Devoted

The Lightning's Reckoning

Searching for Florence he finds her shivering, leaning against the feed room wall. His boots make squelching noises as he walks towards her and she looks up. She seems so small and fragile standing there shivering like a drowned animal and he can't help but smile. Even now she still looks like an angel. She knits her brows, gazing at him before glancing down at her mud-caked clothes and she giggles. Her hand flies to her mouth in astonishment eyes growing round as saucers.

"Oh, I shouldn't laugh. That wasn't a funny time, we both could of been hurt...or-or died." She says sobering up at her own words.

Hans nods solemnly, his heart still racing painfully at the sight of her on the ground. He steps closer to her, so close he can see the redness of her nose from the cold and her wind-chapped cheeks. She needs to get out of those wet clothes, and reaching out he takes her hand pulling her towards the house, her black hair already plastered to her head. Wet tendrils fall around her face escaping her bun after chasing the cows. Hans knows he doesn't look any better. He slows his pace to match hers as they run across the open yard, careful to keep a hold of her should she fall. The rain is freezing as it pelts the exposed skin of his neck and hands. Hurrying Florence along they step onto the rain-slicked stairs leading to the porch. He pushes her in front of him, hand on her lower back for support. The jacket is wet against his palm, the wool fabric cold, and stiffening in the wind chill. He needs to get her inside and dry before she gets a cold, or worse.

Florence enters the house before him, loosening the mud from her boots as she kicks them against the sill of the door. He follows suit and toes the black leather boots off, kicking them out of the way, and closes the door behind them. She takes a seat at the kitchen table near the wood stove to remove her boots as Hans stokes the fire. Warmth tingles through his fingers as feeling returns in them after being numb from the cold. He glances down at his wet shirt that clings to his body but he pushes his discomfort aside as he goes to Florence. Pulling out the chair beside her, he perches on the edge of the seat reaching for his coat and sliding it from her shoulders. He drops it, and the wool coat weighed down from the rain thumps to the floor.

"Thank you," she murmurs, keeping her eyes downcast, "For helping with the cows, and your coat."

"Of course," Hans laughs taking her hands between his, they are cold, even after having his thick leather gloves. "I want to help you, Florence."

At the sound of her name, she lifts her head, large green eyes staring back at him. Involuntarily he leans closer needing to breathe in her scent of lavender soap; he takes a shuddering breath letting the sweet scent envelope him. Tentatively he lifts a hand to her cheek, her skin is like silk beneath his touch, and he runs his thumb down her cheekbone to her full lips. Full lips that are so sultry, so kissable, and have plagued him since the night she brought him here. Air hisses through her teeth at his touch, the white of her eyes growing large at the unexpected caress, yet she doesn't pull away from him. Her porcelain-like complexion is only highlighted by the deep reddening of her cheeks.

Hans searches her face, begging her to give a sign that she wants this as badly as he does. His thumb skims the curve of her bottom lip, lingering there in a silent plea. Her tongue darts out wetting her lips as he traces the contour of her jawline to her neck goosebumps pebbling along her creamy skin. Guiding his hand up her neck to the nape of her hair he threads his fingers in her inky locks. Their breath mixes in an intoxicating scent of mint and cigarettes as he closes the distance angling her mouth up towards his. Hans's mouth lightly brushes against the sensitive skin of her lips.

His heart is pounding in his chest as if threatening to leap from his ribs as he awaits her response. To his relief she kisses him back, timid in her movements. Unable to control his yearning for her, Hans deepens the kiss running his tongue along the crease of lips as she parts them. All her reservation dissolves as he strokes the roof of her mouth stirring an invitation from hers, and the kiss becomes feverish. Her hands come to his chest, one gripping his shirt and the other going to run through his hair. He thanks the heavens for his decision to allow his hair to grow out.

Florence pulls Hans to her, their bodies pressing into each other. Her soft and supple body against his hard and rough body. The events of the evening add to their desperation. Having come close to losing someone in their lives again, they cling to each other. Afraid to push her over the edge he breaks away first looking at her in amazement. Never has he felt anything close to this kind of love in his life. And he believes he can see it reflected in her sage green irises as they admire each other in the light of the wood stove.

"You shake," Hans whispers, winded by their passion after finally realizing she is shivering beneath his touch, "Warm bath."

"Yes, I s-should go do that...now," she whispers. Except there she sits, wrapped in his arms seeming content and he rests his chin on the top of her head as she lays against his chest. He can't let her go even knowing that she should be in a warm bath and dry clothes. Not only for her own health but the babies. Finally, reality sets in and he releases her, letting her rise to her feet and disappear down the hallway. Staring after her Hans is gripped with concern that he is putting her in danger by being here so long. Knows he should leave to protect her, however, his resolve fades as he thinks of her lips on his.