Last year, new to the city, Devon didn't know about the witch's ball. When she did hear about it, she was skeptical. Then she found out it was an all-ages family event full of local pagans and she threw up in her mouth a little bit.
So, earlier in October, when Devon climbed onto Rafael's lap on the recliner in his living room and told him about a few parties she wanted to go to for Halloween, not one of them was the witch's ball at the Masonic Temple. While he rested his hands on her hips or her thighs in their chopped-up tights, she told him about not one party, but three. One was Naomi's house party up at the loft, one was at some tattoo place in Five Points, and another was way out in the middle of bumfuck nowhere and they didn't have to get there til really late, but she really wanted to go and it was the only one she really wanted him to make sure and go to with her.
Sitting on his lap, she nuzzled his neck and cuddled him and told him he didn't have to be social he could just hang out and drink and they wouldn't fight, all right? Even if she danced with other people. And if he didn't want to go it was all right, too, except for that last one way the fuck out in the middle of nowhere and would he please, please spend at least some of Halloween with her.
--
Come Halloween night, Devon is at his place by afternoon. She does not care if he dresses up or not. She does. And he sees her wiggling around a bit, in glimpses, as she takes over the second bedroom and bathroom again to do her hair, her makeup, don her costume. Comes out to get some drinks before they head out and he laughs at her costume, or he tries to touch her because of how she looks, or any number of reactions to whatever she is.
While it's still light out, Devon hands out candy. The house isn't really decorated, but the porch light is on and she has Netflix playing The Addams Family inside and maybe Rafael is eating pizza and watching that whenever the doorbell rings and kids come by to get the full-size candy bars Devon wanted to give out. Snickers and Reese's and Baby Ruth and Skittles and so on. She's grinning the whole time. But they leave around seven. The maid takes over candy duty while the families -- frightened of the dark, perhaps -- trickle. Devon complains that when she was a kid, you trick-or-treated with your friends, not your parents, and you went until nearly midnight. The world is stupid now.
They go to Naomi's. Devon's, technically. And that place is decorated top to bottom. Black lights are the only lights. A lit-up witch cackles on the wall. The cauldron has dry ice underneath it and sangria inside of it. There's a carved pumpkin 'vomiting' guacamole across a platter. Naomi is dressed up as some kind of nature fairy, in a green tutu and leaf crown and wings. She kisses Devon on the cheek when they get back, pushes a cold can of beer into Rafael's hand, and the entire place vibrates with bass. Everyone here is young and dancing and dressed up. There are more than a few guys dressed as Bob Ross. There's a pair of girls, one with corpselike makeup and a dark gown, the other with flowers in her hair and a white dress -- a genderbent Hades and her Persephone. There's a guy dressed as Ron Swanson and his girlfriend is dressed as a plate of breakfast food. There's a Furiosa and a War Boy and a there's Darth Vader and some BoJack Horseman characters. There's all types.
Devon dances. Devon drinks shots. Devon comes over every so often to wherever Rafael is and gloms onto him, kisses him sometimes. Maybe he dances with her. Maybe she curls up with him on the couch and watches people for a while. They're there an hour or so, maybe a bit more. Devon reads cards for a couple of people. But they head out again after that to the tattoo place. Devon actually considers getting one for a while. They drink more. There is more dancing. A group of people want to go to a club but Devon thinks the people there are less interesting than she thought. She's getting bored; it's too quiet. It's a break, in a way, for Rafael, from all the noise and crowds.
The driver takes them to a drive-thru for some food. Devon eats her burger in the backseat, shares fries with Rafael as they head northwest. It's late now, past eleven, as they leave the city and its traffic. She's leaning against him in the backseat, arms wrapped around him, while the radio plays 102.3 -- 'Open Air' is doing a Zombie Stomp all day full of creepy music. She won't tell Rafael anything about this last party. Just scritches his side with her fingernails and nuzzles his chest. They go up towards Golden, towards the mountains.
Eventually, the driver exits the freeway. Drives on deeply winding roads through housing divisions where people actually have distance between their homes. Even those begin to get sparse. The driver takes them to Lookout Mountain, which is closed now, but ungated. It's dark. The moon overhead is a waning gibbous, the stars easy to see. City lights are in the distance, clouding the darkness, but they can't even hear cars anymore. The car stops in the gravel parking lot, and Devon stirs, moving to get out of the car. The trunk is popped.
Devon is smiling.
RafaelGirl told him once he's sort of her first real boyfriend. Doesn't mean she's never been with other guys, or that she hasn't had friends and friends-with-benefits. Most of them were probably more interesting on Halloween. Got dressed up. Went to parties. Actually danced and got shitfaced and had ideas for what to do.
Wolf doesn't really do any of that. He wears what he usually does -- t-shirt, jeans -- and his only concession to the holiday is a crescent-moon temporary tattoo around his left eye. Maybe girl got it for him. Maybe he has a sense of humor: an in-joke. Not a perfect one. He's not a theurge.
He does follow her around, though. Gamely goes to the parties with her. Sits on a couch or hangs out on the balcony, mostly. Talks a little with the other guests. Mostly just scares them away with his silence, his rage. People don't really get why the hell girl's with him. She's so alive, so vivid, so electric. He's such a brooding partypooper. Or maybe they think they do get it: look at his biceps, look at that face. Look at the way she climbs all over him and the way his hands cover her back, cover her ass. Look at the way they kiss when they spend some time in some dark corner somewhere. People think they get it then. It's just physical. They don't judge girl for it. They're not that kind of people.
They're not right, either. It is physical. It's not just physical.
But anyway: he's with her, most of the night. At least in the same room or building. He drinks quietly and steadily and he watches people and he doesn't dance with her but he doesn't make a fuss when she dances with other people. He slings his arm around her when it's time to leave. Hugs her against his side to warm her if she's in something skimpy.
They eat a burger, driving up to the mountains. Well; she eats a burger. He eats an entire meal. Slurps down the last of the soda as they pull off the freeway. It's dark, they're high up. Altitude makes the stars clear; their heads light. Tires crunch on gravel and then the engine shuts off. Franklin says he'll wait in the car, maybe catch a nap.
Wolf follows girl out, just a dark warm shadow. She wants to get something out of the trunk. He has no idea what. Stands nearby, sniffing at the night air. Likes it better here. Not so noisy and crowded. Darker, cooler, wilder.
"Thought you said you guys didn't party up in the mountains," he says.
DevonShe is vivid, and alive, and electric, and impossible to know. No one here, not even Naomi, is really that close to her. She's closed-off with them. She's fun, but she comes and goes. They're excited to see her because they never really expect to. The ones who do know her better know she's moody. Most of them don't even know she has a boyfriend. Don't see him come in with her and get that he's her boyfriend, they're actually a thing. They just know that he's hot. She's hot. She's making out with him.
