dinner thing. good steaks.

Rafael

Unremarkable Sunday afternoon and girl's phone pings with a text. It's from the wolf they've mutually agreed is her boyfriend. Says:

gotta go to a dinner thing tonight wanna come? 8pm

And a little later:

cocktail attire, you got anything to wear?

And finally:

good steaks

Devon

With each subsequent text it's like he's trying to convince her to go with him. Last time they went to some fancy thing together it ended awkwardly, and she was hurt and he was hurt and then they went in the mountains and they were fighting and she went away. And the fancy thing before that was maybe the second time they'd met, and she was dressed inappropriately and he was tamping down his lust for her and she was liking him in that tux and then she snarked and he snarked and he left.

They have a weird track record with Fancy Things. She knows it must be a fancy thing when she gets his first text because he says he has to go. Dinner thing. She knows it before he tells her it's cocktail attire. Tells her there will be good steak, like he can't get her good steak anytime.

Devon texts back:

sure. have that dress from before.

And a moment or two later:

let you fuck me in the car this time

Rafael

want a new dr he starts to tap but then another message comes through. Wolf reads it. He's not alone. He's getting a shave. Keeps his face still, keeps his eyes on the phone. Doesn't betray the flash of heat, straight down his back to his loins.

Moment later he texts an inane:

ok

And follows it up with:

want a new one? these ppl snark if they figure out you only have one outfit

Devon

ok he says. Where she is, Devon smirks a little, her mouth lazy and her smile sidelong. No idea that he's not alone. That he has lather on his face and a razor against his flesh. That he's trying not to show anyone around him how hard she makes him.

But then he asks her another question, and she's torn between telling him she doesn't give a single fuck if these people snark and getting new clothes, preferably clothes she couldn't normally afford on her own.

Eventually she texts back:

don't care. have lots of outfits. just not all of them are fancy.

And then:

do you want to get me a new dress?

Rafael

yeah comes the reply. And then there's a long pause, because he has to lean his head back so they can shave under his chin.

Couple minutes later:

not bc ppl snark just bc i want to

Devon

After his 'yeah' she actually texts back:

not giving me much time to shop, babe

but there's no telling if he understands that she's teasing. That she's smiling as she taps the message out.

Another, while they're still shaving him:

I'll come by, get your card

But they're talking over each other then, more or less. He tells her that he doesn't care about the snarking. So when that comes through, she answers:

know that. :)

Rafael

That little smiley makes him smile. Silly; not like it's real. Not like it's her, smiling at him. Except it is. And he doesn't even realize he's smiling back until his barber -- no, wait, his personal stylist -- draws back and waits, patient and practiced, for his expression to go neutral again.

Which it does. Wolf leans his head back, closes his eyes. Forgets to text back.

--

Done with his trim-and-shave by the time girl appears on his doorstep. Barber's departed with his fee; butler's laid out his suit, pre-knotted his tie, pre-folded his pocket square, picked out his shirt and socks, matched his cufflinks.

Butler lets girl in too. It's not James. It's someone new, younger, close to girl's age. Tall and thin and handsome in a pale, limpid way. Could easily see him in hipster glasses, a bowler hat and a scarf, but here he wears a somber, unintrusive suit. Shows her the way she already knows: up the stairs, a left at the top.

Bedroom door is halfway open. Manservant knocks anyway. Wolf is standing inside, more or less in full view, socks and boxers and an open shirt; struggling with the cufflinks. Looks over his shoulder. Grunts a thank you or a dismissal, either of which would cause the new-james to react the same way: with a bow, and with retreat.

"It's in my wallet," wolf says of his card. "On the nightstand."

Devon

Doesn't take her long; she lives in another place, sure, but she doesn't live very far away. Shows up and his face still smells like the aftershave patted onto it, hair still perfectly in place from his stylist's attentions. Devon is startled by the new-James; been a while since she's run into any of Rafael's servants, especially since he fired a bunch of them and replaced them with his own people.

So she introduces herself. Watches for signals of dismay, disgust, disdain from this one, which determines how tolerant she feels toward him. He takes her upstairs, which is weird, because she knows the way, which she tells him, but he does it anyway.

