not the life of the party.

wolfman

[no be die :[ ]

wolfman

Front door thunks open.

Well past midnight. No rumble of garage door. Just a white Juke pulling up to the curb; wolf getting out. Coming up the drive. Unlocking the door, coming in.

Walking up the stairs. Heavy footsteps; vibrations in the spiral stairs. Halting at the top. Then a turn. Closer -- coming down the hall toward the bedroom at the front. Pause before the door. A rap of knuckles, gentle knock.

witch

Got back to the states. Slept a lot. Got used to the cold again. Got used to the place again. Fell back into routine again.

Routines like her readings, her brewing. Routines like occasional movies together. Him hunting. Her sleeping down the hall and not every night beside him every day napping in the car every morning brushing their teeth at the same sink. Kept to herself for the first week or so after they got back; she looked tired, she was quiet. Sometime over the weekend she came down the hall one evening. Didn't knock. Slipped into his room in the dark. Slipped into his bed. Didn't fuck him. Laid her head on his chest and he pawed a little at her hair; they slept.

--

It's late. She's still up. She's in the bedroom at the front, the messy place where she lives. Has lived. The door is open. Look around the corner, to the bathroom: she's standing at the sink, covered in its pots and bottles and tubes and so forth. She's putting on lip gloss. Has on that dark eye makeup, hair is back-combed and wild. Wearing black. Something short; studded belt so loose it just drapes on her hips. Fishnets. Boots. Presses her lips together, looks at him with those wide, luminous eyes when she sees him.

Lips smack apart a bit when she opens her mouth. Watches him a moment. Tips her head.

"Hi."

wolfman

Was thinking he'd find her asleep. Saw the light then, not just under her door but spilling through. Stands in her doorway anyway. All this time and he's never once walked in uninvited.

She invites him. Hi. And that pop! of her glossed lips. Girl looks so fucking good like that, he thinks. All the ways he's seen her now, makeup scrubbed off and in a sleep set, light makeup looking like someone's niece, fresh-faced in a sweatshirt coming off a plane. All the ways he's seen her and this is how he remembers her best. Goth glam teen witch queen bee.

Wolf's a bloody mess. Mess but not a wreck. Not much of a mark on him. A scratch here, a cut there. Spots of blood seeping through his t-shirt. Leans his shoulder on her doorframe, folds his arms across that powerful chest. Smirks at her a little.

"Here I thought you'd be sleeping."

witch

She's capping the lip gloss, sticking the little wand back into its bottle and screwing it shut. Sets it down wherever. Is watching him from her bathroom as he watches her from the bathroom door. And she leans her hip against the counter, looks him over. Spots of blood. Smells like he was hunting.

"Going out," she tells him, meeting his eyes again. Lifts her eyebrows a bit. "Want to come?"

wolfman

Girl's facing him now. Skinny legs look good in fishnets, big boots. Skinny body looks good in loose belt, something short. Wolf's eyeing her.

Straightens. Comes over. Puts his hand on the hip that isn't against the counter. Kisses her freshly glossed lips, slowly and tastingly.

"Was just out," he points out. "Different sort of out."

witch

She rears her head back, slow and strangely elegant, when he leans toward her to kiss her. Eyes him back, hers glittering. Doesn't move her hip from his hand, though. "You'll muss it," she says, warning him against fucking with her makeup.

He was just out. Different sort. Little smirk, at that. She tips her head to the side. Exposes her neck.

"Staying in, then, I suppose."

wolfman

Fine. So he kisses her neck. Girl offers it so freely. Kisses it roughly, lips and then open mouth, teeth. Bites her. Growls, low and hot in his throat.

"Mm. Maybe. You staying too?"

witch

Kisses her so hard. Kisses her but not like he's punishing her for denying him her mouth. Kisses her like he's hungry, and her mouth opens, and she exhales. He can hear it, so close to her like he is. She can feel it when he growls, vibrating through her skin.

"Going out," she repeats, like a reminder.

Hasn't fucked him in something like a week. Week and a half, maybe.

Smirks, while he's tasting her throat. "You could still come with."

wolfman

Mouth still on her throat. Could be threatening, but it's not. Routines for a week and change; how the hell do they stay sane. Living under the same room, barely crossing paths. Sleeping together one night; literally. No sex. Not for eight, nine, ten days.

Releases her from his teeth. Nuzzles her soft skin; lips, tip of his nose. Body against hers, all muscle and toughness. Heat. Girl can feel him inhaling, sniffing at her, finding nothing.

"Hate dancing," he reminds her.

witch

"House party," she tells him, while he's nuzzling her, seeking her. Wanting to fuck her. Strip her out of the clothes she put on to go out, strip her to nothing if she knows him. Fuck her.

She puts her hand on his abdomen, scritches softly with her fingernails through his shirt. Not where the blood is. Draws back, looking him in the eye.

"Don't have to dance."

wolfman

"Hm." Thinking sound. Wolf pulls back a little. Looks at her. "Fine. Lemme change my shirt."

witch

Fine. Like she really had to convince him. She was going out. He was welcome to come.

She smirks. Going with her to a party, staying near her, is the consolation prize for not fucking her right now, up against the counter or on the bath mat. She turns, checks the mirror, ruffling her hair a bit. Comes out a second later, turning off the light, following him down the hall. Gets to his room and walks in without knocking. She's a minute or so behind him.

wolfman

Wolf's shirt is off then. Wolf's in front of his mirror, in his bathroom, damp towel wiping off the last dried traces of blood. Scratch on his side deep, but nowhere near serious. Red around the edges of the scab. Skin's still tanned from that long drive through hotter climes, though that's starting to fade.

Sees her when she comes in. All done up and ready to go. Wolf licks his lips without realizing it.

"Look so fucking good like that, you know?" Straightens up, wrings out the towel, tosses it over a bar. Turns. Comes across the room, picks her up with his hands at her waist; lifts her straight up off the ground. Loose, light little half-circle. Sets her down again. Just showing off his strength, or something. "Fucking... fishnets and that crazy makeup."