Devon likes that little temporary tattoo. Teased him about getting a real tattoo at the second party.
He didn't.
--
They slip out into the colder air of the mountains, but it's not frigid yet. No snow in October this year. All day it's been rather nice, actually. The trunk is open, and Devon reaches in, pulling out a duffel - his duffel - stuffed full of something. She hands it to him -- it's not terribly heavy. Then she pulls out her backpack, also pretty stuffed, also not very heavy, and slings it over her shoulder. Then she grabs the small cooler that's in there.
Pauses, then hands that to him. Then smiles. Nods her way towards the paths, the trails, the woods lit only by moonlight. They can use their phones if they need to. "Come on," she says quietly. "I know a spot."
And heads off, past a low beam fence around the parking spots, flicking on her phone's flashlight to guide her steps towards a path leading upward.
RafaelReadily, wolf shoulders the bags. Duffel. Cooler. She takes a backpack. He hefts these things curiously, but he doesn't ask. He's an animal. He waits, he sees.
As they head into the darkness, she can hear him sniffing again. He considers shifting; but then there might be strangers about. Humans.
"Thought we were going to a party," he says; it's basically the same question restated.
DevonEasy enough to keep up with Devon in the dark. All night she's been in this long-sleeved, short-skirted, hooded minidress in stark white. The hood itself has a spiraling golden horn off the front. The cuffs of the dress cover her wrists in a gold ruffle. She's wearing gold-painted sneakers. She's wearing those over-the-knee socks that she likes, but they're rainbow colored. Just like the tail coming off the back of the dress. Just like the colorful temporary dye she striped her dark hair in. Just like the multi-colored eyeshadow she put on. But the shoes and cuffs are gold, and so are her lips.
Right now the hood is off though, and has been since they went for burgers and fries on the way out here. Her hair spills out of it, the curled ends the only parts that are rainbow colored. She hears him sniffing and glances back, smiling. He can see it, with the light from her phone casting a glow up towards her face. "We are," is all she says.
They hike. It's not terribly strenuous, but it's enough to get her breath going a bit, her heart rate up. And then she turns right, off the actual path, onto a smaller, narrowing one snaking right into the woods. They have to tread carefully; it's narrow here, a steep incline to their right. Devon slows a bit here, picking her way more carefully. And then climbs downward, over a fallen log, past some boulders, to a tiny clearing. It's big enough for Rafael to stretch out with a few feet around him on all sides, so it's not too miniscule, but it's small. Hidden. From here, if they peer through the trees, they can see Golden, far in the distance.
Devon sets down her backpack and turns off her flashlight, letting her eyes re-adjust to the stars and the moon instead. Turns to him, her smile barely visible. "There's blankets and a pillow in the duffel," she tells him quietly, as though there were anyone anywhere nearby to hear them. "And wine in the cooler."
RafaelShe wasn't lying. She does know a place. A tiny, sheltered, secluded little clearing with a great view. If they peer through trees. Here she sets her backpack down, tells him what other treats she brought. He swings the duffel off his shoulder, sets the cooler on the leaf-strewn ground.
Surprised, pleased little smile starts spreading over his face. "Party just for us?" he says.
DevonThat was it. That face he's making right now, the way he sounds so hopeful and so pleased and looks hopeful and pleased and surprised. It's the whole point of her doing this. Well: half the point. The other half was wanting to do it herself. Really wanting it, actually.
Devon nods, and comes over, stretching up to wrap her arms around his neck. She's done this before tonight; he knows that under that short little skirt is a pair of rainbow-striped boyshorts. The remainders of the metallic gold temporary tattoos she has on her face -- stars, like his crescent moon -- are glinting a bit, but also chipping off after a long night.
It's chilly. Being close to him warms her, so she stays right there.
"Just us," she repeats, like a promise. Which it might be: in the end, it'll always be just them. No matter how many parties she drags him to or how many people are around. Deep down, they're both solitary. "You know why?" she wants to know, her eyebrows perking.
RafaelIt's almost automatic, the way his arms go around her. Except that implies repetition, dullness, boredom. And that's not it. That's not it at all.
His arms wind smoothly around her waist. He has that small, quirked smile on his face still -- and yes, he looks hopeful, and pleased, and surprised. Bows his brow to hers for a moment, gentle.
"No," he says quietly. "Why?"
DevonNot automatic, then.
Magnetic.
Devon huffs a laugh at his question. "First time we fucked was on Halloween," she says. Rolls her brow against his, soft and slow. "Technically November first, but... it's almost November first now, too."
RafaelWolf huffs a laugh of his own. "Yeah, I remember." It's a touch wry. Of course he remembers. Girl's broken-doll makeup. Girl dancing in her underwear, which drove him a little crazy because someone must have taken her dress off.
And: because she seemed to be fitting in so easily. So effortlessly. End of the day, maybe that stung him more. That he was so awkward and out of place and uncomfortable at a goddamn party to which he had a VIP invitation; that she had probably crashed it and had already made friends, lovers, whatever. He thought she must be some sort of social butterfly. He thought she must be completely out of his world, out of his reach, not a solitary soul at all, and
that drove him a little crazy.
"Thanks," he says, quieter. "Didn't mind the other parties. Was kinda fun. But this is ... nice."
Devon"Yeah," she murmurs. "Feels like it's nicer because we did all the rest, in a way."
Devon turns her head and rests against his chest. She doesn't move to lay out blankets: the heavy, thick, woven one first, then the lighter, softer one to go over them as the night gets colder. She doesn't open the cooler and get out the wine so they can get drunk together on the side of a mountain. She just stays there, having at one point thought that she'd like to bring him up here and get tipsy and immediately fuck his brains out.
Now that she's here, though... this is nice. Just this part. Being alone with him, totally alone, no servants or anything. Feeling his arms around her. Listening to his heart. Breathing together.
"Really love you, Rafa," she whispers.
Rafael"Yeah," he agrees. Leaves it at that, simple, unembellished.
His embrace changes; he wraps his arms higher around her back, her shoulders; tighter. One hand cradles the back of her head. He drops a kiss onto her hair. Can do that now because her unicorn hood is off. Girl dressed as a unicorn, which made him bark a laugh when he saw her the first time. On the way to the first party, he said something about it,
better than the zombie doll,
and she told him it was a broken doll, duh.
--
"Love you too, Devon," he murmurs back: a vibration carried through his chest wall, straight to her ear. Still doesn't say that often. Says it now because it feels important. Seems crucial.
