title:†††††††††††††† Rain (June 06)

author:†††††††††† Lady Charena

fandom:††††††††† Kung Fu Ė the legend continues

codes:††††††††††† P/P, R, POV Peter

beta:†††††††††††††† TíLen

archive:††††††††† TOSTwins Ė others just ask


sum:††††††††††††† rain isnít just bad weather. rain can be pretty erotic


Disclaimer: This storyís mine, but I do not intend to touch the rights of the owner of the characters from KF-TLC Iíve used. No moneymaking, no offence meant.


More P/P stories from me and my friends at the Dragonís lair ŗ http://tostwins.slashcity.net






More rain.


Even more rain.


Nothing except rain and a dull gray sky. Itís not really helping to improve my mood. I turn halfway and steal a glimpse of my father, grinding herbs at his work table. Why canít I be more like him. He donít mind the constant raining.


When I came over this afternoon he just returned from a stroll through Chinatown, soaked to the skin, but happy and smiling at me. His hat losing whatever little shape it had; his wet hair clinging to his head, making him look strangely vulnerable. Fine droplets were transferred to my face and shirt when he leant forward to nip playfully at my nose, before kissing me, leaving me breathless. Heís still doing this to me, after all the month we have been lovers. Pop chuckled when he saw me wiping my shirt and with a wink vanished into his sleeping room to get on dry clothes.


I waited for him to ask me why Iím here at such an early hour and not at work. Of course he didnít. Pop just went back to his work and started grinding herbs for what seems to me must be hours.


Heís waiting for me to talk. Hell, I donít know if Iím ready to tell him what Iíve learned. Itís good news. Kind of. I guess. Paulís going to return. Yeah, thatís definitely good news. Mom will be so relived and delighted and maybe I will stop feeling guilty at not spending enough time with her. She told me once she understood I needed more time to spend with my fatherÖ but I shudder to imagine her reaction should she ever knew the truth about the relationship between me and Pop. Und now PaulÖ It was Kermit spilling the beans. SomehowÖ never mentioning a word to anyone, not even Annie or meÖ he managed to keep contact with Paul, regardless of his whereabouts.


Itís never been easy, juggling two fathers in my life. Even so before Pop and I started to drift from a normal, loving parent-child-relationship into an uncharted, forbidden realm of love, hunger and passion. But god help me, I love my father too much. He completes me in a way no one ever before had been able to. He sees everything of me, knows everything of me Ė and loves everything I am. The depth of his love is awesome, it scares and warms me to the deepest recess of my soul.


If Paul were ever to find outÖ


I shudder at the turn my thoughts have taken. It will be several weeks until Paulís return. Time enough to figure something out. I wonder if Pop ever thought about it? Turning again toward the French doors I exhale silently, forcing the tension out of my body. I didnít come for advise. I didnít come to fight. I just came to be lovedÖ


I lay my palms against the cool glass. Itís pretty warm inside; the sunny streak at midday must have heated up the loft.


The wind squalls, scattering the rain, until it hits the French doors as a fine spray.


I wonder how it would feel against my skin. Cool? Soft? Popís still busy. I open one of the wings and take a step outside. Beneath my naked feet the tiles feel cool and slippery.


I step into a silenced world. The rain clamps down on every sound. No traffic, no shouts, no horns, no one hurrying down the alley beneath my fatherís glorious nest. Even the airís got another quality. Itís clear and fresh, without the usual stain of fumes, of dust and dirt. I even taste the faint scent of the flowers Pop loves to grow out here and the underlying green, earthy smell of his herbs.


With the next gush rain hitting my face, the droplets explode on my heated skin like tiny, sharp, cool needles. The wind claws at my shirt and for a moment I feel lightheaded, weightless, ready to be swept up into the gray sky like a leaf or to soar like a bird between the heavy clouds. Spreading my arms, I turn my face into the rain, standing close to the edge of the balcony, my fear of heights forgotten for the moment.


The wind retreats and Iím rooted again to the floor.


Part of me still soars high.


I wait, my eyes closed, but the wind stills. The rain falls silently, softer now. Droplets explode on the railing, wetting the front of my shirt.


Slowly I start to feel cold, but stand still and wait for another gush of wind, to feel again this incredible weightlessness.


The rain gets heavier, drumming down on stone and concrete and wood and metal Ė everything around me, swallowing every other sound including the beat of my heart.


But I feel the faint wash of air being displaced when the French door behind me opens.


Moisture runs from my hair, down my neck, my face, my cheeks. I catch a few drops with my tongue. A strange taste fills my mouth, sweet and metallic at once, smoky, perhaps a trace of wood or earth.


I donít open my eyes when Pop puts a towel around my shoulders, dragging me a few steps back, out of the rain, into relative shelter and dryness. He starts to rub my hair and it feels good. So I turn to take a look at him. He smiles, his eyes seem to glow in the dull light of the rainy afternoon.


ďMy son who does not like rain,Ē Pop says, tracing a line down the side of my face with his thumb. His lips following suit, causing me to catch my breath and close my eyes. The beginnings of arousal stirring in my stomach.


The sound of the rain covers the speeding up of my pulse.


Popís mouth feels almost feverish hot against my skin, his tongue following the rain drops down my skin, licking at my lips like a cat cleaning its kitten.


I shiver, feeling my knees grow weak. But his hands on my shoulders keep me upright, their heat searing through the thin, wet fabric of my shirt.


Suddenly Pop let go of me, stepping back, ensnaring me further inside into the room. I welcome the warmth now, but donít bother to close the French doors. As if trying to lure me back, a little wind tugs at the back of my shirt.


I stand perfectly still, when my father takes the towel, sliding it from my shoulders, dropping it carelessly to the floor. I lift my arms to help him get rid of my soaked shirt.


Another gush of wind hits my now naked skin, cools my back, caressing like the fingertips of an hesitant lover, down my spine, around my flanks. I shiver and open my eyes.


Shadows move across my fatherís face, reflecting the rapidly moving rain clouds up on the sky. I cannot read his eyes, but feel a fine tremor in his hands, resting on my shoulders again.


More water drips down, making a rivulet down my chest and belly, to be soaked up from my pants. The wet fabric clings to my thighs and legs. Strands of hair are plastered to my forehead, goose bumps start to rise along the soft inside of my arms.


Never losing my gaze, Pop extends one hand, tracing down the path of a big, single drop; down my chest, my belly; catching and rubbing it into my skin. I shiver beneath his touch, the heat of his hand on my naked skin.


Then his hand returns to my chest, pushing me slowly back - a step, another step - until I stand again in the frame of the balcony doors. The moist, cool air outside feels solid against my skin, almost as if it would be able to support me like a invisible wall, if I leant back.


The fine rain is back, spraying against the back of my neck, my shoulders. I yearn to feel it again on my face. But I cannot turn, mesmerized by my fatherís touch and eyes.


He smiles, pushing me farther out onto the balcony and into the rain. He follows suit, guiding me down to sit on the slippery tiles. My heart drums in my chest and Iím aware Iím painfully hard.


Reading my thoughts, Pop?


He kneels next to me, his hands getting busy to open my pants, pushing it down my legs. Shiver run down my spine when I lay naked before his touch, the tiles cool and hard against my back.


I watch him smile and close my eyes. Give myself over to the fine spray of rain caressing my skin, the bigger droplets coming down from the roof, exploding on my chest and legs. Give myself over to the hands and mouth of my father, loving me like no one ever did beforeÖ


The rush of the rain sweeps us away to another world, consisting just of him and me.




What a beautiful wordÖ