AN: I'm starting to feel like Lemony Snicket. "What you're about to see is devastating... if what you're after is a happy ending, then look away..."
Ah, who am I kidding? I'm way to vain to ask any of you precious readers to look away. Read on! I know that things aren't going the way we want - but I must stay on track. In OOW, we go from a beautiful night dancing among the trees, to a shouting match and tearful apologies. It will not be a lighthearted, happy journey, especially near the end.
However, there are only two days of angst left. If you stick with me, I may continue to deliver sexy scenes - ones with happy endings (pun very much intended).
Thank you so much to all who are reading, reviewing, following and favoriting! I've taken to answering to your reviews via PMs. Guest, I have no other way to reach you - thank you for reading! And no, this is not over yet ;)
It was a beautiful spring day, perfect for hanging the laundry. The cool afternoon breeze ensured that the sheets would dry quickly and evenly. Marilla glanced at the redhead beside her, far too devoted to the task at hand. Lining up the corners was important, but it didn't require surgical precision - just a minimum of dexterity and habit.
She wanted to say something, but her mouth was full of clothespins. And even if it hadn't been, what could she possibly contribute? When Anne had gotten engaged, Rachel Lynde had taken over the task of counselling. And counsel, she did: doling out advice (whether solicited or not) was Rachel's expertise, after all.
As annoyed and jealous as she'd felt then, Marilla had been undeniably grateful that Anne was being given knowledge from someone with as much experience as one could acquire in a lifetime. Now, watching the young couple go through a turbulent series of ups and downs, she realized that Rachel's brand of wisdom might not have been suitable after all.
With Marilla caught in a dilemma between leaving Anne alone and submitting her to bad advice, and Anne's own head caught in the clouds, neither woman heard the footsteps approaching. Therefore, when a male voice called out: "Afternoon, ladies," both started and cried out in surprise.
"Sorry - I didn't mean to startle you," apologized Gilbert.
"You do know how to make an entrance," said Marilla slyly, a hint of humor in her eyes.
The handsome, younger version of John Blythe would have grinned and teased: this nervous man shifted his weight from one foot to the other and asked whether Anne could be spared for the rest of the afternoon.
"I'm sorry, Gil - this might take a while," apologized Anne. Her tone made Marilla's ear twitch - somehow, she instinctively understood that the two needed this interaction.
"You go ahead," she dismissed Anne. "I'll get this done quicker without you slowing us down."
"But Marilla-"
"Go. Have a nap: goodness knows you've been dreaming with your eyes open for the past hour or so. Go! Off with you both!" she shooed them away with her free hand, her confidence boosted. Rachel was right about one thing, at least: a mother simply knows.
Gilbert pretended not to notice the way Anne fiddled with her apron strings, or the way she bit her lower lip. Truth be told, he was as nervous as she was, but pointing it out the obvious wouldn't do either of them any good. He held the gate for her and asked whether she would prefer to drive or walk to his parents' house.
"My folks are visiting friends," he explained when she visibly tensed up. "It'd just be the two of us. I thought we could use some uninterrupted time."
Anne nodded and draped her apron over her arm. "A walk would be nice."
"Anne, I-"
"Gil-"
"You first."
She squeezed his arm. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have run away. I wanted to stay, to explain, but... I acted like a coward instead." Gilbert nodded silently, allowing her to continue. "But Gil, you caught me off guard."
"I know. Somehow, I'd thought that after what we'd just done, you'd feel more disposed... and less skittish."
"I wasn't expecting it," Anne's shoulders hunched defensively.
"I'm starting to think we'll need a fanfare to warn you every time I'd like to speak of something delicate."
She stopped walking and stared at him, her posture proud and rigid. "I'll admit that I was in the wrong yesterday, and I have apologized: but I will not stay and trade barbs."
His breath whooshed out on a heavy sigh. "I'm sorry." He pulled her into a loose embrace, his arms almost limp around her. "I'm sorry. I'll stop. Please, don't go."
He sounded so deflated that among her own pain, Anne felt a twang of distress for him. Somewhat mollified, she returned the embrace.
"Let's go inside," he whispered, and she followed him into the house. Up in his childhood room, Gilbert gestured for her to have a seat on his bed. Anne watched curiously as he opened the drawer of his nightstand, and pull out a jar.
"Anne-" He pulled out the chair from his desk and sat down in front of her. Anne's throat tightened at how earnest he looked. "Can we just forget about yesterday? Not permanently - just for now, just for the rest of the day, let us put all that behind us. We will talk about it later - we'll have to, but not now."
