her rafa.

witch

Maybe should bother her, him holding her close with that hand that was fucking her pussy, stroking off his cock. Doesn't bother her. Doesn't make her feel filthy. Sometimes her hands are stained green up above the fine bones of her wrist, botanical crud drying under her fingernails. In her herbalism, at least, Devon is a green witch, a hedge witch. She doesn't mind a little filth.

Doesn't mind him, right now. Holds him like she does, toes tucked under his calf, arm around his chest, brow close to his face, even though her skin is still flushed and sweaty from orgasm, even though he made a mess of himself.

He drops to sleep swift as a stone into water, there with her one moment and gone the next, his body and breathing steady.

He is not there to see how this affects her. How she looks at him, sleeping beside her. She wonders to herself, too, when they started this. When it stopped making her so nervous that she would rather slip away and sleep elsewhere than let him hold her through the night. It isn't just this flight of fancy they took to warmer weather during a suddenly frigid winter. Isn't just the fact that they get hotels with one bed in the room. It isn't just the fact that for most of this little jaunt she's seemed all but starved for him.

Something else. Which also makes her heart flip over when he promises to be gentle, promises to be good to her. Which also makes her watch over him while he sleeps now.

Her eyes close and she rests her head against him but she does not sleep. Dozes, a little, so that when he does stir again, he finds her eyes opening easily, finding his.

His torso is sticky. Girl is warm, with a faint coolness to the surface of her skin from the evaporating sweat on her shoulders, her back, her neck. They are a bit stuck together, arms wound around each other, her belly against his side.

She sees his eyes open. She sees him glance down, around, over her, wherever his eyes go.

"Hi," she says, softly, slowly.

wolfman

Not out for long. Ten, twenty minutes. Enough to drop into deep sleep; not enough to dream. Wakes with a tiny little startle, the way animals do. Girl can see him looking around, corners of the room, down the length of his body. Figuring out where and when and why.

Looks at her when she greets him. Faint stitch to his brow clears. Wolf's chest fills under her arm. He takes a breath that is, in and of itself, a sort of stretch. Body tightens and releases under her, moment by moment, muscle by muscle. That's a sort of stretch too.

"Hey." Wolf discovers his hand is still wrapped around her forearm. Loosely now. Fallen aside a bit. Sticky too, stuck. Wolf peels away, lifts his head, looks down his body. Dried sweat and dried cum. Makes a little sound of disgust at himself, uch.

Shifts, gets an elbow under himself. Turns toward girl and presses his brow to hers, his face to hers, nuzzles her quick and rough and affectionate. Sits up.

"Let's go shower. Came all over myself. Mess."

witch

That sound makes her grin. His little noise of disgust. That slashing, bright little smile wakes up her face a bit. She hugs him a bit tighter, arm over him like that. As though, in this odd little way, to tell him it's all right. She doesn't care.

She doesn't. It's true.

He shifts, and presses their brows together, which she thinks means he wants to wrap her up close but... well. Gross. Nuzzles her roughly and she lets her arm slide off of him as he sits up. He speaks choppily, and she touches his hand where it pushes into the mattress, and gently tries to tug him back. Closer. Come here. For a moment.

Even if he doesn't, though. She's looking at him, watching him. Murmurs: "It was hot."

Her finger traces a soft circle around the hard bone of his wrist. Wonders idly what that bone is called. Doesn't take her eyes off his.

"All of it."

wolfman

Couldn't possibly overpower him. Her fingers don't even meet around his wrist. Still she seems to arrest him, stop him in his tracks. Wolf's halfway to getting off the bed but he pauses. Turns, and then comes back.

Comes down over her, bracketing her in between his arms. Keeps his chest a couple inches from hers, though. Gross, and all. Mess, and all. Has that look on his face again, not a smile but softer all the same. A sort of warm darkness in his eyes.

"Yeah?" Wolf kisses her mouth. Light, barely more than a brushing of lips. Now there's a quirk on his mouth. Faint smirk. "Yeah well. Like I said. I think you're crazy hot."

