Thunder, Lightning, and Rain
 by Merri-Todd Webster
 (28 August 1999)

 An enormous crash of thunder woke Walter, followed
 immediately by lightning that seared his sleep-dimmed
 eyes.  The storm had to be right over the building. 
 He turned over, reaching out with a comforting hand,
 only to find the other side of the bed empty and cool,
 the covers neatly spread flat.

 Getting up, he detoured into the bathroom to relieve
 himself, then passed through the kitchen into the
 living room.  The light at the back of the stove was
 on, and a pot of tea steamed beside a still-hot
 kettle.  He found her standing before the window,
 wrapped in her white terrycloth bathrobe, cradling a
 mug of tea in her hands.

 Dana smiled up at Walter as he laid his his arm around
 her shoulders.  "Hi."

 "Hi, yourself."  He kissed her forehead.  "The storm
 bother you?"

 "Oh, no."  Another brilliant flare of lightning lit up
 her face, the thunder crashed over her words.  He
 could see the delight shining in her face, bright as
 the lightning.  "I love thunderstorms.  I came out
 here to watch."

 A sudden gust of wind blew a sheet of grey rain
 against the window.  Walter flinched a little in
 surprise, but Dana did not.  Energy seemed to crackle
 over her small frame, as though she were absorbing and
 grounding the lightning, as though her fiery hair
 might suddenly rise up and dance with the force of it.

 "You don't like thunderstorms," she said positively, a
 tiny smile pursing her lips.

 Walter's jaw clenched.  Too many nights in Vietnam,
 days, too, where it never stopped raining... rain
 mixed with blood and brains and guts, thunder and
 lightning mixed with shells and bullets, men laughing
 like lunatics in the storm.  His arm slipped from
 around Dana's shoulders.  "No, I don't."

 She turned to him, patted his chest.  "Let's go back
 to bed."

 He followed her through the kitchen, where she
 re-filled her mug with tea and added milk and sugar. 
 In the bedroom she put down the mug on her nightstand,
 neatly, on the cork-lined coaster.  Then she took off
 her robe and hung it on the back of the door.  The
 peach nightgown she wore underneath clung to her damp
 skin.  Sitting on the bed, Walter watched as Dana lit
 the two large pillar candles she liked to keep on the
 bureau, then drew the curtains together against the
 storm.  She turned to him, smiling, and pulled the
 nightgown over her head.

 As always, he was amazed by the smallness of her, the
 softness of her in his arms.  She fitted neatly into
 his lap, arms twined around his neck, and lounged
 comfortably in his embrace as their mouths made slow,
 wet love with kisses.  Yet there was nothing weak
 about her.  Determination had rebuilt muscle and flesh
 after her illness and regained her old speed of foot,
 and she had never lost the keen eye and steady hand
 that made her one of the best shots in the Bureau--the
 best among women, and surpassed by few men.

 And she was passionate.  Walter turned them over,
 settling Dana on the pillows and himself on top of
 her, and her thighs parted, her body cradled his with
 astonishing strength and rightness.  He was hard
 instantly, almost painfully, wanting this woman,
 wanting to take her, like a beast in rut.  But that
 was not the treatment she deserved, and that was not
 the treatment he had ever given her.

 He kissed his way down her body, loving the soft
 cooing sounds she made in pleasure.  Her noises grew
 high and sharp as he suckled the delicate pink
 nipples; her noises grew low and harsh as his mouth
 trailed over her belly, teased her navel, kissed her
 inner thighs, and settled hungrily on the hot, wet
 flesh of her pussy, veiled with red-gold fuzz.

 Her hands grasped at his head, his shoulders, his
 upper arms, as he ate her, licking with broad, long
 strokes that covered as much flesh as possible.  She
 was slippery, salty, sweet, hot, gushing insatiably as
 his tongue coaxed her.  He curled the tip of his
 tongue around her swollen clit, circled it, pushed at
 it and then sucked--and grinned with satisfaction as
 she bucked up, groaning, and then went limp beneath
 him.

 Not satisfied yet with his lover's pleasure, Walter
 shifted position and slipped a finger into Dana's
 body.  She moaned, wanting more in her cunt than just
 one finger, however skillful.  Massaging her on the
 inside, he went back to licking her on the outside,
 switching to two fingers and not stopping until she
 came again, gasping.

 He knelt up and came forward over her, and she spread
 her legs even wider, held out her arms to welcome him.
  "Oh, yes," she moaned, guiding his cock into her
 pussy with one hand, coaxing his weight down to pin
 her, cover her.  Walter groaned against her neck,
 losing all his vocabulary once again at the feel of
 slick muscles gripping him, slim legs curling
 possessively around his hips.

 "Now," she said, asking for more, giving permission,
 and he cupped her shoulders in his hands, bracing
 himself on his elbows, and started to move.  He
 couldn't hold back very long, much as he wanted to. 
 The thunder and lightning raged fiercely overhead, but
 not as fiercely as he was fucking her, fucking this
 woman that he loved, not as fiercely as her voice and
 her hips and her hands demanded it of him.  She came
 again, with a cry of delight like the pealing of many
 bells, as he thrust wildly into her and came himself,
 sighing in her arms like a dying man.

 He lay there for a long time, Dana holding him,
 humming softly in her throat, as his seed trickled
 gently out of her around his shrinking erection, and
 outside, the storm went on.

 ***