don't leave forever.

wolfman

Faint little smile on the wolf's mouth. He leans into her. Brow to hers, nose alongside hers; mouth grazing hers, then catching. Brief sort of kiss. Searching and finding, then parting.

Girl can damn well walk on her own. Doesn't have to today, though. No servants in the hall, no one to see her legs wrapped around him. His arms wrapped around her. Blanket covering her shoulders, her sweater left behind in the theater. Big house makes for long walks. A long dark hall, that grand staircase spilling into the front hall. Wolf carries her up, and the chandelier -- big and oaken, like something from not just a century past but a millennium -- throws their shadows ahead of them as he goes down the hall.

Farther they get from the core of the house, cooler it gets. Enough of a chill in her room that he wraps his arm tighter around her back, holds her closer to his body. "Oughta light a fire when you sleep in here," he chides her, or maybe just tells her. Leans down to set her on her bed, then goes over to the hearth to do just that.

witch

[change that 'okay' in earlier post to 'all right'!]

witch

When they get going, she wraps her arms around his neck. He's nuzzling her, searching for her kiss. Didn't do that earlier, when she got onto his lap; wanted to, and she felt him waiting for her, but now he seeks her. And she kisses him this time, parting her lips, wrapping them warm and soft around his lower lip for a moment, kissing him fully, sealing their mouths together for a long moment.

Goes on kissing him even after they leave the movie theater. Kissing his jaw, and his neck. She finds his ear and nibbles his lobe , licks him there, sucks softly on his skin. He holds her closer and she doesn't think of the chill, not with the blanket and her own body heat and his heat, which is a furnace. She thinks he must be reacting to her body against his chest, her mouth on his ear, his throat.

That guest room is dark. Her bed is made again, the mussed pillowcases changed to have her eye makeup from last night washed out. The comforter is back on. It's turned down again. She doesn't notice. The door is closing and he's telling her there should be a fire.

"All right," she says softly, low and warm. Lower, warmer than when she said the same thing just a few minutes before.

Rafael sets her on the bed. She smirks a little at his back as he walks over to the hearth: wood stacked, long matches ready, tools nearby. Flue is closed for now. She watches him start stacking wood and kindling as she undresses. Needs to brush. And floss. Needs to wash her face. Sort of likes and is sort of terrified by the thought of going through all these mundane preparations for bed with him right there. Decides against all of them anyway.

When he rises from the fire, catching, she's in bed. She's lying on her stomach. She's completely naked.

wolfman

Not hard to start a fire with all that he needs right there. Only takes the wolf a few minutes. Soon enough the fire's licking higher. Soon enough shadows are dancing in the room. Wolf racks the poker and the tongs, stands up. Back to the girl, wide shoulders rounded down; head down too. Watching his handiwork spark up.

Is facing the fire when he pulls his shirt up from the back, over his head. Flame gives a warm hue to his skin. A subtle sheen where the angle's just right. He tosses his shirt -- somewhere. Sees her in that turn. Sees her naked in bed, on her stomach.

Gives him pause. Makes him huff a breath, laughing, but not at her. Maybe at himself. Comes over to her, undoing his jeans as he comes, stepping out of them at the edge of the bed. His socks too. No cufflinks or ties or anything stupid like that to take off. Just his boxers, which he snaps off, scrap of soft white cotton in his hand like a call for truce. He drops those too.

Climbs over her, the mattress dipping to his weight. Wolf's teeth catch her ear. Wolf's breath warms her neck. Wolf nuzzles the side of her face, the side of her neck. Palms on either side of her shoulders when he lowers himself to her, his groin against her ass, then his chest to her back. Whether or not she meant that as an invitation he takes it as such, his knee between hers moving her legs apart.

witch

She's turned her head so she can see him. She's propped her head on her palm. She's watching him. Looks at his back, the broadness of it, the thickness of his body, the definition visible even through his t-shirt. He hasn't seen her yet; she watches him pull his shirt off and he can hear her exhale softly behind him. Turns then, too, and sees her.