Pushes up again. Pauses. Leans down on a whim, catches one of those pretty pink nipples ever, ever so delicately between his teeth. Flicks it with the tip of his tongue. Then finishes getting up, pushing up to his knees, sliding off the bed. Holds his hand out to her.

"Come on. Shower."

witch

Sure they do. She's got long fingers. He's not a tree trunk. She's not a vine.

Granted, when he puts his palms on her sides his fingertips very nearly touch along her spine. But nevermind that.

--

Devon rolls a little onto her back entirely, smiling up at him as he leans over her. Just smiling. It's not even a smirk. Her eyes are open, a little. Not for long. Her lashes don't fall but her eyes do close again, the way they always do, seeing other things, keeping them secret.

Her eyes really do close, lashes falling and all, when he kisses her. Smiles a little into that, too, sinking into it deeper, more full, even if he just brushed his lips past hers. Lets him go, and he leans down over her breasts. Not a kiss. His teeth around her nipple. She breathes in, a little edge to it. Sighs, and the breath shivers at the touch of his tongue. These little reactions: flickers, hints, no more.

He rises, and she pushes up on her elbows as he does. Elbows to the mattress, then palms, and then one hand grasps his, firm and wrapping-round. Tugs a little as she slides off the bed beside him. Looks him over.

"You are a little gross," she informs him, and grins. Walks off to the bathroom.

Hasn't let go of his hand.

wolfman

Wolf gives girl a little tug up. Puts a little more spring into that step she takes out of bed. Hand stays in hers, grasp firm as hers, as she steps past him toward the bathroom. Wolf follows, pausing to flip an edge of the sheets back up on the bed.

There's the mirror again. There's that bag she threw into the corner of the counter. Towels folded neatly on the rack; floor mat folded over the edge of the tub. Wolf lets her hand go. While she steps into the shower he lays the mat on the ground, picks the little bottles of shampoo and conditioner out of the amenities basket. Bar of soap too. And two small handtowels.

Joins her, sliding the curtain closed behind himself. By then she's got the water on, warming. Wolf gathers her up and turns her around, puts his back to the shower, turns it on. First cold blast on his spine makes him curse, but it warms quick enough. He peels the soap open. Hands it to her while he himself picks up the shampoo and uncaps it.

"Your mom tell you where we're going in Brazil yet?"

witch

Spring, hop, and she's up, walking with him to the bathroom. She feels him tug her back, unintentional, while he is flipping sheets back over the mattress. For some reason. Looks back at her and finds her wearing this amused little smile. Tugs on him. Takes him with her to the bathroom with that smile.

He gets out the mat; she leans over and turns on the water, cranks the shower on. She doesn't get in while it's warming up. She reaches over, scritching her fingernails lightly over his lower back, mindlessly. It's not the nicest hotel they've stayed in, or might yet stay in, but it's enough that the water doesn't take too long to heat up.

Rafael all but hefts her up to lift her feet over the edge of the tub, and Devon laughs. She sets her feet down, his back to the water, his arms around her, her back on his chest. And she doesn't move at first. Water starts to run over his shoulders and onto her, and he asks her a question.

Shakes her head. "Forgot to ask. I'll give her a call later." Takes the soap but doesn't want it yet; looks at him opening the shampoo. Furrows her brow.

"I suddenly can't remember if we've showered together or not. We have, right?"

wolfman

Wolf's pretty businesslike in the shower. Sets about wetting his hair. Has his eyes closed, head tilted back directly into the spray. Thin jets of water blasting into thick black. Opens his eyes when girl speaks. For some reason it puts a faint little smile on his face.

"Yeah. Just the once. In Mexico. Shower was about," wolf makes a box with his hands, "this big."

witch

She grins. She stays right where she is, waiting for the shampoo -- and the water, really, which takes more time to wet all of her thick hair.

"Right," she says. Closes her eyes, leaning against him. "I can't remember if we fucked in there or not. We didn't, right?"

This time she's not really being truthful.

wolfman

Wolf takes half a step back, instinctively, when girl starts to lean against him. All gross. She doesn't seem to mind, though. After a moment he puts an arm around her.

