ALONE!
Food for you.
I'm sorry.
Sorry.
I'm just.
Come on.
--
There are so many gaps between them. So many places for more words or at least clearer words might fit. Would fit -- there is so much empty space for them to fill with words, and they so rarely seem inclined to do so. Maybe they prefer the emptiness. There is room there. Room for his rage and room for her... whatever it is inside that she is scared of, that others would be scared of. Room for their strangeness and their strange, bruised, distrusting personalities. There is room in all that wordless emptiness for them to be, and not have to explain.
Neither of them are good at explaining. She's so bad at explaining herself that she threw a rock at him and dove into the ocean.
--
Devon sniffs again and steps back. Looks up at him, her hair drenched and close to her face, tendrils on her temples, chin lifted, and he's a fucking idiot if he doesn't lean down and kiss her, but time and time again he has proven that, according to her standards, he is a fucking idiot.
So maybe he looks down at those glorious, shining eyes of hers, saltwater drying on her cheeks, and realizes that he should kiss her. And maybe there's not enough in that silence between them for him to find her by, no scent to tell him that she wants him even now, and he just picks up his to-go box.
Either way, she picks up her dry clothes and puts them onto her wet body. She doesn't bother with her flip flops, knows she'll just get a blister from all the sand coating her feet rubbing against the straps. So she carries those, and he carries his box, and between them they hold hands.
Someone reaches for someone else. There's no words about it. No explanation for it.
--
Food on the table. It's cooled off by now, lukewarm. But she smells it and her stomach growls audibly. Nothing much happens for a while then. With wet-stuck clothes and sandy feet Devon just sits at the table and shoves tacos into her mouth, groaning slightly. She doesn't even turn on a light; he'll have to do that if he cares to.
She eats.
And eats.
Eats everything he brought back and literally looks for more. Looks at him. Her stomach is full but hasn't realized it yet. She closes her eyes and opens them again, slowly. Sighs.
"Just hungry, I guess," she says, and she means: getting so angry at him, so quickly. And it's mostly true, too. She got so angry, so quickly, because she could barely think for hunger. Doesn't explain why it bothered her at all. Doesn't explain all of it, the weird feeling she got about his words to her, teasing as they may have been. The frightening slap of rejection that still confuses her, uncertain of what caused it and causes it.
Just sighs, and leans back, and says she was just hungry. She guesses.
Wipes her mouth with a knuckle.
"Should shower. Feel gross."
wolfmanWolf does miss his cue, out there on the beach. Girl's standing there naked as the day she was born. Cold-skinned and dripping wet and her hair hanging in thick twisted ropes. Eyes shining like stars. Blue as the ocean by day.
Face close to his. Chin lifted. Mouth waiting.
And he misses it. He picks his litter up and she gets her clothes, maybe thinking to herself what an idiot he is, what an idiot. It's not really that, though, and maybe she knows this too. It's inexperience and that strange, bruised, distrusting personality of his.
Still. On the way back his fingers brush hers. She takes his hand, or he hers. They walk back together, saying nothing, hands speaking for them.
--
Cabin's dark. Sea wind through open windows. Girl's dry by now or close enough. Doesn't really feel cold at all. Eighty degrees by day. Seventy-five by night. Tropical.
Wolf closes the windows a bit. Leaves them open enough to let the air circulate. Turns on the overhead light, and the little lamp on the little bedside table. Not even an armchair in here, though there are two wicker chairs outside. Wolf brings them in while girl sets into her food.
He got her tacos. Fillings are anybody's guess because he can't draw well enough to specify beef or chicken or whatever. So: tacos, some sort of meat inside, tomatoes and lettuce and salsa, rice and beans on the side. Bottle of mexican soda too. Also a gallon of water, which he bought at some convenience store or something; set out on the bedside table like the world's ugliest ornament.
Girl finishes her food -- tears through all of it -- looks around for more. Wolf's got nothing else to offer, though maybe she knows, can tell, he'd give her whatever he had. Is sitting over on the bed by then, straddling a corner, sort of staring awkwardly into the corners of the room until she speaks. Then his attention focuses on her, quick and keen.
Beat of pause.
"I'll come with you," he says. "If you don't mind."
witchDoesn't think fucking idiot, what an idiot. Thinks something softer, though. Wouldn't say it aloud. Not right now.
--
Shouldn't feel so filthy. She swam in the ocean. The ocean cleanses. The sea-salt purifies. And she does feel cleansed. She does feel purified. But she hasn't showered in two days or something close to it, and she's got sand all over her feet and salt in her hair. She eats until she runs out of food, drinks sugary soda, doesn't think about what he would give her if he but had more with him. Doesn't think he'd hide food. But really: doesn't think about it.
Looks at him. It's only been a few minutes since she set into those tacos, the rice, the beans, devouring it until the container was scraped clean. He looks back at her. She huffs a little laugh at what he says, her mouth sharp at the corners.
"Barely enough room in there for me," she tells him. Watches him, still, as before. Shrugs. "But don't mind."
wolfmanWolf doesn't understand the laugh. Doesn't smile back. Looks wary, looks tense. Like he's bracing for a strike.