A year together. Known her a little longer than that. Seems like it passed fast. Wolf closes his eyes; night wind is cold but it feels good. Cools his hot blood. Girl feels good too, slender and slight, skinny arms wrapped tight around him. He thinks about the wine in the cooler, blankets, could be nice. Would be nice, laying out under the stars with her. Winter after this. Cold weather, snow and ice. But tonight, it's still nice enough to be out.
Doesn't move yet, though. Just holds her a little longer, enjoying it.
DevonIt's what she wanted, right then. Sent it out into the universe and there it was: his hand cradling her head, holding her like that. His embrace tightening. His mouth touching her brow, or her hair, just... a kiss. It's what she wanted. And having all these things bestowed, Devon breathes in deeply, filling her lungs with some of the freshest, cleanest air still available to people in this country. Holds him a little tighter, too, her palm resting warm on the back of his neck.
--
She did not say duh.
It was implied by her tone, though.
--
For a while they just stand there, holding one another, feeling each other. Then Devon gives a wriggle; not quite a shiver. "Come on," she says, softly laughing the words. "Let's lay out the blanket and relax. I want to snuggle."
RafaelMaybe that was magic too. A wish; a granting. First time he told her his name, she pointed it out: the healer, the guardian of travelers. Maybe that's how the universe works. Magic woven into the fabric of life. Magic enacted through the everyday players of your acquaintances, your friends, your loved ones.
Wolf's arms loosen when girl gives a little not-shiver. They draw apart. He feels colder for the lack of her, but he's not bereft. They're hardly far. He unzips the duffel and pulls out the heavier blanket, which he lays over the twigs and the dirt. The thinner one too, to keep them warm. And the pillow, which he tosses on the ground. It's a big one. They can share it.
In the cooler, he finds wine, maybe a snack. And at first he's thinking wine doesn't really seem to be her thing -- hard-drinking Fianna witch that she is -- but then he gets it. Wine. For an anniversary. Of course. He pries the cork loose. There are no glasses. He takes a swig as he sits down on the blanket; passes it to her as she joins him.
Then he lies back. Sighs as his head hits the pillow. Holds his arm out for her to join him; wraps it around her shoulders when she does.
"Remember that time we went to south america?" he says after a while, which is a stupid way to say it because it's not like they've taken all that many trips together.
DevonHe saved her. When she had decided she hated him, feared him, never wanted to see him again despite that brief flicker of attraction she first felt at that party -- second, third time they met. She got hurt, and badly. She got attacked. And he was there, and saved her, and then he let her stick around. For a long, long time. As it turned out, he was named for an angel. A protector. The one who grants respite to the weary.
Magic is absolutely woven into the people you meet, the people you know, the things you hope for and the ways they manifest. Naomi is a little bit magical herself or Devon might not be able to stand living with her. Hostels are different; they have their own inherent sort of magic. But with Rafael, his very existence is something not of this world. Everything about him bleeds it into the air; his aura shapeshifts around him even when he stays in one form. He exists in the spirit world strongly, a throbbing heartbeat of presence and power.
She misses being near that all the time. Exhausting as it could be sometimes. Scary as it could be, sometimes.
--
They slip apart. Devon puts her hood back on for a while as they open up the duffel and unfurl the blankets. She fluffs the pillow and flops it down. In the cooler is the wine, which is more for ritual than anniversaries, but either way it's commemorative. There's some blueberries in there too, some cheese, some almonds. Devon isn't hungry, though. She does have a corkscrew, because when it comes to booze she plans ahead, but either way they get the wine open and pass it between themselves. She slips out of her gold sneakers as she steps onto the blanket, and he might not need the other blanket but she decides to slip under it, her legs at least partly bared. Snuggles up to him on the pillow, on his chest, looking into the darkness of the woods as he's looking at the stars.
He says something really stupid, which makes her grin. She nods against his shirt.
"Yeah?" she answers. "Which part?"
Rafael"All of it," he says. He reaches behind his head, tugs the pillow into a better position. Sinks down with a sigh.
"Was nice. Should go somewhere again. Just drive around. Maybe rent a car so I don't just sell it when it's time to come back."
DevonAll of it, he says, and she just laughs a little at him. Like he was asking if she remembered that they took a trip, period. Nope, Rafa -- slipped her mind.
Her hand moves on his chest, scritching gently. She looks up at the moon through the trees. They can hear small animals moving in the woods around them; small animals creeping away from a predator who isn't that interested in them right now anyway.
"Or fly somewhere," she says thoughtfully, "and drive around there."
Rafael"Yeah." He shifts, looks at her. "Maybe Britain. Or Ireland. Where's your mom again?"
Devon"London," she tells him. He bought her a flight from Boston to Heathrow once. She snuggles up closer. "Should go somewhere warm, though. Liked skipping winter a bit with you last time."
Rafael"London, right. Just figured you were half-Irish. Freckles." His chest expands, falls. Deep breath. Content. "We can go somewhere warm. Just maybe wanna meet your mom sometime. You love her so much."
Devon"Not my mum's side," she says. It's a reminder. And her tone is a little flattened out, pressed down. She doesn't mean for it to come off that way. He knows it's a sore spot. She doesn't move away from him, doesn't stop touching his chest, doesn't stop looking at the moon and thinking of him even though he's right there with her.
It's quickly said, so it's a second before she really hears the rest. The meet-your-mom part. Because she loves her mom so much.
Devon's breath catches a little when it hits her. And then she expands her chest, breathing it, and wraps her arm tight, tight over Rafael's chest, hugging him close. One of those rainbow-clad legs of hers covers his legs at the same time, wrapping around his thigh and hugging him between her legs, too.
"Yeah," is all she can say to that. Right this moment, at least.
RafaelHe leaves that tender spot alone, then. Wishes he could do something about it, heal it, put armor over it. Can't do either, so he does the next best thing: stops poking at it. Anyway, she's hearing the rest of what he said. It registers. She squeezes him; sounds so... happy? He thinks it's happiness. He hugs her close right back, pulls her against his side.
Makes him happy, making her happy.
"Maybe we can have her over for Christmas. And you can fly to see her for Thanksgiving again or something."
DevonHe's not wrong. It is happiness. It's also something more than that. A sweet pain in her chest, which she tries to heal by pressing him right there, closer. Like staunching a wound, almost. It's not at all like the angry grief whenever she thinks of her father; at the moment she's not even remembering that.
Stupid Rafa, she thinks. Stop it, she thinks, but would never say. She doesn't want him to stop.
Devon breathes in deep. "Let's make plans later. Going to Boston again for Thanksgiving anyway." Which he didn't know til now. But she probably thinks he would assume; she assumes he would assume. They can discuss that later, too.
At the moment, she's leaning over him and kissing him, her hand on his cheek, cupping his jaw, guiding him to her mouth.
