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Title: God is in the Rain
Author: Allana
Rating: ...PG-13 for sensual content (I never thought I'd put that there)
Summary: Evey tries to make a life for herself soon after she leaves V, but she simply can't escape her desires.
Spoilers: Like, the first hour and a half of the movie...
Notes: Written in response to aphrodite_mine's non-sexual fanfiction.
*God is in the rain.*
I couldn’t sleep. It was my first night in this youth hostel, the fifth, in fact, in a string of dwellings like snails
leaving shells behind. I had to keep moving before I could find my own place. Everyone always told me that I looked young
for my age, so I found some underground connections to forge me a fake I.D. As far as anyone knows, my name is Violet Dontes,
a university student from Oxford taking a jaunt in London. But finding an apartment has been harder than I expected, and I
felt I had to keep moving.
I got a job with a bookstore; I couldn’t help it. Ever since waking up in a room with walls of the written word, I couldn’t
stop being around them. I couldn’t believe how I’d managed to live without them, how they had disappeared from
my life since my time in the Youth Reclamation Project. But it made my soul feel heavy every time I walked in to that spotless,
sterile store. The smell of the books was the same, the feel of the smooth pages just as familiar as it ever was, but the
words inside… I had to face every day with the knowledge that V was right; that my father was right. Politicians use
lies to cover the truth up. And I looked around me at all the lies encased in black and red books and corrupted crosses. So
little of the truth remains.
I was the only one staying in the room. Off-white paint chipped off the walls; it’s ironic to think that some things
still change slowly. I sat up, running a hand over my head. The hair was beginning to grow back a little. It felt soft. Hardly
anything about me felt soft anymore. I turned to the window and saw the rain outside. I closed my eyes and just listened to
the sound of the rain knocking softly on the glass, quietly entreating me to let it in. I don’t know if I was praying;
this world, this regime, twisted my very perception of what prayer was. Through the haze of my mind, I let thoughts sift through
my consciousness. So many thoughts. But I can’t say that I was really thinking. *Dear God, maybe I really am learning
to pray again.*
I must have been. Without really knowing why, I got up and opened the window, letting cold sparks of rain sprinkle my skin.
Sometimes, there are those moments of just motion, like being intrinsically guided and barely being able to surmise the source.
There was a small balcony, one of those wrought-iron ones that doesn’t really serve its supposed purpose. Slowly, but
with none of the timidity I once had, I raised my hands, palm upwards, welcoming the rain, welcoming God. But I didn’t
just want God’s touch. I wanted his.
I felt the blood in my ears beat in time to the rain, the vision of a mask in my head. My heart felt as if it were closing
in on itself, aching. Why did he do this to me? Why did I feel like this after all he had done? Questioning was pointless;
I already knew the answers. He took away my most destructive fears, and he gave me an ideology. In all honesty, it was the
greatest gift anyone could have ever given me; a higher purpose, a drive to live. I really did want to hate him, but I found
that I couldn’t. Knowing that there were eyes behind the mask, knowing that those eyes wanted to stop what he was seeing…
The monster that once kept me caged was the very means by which his tempestuous heart set me free. I wondered where his heart
was at that very moment.
I sighed and turned away from the open window, wrapping my arms around my chest. The chill of the night did not disturb me
in the slightest, nor did I act out of fear. Even those without fear have desires.
Slowly I sank onto the bed. Reaching underneath it, I pulled out my backpack and pulled out what looked to be a bundle of
clothing. Gingerly I placed it on my lap and unwrapped a pair of jeans and a few shirts. Beneath the unassuming fabric was
a bottle of wine, glinting alluringly in the light of a single lamp. White Zinfandel. Imported. The first thing I ever stole.
Deeper within my bag I took out a second parcel, wrapped in a skirt and some spare underwear. I was surprised that they didn’t
break; two simple, yet exquisite crystal wine glasses. I didn’t even want to recall how I’d gotten them. Yet more
to the point, I didn’t see why I had the audacity to steal two as opposed to one. If I thought at the time that I would
feel less lonely that way, I was wrong. That second glass made the absence that much more antagonizing to that ubiquitous
piece of my soul that longed for so much more than I had.
I set the other glass aside and poured myself some of the rosy liquid. “White” was certainly a misnomer, like
so many things are. The blush of the wine reminded me instead of the blush on the cheeks of a pale mask. Sipping flowed into
one smooth motion that drained the glass. Without hesitation, I poured another, feeling the warm sensation permeate me from
the inside. I felt the rhythm of my pulse slow, but it also pounded with more force. Halfway through the third glass I began
to feel drowsy, closing my eyes and setting my drink on the floor. It did not take long for the alcohol to take effect on
someone of as slight a build as myself. I hoped I could sleep.
Before I truly comprehended how I’d gotten there, my head was cradled by a pillow, my feet still limply touching the
concrete floor. But to my back, there was nothing, not even the comforting presence of a blanket. It was cold; the empty space
pressing in on me like no stone wall ever could. A languid tear left my eye, a single tear for all that had happened. My thoughts
were in a haze. *Damn you, V, I miss you.* I thought the words and wanted to take back my condemnation. *No, no, I just miss
you.* A second tear rolled down my face, but this time it was for V and only him. I drew my arms around my chest again, lying
sideways on the bed. *I wish I weren’t alone.* My pulse was a drum now, no less powerful than the explosions that brought
down the Old Bailey.
I could not think straight. Be it the wine or the emotions, I was beyond caring which. It was almost like sleeping with my
eyes open. I could barely feel when my legs were gently lifted and placed on the bed with the rest of me. But two gloved hands
stayed on my ankles for just a moment longer than they needed to, and…
“V?”
