that's one way to settle differences.

Devon

Burritos and beers in bed. Devon perks up a bit when she eats, gently mocking Rafael's 'cooking' and licking lime juice off her fingers after shoving a slice into her bottle of beer. The beer and food make her drowsy all over again, though. She's rather sleepy about getting up to brush her teeth and comb her hair, and -- perhaps bizarrely, to him -- still wants to climb into some of her soft little shorts and a tank top to wear as pajamas. Which she does. Soft grey. Pink lace. Snuggles up against him back in bed and, without much further ado, crashes out.

He has a nice bed. Big, soft pillows. Smooth, expensive sheets. Very little light coming in through the windows, because the moon is just past its darkest phase and hasn't waxed to brightness yet. Devon sleeps heavily and easily here, but Devon sleeps heavily and easily most places.

Morning eventually comes, and Devon wakes up blearily at one point to go to the bathroom. Washes her hands, swishes hot water in her mouth, and then goes back to bed. Tucks herself in again to the warm spot against Rafael's side, encircled by his arm, and dozes back off.

When she really starts to wake up, later that morning, he feels her rubbing her feet against his calves. They aren't cold toes anymore; she's quite warm. Keeps squirming around, wiggling, almost aggressively cuddly.

Rafael

Carried her upstairs last night like a goddamn princess -- if princesses were in the habit of being carried around en deshabille after a thorough pussy-eating, that is. Threw on a pair of boxers and went back downstairs. Had to reheat those burritos, enormous unhealthy tortilla-wrapped monstrosities that they are. Had to pull two Coronas from the fridge, dig around until he finds a lime.

Which he slices. Into sixths. And carries upstairs balanced on the edge of the plate of burritos.

They eat in bed, wolf leaning against the headboard, girl leaning against -- well, him, probably. No TV in here so there's nothing for him to stare mutely at. They don't talk much even so. He doesn't have a lot to say, and the silence is comfortable. Comforting.

Girl brushes her teeth. Wolf takes a three minute shower, rinses his mouth. Girl gets into her pajamas while wolf is kicking his barely-worn boxers into the hamper. Comes back to bed turning out the lights on the way. Dusts some crumbs off the comforters, climbs in, falls asleep in moments.

Doesn't wake when girl goes to the bathroom.

Doesn't wake when she wakes.

Doesn't wake til she starts being aggressively cuddly, which eventually nudges, bumps, and jostles him to murky awareness. Wolf turns over heavily, flopping onto his stomach. Sighs hugely. Goes still for another minute or two.

Then his eye opens. Just one, and narrowly at that, peering at her across a landscape of pillow, sheet, edge of his arm. Wolf yawns into his pillow. Sounds a million miles away and muffled: hey.

Devon

Grins at his huge sigh. Grins and snuggles closer, wriggling under his arm, wrapping her own around him. Buries her face against his shoulder. Smells him.

Is still, for a few few moments. A couple of minutes. He opens one eye. Looks at her and finds her opening her eyes as well, looking back at him. Smiling a small, secretive little smile. Hey he says, and she says nothing.

She tucks herself in again, close to him, closing her eyes. Holds him under the covers, her head pillowed on his shoulder, as though she's going to fall asleep again. But she's not. She's just happy.

Rafael

Girl keeps scooting closer. Tucking herself here and there. Finding spots against his body where she fits. Wolf tries to be grumpy about this: so squirmy, so snuggly, so waking-him-up. He's not, though. He doesn't really mind.

Thinks sometimes of those long days down in Mexico, Brazil, all the countries in between. Thinks of their endless roadtrip and all the oceans, rivers, rains that they saw. Thinks of it now, here in Denver where it's just beginning to be spring. Here under the roof of his deceased dam. His den now. Even if it only really feels that way when girl's here, squeezing herself between his arm and his side.

Wolf rolls onto his back. And he pulls her closer, his hand finding a patch of skin between her tank top and her shorts. Plates with crumbs still on the nightstand, plus two empty bottles. He slides his hand under her shorts, more tender than lustful; rubs his palm slowly over her ass.

"Eggs over-easy," he muses -- meaninglessly, idly. "And tea."

Devon

Rafael doesn't say butt affectionately, as she did back in November in the mountains. Just rubs her ass, gentle and warm. Makes her smile where she's buried her face. Doesn't know that his house only feels like a home when she's there with him. Not something he'd say. Not something she would guess.

For no reason she can discern, he talks about her usual breakfast order. She grins, eyes closed, still snuggled to his chest. "Over medium," she corrects, smiling. And: "Forgot toast," she adds. Breathes in deep and opens her eyes, looking up at him. "You making me breakfast?"

Rafael

Wolf laughs under his breath. Looks at her the best he can: corner of eye, down and aslant. "Toast," he confirms.

"Just thinking," he adds. "Little things remind me you grew up in another country. But sure. Make you breakfast."

Devon

"Did some of my growing in Boston," she murmurs. Touches his face the way she likes to: backs of her fingers. Wrinkles her nose a little. "Scratchy," is her conclusion.

Kisses him anyway. Soft, sweet, yes: but lush, too. Deep, somehow, though her mouth doesn't open in wanton invitation just yet.

Rafael

"Didn't shave," wolf states the obvious. Smirks a little, "Didn't think I was gonna be eating you out,"

and that is when she kisses him. Wolf turns toward her, and his mouth does open -- though only to kiss her lower lip. That's soft, too.

Devon

Doesn't answer, because she's kissing him. And keeps kissing him. Likes it when he kisses her lower lip like that, wrapping his lips around her and giving a suck so soft it's almost imperceptible. She sighs, and kisses him a little more deeply. For a while. Her hand is under the sheets, coming to rest on his side. Feels one of his scars under her palm and shifts her hand away from it, to newer, more sensitive skin.

Breathes in when they part, though she doesn't go far. Somehow her knee has slid forward, just over one of his thighs. Barely. Looks at him, thinking one thing, but then saying another, as the realization filters back into her consciousness from hours and hours and hours away:

"You didn't come," she says, just above a whisper but sounding a little bit... surprised? Devon's hand slides around his side to his lower back, her palm smoothing out, fingers spreading as though to touch more of him. Her lashes lower and rise as she looks at him. Hard to see it, but it's there: something about this intensifies the faint stirrings of morning lust for her. "Last night. You never came."

Rafael

Never really a start line for them. Moment or decision or action you can point to and say: yep, they're fooling around now. Just happens. Grows out of whatever else they're doing naturally. Girl's hand slips over his side. All the mighty bars of his ribs, flat sheets of muscle coming around to anchor spine to hip.

Girl's leg has crossed over his. Wolf's hands have found their way more securely to her waist; could lift her over him in a heartbeat. Girl points something out and wolf looks surprised as well. And amused. It's not in his smile. He's not smiling. Just a light in his eyes, a quick-dancing glitter.

"Oh yeah? Must be why you snap your fingers now and I get hard."

Devon

"Didn't snap my fingers," Devon says dryly. Leans forward, stroking the tip of her nose along his, against his cheek, nuzzling him slowly and deliberately. "Besides. How's that different from any other day?"

Rafael

Makes him a touch uncomfortable, that. She doesn't intend it. He knows she doesn't. He was the one that joked about it: that inevitable physical reaction when she's near. Still, a shiver of tension. He turns his face -- not quite twisting away, but contact breaks momentarily nonetheless.

He puts his hand on her face then. Puts a little distance between, enough that he can look at her. Meet her eyes. Wolf's eyes are oddly solemn, dark at the core. He leans up and kisses her.

"Just think you're crazy hot," he whispers, like a confession.

Devon

Senses it and has no clue. She's trying to nuzzle him, is about to start kissing him, but he turns his face from hers. Devon is still for a moment, pausing more than hesitating. He touches her face and turns back to her more gradually after that. His eyes are so dark right now. Verdant.

Hers close, just a touch, when he kisses her. Her lips have parted when he pauses to whisper what he does; there's a soft, warm exhale of breath. She murmurs, nonsensically: "Yeah," but it really means little to nothing. She wants to understand why there was that flicker of upset a moment ago, but he kissed her. And he's naked and warm in bed with her. And last night he was right on the edge of orgasm when he stopped her, and then settled in to feast on her pussy for twenty, thirty minutes. He lifted her up in his arms and brought her up here to rest. He brought her food and beer and gave her his body to curl up against, be protected by.

Devon really does not want to stop kissing him. And she thinks all these things are related.

So she kisses him. His mouth. His neck. Touches his sides and his chest, panting softly against his skin.

Rafael

Conversation seems to have died. Now they speak with their bodies. Kisses are soft and sweet at first, but a certain momentum builds. Now his hands are on her face. Now he's wrapping his arms around her.

Now he's rising up; sitting up nearly and then turning. Sweeping her under him, oceanic in the inexorability of his strength. Shadows her and moves over her, pauses to look at her there in his soft sheets, down bedding, expensive bed.

Wolf strokes her hair out of her face. There's so much of it, dark, almost black; not a hint of fiery fianna red. When he's cleared her mouth again he kisses her, and this time he starts rucking up her tank top. Starts pushing down her shorts.

Devon

Her mouth is sweet and wet and his is hot. She touches his chin, loathe that he might move away, kissing him until those kisses lose focus and gain intensity. Until he wraps those large, heavy arms around her and until they turn over.

Mouths part. Devon licks her lips, looking up at him for a moment, just a moment. He touches her hair, shifting strands of it aside, but it only takes a moment before he leans down, kisses her again. Her pristine eyes close again. Her arms loop up around his neck as he pushes at her clothes, her pajamas, but she's thoroughly unhelpful.

"I could kiss you forever," she whispers, in a moment when his hands are pulling her shorts down, clearing her ass as her hips lift, sliding them down her thighs.

Rafael

Girl's not doing much to help. Just lying there while he pushes this up. Pushes that down. Soft little cotton sleep-things erupt out from under the covers, disappear down to the foot of the bed. Wolf's big and heavy on top of her, more muscular, more powerful, coarser, hairier. They're altogether different.

And she's talking about kissing him. And he's huffing a sound, a laugh, nuzzling at her in mute affection. Kisses her, since she talked about it; this one briefer, focal.

"You wanna fuck?" he asks her. Other option being kissing forever, presumably.

Devon

Shorts slide down, are kicked off eventually. Top is pushed up, interrupts their kissing, sweeps over her hair and is forgotten. Neither of them have fully emerged from the warm covers, the warm bed, the warmth of each other.

