Irish Rain

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A study abroad trip gets steamy!
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Drew Fitzpatrick walked behind his classmates along Westmoreland Street in Dublin. He and several other University of Kentucky students had traveled to Ireland over the summer to study Irish Literature 427, and tonight they had the night off. They had decided to go to two legendary Dublin pubs, The Brazen Head and the Temple Bar. The Brazen Head is the oldest pub in Ireland, and the Temple Bar is a nightlife destination for Dubliners and foreign visitors alike.

From what he'd heard, Drew wasn't looking forward to the bar. It seemed to be a stereotypical nightclub, complete with a "musician" pressing buttons on a laptop to play dubstep and house music, and sluts and bros dancing while high on various substances. Drew was very much a metal and folk music fan; he vastly preferred what he considered to be real musicians playing real instruments, whether they were the electric versions in metal bands or the acoustic versions in folk groups, and drunk on good old-fashioned whiskey and beer.

He ceased his musically supremacist reverie to once again count the heads of the fellow students in front of him. As the biggest of the group at six feet four and two hundred thirty pounds of muscle, he used his size to keep an eye on the other students. He kept his bright blond hair at a medium length, stylishly combed away from his face, and gazed upon the world through apple-green eyes. He looked like a blond Henrik Lundqvist, the handsome and phenomenal New York Rangers goalie. He wasn't too worried about someone being assaulted, he was more afraid of someone being distracted by something and then losing the group.

In front of him strode Laura, who was the youngest of the group at eighteen. She had the grace of a dancer, and was frequently hit on while the group was out and about, despite the ring she placed on her left ring finger to combat that very occurrence.

Ahead of her was Hope, the oldest of the group and the comic relief. Her stories, with myriad vocal changes and wild gesturing, frequently led the others in the group to fits of laughter ending with tears streaming down their faces and bad cases of the hiccups.

Seth, always singing incorrect lyrics to various pop songs in no semblance of proper key signature when he wasn't shooting pictures through his expensive digital SLR camera, strode ahead of her. He was currently butchering Lady Gaga while surreptitiously shooting pictures of Bethany's ass, who walked in front of him. Bethany, the stereotypical beauty queen, (although she was far from unintelligent) sauntered with the intent and the hip swaying to dominate every eye, generating lustful looks from men and envious glares from women.

Ahead of her was Shannon, who Drew had gotten to know pretty well. He personally thought her far and away more attractive than Bethany. Although he had nothing against tall, willowy blonde girls with great figures, he preferred the natural look, and Bethany was obviously naturally a brunette who could tan well; she almost seemed like a Simpsons character in terms of coloration. The combination of a deep tan and platinum blonde hair seemed unnatural to Drew.

Shannon, on the other hand, had naturally wavy brown-sugar hued hair she wore long, bright blue eyes, and a more athletic, curvy figure than Bethany. She looked like the volleyball player she was, with long legs and a perfect amount of muscle.

She didn't try as hard as Bethany did, either; she knew she was attractive, and dressed stylishly yet simply. Tonight, she wore boot cut jeans over cowgirl boots, and a deep purple polo shirt. Leading the group was Sean, who was the undisputed champion navigator of the group. Having never been to Ireland before, all he had to do was look at a map once and he knew exactly where to go, even if the map was crudely drawn on a pub napkin. His skill in keeping the group on the right track made Drew more than a little jealous.

As they crossed the street into more of the nightlife district of Dublin, they began to see street performers in greater numbers. Drew had grown up in Green Bay, Wisconsin, and had never really come across people performing music in the street. He was blown away by the talent of the individuals they passed. One man played a Chapman stick, a sort of hybrid guitar and bass, and he created his own harmonies in addition to melodies by tapping the strings with all ten fingers instead of using the traditional pick-and-four-fingers method. "That dude should be playing a bar, I'd pay a cover to see him," Drew thought to himself.

Finally, the group found themselves on the outside of the bar. The pounding beat of a dubstep song assaulted them as they stood in front, making change amongst themselves for the cover fee. He noticed Shannon's less-than-enthused expression and leaned in. "What do you think?" he asked.

"I think this would be a colossal waste of ten Euros," she replied. "Wanna ditch?"

"Sure. I saw an ad on a lamppost for a traditional Irish band closer to the school. Want to head there?" He asked.