Takes off his own clothes as he comes to her. She's watching him the whole time, her eyes flicking over him, taking in this: a forearm, the curve of his thumb, the brush of his bicep against his side. And that: the tuck of muscle inward, over his thigh, like everything in his body descends toward his cock. She looks at that, too.

Wants to turn, and half-does. She wants to welcome him against her, and kiss him, and feel his chest against her own, and look at him. It's an act of will to stay where she is, as she is. She licks her lips as he comes over her, legs sliding against her own, feet so much lower. Doesn't matter; his hips meet hers. The feel of him makes her heart skip and start racing; his knee between her thighs makes her breath catch.

He isn't waiting for a verbal invitation. She gives him one anyway, sighing that breath out again:

"I want you to fuck me,"

in a whisper.

wolfman

Wasn't planning for this. Wasn't like he engineered that whole night to get to this point. Thought maybe he'd crawl under the covers with her and fall asleep. Sling an arm over her side and hold her loose the way he did before; lose consciousness til mid-morning or later.

Plans fall apart when girl's in the picture. Plans were never his forte anyway. Wolf moves over her and girl gives that sighing breath, that catching hitch.

Gives him an invitation. Which is really a request. Which is really a command. Wolf's teeth catch at her skin in answer: shoulder, shoulderblade, back. He bites the back of her neck, more animal than he's ever been. Rough hand slides up smooth spine, and then he wraps his arm around her shoulders. Chest presses to her back and his weight keeps her down. Wolf rubs against her, heavy and bold, forcefully enough to rock her body on every intimated thrust.

Fire's just starting to hit its stride when he enters her. Has a hand on her hip then, thumb arcing over her ass. Pulls her hips up to arch her back when he's inside her. Isn't biting her then but he rubs his face against the side of hers, growling in his throat. Girl feels tight and perfect, so hot inside. Wolf reaches his hand all the way around, thick wrist caught under her smooth abdomen. Blunt fingers seek out her clit and he's still no good at her but he's still trying. Ends up cupping her between her legs more than anything else while he fucks her. Ends up with his arms wound all around her, holding her, while he fucks her.

witch

The biting makes her breathing stir again, shiving in her. He wraps his arm around her shoulders, presses to her and feels the first resistance. It's not a game, these things: telling him she wants him only to push back against him. It's that plans are not his forte. It's that foreplay was never something he had to learn -- she thinks, at least.

Her chest expands; she doesn't tell him that when he presses his body to her chest when she's prone that she can't fucking breathe, asshole. She just lifts herself up a bit, inhales deeply, doesn't let him do that, doesn't want him doing that. Because then, well,

she can't fucking breathe.

He rubs against her and it's so forceful, so heavy, that she huffs a laugh. "Jesus," she mutters in that huff of air, and turns her head and shoulders a little, looks at him, her brows tugged together a bit. He can see it clear enough in her eyes that something's wrong, and perhaps it's unexpected. But she is stilling, and looking at him, and after earlier, maybe he knows a little of why. Maybe it's just that going from wanting him one moment to wanting him to stop the next gives her as much whiplash as it does him.

"I'm not an animal, Rafa," she whispers, with an undercurrent of some strange ache. "I want you. Want to do it like this, because you want it. And I like you."

Words shiver in her chest. "Can't see you like this, though. Harder to... feel close to you." Easier to feel wary. Easier to feel alone. Easier to feel helpless. Easier to feel a lot of other things that aren't want, aren't softness, tenderness, closeness. For her, at least. And she swallows, visibly. Huffs another little laugh, but this one is forced.

"Clothes off doesn't mean I'm wet and ready," she murmurs, the words sounding so relaxed but something uneasy -- something related to the way she trembled in his arms before the movie -- quivering in her body, making it tight. Tense. "Take a little time, for god's sake." Words are strong. Much stronger than she feels.

wolfman

Resistance: taut back, tension in her thighs, hands drawn unconsciously closed and pulling on the covers. Jesus, she says, for god's sake. Slow down.