Girl says she doesn't mind. Look on wolf's face fades. Eases, anyway. He watches her and she's on her feet and then he gets up too. Crosses the room, wraps his hand behind her head and pulls her to him by that point of contact. Kisses her mouth suddenly, starvingly, without a word of explanation.
Gentles, somewhere in the midst of it -- if she doesn't shove him away first. Is kissing her softly, deeply at the end. Pauses a moment, eyes closed, before he draws away.
Tilts his head toward the shower. She goes in and he follows, unzipping his pants, dropping them in a heap at the door.
witchHe just looks tense, at first. Relaxes. She watches him as he does, not quite understanding. So then she's pushing her flimsy chair back, standing up on dirty feet, and he is rising half a breath behind her. She heads to the little bathroom, seeing him behind her in the old oval mirror over the sink. Turns to look at him, and there he is, putting his hand on her wet hair and kissing her, hard and sudden.
She can't help that it feels a little awkward to her. Maybe that's just leftover strangeness, unsettledness. Maybe that's the lack of the sea's steady and yet ever-moving rhythm, the lack of moonlight overhead. So her kiss in return is delayed, and faltering, and she seems confused.
Softens, though, a little, as he does. Still does not kiss him as deeply, as earnestly, because she is confused and because she is still confused when he draws away. Keeps her face lifted, watching him. Hesitates, and speaks hesitantly, saying very quietly, and almost apologetically, and quite uncertainly:
"Don't wanna fuck right now, Rafa."
wolfmanSome pain, almost physical, seems to pull the wolf's eyebrows together. He covers the back of her head with his hand. Pulls her in, brow to his shoulder, his jaw over her crown.
"Me neither. Wasn't coming on to you. Just wanted to feel close to you."
witchFunny little posture, that: his jaw over her head, tucking her into his body like that. Funny and natural, funny and warm, funny and tender and fierce. She rests her head, hair wet and cold and salt-smelling, close to him.
Didn't think he was coming on to her. Wasn't sure, though. Wasn't sure, with that kiss, with him wanting to shower in that tiny box with her, with all the things they do not explain.
"All right," she says, as she so often does, standing there in the doorway to the little bathroom of the cabin. Steps back, a few long moments later, looking up at him again, taking his hand, bringing him with her.
He has jeans to drop. She has pants to peel off, lingerie to remove all over again. Leaves them in a damp pile in the corner and cranks on the water. Sticks one hand in, waiting for it to warm up,
waiting for Rafael to stand behind her and wrap arms around her. Like a jacket.
wolfmanTiny box of a shower. Tile-lined. Old, old shower head, and truth is the first spurt of water is alarmingly brown.
Clears, though. Warms, too, and rapidly: and yet even so, wolf comes close to girl soon as they're both naked. Wraps an arm around her waist, drawing her back against the solidity and the heat of his body.
--
Soon enough, warm enough. Girl steps forward and wolf follows her. Not even really enough room to close the shower curtain without brushing clammily against one or the other, making that shower box claustrophobic and dark. So they leave it open, but close the bathroom door.
No name shampoo and rough-milled soap. No conditioner, no shower gel or body wash or anything of the sort. Small wash towels that they use to scrub clean as they take turns under the water, the bathroom filling with steam, the dirt and dust and salt of the day gradually sluicing away down the drain.
Then just the wolf and the girl. Then just his arms around her, her back to him, their naked bodies fitting together like puzzle pieces.
witchWashes off sand. Washes salt from her hair. She wiggles around him and grabs that plastic toiletry bag to dig out a bottle of her own conditioner once her hair is clean, refusing to go without it. She doesn't use a washcloth, just soap and her hands. She washes slowly, and just pushes him out of her way when he is blocking all the water.
Devon stands there, cleaning out under her fingernails, as he slumps against her, holding her. She's not entirely sure what to do about him. About his closeness, and his desire for it, and her wanting it and then wanting to reject it as soon as she has it. She frowns at her fingernails, tense even as he holds her, and thinks aloud:
"Bed's filthy."
"Wonder if there are clean sheets somewhere."
wolfmanWolf senses her tension. Good at that, even if he's not too good at most everything else that has to do with him, and her, and him-and-her.
Senses it. Lets go. Wasn't holding her very long at all, in the end; couple seconds maybe.
Girl's cleaning her fingernails. Wolf turns to the water, rinses off one more time, and then steps out of the shower. Drips everywhere until he grabs up one of those large, thin towels. Clean, but washed so often the white has gone grey.
"Could probably go check with the people that rent this place. Ask 'em for new ones."
witchShe stays where she is, watching him step out. Lost her borders, she thinks. The air permeates her and it makes her feel chilled. She rinses off a bit more, then turns the water off. It's cooling anyway. She waits for him to hand her one of the other towels, since he's in the way of this closet-sized bathroom, then flips over her head and scrubs her hair mostly dry.
Wraps the towel around herself after, tucked under her arms, dripping the rest. Watches him, with those eyes that only seem larger without makeup to darken their edges, cast a shadowy vignette around the bright core of her gaze. She leans against the wall, shoulder propping it up.