Rafael huffs that laugh and it stings a little: she was serious. She was heartfelt. And neither of them find it easy to be open even in these moments when you'd think they could trust each other enough to be raw. Both of them flinch so easily at the slightest dismissal.

"Yeah," she says, a touch slowly. "Just meant." There it is, that soreness, that twisting-away: "Just like being with you."

Rafael

Draws back a little. Say what you will of him but he does sense it. That soreness. The flinch. They love each other. It's not the same as unconditional trust. Unquestioning belief that the other would never hurt them.

Too much evidence to the contrary already, after all. Takes time, wiping such things away. Wolf still tries, though: taking her narrow face between his two broad hands. Stroking her cheekbones; furrow between his eyebrows.

"Know," he says quietly. Leans down, touches his mouth to hers. Just a grazing contact. Whispers now: "Know that."

Devon

A little nod. No reason. Agreement, understanding. Something. She closes her eyes again while he brushes his lips against hers.

"Want you to make love to me," she whispers. Nuzzles him, blindly and warmly. "Wanna fuck you."

Rafael

Wolf hears the difference there. Semantics, but it draws attention to something. Highlights a truth. What she wants from him, and how.

Hears it. Understands it.

--

So that's how it is this morning. Hidden away, together under the covers. Kissing all the while. Hands sliding slow over skin; her arms around his neck, his wrapped under her body. Her legs folding around him. His breath rushing over her shoulder when he enters her. Shiver runs down her spine, and then up his. Those kisses a little more fierce now, but he's never rough with her. Maybe he's finally learned that's not how she likes him. It's not what she likes of him.

When they go a little faster she pushes the covers down, off his sweating back. When they get a little closer she wraps her legs higher around his waist, his ribs. He shifts to take her breast in his hand. They never stop kissing.

When he comes he grasps a handful of sheets. Growls against her mouth. Shudders against her body. When it's over he's very heavy, very lazy. Collapses barely to the side, eyes closed. Nuzzles her. Stays close.

Devon

Loves him. Loves him. Loves him.

Starts saying it somewhere in there, when he's half-risen on his elbows, arms around her, kissing her throat, her breasts, fucking her the way he does. When each thrust hits her just so, when she can't help herself and just says it over and over and over, the words tightening up just like her body does, flooding the very air with warmth. Loves him, loves him.

There's not much to be said of orgasms. They come. Her soft little one that makes her feel so bloody sweet inside, the one that makes him growl and pull at the sheets. Less said about all that the better: words don't really describe them anyway.

She rubs her feet against his calves. She drifts, her eyes opening and closing, her hands stroking his back. Fingertips trail up, turn, fingernails stroke slowly downward. Holds him loosely between her legs and in her arms, something primordial in the pose, something as welcoming as the earth itself.

Says nothing, for she has nothing to say. Well: she might tell him she'd like those eggs over-medium and toast and tea, but not if he can barely move.

Rafael

Loves it when she strokes him like that. Fingertips up one way. Fingernails down the other. It's delicious, the contrast, the subtle shift of sensation. He craves it. Can't get enough of it.

Shivers a little at the feel of it. Even now, so freshly post-fuck as he is, there's a lance of arousal straight down to his groin. He bites her gently on the side of the neck.

"Like it when you do that," is what he says of it all: master of understatement that he is. Exhales, opens his eyes. He looks sleepy, sated. Smirks a little.

"Came," he adds. "Since you were worried 'bout it earlier."

Devon

[DLP!]

Rafael

Loves it when she strokes him like that. Fingertips up one way. Fingernails down the other. It's delicious, the contrast, the subtle shift of sensation. He craves it. Can't get enough of it.

Shivers a little at the feel of it. Even now, so freshly post-fuck as he is, there's a lance of arousal straight down to his groin. He bites her gently on the side of the neck.

"Like it when you do that," is what he says of it all: master of understatement that he is. Exhales, opens his eyes. He looks sleepy, sated. Lifts a hand, heavy. Rubs his thumb lazily over her lips. Leans forward, kisses her where he touched her. Sucks softly at her lower lip the way he did at the beginning of all this. Settles.

Decides to tell her this after all: "Feels more like home when you're here."

Devon

Tips her head when he bites her. Knows before he says it what that bite means. She can almost feel him getting hard again, all over again. Or hardening, perhaps, before he's really softened. She turns her head to nuzzle him as he tells her that he likes it. She has no idea what he's talking about. Thinks maybe he just means sex. Likes it when she fucks him. Duh. Or holds him, maybe. Also duh.

She's looking at him when he opens his eyes. Watching him sleepily, happily, though she isn't smiling. He can see it though, up close. There's emotion in those enigmatic eyes, coded by light and shadow, unreadable to the mundane world.

Tells her something else, but this is something she can't misunderstand. Her brow furrows a little to hear it, all the same. It's not something she would have guessed. She gets it, but... this is his house. This is his home. Sort of.

"Babe..." she murmurs, achingly.

Rafael

"You don't have to be sad."

Wolf's touching her face again. Touching her lips, stroking her cheek. Patting her, almost, with just the tips of his fingers; a strange and tender and animal little gesture.

"Not a sad thing. Just what it is."

Devon

"I'm not sad," she says, immediate. Soft, but still: right away, get that out there. Not sad. Shakes his hand off a little, and maybe she has to nudge and shove and maneuver him but he's going to roll onto his side one way or another and she's going to lie on her side and the air is going to cool off her sweaty back and she's going to look at him, curled up in bed with him.

"Sort of... makes me feel bad, though."

Rafael

Nudged, reminded, wolf rolls aside. Moves with an effortless ease most times. Not quite grace -- too primal, too raw for that -- but close.

Now, replete as he is, there's a heaviness about him. A sense of mass; a gravity in his motion. When he slumps aside, there's something titanic there; thickness of his chest, weight in the shoulders. Even the rise and fall of his breath.

Wolf blinks at her, lazy and slow. "Why?"

Devon

"Cuz every time I see you now, you talk about it," she says, because she doesn't have to think about this.

Rafael

That raises his head. After a moment he props an elbow, frowning.

"You moving out?" Doesn't play dumb, at least. "That's not what I meant."

Devon

"No, me not moving back in," she says, which is only a small correction. She doesn't prop up. She stays on her side, head on the pillow, her legs still tangled up with his. Sheets tugged down. Breasts bare. Nipples perked from cool air on sweat-dampened skin.

She's beautiful like this, disheveled and naked and post-coital. There's few times she isn't beautiful, stunning, incredible, otherworldly. Covered in muck and with nothing but depression in her eyes and she would still have that strange quality of hers, which does not belong here, in this time or place or reality.

Somewhere in the distant past, her ancestors had children with faeries just as readily as they had them with werewolves. Some of them were perhaps true wizards, capable of far more than the hedge witchery that Devon has as her inheritance. She isn't strictly mortal, or strictly kinfolk, or strictly anything. She fits everywhere, and so she fits nowhere.

Belongs everywhere. So: belongs nowhere.

"How you want me back," she says softly, touching his arm with her hand, much like she stroked his back. "Things you miss about me being here. Things you wish for. And here I am, saying no. Or saying nothing. It feels bad."

Rafael

Of course he sees her beauty. Saw it the very first moment he met her. Of course he senses that otherworldliness too -- even if he's hardly aware he senses it. Must have, or he wouldn't have stopped. Come closer. Sniffed at her, tried to figure out how.

Who is she.

What is she.

Will she let him --

She lets him touch her now. Not always -- sometimes she pulls away. If he's too rough, or if she doesn't want to be touched that way. But mostly: he can touch her, stroke her skin, be close. She reaches out to him, too. Touches his arm now. Strokes it, until he turns his hand over and cups her forearm in his palm.

"Just because I want something doesn't mean you have to give it to me," he says. "Doesn't even mean you should."

He sinks down again. Laid out on his side, facing her. Takes a breath and lets it out slow.

"You shouldn't move back in," he says. "Not unless you wanna. Even if you never wanna."

Devon

"Know that," she says, also quite quick, a little sharply; as if she's the sort to wring her hands that she's not catering to her boyfriend's every whim. "Just hearing it over and over makes me feel shitty."

Devon exhales, settling ruffled feathers. Says quieter: "Like you're sad. And it's my fault."

Rafael

Wolf frowns - "What. Should I stop saying it then?"

Devon

A flash, almost a wince, but not one she wants to show him.

"Maybe."

A beat, half a beat, after that, smaller:

"Yeah."

Rafael

Wolf keeps frowning. Doesn't explode into anger. So there's that. But he frowns, and after a while he turns on his back. Frowns at the ceiling instead.

"Okay."

Devon

There's silence between them then. He isn't even looking at her after a few moments. Just frowns, or keeps frowning. And lays back, looks upward. She doesn't know what to say. Thank you doesn't seem right, even if he just (sort of) agreed to stop doing something that makes her feel bad. Which means she won. Which does not mean he has a full appreciation for how she feels. And none of which is the same as him telling her anything about how he feels.

Not that this is how Devon thinks about it. She thinks about the fact that he's frowning, and not looking at her, and he's clearly pissed or something and being sullen now. Or something. It's hard to tell. She exhales quietly, then after a bit, starts to roll over, reaching for her pajamas and dragging them with her off the bed. Gonna go to the bathroom, put them back on. Go make herself breakfast.

Rafael

Nothing after his short reply. Sudden rift seems to have opened between them. Chasm full of misunderstandings -- or perhaps just lack of understanding. After a while girl moves. Starts to get up.

Wolf turns his head. Looks at her. Draws a breath to stop her, but -- doesn't. She gets up. She disappears into the bathroom.

He's sitting on the bed when she comes out. Sitting on the edge, bare feet on the floor, corner of the sheets rumpled over his lap. Frowning still.

"Doesn't mean I don't feel it if I don't say it," he says. Thinks a moment. Tries to explain: "I'm a wolf. Wanna be close to girl I love. Just how it is. Not your fault or mine."

Devon

Rift, chasm. Bit of sidewalk jutted up that makes you trip if you're not looking. That's what she'd compare it to. She isn't stopped. Hears him draw a breath but he apparently decides not to, which just turns that bit of of sidewalk into a pothole. Devon is frowning when she goes into the bathroom, shutting the door behind her.

Pees. Washes her hands, splashes water on her face. Finger-combs her hair into something a little less chaotic. Puts her pajama shorts and tank top back on, flicking the light off and coming back out of his bathroom. He's still in bed. Or on it.

And the sight of him sort of turns her on. Sheets over his lap. Body bowed slightly the way he sits, and the way his eyes glitter when the light hits them. Devon takes a small breath, exhales.

