later.

wolfman

Wolf vanishes for a few days. Last girl sees of him, he's going upstairs after breakfast. Or maybe coming down after showering, hair wet and clothes on but otherwise much the same. Pulls on that old leather jacket at the door, crams a helmet on his head, turns into an anonymous beast of herculean proportions. Front door slams behind him and then an engine turns over. Two months ago, that bike was the most expensive thing he'd ever owned.

Shit changes. What'd he call it? Upgrades. Townhouse in the city. Estate in the country. Two, three hours into the Rockies, away from the world. Goes by himself. Doesn't -- didn't -- invite the girl. Didn't think to.

--

Doesn't think to tell her he's coming back, either. One day he just is. Guttural rumble of a motorcycle outside. Not the obnoxious blat-blat-blat of a Harley; not the angry-hornet scream of a superbike. Just a motorcycle. Classic lines, chrome trim, single staring headlight. Sort of thing a young man might ride through the south of Europe. The southern states.

Wolf cuts the engine. Sits astride it pulling his helmet off. Padding's left faint red marks on both cheeks. Miles and miles have made him stiff. He climbs off and walks bowlegged, helmet dangling from one hand. Spends a little time downstairs shedding his jacket, putting up his gloves and his helmet. Stomping out of his bike boots.

Then he comes upstairs. Up at the top and his room's one way, hers the other. He goes the other. Comes looking for her.

witch

He comes stomping into the house. Removing helmet. Getting out of boots. Gloves, jacket --

Knows she's here. Probably knows as soon as he gets there. The house is clean, more or less, but someone is here. There are dishes in the sink. There's a half-empty fifth of whiskey sitting on the counter, the cap on but loose. There's a whole assortment of vials and bottles on the kitchen island, with various-colored liquids inside of them. Some have little handwritten labels; most don't. And of course he knows she's here because as soon as he cuts the engine of that bike and walks inside there are feet storming down the stairs.

And pounding across the lower floor. She's in those ridiculous house-boots again, wearing fishnets again, the kind with those wide diamonds, not even trying to be classy. Little black skirt. Blue t-shirt cut and twisted, baring her stomach, the back cut into a spideweb, the sleeves chopped and then rolled. Her eye makeup is silver and black. Was she going out? Is she coming back in? Is this yesterday or is this tonight? Bangles. A half-dozen necklaces.

Runs down the stairs, across the house, and rather leaps onto him, all long arms and longer legs, a rush of a grin on her face.

wolfman

Girl comes pounding down the stairs. Wolf's turning, frowning, tensed, ready for a fight. Figures it's gotta be a fight, so all right, bring it.

Figures wrong. It's not a fight. Girl launches herself at him. He's not ready for it. One arm's still caught in the jacket. She leaps on him, and good thing there's some strength in that skinny body of hers, because otherwise she'd just land on her ass. He doesn't catch her at all. His free arm sort of comes up a little, shocked and unsure. He shakes the jacket off his other arm. It slumps heavily to the floor.

Wolf smells like the wind. Smells like the outdoors, like autumn, like the first snows in the mountains. Couple more weeks, maybe a month on the outside, and he won't even be able to ride that motorcycle around anymore. Fuck knows what he'll do then. Walk, maybe. Take public. Avoid getting chauffeured about.

Finally his arm comes briefly around her waist. Gives her sort of this awkward token squeeze. Then he bends, lowers her back to the ground. "Hey," grunted, gruff. "Hell got into you?"

witch

Perhaps it seems obvious that she would be kissing him. Leaping up on him like that, looping her legs and arms around him like that. That's not what happens. Nothing about this is obvious or expected. This is not how he is greeted at anyone's door, much less his own. And she doesn't kiss him. She grabs hold, and he works his jacket off, and she grins as she holds onto him.

Smells a little like something essential behind her ears, something daubed there. Lavender. It isn't her own scent. It's something, though.