"How long you wanna stay here?"
wolfmanSecond towel gets tossed her way. Wolf steps out of the bathroom -- the water closet, in literal truth -- so she can dry her hair. By the time she comes out, leaning against the wall,
god but she's beautiful. Wolf almost forgets his train of thought. What she's talking about. For a minute wolf's just sitting there on the edge of the bed, towel around his waist, staring. Her narrow body and her narrow bones, the narrow, fine, architecture of her face. Her haunting eyes and her features at once smoother and somehow more defined by their lack of makeup. No shielding. No mask.
Wolf shakes his head a bit. Shrugs his big shoulders, and then he leans back a little to prop his hands on the mattress. "Couple days maybe? We got time. Can just keep driving along the coast. Stop when we want to. Go when we want to. When our visas are ready they'll mail 'em to us where we say. Then we can go to Brazil, if you still wanna."
witchPuts stuff in her hair from that toiletry bag with the sugar skull on the side. Usually does, but more now. He can smell her, that stuff on her hair, scrunched into the curls so it won't frizz as easily in the humidity. Still wet, still limp, but scented and smooth. She leans there, and he looks at her with heavy lids, sitting on the edge of the bed in his towel.
Asks him a question and all he does is keep looking at her. She watches him back, and waits for him to answer. Doesn't wonder if he's somehow high or if he's fallen asleep or if he's wanting to fuck her. She just waits. People go into trances sometimes.
She knows.
"I speak the language there. We can order food," she says, dry as bone. Nods at him, a moment after, to confirm. She turns, and decides to brush her teeth. Maybe he watches her in the mirror, bits of foam at her mouth. She crosses the room, picking up the bottle jug of water, carrying it with her as she brushes. Walks around in that thin towel. Spits. Rinses with bottled water in a plastic cup. Uses a little tub of some kind of cream that she rubs lightly and quickly into her face. Smells faintly of lavender, when she comes back. Turns the light off behind her.
Both of them in towels now. She comes to sit on his lap, legs wrapped around his hips, arms around him. It's been minutes since she last spoke.
"Can we stay in a hotel where they change the sheets for us?" she wants to know.
wolfmanWolf keeps watching her. Smirks a little, a small dark little hook at the corner of his mouth, when she goes bone-dry on him. It fades to something else, more tender, more fond, as girl turns away. Brushes her teeth. Wolf watches that too. Foam in her mouth, her fingers holding back her hair when she bends down to spit. Thin towel doing little enough to hide the contours of her body. Edge of the towel riding up when she leans over.
Truth is wolf's lazily half-aroused when girl climbs into his lap. Maybe she can tell. Maybe she can see the distant heat in his eyes. Hell, maybe she can feel it. Wolf just kinda lets her climb on, though, still leaning back on his hands. Not making a move to engage.
Doesn't really want to fuck. Just always finds her eminently fuckable. There's a difference. She wraps her arms around him; he turns his head to the side and drops a kiss on the inside of her elbow.
"I'm sure they'll change the sheets here," he says. "We just slept through room service. They'll change it tomorrow." She's close enough that he only has to crane forward a little to kiss her. Quick and light on the mouth, eyes open. "We'll get a nicer hotel next time if you want. We'll get the best if you want."
witch"Thousand thread count sheets," she says, sitting farther out on his lap, away from that half-aroused dick of his. She can't tell he's half-aroused. She sat farther away, because of earlier. Because she doesn't --
But they get closer, all the same. He kisses her on this terribly tender spot, vein to the skin, a branching blue river in her body. He leans forward more. She draws back, without even really thinking about it, but it's a flinch away from that kiss, doesn't want to kiss, doesn't want to be kissed, doesn't entirely know why she doesn't want to be kissed.
Licks her lips, though, but not because they're dry from lust, from shadowed thoughts.
Devon nods. And says nothing for a moment. And says: "I like it here, too," like this matters.
wolfman[EMPAFEE! why flinch away!]
Dice: 3 d10 TN6 (7, 8, 10) ( success x 3 )
witch[1. it's very kneejerk: it's obvious she doesn't want to be kissed, but it was reflexive.
2. SHE DOESN'T KNOW WHY :[
3. I DON'T REALLY KNOW EITHER SHE'S JUST UNCOMFORTABLE AND WARY FOR SOME REASON]
wolfmanNot a kiss then. Just the beginnings of one. Just the slightest motion forward, countered by the slightest motion back. Wolf stops. Doesn't push. Truth is that's only half out of respect for her boundaries. Other half is self-protection.
Doesn't want to go chasing if he can't have it. Doesn't want to want something he won't get. Doesn't want to need and find himself bereft.
So there they are. Together and her arms around him. Apart with inches between. Girl tells him she likes it here too like it matters, and maybe it does. Means she isn't with him just because he can give her all the things she couldn't afford herself. Means she wasn't lying when she said she doesn't want anything from him,
doesn't need anything.
--
They walk a tightrope between want and need. What they give freely, take freely, and what they never want to feel bound to.