RafaelWolf wouldn't understand what there was to stop or not stop, anyway. Wouldn't quite understand that what he was doing was too much, he was actually being a good boyfriend who was maybe only 10% asshole.
Does understand this much though: he doesn't have parents. Not anymore. Not really ever, unless you count those scant few years as a child. One's dead, other was gone, gone, gone and then dead also. She's lost one; still has the other. He thinks that must be precious. He wants to protect that link, that connection, her mother and her. He wants her to be happy.
There it is, then, the heart of it: he wants her to be happy.
And she is. Not just happy, but a little overcome. She guides his mouth to hers. Hardly needs to: he finds it willingly, certainly, kisses her as she kisses him. Eyes closed; one arm around her, the other hand going to her cheek in unconscious mirror. He murmurs a little into that kiss, just a soft sound.
DevonWhen they went to South America, things got weird here and there. Not long enough ago to be forgotten, they broke up. And most of it was about his inability to communicate, her inability to trust, a sort of mutual impatience... a lot of things. But for Devon, at least, some of it was feeling that he didn't really want to be with her. Not long term. That he didn't love her. That what she was feeling for him wasn't reciprocated. That what she felt for him was too much for her to deal with, even.
And him asking to meet her mom is the opposite of all of that. Because he gets it: she loves her so much. Most important person in her life. The one who stayed. The one who Devon literally got into fights at school to defend, bloodying her knee socks on pavement as she pinned that little blonde bitch to the ground, digging her nails into some other girl's scalp, slapping her stupid white face for what she said about Devon's mum.
Devon loves her mum more than anything. And Rafael brought it up. She didn't float it, wait for him to bite, only to find him reticent. So she's hugging him with her whole body and then she's kissing him, eager and happy and adoring. Which she is.
Her body slides on top of his body. He probably knew as soon as she tromped him out here that she had ideas, even before she brought out the blankets and the wine and the pillows. That bottle of wine is currently leaning against a boulder some distance away. Devon's multi-colored hair falls around their hands, her hood off, and her skirt riding up her hips under the blanket. Already she's reaching her free hand between them, slipping it under his t-shirt.
RafaelThis is actually one of his newer t-shirts. She can tell because the quality is different: this one is so soft, so thick, so finely-woven. His body is hard and hot beneath: all musculature, all sinew and bone. He gives a little shiver when she touches him. Must be sensitive there: side of his chest, just under the cut of his pectorals.
He smirks at her a little as that hair of hers falls around his hands, her hands. That hood, that spiraling horn. "Know there's probably awful fanfic about this, right?" he murmurs. "Werewolf and unicorn-girl fucking."
His hands tuck under her top. He starts pulling it off. No more unicorn girl.
DevonGrins at him, straddling him, leaning over him like she is. Doesn't say a damn thing. He's pushing up the skirt of her dress even higher, revealing those rainbow-striped boyshorts, and she reaches down to pull the whole thing off. The white hooded dress with its horn and its tail drops off to the side, leaving her in the socks, the panties, the bright purple bra, the rainbow hair and makeup. Leans over him again, kissing his mouth.
"Feels good," she mutters, fingering the fabric of his shirt mid-kiss. "Get it off."
Rafael"Probably fanfic about werewolf and witch-girl fucking too," he mutters,
rises up, a fucking perfect crunch that brings all his abs into sharp, sharp definition. He whips the shirt up and off. It joins her unicorn dress thing. He fills his hands with her tits. Through the bra, but still. She's got rainbow hair, she's wearing rainbow boyshorts, and her bra, of course, doesn't match her underwear. He doesn't think he's ever seen her in a matching set.
And he tumbles her over. Under. Now he's on top, moving between those long legs of hers. He undoes her bra, pulls it off. Holds it up to the dim moonlight. "Nice color," he wants her to know.
Then he wraps his arms around her. Has his eyes on her, gleaming and dark, when he laps at her tits. Licks her, flat of his tongue passing up from the underside of her breast, right over the nipple; curling at the very end of that stroke. Eyes close when he wraps his mouth around her tit; sucks at her, warm and thorough and slow.
Devon"Oh my god, you and the fanfic," she says, she laughs, breathing the words. Is kissing him a moment later, stifling an mmph in his mouth because of what he's doing with his goddamn body. Touches him, goes on touching him, her hands given free rein over his chest and his sides. Her mouth moves to his neck as he cradles her tits; she licks his earlobe when he's reaching behind her back.
Bites it -- a little harder than she means to. Not her fault; he's rolling her under his body, unclasping her bra. And Devon stops him there, while he's starting to pull it off. Doesn't let him, her arms firm to her sides to hold the cups more or less where they are. Looks up at him. "Want to be on top," she says.
Rafael"Heh," sort of a grunt of a laugh, "I'm gonna look it up and email you the results."
He doesn't even know her email. Which is bizarre. This day and age. Then again he's a fucking werewolf. Wouldn't be too much of a surprise if he didn't even have email.
Bitten, he makes this sound, this low snarl, not displeased. But she doesn't want her bra off, which means he can't go sucking on her tits like that, which makes him nuzzle at her hard, growl low in his chest. She wants to be on top. His eyes flash.
"Not boring," he says, wry, rough, flips on his back. She rolls on top, hair swinging. He puts his hands in that hair, pulls her down, kisses her hard. "So fucking hot," he says, mouth against hers.
DevonAt this point, Devon is starting to think he really does look up fanfic on the Internet occasionally. Possibly werewolf-themed. Probably smutty.
He nuzzles her through her bra, which nearly dislodges the thing from her breasts, and growls. What he says makes her eyebrows flick up a bit. They roll, sudden enough to make her a bit dizzy, and she's on top of him again. Her bra is hanging from its straps, still covering her but barely. She resists him when he starts to pull her down, taking a breath and keeping her back straight. He's strong enough that she has to stiffen a little -- seems more resistant than she is, just because he's so much bigger than her.
"Slow down a little," she tells him, her hand on his chest. Soft hand. It wasn't that he was going so fast. But all the flipping and rolling and pulling and --
Devon smooths her hand over his skin. Lets one strap fall down, then shrugs; the other slides. Bra slips down her arms, off her breasts. She draws her arms out, moves the bit of lingerie aside. Her hips roll on top of his, slowly, rubbing against him through all that interfering fabric.
"Didn't say it was boring," she murmurs. "Just want to be on top." There's a beat of hesitance, not there before. "Do you not like it like this?"
RafaelHis shirt's rucked up. Diffuse shadows shift on his chest as he breathes, and he breathes a little faster when she touches him. When she slips out of her bra through some mysterious body magic of shoulders, shrugs. It slips down. She moves on him. He tips his head back, inhaling.
"Like it however," he says. "Just feels natural to be on top. Doesn't mean I don't like it with you on top."
