Lochlan brought out two whiskeys in one hand last night and in the other, a bluetooth speaker, setting it on the railing and cueing up some Sam Smith, a modern spin on our endless beloved eighties power ballads. Maybe we're sophisticated now? I ask as I clink my glass against his and take a long sip.
I doubt it, he laughs.
He takes the glasses, setting them on the table and pulls me into his arms, leading me around the front porch while the rain pours down a few feet away, soaking our world with holy water, washing away the sins and mistakes, drowning the past, snuffing out ghosts and driving enemies away. It's just he and I. Just us and the rain. As ever.
A spin with my hand up over my head and he pulls me back in. We need a bigger camper, he says softly.
This size is perfect for us. I didn't know they came in bigger sizes. This is the first camper I've ever been in. It's the first alone-slow dance I've ever had too.The radio blares a noise and fizzles out abruptly, ruining the mood and Lochlan swears, dropping his arms.
I need more batteries, he said back then. The bluetooth isn't updated on this, he says now and the cold rushes into the space where he was a second ago.
He takes out his phone and lets it be the speaker instead, resuming the music, because technology now enhances our long romance, instead of hobbling it. Because the past is the present and the future too. Because he's here and it doesn't matter what gets into this space as long as I can still reach out and touch him.
As long as I can still reach out and touch you, you mean.
I mean both, I tell him and he's in close again.
Happy to hear you say it. He has me up against the rail now, hands on my head, leaning us out over into the rain, laughing as we are drenched in seconds midkiss. He leans us back in and pulls me away from the rail and down to the hanging bench. Another long kiss and he is trying to take my clothes off while I fight to keep them on.
Too cold, no blankets.
I'll light us on fire, he says, breathless now.
Upstairs, I plea and he groans.
That is the one thing I loved about the camper. We only had to take two steps and we were in bed.
Soon we can move back for the summer. I take the speaker and he brings the glasses.
I can't wait for that. Privacy, finally. He finishes his drink and then mine too, leaving the glasses on the table in the front hall.
I doubt it, he laughs.
He takes the glasses, setting them on the table and pulls me into his arms, leading me around the front porch while the rain pours down a few feet away, soaking our world with holy water, washing away the sins and mistakes, drowning the past, snuffing out ghosts and driving enemies away. It's just he and I. Just us and the rain. As ever.
A spin with my hand up over my head and he pulls me back in. We need a bigger camper, he says softly.
This size is perfect for us. I didn't know they came in bigger sizes. This is the first camper I've ever been in. It's the first alone-slow dance I've ever had too.The radio blares a noise and fizzles out abruptly, ruining the mood and Lochlan swears, dropping his arms.
I need more batteries, he said back then. The bluetooth isn't updated on this, he says now and the cold rushes into the space where he was a second ago.
He takes out his phone and lets it be the speaker instead, resuming the music, because technology now enhances our long romance, instead of hobbling it. Because the past is the present and the future too. Because he's here and it doesn't matter what gets into this space as long as I can still reach out and touch him.
As long as I can still reach out and touch you, you mean.
I mean both, I tell him and he's in close again.
Happy to hear you say it. He has me up against the rail now, hands on my head, leaning us out over into the rain, laughing as we are drenched in seconds midkiss. He leans us back in and pulls me away from the rail and down to the hanging bench. Another long kiss and he is trying to take my clothes off while I fight to keep them on.
Too cold, no blankets.
I'll light us on fire, he says, breathless now.
Upstairs, I plea and he groans.
That is the one thing I loved about the camper. We only had to take two steps and we were in bed.
Soon we can move back for the summer. I take the speaker and he brings the glasses.
I can't wait for that. Privacy, finally. He finishes his drink and then mine too, leaving the glasses on the table in the front hall.