Wolf arrests. Pushes up on his elbows, back curving to raise his body off hers. Exhale blasts out of him, frustrated and harsh, but he doesn't argue. Mattress jostles under her. Wolf gets off her, sits back on his heels, plants a hand on the bed, swings around to sit on the edge.

Dick's hard. Muscles tensed. Leans over and gives his face a good scrub with his hands, then looks over at her.

"Told me to fuck you. How'm I supposed to know that means take a little time first?"

witch

When he puts distance between them, she doesn't start kicking him in the ribs in aggravation. Or cry. She watches him, and she's frowning. And he asks her, tense, how he's supposed to know.

Her frown flickers a bit. And she gets up, coming over to him, kneeling on the bed just behind and a little to the side of him. Leans against his back.

Kisses his shoulder.

"Didn't think you knew. That's why I said something," she says, not softly or whisperingly but still quietly. Her hands wrap around him, slightly, under his arms, her palms to his chest. Wants to touch him. Wants to be near him. She rubs her face against the spot she just kissed.

"Fucking isn't just the part where you're inside me," she murmurs, too.

wolfman

Wolf eases a little when girl moves over to him. Feels good when she slides her arms around him, presses her hands to his skin. Relaxes him a little. Unwinds the knots in his shoulders, the stiff brace of his arms.

After a while wolf raises a hand too. Wraps it around hers, loose, holds it to his body.

"Don't have a lot of patience," he says, low. "Or practice being patient."

witch

Wasn't just saying it when she said she wants him. Her skin felt cool when he moved away. The fire crackles and she turns her head, resting it on his back, watching the flames. Closes her eyes when his hand strokes up, covers hers.

"It's all right," she tells him. Her hand moves idly, stroking him.

"What d'you want me to do?" she asks after a little while, softer than before.

wolfman

Doesn't escape him that this is what he asked her not so long ago. Doesn't escape him that he was holding her then. Arms wrapped around her as though to keep her from flying apart.

Wolf's in no danger of flying apart. Was in some danger of collapsing on himself, though. Winding down tighter and tighter until he was just a fist of frustration and anger, unable to reach out and connect.

Girl's got her hands on him. Girl's warm against his back, arms long and slim, soft in all the right places. Wolf's hand strokes thoughtlessly over her forearm. Then there's thought behind it. Purpose. He answers without words: pulls her around, picks her up when she's in reach and brings her into his lap. Facing him. Straddling him. Wraps his arms around her and buries his face against her shoulder, her neck.

witch

Makes her breathe in, when he does that. He lifts her so effortlessly, even from behind his back. At first she moves to help, to go with him, but as soon as his hands are on her waist there's on need. He brings her close, and she feels him brushing against her, hard and hot. She's not ready yet, she wonders for a flashing moment if he --

and it's already gone. He's holding her, and he's never held her like this, and she doesn't know what to make of it. Is still for a moment, then exhales long and slow and relaxed. Her arms wrap around him. She rests her head against his head. Just breathes.

wolfman

For a while wolf seems content to just bury himself in her like this. Holds her just like that, arms around her, brow against her, breath raising his chest against hers in rhythm.

After a while his arms loosen. Wolf raises his head. Both of them standing in bare feet and she doesn't come up to his chin. Put her in heels and she's a few inches closer. Like this, though, they're face to face. He looks at her. Stares, really. Looks at her eyes and her eyebrows, shape of her nose. Shape of her mouth. Shape of her cheekbones and the dip over her lips. Touches her freckles with the pads of his fingers, one after another, like he's counting them.

Gets this faint, quirky smile after a while. Big hands go into her hair, fingers combing through all that tumbling dark. Big hands run down her back and come around her waist; he lifts her up on her knees. Now he's looking at her body, sweeping palms over her stomach, pushing fingertips over the hidden arches of her ribcage. Hands are hot on her breasts when he gets there, lifting them in his palms, rubbing thumbs over her nipples. Pink. Pale pink. He remembers that. Bows his face to her chest, rubs his scratchy jaw and the cartilaginous tip of his nose over her skin. Kisses her breastbone. Pulls her in close and holds her like that now, buried there now, breathing her in.

What little there is of her to breathe.