"That sounds brilliant, I've been wanting to listen to some good traditional music before I left here. Anything beats this garbage. It sounds like a fax machine and a dial up modem having rough sex," she rolled her eyes.

Drew had taken a swig of the bottle of water he'd been carrying and almost spat it out for laughing. "Well, that's one way of putting it. Hey guys, we're going to head back. This isn't quite our scene, there's a trad band we're going to check out closer to the school. We'll see you!"

"Are you sure? I mean, it's safer in numbers."

Before Drew could speak, Shannon cut in. "Come on, Drew's the hardest hitter on UK's hockey team. We'll be fine."

As they walked off, he turned and asked, "How'd you know how hard I hit on the ice?"

"Are you kidding me? I never miss a home game. My friends and I are pre-vet majors and go to games to blow off steam."

"Wait a minute. You're in that group that always sat behind the visitor's bench and heckled them worse than we did, weren't you?" Drew replied as he thought of the few times he took his eyes off the ice.

"Yep, that's us!"

He laughed as he recalled some of the more colorful insults hurled at the opposing bench. "You guys were rough. Some of those guys almost looked like they were about to cry."

She laughed. "Those were probably your hits that made them tear up. Seriously, we can tell when you hit. When you tag someone on the boards, it's louder than anybody else."

Drew wasn't really used to such a reaction from someone when he discussed hockey. Typically, their eyes glazed over at hearing about a sport so few Kentuckians understood. Despite that, he was actually a bit shy, so he decided to change the tack of the conversation. "That's what I do. Bang bodies, take up space, break up plays, and score and scrap every now and then. So you mentioned you were pre-vet?"

Her ice-blue eyes brightened. "Yep, I want to work with horses. I grew up on a small horse farm in southeast Lexington, so I've always been around horses. What do you want to do?"

"Police work runs in my family. My dad was in the 101st Airborne during Viet Nam, and afterwards he became a SWAT officer in Green Bay. My mom is a detective in Green Bay too, so I plan on doing the same thing."

Her finely-arched eyebrow rose incrementally. "Ok, so you're blue to the bone!"

He nodded. "Pretty much. A lot of my aunts and uncles work in law enforcement, too. I want to continue the Fitzpatrick and Holmstrom legacy of public service."

"Sounds like a great plan. Mine is a little less altruistic. I just like horses," they laughed as the bus pulled to a stop in front of them. They climbed in, scanned their cards, and took the only two remaining seats, which were located directly behind the driver. For a while they were silent, feeling no pressure to talk; just the enjoyment of being in the other's company. A light rain began to fall as the bus made its way north. The farther the bus went, the heavier the rain came down.

As they began to pass from the hustle and bustle of Dublin proper to the Marino neighborhood, which held the college at which they were staying, Shannon leaned over and asked, "On a totally different conversational note, what kind of music do you like?"

"I really like the musicianship necessary for progressive rock and progressive metal. Bands like Yes, King Crimson, Dream Theater, Opeth, Genesis, and Rush have more talent in their fingernail trimmings than I will ever have in all two hundred thirty pounds of me. I also like knowing where music came from; folk music like bluegrass, Celtic, Middle Eastern, stuff like that captivates me. It's a region's music at its purest, most stripped-down form," Drew mused.

"Word," she replied with an appreciative nod. "Growing up on the farm, my parents had a huge vinyl collection of classic rock records, since we couldn't get radio stations there. Mom and Dad loved music, so there was always something playing. Bands like The Who, The Beatles, Genesis and Rush, like you said; CCR, Meat Loaf, Billy Joel, everything."

"You have no idea how glad I am that you didn't mention Kesha, One Direction, Bieber, or Lil Wayne." He said as they stepped off the bus and into the rain, her too-small umbrella barely covering them. As he was a good six inches taller than her, he had to slouch to bring the umbrella closer to her head.

They both laughed. "I don't know how anyone listens to that garbage. They are the reason why I'm pro-choice," Shannon joked. This time, there was no salvation for the sip of water that Drew had taken. Barely managing not to aspirate it, he shot it out over the trunk of a Peugeot.

"God, I can't take a drink around you without turning into a human sprinkler," Drew sputtered as he wiped the back of his hand across his blond goatee. At this, Shannon just laughed louder, her Kate Middleton-esque nose beginning to crinkle in a manner that Drew found to be incredibly cute.