Picks a fresh shirt up where he tossed it on his bed. Whips it on, tugging hem down to his hips.

witch

Wants to see him with his shirt off. Wants to see where the blood is coming from. How much of a macho hardass he's being. She comes lazily into his bathroom, larger than the one down the hall as his room is larger than the one down the hall. She doesn't care about that. Leans against the doorframe, looking him over. The cut. The skin. The line going up his back between slabs of muscle. The movement of his chest in the mirror. She toys with the end of her hair between her fingers, standing there. Leaning there.

He tells her she looks fucking good as he's turning toward her. She just smirks. Then his hands are on her through that short dress that is far too thin to -- well, it's basically a slip, which he can feel now under his palms. Can feel her body heat through it. Lifts her up, just to move her.

Devon snorts a breath out through her nostrils when he sets her down again. "Yeah," she says. "I know."

Watches him whip that shirt on. The way he moves.

"You really wanna go?"

wolfman

Wolf's at the door already. Open door. Staircase beyond. Front door.

Turns. Looks at her. Blatant, naked heat in his eyes.

"I want to fuck."

witch

Something about that makes her smirk. She's standing in the middle of his bedroom.

"Who?"

wolfman

Quick, feral tilt of his head.

Then wolf comes at her. Heavy in the shoulders, heavy in the step. Looms right up to her, chest to chest, smirks back at her.

Specific: "You."

witch

The back of her hand touches him. Brushes gently across his midsection. Like where she was touching him, before. Feels like they've barely touched since she came and made him into her pillow a few nights back.

"Then we have a conundrum," she tells him. "Because I want to go to a party."

There's a little pause there. Her knuckles stroke across the hem of that shirt, follow the seam of his fly. Very lightly.

"And I want to fuck," Devon also says, quieter.

Can see her breathing. Can't hear it.

"You."

wolfman

Wolf doesn't step away from her touch. Of course not. Hands at his sides flex, though, involuntarily. Girl touches him, touches him, strokes him so feather-soft he barely feels it.

Except he does. Of course he does. Wolf takes a breath too. Soundless, slow, measured. In.

"Better make up your mind," he says, soft. Watching her.

witch

Those descending knuckles, grazing delicately over his clothes, start to slide upward instead. Down again. If he could feel them they'd be silken. Skin to skin.

"Or?"

wolfman

Wolf shows his teeth, a grimace or a grin; somewhere between pleasure and desire.

"Or I'm gonna pick for you," he says. Bumps, grazes, rubs his face over hers. Jaw along her temple. Draws back, reestablishes that gap; looks at her again. "And I know what I'm choosing."

witch

"All right," she murmurs. Sighs, more like. His pressure forward to nuzzle her like that pushes him, albeit slightly, into her hand. Which turns. Palm to his groin. Feels him through his jeans. Sighs some kind of assent.

She leans back, looking up at him, eyes glassy as though drunk. Her hand has fallen away. She leans over, and not wanting to stand too high on her toes, presses a kiss to his bicep, just under the edge of his shirtsleeve.

And brushes past him. And walks, swayingly, to and through his bedroom door.

wolfman

Girl's not the only one glassy-eyed. Wolf's got that look too. Dazed and desiring and dark. Shifting when she turns her hand over. Pressing back against her touch; settling that blatant erection against her palm.

Has his head down then. Watching her hand. Mouth open just a little, hardly breathing.

Girl leans back then. He meets her eyes. Thinks maybe she'll kiss him, and she does. Not where he thinks. Kisses his bicep, raises all the hairs on his arm. She moves away and his hand lifts, fingers brush the inside of her arm, trail off.

Girl goes sauntering out his door. Wolf tips his head back, closes his eyes, exhales in a huff.

--

Catches up to her on the stairs. Wraps his arm around her waist and lifts her against his side and maybe she thinks he's going to carry her back upstairs, or maybe just to the couch. Doesn't, though. Carries her to the ground floor and lets her down, those boots of hers touching hardwood. Those teeth of his catching at the delicate cartilage of her ear, ever so light a graze. Affectionate little kiss, such as it is.

"Franklin know we're going someplace?"

witch

Never been anything but blunt, this one. Hasn't been shy in a long time about showing her how he wants her. She remembers very well that night on the way to the gala. The partition going up. The way he looked at her.

I want to fuck you right now.

She thinks of it often.

--

Head of the stairs he lifts her up. Her breath catches. She does think he's going to haul her back to the bedroom, throw her down, fuck her. She doesn't think she'll tell him no. But he doesn't. Keeps her against his body on the way down and she huffs a breath out, laughingly.

Gives her that little kiss on her ear. She shrinks up a bit, shoulder rising, as though ticklish.

"Was going to take Uber," she says. Looks up at him.

Is pressed up against him.

"Do want to go," Devon murmurs. Reiterates. Clarifies, maybe. She's holding onto him. "Want you to come with me." Suddenly, a touch awkwardly: "Meet some of my friends."

wolfman

Wolf's a little tense too, suddenly. Girl feels it. She's holding on to him. Of course she feels it.

Loosens after a moment, though. Arm still around her. Hard-on still hard.

"You and your Uber," is all wolf says. Smirks a little. Must mean he's coming with her. Confirms it, "Come on."

witch

[empathy: why tense?]

Dice: 7 d10 TN6 (4, 4, 5, 8, 8, 9, 10) ( success x 4 )

wolfman

[tense because of the prospect of meeting new people. tense because new people know devon, and devon knows them. tense because new people might fear him, and he might not like them. tense because he might not fit in, and then devon might ditch him and hang out with her friends and he'll just be bored and angry and alone at a party.]

witch

Feels that tension. Feels different than just arousal. Feels different than his body pressing into hers, his hips shifting slightly to push his erection against her hand. That touch me that was not spoken and was barely considered. Not considered all. Just needed.

