Lost in Turbulence

"C'mere," he said instead.

Gemma found it suspicious, but also was a little too mesmerized to resist. She took a few cautious steps until she was just in front of the tent, her head bent down to the side to fit under the tarp. She looked like she was inclining her ear to listen to a secret.

"Gemma." His voice was soft. Beckoning.

"Yes?" Did she speak? Or did she just whisper? Did he even hear her at all?

"Gem," even softer, even more lovely. She bit her lip, the weight of the world against her body like when she taxies on the water in her seaplane.

"Yes," she answered leaning closer.

His hands were cupping her face, his eyes looking adoringly at her. He swiped at her bangs, brushing the wet strands to the side even though they were too stubborn to do anything but hang straight down. "If I were the captain discovering the world, I would take you with me. I'd follow you before I followed the sun. You are my sextant."

And then the great pull that caused her body to tense against all nature. Lift off.

"Now, give me my clothes before I turn to a block of ice."

Her body was still orienting to the horizon, her flight plan beginning to lay out before her. "That's not possible. It's not cold enough or it'd be snowing, not raining," she answered entranced by his blue eyes.

He laughed and shoved her away from him. "Well, of hypothermia then. That is possible and very likely."

Gemma's eyes shifted down his chest, his nipples pinched up, his typically smooth skin smattered with goosebumps. She blinked and snapped out of it, snatching up his clothes from where she'd lain them.

"Thank you," Finn answered with a fair amount of dare. He zipped up the tent, never breaking eye contact.

It still took her a minute to focus her mind and get their dinner started. While rummaging through to the bottom of his bag, her hand hit something hard. She pulled it out, wondering what last food item he'd gotten and was surprised to discover it was a bottle of wine. She studied it with an even amount of intrigue and disquiet.

I can't stop giggling.

He smirked. I noticed. The flickering flames in the fireplace reflected in his eyes.

Well, it's your fault. I've never had beer before. Her hands on her stomach as they lay before the hearth, she sighed and looked up at the dancing shadows on the ceiling.

I know. That's the third time you've said it.

And your dad won't miss it missing?

Miss it missing? I think so.

Are we gonna get into trouble? Eyes dark and liquid.

Well, considering that was a double negative question you asked me, you basically asked if we were going to get away with drinking the beer while my parents are away this weekend. So, for clarity's sake, the answer is yes, we will likely get away with it. There's a whole 'nother case in the basement.

Huh?

Finn laughed and pulled her closer. He kissed her swollen lips. Don't worry 'bout it.

'Kay. She stared at his mouth. Think you could kiss me again?

He gave her a cock-eyed grin. I should've gotten you liquored up a long time ago.

Why? And I'm not liquored up.

I beg to differ, and because you've never been quite so vocal about being...in the mood.

What are you talking about? I'm always in the mood. I'm just too embarrassed to say anything. Oops! She slapped her hand over her mouth.

See? He laughed. That's what I'm talking about.

You're so clever. But if you're so clever, why aren't you kissing me like you claim you want to instead of arguing with me?

He leaned in for a kiss, his laughter quickly fading away. You're right. I should never waste time. Her eager arms were around his shoulders, her fingers in his hair. His body half rolled on top of hers. She could feel his erection through their thick clothes. And suddenly everything was in flames, his fingertips pressing under her shirt, the skin he touched, the breath caught in her lungs. The very air surrounding them combustible.

Finn was suddenly panting, his breath flashing against her face with every labored exhale. Their foreheads touched.

Why'd you stop?

Gemma, babe, we can't keep doing this.

M'why not?

He laughed, but there was pain in it, not mirth. Gem, we're going too fast.

Too fast? We've been dating two years.

I mean right now, in this moment. It'll only lead to one place.

She was breathing just as heavily as he was. And?

And I don't think we're ready. Not to do it here on my living room floor.

I don't understand. Don't you want to? I always thought you wanted to.

Shit, of course I do. You're all I think about, you know that? But, if you really want this, then I want you to tell me. Before you're drunk. That's what alcohol does, remember? Lowers inhibitions? Those inhibitions are part of what make us who we are. And I wouldn't feel right if you woke up in the morning and regretted being with me.

But I want you now. Her hand slid down his stomach toward his jeans.

