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They’re both aware of the clouds gathering overhead, of the drop in temperature as the afternoon sun disappears under a blanket of grey.
She loves it — the cooling air, the tingle of ozone, the promise of rain, something that still hasn’t grown familiar. It’s all familiar to him, though. The coming rain is just water, just another element that will ruin your weapons and cause your uniform to chafe your skin.
Sill, he loves her, so he keeps up their sparring — perry, thrust, turn — growing more familiar with a weapon that’s apparently his birthright. (Or at least that’s what Master Luke says.)
Rey’s mouth is pressed into a thin line as she focuses, her serious almost ferocious face, until the first drop of rain hits her nose and her entire face breaks into a wide smile; she drops her lightsaber and twirls under a few falling drops, mouth open to catch them on her tongue. Finn is slower to lower his weapon; he just stands motionless for a moment and watches her spin.
“We should go inside,” he offers, half-hearted because they both know they’re not going to go inside. After all, getting wet is a small price to pay to see her like this, joyful and easy and laughing. Maybe he’s almost learning to like the rain. A little.
She knows he’s not as reluctant as he pretends to be when she grabs his hand and pulls him towards her, chest to chest as the sprinkle becomes a steady shower. It hits his skin almost warm, but the chill in the air causes goosebumps to rise, so that when her hands slide up his arms under the loose sleeves of his robe, he shivers almost violently, presses himself against her for warmth and comfort and something much more.
“Five more minutes?” She smiles into the request, and then her mouth is hot against his, and all he knows for a moment is the taste of her and rain and the delicious earthy scent that permeates the air.
“Hmm,” Finn agrees as he chases her tongue back into her mouth, and the chill in the air almost disappears against his increasingly hot skin.
His hand moves to cup the back of her head, fingers sticking and pulling in the wet strands, but Rey doesn’t seem to mind. She pulls away from his mouth long enough to catch a breath and then presses a series of kisses down his jaw, sucking up the water and making his whole body almost throb against her.
“I love the way you taste,” she whispers just under his ear. The words slide down his spine, lodge in his groin so all he can do is moan into the side of her face as her tongue swipes across his neck, collecting the taste of rainwater dripping on his skin.
Finn’s fingers convulse in her hair — he’s sure he’s pulling too hard at the wet, tangled strands — but Rey only pulls back when he manages a desperate moan of her name.
Her hair is matted around her face, but she’s still beautiful, still smiling just as wide as when the rain started to fall.
“Let’s go inside,” she offers, still joyful but with added heat in her eyes, joyful about more than just the rain.
“Yeah,” he breathes, kisses her one last time before they gather their things and dash inside. When she laughs this time, giddy and happy, he laughs too.
And maybe he’s actually starting to love the rain. At least when they’re in it together.