She wonders. Is wary. Thinks of that moment when she went to see her family. His fucking weird reaction to some dumb word.

How much it stung.

--

Looks up in his eyes when she feels it. And in a flash, a flicker, she sees something else entirely. Tugs on her heart. She runs her hands lightly down his arms, exhaling a soft sigh as he's relaxing. She puts her hands on his wrists, his hands. Holds both his hands, at their sides, their bodies pressed together still. Just for a moment. He wraps his arm around her after that, and she lays her head on his chest for a moment.

Like the other night. How he fell asleep with his arms folded around her.

Not very long. He teases her and he smirks and he tells her come on.

--

So they go. And she says: "Your Uber, actually." Since he's the one fucking paying for it, since she has zero qualms about abusing his generosity.

They go. And the car comes for them and she snuggles up to his side in the back seat. Under his arm. Against his side. Hand on his chest. Starts telling him about the party they're going to. Some friend named Naomi, and from what Devon says about her it sounds like she's also a witch. Other people. Not all witches. Mostly hipsters, it sounds like. An assortment. A collage of humanity. Party's been going on for a while, she says. Should just be getting good, she says.

It isn't far. Edges of downtown, some massive loft. Naomi doesn't live there. Naomi just knows the person who does. Person who does likes to let Naomi throw parties there. And others.

They get out of the car. Devon is excited. Her energy is vibratory, glimmering off of her. She holds his hand on the sidewalk, starts pulling him indoors.

Says she wants him to meet her friends. No. What she says is:

come on. want my friends to meet you.

wolfman

Uber pulls up to the curb. Someone's loft, someone's party. Doorman and gleaming lobby and high-speed elevators up to whatever floor, whatever unit. Wolf's looking at it all with some wariness, some distrust, as he follows girl out of the car.

Girl takes his hand, pulls him in. Wolf has an image: girl taking his hand, pulling him down the hall. Toward her room. Bad idea. No it's not.

"You gonna tell them I'm your boyfriend?"

Doorman opens the door. Wolf eyes him. Elevator button lights up and a little later elevator arrives, doors sweeping open. They get in. Dim lighting, wood panels and sleek steel.

witch

She seems eager. Is abuzz with energy that doesn't make sense after midnight, not if you keep a regular schedule. Which she doesn't. Which he doesn't, either, really. She tugs him out of the Uber. Places like this don't have doormen, because that would interrupt the illusion that this place is less expensive than it really is. Try to make it industrial, even when it's not.

Heading in, he asks a question

that feels like a thumb pressing on a wound.

--

Her brows tug together, or seem to: she glances away, looking at the wall instead of him for a moment. Pushes open the door and they go to the elevator. She isn't answering. He knows something is wrong because she looks away and she doesn't answer until the elevator starts heading up.

"Not going to tell them anything," she says.

A bit tersely.

wolfman

[wat]

Dice: 3 d10 TN6 (2, 4, 9) ( success x 1 )

witch

[Devon's emotions say: "FINE. I DON'T CARE IF YOU DON'T WANNA BE CALLED MY BOYFRIEND. I NEVER LIKED YOU ANYWAY."]

wolfman

Wolf doesn't get it. Why she's tense. Why she's terse. Why she looks away with that tension across her fine brow. He starts to put his arm around her but she pushes open the door.

He follows.

They get in the elevator.

Quiet on the way up. Wolf watching the numbers. Then looking at girl. "Don't mind if you do," he says, quiet. "Don't care what you call me." Thinks a moment. "Is what it is."

witch

"So sick of that phrase," she says. Somewhere in there she stopped holding his hand. Crossed her arms over her chest.

Elevator slides open. Only a few floors to this building, anyway.

wolfman

"Hey."

Girl starts forward and wolf catches her hand. Pulls her back. Lets those doors close again.

"Hey." He pulls her close. Face to face. Has a hand on her jaw, tips her chin up until those magnificent eyes of hers meet his. Wolf's frowning, heavy brows over green eyes, heavy shoulders stooped to bring him closer to her level.

Soft: "Don't be mad, Dev."

witch

So back into the elevator they go. She's frowning at him, him pulling on her arm and all. Has that scowl of hers that isn't very threatening at all. Starts touching her, and she jerks away a bit, though only her arm. Crosses her arms over her chest again while he's stroking her jaw, chin, leaning into her.

Scowls harder at him.

"Don't call me that."

Elevator is going down again.

"Look, if you don't care, why'd you ask?"

wolfman

Wolf's hand stays there a beat longer. Thumb strokes her skin.

Then drops. Wolf sighs; sounds a bit abrupt. "Don't know. Forget it. Let's go see your friends."

witch

Elevator goes down, doors open, no one's there. Elevator closes a moment later and they're still staring at each other. Or she's staring at him. And they ascend again.

"All right," is all she says, and a few floors later, the doors open and this time -- this time they both go through. Just a couple of doors up here. Loud music playing, thumping away through brick walls. Devon is less excited now than she was. Walks toward one of the doors with that easy confidence of hers all the same, that little sway that is hardly noticable and yet very noticable with the narrowness of her hips. She doesn't bother knocking; no one would be able to hear anyway.

Music is going. The loft is expansive, the windows tall. There's some people using a white sheet up against the wall as a projector screen while they play some racing game. It's mostly dark inside except for a bright, hot spot of the kitchen. People are mixing up ingredients -- whole bottles of stuff -- into a Rubbermaid bin with ice. They're laughing. Everything is fruity in that bin. There's a cooler full of beer. Well: full of melted ice and some lingering beers that weren't drunk earlier. Red solo cups everywhere. Definitely some dancing. Couches and bean bags and chair-and-a-half chairs and floor cushions are scattered everywhere.

Bracelets on Devon's wrist clatter, seen more than heard, as she reaches out to brush her hand on his arm. He may not notice that she stands on his wounded side. Sees her mouth move, her eyes glimmering in the half-dark: Let's get drinks.

wolfman

Hairs on his arm come upright against when she touches him. Wolf feels bad: she's not so happy now. Not so excited. Not so alive, live-wire, first time he saw her he thought she was electric. A current run through his skin.