Says what he says. And she cocks her head, standing in the bathroom doorway. Leans her forearm on the jamb, elbow by her side and hand up by her head. Casually crosses one shin over her other, foot resting on its toes.

"Know you feel it anyway, though," she says, her brows tugging together. "Not telling you not to feel it. Just saying that hearing it over and over makes me feel... shitty. Like being punished."

Rafael

So there they are. Frowning at each other. Naked and near-naked. Her hair still tousled from sleep. From sex. His nudity barely hidden; skin aglow where the sun hits.

"Okay," he says after a while. Puts it aside, or at least stops talking about it. Doesn't want to talk about it anymore. Nods at her, a quick up-tilt of his head. It's a non sequitur, but perhaps girl understands where it comes from better than most: "Look good like that."

Devon

[empathy! original suxx = 4]

Dice: 7 d10 TN6 (3, 3, 4, 4, 5, 7, 9) ( success x 2 )

Devon

kai @ 10:07PM
[empathy!]
Roll: 7 d10 TN6 (1, 3, 5, 7, 8, 10, 10) ( success x 4 )

Rafael

[rafa's basically letting it go. he misses her; maybe more than he expected he would, considering he was just fine before she moved in. he thinks it's a little unfair that he can't say it out loud, but he doesn't to be running some sort of guilt trip on her either -- the latter is the primary reason he's letting it be now. also, kind of parallel and under the rest of it, he's slightly turned on because SHE LOOKS GUD LIEK DAT.]

Devon

Devon does not consider herself a very empathetic person. This is not the same thing as being unaware that she has... insight. Sometimes when she reads for people she taps into something far more powerful than she quite understands even now. Other times she just figures out what they want to hear, what they're looking for. She still tries to be honest. Tries to help. But it's not the same thing as true divination. She thinks. It might be. She really doesn't know.

What she does know is that she seldom looks at a person with the intent to understand their heart when there isn't a table full of cards between them. Doesn't even do it that often with Rafael, who you'd think she'd really want to look deeply into, since they have sex and love each other and stuff. But she does now: looks at him from where she stands, looking him over, because 'okay' isn't much to go off of. And because she actually does care how he feels.

She understands, better than most, where his following non sequitur comes from. Yes.

Crosses over to him, lazily. Climbs onto his lap, straddling him and the sheets he's tugged over his groin. Puts her hands on his face, tipping his head to look up at her. Kisses him, rather soundly, and then slowly drapes her arms around his neck.

And if he so happens to wrap his arms around her waist, and lie back in the bed again, and pull her with him, well,

that's all right.

Rafael

Wolf sits up a little straighter as she's coming over. And just like that, that distant pilot-flame of lust burns abruptly higher. By the time she's climbing into his lap he's already putting his hands on her hips. By the time her arms drape just so around his neck, drape like she just happened to let them fall right there,

he's already wrapping his arms around her. Sliding his hand up her back.

She kisses him soundly. He drops back onto the bed, comforters billowing around him to cushion the impact. It takes him a matter of seconds to get her clothes off again. It takes her less time than that to get those sheets out of the way.

--

This time she rides him. He wants her to. Tells her so: ride me. Maybe she stays close, though. Maybe he has his hands on her ass and her breasts are bouncing against his chest and when he finally stops kissing her he watches her with that fire in his eyes, that intensity in his face. Maybe she rises up, balances herself with her hands on his chest. Maybe he plays with her tits, lifts them, pushes them together; maybe he wraps his arms around her and pulls her back down, back down, close.

Maybe he touches her. Gets her off with his hand even as she's riding his cock. Maybe he kisses her when she comes, eating those sounds out of her mouth the way he ate the slick from her cunt. That was hot, too. He loved it. More than he thought he would.

Definitely turns her under when he's close, though. Rolls her back to the bed; pushes up on his hands. Comes sudden and fierce, and it's the sight of her that trips him over. Sight of her breasts bouncing with every thrust. Sight of her cheeks flushed. Sight of her hair spread all over his bed and her eyes, her eyes, that mind-searing color. He growls through clenched teeth. Comes down over her as he's still fucking through the last of his orgasm; wraps her up in his arms. Bites her, this time.

--

Rolls on his back when it's over, this time. She ends up on top again. Sort of. He pulls her hair back off his face, off her neck. They're both a little overheated.

"Love fucking you," he murmurs.

Devon

Sees it in her eyes when she lowers her arm, uncrosses her shins, starts walking toward him. Knows it. Feels it, when she climbs onto him and kisses him. Devon wants him to see it, and know it, and feel it. Feel her. They drop to the bed. They take off her pajamas... again. She reaches down, pulling the topsheet away from his already hardening cock. Strokes him a little. Kisses him again, and again.

On top of the covers this time. Rafael mutters something; Devon rests her hands on his chest, and opens her thighs a little more, and he takes hold of his cock and fits himself into her. They kiss again, arms wound tight, as she sinks down on him. She pants against him, riding him slowly at first, close to his body, a sweat building on that soft skin with every slide of her cunt down onto him, every thrust of his cock up into her.

After a while, though, she lifts herself up. Rides him, and he touches her breasts and her pussy and at some point she's biting her lip and at another she's stopped because she's just crying out from pleasure, buckling over him. He tries to hold her tight then but she gasps no, no in the midst of her orgasm, riding it out on him unrestrained, unrestricted even by an embrace. Kisses him, quite hard, when it peaks and then begins to let her down. Groans into his mouth.

They fuck slowly for a little while after that. She's still on top of him, moving over him, kissing him, while her heart rate stops spiking erratically and while her breathing settles. She could fuck him like this forever, she thinks, over and over, just cycling from orgasm to slowness to orgasm. Silly, lustful thoughts. It's Rafael who quickens their pace. When he can't stand it anymore. When her breasts on his chest and her ass in his hands starts tightening some coil inside of him. Starts fucking her, and then rolls over so she's on her back on the bed, so he's lifted up on his arms over her.

That turns her on. Her eyes flash with it, her thighs sliding up his sides a bit. "That's it," she whispers to him, panting. "Fuck me."

It's only moments after that before he comes, looking at her, hearing her, feeling her around him. Devon's cunt tightens up with him, holds him tight in a shivering little orgasm of her own as he's losing himself into her. She moans again, closing her eyes, tipping her head back as he lowers himself to her, presses harder into her, wraps her up.

His teeth in her shoulder, this time, feel like one of the most loving things he's ever done. Can't explain why.

--

So basically: it's good. She's lazy and limp and unresisting when he rolls them around, but they do separate a bit. Their chests were stuck together. She pants, overheated, her cheeks red and her breasts red and that mark where he bit her red. She feels a bit dizzy. Dehydrated, really. Hungry.

Rafael loves fucking her.

Devon, unable to speak for lack of proper breathing, just nods, one of her hands lifted to her face, pushed back into her hair.

Rafael

Wolf laughs a little to see her like that. Quite undone by all the fuckery. Laugh's low and soft, not unkind. He leans up; over. Kisses her softly, even if she doesn't kiss him back.

Drops back onto the bed, then. Blows a soft breath out. Flush to his cheeks, too, there beneath the cut of the bone. Sweat on his chest. Cum on his dick, if we're being honest and a little crude: his and hers.

"Need to shower," he mutters a little later. "Eat something." Doesn't make a move.

Devon

To be fair, he has had two orgasms. She has had four. She is twice as worn out. And she would do this math for him and explain this all to him if she could breathe, or think clearly. For now she just tolerates his affection as he kisses her, soft and tender, mumbling nothingness. Mumbling protest when he flops around again, making the bed shift. He says he needs to shower. And eat. She exhales, nodding.

"Said you'd make me breakfast," she reminds him.

Rafael

Wolf lets out that huff of a laugh again. His arm's still around her, heavy and lazy. His hand slips down; gives her ass a gentle squeeze.

Butt. Neither of them say it.

"Yeah. I did, didn't I." Another few drowsy seconds. Then wolf rouses himself with herculean effort; sits up with a groan. Tosses a stray pillow aside. Rolls, slides, climbs his way out of bed.

"Come on." Holds his hand out to her. "Shower. Then I'll make you breakfast." Pause; quirk of a smile. " 'Brekkie'."

Devon

Bullshit.

"Butt," Devon says, eyes still closed, smiling a little. She was mostly on her back; he has to snake his hand around her hip to squeeze the one ass-cheek that he wants to pat and fondle. He touches her; she murmurs that fond little word in acknowledgement.

His hand slips away after a bit. He's going to make her breakfast because he said he would. He's the one who woke up talking about eggs.

Devon's eyes drift slowly open, revealing layers of blue that shines so deeply it seems veined with gold and silver. Looks at him as he's struggling his way out of his bed. Looks down his arm to his hand that he's holding up, back into his eyes with a dubious look. Her lips press together in amusement at his words. But she tugs down the pillow he tossed aside, covering her face. Turns and twists and curls up in a ball, rolling herself into the comforter, hugging that pillow.

Nope.

Rafael

She's stubborn about getting up. Wolf smirks, amused. Hand drops to his side. "What, you looking for breakfast in bed?" he says -- to the pillow covering her face. Catches a corner between his fingers. Gives it a gentle tug. "I better be getting two muffins next time I visit you."

He lets go of the pillow. Reaches down; gives her ankle a squeeze. Tells her like that: he's leaving. Tells her like that: he'll be back.

Footsteps receding. Bedroom door opens. And a little later, thump of his feet down the stairs.

Devon

He tugs. She holds the pillow tighter! Nope. It is hers.

Two muffins. She grins against the pillowcase, half-hidden by all her hair.

Squeezes her ankle before he leaves. He heads downstairs and she thinks about unfurling, showering, going downstairs. Instead, she finds herself relaxing. Melting. Curls up in the warm space where his body was and drifts off. Dozes. Naps while her boyfriend makes her breakfast.

Just the boyfriend who ate her out to a melting orgasm last night and woke her up with three more orgasms this morning. Who is now downstairs cooking her breakfast. NBD.

--

Eventually Devon drifts back awake from her little nap. Eventually she yawns and stretches and goes to the bathroom again and puts on her pajamas again and wraps herself up in a throw blanket and shuffles downstairs, wearing a pair of his socks to keep her feet warm. Her hair is even more disheveled now. Her eyes are bright, though. She's somewhat inclined, if he doesn't screw up her eggs, to suck him off again.

Maybe after he showers,

Finds him somewhere. Glomps him, blanket wrapped around her arms and all, burrowing her face against his back. Or chest. Whatever.