It did sound like a reasonable proposition. "Alright," she acquiesced. "What shall we talk about now?"
Gilbert grinned. "Let's play a game." He held up the jar. "Do you know what this is?"
Anne frowned. What in the world was he trying to accomplish? "It looks like apple butter."*
His grinned turned lopsided. "Correct."
"That was your game?" She raised an eyebrow, unimpressed.
"We are going to eat this..." He opened the jar and dipped his finger in it, ignoring her protests that he really ought to use a spoon. "...off of each other."
"What do you mean?"
Gilbert smirked at the spark of interest in her eyes. "I'll go first." He lifted his finger from the jar, and painted her lower lip. "Like this," he whispered, and caught her lip between his teeth, sucking gently before releasing her.
Anne blinked, her heart racing. "My turn?" she breathlessly.
Gilbert nodded and held out the jar to her: she dipped her finger, and smeared the butter on his neck. He moaned lustily as she licked him clean.
"We need less clothes for this game," he noted, removing his shirt. Anne hesitated before following suit, discarding her dress and petticoats. His trousers and undershirt joined her stockings on the floor, followed by his socks, and her corset.
Blushing at the way he eyed her drawers, Anne quickly estimated how bare she would be without them. Gilbert might have forgiven her cowardly avoidance the day before, it wouldn't do to deny him again. Anyhow, it wasn't anything he hadn't seen before, she reflected. As long as she got to keep her top, the bottom could go.
Gilbert, having noticed her hesitation, turned to draw the curtains shut. The drapes wouldn't block the sunlight completely, but the act of turning around would put her more at ease to disrobe. The sound of fabric rustling made him twitch in anticipation, and a discreet cough indicated that he could turn back.
The vision of Anne sitting on his bed wearing only a thin chemise, her magnificent orange hair freed from its tight knot and tumbling over her shoulders in undulant waves, left Gilbert feeling humbled. What had he ever done to deserve the beautiful woman who'd disrobed for him, despite her fear? How had he merited the absolute trust residing behind her suggestive gaze?
"I believe it's your turn." Moved by her bravado, which was noticeably more simulated than felt, Gilbert sat down beside her.
"It certainly is." He dipped his finger in the butter, and drew a line right above the loose collar of her chemise. He knew that he was skirting the edge of what would make her uncomfortable, but as his mouth closed over the top of her right breast, she threaded her fingers through his hair, holding his head to her bosom. Confident that she would stop him should he make her uncomfortable or hurt her, he lavished her exposed flesh, repressing the urge to grope the tempting orb in his hand.
"Is this alright?" he asked, his breath cool on her moist skin, sending a trail of goosebumps across her smooth surface.
She was surprised to find that it was rather more than alright. The scars left by greedy little teeth were the chief reason she preferred to keep her bosom covered, but he'd sucked on her with such care and tenderness that the act had felt quite pleasant.
"Let me do it to you." She waited for him to remove his undershirt before covering his left nipple in the unctuous cream. A swipe of her tongue had him hissing through his teeth, and when her teeth caught the sensitive pink bud, he had to grab her shoulders to stay upright.
"Stop - stop!"
"Did I hurt you? Gil, I'm sorry-"
"No." He smiles. "It's my turn." Two fingers plunged into the jar, and traced the inside of her bare thighs. Anne gasped at having his mouth so close to her core.
"Gil..." she protested when he reached for the apple butter again. "You can't- that's not-"
"I want to taste you," he begged raggedly. "Please, Anne, let me taste you."
She swallowed visibly. "Just your tongue?"
"Just my tongue," he promised, earning a slow nod of consent.
Anne gasped when he slathered her entrance. The apple butter felt odd on her private place, a bit dirty - but her qualms vanished when he withdrew his finger, to be replaced by his tongue. It circled the same way his finger had, but the sensation was different - softer, silken. Her breathing turned erratic as he pushed further into her: she lifted her hips experimentally, and was rewarded when he reached the spot that made her cry out.
Gilbert's moan reverberated in her as he went in deeper yet, working her up into a frenzy until she was writhing, pleading in a needy language of gasps and pants. His mouth latched to her, sucking and nipping and licking until she arched into him, arriving with a shout.
"Gil," she gasped, overwhelmed with an emotion she was only just getting used to feeling.
"Shh, it's alright." He coaxed her head on the pillow and pulled the quilt over them. "Close your eyes. I've got you."
Anne woke up disoriented. It was a moment before the confusion cleared, and she recognized her surroundings. Gilbert shifted beside her and groaned into consciousness. "You alright?" he asked, rubbing sleep from his eyes.