Girl innocently asks a question. Wolf smirks.

"We didn't," he confirms. "You asking because you don't remember, or 'cause you wanna now?"

witch

They're in the shower. He's tacky and hasn't washed yet. She doesn't mind, or care. She snuggles to him, stealing some of the water running down his body.

He confirms what she already knows. And she sighs softly, and rubs her ass softly, very very slowly, against him.

"Oh, I just didn't remember," she answers. Lies.

wolfman

"Oh really."

Ridiculous how quick he rouses to her. One of those slow sliding rubs and there's heat in his loins. Two and he's hardening against her. Three and his arms are around her, firm, hotter somehow than the water. One hand makes its way down. Cups her between her legs, pads of his fingers seeking out that clit he so recently got so well acquainted with.

"I like your cunt," he decides to tell her. Has her wrapped up in his arms now. Has his mouth by her ear, muttering indistinctly at best. "Tender."

witch

Ignores that o rly of his. She gets him hard instead; focus on that. Rubs her ass against his cock until he's pulling her close to his body, reaching between her legs. He finds her; she makes one of those quick, small noises at the back of her mouth, breathy and needful.

Keeps rubbing. Encourages him, with those movements of her hips, to stroke her pussy. All over again.

Tells her this blunt, obvious thing. She sighs, not even laughing: "I like your dick." Her feet wiggle apart, opening her thighs a bit. Reaches down, between them, and guides that dick she says she likes between her legs. Holds it right there against her body, grinding on it a little while he teases her clit.

Probably could come up with more words. Tell him what else she likes. Tell him the little thoughts she had when she saw that sheen of precum on his cock, really go into detail about how aroused it made her to watch him stroke himself off, all of that, but she doesn't.

She just leans forward, placing her forearms against the tiled wall, widening her stance.

wolfman

Knows what to do then. Doesn't have to wonder, doesn't have to ask. Girl leans forward and wolf follows. No space at all opens up between them. Just his body thick and hard behind her, over her. Chest to her back, covering her.

And the fronts of his thighs to the backs of hers. His hand still between her legs; his arm still around her. Keeps holding her up even if she's leaning against the wall now. Strokes her with his fingers while he rubs between her thighs; fucks her like that for a while, mindless and instinctive.

Until he's had enough of that. Until he's had enough of not being inside her. Then his teeth grip her shoulder. Growls against her skin the way he does, primitive. His hand loses her for a moment, just long enough to grab his cock by the base and push it into her. Slow and steady, opening her up. Has his hand back where it was, fingers teasing her clit, by the time he's halfway in. Strokes her, gentle and coaxing, while he fills her the rest of the way.

Lets go her shoulder when he's deep inside her. Kisses her neck. Has her tit in his hand, has her body all wrapped up in his; holds more of her weight than she does herself. Bears her against the cool wet tile, presses her cheek there between her hands, when he starts fucking her.

Tight, needful, hard fuck, this one. Bodies slapping together wet and rough. Hand gripping her body is ungentle and wanting. Hand on her clit is -- gentler, yes, but without much in the way of skill or finesse. Just does his best, even if it isn't much. Touches her while he fucks her. Fucks her like he's been waiting for it all night. Which, in a way, he has.

witch

By the time Devon leans over, she's ready for him. Wanting him. Doesn't blame him for just rubbing it on her, though. Doesn't mind that, either. Likes the way he feels. Likes the way he folds over her, covers her, filthy as they both still are. Likes the way he goes on playing with her, but even after a few moments she opens her thighs just a little more, lifts her hips just a little more, as though to tell him

now. rafa. it's okay.

No: that's out loud. Those four words whispered, gasped, louder against the tile than they should be, yet still muffled by the water. His teeth sink into her. He pushes into her and she moans, arching her back. Her body constricts around his in small, wet waves even as his cock is still sliding forward; that's his hand. That's what he's doing to her.