Rafael

Smells like eggs and toast by the time she meanders down the stairs. Wolf's plating out her breakfast by the time she comes down the stairs. They're both of them quite filthy. He's standing in boxers, perhaps for fear that his driver or his cook or his maid will show up unexpectedly.

Two slices of toast on her plate. Few strips of bacon on his. Scrambled eggs on his plate. Eggs over-easy sliding onto hers, jostled a little when she comes to wrap her arms around him. Wolf laughs a little, spreading his feet for balance.

"Boiled water," he says. "Don't know how much tea you use."

And for him: a tall glass of orange juice. Pan goes into the sink with a clatter. Wolf turns in her arms, swinging his arm over her head to wrap around her shoulders. Picks up his plate with his free hand.

"C'mon." He nudges her toward the breakfast bar. "You fall asleep again?"

Devon

"You're so nice," she muses fondly, muffled against his flesh. He boiled water even though he doesn't know how much tea she wants. He turns, wrapping her up, and she doesn't let go. Stands there holding him, loving him so much it aches, keeping her eyes closed so it doesn't show.

Asks her, and she nods against his chest. "Napped," she admits. Eyes open, head tips back to look up at him. "You know... just because of... what we talked about upstairs. Doesn't mean you can't tell me you miss me. Or want me to come over."

Rubs her face on him. "If you want to see me more."

Rafael

That catches his attention. Makes him serious; makes him thoughtful. He's quiet, thinking while he sets his plate down. Separates from her, if only so he can sit on a barstool and eat.

"Can live with that," he says. "Telling you I miss you. Or you oughta come over. Instead of telling you I liked it when you lived with me."

Devon

Nooo, her body says, when he starts to move away. Keeps hugging him. Follows him, if necessary, socked feet shuffling along the floor. He's warm. And he smells like himself and sweat and sex and this is comforting to her.

"Yeah," is all she says to that, quiet-like. Breathes in deep then, nuzzling him one more time, rough and affectionate, before she permits him to depart from being her glomp-pillow. Picks up her own plate and also moves some tea bags from their box into a mug, pouring hot water over them. Comes to sit beside him when she's got everything, including some jam for her toast and pepper for the eggs.

"Brekkie," she says, like she's answering what he said before he even cooked it all, confirming that yes: this counts.

frozen burritos e duas cervejas.

Rafael

Girl still has a job. Down there on the cutting edge of trendy, literally: where new urban hip starts to blend into the rundown periurban decay. Hooked on Colfax it's called, and it's a few blocks from the cathedral.

Wolf still has a job too. It's one he gave himself. Comes here and keeps this cathedral safe. Sweeps a few blocks around too. Looks out, indirectly, for the elderly who come here. The young parents, the kids. Sometimes slips a few hundred dollars into the collection box, because what else is he going to use all his unearned money for.

Comes out of an alleyway now. Keen as a hound, wary, looking this way and that. Bloodstains on his hands and cuts on his knuckles. Maybe more on his arms but can't tell with that jacket; pretty soon can't see his hands either because he shoves them in the pockets of his jeans. Turns up his collar, lowers his head, walks.

Walks a few blocks west. Crosses the street. Bumps the door open with his foot and steps into that stylishly warm indie cafe. Finds himself a seat in the back, not far from where he sat last time. Looks around for girl, of course. Maybe he thinks he'll get another muffin.

Devon

Windy as hell tonight. Blows trees enough to bend them, sends windchimes into a tizzy. Girl's at work and looks like they might close soon: she's helping clean the espresso machine. Hair is all up, but messily so. Tendrils and locks hang down without care, and there's a clasp in there someplace that glints occasionally. Wears grey jeans and her old Converse and a dusky blue tank top. Necklaces stacked on top off each other, same with her rubber bracelets and other cheap jewelry from places like H&M.

Glances up when Rafael enters. Gives him a little upward nod.

--

They are closing. But they've seen him a couple of times or Devon has said something; no one offers to take his order or asks him to leave. Eventually she comes over, carrying a napkin but not a plate and a muffin left over from the morning that she's warmed up a little. It's blueberry.

She cocks her head. "Hey."

Rafael

Wolf greets the small snack with the same well-reined delight. Barely there unless you look, and unless you know him. Then you see it: straightening up a little in his seat. Faint faint little smile at the corners of his mouth. He breaks it in half, gives half back to her as he stands.

"Was around," he says by way of explanation. "Thought I'd give you a ride home."

Devon

Devon shakes her head at the muffin, stepping back to give him room to get out of the table, the booth, whatever. She smiles up at him, that thin little smirk of hers.

"You're such a boyfriend," she says.

Rafael

Wolf quirks an eyebrow. Trying to see if she's serious or sarcastic or what. Then he just shrugs, taking a big bite out of the half the muffin. Folds the other half up in the napkin, puts it in his pocket.

"I am a boyfriend. Yours, specifically." Now he smirks back. Jerks his head at the door, eating the last of the half-muffin. "Come on."

Devon

Tips her head back at the counter. "Have to finish," she says, seeming amused. "I'll be out in a bit."

--

Which she is. They start wiping tables and turning chairs onto them and locking things up. When the lights finally go off and the front door opens, the other barista goes with the manager to her car since she has the deposit. Devon, now wearing a flannel as a jacket and wind blowing her hair over her face, comes up over to wherever Rafael is waiting. Looks up at him again, because she has to, because he's rather large.

"Want to go to yours?" she asks, idle. "Watch a movie?"

Rafael

"All right," wolf says, all offhanded. "Go earn your keep."

--

Finds him outside when she's done. Leaning against the wall, hands in his pockets. Straightens up when he sees her coming, and then there's inches and inches between them, and she's looking up at him with those astounding blue eyes.

He leans down. No preamble, just does it. Bumps his brow to hers, that rough unspoken affection of his. His hand slides around her waist. He kisses her.

Steps back, then, finds her hand with his. "Sure. Miss finding your old movies on my Netflix."

Devon

Always thinks he's going to kiss her like a normal person before he does that. He leans down and she's half-closed her eyes and her lips part but bonk. That soft bump first. She blinks, eyes startling open again as she slips his arm around her, and she looks at him, and then he does kiss her.

Devon leans against his chest then, closing her eyes again. Drinks.

--

As they separate, hands sliding together, feet turning the same direction, she tips her head to peer at him. "Really? Why?"

Rafael

Half a sorry gets out. Sor-- and then she's climbing onto him, using his body for balance and leverage. Wolf likes that too. Puts his hands on her as she rises, moves over him.

Takes her by the waist. Grips her ass, grasps her thighs. She kisses him and here's zero hesitation on either end. He kisses her back, hungrily as ever. Eyes closed, mouth open. Her hands cup his face like he's something precious to her, to be protected and kept close. Strange, because that's how he feels about her most the time.

Even if he's rough with her sometimes. Even if he forgets in the heat of the moment.

Wolf draws back a little. Turns his head, breaking the kiss but not their contact. His brow to hers still. His breath washing just past her cheek.

"Sorry," he finishes. Important that he says it: "Don't mean to hurt you." Looks at her then. Puts his hand on her cheek, thumb sweeping her lips. "Know that, right?"

Devon

God, she's so soft. And naked. And wet. Can't feel it right now. Isn't touching her there. No matter: he'll know soon. Knows already how soft she is, how mesmerizing it can be to touch her. Her breasts brush against his chest when they kiss. Soft. Naked. Wet. Lush.

Kisses him again after that first one, harder. Presses into him this time, her legs opening further. But they ease back. He draws back, all but panting. Or just: panting. She rubs the tip of her nose against his cheek, kissing him there, kissing his ear. He's talking.

Says he's sorry. And that he doesn't mean to hurt her. Devon draws back slowly, one of her hands still on his face. And one of his hands is on hers. She nods.

"Know that," she says softly. Leans in and kisses his mouth, very gentle. "I'm all right. Next time just say stop. I'll stop."

She means that, but the corner of her mouth tugs in an almost-smile a second later. She turns her face to his other cheek, kissing them there as well. "Why'd you want me to stop, anyway?" she wants to know, as she reaches for his hand. Laces her fingers with his. Draws it down her body, guiding his fingertips between her legs.

Naked. Wet. Lush.

Can see that spark go off in her eyes, first time his finger slides over her pussy. Her lips part with a sudden exhale, but she doesn't stop looking at him.

Rafael

Wolf's eyes are open for this kiss. Eyelashes sweep down but not all the way. Dimly, green glints from behind that screen. Glitters as his eyes open again -- she's drawing back.

Takes his hand. He lets her. His fingers wrap around hers; slide between. He leans forward and kisses her over her heart, and meanwhile

she draws his hand over her skin. His thumb indents her flesh ever so slightly -- the tautness of her skin, the softness of her body. He rubs his cheek against her. Watches as she pulls him down, down, and he knows where she's going so he sits back to watch her.

Sees that flare in her eyes. Like fireworks from afar. He doesn't stop watching her either: not even when he leans up. Kisses her.

"Was about to come," he answers, rough and honest.

Touches her: not so roughly. God, he's almost -- he is gentle this time. Touches her so lightly, so tenderly; slides the pads of his fingers over and between, around and around. Lifts his face to hers. Kisses her the same way, lightly, grazingly, never closing his eyes. Watches her like he's fascinated by her face. Her expressions. The changing light in those astonishing eyes.

Devon

He kisses her again and she can't kiss him back. Her mouth is open, her breath coming a little faster, a little more full. She's guiding his hand at first, stroking him over her pussy. It's really only when she senses how gentle he's being, how careful, that she lets go of him. Puts both her hands on his body: his shoulder, his chest.

Takes her a few moments to answer him. Panting: "Like it when you come, though."

A hitch in her voice at the word, the thought of it, that tightens her up and lifts her pitch: "Love making you come."

Rafael

Wolf snorts. Nevermind that he's kissing her right then: snorts anyway. "Yeah well." Nips at her lips. "Told me not to come in your mouth."

See: he does pay attention.

Girl's hands on his body then. Holding onto his shoulder. Touching his chest. Balancing herself, or maybe just making contact. He has his hands on her too. Hand on her hip, smoothing around. Fingers splaying over her ass, forearm along her thigh: supporting, cradling.

Touching her. Stroking her, finding a rhythm or at least -- the right spots. Can tell he finds it because she's not subtle about her. Can hear it in her voice, a certain breathlessness in her words. Wolf leans forward, kisses her breastbone, rubs his face there the way he likes to. Takes her nipple into his mouth, sucks at her. Uses his tongue.

Has her in his mouth still when he mutters, muffled:

"Wanna lie back for me?"