DevonThat actually makes her laugh a little. "Natural?"
Leans over him, hands spreading over his pectoral muscles, reveling in the sensation of his skin. Smiles close to him. Has a touch of wine on her breath. Kisses him, very small and soft and quick but somehow it lingers, like the burn after something spicy.
"Feels natural to me, in the woods, to be on top of you."
Rolls her hips. Moves against him. Finds his shoulders, touches his biceps. Finds his forearms, wrists, draws those big hands of his to her tits. "Thanks for going out with me tonight, babe," she murmurs, cupping his palms over her breasts, watching him, rubbing herself against his cock through his jeans.
"Made me happy."
RafaelHe gives a little shrug of his own. It's a touch defensive, but a moment later he relaxes. Lets her pull his hands to her breasts. He cups them; rubs his palms over her nipples even as she rubs against his growing erection.
"Guess I meant it's what I know best."
Hint of a smile, then: lingering in the aftermath of her kiss. "Yeah? Good. Like making you happy. Made me happy too when you took me up here. Just us."
DevonShe's smiling at him when she holds his hands to her. Smiling at him after that subtle burn of a kiss. Smiling as she grinds against him, slow and lazy and a little bit drunk after several chugged mouthfuls of red wine. Lets her hands traipse down his forearms again, lets him just... play with her.
"Thought it would," she says softly. "Wanted to make you happy."
Leans over him then. Dark hair and rainbow curls meld together; she kisses him more, longer, deeper, softer. Passionate: that's the word for it. "Take my panties off," she mutters to him, in the midst of it. Slowly. Lazily. Just like the way she was making him touch her.
RafaelShe kisses him. So he doesn't answer immediately. He returns the kiss, echoes it, reflects it back. His hands stroke, rub, massage. Sweep around her sides, eventually, and up her back.
"Hey," he says quietly, while she's telling him to take her panties off, before he actually gets to it: "you make me happy a lot. Know that, right?"
DevonCrouched over him, leaning over him. Her hair swings past her shoulders, and she's liking this thing where she can hear the wind and the animals and feel a little cold and feel the air and see the moon, all these things at once. She likes him most of all.
A little quirk of a smile at the corner of her mouth.
"Kind of."
Rafael"You do," he murmurs. Hooks his rough thumbs under the waist of her panties; starts to inch them down. "Every time you show up at my place. Every time you give me a muffin at work. Every time you wear something absurd, because I never know what the hell you're going to put on next."
His palms rub over her ass. His wrists nudge her panties all the way down, past her rear, down her thighs. Butt, he thinks, inanely; doesn't say it aloud. He's not her.
"Like your hair better black, though," he adds.
DevonDevon falls over him. Slowly, draped over his body, lifting her hips to help him. Draws her legs together above his so he can work her underwear down past the tops of her absurd, rainbow-colored thigh-highs. Kisses his chest and his neck while he's telling her how
she makes
him happy.
Makes her happy to hear it. Wriggles a little to help him with the panties, wriggles while she works them further down, and then off. Doesn't immediately hop on him again, straddling and naked and ready to go. Stays where she is, her body laid out over his. While his palms rub over her ass.
"It is black," she murmurs. "Mostly."
Every time she shows up at his place. Every time she gives him a snack. Every time she --
"I don't wear absurd things," she argues, like this hurt her feelings.
Rafael"Don't mean it in a bad way." He draws back a little, searching her eyes through the darkness. "I hurt your feelings?"
Devon"I'm all right," she murmurs. Which she is. Nuzzles him. "I don't dress absurd, though."
Rafael"You don't," he agrees. Concedes, maybe. "Just different. I like it."
She's nearly naked. Not entirely: still has her thigh-highs on. Socks, essentially. Toes get cold. His hands follow her spine all the way down; one slides off to reach for the lighter blanket.
"You cold?"
DevonDifferent is okay.
She's a witch. She is contrary by nature, different by choice. By defiance. She wouldn't want to be the same as anyone else. She arches slightly into his touch as he runs his hands down her back; breathes in. The blanket covers their legs, mostly kicked away. She shakes her head.
"Not yet," she whispers. "Won't be at all when you start fucking me."
Leans over him. Kisses him again, even deeper than before. Her body, nearly totally naked now, writhes over his. Her hands, roaming over him gently, move more purposefully towards his belt. "Love fucking you," she murmurs, and kisses him again. "Love your cock inside me," which comes later, whisper-gasped, as she's unzipping his fly.
RafaelCertain things she says,
fucking me,
fucking you,
your cock inside me,
light him up inside. She can almost see the flare, the cinders in his eyes. He glances down as she undoes his belt, his fly. He pulls his shirt up over his head and tosses it aside. Kicks his pants down when she undoes them, arching up beneath her, shedding the heavy denim.
Pushes his boxers down, too. Ends up most of the way naked. Grasping her in his hands, his fingers splayed over her ass; shifts her slidingly up, grinds her against him. Exhales a panted breath. Leans up, kisses her, harder this time. Hungrier.
DevonHard to see anything in the dark, really. But she sees his eyes flash, all the same. She feels wet. She kisses him again, touching his sides, pressing her body to his, her skin to his. She wants to light him up. She wants to light him on fire. She wants their hands fighting with his jeans, pushing them down; her hand strokes him just once or twice over his boxers before he gets those out of the way, too.
Makes a sound, then, into his mouth. A little moan, mostly a gasp. Jerks him off a little, while he's touching her ass, pulling her pussy against his cock. Devon groans, moving her hand so she can feel him slide against her. Wraps her upper thighs around him, squirming, fucking his cock without quite letting him inside. Feels good. Feels decadent and sinful and dirty and restrained and she likes it.
"Hold off a little longer," she pants, kissing him back. "Not too long. Just a little, before you fuck me. All right?"
Her cunt pulses against the shaft of his cock. God. Feels so good.
Rafael"What?" He sounds incredulous, breathless. Beat. He has his hands on her hips. Is about to reach down, guide her down, guide himself inside her, but -- "Why?"
DevonHer mouth moves; a smile, an almost-laugh. "Feels good like this," she says, and rubs herself against him a little more. Moans, burying the sound in his chest. "You just feel really good," she adds, the words themselves a whimper.
Licks her lips, squirming. "Just a... just a few more seconds, babe," she whines, her nails digging into his arms a little. "Then... then fuck me. Put your... put your fucking cock in me."
RafaelThey moan together, almost in unison: she buries hers against his skin, the muscle of his chest, his beating heart. He looses his into the night air, head falling back. She rubs herself off on him, selfishly, squirmingly, and he'd be lying through his fucking teeth if he said he didn't enjoy it.