Awkward token squeeze. He bends to set her down and she just holds on tighter, laughing. Doesn't give him an answer. Just holds herself closer. Inhales him, that laugh and that grin descending into one of her dark little smiles, lit by her eyes looking up at him. Her hair hangs back, the way he's holding her.

wolfman

No answer. Just that grin turning into something more intimate. Night-blooming. She smells like flowers; never like herself. It's something, though, and as she holds on, even as he lowers her feet to the floor, he bends to her. His arm comes around her more firmly, pressing her to his side, his body. Wolf bends to her, back curving, shoulders rounding. Envelopes her in his hard arms; the heat of his body. The smell of him, and the smell of the road, and the smell of the wilderness he's returning from.

Buries his face in the curve of her neck for a moment. Inhales that substitute scent of hers. Eyes closed. Grasp fierce.

Then he straightens. Untangles, unravels her arms from his neck. Bends and picks up that leather jacket and hangs it up. Unwinds a scarf he wore to keep the wind out, throws that on a hangar too. And gloves. And boots. Wolf digs into his jean pocket, shutting the closet door. Pulls out a little vial -- tiny, the smoky glass giving only an impression of a small amount of liquid inside -- holds it out to the girl.

"That useful to you?"

witch

He's almost insistent that she get back on the ground. Wants her feet on the ground but she's locked her ankles behind his back. She dangles. Her hair wafts as he sniffs at her, holding her. He feels her arch slightly, pressing closer.

He straightens up and she comes with him, refusing. He works around her, carrying her about though he's not really holding her anymore; she's holding herself on him, swinging around as he hangs some things up, toes the door shut, pulls something out of his pocket.

Holding it to her, she rears her head back a bit, peering at it. Thoughtfully, her brow furrows. She lets go one hand from his shoulders and takes it, holding it between thumb on the bottom and forefinger on the top, considering it.

Then closes her palm around it, hides it in her fist, and wraps her arm back around him, turning to him.

"Everything's useful somehow."

wolfman

"One of the locals gave it to me." Girl didn't ask, but he volunteers the info anyway. "Guess they used to know my mother or something. Guess it's like a tithe. Anyway, supposed to be some sort of oil. Knock yourself out. Make more shit to spritz people with.

"You gonna let me go, or you gonna make me carry you around? Didn't think you'd be so happy to see me."

witch

All this she hears, takes in, though she didn't ask. He says it was like a tithe. He says she can use it to make more shit. She is smiling that smile, slower now, closer. Somehow it's no brighter and no warmer but it's more accessible.

It's something she's giving. Inviting. As she leans over, resting her brow against his brow.

Happy to see him. She says nothing of that.

"Take me out," Devon commands. "Let's get completely, phenomenally fucked up."

wolfman

Wolf hesitates a little. Wolf's still not sure where all this closeness and exuberance and joy is coming from. Wolf's pretty sure they parted on terms not ideal, and now he's looking for the trap. He's wary as an animal.

But tempted too. Drawn. She rests her forehead against his and he turns like he wants to crane away but then he doesn't. His temple, her brow. She wants to go out.

"Gonna have to ride bitch on my bike," he challenges.

witch

Devon arches a little, still holding herself up on him. "Put your hands on me," she says, this one quiet. She does not mean holding her up, holding her aloft.

And: "No," she says, leaning inward, nuzzling the side of his face. "Bus?"

wolfman

Girl gets a little quieter. Wolf exhales; sounds a bit like a sigh.

"Still not a good idea," he says quietly. But he raises his hands. He takes her face between his palms. This time he puts his brow to hers. Ignores all that talk about bikes and buses. Winds his arms around her.

Keeps her close.

"Why'd you leave the other night?"

witch

She breathes in when he touches her face. Of all things. He could touch the small of her back, her bared waist, her soft stomach. He could put his hands up her skirt, find out what she's wearing under that little thing. Her arms, her shoulders. But he puts his hands on her face, smelling of leather gloves.