Drinks, she says. Those bracelets clattering down the other way as her hand lowers. He takes it before she can draw away. Wraps his strong fingers around and between hers.

Head over to that bright hot spot of a kitchen. People laughing as they mix some insane concoction: pulling back a little, laughs hesitating, as wolf comes close. Looming out of the dark like a monster. No one here has his size, the sheer breadth of shoulders and tautness of biceps; no one here has his crackling eyes. He looks at those hovering around the drinks like he's warning them off a kill. Then he grabs a solo cup off a stack. Stoops to scoop a cupful out of the rubbermaid bin.

Hands that to the girl. Gets another for himself.

witch

The way he holds her hand. Reminds her of that look in his eyes and that tension in his frame when they were about to head over here. She doesn't jerk away, even if she thinks he's a jerk. She holds on. They go to the kitchen and people hesitate but he's just there for the jungle juice. Devon smirks as he hands her a cup, sickly-sweet fluid in bright magenta running in a rivulet down the side. She takes a drink as he gets his own.

The smaller people gather back around the bin as Rafael heads off with Devon. They're too drunk already to ask about who he might be. Some of them know her. Some don't. She leads Rafael around by the hand, drinking, looking for a place to sit. Ends up seeing a corner of a couch open up and plops down, almost-but-not spilling her drink. Tugs him down with her, drapes her legs over his lap when he sits. They're in view of the racing game that some people on bean bags are playing. She keeps herself close to that side of his that was cut, as though to shield it against an errant person bumping into him there.

Taps her glass lightly against his, taking another drink. Tastes like fruit and alcohol and sugar and not much else. She is looking around. Sees the remnants of a game of beer pong, remnants of a game of jello-shot battleship, which involves Team Raspberry vs Team Blueberry. There is a guy sitting on one of those basket-woven chairs who is dressed like Jesus. As in: long white robe, sandals, cord around his waist. He has long dark hair and a beard, that must be why. He's passed out. Someone is approaching him with a Sharpie when a petite girl with dyed-red hair gets in their way and argues them down, shoos them off.

Sees Devon and her big, round eyes perk with recognition. She waves. Her eyes skate to Rafael, brooding and sipping his jungle juice. She doesn't come over to ask; someone else grabs her attention.

Devon gives her a little wave back, leans close to Rafael to say: "That's Naomi." Sips her drink and tips her head, leaning it against him. Peoplewatches for a while. Seems content to do so.

wolfman

Wolf's staring at Jesus when girl leans in. He's frowning, perplexed, wondering what the fuck and also why the fuck and then girl's there. He's a little startled; she can tell. That quick snap of his head, eyes on hers.

That's Naomi.

Wolf follows her eyes. Sees the girl, dyed-red hair. Talking to someone else now. Wolf tries to remember who Naomi's supposed to be. Girl said that name before, but it all blurs together.

"Okay," he says. And stares at passed out Jesus again. "Why the hell is he dressed like that?"

witch

Devon just shrugs. Takes another drink of that billion-proof vomit-potion. "Why are you dressed like you are?"

wolfman

Wolf gives his own attire a quick glance. It's what he always wears. Jeans. T-shirt. Still has that motorcycle jacket on. Still has the armor plates taken out.

"What normal people wear." Totally without irony. Never mind he's hardly normal. Or a person.

witch

It's hot in here. All the bodies. Even with the heat off and a couple of open windows it's very, very warm. Especially with Devon nestled against him. Even if she's wearing something thin like that.

"See?" she says, smirking. "He's not the only person wearing a costume."

wolfman

Wolf glances at her. Sidelong flick of his eyes. Something animal about that, too. Like a wolf looking at you without wanting you to know.

Then a second look. Longer. His eyes moving over her face, down to that little smirk. Wolf snorts. Reaches out and runs the pad of his index finger over her mouth, traces the curve. Leans in, kisses her.

"Where are your friends?"

witch

They taste like alcohol and sweetness. She kisses him slowly. She tastes his mouth when he kisses her, as though she wasn't scowling at him not five minutes ago. Kisses him like she wants him to remember her hand tracing the seam of his jeans, waking him up like that.

"All over," she murmurs, when he asks. "Naomi. Curtis is somewhere. He never shows up before one. People always want him to babysit if he gets here early."

wolfman

Kiss lasts longer than he intended. Goes deeper than he planned. Wolf's got his hand on the outside of her thigh. Rubs warm over the crisscrossing pattern of her fishnets.

Sinks back against the couch when they part. Hand stroking her shin absently now. What she says doesn't quite make sense to him. "Babysit?"

witch

She doesn't stop him. Doesn't stop his hand. They wouldn't be the only couple making out in this loft. If he keeps his hand there even after they stop kissing, she doesn't move it. Doesn't glance at it. Drinks her juice. Her arm is resting atop his shoulder. Her fingertips curl through the ends of his hair at the back of his neck.

Head tips. "Drugs," she says, as though this should clear everything up. But it won't. "Curtis sells them sometimes. Naomi has a lot of friends. Some of them are babies. Don't know the difference between a friend you pay for drugs and a friend who makes sure you don't jump off a balcony."

wolfman

"Heh." Thought's vaguely amusing to the wolf: drugged up idiot leaping off a balcony. Girl's fingertips play with his hair. He twists his head into her touch, thoughtlessly, eyeing Jesus again.

Then looking at her. "You do what he sells too?"

witch

Her eyebrows flick. Her mouth curves a little. Hard to describe these little movements on her face: not quite a raised eyebrow, not quite a smirk. She just nods. "Sometimes."

wolfman

"Why?" Curious. "What's it do for you?"

witch

"Depends on what it is," she says, with a half-shrug. "Depends on why I'm taking it."

Her fingers stroke. Twirl. Caress.