"Fuck," he swears; he's almost counting the seconds down in his head. Ten. Five. Three, two, one -- she says one of those things again, one of those phrases that lights him off. He cups her behind the head, pulls her down, kisses her ravenously. Reaches down and finds her, fits to her, pushes into her while he's eating at her mouth. Groans again into that contact, muffled and rough.
DevonRafa doesn't like to go slow. But she knows him now; it isn't really doesn't-like. It's sometimes that he doesn't know another way. Pulls her down, rolls her under, fucks her firm and hard and fast like this is the only way he understands it. Sometimes that's good.
Sometimes it needs to be tender. Softer. Slower.
And apparently now: she needs to just use him like this, rubbing her pussy against him as she gets more and more wet,
hotter,
all that.
Devon can tell, at the periphery of her awareness, that he likes it. He wouldn't do it if he didn't like it. He wouldn't moan like that if he weren't enjoying this. Probably not as much as she does, she thinks. Assumes. Doesn't ask. Doesn't ask him again to fuck her. He knows. Counts in his head.
Kisses her, and she groans, opening her thighs for him while their lips seal, tongues touch. He's searching for her blindly, taking his cock and fitting it to her, pushing inside without any more hesitance, any more waiting. Devon takes him, lifts her hips to slow his thrust, then sinks down against him, with him, closing her thighs around his hips.
"Oh, Rafa," she mutters, and that's all. All she can manage. For now.
RafaelIt's all she can manage.
It's more than he can manage. All he can manage is to wrap his arms around her. To pull her against him even as she's coming down; clasp her to his chest. She wraps her legs around him -- as much as the ground will allow, anyway -- and he kisses her neck, kisses her shoulder. She takes him slowly, rising and falling, and he breathes with every stroke; in, out. Opens his hands over her back, upper and lower. Grips her ass. Squeezes, rubs.
Can see the city in the distance, lights glimmering through the trees. Feels like he's a million miles away from civilization, falling farther with every slide of her body. Feels like he's going back in time, out into space; must be a kind of magic, too. He bites her shoulder. It's very tender. He kisses her neck, kisses her earlobe, finds his way back to her mouth.
"Love you," he mutters; one of the only times he's said it first.
DevonShe leans over him, moaning into his mouth as she starts working herself off on his cock. His hands roam over her legs, her ass, follow the way she's moving on him. A bit of gold glitter gets on his face as he's searching for her, kissing her neck, her earlobe. She's got her head buried against the crook of his shoulder for a time, riding him like that, lost in it. He finds her mouth, kisses her, and she moans again, her hair falling down one side of her neck, sweeping over his chest with every thrust.
Devon shudders, her eyes closing, her hand coming up to touch his face. "I love you too, Rafa," she murmurs, and it's soft and warm and sweet but there's a measure of trembling delight in it. He does make her happy. And after a year they're only just now coming to realize how much the other wants to make them happy.
She shifts; sits up, straddling him. It isn't that she's too warm that close to him. It's not that she doesn't want to be close to him. But she fucks him more... aggressively, like this. A little faster. A little harder. Watches him as she moves.
RafaelHis arms loosen as she sits up. She rides him -- faster, harder. His brow furrows; it's pleasure, not frustration, anger, whatever else might darken that heavy brow of his. He watches her, too: watches her tits bounce, watches her hips roll, watches her cunt, his cock, that coupling that human culture finds so objectionable, so profane.
He thinks it's natural. He thinks there's nothing more natural than this, more right, more perfect. He closes his eyes; bites his lip. Grunts when she moves a certain way, shifts her rhythm, slides, grinds. "So good," he mutters,
because it is. She is.
DevonIt won't occur to her til later, when she can think again, but it always seems really good when they fuck outdoors. Some of the best sex they ever have. This is no different, except that it's dark, and they really are alone, and he's not checking the trees or shadows to make sure no one's watching them, like usual.
It's cold outside but she's sweating soon enough, gasping that she wants him to put his hands on her tits, exchanging one of those hands for her own, guiding him down to her cunt to touch her there instead. Her pussy tightens on his cock when his fingers slide over her clit; she bites her lip and squirms on him, And by then he knows she's losing herself, he can see it on her face. Can even hear it in the sounds she's making, eager and plaintive and primitive.
Sometimes she fucks him like she's using him. Well: not really using him. Fucks him like it's good for her, it's not just about making him happy, it's not just about romance or closeness. Like she's getting off on his cock. Truth be told, there's some measure of that every time they have sex, and that's part of why it's hot, and that's part of how they please each other: by being really, really into it. He likes seeing her come. She knows it. So she's not abashed about chasing down her orgasm on top of him, putting his hand on her pussy to help her get off, clutching at his bicep when the stroke of his cock and the stroke of his fingers match up, make her whole body hot.
But right now, all the same, she's not just using his cock. It's not one of those times. It's hot, and she's into it, and she's going to come if he keeps fucking her like this, but the truth is:
they're in the woods. There's a town far, far below them, trees and rocks and dirt all around them. Small creatures have fled the scent and rage of a predator, the sound of an almost-human being noisy and disruptive. The moon overhead is waning but still so, so bright. She's alone with him in the dark on the night when the veil between worlds is at its thinnest. She's alone with him in the dark, somewhere wild and verdant even well into fall. And this feels not just natural or perfect or right but somehow familiar to her. Familiar in an almost frighteningly powerful way.
Devon folds over him as she approaches her orgasm, biting his chest, groaning between those gold-painted lips as it starts to hit her. Gasps against him when it does, her body jerking slightly, her pussy wetting his cock as her limbs flood with pleasure, go limp from it. Wants his arms around her now, make her feel safe,
keep her from floating away,
but she can't say a word.
RafaelThey couldn't possibly know that more than a millennium ago,
an impossible stretch of time for a human mind to comprehend, but a mere blink of the cosmic eye; a mere instant in the eternity of their souls,
there was another witch. Another wolf. Another night, midsummer rather than midautumn; another bluff overlooking another -- far smaller -- civilization. They couldn't possibly know that, and yet: she feels it, in that incandescent, transcendent moment. He intuits it, so deeply that he isn't even conscious of it. Is conscious only of how she feels, and how right this feels, and how true, how pure, how perfect this moment is. She folds over him as she comes. He's not disappointed. Doesn't mind that he can't see her, can't watch her, can't witness her coming undone. His arms wrap around her. He drives up into her, gasping against her smooth cheek; panting a grunt, a groan, as he follows her over the edge.