--
"We'll keep going tomorrow," wolf says. Doesn't mention her flinch away. Doesn't bring up how tense she was in the shower. "Wanna go to Yucatán, anyway. I saw on TV there are caves there you can jump straight into. Fall a hundred feet and hit water."
witchThat brightens her. Strangely and suddenly. She doesn't hide her interest; it shows up in her eyes most of all, and slightly in her body. This topic has nothing to do with feeling so very strange and upset when he teased her about her clothes, or why she felt so quickly and overwhelmingly stung. Nothing to do with throwing a rock at him when he drove nearby or how overwrought she was when he slammed his foot on the gas and took off away from her, or how backwards that all was. Nothing about why she went to the sea, or why she was confused when he kissed her, or tense when he held her, or flinched when he tried again.
Caves in Yucatan. Falling a hundred feet.
She wants to know: "Is it dark?"
And she moves a little closer to him, too, perhaps because he's warm or because this topic is safe. If she thinks of anything else beyond that, even what she may want or what he may or may not do to her, she's not sure. But he is warm. And this topic is safe.
wolfmanStrange that he's never thought of this before. Pauses a moment, considering.
"Don't know. Guess so. Can always bring flashlights I think."
Girl's a little closer now. Wolf doesn't move toward her this time; doesn't wrap his arms around her or try to kiss her again. Just stays where he is, leaning back, relaxed. Watches her in that lazy way.
witchA little grin at that. Lazy, lopsided. She breathes in, and she nods.
"Wanna do that," she says, to confirm, though he has to know. The way her eyes lit up. Diving into caves. No denying the magic in that. Deep, shadowed magic, drowning magic.
She doesn't come any closer. And it's so wary, that: he's rejected and he withdraws. She leans forward and he doesn't try again, so she doesn't come nearer. They're both scared of the same thing... more or less.
"Should hang out at the beach tomorrow before we leave, though," she says. Hesitates a bit, says: "Together, instead."
wolfman"Yeah."
Couple breaths go by. Wolf shifts, then. Shadows and highlights subtly rearranging: crests of his shoulders, hollows of his collarbones. All the strength and mass of his war-honed body. Puts his weight on one arm, raises the other hand. Cautious, ready to withdraw if she does -- touches her face, holds her chin gently. Thumb finds the faint little cleft in her chin. Some reason this puts a faint little smile on his face.
Fades a moment later. Wolf's serious; green of his eyes dimly aglimmer in the faltering light of those old lamps.
"I like you," he says, low. "Wouldn't hurt you if I could help it. Wouldn't have a laugh at your expense or set you up to make a fool of yourself either.
"And I like how you dress. I like how you look. I like how you look at me sometimes. With that little smirk. All bold and challenging and full of secrets. I like that you're secretly not so brave as you pretend."
Wolf's hand falls away. Slow drop. Backs of his fingers skimming her throat to her collarbone, and then he sets his palm back on the bed. Looks at her a little longer.
"I think you're crazy hot." Shrugs. "And that's all I got to say right now."
witchBeach tomorrow. In the sunlight, which they missed most of today. Sit on the sand. Go in the sea. Together this time. Maybe she'll wear something this time.
He lifts up and she looks like she might startle off: somehow those eyes are so large, so luminous, yet do not seem awkward on her narrow face. She watches him, her heart skipping once, watching him carefully as he approaches her, and touches her, and rests his thumb on her chin. Her lips are parted a little, as if in reflex to that spot. She does not pull away. She watches him, wondering why he smiles, wary of him. Only warier, strangely, as that smile drifts from his mouth.
What he says, she has heard before -- at first. She knows he likes her. Didn't think he did at all, at first. Then she was so certain of it that being rebuffed left her mortified. Wasn't sure, for a while. Then started to feel comfortable in it, and that more than anything has led to her current state: shifting, confused,
frightened.
--
But he wouldn't laugh at her expense. Wouldn't make a fool of her. Likes her clothes. Likes to look at her.
She thinks she knew that. That last bit. His looks give so little away: no boyish smile, no frequent lip-licking, no open leering, no fond sweet gaze of a romantic young man. Just looks at her sometimes, his eyes fixed on her, following her, moving over her. Not like he devours her with his eyes. Not like he undresses her with them. Whatever distance is open between them when he looks at her feels like it closes, narrows, senses sharpening.
She knows she didn't know the rest. Frowns at him when he says she's not as brave as she pretends, her brows giving a tight little furrow together, even if he says he likes it.
His hand leaves her chin. She's still frowning, but uncomfortably, and she slowly folds her arms around her middle, hands wrapping at her elbows, hugging herself a bit. His hand touches her throat and it makes her heart slam, that wariness and fright growing even more confused by his nearness, warmth, gentleness, lust,
subtle dominance.
--
Devon's throat moves as she swallows. She glances away, then very quickly looks back to him, meets his eyes. They look at each other
a little longer.
--
What he says next makes her huff a laugh, just air through her nostrils, lips closed. She is not smiling but she is almost smiling at that, and looks down to avoid it. Does a little navel-gazing, though it's his belly she's looking at. Lifts her face once more, after a few moments. Looks like she's thinking, then.