"Hallucinogens give me visions, sometimes," she murmurs. Wouldn't be able to hear her, if they weren't so close. "Some stuff just feels good."

wolfman

Wolf's got his lower lip caught under his teeth. Looks at her with those darkening eyes.

"Could make you feel good. But you decided you wanted to party." And he smirks, turning away to drink.

witch

"Bit cocksure, aren't you," she smirks. Leans over, while he's sipping.

"Some stuff makes that better, too."

Licks his earlobe. Bites him there.

Draws back, holding his eyes. "You ever tried anything?"

wolfman

Lick makes his eyes close.

Bite makes him growl.

Wolf turns his head when girl draws back. Her eyes on his, then, and his on hers. Dim in here but he can still see the blue of it, pristine, brilliant. Bluer than any other blue in the world.

Gives his head a shake: negative. "Just a little pot." Colorado after all. "Too dangerous, the other stuff. Never know what's been fucking with it."

witch

"What do you mean?" she wants to know. Doesn't think he means creatine and lidocaine.

wolfman

Quick instinctive flick of his eyes around. Then back to hers.

"Wyrm likes to get people through stuff they eat. Drink. Sniff or shoot up. Easy way to get a lot of people at once. Seen it right here in Denver."

witch

Her brow furrows. She didn't know that.

She can see the future. She has visions if she takes the right (wrong?) drugs; starts spouting prophecy like a goddamned oracle from ancient times. She can throw kitchen items and a few oils together and wham: in twenty-four, forty-eight hours you have things more potent than any drug on the market. Brews so effective, in fact, that she won't sell them. People would never leave her alone. She doesn't know that the Wyrm drugs people.

"Like what?" she wants to know. He sees her lips move. Can barely hear her.

wolfman

Something about that. Furrow of her brow, look in her eyes. Makes the wolf frown too, shift; heavy body moving under the bridge of her legs. He wraps an arm around her and pulls her closer, awkwardly, because she's sitting sideways across him.

"Don't worry about it. Just some shit on the streets. EnerJam or something; someone's been feeding it to bums and methheads."

Changes the subject: "What kind of visions?"

witch

Tells her not to worry and her furrow turns to a scowl. She pushes on his chest. Away from that cut of his. "I've seen that at the store," she says, tensely. "What the fuck, Rafa?"

Something shimmering under her words. Isn't anger.

wolfman

[TAY EMPAFEE AGAIN]

Dice: 3 d10 TN6 (2, 8, 9) ( success x 2 )

witch

[Devon's emotions say: "WTF I COULD BE BUYING WYRM-FLAVORED DRINKS AND STUFF AND YOU'RE TELLING ME NOT TO WORRY ABOUT IT?!"

It is a mix of fear and anger.]

wolfman

Frowning now. "It's in stores now?" Thinks. "Didn't know that."

Another pause.

"Would've told you if you bought it. Just didn't think it was everywhere. Wasn't not telling you just to keep you in the dark or anything."

witch

No answer to that. Not even what kind of stores: won't find it at Target. Probably not King Soopers, even. Corner stores. Places that are self-operated.

He didn't mention Nutri-Pro. You can get that at King Soopers now.

--

Now she looks like she's about to fucking hit him. That fear in her eyes flickers towards out-and-out anger. "If I bought it? You're not always around. Jesus, Rafael," she seethes. She's getting up.

wolfman

"I didn't know." Wolf follows her. Up in a flash. Nearby people, drunk people: they recoil instinctively, gasps skittering through the darkness. "Didn't know it was out there. Thought people were just... passing them out at fake food banks or something."

witch

Hard to get up off a cushy couch like that quickly. She's barely up but that he's followed her. Standing in the middle of the living room... or what may as well be the living room. People glance up from their games, their dancing. He's very large. He looms over Devon. She frowns at him,

but she believes him.

"Should still tell me that shit," she hisses at him. Wants to fucking hit him. Really, really wants to hit him. Shove him. Something. Doesn't. Knows better. She's scared of him sometimes. He could break her wrists if he grabbed her too hard. He might.

There's an uproar near the door. Devon looks, hearing something. There's a young man: broad shoulders, tapered torso. He's not very tall. He's compact. Has muscle under that coat of his. Yanks off his hat, doesn't bother to lay down hairs that stick up as a result. She looks back at Rafael, still angry.

"I'm going to get high," she tells him, and turns to walk off.

wolfman

"Devon."

Not Dev this time, at least. He follows. Puts a hand on her shoulder that maybe she throws off. Keeps following anyway.

"Devon. I'm sorry. I'll tell you. Okay?"

witch

Doesn't throw him off. Just looks over her shoulder at him, heading towards that young man shrugging out of his coat while someone is drunkenly hugging him. He's laughing.

Devon ducks her shoulder down when he lays a hand on it. "All right," she says, rather than Okay. She never says okay. "Still going to get high. You coming?"

wolfman

Wolf shakes his head. Not coming. But still there, still looking at her, his hand slowly returning to his side. Looks like he wants to say something.

Does, after a long time. Cobbles the words together, painstakingly.

"Not used to it. Watching out for someone else. Never had to do it before."

witch

She's turning. Has to turn back, look at him, to hear the rest of what he says. Fills in the gaps of what she can't hear by guessing by the shapes his lips make. Doesn't say anything back. Just looks at him, long and quiet, and then turns away. Goes off to see this Curtis fellow. Goes off to get high on god knows what.

wolfman

Watches her go. Subtle little sway that her boots, her loose belt accentuates. Bracelets clanking on her wrist. Wolf looks past her at guy at the door. Must be Curtis. Feels a stab of jealousy, or maybe it's just envy. Nice to be normal. Liked. Lots of friends.