Devon's in a sundress, even though it's rainy outside. Sundress is black and has little flowers on it, white ones with pale pink accents. Tiny tiny flowers. Boots are old leather, lace-up, topped with rather thick socks slouched down around the uppers. Jacket is familiar: leather, camel colored, fur collar and cuffs. Or is that shearling. No matter.

Butler leaves. Devon doesn't tut her tongue and cross the room to help Rafael with his stupid cufflinks because first of all she isn't his dresser and second of all like she knows what a cufflink even does.

Goes over to the nightstand and thumbs through his wallet til she gets the same gold card she used to get herself a whole new outfit and a trip to the salon for that silly gala thing. Seriously, he's leaving her a matter of hours. On a Sunday. She considers wearing torn jeans and a t-shirt from Hot Topic to this dinner tonight to spite him. Hair in a ponytail.

Pockets his credit card. "What's the dinner for?"

She assumes it's some charity thing. Based on the last time, and the time before that. Based on other stuff he's said.

Rafael

Stuff in the nightstand. Wallet. Phone charging on top. Looks like he got a tablet at some point too; it's in there gathering dust. Oh and look, a very old box of condoms, rumpled and wrinkled. While girl gets his card out, wolf keeps struggling with his cufflinks. Feels like he's chasing his tail. Eventually grips one end in his teeth, wedges the other through the buttonholes on his cuffs with his free hand.

"Fundraiser," he says -- clenched teeth, blurred words, at least until he releases the cufflink, fastens it. "Earthquake or something?"

Starts buttoning his shirt, then. Comes over to her, hands busy, leaning down to kiss her -- eyes open, mouths meeting lightly. Pause. Drops the shirt buttons, wraps one hand behind her head, kisses her again. This time it's deeper. This time his eyes close.

"Have Franklin drive you," he says. "Or take my car."

Devon

Smirks when she sees the condoms. Flicks the box quickly, checks the expiration date on the side. Tosses them idly in the trash beside his bed if they really are very, very old. Gets his credit card. Runs her thumb over his full name on the thing. Her Rafa.

Glances over at him and he is using his teeth to get his cufflink on. She presses her lips together so not to laugh.

"Nepal?" she says. "That's good."

Actually sounds like she means it. Which she does. He's coming over to her, buttoning his shirt, and lust runs down through her core, pooling in her cunt, warming her. First time he kisses her she closes her eyes, wanting more. He pauses. Drops his buttons and takes her in his hand, kisses her like he means it this time. Her lips open and she kisses him back, wet and sweet, sighing softly a little bit.

Franklin. Or his car. "Franklin," she says, though she can drive just fine. Looks at him, smiling a little drowsily from the kiss.

"Could fuck now," she suggests, like she's thinking about whether or not to have dinner before or after a movie. "Then go get a dress."

Rafael

Box of very, very old condoms goes thunking into the trash. Wolf watches them go with idle interest, and then they kiss. His card in her hand: something understatedly high-end, forgotten by the time she sighs into his kiss.

Wolf's eyes skate toward the clock. They have time. Sort of. Not really. Wolf barely just got his cufflinks on and now he'll have to take them off again. There's any number of reasons not to, and then he just picks girl up by the waist. Sets her on the bed.

"Okay," he says.

Devon

She still has to buy a dress. Get her hair done. Do her makeup. He's really given her no time at all. At this rate she's just going to wear the gold and silver thing again, snarky people be damned.

But he looks at the clock, and ignores it. Picks her up, coat and boots and all, and sets her on his bed. Devon should laugh. Devon should be amused by his ready agreement.

Devon doesn't, though. His hands are on her body and it arouses her like kissing him aroused her. She shrugs out of her coat, letting her bag slide off her shoulder to the floor, starting in on the buttons of his shirt as she leans up to kiss him again.

Rafael

Wolf doesn't really care if she wears the gold and silver thing again. Wolf thought she looked fucking fantastic in the gold and silver thing. Wolf thinks she looks fucking fantastic in holey sweaters hanging off her shoulders, boots up to her knees. Wolf think she looks fucking fantastic no matter what she wears, and most particularly when she wears nothing at all, which must be why he's pushing her coat all the way away even as she's shrugging it off. She starts in on his buttons, which he hadn't even finished buttoning completely in the first place. He unzips her dress. Or unties it. Or pushes it off her shoulders.