Shannon zipped her rain jacket, she asked, "So you're obviously a connoisseur of music, do you play too?"

"I started playing cello in elementary school, and played until eighth grade. I started playing guitar in high school and still play, just not as much as I used to. I'm decent at it, but I'll never be in a band playing in front of thousands of people, and I'm ok with that. I want to learn bagpipes, but I've never gotten around to learning."

"I'd still like to hear you play sometime. Maybe in return, I'll play my bagpipes," her bright blue eyes twinkled with an impish gleam as she revealed her talent.

"You play?!" Drew exclaimed, excitement in his voice.

"Yep, I have for a while. A guy at my church plays, and I was always interested in them. Everything about them fascinated me, from their looks to their unmistakable tone to the fact that you either love them or hate them, just like me!" She tilted her head back slightly to look him in the face and smiled a broad, breathtakingly beautiful smile.

"Just so you know, you're far from the hate side of the equation," Drew laughed as they turned the corner to the pub. He held the heavy oak door open for her, partly out of being taught by his father to be a consummate gentleman and partly to catch a glimpse of her spectacular ass. She obviously did a lot of squats, as she had a perfect mix of muscle and flesh to create curves in places where some women didn't even have places.

A jolly, heavier man with a mop of curly copper hair sat at a table in front of them. A pint of Guinness sat by his left hand, and a small metal lock box sat by his right. "Good evening, it's three Euros for tonight's entry."

They rummaged through their pockets for the proper coinage and passed it to the man. "Thanks. I'm sure you're going to love this show, this lot is brilliant," the man said in his lilting accent.

"Sounds great!" Shannon quipped with a cute smile. They ordered pints of Guinness; Drew was pleasantly surprised by her choice. As a bit of a beer connoisseur, he was thrilled at the prospect of sharing a good beer with a gorgeous woman. They chose a table facing the stage and waited for them to begin. As they were waiting, a blonde couple with thick Finnish accents politely asked if they could sit across the table from them; they cheerfully obliged and the Finns took their seats.

As they looked around the pub, the true nature of it seemed far from the well-kept bars they frequented in Kentucky. The place was dim, the shellac on the floor was dinged and peeling from years of occupancy, the wood paneling covering the lowest third of the walls featured gouges, cigarette burns, scrapes and stains. A hearth featuring two barren trees stood opposite the stage, and was covered in soot. It looked like it hadn't been properly scrubbed in at least a century. The stage was merely an area of the floor with barstools instead of chairs and small circular tables so the performers would have a place to put their drinks and cigarettes during the show.

"What set do you think they stole that hearth from; Game of Thrones, Lord of the Rings, or Harry Potter?" She asked. The fact that she referenced three of Drew's favorite fantasy literature franchises didn't go unnoticed. His ex-girlfriend, Karina, thought fantasy literature was nerdy and beneath her.

"I'm thinking Lord of the Rings. It looks perfectly at home in The Prancing Pony. Or Winterfell, come to think of it."

"I'm thinking Lord of the Rings, Harry Potter stuff was a little cleaner, and not nearly as bleak looking," Shannon mentioned.

"Very true, it looked more like paint than grime, and wasn't nearly as depressing. Damn, I want that hearth," Drew laughed as the band members took their seats, tuning their instruments between sips of beer. The band began to play upbeat, fast songs, and Drew and Shannon couldn't help but tap their toes in time.

As they enjoyed the music, Drew noticed her hand sitting on her thigh, palm perpendicular to her leg. Drew glanced down, and then sideways. He noticed her bright blue eyes, reflecting the streetlamp shining through the blue of the stained glass window. He turned his head slightly, seeing her turning hers, gazing at him with an expression that could only be described as sultry.

He quaffed the remnants of his porter and took her warm hand in his, lightly caressing the back of her thumb with the pad of his own. She squeezed his hand in response, and caught his eye and smiled a wide, toothy, genuine smile.

After an hour and a half of near constant playing, the band stood and took their bows and replaced their instruments in their cases. Shannon finished off her pint of Guinness, and turned to him. "Shall we be off?" she asked in a pseudo-proper British accent.