She makes that sound again, the one she made earlier when he first touched her. Her hands curl a little against the tile. Feels so close to him right now, like this. Arms wrapped all around her, teeth in her like that. She can feel his breathing. He can feel her heartbeat, when he touches her breast, holds it in his hand. He presses her forward, til her face starts to touch the wall, and she pushes back.

Sort of hot, that, in its way. The hard grind of their bodies together. She doesn't know if he finds the resistance itself hot, though, and isn't wondering hard about it: it's not meant as a turn-on. It's meant as a signal. Not to be slammed into, or to have to press her face to the wall, maybe not to be quite so tight, or so hard, or so rough.

Wet, though, yes. Needful: absolutely.

But Devon resists, wordlessly, that sort of animal rutting that he seems to want right now. She looks back at him, silent for a moment but lips parted to breathe. Truth be told, she does have to fight a small rise of frustration, or something like it: maybe it shows in her eyes, but it doesn't overtake her.

wolfman

Attuned enough for this much: when she resists, he feels it. Stops. Stops pushing her against the wall, anyway. Stops going at her quite so mindlessly, blindly.

Truth is he is a rutting beast, sometimes. Truth is sometimes she doesn't mind, but more often: she does. Girl's not just some warm wet hole he can stick his dick in. Girl's not just some uncomplaining, spineless thing that'll let him do whatever.

Not his whore either. That's not what this is about. Never has been. On either side.

So: she resists. He pauses. Lets her go a bit, and now there's room enough for her to turn and look at him. Room enough for him to meet her eyes over her shoulder. Wolf's frowning a bit, trying to read her. Trying to get it, and then maybe he does. Rubs his hands over her back. Puts his hands on her waist. Leans over her again, slowly. He's still inside her. He moves deeper, gentler now, wrapping his arms around her again.

Kisses her over her shoulder. Eyes open, lashes sweeping lower at the moment of contact. It's a light, tasting kiss. Almost delicate. His hand finds her, touches her again. Makes her clench inside the way she does. That's a sort of magic too: his body and hers, and the invisible net of nerves under her skin.

"Okay," wolf says, low, when the kiss parts. She hasn't said anything but he's read something from her. Those eyes. That body. He strokes her, touches her. Tips of his fingers so delicate: sliding between the folds of her labia, brushing over that impossibly sensitive focus of her clit. "Okay," again, softer. Moving in her again. Heavy and deep, but slow; felt. Watches her as he fucks her, hand and cock, body, mind.

witch

His face stares at hers, trying to understand. Even with -- to be blunt, crude, vulgar, honest -- his dick is throbbing in her cunt. Her pussy is undulating gently on his cock. Not easy to communicate like that. Not easy, at all, to think clearly. She bites her lip a little, and after a moment, he runs his hands over her. She sighs, relaxing a bit again, smiling as he leans over her, closer to her. Smile widens a bit as he wraps his arms around her body, kisses her face because her head isn't turned so far anymore.

"You feel good," she murmurs, even before he's touched her again. Even before he's doing what he does, almost every time, like he can't help it. Like he wants it to be good for her. Like he wants to show her that he'll be gentle. Like all of the above, maybe.

She turns her head a little more; meets his kiss fully now. Lushly. Is still seeking it when he draws back. She opens her eyes, watching him, and tightening up when he touches her clit one more time. She breathes, and nods, and turns her head, hands and arms against the tile,

fucking back against him.

wolfman

Would be easier to fuck her all-out if he were standing upright. Holding her by the hips, slamming into her. Would be easier, and maybe even come to him a little more naturally. That sort of fuck. That sort of careless, reckless, brutish coupling.

Stays close to her, though. It's a conscious decision. A choice. To stay close. To be close. To be a little bit tender, even if it's not in his nature. To not be a brute.

So: she braces her arms on the tile. He kisses her shoulder. She meets him stroke for stroke. He runs his hands over her body, her abdomen, her sides. Cups her breasts in his hands as he fucks her, and let's be honest: it's a hard fuck, it's fast and, yes, it's a little rough. But it's not mindless. It's not brutal. It's not reckless or careless. He cares that it's her. He cares that she enjoys it. He cares enough to try to make it good for her,

be good to her,

be gentle as he can.