Meets her kiss midway. Puts his hands on her back, following the fall of fabric. Helps it down. Pushes it down. Scoops her up again, hands under her ass, hands under her thighs; hugs her to his body as he tugs, pulls, yanks the sundress all the way off to fall on the floor.

Sets her down again. His shirt's undone by then. He wrestles with the cufflinks. Girl can see him getting more impatient by the second.

Devon

The sundress has buttons. A dozen or twenty tiny, girly, delicate buttons from the neckline down to the hem. She's kissing his mouth, his neck, making quick work of his half-undone shirt, when he realizes this. That her dress has buttons and her boots have laces. Maybe he pulls and tugs and maybe he tears but Devon doesn't stop him. She likes this dress but she can mend a damn button. She wants him now, though.

Coat gone. They get her buttons undone at least enough to get her wiggling out of the dress, kicking it off with her booted feet. Little bra and little panties underneath, not matching at all because one is white and one has blue stripes and she looks a little absurd with her thick, slouchy socks and old-school leather lace-ups. Not likely he notices, or cares.

Devon goes into his arms, wrapping her arms around him and -- when her dress is on the floor -- her legs, too. Kisses him harder, while he's leaning over her, fighting with his cufflinks. This time she helps him: gets his right wrist while he's working on his left. Her breath is coming faster now. His credit card is somewhere on the floor. Devon actually takes the time to yank her laces, loosen them with a hooked finger, and wiggle them off, kicking them aside.

By then his cufflinks are done, dropped heavily to the floor, and his perfectly pressed shirt is flying to the ground as well, and they work on her underthings together. Her arms bend back to unfasten her bra. His thumbs push under elastic to pull her panties down.

And they're naked, more or less. Devon's laying back on his bed, pulling him after her, trying to gasp and trying to kiss him, all while she's pushing at his boxer-briefs, struggling to get them off.

Rafael

Buttons are going to be the end of him. Buttons on his shirt. Buttons on her dress. Buttons -- or clasps, at least -- that fit his cufflinks together. At least she helps him this time. At least they work together, get this off and then that, and then that, and

then they're naked more or less. Her boots, his boxers. He's climbing onto the bed and she's sliding backward, pulling him with her, and he's meeting her kiss hungrily enough to push her down.

Door's still ajar. Wolf remembers it suddenly. Pulls back, half-turning -- "Door."

Devon

Door, he says. Pulls back his naked body from her naked body, remembering it. Remembering, perhaps, how she wanted him to get up and shut the door to their little cabin when they roadtripped, with his 'wet dick and a semi'.

Devon barely hears him. She smooths her palms up his back, gasping for his mouth. Her hands run into his hair, luxuriating in the feel of it between her fingers. Kisses him again, lush and hungry, moaning softly under him. Her thighs are open to either side of his hips. If he hasn't pushed them off completely yet, she's still working his boxers off. At least enough to get her hand around him, stroking him.

Rafael

"D--" he tries again, but then she's pulled him back to her. Down into her kiss. Down into the spread of her thighs. Skinny thing but god she's so soft, skin and flesh, cunt and mouth. He kisses her and then he loses that, too: she wraps her hand around him and he groans into her mouth. Grabs a handful of covers.

"Yeah," he breathes. Raises up a little, looks down, watches her stroke him -- brow furrowed, lips parted. Doesn't have much else to say about it. Just that barely-coherent sound of pleasure. Then he's kissing her again. Hard, hungry. Touches her aimlessly and haphazardly, finds his way somehow, slides his hand down between her legs. Strokes her as she strokes him; thrusting against her hand, then, matching one rhythm to the other without thought.

"Come on," a little later. "Come here."

Devon

C-- is about as far as he gets. Devon is kissing him, touching him, like she's on a mission. As soon as she looked at him, thought of saying that they could just fuck now -- there's been no other thought in her mind. She keeps moaning softly into his mouth, and then louder; the feel of his cock in her hand and the way he's grunting his pleasure about it makes her so wet. So be the time he's touching her, his fingers find her slick. By the time he's thrusting against her hand she's taking him, drawing him closer, drawing him into her even when he's thinking of telling her yes. now. ready. come here.