"Not a bad one," she says, kept close. Shivers. It's involuntary; it goes all the way through her. Is turning her head, seeking his ear, his jaw, smelling him out, brushing her nose over his skin. She wants. So she seeks.

And he asks her that. She doesn't freeze up, or retreat. She just... slowly drags her head back, lifts it, looks at him with eyes that are hooded, might almost seem drunk if he could tell from her breath she hasn't been drinking... recently. Not enough to alter her breath.

For a moment she says nothing.

And then she shrugs. Both shoulders up and then down, a tight little motion. i dunno.

"Wanted to be alone."

wolfman

Wolf wants to kiss her. It's there in his eyes. Slow burn, dark and banked. Looks at her mouth. Looks at her eyes.

Ends up touching her face again, roughly, stroking her cheek firmly enough to stretch her lips, tilt her head.

"Okay," he says. Simple as that, the subject's done. Put away. "Where do you wanna go?"

witch

He can be so rough. She turns as he touches her face, turns her cheek into the touch. She opens her lips across his palm, sets her teeth into the mound beneath his thumb, that thick curve of muscle. Does not bite down but a little, softly, exhaling warm air as much a sigh as if this were its own sort of kiss. Its own sort of relief.

Still her neck is tilted a bit, even as she bites. Her throat exposed. She doesn't think of it. That she has had occasion to fear him does not mean that she fears him now, in this moment, on this occasion. That she woke and wanted to be alone, relieved from his body heat or his grip or his rage or his room or her own internal unease, does not mean she wants to be alone now. Does not mean she does not want him.

But she ignores the question. She closed her eyes as she put her mouth on his hand, still smelling like the cool outdoors even though his skin is warm to the touch. She opens them now, head turning again to see him. Devon's veritably climbing up on him, winding her arms and legs tighter to get closer. Looking him in the eyes. "Kinda missed you."

A small pause. "At breakfast the other day, I was gonna ask if you wanted me to visit your room again that night." Lashes flicker; her eyes skip to the side, then back to him, a momentary secret thought. "Was gonna ask if you'd mind."

wolfman

Wolf's eyebrows flick together when she sets her teeth in him, but it's not a frown. Not really. Just -- a reaction, intense and unbidden. His lips part. His teeth. He snarls silently, and when she pulls herself ever closer he wraps his arm around her. Closer.

Girl makes a confession. Wolf looks at her, darkened eyes, dark brows. Girl makes a second confession, but it's the first one that still burns in wolf's mind. He leans into her. Nuzzles her hard, uncareful, ungentle. Pushes his face against hers for a moment, really. Tilts his head into hers.

"Don't mind." Short. Gruff. Almost curt.

witch

He was only gone a couple of nights. A few? But he was gone, and she'd been thinking about slipping into his room, and his bed, all over again on Saturday. Even if breakfast was awkward, even after she left him alone in the middle of the night, she'd had that thought to come back. To touch him again.

But it's the fact that while he was gone, she sort of wished he wasn't, that burns in his eyes. She smiles that smile of hers, faraway and self-possessed, as he holds her tighter. Her thighs flex around him, hold him back, just as tight.

He presses into her, all jaw and brow and breath, and she shivers a little against him. She exhales, lowering her hand to his hair, scraping fingernail tips through his scalp.

"You wanna...?"

wolfman

Does he wanna.

Wolf has the good grace not to pretend he doesn't know what she means. He knows. Her meaning is in the tightness of her thighs around him. That little shiver. Way she bit his palm. Look in her eyes.

Wolf's troubled. Wolf's quiet a while. Wolf rubs his cheek against hers once more, hard, and then wolf sets her down. Decisively. Pushes her back if he needs to.

"Later," he says.

witch

What the... what.

Devon's surprise and -- yes -- dismay is palpable. She cannot understand what is happening, much less why. He's looking at her like he wants to kiss her until she can't breathe. He's holding her against his body like he's inches away from stripping them both down and fucking her on the floor again. She just told him --

she just told him she missed him, and she wants him, and does he want her, and does he want her right now --

and he's...

what?

