taakitz getting stuck in a rainstorm on a date?
The pros of a parasol: An excellent accessory, fits seamlessly with his fantasy Scarlett O’Hara vibe, easily transmutable to match his color scheme of the day. He’d add “does not contain the arcane essence of his long-lost sister” to the list, but that’s sort of a given.
The cons of a parasol: Provides absolutely no protection whatsoever when the heavens open up and drop an ocean’s worth of rain on them.
To be fair, the forecast had predicted a perfect day. Sunny, with the promise of autumn in a cool breeze that buffeted the coastline. It was the kind of weather that encouraged long skirts and gauzy sleeves and wide-brimmed hats, and if you were feeling particularly flirty, a nice lacy parasol to complete the look. The look is always key, of course, but especially on the afternoons Taako can get Kravitz all to himself. It’s an auspicious thing when their schedules align, so Taako’s going to do a little more than go the extra mile. Or the full nine yards. Or whatever distance he needs to cross in five-inch wedges to fluster the hell out of his husband.
So that’s why he’d met Kravitz on the patio of a seaside café, decked out in his finest beach chic and a pair of rose-colored glasses (because he’d just known Kravitz’s cultured, dorky ass would appreciate the reference). They’d had some halfway decent crepes and lemon tea as the odd cloud flitted overhead, and Kravitz caught Taako up on the astral plane’s latest top-notch gossip. It morphed into a brief but heated discussion over whether or not fishnets should be regulation wear for reapers—Taako’s position was entirely self-indulgent, of course, but no less valid—which was promptly forgotten when the talk of dress code turned into questions about his latest visit to the Amazing School of Magic. “Oh, y’know,” was all Taako had said. “Still amazing. Gave some kiddos a kickass lecture on the virtues of arcane cosmetics. Not that I’d know. Wink.”
Their date was going flawlessly.
And then they’d noticed the clouds.
More specifically, that the clouds were not so innocent anymore. They’d grown heavy and dark over their last hour of conversation, and now Taako could make out the occasional flash of lightning across the horizon. He’d waved his gold card at the waiter, who brought them their check in a hurry, and they were out of there faster than he could namedrop his brand. The once-bustling boardwalk was almost completely cleared.
“Well,” Taako had said, nudging Kravitz with a good-natured smirk. “Can’t rag on us for PDA if there’s no public around, eh?”
Right as he’d said that—like a well-timed joke—a fat, round raindrop had landed on Taako’s parasol.
And that’s how they find themselves huddled under the awning of a kitschy little souvenir shop, watching rain lash the pavement just inches from their feet. Taako’s blouse is sticking to his shoulders, and despite his best efforts, he can’t swallow a shiver. He shifts his parasol to a different arm and tucks further into Kravitz.
“Gotta say,” he mumbles into Kravitz’s shirt, “this is not how I was hoping the day would go. I mean, fuck’s sake, I got you to wear grey.”
True to his word, Kravitz is sporting a light grey button-up and a vest that ripples with iridescence, shifting from a deep indigo to an impossibly dark blue. He huffs a laugh and brings his arm up to rub circles into Taako’s shoulder, and, well, it’s a real trip when your undead beau is warmer than the utterly abysmal weather around you. “You know, I still don’t know how you talked me into that.”
“Easy,” says Taako, and shoots him a sly grin from underneath the brim of his sunhat. “I’m charming as all get. Just look at me.”
Kravitz looks at him, raises an eyebrow, then staggers dramatically back against the exposed brick of the shop. “Oh, spare me. I’ve been hopelessly charmed. I don’t know if I’ll ever recover.”
A gust of wind sends another chill cascading over Taako and leaves his hat dangling off his shoulders, and his ears pull flat against his head as he lunges for Kravitz’s arm. “Fuck off and get back here. You’re the only source of heat I’ve got.”
His husband pauses. This time, both of his eyebrows quirk upward and threaten to graze his hairline. “It’s that cold?”
“I mean… no. Not at all.” He frowns and steps forward to put a hand out towards the rain. “I guess it feels a little chilly, but…”
“It’s fuckin’ freezing, Krav.” Taako gives up on Kravitz’s arm and wraps around himself in a desperate attempt to kickstart a little friction. Between his icy hands and sheer sleeves, it’s a brave but futile thing. “Oh my God, get over here or I’m gonna kick your ass for real.”
Kravitz holds up his hands in surrender and retreats fully under the safety of the awning. He wraps Taako in a loose embrace, and Taako’s best ploy at mock frustration melts away with the rain as he relaxes into Kravitz’s arms. It’s like trying to leech warmth out of a half-drowned, charmingly dapper statue, but he’ll make do with what he has. The closeness isn’t so bad, either.
“The one day we’ve got,” he mumbles.
A sigh ruffles the top of Taako’s head. “It’s been hard, lately, hasn’t it?”
“Considering the universe is trying to get us to take a fuckin’ raincheck, yeah, I’d say it is.”
“And yet,” Kravitz reminds him, “we’re making it work.”
“If that’s what you wanna call this, fella, have at it. I mean, if we’re gonna drown, at least we’ll drown together, right? Very Fantasy Titanic of you.”
For awhile there’s nothing but rain dripping off the awning and the roar of waves beating against the shoreline, surging up to meet the storm. Taako’s parasol dangles off his arm as he makes himself small against Kravitz, shrinking inward to conserve every scrap of heat he can. Kravitz’s hands drift upward and shape themselves around his, coaxing feeling back into his fingers.
He’s humming, Taako realizes. It’s nearly soft enough to lose itself in the rain, but he keeps it up—a jaunty, consistent melody.
And then he recognizes Kravitz’s gentle falsetto, partially mumbled into his hair.
“… in the rain,” he’s lilting. “Just… singin’ in the rain.”
Taako snorts. “You absolute dork. Is that what I think it is?”
Kravitz just hums again and leans them into a lazy, languid sway as he goes on. “What a glorious feeling… I’m happy again.”
It’s not just a show—hell, it’s an entire production, the way Taako rolls his eyes, but he sways with Kravitz anyway. They shuffle in the limited space of the overhang, framed by the sheet of rain coming down around them and the souvenir shop’s tacky storefront, and across the boardwalk the ocean lunges and dances along the coast.