Devon

That makes her laugh, soft and breathy, catching at the end as his fingertip slides over her clit. She gives him a kiss. She smiles, drowsily. "Doesn't mean you can't come, silly."

Never called him silly before. Kisses him again, deeper, not the tender little thing of a moment ago. Drinks in his breath as he touches her, starting to move like she's riding him. Just his hand, though. Makes a sound into his mouth, sighs as he parts from her, rubbing his face against her chest, reveling in her skin if not her scent. Devon shudders when he sucks on her nipple, licks her. She leans in closer, pressing her tit into his mouth.

Yum.

"What?" she gasps a little later. Maybe he clarifies. Maybe she just translates it, slowly, through the haze of arousal. Lie back. She shivers a little, slow and warm, turning her head to kiss his neck. "Thought you liked it when I rode you," she murmurs, teasingly. Must be teasing, because she kisses him again on his throat before she shifts away, unfolding from his lap, turning on the couch and laying down, head on some throw pillow, propped against the arm of the couch. Reaches for him, or holds out her arms, her hands, thinking he means to fuck her now.

Rafael

Doesn't know what to say to that. Confused by her teasing. Bemused by her -- well. By how fucking hot she is, and how fucking hot she makes him, rubbing on his hand like that. She presses against him. He kisses, sucks, licks her breasts. Squeezes her ass; plays with her cunt.

Mutters for her to lie back. What, she wants to know, which makes him grin darkly. Makes him suck at her nipple just a little harder, just to hear her gasp, before she kisses him. Lifts away. He lets her go, eyes gleaming. Licks her taste off his fingers while she lays herself out.

"Yeah," he admits: he does like it. "But wanna taste it."

Takes her hands, lacing his fingers with hers. Rises up on the couch, knees sinking into the cushioning; leans over her as their fingers come apart. Her hands sliding up his forearms. His palms covering her breasts, sliding down to her waist. Taking her by the hips and shifting her, lifting her right off the couch.

Licks her for the first time like that: raised up on his hands, balance between his strength and the couch. Quick, darting, tasting lap of his tongue. Pauses to nose deeper, as though to hunt for her ever-elusive scent; murmurs some muffled growl against that wet little cunt. They sink against the couch then: his hands lowering her, the thick-bunched muscles in his back and shoulders twisting as flexing as he lowers himself to her. Sprawls out on his stomach, feet hanging off the edge of the couch. Uses the pad of his thumb to draw back the hood of her clit; uses the tip of his tongue to part her lips.

Maybe he has done this before after all. Or at least fucking googled something about proper technique, who knows. Careful with her this time. Doesn't pry her open, doesn't treat her like so much meat. Gentle with her: tender, yeah? Licks her from slit to clit, bottom to top; long and slow. Laps at her luxuriously and patiently, stroke after stroke, pausing only to murmur, "Tell me how."

Rafael

[ERP DELETE LAS TWOO LIENS]

Devon

Devon can't think of a single time they've been like this together. A little playful. Chatting. Mostly: taking their time. Not just slowing down once he's inside of her to enjoy it, but enjoying everything else first. It makes her smile. She keeps smiling at him tonight, nuzzling and touching him. She's not subtle about her pleasure, or her delight. He's pleasing her. He's delighting her.

And when he licks her fingers to get her taste she thinks she's going to come. No waiting, not even any fucking. She pants a breath out and if she could reach him now she'd kiss him very hard but he's crawling over her, taking her hands and climbing over her. Devon's cheeks are pink from arousal, from expectation, and her hands do run up his arms, and she shivers again when he lifts her breasts in his hands, touches her sides, smooth, soft.

Lifts her up a little. Lowers himself. And then leans in between her legs and forgive her, but she tenses. The only time he's gotten his mouth near her cunt it hurt, his fingers were so rough and he didn't seem like he intended to pleasure her as chew her up and devour her, and for Devon it was not sexy or enjoyable at all -- in fact, it made her wary of letting a creature like him get his teeth on her, anywhere, for a while after that. Still a bit unsure about letting him do this now.

It takes a choice to trust him now, instead of squirming away. Takes a choice. She reacts, quiveringly, when he first licks her, but that quick and almost sharp little flash of his tongue doesn't do much for her. Nor his nose, really. For a moment it sort of tickles. But he growls and that worries her but it also sends low vibrations through her cunt and makes her clench up, makes her wet, makes her body shudder.

More comfortable when he lowers her down. He can feel some of the inherent tension flow out of her lower body, just as he can feel those intermittent tremors of unease when he touches her, makes her so very very vulnerable, makes her so very open. She makes a noise like a whimper, uncertain, as he slides the tip of his tongue between her labia.

Rafael

Girl's so uncertain. Wary of him. Makes his heart twist in his chest. Makes him pause, tongue quivering against her clit -- and then pulling away. Drawing up on his elbows, looking up her body to her eyes.

Kisses her low on her abdomen. Kisses her gentle and warm, his lips pressing to her skin.

"What's wrong?" -- scarcely more than a whisper.

Devon

"It's all right," she whispers back, panting still. In between shivers of tension and noises of uncertainty there were shudders of lust, gasps of need. Still there. "I want you to."

It's just

"Last time --" Devon admits, and he may not know what she means, or remember. She does, though, and for her it's mostly a memory of him trying to snarl and devour her cunt. Her yelping, twisting away, curling up against the headboard.

She doesn't really know how to put this into words without derailing everything. Wanting him and being wary of him. Seems like all she ever does is ask him to go slower, be gentler. Sometimes she wonders when he's going to get fed up with it, because he gets fed up easily.

She could probably put it into words. She doesn't want to.

Rafael

Last time.

Wolf lays his lips against her skin. Rubs his face there a little -- beard bristle and all. "I know," he says. She doesn't have to finish. He knows. "Be careful with you. Promise."

And moving down again. And putting his mouth on her, so gently: wrapping his lips around her clit, tonguing that exquisitely sensitive spot. His eyes are on her, looking up over the slopes and curves of her body; the organic motion of her, arch of back, shudder of abdomen. Reaches up, touches her breasts. Holds one cradled in his palm as he kisses her, licks her.

Careful with her this time. Doesn't pry her open, doesn't treat her like so much meat. Gentle with her: tender, yeah? Licks her from slit to clit, bottom to top; long and slow. Laps at her luxuriously and patiently, stroke after stroke, pausing only to murmur, "Tell me how."

Devon

His stupid unshaven face rubbing on her skin makes Devon's belly tighten up, her flesh involuntarily moving away from the scratchiness. She looks down at him, sad for being wary, and her fingers touch his head, brush over his brow, as he makes his soft little promises. An exhale leaves her, slowly, because those soft little promises turn her on, too.

"Oh--!" when he sucks on her like that, pressing the tip of his tongue gently on her clit, working her with his mouth. Muscles in her hips tighten up and relax, arching her somewhat for a moment. Again, as he goes on touching her, as he goes on kissing her pussy even more gently than he's ever kissed Devon on the mouth. Her fingers push and spread into his hair, running as slowly as his tongue.

She thinks maybe he looked something up about this. Had to have. And that's one of her last thoughts for a few seconds, while he licks her like that, slow and tender and erotic. He tells her to tell him how. She doesn't hear him at first. She's just lying there, her fingertips occasionally massaging his scalp, her hips occasionally shifting on the couch. Her skin is flushed. Her eyes are closed. And she is molten.

Hears him eventually, either because he tells her again or because the words finally swim through her mind and make sense. She whimpers softly, a thoroughly different noise than before, but it's another couple of heartbeats before she can tell him: "Like that. Keep --" her lips press together, stifling an outcry as he sucks softly on her clit again. When her lips open again she pants, gasping: "Keep doing that."

Rafael

Girl's got her hands in his hair. Girl's just about lost her hold on the world. It's because of something he's doing to her, and for her. It's because he's treating her gently, and tenderly, and erotically, and lovingly.

New sort of realization to have. The connections: a to b to c. New sort of feeling to have: to hold this sort of primitive, bone-deep influence over someone and not have it be about power or cost or someone always wanting to take something from you. Wolf closes his eyes, same as the girl. They both focus on the physical and the sensory. Taste of her slick. Grip of her hands. Shiver in her thighs and the accompanying gasps that she can't seem to contain.

Goes on for a while. Eventually he wraps his hands around her thighs. Hold her gently, firmly open. Never does use his fingers on her; doesn't fuck her with his hands, doesn't massage her, nothing. Just his mouth. Just his tongue, which proves surprisingly tireless considering how little he speaks. Just his lips, tip of his nose, heat of his mouth; and always his tongue again, slow-lapping or flickering, licking, sucking.

Wolf wants her to come. Wants to see her let go like that. Doesn't pursue it, though. Doesn't chase it down with singleminded intensity, the sort that might make her quail and withdraw. It's just slow. It's just lazy, and patient, and inexorable. He enjoys her and adores her like this, and he wants her to come, but more than that he wants her to know: she is loved. And valued. And cared for. And he is not careless with her or her feelings.

Devon

Doesn't mind losing her grip on the world. Has his hair to hold onto. Has his arms wrapped around her, keeping her close, supporting her, warming her. She rests her feet on his sides, whimpering in rhythm to his licking. Turns out she likes it just like this: just slow, just easy. Soft. No poking her or fucking her with his tongue. Sometimes teasing her with the tip a little, tonguing her, but even then it's a sweet, gentle thing. Never asks him to use his fingers. Never really starts riding his face or grinding against his tongue. She doesn't bounce and scream and swear or scratch at him or anything.

It's incredibly tender. Not just the way he is with her. The way she responds. The way it makes her feel, melting away on his couch, sweating skin to skin with him. He can only tell how close she's getting by the way she tastes, and by the way she begins to squirm, the way her whimpers get closer together, the way her breathing quickens, the way her heart pounds against his hand when he touches her breast, holds her in his hand. And Devon doesn't push him away or pull him up or warn him in words. She just starts gasping faster, her body tensing up.

All told, she takes a long time. Long enough that he might have a crick in his neck, an ache in his shoulders. Long enough that his jaw might be sore. Or might not be any of those things: he's not mortal. But she's so slow, so wet. It's trancelike, the way she ebbs and flows. It's like the tide, just as primordial and -- it seems -- as inevitable. But it does come. She does come. And by the time she does there is a shimmer of sweat all over her body. By the time she comes her cheeks and her breasts and her thighs and belly are pink and heated. Her cunt is dripping. It's a slow, warm orgasm, flowing through her body, rolling second after second after second.