And then the zipper was dragging again. The ubiquitous sound of summer. And forests. And camping in the great wide wonder.

Gemma blinked out of the memory and hurriedly stuffed the bottle back in the bag. She turned her attention to the metal pole that speared their two bratwursts. She watched her pale vegan one blister though not look any more appetizing, while his sizzled with a gluttonous sort of satisfaction that only pork fat can provide. It smelled heavenly.

"Find everything?"

Her nod was quick.

"Smells good." He was sitting next to her on the log, only enough room for them to sit snug hip to hip. Finn's arm around her was heavy, hard and reassuring. She smiled when she decided it felt natural. Like it was the way they were meant to sit. To touch.

Gemma leaned back against him. "We'll have to come back this summer. Maybe find a really clear day. No chance of rain."

"Those don't exist here," he mused as he lay his cheek on her head.

"We can hope for them, can't we? Have a little faith?"

Finn sighed and then kissed the top of her head. He leaned forward and took the skewer from her hands. "Yup. We can hope."

Gemma took that as her cue to ready the buns. She pulled out the little zip lock baggies that held the small amounts of condiments he loved: peppers, caramelized onions, diced tomato, tangy mustard and his family's secret recipe spicy sauce that looked deceptively creamy. They'd been through the ritual enough for Gemma to know how he liked his toppings ordered.

She liked ketchup and mustard.

When Finn decided they'd sizzled enough to declare them done, they worked like a four-armed animal to slide the brats off the skewers and into the buns, passing and taking and relieving and reaching seamlessly.

"Man, that's hot," Finn announced whilst sucking air into his mouth. And then he moaned. Gemma smiled as she watched him chew vigorously. "I think I'm going to need the other," he stated, and reached around her to the plastic bag the sausages had come in. He needled the thin metal skewer into his second one and held it over the flames. They ate quietly, each enjoying the flavors of open flame.

When enough of her food was devoured, Gemma looked out into the darkening evening. "I saw a bunch of mushrooms over there where we gathered the limbs. I think I can go back and get another two sketches done. If it doesn't rain on me for an hour."

"Okay. Need help?"

"Not really."

"And I can come with you, but you won't talk to me."

"I can't help it if the part of my brain that paints is on the opposite side from the half that speaks. Blame evolution. Not me."

Finn laughed. "Fine. I guess I'll just be the fire keeper and read my book."

"And cleaner of the dinner items?"

"And cleaner of the dinner items. Anything else while you're away?"

"Just don't get carted off by mountain men." She grabbed her minimalist art supplies, pecked him on the lips and headed off in the direction she'd seen the mushrooms.

Within five minutes she was alone in the forest, out of earshot from their camp and flipping through the field guide in attempt to identify the first cluster of fungi she came across. Satisfied with the match in the book and the live specimen before her, she snapped a few pictures with her cell phone and then found the best side for the most compelling composition. Luck was on her side, and as the last of the day's light seemed to teeter on the rim of the earth, the rain seemed to have the decency to hold off until her second watercolor was finished. Just as she was touching the painting with the back of her hand to determine if it was dry enough to close the journal, the forest began to grow louder with the gentle parade of rain drops.

Gemma tucked the book and her watercolor set under her arm. She wove through the trees, their mingled fingers above dense enough to protect her from the falling rain, but when she made it to the clearing, the air was gray with the dense rain. Their setup was almost thirty yards from her and as she stood on the edge of cover, she had to decide to walk or run through the cloudburst.

Finn looked up when he heard a peel of laughter. Gemma was racing over the ground, her head tucked as she dodged downed and rotting cedars, mounds of small boulders, and various field debris. He stood up as she nearly leapt for the tarp, colliding with an 'umph'.

"Didn't I tell you you'd get wetter if you ran?" He was holding her panting form up, futilely wiping water from her face.

"Are you serious? If that were Gettysburg, do you think I would have walked through the bullet spray or dodged like hell?"

"The difference here is that the clouds aren't aiming for you. Plus, it's too dark out there. You could have twisted an ankle."

"Oh, tosh. You're just coming up with excuses to not show how impressed you were with my linebacker moves."

He burst into laughter. "Gem, sweetheart. Linebackers don't run with the ball. They tackle the guy carrying it. You're thinking of a wide receiver."