Wolf goes back to the couch. No one bars his way. No one disturbs him. He sits down, stretches out. Stares at the wall, bored, until he decides to put his head back and close his eyes.

witch

Curtis has a tattoo peeking out from under his sleeve. All one can see are the words 'the lad'. Curtis yells her name boisterously when she comes over. Curtis puts an arm around that slender waist of hers, hauls her up close, plants a heavy kiss on her cheek. Curtis isn't shy. Devon just tolerates him. Devon gets herself back to herself; Curtis is giving the same treatment to Naomi now.

Rafael goes back to the couch. He doesn't fit in here. He doesn't want to join Devon in taking the drugs du jour. He sits down on the couch, laid out. Stares at the wall. Music thumps around him. People play their games.

Time passes.

A girl climbs on top of him. Straddles his waist, hands on his chest.

wolfman

Wolf's not really asleep. Drowsing maybe. Getting a little angry maybe. Didn't want to come to this damn thing anyway. Especially with her friends here. People she knows. Didn't want her to leave him alone, bored: and look. He's alone. And bored.

Someone climbs astride him. Wolf's eyes snap open. Has his hands on her waist to throw her off before he recognizes her. Girl. Devon. Skinny thing. He scowls, flopping back on the couch.

"Done getting high?"

witch

Not much time passed. Hard to tell how much. He was dozing. She's on top of him. Blatantly sexual: that slip of a dress. Her thighs spread to either side of his hips. Her hands on his chest, rucking up his shirt just a little. His eyes snap open and his hands are on her waist, tight, to throw her off, and she knows the difference between that and the way he holds her hips to urge her to ride him faster, harder.

He doesn't throw her off. She looks down at him, her eyes so very very bright. He scowls at her.

"Didn't want to ditch you," she says softly. Party is winding down. People are very drunk or very high or both. People are drowsy and talking in corners. People have left. People are sleeping.

Her hands slide upward, farther. There's a good inch or two of flesh between where his pants end and his shirt begins now. She smooths her palms over his shoulders, leaning over him. Her answer may not have been one. It's hard to tell if she's high. Her pupils are blown out because it's so very dark. They could be blown out from drugs, too.

"You don't want to meet anybody I like," she says, still quiet. Her body is so sexual atop his. She's letting her cunt press against his jeans, his lap, even with fabric between them. Her hands are caresses. She's not shy. She doesn't care what anyone things of her. She looks erotic. She touches him erotically. She sounds

so fucking sad.

"You don't want to do anything fun with me. Don't want anyone thinking you're my boyfriend, even relatives I'll likely never see again."

Tears in those big eyes, those thin rings of blue fire around bottomless black.

"Can't just stay in all the time and fuck, and just be the two of us."

Tears threaten to spill out of those shimmering eyes. She is probably high. She is at least drunk. Her accent is so obvious right now. The accent that slips out, a little, when she talks about her mum.

"Just wanted to go to a party with you, Rafa."

wolfman

Scowl turns into a frown. Difference is slight but it's there. Girl's hands on him, girl's body close to his. Slip-like dress rucking up. Shirt rucking up. His shoulders warm and taut under her hands; her pussy a few negligible layers of fabric away from him.

Girl looks so erotic.

Girl sounds so sad.

Wolf puts his hands on her hips again. Different this time, too. His big hands smooth around her waist and up her back; he pulls her in, close. Face to face, inches away.

"How do you know I don't want to?"

Barely any inflection on that to mark it as a question. Barely any hint on his frown to mark it as tenderness.

"Maybe I want to. Just not good at it. Don't know what to say to your friends. Don't know how to have fun. Didn't even know you wanted people to think I'm your boyfriend. You're the one that got all angry when I said you acted like I'm yours."

witch

She doesn't want to be held close. Pulls back, away, her face constricted, furrowed as though in pain. She doesn't have to struggle hard; he never pins her. Tears slip out though. Too many of them in her eyes. They spill. Dribble down her cheeks.

"Don't act like you want to," is what she says, which is the truth. He doesn't act like he wants to be here. Wants to meet her friends. Wants to have fun. Wanted to stay home. Wanted to fuck. Make her feel good. Be alone with her. Alone forever, like that long journey south. Just the two of them, day and night after day and night.

"You just have to try not to scare them," is her advice, her brow so furrowed, her eyes damp. "Give a compliment. Ask a question. It's not fucking hard to talk to someone," she insists, a touch plaintive. "Coming with me and taking E, that's fun, that's not hard."

Ignores the rest. Can't do otherwise.

wolfman

Wolf doesn't hold on to her. Never does. Does reach for her when those tears spill over, though, rough paws wiping awkwardly at the drops.

"Don't like smalltalk," he says; tries to be gentle. "Don't wanna take E. Can't change who I am just to fit in." Shrugs a little. "Just don't fit in, Devon. Not that I don't want to."

witch

Her makeup is going to last. Too bad. And unfair, that she can look so good when her makeup is smudged, running.

Rubs at her face though. "Oh, fucking forget it," she says, and climbs off of him. Hates this. Hates the crying most of all. Doesn't say goodbye to anyone. Is just off of him. Out the door, into the hallway again.

wolfman

As before wolf's up on his feet a beat after. Follows her. Ripple of rage as he passes; fear in his wake. Just natural reaction, that.

Out the door. Into the hallway. Quiet now, even the music inside muted. Neighbors all asleep or at least trying. Wolf follows her wordlessly, catching up at the elevator bank.

Stands beside her a while.

Then reaches his hand out for hers, gingerly.

witch

Quieter, out here. But the music still thumps. She's so angry. She's shaking a little, waiting for the elevator, arms crossed tight over her chest, hands tucked under her arms. Jaw is hard. Face is mottled with smudged and running makeup. At the party less than an hour.

She doesn't look at his hand. Or give him hers. Just stares at the elevator, waiting for it to ding and the doors to open. Goes inside when it does.

wolfman

Wolf pulls his hand back after a while.

Has his arms folded across his chest by the time the elevator comes. Doors shut on them, standing armsreach away, staring straight ahead. Elevator down. Doors open on them still standing armsreach away, staring straight ahead.