They wring their pleasure from one another. Orgasm, in the end, is such a primal, inelegant thing; spasms and jerks, shudders and twitches. A temporary state of insanity. A temporary loss of all control, all inhibition. She's limp by the end. He's lowering them both slowly, slowly back to earth, muscles unflexing, limbs relaxing. His arms stay around her. It is the last day of the pre-Christian year. It is the middle of the harvest season, when the weather turns cold, when animals settle in for the winter, when humans, even, turn to thoughts of home and hearth, family and loved ones.
He is glad to be here with her. Just them, far removed from the city, their lives, the noise, the crowds. He closes his eyes and holds on to her, profoundly and deeply grateful.
DevonFor a while, Devon is just panting.
Not thinking. Not grateful or in love or reflective or anything. Her brain has ceased its higher function and is just fumbling its way through basic tasks: making her heart rate go down to a stable level. Making her lungs breathe normally, casually. Producing more sweat so that her stupid core temperature will come back down. At the same time, her brain is basically drunk on the rush of pleasure that just went through her, and it is doing all of these very basic jobs while giggling moronically.
She stays on top of him, her hands on his sides, feeling his breath, holding onto him like she's still afraid she'll float away. The sensation -- something like a memory -- of losing touch with gravity is strong with her right now. So she holds onto him, because he is big and... meaty... and... something. Her brain isn't working well enough yet to nail down why he is a good thing to hold onto. It'll come to her later, and she'll look at him and smile and refuse to tell him why.
For now she cools her skin, slows her heart, steadies her breath.
--
After her body is regulated again, other things -- like gratitude -- come back. Warmth and affection and security. Her head is lying on his chest and her hands and her thighs aren't holding him as tightly. She won't lift up off his cock and let go of him just yet, but that's okay. Somewhere in there he reaches down and tugs up that lighter blanket she packed at his place, drapes it over her shoulders and then covers it, covers her beneath it, with his Big Strong Arms That Keep Girl Safe.
And Devon doesn't quite pass out, but she does doze off. Yawns against his chest and drowses there, sleepy and comforted. The sounds return to the night air: breeze in trees. Rustling in underbrush. Boughs creaking. Leaves skittering across the ground.
Eventually they ease apart. Devon, who planned this so well, even has some wet wipes. Which she laughs about using, quick and under-blanket, and then snuggles him to him again. Naked, but for her rainbow socks.
Under the blanket, rainbow haired and with mussed gold-glitter-and-rainbow makeup smudged, she tucks herself to his side and rests on his arm.
"Wish we could sleep here," she murmurs. "But people crawl all over this place in daytime." Closes her eyes, nuzzling closer to his chest. "We should go camping sometime."
RafaelThe wetwipes remove any last lingering doubt that she'd planned this, sex included. While she's cleaning up, laughing about it, he sprawls under that thin blanket. Smirks at her; this thoroughly lazy, satisfied sort of smirk. Blanket's so thin she can count his six-pack through it. Warm enough to reflect his heat back, though. Keep them both warm.
She cuddles up by him again. He throws his heavy arm around her. They drowse a while, but then she says they can't actually sleep there.
"Nn," he grunts. "We'll have your mom over for Christmas. Then go camping in New Zealand or something. Skip winter." Wolf shifts, tugs pillow back into place, lays back down. "Disappear into the trees for a couple hours and come back all tousled. Franklin's gonna know what's up."
DevonCounts his six pack. Traces it, under the blanket, her left leg crossing over his thigh so she can feel muscle and heat there. He mentions Christmas in Denver; seems really stuck on having her out here. Devon will tell him later it might be easier for the two of them to go to London. Plus: London in Christmas. She'll tell him later.
Likes the idea of New Zealand. Laughs a little. She doesn't mind. They can camp in Colorado in spring. Summer. Skip winter entirely, year after year.
Leans over him, blanket shifted aside, to lick his abdominals, tracing him with her tongue. Still warm though. Her hand is on his hip. Her mouth is over him and... maybe they won't leave quite so soon, even if it's getting cold. Devon seems content. Kises him and licks him and nuzzles him and cuddles against him. Franklin's gonna know what's up.
She grins. "Obviously," she says. "They all know." Her hand is on his thigh. She's hungry. It's not hard to tell.
RafaelHis abs tighten when she touches him, traces him, licks him. It's spontaneous, reflexive. He doesn't have any control over it. No more than he has control over his dick getting hard again -- which it is. He glances down past her, at that aforementioned body part. The smirk resurfaces. He's proud of his hard-on. It's ridiculous but true.
And he touches her hair. Big hand cups her head the way he does, fondly, protectively. Her mouth is tantalizingly close but he just cradles her against his body for a moment. Looks at her like he likes her. Like he adores her. Which he does.
"They all know we're fucking," he counters. "Don't know we're in love."
DevonHis dick is maybe three inches from her mouth. She's running her hand up his leg, little tease, avoiding touching it, stroking it. She misses the smirk, which would be absurd to her.
But he touches her hair, and he's going to have blue and green and pink and yellow dye on his hands later, more than likely. He insists that they all know one thing but not the other. And Devon actually laughs, warm air on his skin, and looks up at him, smiling.
"Take it from someone actually of the servant class, babe. They know that, too."
RafaelWolf snorts. He's a little uncomfortable with the terminology. Not horribly though. Might've been last year. Knows her better now. Feels more comfortable with her.
" 'Servant class'. Bussed my fair share of tables, changed my share of tires." He returns her smile, though: lopsidedly, slowly. "Glad they know that though."
DevonDevon rolls her eyes. Almost mocks him: once upon a time, he changed tires or bussed tables. But then she remembers how that once upon a time ended. It wasn't like a fairy godparent floated down and blessed him with money beyond measure and privilege beyond imagining.
His mother died. He never knew her. Has no pictures of her. Doesn't even know her auspice for sure. She had him, and gave him up, and then left him everything she had, and he'll never get to ask her why she did any of those fucking things, or if she ever thought of him, or why she never tried to find him, or why she couldn't just disappear and stay disappeared, or anything else he might want to yell at her.
She just died. And he found out he wasn't servant class at all. He never was. He was a long lost prince.
And it's not a fairytale.
It just sucks.
--
She wraps her arms around him and doesn't go on licking him and damn his hardon. Devon just holds him, suddenly, and it seems bizarre unless he attributes it to his gladness that his servants can probably tell that he loves Devon. That he's not just fucking her.
Truth be told, even the servants of real kings in ancient times knew when he loved a mistress, truly loved her even more than his queen or his country. Servants don't tend to think love conquers all; they've seen it go the other way all too often. But that's beside the point; these aren't ancient times.
"I don't really care what they think," she murmurs. This was one of the first things she ever said to him. She still acts like it; doesn't care if the high society people raise eyebrows when she wears the same dress to two events. She doesn't care if she bends over and people can see her boyshorts under her skirt. She doesn't care what anyone thinks of her, unless it's her mom, or Rafael, or a few other select people who wouldn't judge her for stupid things anyway.