The way she moans, then, when she fits his cock into her and starts taking him. Taking him is right; she's so greedy. Her body is so demanding, her hands so eager when they move to his hips. Hard to tell if she's urging him on or making sure to slow him down; aroused as she is, still doesn't want him slamming into her like he's plowing a field. But her nails rake slightly on his flesh, blunt little things that they are: she tips her head back, groaning, rocking on top of his covers as she works herself onto his cock.

Rafael

Wolf's figured this much out. Wolf's figured out she doesn't like being rammed, slammed, plowed like a field. At least not right from the get-go. Wolf's figured out girl likes a little subtlety, likes a little softness; likes it, in short, when he treats her like a person. Like someone he loves.

Lets her take the lead. She's already doing it anyway: stroking him, guiding him, fitting him to her. Wolf bites his lip. Girl draws him in, makes that sound as her head falls back and it's almost inevitable that he puts his mouth on her skin. Kisses her throat, bites her softly at the base of her neck.

"So hot," he mutters. Kisses her again where he bit her. Bites her again where he kissed her, gripping this time.

Pushes into her then, the first little impetus he's given to this whole endeavor. A shift in his hips. A slow, firm angling that turns into something else, long and slow, a thrust that doesn't end until he's filled her, and she's taken him.

Devon

There is a good chance, bordering on certainty, that Rafael's new manservant is perfectly aware of what's going on up there. He wasn't in employ the first time, when the master of the house pulled this girl down on top of a pile of her clothes and fucked her senseless right there at the top of the stairs, and it's unlikely he's heard; the caliber of servants that Rafael has do not gossip amongst each other so obviously, or so readily. He hasn't been around on the nights when Devon visits. He doesn't know. But the door is ajar and he's just downstairs and Devon isn't being quiet at all.

She moans, and she groans, and she's making these sweet gaspy noises as Rafael fills her, as he kisses and bites her flesh in happy reunion. Anyone in the house right now knows what's going on in the master suite.

--

It takes her a moment to fully get used to Rafael inside of her. Just a moment, though, before she's fucking him, wrapping her legs tighter around his body and falling into rhythm with him, her hands pressing hard against his back, her fingers holding onto him.

Sometimes she never says a word. Other times it's just moaning, screaming. This time it's his name. His name, and the word oh, both intermittent, patternless. "Rafa," first, and "oh, Rafa, oh -- oh! Oh god, Rafa -- oh."

and so on.

And soon enough she's sweating, even, her fair cheeks flushed and her eyes opening, finding his, watching him as they come together.

Rafael

No one ever really talks about it. Wolf and girl. What they do to each other. What they mean to each other. Even wolf and girl hardly talk about it.

Everyone knows, though. Everyone figures it out, some sooner and others later. Only so many reasons for girl to keep visiting here. Only so many reasons for there to be an extra toothbrush in the bathroom. Maybe some of her things in his closet.

Only so many reasons for bed to be slept in on both sides. Sheets stripped to the floor sometimes. Only so many reasons for Franklin to be driving girl home some mornings-after.

People know. People figure it out. Wolf's new manservant figures it out right now, doing his best to keep busy downstairs. Maybe he goes polish the rims on the car. Maybe he steps outside for a pretend-smoke, which is to say: to check his texts and messages.

--

In the bedroom girl's moaning a vowel and a name and sometimes the name of a deity too. In the bedroom wolf's fucking her and she's fucking him and it accelerates, ramps up. It gets a little rough -- or perhaps the better word is enthusiastic. It gets to where she watches him and he looks at her and he's braced on his arms, up on his hands; he's fucking her with this driven, focused look on his face. She's flushed and her eyes light up every time he hits her just right.

He kisses her and bites her lip, soft, a nip; reaches down with his hand and starts working her off like that, big boorish fingers startlingly careful-delicate. Rubs her off while he fucks her, quiet except for the harsh rush of his breath, the percussive impact of their bodies together. And this, urging as she gets closer, goes higher: come on, under his breath, come on. that's it. come on.