She moves first. Again, he follows.

witch

Didn't call for a cab or an Uber before she stormed out of the party. Her jaw is so tight and she's fighting so hard not to really cry. She's not having a good time at all. Ruined, she thinks. Wipes at her face, walking out of the elevator, walking out of the building, walking to the curb and

hesitating. He's following, and coming alongside, and she pauses. She takes a step back, and she shrinks a little, looking at him.

wolfman

Dice: 3 d10 TN6 (3, 5, 7) ( success x 1 )

witch

[Tbh her emotions are really chaotic right now. She's uncertain/angry/resistant/hurt/sad/overwhelmed... it's really a noisy jumble.]

wolfman

Wolf looks at her. Looks at her a long time. Comes no closer to understanding her.

Quiet, because out here he doesn't have to talk loud:

"Want me to leave you alone?"

witch

Her throat moves, swallowing.

"Don't want to go back with you," she says, just as quiet. Quieter.

wolfman

Sidewalk caves in under wolf's feet. Sky falls around his ears.

Turns away; stares ahead. Long silence.

"Where you gonna go?"

witch

Tight little shrug.

"Back up."

wolfman

Cautious little glimmer: "I'll see you at home later, then?"

witch

Another, then: a tight little shrug. Something in her eyes almost apologetic, for it. But she doesn't make a promise she's not sure she's going to keep.

wolfman

"Devon." Her name's a sigh. Wolf turns to look at her then. "Just because I wouldn't party with you the way you wanted?"

witch

She winces, and it's not a wince as much as a grimace a second later. She shakes her head. "Fucking don't," she says, turning to go back inside.

wolfman

Fucking don't.

Don't what, he thinks. Don't what. She's gone by then, inside, going back up to her stupid fucking party with its stupid fucking people, who the hell dresses like Jesus anyway, what the hell is that all about. Wolf's angry, furious, fearful beneath it. Starts walking away. Halfway down the block finds a trashcan to take it out on, heaves it up and throws it across the street. Spills litter all over the asphalt.

Doesn't feel any better after. Doesn't matter. Keeps walking, pulling out his cell phone to call Franklin as he goes.

witch

Rafael beats the shit out of a trashcan. The trashcan doesn't put up a good fight; he is left unsatisfied -- in many ways. Tonight he landed the killing blow not only on multiple spider-creatures and unhatched eggs, he ended the spider-mother's unholy life as well. He howled off the rooftop of a cathedral in the penumbra alongside a member of his tribe who actually looks, sounds, and acts the part. Not enough to give him a feeling of satisfaction, even after blowing out his rage. Because he came back home to find the witch he's bankrolling putting on her lipgloss, teasing his cock, dragging him out for a night with mortal strangers. Letting him go back home alone, angry and frustrated.

The trashcan just rolls on the ground, some bags that were inside splitting open. It probably doesn't help.

--

Devon does not call Franklin, or an Uber, after another couple of hours. She goes back up to the party where no one really notices that she cried. She takes something and lays back and the hours go past her in color and sound. There are parts of it that frighten her deeply, but someone is there with an arm around her when she trembles. Someone is there to see it when her hands lift up as though to manipulate the things she's seeing. Someone is there but does not realize that her pupils have constricted despite the intense darkness they're sitting in, as though her eyes are shielding themselves from something too bright for her to look at. Someone is there to hear her muttering to herself in tattered blends of English and Portuguese and something else, nonsensical babbling.

She talks about something with three tongues, three limbs, three tails. Talks in detail about the three different coins. She goes on a brief tangent about Gwyneth Paltrow for some reason. She curls up next to Naomi, who strokes her hair and tells Curtis to leave her alone, she's got a boyfriend. Devon sleeps beside her friend Naomi then, curled up on some cushions on the floor, underneath her other friend Curtis's coat. Their noses never notice what is lacking in her. They smell what she puts on her skin or hair and think that she always smells nice, never realize it's because all her smells are borrowed. They hear a friend on a wild trip and not a witch prophesying.

People drift off, going home or crashing out. Hours later they wake, some hungover and some just groggy. Devon tidies up her face and hair and while someone goes out for breakfast burritos, she mixes orange juice with a few teaspoons of something from her jacket pocket. Shares with friends, who are able to tuck into breakfast some time later without nausea. She swears it's a family secret, which it is; one person swears it's just the placebo effect. The drunkest of them all says he doesn't fucking care if it's a placebo if it makes his head stop hurting.

--

It's mid-day when Devon catches a ride with someone so she can get dropped off in the Highlands. They peer at the house, which is nice, and they know it must be expensive, and they wonder if this is where she lives and she just shrugs, getting out of the car and leaving behind a couple bucks for gas.

Wraps her arms around herself, looking fresher than she has a right to despite the smudged eye makeup and tousled hair, heading in through the front door.

wolfman

House looks nice in daylight. Bright, lots of glass, open and modern. Not exactly a wolf-den, a monster's cave. Car drops her off and drives away. Girl goes to the door.

Her key still works. Door unlocks and house is just as she left it. TV is on, tuned to some 90s movie or something. Rumpled throw blanket on the couch like maybe someone slept there. Someone is brushing his teeth in the kitchen. Wolf is brushing his teeth in the kitchen. Toothbrush gripped in his fist like a stabbing weapon. Mouth full of foam.

Because apparently this is what he does, left to himself. Stumbles in, sleeps on the couch, brushes his teeth at the nearest sink.

Turns, sharply, when he hears her. Stares a moment. Then turns away and spits. Cocks his head sideways under the faucet to rinse. Straightens up, wipes his mouth, washes his hands and dries them on a dishcloth.

Toothbrush ends up tucked in his back pocket. He comes out of the kitchen, looking her over.

witch

First thing she notices when she comes in is that the house is not empty and not asleep. She has a feel for these things. She'd know if she were blind. And the television is on and she can see through to Rafael as she quietly shuts the door behind her. He's brushing his teeth in the kitchen, which makes her wonder if there's a toothbrush down here that he keeps in a drawer or if he went all the way upstairs to get it out of his bathroom, and instead of brushing his teeth up there, came back down to brush in the kitchen sink.