Nothing at all, really.

witch

And so is she.

Content. Held. Breathing. She isn't seeking pleasure or chasing lust. She just holds him back, her skin warming to his.

When he draws back there's no question in her eyes. She watches him as he looks at her. Doesn't say anything; there's a strange focus in his eyes, an intent look that she understands without needing to question. Her eyes close for a moment when he starts touching her face, and then open, and she huffs a little laugh, smiling, color blooming in her cheeks.

Her hair still smells of the stuff she put in it this morning to ease its waves; his touch releases the scent again, sort of fruity and sweet. He's urging her up and she permits it, rising up, her belly near his chest. He touches her there and those deep muscles quiver a bit with restrained laughter, with ticklishness. Devon squirms a little. And then he touches her breasts.

She sighs. Different kind of sigh this time. Her head tips back a little, her back arching to move into the touch. When he teases her nipples with his thumbs she bites her lower lip. When he puts his face there she presses closer to him. "Lick them," she whispers. Which is a request. Which is really a command.

wolfman

Wolf doesn't really move for a while. He's busy burying his face in her tits, see. She has to say it again. Or touch his hair. Or just wait him out.

Eventually wolf unburies himself. Unravels his arms, puts his hands on her back. Supports or warms or simply holds her like that, palms pressed, fingers open. She asked to be licked, but what he does is suck. Wraps his lips around her nipples, one and then the other. Mouth hot, eyes closed.

witch

Doesn't say it again. Does touch his hair. She thinks: sometimes he says nothing at all. And often doesn't seem to understand English. She runs her fingers into his hair and guides his mouth, turning her body, offering her nipple to his mouth. He opens, and he sucks, and she gives a soft gasp.

"Lick it," she says again, withdrawing her breast from his mouth, brushing her nipple against his lips again.

wolfman

Wolf's eyes flash up to hers. Narrowed because she's telling him what to do, or maybe narrowed simply out of lust. Wolf straightens up and kisses her mouth, a quick bite of contact.

Then he wraps his arms around her. Drops back on the bed. Rolls over, rolls her under. Has his hands pressed on either side of her, muscles in his back under tension, when he finally puts his mouth to her tits again.

Licks her nipples this time. Laps at her, undisguisedly hungry, eyes on hers.

witch

The way she laughs. The way it disintegrates into this tiny, aching gasp. The way that sound arches as sharply as her spine. All beautiful sounds.

Beds this soft don't creak when you roll around on them. Flip a girl you're fucking over on them. They're askew on that bed, firelight flickering over their skin. For a moment she's on top of him, leaning over him, kissing him harder than he did a moment ago, seeking it. She's laughing when he rolls her under him, her eyes bright where they look up at him. She's shivering when he starts licking at her, rough and hungry. Indelicate. Impatient.

Devon puts her hands on his chest. Lifts her head up, leaning up to him. Her tongue slips out, flicks over one of his nipples. Does it again, slower, more tasting. The tip of her tongue circles his nipple, then flattens, lapping slowly. Delicately. Softly. Tickles him with her tongue at the end, followed by a sweet, ardent suckle.

Her lips are pink and wet when she draws back. Looks at him for a moment. Takes a breath and moves her mouth to his other nipple.

wolfman

Wolf's eyes look surprised when girl lets that laugh out. Like he never thought of sex as being something you laugh about, unless something's gone terribly wrong. Wolf's looking at her she's gasping like that, so wolf puts his mouth back on her tits and now,

now she's shivering.

Putting her hands on his chest. Not really pushing but it's still enough to get him to back off. Maybe he's wary now; doesn't know where the lines are, doesn't want to push. Holds himself over her, carrying his own weight. Girl leans up to him and it's almost sad that he draws back a little at first. Not sure where she's going with it. Then she shows him. Puts her mouth on him like he did to her. Draws a low gasp out of him, one hand coming up to cup her head.

That's how it's done, he thinks. Watches her all along like he's too dumb or dumbstruck to close his eyes. That's what she meant when she said, lick it. Girl's got those eyes like gas flames; got that smirking little way of smiling. She starts moving across and he pulls her mouth up to his, kisses her back down to the bed.