Devon

Not just a pretty face he takes to functions sometimes because she's... what? A Fianna, and not going to be mistaken for a bride-to-be, as a kinswoman of his own tribe might be? Because she's poor and likely easy to please? Because she's diverting when he has to go to things that bore him?

Can't just be another form of hired help, either. Wouldn't sleep in his bed. Wouldn't have a toothbrush here, wouldn't have a change or two of clothes left behind from nights when they'd be scattered on the floor, washed and folded and put away by the maid. Wouldn't come over and watch Netflix and snuggle. The master of the house wouldn't sleep at her place, either.

Easy enough to figure out.

--

It gets a little rough. And enthusiastic. It gets excited and happy and fervent, though it was all of those things to begin with. She loves it when he's up on his arms like that, runs her hands up and down his biceps as though to communicate this. Licks her lip, bites it, wanting to do the same to his skin. Touches his chest, and teases his nipple, all while he's trying to focus, trying to make her come.

Devon laughs, breathy and delighted, but it turns into a melting, molten sound, her hands flattening out on his body and her head tipping back, spine arching, as he reaches down to touch her, fingering her in rhythm with the way they're fucking. She's not the only one with a mission. Clutches at him while he's muttering at her, urging her, panting for her.

"Oh, god," she cries out, squirming under him, grinding against his cock, his hand.

And it's only a matter of seconds after that. Only a matter of seconds after she holds him tighter, after her cunt grips him. All told it's minutes, minutes only, since they started in on each other's clothes, but then she's coming, moaning about it with a sound that seems crossed between pain and relief, elongating and undulating as her legs work to either side of him, her still-socked feet searching for purchase against the bedcovers. Her hips buck a little right at the end of her orgasm, her hand catching his wrist to make him stop, jesus god, even while she's still riding her pleasure out on him.

Still riding it out, kissing him, pulling him down to kiss her, moaning into his mouth something that might be come in me. oh, rafa, god, come inside me.

Rafael

Sight of her getting off sets him off. Takes him only a matter of seconds after that. Pulled down to her but he resists: wraps his arm around her and scoops her up instead, pulls her right off the bed, lifts her up on his body, perpendicular, vertical, standing. Fucks her like that, lifting and falling, planting her on his cock in two, three strokes before he seizes her in his teeth, growls against that point of contact, comes in her fast and hard and consuming.

Hard shudder at the end of that. Tipping forward then. Collapsing her back on the bed, following her, sprawling half on the edge and half off with a groan. Just... stays there for a while. Maybe she kisses him. He just hunts for his breath. Searches for it. Doesn't quite manage to catch it, at least not for a while.

Devon

A whimper, when he resists; a plaintive little noise of wanting. Why isn't he closer? Why --

she's lifted up, dizzyingly fast, and she feels like she can't quite stand what he's doing to her, how hard he is, how hypersensitive she is. She screams, but it isn't pain; it's something else entirely. Her arms wrap around him, hold him close while he's fucking her, biting down on her, snarling as he comes. So close.

Her cunt is throbbing now. She quivers a little, trembling as he collapses, carries her down to the bed with him, sprawls out. Her body clutches at his, deep clenches that feel like adoration. And Devon herself just pants, unable to kiss him anymore, at least for a couple of minutes. Catches her breath, gaining on it inch by inch by inch until she holds it, embraces it, sinks into thick fluffy covers with it.

"That was a good idea," she mutters, exhaling, several minutes later.

Rafael

She's so fucking hot. That's all wolf can think when he lifts her up, fucks her like that. She's so fucking hot: way she looks, way she wraps herself around him, way she screams, way she trembles. She's so fucking hot and he's so fucking in love with her; emotion's so powerful it becomes a need, a physical sensation.

Wolf bears her down. Wolf sprawls there and girl's body is still holding on to his like that, inside and out. Feels like adoration. Feels like nothing but itself. They're both chasing elusive breaths, elusive calm; he's not quite found it yet when she says

that was a good idea

and makes him laugh, sudden and ragged. Wolf bites her gently as a kiss. Sort of ... drags them both up the bed a little more, until only his feet are dangling off the edge.

"Yeah." He has nothing but agreement to add to that. Rolls heavily aside after a while, and now they're side by side, ceiling above, bed below.