She glances at the television; maybe he didn't want to miss any of his movie.

Devon doesn't bypass him and go upstairs. She walks in, door shut, and when he stares, she stares back. When he goes to rinse and spit, she glances around. When he starts walking out of the kitchen, she looks back at him, breathing in and out deeply, saying nothing.

wolfman

So they're just staring at each other for a while. Pair of mute fools. Wolf standing in those old lounge pants, hands wet, fingertips dripping.

Wipes his palms on the seat of his pants. Comes closer, a single slow step. Then another. Then quickly, closing the distance, pulling her into his arms and against his chest.

"Came back," he says, muffled in her hair.

witch

On their best days, their most vocal conversations, they are still not very good at this. Certainly not at broaching it. They each wait for the other other do something, say something. He waited for her to come back. She waits for him to speak to her.

Doesn't jerk away or flinch when he comes over, doesn't run off. Stands there until he comes close enough to touch her, and wraps her up and pulls her near and buries his face in her hair. She's noticed his side: a closing laceration, scabbed over but not looking like it will scar. Remarkable.

She tucks her arms in close and her face, curling up as he embraces her like that. Doesn't mock him for his relief this time. Doesn't ask him if he thought she might not come back. She knows: she asked him in Brazil if he's scared she'll go away forever. She heard him when he said that he always is. Not in his head. Just his gut. So Devon doesn't comment on his relief. She just lets him hug her, and leans into.

Craves it, really. Lays her head on his chest because she needed this.

"Want to be with you," she says, equally muffled. Maybe moreso. "Just don't want it to be the two of us only, always." Sniffs, though not from tears. "May as well just be fucking, if it's going to be like that."

wolfman

Wolf's arms tighten when girl leans into him instead of pushing away. Wraps his arms around her tight, tight, burying his face in her hair. Inhaling that non-scent of hers. Doesn't voice his relief, but doesn't hide it either. Couldn't, if he wanted to.

A little later they're calmer. Resting together, her head on his chest. His arms loosened now.

"Know I won't stop you from going to parties. Being with your friends. Just don't think I'll ever blend with them and not scare them." Quiet. Lays his jaw over her head. "Maybe next time I go to the Sept you can come. Other wolves there. And kin. People who know what I am and aren't scared."

witch

She sighs. Doesn't move away. "You didn't even try," she says, frustrated. "Didn't want to try, either. D'you have any idea how much you pissed me off last night?"

wolfman

"Didn't really know you wanted me to try."

They're arguing now. A little. Still in contact, though. Still with his arms around her, her cheek against his heartbeat. As if in this way they could prevent a space from opening. Prevent a hole from swallowing up their hidden, secret tenderness.

"Didn't call your friends over and ... then you just left to go get high." Shrugs, even with his arms around her. "Didn't know you wanted me to follow. Even if I didn't take anything."

witch

Devon pulls back a little. Just enough to lift her head, look up at him. "I didn't call them over because you were nervous about strangers as it was. I wanted to give you a little time to settle in and get a buzz going." Her forehead is furrowed, a line between her eyebrows.

"Then when I told you how, you just... dug in your heels and refused."

She exhales. "I have my own friends, Rafael. They're not all kin. It really pisses me off that you... you just... it's like you had no interest at all in my life outside of you. And no intention of ever being interested. That's how it felt."

wolfman

Wolf's frowning now like he doesn't quite get it. Can't put the pieces together right.

"I'm interested. Curious about you. Wanna know where you go and what you do and ... your folks and your friends and magic and your life. All of it. Just always figured you didn't want me to nose around."

witch

"I didn't," she says, and it's a quiet admission, the words still fraught with emotion, just as she is still pressed close to him. "It's changing."

Devon says this, and then rests her brow against his chest, right above his solar plexus. She's so petite, compared to him, though she's really quite average in that department when she isn't standing right next to Mr. van der Valk. She sniffs again, and then slides her arms around his waist, holding him close as he holds her.

"All right?" she says, very still against him. "It's changing."

wolfman

[that should have been YOUR magic and your life!]

Stillness. Not just her, but him too. Both of them so finely, exquisitely still.

Then wolf exhales. Rubs his palm over her back; a soothing gesture. "All right," he says softly. "Okay."

witch

So that's all, then. Him holding her and her holding him. Movie on television playing on. It's afternoon. They've both slept. They've both eaten, most likely. There's nothing they need to rush off too. He has healing to do. She'll probably go upstairs and take a shower. Come back down and watch movies with him. Maybe go out to one. Maybe stay in, order a pizza or Thai food or whatever.

Sometime later she'll be against his side and her hand will be on his chest and she'll start to kiss him. When he kisses her back they will rapidly reawaken to the knowledge that they haven't had sex since Recife. They won't make it upstairs. Her nails will leave subtle marks in his back.

Afterward she'll be looking up at him. For some reason he'll be looking back at her. Touch her face. Watch her eyes, sinking into their depths. She'll hide her feet under his after a while, unfolding her legs from around his hips. Toes are cold, she'll murmur, explaining.

Finally upstairs: dark by then, though far from late. She's noticed that he's healed even more than when she came back in the afternoon. Takes her to his room. Neither of them say a word about that. It is what makes most sense: they've never had sex in her room. They've only slept together there once. She comes to him or he asks for her, but her room -- with its mess, its strange bottles and concoctions, its collection of her secrets -- seems separate somehow from whatever this is between them. So he takes her up the stairs and turns toward his own room, his own barren walls and the floor kept pristine by his maid.

There is more kissing, there. More sex. More of their hands roaming, seeking, holding.

She stays, in the end. Sleeping on her back, her face turned away from him, his arm laid over her body, his head close to hers. She stays. Doesn't seem to keep her awake, anymore, being in bed with him. Almost like it comes naturally, now.