She doesn't scream, even. Her head is tilted back and she's crying out but it's just a touch more heightened than the whimpers she's been giving for the last godknowshowmany minutes. At the very end she does rub herself against his mouth, her noises dipping towards a sort of low, tight groan.

And afterward she can't move. She's not just limp, she's worn out. She's exhausted, her eyes closed and her body shaking.

Rafael

Wolf never does go any faster. Never fucks her harder, tongues her more insistently -- any of that. Just goes along with it. Just works her slow and gradual and, in his own gentle way, relentless. Builds her up and brings her off and when she finally comes, he's reminded of a wave. Cresting. Spilling over. Slipping apart.

Licks her through it. Kisses her, wraps his lips around her clit, sucks her the way he does: a gradual steady pressure punctuated by the touch of his tongue. Takes her through it, over her climax and back down the other side. Hears her crying out. Feels the actual moment of release; the ripple of relaxation through all her body. Those pulses through her cunt, exquisitely felt against the sensitivity of his lips, his tongue. Growls with her as, finally, she rubs herself against his face. Rides his mouth.

Laps at her afterward, languid as can be, his tongue sweeping over every inch, every millimeter, every quivering fold. Licks up the taste of her like he's washing her clean -- very slow, very slow, aware and conscientious of how hyperacute her senses must be now.

Eventually he pulls himself up a bit. Lays his head down on her abdomen, his chest to her inner thighs, her cunt. Wolf still has a hand on her breast and he fondles her softly even now -- lazily, not going anywhere. Plays with her nipple: tips of his fingers, flat of his palm.

Turns his head. Kisses her skin. Rubs his face there a little the way he likes to, like he's picking up her scent but of course that's not it. Looks up at her: her closed eyes, the exhausted rapture in her face. Little by little he crawls up over her, lays himself out alongside her. Wraps his arms around her and turns on his back. Pulls her against his chest, squeezed together on that couch.

Devon

Oh, how she quivers. She's trembling and after he's cleaning her and she can't quite handle it but she doesn't pull away. It almost makes her cry, she's so overwhelmed, but she doesn't. She feels how careful he is, circling her clit but leaving it alone, letting it pulse as she comes down. He's just licking her clean. She softens, and catches her breath, and finally opens her eyes, just a little, looking down at him.

He's covering her. Holding her, and touching her breast. Rubbing against her, and then crawling up over her, holding her close to his chest. Devon looks slightly drunk. She breathes more slowly now, more regularly, looking at him through some sort of haze she couldn't describe if she wanted to. She stares at him, and he kisses her, and her lips try to smile but never quite find the energy.

One of her hands lifts, slowly, as though moving through water. She strokes his cheek with the backs of her fingers.

"No one's ever done that before," she murmurs.

Rafael

Wolf closes his eyes to the stroke of her fingers. Not the first time she's done that. Feels so intimate every time.

Opens his eyes again. He's surprised. Then his eyebrows draw together; a frown, acheful. "No one?" he repeats. Nuzzles her, brief but warm. Settles back and stares at that high, spacious ceiling. "They should've."

Devon

No one?

Devon gives a little shake of her head, stroking him still. Her eyes are still glassy, glazed. "Some kissing. Fingering. Some tongue-poking. Not... that."

Not pleasuring her. Not laying down and listening. Not staying with her. Hard to hear even the vaguest indication of past experiences, and she seems to feel awkward mentioning it, but she doesn't want to lie and say no one's mouth has ever been near my pussy ever. But always before -- and there's not much in that 'always' -- there'd be a rather immediate stopping point, as though due diligence having been performed, it was now time to fuck. Doesn't sound like a complaint, except for the tongue-poking bit. Devon hasn't ever talked much about sex. They don't talk much about sex. Or past experience. Or even what they like and don't like, before the fact. Or after.

She snuggles closer to him. That's what it is: snuggling. Curling up and cuddling to him, in his arms and against his chest.

Tries to find a way to put into words what she's thinking. Not easy right now; her brain is still in pieces.

"Don't care if they did," she murmurs. Good enough.

Rafael

It's that last thing that draws it into focus for him. Eases the ache. Connects the dots. He gets it. She didn't care if they did. Opens a link to his own experiences. How he felt about them.

Wolf's arm encircles her. Fingertips stroke idly through her hair -- lifting strands, letting them fall. "Guess I haven't really done that much either," he admits. Amends: "Hardly ever. Never like that.

"Guess I never really cared to," he finishes, and leaves it there.

Devon

Doesn't matter if they did. Matters that he did. Glad he did, but not sure how to put that into words either without sounding sappy.

Also, just: words are hard right now.

Devon lifts up a little and kisses his chin, nuzzles him despite his bristle, and then settles once more, closing her eyes. Lets him hold her, and lets herself be happy with that. Listens to his voice through his chest, the rumble and the deep sea swell of his breathing. Her hair has dried much more since she came downstairs and put her hands all up his shirt. Still wet though, still damp. Sweaty at the hairline.

One of her eyes opens, her hand touching his mid-back. Thinks for a bit, before she murmurs: "Like it?"

Rafael

Wolf thinks a while. Slow animal blinks, looking up at the ceiling. Maybe he's thinking about those very moments right now. How she came down the stairs, hair wet, fresh clothes. Put her hands under his shirt. Rolled it up. Kissed his skin.

Led him to the couch. Sat him down. Sucked him until he had to stop her, because -- because he was silly like that. Corners of his mouth twitch. He laughs to himself; it's completely unrelated. Laugh dies a natural death and he looks at her, something bold in the meeting of their eyes.

"Love it," he says.

Devon

Started like something else entirely. Sort of. He came by and she was glad to see him. Decided as soon as he was sitting in the booth at Hooked that she wanted to go back to his place with him, and that she wanted to fuck tonight. And when she came downstairs and started hugging him and he was reacting the way he did, breathing the way he did just because she was touching him -- that's when she decided she was going to give him a blowjob. Thought he probably would stop her, and then she'd fuck him, and -- so on.

Just a fun little night in, really. Maybe have some pizza or some other cruddy frozen food he'd heat up, some beers. Watch some Netflix and cuddle. Make out under a blanket, fall asleep, wake up at the credits, go up to his bed and curl up in a tangle of warm limbs and soft sheets. A really nice night, to be honest. With her big dumb stupid-faced boyfriend who she's pretty sure thinks she hung the moon in the sky because he loves her so, admires her so, adores her.

Sometimes she has good days and she just sort of knows all these things. That he is big and dumb and loves her so, so much.

--

This was not 'better'. This was just... good. And unexpected. And strange. And good.

Devon still looks a little drunk when he looks down to her. She's really sort of nestled against his chest, not quite hiding there. But to look right at her he has to pull his chest away, look at her, and she has to lift her chin a little. Does so, when he moves. Looks back at him. Nothing bold in her. No more or less than she is all the rest of the while.

Smile tries to rise to the occasion on her lips. Doesn't quite make it, but it was a valiant effort.

"Good," she mutters, sleepily-happily. "Gonna ask you to do it again."

Rafael

Wolf lets loose a bit of a laugh. Settles back down. Pulls girl back to where she was, nestled against him. So blown out and exhausted by her own pleasure she barely seems to have the strength to smile.

That makes him feel tenderly toward her too. Protective; loving.

"Gonna take you to bed," he says, though he hasn't started moving yet. And remembering, "Still got burritos in the microwave."

Devon

Neither of them bring up the fact that Rafael never came. That they never fucked. He just holds her, and she lets herself be warmly cradled against him. He says he's taking her to bed. That makes her smile. Makes her lips tug at the corners and makes her eyes close again.

He mentions burritos. A couple of seconds later, her stomach growls. "I'm so hungry," she laughs, softly, breathily. Not really for burritos. But she doesn't say that. Maybe he'll feed her and she'll drink some beer and they'll cuddle FOREVER and sleep FOREVER.

Rafael

Wolf's not entirely witless. Has some inkling she doesn't really appreciate 50-cent frozen burritos the way he does. After all, she was talking about teaching him to cook. Burritos is what he made, though, and burritos are what they'll have. Not particularly inclined to learn how to cook right now, after all.

Laughs a little again. That low vibration in his chest. Then he does move, sitting up. Lifting her legs over his lap as he swings his feet to the floor.

"Come on." He holds his arm out to her: will carry her if she wants. "Grab burritos. Go upstairs."

Devon

Her legs go easily, limply, over his lap and over his arm, then. Skinny arms loop around his neck, and damp head lays on his shoulder.

"E duas cervejas," she adds, holding up two fingers, relatively sure that the cadence and intonation of her words and the familiarity of the cognates in Spanish to even native English speakers will get the message across. If not: "With limes."

Smiles at him, and leans over, pressing her nose to his for a moment. "Love you," she mutters, quiet, secretive, hiding the words in his cheekbone.

Rafael

So he does carry her. Takes her into his arms, which aren't skinny at all. Which are thick and hard with muscle, solid with bone. Easily he lifts her, sweeps her right up. She wants two cervejas, and even if he didn't guess what that is, the limes clue him in. He smirks a little -- it's a bit of a grin. White flash of teeth.

That grin folds in on itself when she presses near. Turns into something slighter, smaller, more private. He rubs his face against hers, heavy and feral. Kisses her quick and light.

"Too," he whispers, and hopes she forgives his shorthand.

Devon

Oh, she forgives him. Doesn't even roll her eyes. She just nestles close to him again. Later on she might think about things like how he never came and how he's carrying her up the stairs like a princess and how that's really stupid and how he's going to bring her burritos and beer in bed and how that's even stupider. Later on she might, maybe tomorrow, but right now she's content. She's absolutely content in her body, and in his stupid townhouse, and in his arms.

Of course she forgives him.

pack?

Rafael

Somehow word gets to Morgan. Maybe a message left with a Guardian, who calls her cousin, who knows a guy, who knows the guy Morgan's shacking up with, and -- word gets to her. Wolf wants to meet. They work out a plan. Time: now. Place: here.

Semi-disreputable burger & cheap steaks joint couple blocks past the Cathedral Basilica of the Immaculate Conception: buzzing neon OPEN sign in the window, dirty wind-torn awning over the door. Wolf fits right in with his battered motorcycle jacket, heavy-soled boots. Bike's parked outside getting wet in the rain. He's sitting by a window, toward the back. Instinctively likes sitting where he can see everyone and everything.

Glass of coke in front of him. And a menu, which is a photocopy of a photocopy, the words blurred but still legible.

Morgan

She's not hard to track down, when you go looking in the right places.