Has his hand between her thighs even when he starts really giving it to her. Has his hand on the wall too, then, fingers splayed wide for traction. Tip of his thumb brushes her pinky, and then: then he slides his hand under hers. Her fingers grip his wrist instead. Back of his hand. Her fingers grip between his fingers, and now he's kissing her, biting at the side of her neck, rubbing his face indiscriminately against her skin. Growls in her ear, ferocious and wanting, as he pounds into her and -- holds. Grinds. Fondles her while she winds back against him, rides back onto his cock. Rubs her clit as they slow it down, bring it down, fuck deep and slow standing there in the shower. Fucks her like he wants to get her off,

which he does,

and like he wants to get off with her. Come inside her. Come with that gorgeous lean body of hers pressing back against his; that hot little cunt of hers still pulsing around him as she quakes through the last of her orgasm.

Which he does. Want, that is. He wants these things. That closeness. The raw, unfiltered, base connection of body to body.

witch

They've both already come tonight. He got her off. He got himself off. It's late enough that they could have just tidied up and gone to sleep. That's where they were headed anyway, when they were looking at their passports. She was in those little panties, that loose tank. He was in his shorts. They might have even just gone to bed before fucking, before sex of any kind. Brush teeth, wash up, and sleep. But here's the thing: this isn't something they owe to each other. This isn't something they even always expect of each other. She knows he wasn't expecting to get fucked in the shower when they stepped in. She hopes he knows that she wouldn't have pushed, if he didn't want to, if he was tired, if he just wanted to get clean and curl up with her.

She thinks that if he didn't have such a fucking hot body she might not be climbing onto him so often on this trip. If the weather weren't so warm, leaving him bared so often, right out where she could see him. If it didn't fill her with muted aggravation and bewildering tenderness to wake up beside him in the car and discover that he's kept on driving well past the agreed-upon stop where he was supposed to wake her and let her take over. If he weren't so blunt, and plainspoken, and deceptively normal, strangely familiar, that she finds herself laughing around him when she doesn't mean to.

And she hopes he knows he doesn't always have to be tender and gentle and soft-soft-soft and pleading. She hopes he doesn't get bored with her, fed up with her. She hopes he actually likes her.

These are, strangely as it seems, some of the things she thinks about while she's fucking him. While he lifts her breast in her hand and makes those soft noises of his own, that groan under his breath. While their bodies find this rhythmic, eager meeting place over and over and over. Her hair, still partly dry, swings past her shoulders in time with his thrusts. There's a weirdly cute little slapping sound every time her ass bounces against him. There's a feverish flush to her cheeks as she gets closer, as he's fucking her harder, growling like that, their hands held tight together against the wall.

She's crying out. Bounces off the tile, echoes in his ears and in her own. She's fucking him much faster now, grinding on every few thrusts, til he slows, stroking her off, making her whimper. Can't tell what he's thinking: that he wants her to come. That he wants to come when she does. That he wants to feel her all around him like that, coming, like before only closer, much closer.

--

It feels like it starts at the base of her spine. Doesn't so much climb up to her mind as it flowers outward, over her hips, tightening them up. Rises up like a wave from here, her body going tight but not still. He can see the shuddering in her shoulderblades, the quivering. He can see her when she presses to the tile -- ironic, that -- with her cheek against it like she's seeking the coldness or simply can't feel it. Her closed eyes. Her open mouth. That blissful upturn of her lips, like she's being caught in a laugh for that orgasm, like it surprises and delights her all at once. Her pleasure wraps around her as much as Rafael does, feels like it owns her belly and her breasts and her thighs, curls her toes in the swirling water.

wolfman

Wanted to make her come.

Wanted to come with her.

That's what he thought, anyway. That's what he was going for, holding back for, touching her for. But god, then --

then she comes. Comes like that, like a flower opening, like a detonation so far away there's no sound, only light. Something about the quiver of her shoulderblades fills him with ... what? Something dreadful and terrifying: tenderness, maybe. Protectiveness. Something dangerously close to adoration.