--
Very quietly, and with only a little light on in that humid little cabin with the dusty plaster and creaking bed, she unfolds her arms and untucks the towel from around her torso, still straddling his lap. Unwraps it to either side of her body, not really looking at him then, and then tosses it aside, letting it land on a chair. She runs her fingers through her hair, still quite damp but no longer utterly saturated, and as those long pale fingers stroke through that long dark hair, her eyes find his again.
wolfmanWolf's got that look again when girl looks back at him. Intent. Intense. Laser-focused. Hungry. Hunting.
--
For a while there in the middle it was different. Different when she frowned. Different when she hugged herself like she had to protect herself from him. Doesn't she know he'd protect her? Maybe she doesn't trust it. Doesn't trust him. Wolf wouldn't blame her. Sometimes his instincts run so raw, so red, so close to the surface that he can't trust himself.
Backs of his fingers across her throat. Wasn't a threat -- wasn't anything he could've named, but maybe she got it right. Subtle dominance. Something so instinctual he didn't even think of it.
He's a wolf.
She's a soft, fangless, fleeting thing.
Some things are natural. Dark, and a little disquieting. But natural. Girl ought to know that herself, witch that she is. Roots in the wet earth, as she is.
--
For a while there girl was looking away. Looking at his stomach, and see: he wasn't lying. There's a mole there, small but dark, midway between nipples and navel, couple inches off the midline.
Then simply looking away. Looking somewhere else, though not out of bashfulness. Sort of disconnection. Like her mind's a million miles away. Wolf didn't know how to put that in words but he likes that too. That sometimes she looks like she's out of reach. Can never be touched. But then,
then she unwraps the towel and tosses it aside. Motion of her arm's almost languid. Fingers through her dark hair, dark hair down her pale back.
Girl's got that look again too. Pale skin and lucid eyes. Just the faintest touch of pink beneath her skin and her freckles. Like maybe she's translucent. Like maybe she's not quite real. Like maybe he can look right down to her nerves and her capillaries; never quite find her scent or her soul.
--
They stare at each other.
Room breathes with them.
--
Then he puts his hands on her body. Just like that; no preamble. He straightens up, axial musculature tensing subtly to hold his balance. Big hands a warm slow rush up her sides. Wolf's literally twice her size when they're naked like this, and his hands nearly cover her narrow body.
His eyes fall from hers to watch the progress: hands sliding slow over her ribs, fingers outstretched and held taut, a few millimeters from her skin. Just the broad calloused surfaces of his palms against her skin. Then he's at her breasts. Then his fingers curve and cup; his hands too. He lifts her breasts gently, the frame of his hands a cradle that leaves her nipples exposed. Tightening. Wolf's brow tightens too, like the very sight of her twists something inside him. Makes him ache.
Wolf lifts her body to his lips. Licks her nipples and sucks at her, lets her slip from his hot mouth to raise his head. To kiss her mouth. Arms wrapping around her now, enormous and encompassing and warm, her body brought flush against his.
Not quite lust, this. Not quite the same thing. Stranger and more tender. Drenching, drowning, but when the wolf leans back, tumbles softly down with the girl, it's only to hold her against his chest. His hands and his arms covering her back. Her nakedness shielded away.
witchDoes it mean anything if she knows he's hunting her? That she always knows when he's watching her? Does it mean she really is brave -- so there, Rafa -- that she exposes herself and runs her fingers through her hair when he is staring at her that way?
Does it mean anything at all, the way she looks back at him? Soft, fangless, fleeting thing that she is. Fleeing thing. Finds her in the woods and she ignores him; finds her in the woods and she eventually looks right at him.
Knows he's there.
Knows what he is.
Knows, too, that he has to hunt her by sight and sound; if she vanishes, without noise or trace, he may never find her again.
May doubt she was ever real.
--
Devon does not have the patience for his hands, or his fascination with her body. He sits up, running those heavy palms up her sides, and she leans forward, closer to him. Frowns when he takes his eyes from hers to look at her flesh, to watch his hands covering her breasts. She lets him cradle them, briefly, perhaps not so long as he'd like, and then she touches his wrists. She draws his hands upward,
til his fingertips graze her jaw.
Looks him in the eye again. Leans forward, watching him, only closing her eyes at the last moment. Kisses him like that, her arms sliding around his neck as his arms wrap around her body, pull her up against his own.
She is still kissing him when he lays back, slowly and deeply. Can still hear the waves outside. Smell the sea.
Her arm slips between their bodies. She tugs, and she pushes, and lifts her hips to unwrap the towel from his waist. Brings her body back to touch his, soft thighs on his, as her mouth moves down to his neck.
Kisses him there. Feels the molten heat go through him, relax him and awaken his nerves at once. Feels how he responds, with her tongue along his throat.
Subtle dominance.
And hunting.
wolfmanSometimes it's like wolf's never had a woman before. Way he touches her. Way he looks at her. Way he marvels over her -- if that's even the word. Broods over her, maybe. Can't be that though, so maybe it's just: he's never had a woman like her before.