A girl (woman, monster) like Morgan Roche, she has a tendency to stand out in a crowd. It's that long, wild red mane of hair of hers; its the long, lanky limbs and the brilliant clarity of her eyes; blue as could be. Clear and vibrant and entirely capable of pinning a grown man in place when they turned on him in that certain way. Word gets to her; this nearly-nineteen year old warrior that the Silver Fang wants to meet.

Says a place, names a time and five minutes; ten minutes after the agreement the dingy little place gets a new customer. The buzzer sounds; the tinny bell jingles and in washes fields of verdant green and the crackle-burn of energy. She shakes rain off the jacket she's wearing; old, battered denim over a navy shirt. There's holes in the bottom; fraying clear through so slivers of her belly tease; pale skin; Morgan had the palest skin that somehow threw off the energy she bought.

Cast doubt on this girl being what she felt like. Couldn't be; never plausible to think she was a monstrous thing under those clothes; beneath those freckles and fiery hair.

She stands in the doorway for a beat, Firebrand; shakes off the rain water and does it with this cursory; sweeping look that's more predatory than anything affecting human. Spies Wolf in his corner and the edge of her mouth curls up; recognition; satisfaction. Quarry found. The Fiann prowls over and slides in across from him. She smells like the rain and some vaguely (probable) no-name brand of soap.

"How're the burgers?"

This is his greeting from the redhead - all practicality, Morgan. She's hungry. Unfolds the menu. Darts her eyes all over the other Ahroun. "Heard y'were lookin' for me."

Rafael

Could be read as a powerplay. Wolf sitting in the corner, seeing but unseen, at least for those first few seconds. Sure as hell doesn't get up to greet his peer. Doesn't really seem like the sort to play games of dominance like that, though. Probably just sits there because he can't be fucked to get up.

Anyway: she does see him. Doesn't even take her very long. Wolf burns with a quiet, deep flame, after all. Hard to miss him in any crowd.

She comes over. His hands are palm-down on the table; he's leaning back and relaxed. Lifts one of those palms just a couple inches: something like a wave.

"Decent. Steaks are pretty good too for the price." Red wolf slides in across from him. He's rather dark, given the silver-lined heritage: dark hair, dark stubble, dark eyebrows. Green eyes. He's studying her as she studies him.

"Yeah. Figured we should talk." Beat. "Think I met your past life."

Morgan

Pity the poor waitress that bustles over with more reluctance than usual to wait on them. To shoot edgy little looks at Rafael and keep her hands wrapped tight around that pad as Morgan rattles off an order. Burger. Fries and perhaps worthy of a twinge of amusement - Diet Soda. Waits until the human has moved away to cast Wolf this curious-come-confused frown.

The rain dribbling down the glass beside them canting shadows over their forms. There's a drip somewhere; inside or out is anyone's guess.

"Yeah?" Not all Garou would have such a monosyllabic reaction to that news; would startle or stare or burst into laughter at the idea. She doesn't laugh, the Ahroun. She does frown at him for a long minute or two and lean back; bracing both elbows along the back of the chair behind her. It's a very alpha gesture, much of Morgan's behavior tends toward it. She isn't one, never seemed terribly inclined to demand she be one to anyone - at least, not in this city so far - but there's a command of space that speaks to the spark of it.

She owns her place; owns her side of the table.

Stares across at Wolf; lets her eyes tick over his face; blinks once in this slow, assessing way and then drops forward. Sits it; straightens. "You've been places, then." Not a question, that quiet, certain way she phrases it. Turns it into one after the fact, though. A hesitant: "Wasn't fightin' for the wrong side or anything, was I - them." A schism of uncertain irritation like an itch flickering across her face. "Figure I'd have heard but y'never know. Got a lot of ancestors."

Rafael

Nothing about the wolf screams alpha. Or omega. Or anything in between. Plenty about him screams lone wolf. Guarded, distant, wary. Prone to violence if cornered.

He leans back as she does. They stare at each other. Eyes lock maybe a beat too long. Then a blink -- him, her, doesn't really matter. Yet, anyway.

"No. Hell no. You were on the right side." Then he smirks. "Cub, though. Had to rescue you."

Morgan

There's a snort. Morgan's mouth twists into a squiggle of momentary animation. Her eyes are bright as she shakes her head, lets out a brief, sharp huff that sounds a lot like resignation. "A Cub. Figures as much. Had trouble as one in this life, figures it'd hold true f'the others." She looks out the window into the rainy evening; catches sight of her own reflection cast back by the lights within.

That long hair; the cut of her jaw. Her pale skin. Her reflection wearing that same expression that's lingering as she looks back at the other wolf.

"So why were y'back then, anyway?" The female's drink arrives; set down on top of a napkin as it sweats; ice cubes rattling as Morgan starts playing with a straw; stirring it around for something to occupy her hands. "Find it hard t'believe it'd be just to rescue my other self."

Rafael

Wolf has a moment to regard his momentary companion. Tries to find in her some thread of similarity to that other female of Stag he knows. Thinks he sees it there -- just a glimmer of it. Something about that air of wildness and delicateness; the savage and the arcane. Balance is different, though. It's another wolf across the table, no mistake about that.

"Probably weren't a cub forever," he offers. "Probably did damn well. Better than me. I died as a Cliath, that life."

Waitress stops by. Drinks arrive. Wolf breaks off, orders. Gets what passes as a new york strip steak here, medium-rare. Baked potato on the side, loaded. His drink gets refilled too.

Waitress moves off; he waits til she's out of earshot. Conversation continues. Wolf's eyes hood. Shrugs.

"Long story. Sort of personal to get into right now. Thought we ought to talk though. Since you and I keep running into each other in battle, and now it turns out we've met before too." The smirk's back. It's not mischief. It's just humor, darkened. "Feels a little like fate."

Morgan

"Always gotta wonder what makes the difference between who does and doesn't. M'Uncle's been fightin' forever in another Sept. Still doin' it. Still on t'front line. My parents didn't even make it to 40 between them." There's a pause there as the Ahroun watches the food arrive; watches the other wolf dig into what he ordered; feels the roll and rumble of her own belly reminding her she needs to eat. That it's been too long since she did. She's no street rat Morgan, but she does live on the raggedy edge much of the time.

Finds her means to get by the way the low down, the uneducated do; odd jobs; favors; the kindness in some respects of her Kin. What cost did protection from the plague of the Wyrm run, anyway - she stood between blood of her blood and death more than once - took up the offer of a roof and a warm bed in recompense. In human terms she's a dropout; a loser who never quite made it through high school, will likely never see the inside of a college.

In Garou terms - she's one of the last of their champions. The dying breed of the Full Moon; bred for war and death. Long, peaceful lives had never really been on the table for them - either of them. Sometimes that's easy enough to see in their faces, too. In the certainty when they talk about death. It's there, to an extent, in Morgan's right now; the simple truths she offers.

There was no rhyme or reason. You lived or you died. "Maybe there's a reason we ain't died yet this time. Maybe not." A little curl of her lip. Not cruel, but - aware. But practical. "You wanna run together or somethin', Silver Fang?" There's a twinge of something teasing to that, though. The way she drawls out his tribe; marks it with her faintly accented tones as if it means something to say it. Makes it more official, somehow.

Rafael

Their food shows up remarkably quick. Nice thing about greasy spoons like this: they're quick on the turnaround. Helps too when the entire wait staff wants these two psychos out of here asap.

Neither of them seems inclined to wolf their food down and leave, though. They're talking. Having a serious, in-depth discussion. About as lengthy as Ahroun discussions get, anyway. Which means: five whole minutes between they cut to the chase.

"Yeah." Not too shy about saying it, now that it's on the table. "Not just us though. That Fang Philodox who called for packmates at the moot -- she was in my past too. And one more. Another Fianna I haven't met yet."

Morgan

It's almost comical the way Morgan's eyes light up when her food arrives, all said. She makes it a point to shake out her napkin though, to set it over her lap in a way that the very Philodox in question would no doubt appreciate in all its perfunctory articulation. It's a gesture that seems introduced more than natural to her and for a beat; the way she darts a quick, sharp look across at him, she seems unsure about even trying it in front of the other Ahroun.

As if her decorum might somehow underhand their discussions or his opinion of her worth as a fighter.

She eats a few fries first and swallows; licking grease from the edge of her mouth and chews the next with a slightly more thoughtful bent. "Avery? I kind of like her. She's fancy but she talks to me like I'm worth hearing out." There's an offhand, casual sort of shrug as she picks her burger up next in both hands; takes a bite and continues before she's entirely done chewing it in a gesture that is entirely human. Purely teenage in its gracelessness.

"Probably be good t'have a Half Moon anyway. If it's just us we'd kill everythin' and forget t'follow orders." She smiles; a touch aware, perhaps, that their last outing where they were left to their own devices to follow through on a lead had led to the prime suspect having her face eaten off.

"You talk t'Reverence of Dawn-rhya, yet?"

Rafael

Wolf leans back for his plate to be set down. Shuts up while waitress comes and goes. Leans in once she's gone, though, and there's no laying of napkins in laps. He picks up his fork and knifes, holds them in his fist like a barbarian. Starts sawing at his meat.

"Heh." Wolf's got that smirk on his face again. "So I get hot under the collar sometimes. Still keep that church down the street pretty safe.

"Nah. Wanted to talk to you first. Don't know her very well." Pause. "Don't know you well either but," and another shrug completes the sentence. "You wanna go talk to her together sometime?"

Morgan

She can't argue with the fact he doesn't know her very well. She barely knows him. Knows enough to bang on his door when she's bleeding in the street though and to expect to be let inside. Not every wolf of his tribe would have readily done so for one of Stag's.

May not even for another of their own.

Her smirk echoes his for a moment before she sobers, turns over the offer to talk to the Mistress of Challenges together about the prospect. Morgan contemplates the things she does know about Avery Chase. Knows she has a mate of Morgan's tribe. Knows she is capable in the midst of a fray; holds rank and position in the Denver Sept. There's a beat where it seems uncertain precisely what Firebrand is contemplating before she nods her assent.

Gives this little tilt of her chin. "Yeah. Let's talk t'her. I haven't ever run with a pack before." Sets her burger down (or what little was left of it) in lieu of her soda. Leans back and fiddles with the straw. The ice cubes have all but melted. "Can't promise I'll be any good at it but - " There's a shrug; a certain gleam in those clear eyes. "Better t'fight with numbers than none."

Rafael

In some ways, don't know much is a euphemism. They don't know anything about each other. Not their pasts. Not their likes and dislikes. Not their hopes, not their fears -- they don't even know one another's full names.