And he's just holding her then. He's just holding her, wrapping his arm around her, clasping her back against his body. Touching her, grinding into her, working that orgasm out of her with his fingers, his hand, his mouth, his cock. His entire body. Every inch offered up on the altar of her pleasure.

Girl comes almost without a sound this time. Is nothing but warm flesh and melting bones and shivers, afterward.

For a long while wolf just keeps her there. Holding her weight, keeping her between his body and the tile. Cock inside her is so hard; stretching her cunt, pulsing with his heartbeat. She can feel that too: his actual heartbeat, a deep thunder against her spine. Can feel his arm around her ribs, his hand still between her legs. Wolf's still touching her, rubbing her clit slower and slower and ever so gently

until she can't take even that anymore. Grasps his wrist, makes him stop.

--

Wolf kisses her then. Kisses her earlobe and behind her ear. Kisses her neck and her shoulder. Kisses her in these little, warm presses, here and there, a long trail of them like he's trying to rouse her from sleep with his affection.

Eventually he straightens a little. Draws out of her. It's a long, slow, careful slide. Even that much stimulation makes him hiss between his teeth. That final firm squeeze of her body around the head of his cock: it makes him shudder, make his whole body buck.

Wolf turns her around. Maybe girl thinks he's going to do something so awful as push her down, make her suck him off. Or maybe not. Maybe girl thinks better of him than that. Knows him better than that, because that's not what he does. At all.

What he does is wrap his arms around her. Gather her up. Lift her up, her wet toes trailing water. Steam all around them and shower beating down on their skin here and there as they pass through that cone of water.

Girl's back to the wall, then. Wolf's body hard against hers, snug to hers. Wolf's looking at her, watching her eyes. Watching to see if she's okay. If she can take it. If she can handle getting fucked

just one more time.

Takes his cock and fits it to her, when she's ready. Slides into her. Look in his eyes is melting, is dissolving, is disintegrating. He kisses her, and this time he kisses her mouth. Holds her with his arms taut against her sides; her ass in his hands. Holds her while he kisses her. Kisses her while he fucks her. Fucks her in these long, deep, grinding strokes, each building on the last -- intense, hypnotically slow, just a handful of thrusts, just a scatter of seconds before he's coming inside her, shuddering his orgasm into her, panting into that kiss with his brow furrowed, with his eyes closed.

--

Keeps holding her for a long time, after. Keeps kissing her for a long time, even if those kisses are inexact, loose, fraying apart at the edges.

witch

Not entirely without a sound. They're high and -- let's just be honest -- girlish. They're little gasps, more than anything. Sound joyful, more than anything. He made her feel good. He made her feel so good. And it goes on, and on, and in return she gives him a thoroughly wet dick. She's squirming after, enjoying his fingertip rubbing her little clit, making this sound in her throat like a chuckle, a laugh that shivers down through her. It's only when she turns to look at him again, eyes lazy and half-lidded, smiling at him, that she realizes

he is still hard as a rock inside of her. She's fumbling at his wrist, laughing softly, almost drunkenly, and he's leaning over her to kiss that laughing mouth. "Mmm," she says, or moans, seeking his mouth after he draws back -- again. Laughing softly, shivering as his kisses walk a path down her body. Devon squirms. She turns a bit, then, as though to brace her arms again so that Rafael can fuck her, fuck her until he comes, but he

slides out.

This is unexpected. She whimpers, on the edge of a moan, turning to look at him with a furrowed brow, an almost worried look, almost -- strangely -- hurt by it. What's wrong, she wants to ask, but doesn't. She's turning around as he moves away from her, and the truth is: his hands move to turn her even as she is starting to think of sliding down, getting on her knees, taking him in her mouth. It's not what she really wants. She wants him to come inside of her. She was a little sad that he didn't come with her just now. And he is picking her up and she realizes.

