Anne put aside her letter and sat up, smiling at Phil. "I am, although I do not know why. I told myself I would finish this letter, but truthfully, it's no use. What I'm writing now is not fit to be read."
"I know why you're awake," said Phil, rubbing her arms. "Not even Mrs. Rachel Lynde's quilts are enough tonight. I have been tossing and turning, but my feet are like ice."
Anne laughed. "So you came in here to see if I was as miserable as you? You are right, it's dreadfully cold tonight. Perhaps I thought if I was tired enough, I would not notice the cold."
"That's never helped me," said Phil, sighing dramatically. "No matter how tired I am, I can always feel the cold." She smiled. "Can't I come lie with you, Anne? It will be warmer with two."
"I suppose you can," said Anne, sliding over in the bed. "But do be quick about it, I don't want you letting the cold air in."
Phil slid herself under the covers with Anne, snuggling in against her side. "There, that is much better already," she said.
"For you, perhaps," said Anne. "Your nightgown is cold too. And your feet." Phil shifted closer, and lay down herself. "It's been a long time since I slept with anyone else," she mused. "Diana and I used to, but even that's been a long time." It felt different now, which Anne could not say--or at least, could not articulate, not as she wished to. Sharing a bed was something children could do, and something adults could do, in marriage, and Anne felt as if she existed in a strange, between place. "That would be a nice thing about being married," she decided, feeling strange about the silence. "It would be easier to stay warm."
"You don't need a husband to stay warm, Anne," said Phil. She slid her leg over Anne's, deliberate.
"Phil--" she said, surprised, and Phil pressed her lips against the crook of Anne's neck.
"Let me show you, Anne," she said, softly, pushing her hand gently under Anne's nightgown, up her thigh. She was pressed up against Anne's back, and Anne felt hot everywhere they were touching. She couldn't imagine being tired anymore. "You think you know everything about romance, but you don't know what it could be like, if you'd just--"
"Yes, Phil," she said, softly. "You can show me."
Phil turned her head, catching Anne's lips for a real kiss. It was different from how she'd thought it would be, different from what she had imagined kissing a boy would be like. Phil's lips were soft, and she didn't take control, just went soft and slow as she worked her hand higher, between Anne's legs.
"When did you--" she started, but Phil had found her target, and her two fingers began to rub, and Anne shuddered, warmth flooding her body and settling low in her gut.
"The boys have always loved me, you know," Phil said, sliding her other hand up to the swell of Anne's breast and squeezing it. "But I've never wanted them. I want someone like you, Anne."
Phil's fingers were deft and the sensations they elicited were new and powerful; Anne was gasping in no time, desperate for something. She couldn't imagine being cold anymore. She could barely think again.
Phil was kissing her again when it was finally too much, and waves of pleasure and relief crashed through her, release sudden and perfect. She slumped back against Phil, trying to regain her breath.
Phil tucked herself closer, looking like the cat who'd gotten the cream. "Good night, Anne."
Anne tripped over something else to say, but finally shut her mouth. "Good night, Phil."
this is exactly what i wanted, thank you SO much! cuddling for warmth and not needing boys and phil being smug, ugh, it's amazing. thank you thank you thank you for this wonderful drabble
Anne put aside her letter and sat up, smiling at Phil. "I am, although I do not know why. I told myself I would finish this letter, but truthfully, it's no use. What I'm writing now is not fit to be read."
"I know why you're awake," said Phil, rubbing her arms. "Not even Mrs. Rachel Lynde's quilts are enough tonight. I have been tossing and turning, but my feet are like ice."
Anne laughed. "So you came in here to see if I was as miserable as you? You are right, it's dreadfully cold tonight. Perhaps I thought if I was tired enough, I would not notice the cold."
"That's never helped me," said Phil, sighing dramatically. "No matter how tired I am, I can always feel the cold." She smiled. "Can't I come lie with you, Anne? It will be warmer with two."
"I suppose you can," said Anne, sliding over in the bed. "But do be quick about it, I don't want you letting the cold air in."
Phil slid herself under the covers with Anne, snuggling in against her side. "There, that is much better already," she said.
"For you, perhaps," said Anne. "Your nightgown is cold too. And your feet." Phil shifted closer, and lay down herself. "It's been a long time since I slept with anyone else," she mused. "Diana and I used to, but even that's been a long time." It felt different now, which Anne could not say--or at least, could not articulate, not as she wished to. Sharing a bed was something children could do, and something adults could do, in marriage, and Anne felt as if she existed in a strange, between place. "That would be a nice thing about being married," she decided, feeling strange about the silence. "It would be easier to stay warm."
"You don't need a husband to stay warm, Anne," said Phil. She slid her leg over Anne's, deliberate.
"Phil--" she said, surprised, and Phil pressed her lips against the crook of Anne's neck.
"Let me show you, Anne," she said, softly, pushing her hand gently under Anne's nightgown, up her thigh. She was pressed up against Anne's back, and Anne felt hot everywhere they were touching. She couldn't imagine being tired anymore. "You think you know everything about romance, but you don't know what it could be like, if you'd just--"
"Yes, Phil," she said, softly. "You can show me."
Phil turned her head, catching Anne's lips for a real kiss. It was different from how she'd thought it would be, different from what she had imagined kissing a boy would be like. Phil's lips were soft, and she didn't take control, just went soft and slow as she worked her hand higher, between Anne's legs.
"When did you--" she started, but Phil had found her target, and her two fingers began to rub, and Anne shuddered, warmth flooding her body and settling low in her gut.
"The boys have always loved me, you know," Phil said, sliding her other hand up to the swell of Anne's breast and squeezing it. "But I've never wanted them. I want someone like you, Anne."
Phil's fingers were deft and the sensations they elicited were new and powerful; Anne was gasping in no time, desperate for something. She couldn't imagine being cold anymore. She could barely think again.
Phil was kissing her again when it was finally too much, and waves of pleasure and relief crashed through her, release sudden and perfect. She slumped back against Phil, trying to regain her breath.
Phil tucked herself closer, looking like the cat who'd gotten the cream. "Good night, Anne."
Anne tripped over something else to say, but finally shut her mouth. "Good night, Phil."
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