Hands pushing her legs apart. Raising her knees to his ribs, pulling her calves around. Not much patience, he said, and it's true: his weight sinks between her thighs, his cock a hard hot presence right up against her cunt. He rocks against her, slides over her. Kisses her all the while in this silent, hot fervor, like maybe if he just kissed her mouth the right way she'd get it, get hot, let him in.

witch

Sometimes she laughs, though. This gasping, beatific laugh, her face glowing, right before she comes. Sometimes she laughs like this, earlier on, just for the sheer wonder of it. In some glorious mansion in the mountains, hours from anywhere. Fire in the hearth. And the way he's going at her. The way he looks naked. The way he feels against her. She can't help it. She's enjoying herself.

He draws back a little. He's wary, a little. And she doesn't really notice. She just chases his skin, opening her mouth, moaning softly as though to speak to him when he cups her head with his palm. Her hands move to his sides, stroking him there. Eyes closed at first; open again when she touches his second nipple with her tongue, her lips so fucking wet, so gleaming.

Moans again when he kisses her. Falls back to the bedspread, stretching out, opening her legs as his hands push them apart. She shivers at that. She pants softly against his mouth, then kisses him again. When he presses to her he can feel her, just as warm and soft as before, when she stopped him. Different than before, though. Wet, now. Not slick enough to call slippery but so hot, warming to him.

Rafael isn't far off the mark. She keeps kissing him, her hands coming up to his face, her brow furrowing. Kisses him like she needs it. Kisses him until her hands run down his back, feel the length of his body, the coiled strength. Kisses him until she's moaning a little, her hips winding, rubbing herself against him.

wolfman

Wolf's not some static thing. He's fiercely mobile, alive under her hands. Muscles winding in his back under the slide of her palm. Mouth eating at hers. Hands rubbing heavy up her back; starts to clench in her hair but stops. Stops. Remembers, somehow, a distant burn of memory.

Puts his hand on her chest instead. Cups her breast as she's kissing him. While she's lifting her hips to him, rubbing her wetness onto him. No scent to that either but he can imagine. Can almost make himself believe he smells her arousal, her wildness.

Girl said she's not an animal. Not strictly true though. They're both animals. Blood of wolves and kings for him. Blood of wolves and the fey for her. Maybe that's where she gets the crystalline brilliance of her eyes. The firestorms and hurricanes he sees in them. Girl's got her hands on his face now and he's looking right at her, looking at the way gravity subtly changes the shape of her face when she's under him like this, looking at the way her eyes catch firelight and gleam.

Their eyes close when he kisses her again. Both their brows furrowing. Like they need this. Like they burn alive for this, and because of this. Wolf tugs her legs tighter around him, grabs her hip and pulls her up against him. Strength's an effortless, rough thing, without finesse but without strain as well. Wolf never asks the girl if she's ready, but the question's there between their bodies. There in the pause, there in the way he fits himself to her and slows, slows, gives her the time and the chance to push him away

before he starts pushing into her, slow this time, slow but unhesitating, a slow and thorough slide into her. Hottest point in the world inside her. Center of the world inside her.

witch

Question is there, and she feels it. In the way he pauses, the way he holds back, even though he doesn't want to. Even though she's there, and she's wet now, and she's so warm and he's not patient. Never had to learn to be patient. She doesn't answer him in words. She wraps her legs around him and her arms around him and kisses him, slow and drenching, lifting her hips to him. He goes slowly. She licks her lips and licks his in the passing; whimpers a little as he's moving into her.

Been a little less than twenty-four hours since the last time he was inside her. Feels like longer. She was so quiet in the gallery; they both were. Now she's moaning, kissing him anywhere she can find him.

Feels like they've done this more than a handful of times now. Feels, somehow, natural to be having sex with him.

On some enormous, soft bed.

In a mansion.

In front of a fire.

