My first attempt at a story - set on a wet trip with friends in Ireland. All characters and events are fictional, and all characters are over 18. I'd welcome any feedback before I submit chapter 2.
Surrounded by flimsy, billowing canvas, the wind howled outside. The fly sheet occasionally touching the inner when the buffeting storm blew strongly enough, and patches of damp were beginning to appear where the outside was attempting to breach the inner. The light was fading outside and somehow the dankness of the evening was everywhere within. The others had headed for the village. Local lads had told of a party, beer, opportunity.
Inside, two bodies lay, unknown to one another. One head at the far end and one near the zips forming the door. Sleeping bags were zipped up and they were warm and safe, escaping as they had into the nearest dry tent they found. Her tent.
There was a tension that neither could quite understand. Talk of home, of family and of newly forming friendships flowed easily enough, but their bodies were somehow tense, his legs restless.
To break the growing silence, he shuffled out of his sleeping bag and went to fetch water and a head torch. The others would be hours yet, was there anything she wanted?. Arriving back, he carefully unzipped the tent door, removing his boots and waterproofs so as to keep them as dry as possible, and to prevent any remaining dry contents of the tent getting wet. A ritual he had become so used to these last few days, the perpetual Irish rain. As he entered the main section of the tent, a shiver ran down his spine as a drip fell down his face from his soaking wet hair.
She was watching through the gloom. She sat up, holding out a slightly damp towel and rubbing his head. He collapsed into the tent, still shivering. He lay for a moment, noticing his head near to hers this time, feeling her eyes on him, without looking himself. The rain had increased, its percussive hammering at once deafening and consoling. Silence fell once more.
After some time, she raised her arm above her head, stretching slightly with a yawn. He did the same. Held above, unsteady, arms began to move towards one another. Tiredness was mentioned, the rain, wondering how the party was going. Slowly, slowly, their hands met in mid-air. Fingers wrapped gently around fingers, a cold palm met a warm palm. He understood the tension for the first time.
Arms began to ache, held up as they were. They were lowered between bodies, bodies were turned towards one another in symmetrical, silent adjustment. The light was now so dim that little could be made out in the dark of the tent, but he didn't reach for his torch. They lay there for perhaps an hour, hand in hand, completely still and without a word uttered. He thawed out, warmed up, relaxed.
She felt the sensuality of the moment deeply, waited. At some point, they both noticed the breath of the other - first in the rise and fall of chests, and then in breath on cheeks, breath on lips. They became synchronous, breathing deeply, imagining each other's face only centimetres away from their own. At some point their lips met.