"Tomato, to-mah-to...it's all the same, point is, I've got moves like Obi-wan."

Still laughing, he grabbed her up in a bear hug. "You wish. Get your paintings done?"

"Yeah, I did two pretty nice ones, especially considering I was worried every three seconds it'd start pouring on me."

"Or you'd get taken by mountain men."

"That too. But now I'm all wet again."

"Hey, why don't you change into your pj's, and then I've got a surprise."

"A surprise? Sounds dubious. You didn't bring your batman pajamas, did you?"

"Babe, that's a uniform, not pajamas," he deadpanned. When she cracked a smile, he continued. "No, seriously, go change and I'll bring it to you."

She did as instructed, but the moment she entered their tent, she saw that he had organized it, putting their packs in their respective corners. What's more, she noticed that he'd zipped their sleeping bags together, creating one giant one for them to share. Her face instantly felt hot and her stomach felt a little nauseated in a way that made her bite her lip to keep from smiling.

Gemma slipped off her hiking boots and then zipped the tent up. She tried to not think about the hours to come, but it was rather weighty in her mind. She found occupying her mind with dressing and organizing her things a start. Thankfully, her silk underwear was still dry so she could wear it and keep warm under her pajamas.

She cleared her throat. "Did you bring your physiology note cards?"

He gave half of a laugh before swallowing it. "Hm. Nope."

"Mind a little music?"

"I suppose if my conversation isn't enough for you...then sure."

"Ha. Ha," came her dry reply from within the tent. And then he could hear the jivy strum of string instruments, a tempo that made hips sway, and a blue-velvet voice crooning about magic moments, lips close, sweeter than wine, lasting forever. Till the end of time.

Magic.

The old song swept in nostalgia from an era before Finn, and yet it felt universal, across time, and carried emotions he couldn't deny. He smiled, at once wishing Gemma shared his interest in modern rap artists while simultaneously loving her for her own style and flavor.

"Done in there?" he called out as he poked the fire, making room for another hefty log. He'd had the foresight to gather all the wood close at hand, so he could theoretically toss a piece on from within the tent, and not have to bother to get up every fifteen minutes.

"I think," she answered with obvious doubt in her voice. He could imagine her in there, twirling around, looking half scatter-brained to find something she wasn't even missing. He poured the hot chocolate from the pot into the large mug he'd brought. He figured, for weight sake, it was better to bring one larger mug they could share instead of two individually sized ones. He stopped at about a quarter of the way and then popped the cork on the bottle of merlot he'd stashed away. His parents wouldn't miss it.

He'd seen the recipe on a luxury camping episode he watched from time to time and considered the idea very adult. He frowned as he watched the drink thicken and curdle. That didn't happen on the TV show. He took a tentative sip. It was a tart and sweet mixture of chocolate and fermented berries. It wasn't bad, but not what he'd imagined. He could feel the burn of the heated alcohol stinging his tongue pleasantly. He took a large swig and then poured in a little more wine.

"Coming in, ready or not," he warned as he approached. Gemma opened the tent for him and eyed the drink.

"What is that?" She smiled conspiratorially.

"A surprise. Hot chocolate?" He handed it to her and then slid in next to her. The rain was picking up again as she made a loud slurp.

"What is this?" she asked again, scrunching up her little nose.

"Hot chocolate. Spiked with wine."

She turned to look at him with a conspiratorial smile that faded when she saw him peel off his jeans. An instant burning cramp in her stomach. She resisted her instinct to whip away, and instead forced a smile and then attempted to slowly turn back around. Unaffected. Gemma stared at the fire from her spot within the open tent, Finn jostling behind her as he undressed and redressed. The tarp overhead angled upward toward the tree away from the tent, encouraging smoke to gather and undulate its way along the tarp barrier and out into the night air.

"Here," Finn said as he handed her an inflated pillow. He settled his own at the opening of the tent, and she followed suit. Laying on their stomachs, braced up by their elbows, they passed the spiked cup of hot chocolate back and forth.

The rain came and went and came in turns until the cup was empty and Finn began pouring the rest of the bottle of wine into the pot and placing it over the flames. His plan to flick tinder onto the fire from where he lay didn't pan out, but it wasn't quite the bother he feared when the time came to step out of the tent and toss one on.