Absurd, though: there's nothing that should make this feel familiar to her. Nothing that should make it seem like something known, something right, something almost inevitable. But it does feel that way.

wolfman

Only fucked a handful of times, if they sit down and count. A handful of times strewn across an number of weeks. Days and days in between when they live their own lives and hardly even acknowledge each other. No reason, none at all, that any of this should start to feel familiar. Or known. Or right. Or inevitable.

Is how it feels, though. Wolf feels something like gravity pulling him to her, and into her. Wolf moves with her like this is how it's always been. Her hands on his back and her body rolling to accept his. The bed beneath them, springs compressing without a sound. Wolf's mouth finding girl's, and the little sounds she's making. The shameless sounds she's making, muffling now and again when her mouth takes what it needs from his.

Rising momentum between them. Always a steep climb. Probably no one's ever taught him about slowing down, enjoying the act. Probably girl riding him slow and maddening was the first time he'd had a leisurely fuck since -- whenever. Ever.

Wolf doesn't have the patience for that right now. Wolf wraps his arms around girl the way he always seems to. Covers her and surrounds her and holds her like this is the only way to survive, this is the only way he can protect her from the conflagration.

Strength of that entire, imposing body bent to this one task now; his hand covering the back of her head, his arms under her. Wolf fucks her heavily, powerfully, and it is slow after all; but not patient. It's not a mad dash to the finish line, it's not a mindless jackhammering, but every impact is a miniature quake from his body to hers, to the bed. Has his hand on her face now, thumb rubbing her lips open so he can lick her tongue, bite her chin. Has a fingertip in her mouth when he kisses her neck, covetously, growling as he licks her there too. Bites at her with his lips, then his teeth. Fucking him -- getting fucked by him -- must feel a little like consumption.

witch

He doesn't have patience. She does; lust didn't rise so fast and hard in her the way it sometimes does. The way it did at the art museum last night, the gala he took her to. The way it did the first time. The way it simply does, sometimes. She isn't him. She tells him I'm not an animal and she means it: at least tonight.

She's not the same every time. Or every night. Hour to hour. A couple of hours ago she could barely hold herself together. A day ago she could barely stop herself from fucking him in the car; said no just to be contrary. Just to say no. Just to keep her pretty hair and dress in place.

For Devon, this fuck isn't about survival or about need. Isn't impatient. Would have been fine just going to bed but the look of him in this room, the fire before him; it made her want him. Made her want him slowly and languorously, enjoying sex beyond the thrusting, the climb, the hunt for orgasm. Made her want to please him, too, to titillate that feral edge to him. Didn't want him pressing her down, pushing into her without touching her, without kissing her, without making a sound to connect himself to her when she couldn't see him. The truth is, she doesn't really want it like this, either. Heavy, powerful, hard. Rough the way he is almost always rough, so forceful that he moves her on the bed every time he thrusts. Silent the way he is almost always silent, but for those growls.

Feels right to be with him. Feels inevitable. Feels familiar. And yet still feels wrong. And yet still feels not quite what she wanted, was hoping for, keeps hoping for, is half afraid to try and ask for, or teach him, because fucking him sometimes feels like being fucked by him. Sometimes feels like consumption. Feels like he is bent wholly to one task, and that task is fucking her until he comes in her.

Maybe by some reckoning she should feel guilty for -- something. For not wanting it the way it is, for not enjoying it more, for not wanting him enough for anything and everything to be okay. For it not feeling good to her when it feels good to him. Maybe by some reckoning she should wait until she's satisfied him before telling him that she's not satisfied, that this isn't what she wants right now. Maybe by some reckoning, what she does next is wrong.

Devon squirms, and she's not moaning after a while. For what it's worth she does try: to enjoy it more, to relax again, to not feel disappointed. To just be with him to be with him, even if she doesn't like it. She even tries to make herself like it more than she does, but after a while she's not moaning, and she's not getting anywhere, and she's saying,

"Rafa, stop. I'm sorry --"

stops there, her hands not on his broad back or his heavy shoulders but her face, pushing up into her hair, her breathing frustrated and tense and uncomfortable. Saying again, because whenever he's inside of her she nearly always has to say something twice:

"Just stop, all right?"

wolfman

Exception to the rule. Stop the first time makes him stop: a hard brake, an absolute cessation. Girl pushes her hair back. Girl sounds frustrated, tense, uncomfortable. Girl says it again,

Just stop. All right?

and wolf snarls something, an invective, fuck! Slaps his palm into the mattress and pushes up, pushes off, pulls out of her with a wince and gets up off the bed.

