worked better in the end. And you're right, there is something magical about that garden!
oz diva: I'm sure Anne and Gilbert will improve their communication skills. In the meanwhile, more M!
Guest: Hi again! And yes, I'm sure we all would have enjoyed pouncing on Gilbert in the garden - but there were bigger issues at hand. More pouncing to take place in M land, though!
NotMrsRachelLynde & AnneNGil: Thank you! I'm glad you liked Hester Grey's - I felt very insecure posting it. Many drafts were scrapped, for sounding like horrible scripts from a spanish telenovela. ("But Pedro, mi amor, the baby is yours!" Ugh.)