Girl like her. Skinny, wild, dream-haunting thing like her.
Girl doesn't sit still for inspection, though. Girl gives him a couple moments but then girl draws his hands, his eyes, his attention up. Shows him where to put his hands, wraps her arms around him. Wolf kisses her like it's the only natural recourse. They lay back together. Girl unwraps him like a gift, or an offering. Wolf's mouth breaks from hers and the tendons in his neck stand out as he looks down his body.
Her slender hands. The muscular landscape of his torso. The thin worn towel laid to either side; his cock laid against his body. Half-erect already when she sank into his lap. Achingly hard now, thick and hot; skin velvet-clean from his shower.
Wolf lays himself back down. Girl licks his throat. Wolf's eyes open and glittering; his hands grasping at her body. Ass. Back. Sinks his fingers into her hair, only damp now; locks sleek and slippery between his fingers. Could grip her hair, could try to pull her up like that. Doesn't. Not this time.
Cups her head instead. Urges her back up, up. Kisses her mouth soon as she's in reach, eyes closing, murmuring something into her mouth. Unintelligible. Wolf's arm wraps around her waist. Wolf nips at her lips, draws back. Head on the mattress, folds in the sheets a halo around him. Wolf's biting his own lip now, looking at her. Skinny thing atop him, though she doesn't even begin to cover him. Legs open over him. Wolf reaches down, watches her while he touches her. Strokes open those soft,
tender parts of her, and now he's licking his lips, he's lifting his head to kiss her again, soft and open-mouthed and distracted. Distracted because he's touching her. Distracted because of the way she feels. Distracted because he's taking his cock in hand, and now he's stroking the head of it against her, up and down along her slit. Can hardly tell whose wetness it is after a while, which is when he starts to pull her down to take him in.
witchShe's not being still on top of him. Kisses his neck, licks his throat. Is drawn, gentler than he has to be, back to his mouth. And all the while her hands are stroking him. Her fingertips run up his arms, the backs of her knuckles over his biceps. Her palms caress his chest, are hungry as they smooth over the ridges of his abdomen. And all the while, her body is stroking him, too. She parts her thighs slightly over his, just enough for his cock to rub against her mound. She opens her mouth for a quiet gasp at that, feeling his hands tighten on her ass, his teeth on her lips. Her legs open farther, as though of their own accord; his hand slips between her legs, silent as an assassin.
Devon moans as he touches her. They both kiss like that: distracted, loose, slow,
and eager.
Moan becomes a whimper, as he takes himself in hand. He's so heavy, pressing against her like that. She lifts her hips, welcoming him. So very thick. So very hard. She makes those soft little noises behind her lips, aching. Occasionally one of those sounds opens her mouth, uses her voice, makes her almost say a word: a yes or a god or maybe his name. All she can do is lose herself in the touch, in his body under hers, in whatever this is and however it is that it makes her feel so much better.
"Rafa," she does say, murmuring it, finally, as the velvet head of his cock strokes against the equally silken opening of her body. His hand, which feels so enormous right now, curves over her ass, her hip, guiding her, as though she would need guidance. She could find him in the dark. She could find her way to this if she were blind.
She kisses him, opening for him, easing slowly onto his cock with these little rolls of her hips, these little arrested slides of her body, as though she wants to fuck him a little on each stroke, each inch, before she takes him any farther.
Devon doesn't fuck him right away, though. Once he's sunken into her she holds him like the sea with its prizes of lost ships and lost men. Holds him there deeply, darkly, with no more motion than the rhythms of her body. She wonders if he can feel her heartbeat like this. She closes her eyes, her brow to his chest, her arms and her legs wrapped all around him, her body holding him, and she's such a small thing but she does somehow seem to surround him.
wolfmanMaybe girl expects him to flip over any second. Turn her under him, plow her like it's his business in life to do so. Wouldn't blame her if she expected that. Some historical basis to it, after all.
Wolf doesn't, though. Wolf is shiveringly still; just the faintest subdermal quiver in those broad slopes and expanses of muscle that her hands explore. One knee draws up a little as she's taking him into her cunt. One hand -- the one not covering her back, her ass -- grasps a handful of sheets. Wolf closes his eyes, mouth losing its way mid-kiss. Wolf exhales short and shuddering when girl finally goes still,
finally has him all inside of her,
finally has his body wrapped up in hers as much as she can. Opens his eyes, then. Wraps his arms around her. Runs his hands over her back, shoulderblades to hips, to thighs, to knees. Touches her as far down as his hands can reach, thinking briefly and illogically of her toes. They get cold.
Then his hands slide back up. Come to a rest holding her waist. Her long, narrow body. Wolf ends up wrapping his arms around her again after all. Holds her right there, right there.
Remarkable to lie with her like this. Remarkable to sense the invisible currents of her body. Remarkable to feel how she surrounds him, somehow, even as he envelopes her in his arms. Her arms tucked between his biceps and his sides. Her hands slid under the heavy plates of his shoulderblades. Her thighs hugging his sides, her soft underbelly to his; her pussy opening to him, stretching to him, as tight around him as her winding limbs.
