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.