She huffs a breath out as he pushes her away, but he barely has to exert any pressure there: she swings her legs down and sets her feet on the ground. Looks at him as he's saying later, looks at him like she wants to peel his skin off his face, and turns to leave, her spine ram-rod straight.

wolfman

Girl leaves in a huff.

Wolf watches her go. Aroused, conflicted, troubled, silent. Doesn't go after her. Girl goes up that winding staircase -- if she spares a glance, she finds the wolf where she left him. Standing at the door, watching her. Frown on his face.

Across the hall then. Down the way. Door doesn't slam, but it does shut.

Wolf's left on his own. Left to finish ungearing from his trip. Left to stomp up the stairs. Go into his own room. Shut the door, turn on the water. Shower the dust and the road off.

Cook shows up tonight. Wolf called him or someone did. Food's actually good. Some sort of roast, thick slabs of red meat braised until tender. Potatoes on the side. Minimal greens. Girl can smell dinner from her room. Girl can hear the wolf going downstairs, too. Five minutes later, girl can hear the wolf coming back up the stairs. Turning at the top. Coming to her door.

Knock on the door's more like a dull thud-thud-thud. Like he's thumping with the side of his fist and not his knuckles.

witch

Doesn't spare a glance. Doesn't stomp. Doesn't slam. Goes away from him, and up, and by the time she gets down the hall to the room she's staying in she's --

well. He can't see her face, or the tightness of her shoulders. He doesn't know. He just hears the door shut. And she just hears him eventually come upstairs and not towards her door but to his own. Tears spring to her eyes, hot and stinging, and she exhales roughly, looking at the ceiling, blinking until they go away. Listens to the water turn on and, downstairs, hears someone else show up, smells food warm and unpacked. She thinks of sitting at the breakfast bar or -- horrors -- at the dining table, eating roast and potatoes and vegetables and drinking wine or whiskey with him and it makes her skin crawl, her stomach twist uncomfortably. She does not take the time to try and name the feeling that causes the reaction. It lives somewhere between running down the stairs and jumping into his arms as soon as she heard the garage door and never, ever wanting him to look at her again.

So in her clothing, which isn't much, and her dark makeup and teased hair, she comes out of that second room and slips downstairs, throwing on an oversized flannel shirt as a jacket. She has cigarettes and ID and she's starving, but she bypasses Cook and the meal that makes her salivate because she's no less an animal than any of them, and heads for the door.

Which is what she's walking out of, when the wolf comes thudding downstairs, hair still damp.

wolfman

Wolf pauses, halfway down the spiral, there on the arc of the stairs closest -- if only by a couple feet -- to the door. Frowns.

"You going out?"

witch

At least she stops. Not when she hears him, of course not, but when he speaks. She pauses, hand on the door, the door cracked and letting tendrils of cold nice air in. Too cold for fishnets and a flannel, really, but that depends on the person. She's frowning, too.

"Yeah."

wolfman

Wolf looks at her. Looks at the flannel. Looks at the fishnets. Has thoughts that he keeps to himself. Has thoughts that eat at him from the inside out, but he twists his head on his shoulders, loosening some imaginary tightness.

"All right. Get Franklin to drive you if you want."

witch

She gives him a little smile. A tight little smile, a little sideways motion of her head, squeeze of her shoulder. It's sickly. And it's mean.

Swings open the door, goes outside, and lets it fall shut behind her.

wolfman

Vicious little smile like a spike in his gut. Wolf doesn't return it. He glowers. She opens the door and it shuts behind her.

Wolf doesn't follow. Franklin doesn't follow. House behind her is quiet; warm lights in the windows. Rage seeping through the cracks of the doors.

Wolf eats alone. Wolf turns on the TV and stares at it for a couple hours before he realizes he hasn't seen a damn thing. Two solid hours shy of midnight and he's heading up the stairs to sleep. Girl's still out then. Wolf pauses a moment at the top of the stairs; then he turns and slams into his room.