Lightheaded from the sudden rise. Erection makes him clumsy. He grabs twice for his pants before he snags them, shakes them out, steps awkwardly into them. Zips the zipper dangerously quick. Kicks the rest of his clothes out of the way and yanks open the door of her room. Hall is degrees colder, raises gooseflesh on his forearms as he walks out.

witch

She's so stunned at the harshness that she doesn't say anything. Stares at him while he gets his pants up. Sitting up on the bed, arms braced, legs bent, tucking closer, brow furrowing as he just... storms out. Doesn't even close her door behind him.

Devon turns her head away from the door she was staring at. Presses her lips together. Throat moves as she swallows. Wraps her arms around herself. Waits to hear his door slam. Or close. Whatever.

Takes a while before she does anything else, though. Before she slides off the bed, finding the clothes she discarded earlier. Puts them back on: the torn pants, the heavy socks, the bra, tank top. She stuffs the giraffe back into her backpack and throws what's left in the carafe of water by her bedside over the fire. White smoke coils suddenly, bursts upward through the chimney. Not the most thorough way to put out a fire, but it'll do. One double-check around the room before she slips out of the bedroom and goes downstairs, all the way downstairs, to the movie theater.

Gets her sneakers on there. Puts her sweater back on over her head, since that's where she left it. That's where she is when she pulls out her phone and finds one of the taxi companies in Snowmass. Realizes she doesn't know the address here and decides: fuck it. Hangs up, opens Uber on her phone. It'll be fucking expensive but they'll pick her up with GPS.

She waits by the front door for the black SUV to pull up. Maybe Rafael hears it, sees it, something. But by then she's walking out of the house, getting into the would-be taxi, shoving her backpack ahead of her. Pulling the door shut.

Snow tires crunch over the ground as the SUV pulls away, driving off into the night, headlights cutting the darkness.

wolfman

[eerz!]

Dice: 5 d10 TN6 (1, 7, 8, 8, 9) ( success x 4 )

wolfman

Well.

SUV starts to pull away. Gets two points through a three point turn and then the front door bursts open. Lights aren't even on in the foyer; nothing but shadows and more shadows. One shadow moves. Wolf comes storming out, leaps down the few low steps and takes the rest of the distance at a furious sprint.

Headlight catches him when he slams his palms onto the hood. Shirtless, shoeless. Eyes glaring and teeth bared. Uber driver's just some ski resort worker doing this as a side gig. Slams on the brakes yelling what the fuck! while wolf comes around the side and yanks on the back door.

Wolf's yelling too: "Are you kidding me?"

witch

Both the driver and the woman in the back seat jerk. Driver doesn't have time to react, just starts yelling questions. Back door is locked.

Devon's not that stunned.

Frowning at him through tinted glass, but he can see her. Barely, barely -- she's a ghost through the window, but he can see her.

The window rolls down. Halfway. Her brow is all furrows. Cold air swirls inward. She just looks at him.

"Don't want to be here right now," she tells him. Her voice isn't cold. Isn't firm. "Don't be an ass about it."

wolfman

Window rolls down. There's that at least. He doesn't have to yell anymore. Wolf braces his hands on the roof, leans down to the window. Driver's asking her who the hell this guy is, if she wants him to drive away, what. Driver's got his fingers on the master window control, foot on the gas.

"Who the hell is that?" Driver isn't the only one asking that. Wolf flashes a glare at the driver; back to the girl. "What is this, a taxi? Where are you going to go at this hour?"

witch

"He's an Uber driver, Rafael, jesus christ." She's scowling now at him, exasperated. She thinks: she's known him for about a month. In that time, before he saved her life and gave her a place to live and before she had a crush on him, she never wanted to see him again. She wanted to hurt him for frightening her, for claiming to enjoy it, for getting into her space and in her face. For acting, in some measure, exactly like he's behaving now.