Wraps her legs and arms around him, watching his eyes, her own gaze alert now. Attentive. She leans forward to him, even before he's stepped forward to place her back against the wall. Kisses him. Her arms are wrapped around him so she can't hold his face but she kisses him deeply then, slowly, and if he enters her then she just gasps into his mouth, but doesn't stop kissing him. Moans softly into his mouth, but doesn't stop kissing him. Locks her ankles at the small of his back and holds onto his shoulders but never, never stops kissing him. Moans an answering pleasure when he comes inside of her,

while she's kissing him.

--

Some time goes by. They're kissing, still. She's holding him and both of them have their eyes closed. Their mouths keep straying, lazy and loose but soft and still tender. And she won't stop. She strokes her hands over his back but doesn't stop those loose, fraying kisses. There's an ache in her, right in the center of her, hiding behind her lowermost ribs. It hurts a lot. Kissing him doesn't soothe it so much as intensify it, but it also keeps her from looking it in the eye. Seeing it for what it is.

Knows they need to get clean. Finally wash the damn cum off his belly, at very least. But she goes on kissing him, softly like that. Slow lifts of her lips, slides of her tongue, sighs.

"Rafa," she murmurs, holding him close. Whispers: "My Rafa."

wolfman

Rafa.

Her Rafa.

Don't think that goes unnoticed. Don't think he's too far gone, mind too blown, to hear it. That one innocuous little pronoun: it registers.

Wolf opens his eyes. Dazed, ravaged, overcome as he is: he opens his eyes. Cadence of his breath changes for a second. Then he sinks back into her kiss. The moment.

--

Takes some time for them to unwind from each other. Wolf lifts girl up and slides out of her. Wolf sets her down, holding her by the waist while he kisses her again. They're always kissing each other. Funny, because the first time they fucked she thought maybe he didn't want to face her. Didn't want to kiss her. Didn't want her in his room, or his bed.

That shower's a slow, lazy, quiet thing. Wolf washes his hair and wolf washes his body. Wolf finally washes the cum off his stomach, the sweat off his back. Washes her wetness from his fingers. And his cock. That too.

She takes a bit longer. All that thick hair. His fingers are all wrinkled from soaking so long, though, so he covers her shoulders with his hands, kisses the side of her neck. Then he gets out. Bathroom is full of steam. Wolf brushes his teeth, dripping onto that bathmat which is really just a glorified towel. Dries himself on one of the hotel towels as he departs the bathroom.

Girl comes out a little later, wisps of steam curling along the carpet ahead of her. Wolf's already in bed by then, leaning against a couple pillows with one arm slung over his head. TV's on, sound is off. Wolf is watching the tail end of that soccer match. Blue team's ahead, 2-1, but white team's fighting to the bitter end.

Looks over when he hears her coming. Sees her. Pupils dilate; something about him sharpens, grows attentive. Wolf snaps the TV off and tosses the covers back for her.

--

They both know what she said. And she's quiet for it, tense, pulling back from the words. Their meaning.

Wolf doesn't say anything about it. Smart enough, at least, to know not to pull the bandage off that raw spot. Everyone says shit in the heat of the moment that they don't mean, or mean all too well. Wolf understands that better than most.

So. Just the covers drawn back for her. And the TV turned off, now that she was coming to bed. The wolf scooting down a little in bed as girl gets in, tossing one of the pillows behind his head over to the armchair.

Lights click off. Dark in the room, air conditioner fanning softly. Wolf reaches out in the blackness and pulls the girl close. Lays his jaw over her head for a moment, exhaling like a whuff. Then he lays back. Lies down. Tucks her close to his body, wraps the light blankets over her. Hot outside but this room is cool. Cool in the room, but he'll keep her warm.

Tomorrow they'll cross the border, he thinks. Can't remember if she grew up in Brazil or Portugal, or if she ever lived in either at all. Knows she lived in Britain at least for a while, or did he imagine that too? Hardly matters. She speaks the language. She has blood-relatives there, no matter how distant. In a way, it's a homecoming for her. And for him, he's seeing the world. Just like she said. With her at his side.

Skinny thing, he thinks, fondly. Devon.

His Devon.

Sleeps.