By the time they'd finished the heated wine, the music had died and they decided to flip their joined sleeping bags around so they could snuggle under while keeping their heads at the tent opening. Gemma was on her stomach, her chin resting on her hands as she watched the rain drops catch the light of the campfire for just a moment, making the darkness beyond glitter.

Turned on his side facing her, Finn's hand was on her back. Wine-diluted blood and his warm hand sliding up and down the line of her spine made it hard for Gemma's eyes to stay open. She felt good. Lazy river idle good. Nirvana and gold swimming good. The uniform sway of eelgrass in the tide good. And then his fingers were on her skin at the base of her back. Her eyes opened languidly as she felt those intelligent fingertips caress and beguile their way under her layers of clothes until they could resume the strumming of her back, the new closeness making her young body bloom out in heaviness.

"Swimming gold," she murmured.

"Hm?"

Gemma turned to look up at Finn, the handsome planes of his face caught in warm golden light, the shadows dark, comic-book contours. Butterflies swept in quick jerking arcs in her stomach, and the tickling sensations jittered down her abdomen until she could feel it in the folds of her sex. She needed no further encouragement to turn on her side, and with adroit strength, Finn had pressed their bodies together, their mouths coming together quickly, urgently. Her lips were open and inviting for his tongue. Chocolate and heady berry and something very familiar pressed into her, drawing emotions from the back of her head and settling them in her chest.

When Finn's hand slid around her ribs and palmed the soft curve of her breast, Gemma was awash in need and writhed against him. The restlessness of her hips was quickly attended to as Finn reached back for her hip and, pressing his leg between hers, pulled her groin against his thigh. The satisfying pressure made her hips reflexively arch into him, the strong tips of his fingers biting into her butt encouraged her along.

A wave of fresh rain railed against the tent, the breeze causing the fabric walls to tremble. Gemma's ears flooded with the deafening sound and she held on more tightly, shamelessly pressing herself against Finn's strong body.

"You're so fast," he stated in between their kisses.

She had begun to moan, need waiting on the edge. She made a noise interpreted as a question of confusion, a request for clarity in a moment of dizzying delirium.

"Not that I'm complaining. I've always loved that you seem to like whatever I do. I love it that you always want me to touch you."

They had split apart, their breaths turbulating between them. "What?" she asked as she gasped.

He smoothed her slick brown hair from her cheeks and temple. Her eyes peered up into his earnestly. So damn beautiful. He held her that way, their bodies jerking like horses in the starting gate.

"I don't mind, Gem," he whispered, his voice too hard to conjure. "And I want you to...I want you to, you know...orgasm for me." Her thighs squeezed his tightly in reaction. "But I want more. And I know we've talked about it, that we'd only do it when we knew we couldn't regret it." He kissed her, his tongue stroking hers in love. Her hand covered his against her cheek. But he pulled back again to look into her eyes, pinning her in place to say his piece. "I love you. And I'll never regret being with you."

Gemma was frozen only a moment before she lunged back at him, her body attacking his fully as she pushed him back and landed on top. Tangling in the yards of sleeping bag, her conquering only lasted a second before Finn regained the upper hand, rolling her back around until he was on top. He struggled his mouth away from hers as he pinned her clinging arms down.

"If you want more, if you don't just want to come," he braved, "then I'm taking my time. I'm doing this like you deserve. Like I deserve. I want all of you, Gemma Germaine, not just the quick, sticky parts, but the hidden, lonely parts that prove only I know you. All of you."

His kiss echoed the tenderness of his words, and though her body shook minutely beneath him, it was only because she held back all the crashing emotion of love and appreciation and being loved and appreciated.

She wanted to give him everything, so with a shaky breath she relaxed beneath him and allowed his exploration, hungry and ardent but keen in interest and tender in worship. She couldn't see them, but she could feel stars spin above them, the wine culpritous in opening every pore of her body for the in-rushing golden swing of pleasure.

Finn's exploration was free, knowing their night would have no boundaries, that he could incite all he wanted and not face painful repercussions of half-satisfaction with mere hand jobs. Tonight, he would enter a woman for the first time and finish deep inside as it's meant to be.