She thinks she owes him something, an explanation at the very least.

And equally: fuck him for storming out of his house like a jackass, yelling questions, making demands.

"If I'm leaving, there's a reason," she tells him, her voice wanting to snap but just sounding hurt. "And if you're going to act like a psychotic boyfriend, I'm not telling you a damn thing about where I'm going. Why would I?"

wolfman

Wolf shoots driver another glance. Jawline tightens, lips press together. Eyes flicker down to girl's hands. Bare shoulders heave with a deep breath. Wolf lowers his head a moment, gets ahold of himself. Looks back at her.

"Middle of the night and you don't even know him. Not safe. Not to mention it's gonna cost you a few hundred dollars to get back to Denver. Come back inside. Okay? I'll have Franklin drive you if you're so goddamn set on getting out of here."

Uber driver blows an exasperated sigh. Has the brains to keep his mouth shut otherwise, though.

witch

Her fingernails are still manicured. She had them done for the gala last night. They're pretty and they have a soft sheen on them, rounded tips, glossy. Not the nails of a woman who digs in the dirt or sniffs through packets of herbs at a shop for what she needs. Not the hands you'd imagine turning cards over, one by one, telling you what everything means, telling you things about yourself she could never know by looking at you.

Look like the hands of a woman who dresses in gold and goes to galas. Throws her own. If she wanted to.

Her manicured hands are lying.

"I know," she snaps, interrupting. She's only angrier now. "I know where I'm going. And when I want you to know, I'll fucking tell you."

Window starts going up again.

witch

[CHRIST, internet. *so frustrate* i was saying that let's just say she interrupted and keep post as-is. this is so aggravating cuz you're going soon! and my internet just keeps dying. argh.]

witch

[for some reason righ now i haz chat but i not haz digsby.]

wolfman

Wolf reacts without thinking. Grabs the rising edge of the window and bears down. Gears whine and grind in the door. Driver yells hey come on man, you're gonna break it!

"Don't -- "

Wolf breaks off. Bites his lip, flicks a glance at the driver. Back. Lower:

"Don't leave forever." Grimaces; sounds so stupid to say it aloud. "When you leave for Thanksgiving. Don't leave forever. Okay?"

witch

Her eyes blow open.

"The hell." Exhales, heavy, exasperated. "I'm not. Christ, Rafael. I'm leaving for the night, all right? The more mad you act the longer I think I should stay off. Stop trying to break the nice man's window," and her accent is there, flickering and arching, perhaps because she's tired or because of the words themselves. But it's there.

A beat. She's taken her finger off the window button anyway. "Will you please just go inside." Lowers her voice. Softens it a bit. "I'm not leaving forever, Rafa. I'm just leaving for now. All right?"

wolfman

Couple seconds go by. Wolf watches her, wary as a feral thing, his eyes flicking between hers.

Abruptly takes his hand off the window. Straightens up. Doesn't say anything, but the driver doesn't wait. Rolls the window right up, puts the car in gear, starts driving. Crazy man. Crazy rich people and their crazy problems.

Wolf watches the SUV go. Too dark for details; she's lost to the night in seconds. He starts feeling the cold suddenly. Toes going numb. Bare skin aching. Wolf doesn't wave, either. Just watches til the SUV's taillights disappear around a bend in the path. Then he goes in.

witch

He doesn't say anything, and the driver puts the window up before the crazy fucker does anything else. Starts driving. Devon closes up, closes off, wrapping her arms around herself in the back seat.

They go into the village. It isn't all that far. They find an inn, and Devon goes inside to get a room. Pays in cash; small bills, collected from readings, not spent on hostel nights or food because she doesn't have to do that anymore. Because of Rafael. Still doesn't know why he put her up like that. Sighs, and goes to the little room, which is cozy and nicer because this is a resort town.

Texts him before she sleeps, though. After she washes up. After she curls up in the bed. Before she closes her eyes.

I'm safe. I'll see you before I go to Boston. Don't worry. x