"Maybe I'll go with you," after a while. "Get a dress, put it on in the store. Go to the thing. Like your hair like that."

Devon

Devon rolls over a little. She's limp, languid, replete; she also caught her breath before he did, also opens her eyes and can see him clearly finally. Smirks a little at his laugh. He drags them up the bed and she snuggles closer, tucks herself under his arm, and nestles to his sweaty chest.

"You'll be bored," she warns him, lightly. Lifts her head up a moment later, raising a superior brow. "Not for you to like," she adds archly, regarding her hair. "For me to like."

Leans over, kissing him gently, quickly. "Shower," she says, an announcement rather than an imperative. She's going to shower. And then shop, apparently, and get her hair done, and maybe now he won't get to fuck her in the car on the way to the dinner because as it is they might already be arriving late.

Devon scoots towards the edge of the bed.

Rafael

Wolf catches her by the hand. Reels her back, sprawling her half on his chest. Cups her face -- this touch almost delicate, when everything is has been a little rough-and-tumble today. Kisses her again.

Then he lies back, tucking a hand under his head. Smile's a little lazy, a little crooked. "See you when you get back."

Devon

"Nooo," she says, when he grabs her, reels her back in. She hasn't gone far, so she doesn't tumble terribly. He touches her face and she wrinkles up her nose and he kisses her and she sighs, softly, closing her eyes as she sinks into it.

"Love you," Devon whispers against his mouth, her eyes still closed, when they part. Opens them a moment later, gives him the same sort of smile back,

and goes to take a rapid shower.

--

Which is rapid. She comes out smelling like soap and tying her thick, now wet hair up into a big messy bun-thing. She gets clean undies from a drawer and starts dancing into her clothes again, quick as she can, buttoning up buttons and lacing up shoes and so on.

"Call Franklin for me, yeah?" she asks him, mid-lacing. "Only have a few hours now. Thanks to someone who didn't think to invite me earlier."

A stare.

He can probably guess who someone is.

Rafael

Wolf's barely moved by the time she comes back out. He's still sprawled in bed. Just tossed the edge of the sheets over his dick. Otherwise still naked, still sweaty, still looking ever so satisfied with -- well. Everything.

"Forgot I had to go to this." Rather unrepentant, too. Paws his phone out of the nightstand and dials his driver. "We'll show up fashionably late. These things never start on time anyway."

Then he's talking to his driver. Same short sentences. Shorter, really. Tells Franklin to come pick girl up. Take her shopping. He has no idea where, but Franklin knows quite well.

Devon

"Well, I don't like rushing about," Devon says, and there's a note of sincerity there. Genuine unease. She finishes lacing her boots, and twists around, planting one hand on the sheets and looking at him past her shoulder.

He tells Franklin to show up. She smirks wryly.

Grabs the sheet covering him and drags it quickly off of him.

"You wearing black?" she wants to know.

Rafael

Wolf doesn't scramble to cover up again. Just glances down, watches the sheet whisked away. Smirks at her when his eyes return to hers.

A little more serious then. Nods over at his outfit, laid out already. Pretty standard, unadventurous. Dark suit, white shirt, cufflinks, tie. "Yeah," he says, then raises up on his elbows, squints at the suit; the color. "I think so."

Devon

Devon grins. "Navy," she tells him, glancing over where he indicates. She crawls over him then, coat on and everything, and gives him a kiss. Stays close for a moment, smiling down at him with those bright, bright eyes.

"Come pick me up later, yeah?" she says. Wants to know. Requests. Touches his face like she doesn't want to leave him, tracing a finger on his freshly shaven jaw.

Gets ideas about that.

Gives him another kiss, softer than before. Heads out, audibly going downstairs to jump in the car with Franklin. And her boyfriend's credit card.

Rafael

There's a softness in her touch. It's mirrored in his eyes; her kiss. He closes his eyes for that. His mouth opens gently; the kiss is receptive.

Then they draw apart. Wolf sits up as girl starts out. "Yeah," he says, even though Franklin could just wait for her; even though it'd be easier than way. He wants to pick her up though. She wants him to pick her up. He can tell.

Girls walks out. Wolf listens to her go; smiles to himself at the sound of her boots.