"Aye, sounds grand altogether." Drew replied in a lilting Irish accent. They paid their tabs, and he offered his arm.

"Thanks," she said in her typical Midwest accent, and took his arm within hers. The doorman who took their cover charges held the door for them.

"Thanks, have a great night!" he said. As they stepped out into the darkness, the rain had stopped recently, leaving the pavement wet as a movie set at night. They both stepped straight down the sidewalk, which excited Drew, as they had had quite a few drinks. Girls who got sloppy drunk were a huge turn-off to him. Self-control, self-awareness and the confidence to turn down more drinks than they needed were the things he looked for.

As they walked down the street and back towards the small college where they were staying, they passed picturesque neighborhoods lit by gas lights. Privet hedges and brick and wrought iron fences separated small front gardens, and there were explosions of color coming from window planters. "I'd like to live in a place like this," she said wistfully.

"If I were to live in the city, I'd like this. But I've lived in the city my whole life, in Suburbia, and I'd like to live outside of it for a while. I'm rather sick of it, truth be told."

"Sick of what?" Shannon asked.

"Oh, you know, the politics of neighborhoods, the neighborhood associations, the gossip, all of it."

"I've never dealt with that. I've always lived in the same place, out in the middle of nowhere. My closest neighbor is about a mile away."

"I want at least something like that one day." Drew replied. For the distance of a few driveways, they were silent. Shannon broke the silence when they passed the gate to their college.

"Do you mind if I use your internet once we get back? I can't figure out how to de-bug it, and neither can Hope."

"Sure, mine works pretty well." He replied. Drew had an idea of what she really was wanting, but didn't press the matter. He didn't want to look like a pervert if he was wrong.

Outside the door of their dorm, she turned. "Thanks for ditching. I wouldn't have come back if you hadn't."

"Same here. I'm glad you have good taste in music." He replied.

"I like to think so," she laughed, and with a sheepish grin, added "As well as good taste in other things."

"Beer?" He asked innocently.

"Not quite what I was going for, but I'll take it," she winked and squeezed his hand.

A few minutes later, Drew passed his toothbrush over his tongue one last time before spitting the toothpaste out. Rinsing out the toothbrush, he dropped it in the coffee mug beside his shave brush and soap. As he was undoing the laces from their hooks on his brown Doc Martens boots, a knock sounded on his partially open door.

"Come on in," he called. Shannon shut the door behind her, and he turned around. She had brought her computer, but had changed clothes; instead of the simple jeans and polo, she was now clad in University of Kentucky sweatpants and a royal blue camisole which did nothing to conceal her ample bosom and trim waist. She had taken down her French braid and wore her long bourbon-colored hair down and tossed in front of her left shoulder.

The waistband of her pants ended about an inch below her shirt, leaving a narrow but sexy strip of tanned skin around her hips exposed. As she turned away from him to put her laptop on the bed, he noticed two dimples in the small of her back. He wasn't sure what it was about them, but he found them incredibly sexy.

"How'd you get a queen size bed? Mine barely fits me and I'm five feet ten and a size eight." She pouted as she hopped up on the bed, leaning against the wall.

"I think this is the R.A's room. Rank hath its privilege, I guess."

She blew a raspberry. "I just have a couple emails to send, then I'll be done." She opened her laptop, and soon, the sound of her French-manicured nails ticking and tapping against the keyboard filled the air. As she typed, Drew took the memory card out of his camera and inserted it in his own computer, downloading them before clearing the pictures for the next day.

Every now and then, he looked up at her, drinking in the view of her beauty. She was effortlessly sexy. That was what made her so appealing in Drew's eyes; she knew she was gorgeous and didn't try too hard. She was confident.

Drew finished his download and plugged in his computer, and as soon as he had finished, he looked up to see Shannon shutting her laptop. He sat on the bed beside her, and said, "You know, there's one thing I've wanted to do for some time now."

"Oh really?" She asked, a sultry smile playing about her sexy, makeup-ad lips. "What might that be?"

"It's one of those things best demonstrated," he said as he moved in. His strong, long fingers snaked through her hair, and hers were on the back of his neck. Her lips met his halfway, a slow, tentative kiss, before he felt her soft tongue probing at his lips. The intensity of their kiss began to build, like a volcano just prior to eruption. He opened his lips, exploring and probing at her tongue with his own.

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