Their bodies speak, each to each in the stillness. Rise of his chest, and hers. Beat of his heart, and hers. Small, involuntary movements of his cock inside her, and the way sometimes it'll make his breath catch.
--
Girl seems at once vulnerable and brave, wolf thinks. To let him in like this. To surround him like this. Seems at once fragile and resilient; something easily hurt but almost impossible to break. Tender, and a survivor.
--
Some time passes, and then wolf's hands on her hips again. Drawing her up, a long silken slide. Her body brushing over his. Her cunt slipping off his cock, until they've nearly separated. Until she's over him, face to face, and he's lifting to kiss her,
kisses her as he lowers her down again. Moves into her, smooth and deep, fills her full once more. Wolf's gentle with her this time. His hands supporting her; strength of that body tightly leashed. Wolf's careful with her because she's vulnerable and fragile and tender. But wolf doesn't shy away from the act, the coupling, the mating. Doesn't hold back. Because she's also brave, and resilient, and a survivor. Gives it to her, every inch, every ounce, every iota of his strength and intensity. That almost frightening focus that his entire universe seems to collapse down to when they're like this. Eyes are on hers, locked, as he draws her up again. And down. Sets a rhythm, kindles a fire. Leans up to kiss her, again and again, nipping at her mouth, biting at her lip, her chin.
Pulls her tight against his chest when he starts lifting into her in counterpoint. When he starts meeting her, stroke upon stroke. Not a fast, hard pounding; not this time. Patient and deliberate and grinding and, yes, a little rough. But tender, too, in that unspeakable way that seems to exist transiently in the silence between them. Holds her now, as though he could hold her together against the union of their bodies. Hold her together while he slowly fucks her senseless, asunder.
witchThey almost never speak when they're like this. Not that theirs is a silent affair, determinedly stoic. But those sounds they make rarely translate into actual words. Sometimes a name will slip out from between her lips, or his. Sometimes she wishes he would talk to her. More often, she is grateful that he doesn't. Most often, she is afraid she'll break some compact she's made in secret with him, or with herself, and say too much.
--
She doesn't expect anything right now. Right now she holds him, laying against him and on top of him, hoping only that he'll let this pass for a while. Let her feel him like this, without asking why, without wanting to know why she might want to just hold him like this.
There is also some historical basis for her believing that he will relax, and let her have what she wants sometimes. She moves her hand over his arm gently, once more, before wrapping it under him, arms tucked beneath his heavy body. And she breathes against him, with him, as he wraps his arms around her. Rubs his palms over her: body and joints, like she might get cold.
Warm here, though. Warm in the cabin, warm in this bed, warm bodies from a warm shower. Warm outside, too. Her toes aren't quite cold. She's forgotten by now how cold it is in Denver, though if she tried to remember, she could create that cold anew in herself.
She knows how to do magic, after all.
--
He's the one who starts to move. Moves her, really. She opens her eyes, drowsily, and looks at him as he pulls her up. Is leaning over to kiss him as he raises his head to kiss her, and they collide there as her hips roll, as she sinks down over him again. She knows what his hands are wanting; she takes over from there. Takes over, a little, how much of him she can take, or wants to take. Her hands move to his chest. Makes him chase her with his body, lifting into her.
She makes a sound, just beyond a sigh, into his mouth.
--
And this is how it is. His body pressing into hers and his hands urging her along; her body moving as it will and her hands holding him back. He doesn't fuck her senseless or asunder. She doesn't want to be senseless, mindless. She doesn't want to be fucked numb or fucked to caterwauling. She never wants to be fucked asunder, torn apart, stripped down, laid bare, shattered, broken. If his arms around her or his mouth kissing her is all that stands between her and falling apart, the truth right now is that she wouldn't fuck him anymore.
He's moving her but that doesn't last, unless he tries to force it. She doesn't want him to move her. She does kiss him, and she rides him, and he flexes his hips to meet her there, and they don't say anything. Because there is nothing to say. Or too much, and neither of them can bear to say any of it.
wolfmanSo that's how it is.
Wolf's hands urging girl along. At least until she doesn't want to be urged anymore. Moves herself, slow and lithe; and he meets her. Called coupling for a reason. It takes two. Two bodies, two hearts, two breaths, two mouths that can't seem to stop kissing.
What they do takes the place of what they might not -- or worse, might -- say. What they do here, in this stark little room at the edge of a continent, edge of an ocean, edge of the world. Lights on but so dim. Ocean outside, whispering against the sandy shore.
Girl's hair whispering over the sheets. Her skin whispering over his. Mattress creaking beneath them just about the only other side. Even her moans are quiet. They go a little harder, but not much faster. His hands grasp at her waist, her hip, if she starts to. Wolf says the only thing he says this whole time, if she starts to:
"Slowly."
So: slow. Slow, and hypnotic, and winding, and sinuous. Wolf's breath pants out of his lung every time she comes down. Wolf's body flexes under hers, rolls like the sea. Meets her every time. Wolf's hand pulling hers to his mouth. Kiss her palm, lick her fingers. Pull her down to him again. Kiss her mouth.