“Evey,” the low voice spoke, smooth as new satin and as dark as vengeance. But it was soft, and it was for me.
I didn’t reply. I don’t think I needed to. I didn’t even need to turn to look at him, the power of his presence
like fire in a cavern, and the warmth of his body teasing my skin. But I turned anyway. The expressiveness of that solid mask
never ceased to amaze me. I knew what I saw, and that was also for me. He made a small movement of surprise when he saw the
little tear-stream running down one side of my face. Shyly—though I thought I’d lost all shyness—I reached
to brush away the water and salt, but faster than thought his glove was on my face, smoothing away the tears for me.
“Oh Evey…” that dark voice quietly rumbled. “These lips can give you words, they can give you ideas,
but they cannot give you kisses. I wish they could.”
I didn’t think I believed that. There had to be a way.
“V…” I choked and began to sob. His arms were around me instantly, drawing my head to his breast. I smoothed
my palms around his chiseled chest, following the graceful arc to the small of his iron-strong back. So shaped by combat,
yet so comforting, encircled in the very embrace of vengeance personified. Though solid and unyielding, the chin of his mask
felt cool and comforting against my forehead. The tightness of his grip was the firmest I’d ever experienced, but it
never crushed me. My breathing came in shallow gasps and I buried my face just beneath his night-clad shoulder. He rocked
me as I wept and I breathed in his scent. This could not have been the wine; it was the scent of rain, roses, and books, with
the faint underglow of his sweat. The mixture was intoxicating, and I breathed more deeply just to drink of the fragrance.
My weeping subsided, but I tried to pull even closer to him; our bodies tightened as if they wanted to merge themselves into
one being, one flesh, one spirit. I arched my back and my breasts pressed into the muscled mass of his chest. Did the master
of percussion even realize the drumming of his own heart? I could feel it against my own chest; I could feel its desire. His
gloved hands traced my spine, sending little shockwaves through to my core and back out to the goosebumps on my skin. Tenderly,
his thumbs brushed the line of my shoulder blades and I shivered at the touch, the attention, the sweetness of it. Finally,
he drew back from me, gently, but with an inexorable force. His hands settled on my sides, fingers almost caressing my ribs.
I felt the leather of his gloves on that sensitive space of skin between the hem of my shirt and my pants. I shivered again,
my heart soaring with the rush of blood, and he lifted a hand to draw my face up to meet his. The motion was like the most
loving command; I could never resist the seductive feeling of his fingers beneath my chin.
My eyes met the dark openings of his mask, ever grinning, and he just looked at me. I stared back, unafraid. For all his eloquence
and rhetoric, the most alluring thing was when he simply stared at me and said nothing at all. I wished he would kiss me,
even with the mask, but I knew he wouldn’t. The soreness of my heart continued to cry though my eyes had stopped.
Maybe my expression told him what I wanted, needed. I knew better than to ask too much of him. But he knew he could give me
*something.* He lay me back down, my body limp and yielding. I suddenly realized just how much I trusted this man. I toyed
with silently asking him for more, with giving in to my desires totally, but I knew he would refuse, and I might have regretted
it anyway. Instead he simply lay down next to me, turning my body to one side and settling himself behind me. With that same
odd combination of force and grace, his arm closed the distance between us, my back against the warm strength of his stomach.
Almost in a haze of motion, his foot hooked over my ankles and drew my legs to his. And there we lay, head to toe completely
connected, his powerful build dwarfing my small frame. *If only I could live in you, and you in me.* I pressed back against
him as much as physics would allow. Almost passively, his gloved hand covered my stomach protectively. I moved my hand over
his, entwining the fingers. Then I took his hand in both of my own and slid a finger in between the glove and sleeve to touch
his wrist. He again made a slightly surprised movement, but he did not draw away. I slowly took off his glove, lightly running
my fingertips over the scarred flesh as the black covering came away. For a while I just held his hand in my own. I found
that I loved that hand, and every mote of skin filled me with an immense sense of awe, sadness, and caring. Then I guided
his bare hand back to my stomach, and he gingerly caressed it, truly touching me for the first time. I begged him with my
mind to explore me, to discover me, caught in the moment of gunpowder and fireworks. The subtle fingers moved in a wide circle
around my navel, brushing the edge of one breast on accident, but without regret. My eyes closed to better savor the pleasure
of it; my breath came deep and swift, totally enraptured with his touch and the tempest of fire and rain within my blood.
The edge of one finger skimmed over the bare space on my abdomen, and I leaned into him even more, shivering once again. In
reaction, V’s arm stopped moving but embraced me almost fiercely in an attempt to abate my trembling. I could feel his
hot breath on the back of my neck. We were sweating. Oh God, what were we even doing?
There was no more movement after that. He held me, I held his ravaged hand. It seemed like an eternity of bliss, basking in
each other’s breath and heartbeat. Briefly, his fingertips left mine to caress my head and cheek, calming my breathing,
then returned to my hand. Everything slowed, all feeling blending into one, and it was just this. Gradually, sensuality blended
into the feeling of simply a warm closeness, then into the dreamy haziness of sleep…
I awoke alone and sat up immediately, startled by the absence of V’s warm body. Outside the open window, dawn was beginning
to blush crimson. I looked to the floor and saw a single rose. I knew it was for the death of my old self, the fear that had
died within the walls of a prison. But it was something else as well; it was…
I was glad that V did not ask me where I was staying next. As much as I… Well, I still needed to process how he’d
transformed me. I think he understood that. I would see him again, but he would need to give me time. He sated my thirst for
him, if only in a small way and only for a little while. I picked up the rose and smelled it. His scent clung to it like the
memory in my heart, and I clasped the blossom close to my heart. *God and angels watch over you, V.*
Finis.
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