It was a ridiculous thing to do, considering everything they'd just done, but Anne blushed. "I don't understand why I felt so drained."
"We've been moving faster these past few days than we have in the last ten years," he caressed her cheek. "I might have pushed things along a bit too far, too soon. But it's so hard not too, when we're getting closer than ever...Is this going too fast for you, love?" he asked worriedly.
She ducked her head bashfully at the unfamiliar epithet. "No. I've been enjoying it - especially today."
He sighed from relief and deposited a kiss atop of her head. "Good. I'm glad."
"Is there any apple butter left?"
Gilbert chuckled at that. "We hardly went through the whole jar. If you'll remember, I was too busy eating you."
"Gil!" He grinned and ducked when she slapped his shoulder. Her blush deepened, but that didn't stop her from reaching for the jar and fitting her hand inside. "There's plenty left."
"Anne, what are you doing?"
She didn't respond, but looked down at the stiffness tenting his drawers, then back at him with a significant gaze. He squirmed into a sitting position. "Are you sure?"
"Certain."
No sooner had he removed the last of his undergarments that her hand closed around him, slick with apple butter. She coated his length, then gave one more stroke for good measure. By the time she brought her lips close to him, Gilbert was quivering with need.
Up close, he was big. Very big - too big. Emboldened by the desire to please him, Anne surmounted her fear and closed her mouth around his tip. Beneath the flavors of apple and spice, she could detect his own taste - a specific, musky blend that was strangely intoxicating. She took in more of him, swirling her tongue around him as she found an easy rhythm, back and forth.
Gilbert breathed choppily through his clenched teeth: he wasn't going to last if she kept it up. She had him encompassed in her hot, wet mouth, and he was about to lose his mind. A bead of sweat rolled down his temple form the herculean effort it took not to thrust into her.
"Anne," he groaned, on the verge of spilling. She hummed as she increased the suction, the vibrations around him pushing him over the edge.
"Anne!" He barely had time to grab her by the shoulder: she released him and got out of the way just before he shot, spiraling down an abyss of intense pleasure.
He opened his eyes at last to find her face hovering over his, looking at him in a way he didn't quite understand. "You enjoyed that," she stated, amazed - whether at him or herself, he wasn't sure.
"More than enjoyed." He caressed her cheek tenderly. "Anne..."
"I know. I felt it too."
His heart skipped a beat. "Tonight?"
"Tonight."
Gilbert inspected his reflection in the looking glass. He'd bathed and shaved again before supper; even combed his hair and slathered himself with a bit of the rosemary water he knew Anne liked. Smelling fresh, looking sharp... he wanted to be at his best. Tonight, they would not only make another fantasy come true - he was getting the opportunity to right a wrong. Anne would finally understand that Gilbert would never do anything to hurt her, not on purpose, and that he would respect her boundaries.
Anne entered the bedroom and shut the door behind her. Their eyes locked onto each other-
The next thing she knew, they were gripping each other, their mouths crushed to each other's in bruising kisses. Garments flew in the air as they tore each other's clothes off, and the mad pawing continued even as they tumbled onto the mattress.
"Gil," she panted between kisses. "The lights..."
Gilbert scrambled over to the nightstand, blowing one candle, then the next. With the lights out, Anne found the courage to remove her chemise. An excited tingle ran through her spine: they were both in the nude, in the dark.
"Anne," he whispered reverently, bracing himself on his strong arms over her. Her breathing grew more labored as he stroked her with his finger. He reveled in her eagerness, the way she clenched greedily around his digit. Satisfied that she was ready, he shifted to position his tip at her entrance. He started to sink into her, when her hands gripped his shoulders frantically.
"Gil- no. I can't."
Her words made him freeze. "What?"
"I can't go through with it." She pushed at his chest and sat up. "I just can't."
He blew out an incredulous sigh and sat up next to her, head in his hands, still panting heavily. "Anne."
Not a few hours earlier, he'd moaned her name with passion, whispered it with incredible tenderness. Right now, he sounded profoundly exasperated. Her panic faded to regret. "I'm sorry, Gil. I'm so sorry."
"It's alright." He pushed off the bed and stood up.
"Where are you going?"
"I need to blow off some steam." He yanked on his trousers.
"I really am sorry, Gil."
"I know. It's alright. It really is." Gilbert threw on his shirt without buttoning it, and located his shoes. "I'll be back later. Don't wait up."
And just like that, Gilbert stormed off into the night, and Anne found herself alone in the bed.
*Apple butter: it's basically applesauce, but on crack. Seriously delicious.