--
Girl comes like a wave to shore. Maybe there's a point of genesis but wolf can't see it. Suddenly it's there, suddenly it's upon her. Suddenly she's molten and afire, she's riding him and she's clenching him and he's got his hands on her waist. Holds her, watching her face. Gives it to her just as deep, just as slow, just as deliberate, motion upon motion, stroke upon stroke.
Eyes falling closed only near the end. Brow furrowing. Arms wrapping around her, suddenly, furiously tight. Lifts her almost off the mattress when he rises up into her,
rolls her under at last,
fucks his own climax into her, heavy and sure. Grinding on those last few thrusts, a subtle tremor under his skin.
--
Silent after that. Breathing harshly, heart pounding. Saying nothing, though. Covering her body with his now, the tousled sheets under them both.
Ocean still sliding against the shore outside, a rhythm uninterrupted. After a while wolf rubs his face against the side of hers. Against her neck, against her shoulder.
Big hand smoothing down her thigh. Drawing her leg a little closer around him.
witchCan't seem to stop kissing. He started it. He isn't always the one keeping it going. But she's shy about it, strangely, if shy is the right word. It's more likely, most of the time, that he'll be the one who touches her face or leans over to her mouth. Except times like this. One kiss flows into the next until it's easy to forget and doesn't matter at all who starts anything; they just keep kissing.
And when she starts moving faster on him, gasping softly, it's been a long time. He holds her, stilling her, tells her slowly, and she pants out a breath. She tries to go slowly. She does. But it only lasts so long before she's murmuring into his mouth, something plaintive, something like
I need it and then it's a little faster. No less hypnotic. The headboard is thumping, but slowly, steady as a heartbeat, as she wraps herself around him, holds him as she comes. Wavelike, trancelike, her mouth certain on his, her breathing as uncertain as it can become. She's delirious by the end, detached from her body and yet deeply grounded inside of it. Her kiss grows biting; her moaning is helpless, and ferocious, all at once.
She almost can't bear it, when he lifts up into her. Whimpers, and then is welcomed by the bed beneath her. Some part of her feels, is aware of, Rafael fucking her like that. Aware of his orgasm, aware of his body. Still, in some other ways, lost in her own.
--
She is hiding her toes under his thighs. She is shivering a little, pulling her thigh from his hand when he tries to wrap her around himself. She burrows, instead, hiding feet under his legs, hands between their bellies, her face against his shoulder. Hides, like that, until her breathing comes back to her. Steadies. Simplifies.
And then she lifts her hips. It's a little bit of a shove: off. Off.
wolfmanWolf stirs. He plants a hand on the mattress. Exhales a little, caught in his throat, when he draws out of her.
Wet. Semi. Flicker of memory to this morning; amusement doesn't quite surface before it dies. Wolf rolls aside, stares at the ceiling for a while. Then looks over at girl. Hint of question in his brow, his eyes.
witchOff, her body says, though she doesn't bother with words. She wiggles a little as he slides out of her. Her eyes are open now; she looks down at him, then over at him, as he moves to the side of the bed, which is narrower than either of them are used to -- lately -- but has not seemed all that crowded. At least: when he isn't sprawled about. Like he sort of is now.
She slowly sits up, propped up on her elbows, and looks back at him.
Hint of a question.
She quirks a brow and doesn't answer, but gets up.
Walks, naked and tousled, to the bathroom.
--
Comes out a few minutes later. Went pee, as she might say. Washed up. Runs her fingers through her hair again and then crawls back into bed, over him, still sweaty. Lays herself out beside him, tucked between his arm and his side. She breathes in deep, and sighs her exhale.
Maybe, if she is still and quiet and soft and comfortable and does not look at him,
he will not say anything else. And then they can just sleep. Without talking. Without thinking.
wolfman[KAHSEENO, DO YOU STILL LOVE ME? empafee!]
Dice: 3 d10 TN6 (2, 4, 7) ( success x 1 )
witch[Feeling much better than she did earlier, because orgasms are really helpful when it comes to mood. Doesn't want talking. Shhh.]
wolfmanWolf rises on an elbow when girl gets up.
Doesn't follow her though.
--
Girl's gone for a while. Water runs in the bathroom. That antiquated toilet flushes. Water runs some more and then door opens. Girl can feel wolf's eyes on her when she comes out. Comes back. Follows her across the room, and in this light that yellow wolf-hue is almost there.
She gets back in bed. He lays back as she runs her fingers through her hair. Wolf wonders if she knows, if she could possibly know, how fucking much she turns him on sometimes. Just the little things. Slim fingers through her hair. Winging of her shoulderblades when she undoes her bra. That sly little smirk of hers some mornings when he's eating cereal at the breakfast bar and she's strapping on big clomping boots to go out. Do her thing. Live her life. Tell her fortunes and weave her fates.
Wolf opens his arm for her when she comes close, and she tucks herself against his side just like she belongs there. Wolf takes a breath too, lets out that exhale.
Reaches up and flicks that bedside lamp off. Click and all is darkness.
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