In other ways, they know enough. Know what it's like to trust each other with their lives, even by chance. Know what it's like to fight alongside one another.

Know one thing more, now:

"Me neither. You'll be my first packmate." Her eyes gleam; corners of his mouth quirk up. Shoves a bite of steak in his mouth, "Probably be one for the ages or a huge fucking disaster. I'll call Avery when we're done eating."

making friends with the maid.

Rafael

Month, month and a half, and Cassidy hasn't seen head nor hair of her employer. First run of days chef still kept coming in. Meals were prepared and set out. Gas warmers ran dry. Cold plates went untouched. Sometimes entire roasts went bad waiting for a wolf that never came.

Cassidy dumped a lot of food those first two weeks. Kept the place spic'n'span, though no one ever saw it. Wolf's girlfriend seems to have moved out -- that room's all empty. Wolf himself is gone too. His bed goes unslept in. His mail piles up.

After two weeks someone tells the chef to stop coming. Someone -- perhaps the woman that hired her -- calls Cassidy and tells her to stop buying groceries. To go clean the place up once a week. Someone keeps paying her at her full-time rate, though, and no one tells her what the hell is going on.

--

And then, without an ounce more notice than he'd disappeared, wolf is back. Cassidy unlocks the door for her weekly cleaning and the TV's on. Wolf's lounging in the big recliner, feet propped up, remote in hand. He's watching something on Netflix.

Turns to look at her around the edge of the couch. Green eyes, intense stare. Settles back when he sees who it is.

"Hey," he says.

Cassidy

A month and a half, and she kept showing up. Rain or shine. The first run of days, the chef came and Cassidy made sure that they were taken care of. She took some of it home, too, because it wasn't right to waste that much food. That much good food at that.

She stops buying groceries, though, does as she is told and knows that her employer isn't dead, because she's still getting paid, or maybe this was a Silver Fang severence package. They just kept paying you until someone figures out how to break it gently your employer died in glorious battle and your services are no longer required.

She wasn't sure how that works, truth be told Cassidy has never been fired. She's pretty good at what it is that she does. She looks back at him, with eyes less intense and certainly not green. Maybe blue. Maybe brown. Hard to tell, but her hair is brown because it's grown out enough that he can tell she's not a real blonde, as if he couldn't already tell.

"Do you want some pizza rolls?" she asked.

Because since she was going to be cleaning the place and didn't know when he would be back, she kept pizza rolls here.

Rafael

Wolf's sunk deep into that comfortable leather recliner. Low laugh drifts up out of all that cowhide. "Pizza rolls?" he repeats. "Didn't see those in the fridge or I would've eaten them already.

"Yeah. Sure. Heat up some pizza rolls. Then have a seat. You have Netflix?"

Cassidy

"I have been secretly hiding pizza rolls underneath the healthy looking things you have in the freezer," she informed her employer, a grin crossed her face and she pulled out the bag from underneath a palate of frozen kale. Wedged between frozen mango chunks and stir fry vegetables. She wasn't kidding. Cassidy really did hide her pizza rolls.

Done like a woman who was raised with multiple people, good enough to fool ravenous teenagers.

"I've got the ship a DVD to your house netflix, not the streaming Netflix," she told him. Oven preheating, cookie sheet found and primed with aluminum foil, the whole bag is unceremoniously dumped on the tray.

She knows how much garou can eat. She also knows that she fucking loves pizza rolls.

"What're we watching?"

Rafael

"Huh. More movies that way. This is faster though."

She puts pizza rolls in the oven, turns it on. He flips the remote around in his hand, holds it out to her end-first.

"You decide." It's currently tuned to some sword-and-sandal hack-and-slash flick. "Surprised you're still here," wolf adds.

Cassidy

She sauntered over. Half sauntered half swayed and she took the remote and scrolled down, down, down. "Yeah, I got the delivery service because of Shawshank Redemption. They took it off streaming and I was like-"

She catches her breath, because soon enough a movie catches her attention. Cassidy moved around the couch and sat down.

"Oh sweet Gaia they have Unbreakable. It's one of the few non-shitty M. Night Shamaylan movies."

Rafael

"Never seen it," wolf says, offhand. "Got a twist ending like all his others?"

Cassidy

"A predictable twist, but a twist. A lot like his newer stuff, but it has Bruce Willis in it. It's kind of a super hero origin movie?"

Rafael

"Huh. Okay. Put it on. We'll watch it. Giving you a few hours off." Generous wolf. "They tell you where I been?"

Cassidy

She looked at Rafael and smiled. Something genuinely pleased. She then hit play and leaned back enough to look at him.

"They were pretty hush hush about it. I'd like to know, though, I was kinda getting worried for awhile."

Rafael

First time since that first glance that he looks her way. Smirks. "You worried about me? Or about your paycheck?"

Wolf looks different: got a haircut. Mowed his hair down close to the scalp. Shaved too, possibly with the same clipper settings. Both look like amateur jobs. Wolf looks pale, too, like he hasn't seen sunshine for a while.

"Was off on a quest. Got sent back in time, and then to the Underworld for a rite to wake the spring. While I was gone my body was on autopilot, sort of. So I went to the Sept. Had them keep an eye on me."

Cassidy

"I can get another job. I can't get another boss that scrubs fomor off the ceiling with me," she told him.

Because it's true. Most people won't scrub fomor off the ceiling with you, which is really unfortunate because it's a pretty nice team building activity.

"So you went back in time, and then had to wake spring? Like guide Persephone from the underworld, what all does that do?" she asked, "glad someone was watching you, though. Guess they anticipated you being gone for awhile?"

Rafael

Sort of a rude thing for him to say, really. Assuming such materialism of her. Maid keeps her cool though. Fires one back that leaves wolf feeling at least a little chastised.

"Point," he acknowledges. Onscreen, opening titles play. Wolf's watching them. Glances over only when maid speaks again.

"Had to go through seven gates," he says. Eyes go back to the screen. "Seven trials. Had to give something up, or be tested somehow, at every one. Was actually a quest within a quest. Like Inception." Smirks at his own joke. "Was in my past life's body the whole time, I think."

Amusement fades. Wolf's pensive a moment. Then shrugs his shoulders: "Guess so. Don't think they knew how long I'd be gone. I sure as hell didn't. Would've had someone tell you if I did." Beat. "Maybe. If I remembered."

At least he's honest.

Cassidy

"Seven's an auspicious number," she replied.

There was a bit of silence, and at least he was honest. She grinned a little, "y'know, if you forgot to tell me I probably wouldn't notice for awhile. I'd just think you were being really tidy."

Rafael

"Heh. That's me. Captain Tidy. Mr. Clean."

Pizza rolls are starting to smell good. Wolf proves himself Not Your Average Fang again when he pulls the handle on his recliner, pops himself upright. Gets up and pads into the kitchen to inspect the oven himself.

"So what do you do when you're not here," he wants to know; question spoken like a statement. "Got friends, family, all that?"

Cassidy

What does she do when she isn't here?

"I have a girlfriend," she told him, "kind of. We're on again off again. Got a few friends, go to a lot of dance parties but I just like the music. Family's up in New Jersey so I'm sending my mom a college fund for the rest of us. Figure if I'm smart I can get a semester of community college out of the way for each?"

She shrugs, watches him go check on the pizza rolls.

"Things aren't so hot with me and Nora right now."

Rafael

"Nora," wolf repeats. Oven door opens; Cassidy can hear that. Baking pan clangs down on the stove, and then wolf dumps all the pizza rolls into...

...a pot. Kills the oven, grabs a six-pack of coke out of the fridge. Comes out of the open-plan kitchen holding that steaming pot of fresh-baked pizza rolls. Sets it down on the coffee table.

"That the girlfriend?"

Cassidy

"Yeah, she's an attorney," she said, "she gets stressed and then launches into the I can't believe I'm dating a felon what has become of my life tirade We're both pretty much just waiting for the you need to go make babies because we're dying thing, which I'm cool with but she's not cool with so- ugh. Like, I figure we can still date for awhile."

Rafael

Might be more information than he wanted. Probably is. Wolf eats pizza rolls. Breaks a can of coke off the six-pack, pop-fizzes it open. Gulps.

"She kin? Garou? Human?"

Cassidy

"Yeah, Uktena kin," she replies, pops a pizza roll in her mouth, "so I get it, I mean I'm not mad."

Rafael

"If she's kin," wolf replies, "what the hell does it matter if she's a lawyer and you're an ex-con? You're in the same boat. Tell her to grow the fuck up."

Cassidy

"Right?" she said, grabbing a coke and popping the top, "we've got a more important common denominator."

Rafael

"Yeah. Got bigger things to worry about." He grabs another two pizza rolls. Pushes the pot over closer to her. Sets the cans of coke down too, in case she wanted one. "Who's the 'rest of us'? Got siblings?"

Cassidy

"Oh god, yeah, my mom and her husband tried to win the whole genetic lottery thing. Have as many freaking babies as possible because at some point one of them might be true, right? So there's seven kids total. I'm number two."

A beat.

"What about you? You have siblings or are you a lonely only?"

Rafael

"Got a half-brother," wolf says,

leaves it right there. If Cassidy thinks he's redirecting with the next question, she'd be right: "So did your parents win the lottery in the end? Got any wolf brothers or sisters?"

Cassidy

"They did! Maddie's fourteen and a crescent moon so fuck all if she's going to be a cliath before she's eighteen because, seriously, I do not know any fourteen year olds that are wise."

She chooses to take the redirection, doesn't push because her job wasn't to ask questions. She knew what she could press.

"I dunno, she's got a good head on her shoulders. I'm kinda biased, though, on account of being family."

Rafael

Wolf makes a noncommittal sound to that: on account of being family. He stares at the TV. He drinks his coke. He pops the last of his pizza roll in his mouth. Reaches for another.

"Glad for you," he says finally. "Nice to have family." Nods at the TV, the movie that started some moments ago -- "Wanna watch this?"

Cassidy

"I've got spares if you ever want awkward little sibling stuff," she said, turning herself around to look at the movie that was still going on.

"Yeah, sorry, I'm really bad about talking through movies."

Rafael

Corners of wolf's mouth flicker. "I'll let you know," he says.

And to her apology -- "Nah. I was asking questions. Wasn't you."

Shuts up then, though. Leans his recliner back again. Eats those pizza rolls, drinks his soda. Watches the movie with her. Turns out wolf's the opposite of a movie-talker. Just sits there stone-faced, occasionally frowning, even more occasionally letting out a huff of a laugh.

Gives his verdict, hours later:

Not bad. Should do that again sometime.