She doesn't care if all his servants think she's his little slut, his little whore, the peasant girl he's fucking until he finds a mate appropriate to his station. She knows he cares.
But all of that, too, is beside the point.
The point is: she's holding him so tightly. Because she still has her mom. And knows her. And can talk to her about her boyfriend and stuff. And knows that her mom wanted her, and loves her, and will always be there for her.
And the guy she loves doesn't have that. Never did.
RafaelWolf has no idea why she's suddenly holding him so tight. Thinks maybe she's just happy that he's happy that they're in love and everyone knows. Thinks maybe she's happy that he doesn't care, either, if the servants know. Is glad they know. Isn't embarrassed by her, his mistress from the peasantry.
His fingers stroke through her hair. Turn green and blue and purple and red. "Come back up here," he murmurs; never mind his hard-on, never mind his absurd pride in sporting a hard-on. He's not 100% asshole. He's not 100% idiot.
He wraps his arms around her when she's near enough. Holds her tight, too. They should think about going back. Shouldn't leave poor Franklin waiting much longer, half-drowsing, tired and trying to nap a little before he has to drive them back. Sometimes wolf has a pang of sympathy for his driver, his maid, all the rest of the people who were suddenly, by some esoteric law of spirit and flesh, considered his underlings. Wasn't so long ago that he was bussing tables. Wasn't so long ago that he was changing tires.
Wasn't so long ago that his mother died, and everything changed, and he was left with all the money he could ever spend and more. All those questions, unanswered.
"Let's go back in ten minutes," he whispers. "Staying over tonight, right?"
DevonSo she comes back up there. Slithers up his side and that happy hard-on of is is resting against the top of her thigh where she's covering him with her leg. She's wrapped up in his arms under that thin blanket, and she isn't thinking about Franklin at all. She thinks he's going to kiss her.
But he just holds her, and whispers that they might go back in ten minutes. The corner of Devon's mouth quirks. She nods to his question. "'Course," she murmurs, her hand smoothing over his chest. "May as well be our anniversary. Not gonna run off after getting what I want from you."
Smirks at him, finding his hand and guiding it to her hip, her side.
"Maybe fifteen minutes?" she says, leaving his palm on her ribcage, sliding her own down to his groin. "Twenty?"
Rafael"Mm," is the sound he makes, watching her hand track its way down. Knows what's coming and even so his eyes fall closed when she touches him. "You trying to persuade me to stay longer, Devon?"
DevonDevon never says 'duh'. Not verbally.
But the way she raises her eyebrows at him should get the message across. Would, if he weren't being so lazy and closing his eyes. She keeps stroking him though -- wraps her soft fingers around him and moves slowly. Up. A gentle twist, down. Slow and tight on the way up.
She doesn't really answer, though. Not other than that quirk of her brows at his stupid blind face.
Not other than a kiss laid on that face, on his cheek beneath his left eye, soft and warm.
RafaelTruth is he's still sort of ...wet from being inside her. He didn't bring wetnaps. He's just his plain filthy self, lying there half-under the blanket she brought. She starts stroking him off. His eyes are closed and they stay closed; he makes a soft sound, pleased, as she kisses him.
"Maybe twenty minutes," he murmurs. Pulls her over him, on top.
DevonDevon doesn't mind. She's been filthy with him before. Many times, in fact. She doesn't mind that he's sticky, or that it's cum, or that it's wetness left from her pussy. She offered him wipes but he just wanted to cuddle and drowse.
He murmurs twenty and pulls her closer, onto his body. Devon is smiling, and he still can't see it, but her hand leaves him, presses against the blanket beneath them. Stops stroking his cock and looks down at him.
"You on top this time?" she murmurs. Leans over him, nuzzles him, whispers: "Or you could turn me over." Kisses him just below his earlobe, her voice still so quiet: "Whatever you want."
RafaelWhatever you want.
Something about that hits him the same way it hit him when she says fucking me, fucking you, fuck me. When she pulls back his pupils have dilated another fraction; opening up to let in more light, more sight, more her. He follows her up, flexing under her to catch her, kiss her.
And then he turns her. Says something about his strength, that his arm circles her, keeps her from thumping unpleasantly against the ground. Lowers her slowly. Says something about his regard for her too. He's not a careful wolf by nature. She makes him care.
Her legs wrap around him. His arms cushion her. Blanket's thick but not that thick, and there are sticks and stones down there. He's looking into her eyes when he moves into her. Kisses her when he starts fucking her, steady, escalating.
--
They disrupt the wildlife again.
They set each other afire again.
They fuck energetically, furiously, quick and hard and -- joyful. Perhaps that's the word for it. He gets dirt under his nails grabbing at the ground when he comes. She has a smudge of dirt on her cheek where he touched her, stroked her face, held her between his hands. She has fragments of leaves in her hair. He has her in his arms afterward, coming down, flexing slow and deep into her. Drawing out the moment. Wringing every last ounce of pleasure from it.
--
"Guess we should go back," he murmurs, much later. Closer to morning than to midnight now, even with these shortening days.
DevonIt's meant to. That kiss under his ear, that whisper. Whatever he wants. However he wants to fuck her. She means it with the same loving surrender and wicked pleasure as that summer day when she begged him to call her a slut, his slut. Later: his girl. It isn't about degrading her. Devon doesn't put it into words in her mind though. If she did, there would be the word trust in there. And something about how she likes getting him off, pleasing him, seeing how much he enjoys her.
They kiss like a collision. Devon moans into his mouth. He turns over her, shielding her with his body and with the blanket still over them. Cushions her so her body doesn't bruise against the hard, cold ground, the occasional rock or twig they can feel through the thick weave of the other blanket. He's gentle. He's careful. Devon is smirking, smiling, wrapping her long legs around him, pulling him down to her. He holds her, and groans when he kisses her again, and they both groan when he pushes into her.
--
It's a little dirty, this time. He's so eager, so hot. She bites her lip, arching as he rubs himself against her, grinds between her legs. Truthfully put: he fucks her more than she fucks him back. It isn't because she doesn't like it, she's not into this -- far from it. But what she's into, right now, is getting fucked. In letting him fuck her. He pants, and she laughs when he hits her a certain way, gasps happily into the darkness. Her hands hold onto his biceps, and his back, and she whines and squirms when her orgasm hits her, makes her almost lift off the very ground.
He grabs the earth, the blanket all askew. Somewhere in there her head slipped off the pillow, into his palm, cradling her off the ground. Dirt in her hair. It's okay. Leaves in the rainbow; it's okay. She's a Fianna. How many times has she woken up in the woods?
They fuck a little longer, even after they've made each other filthy and sticky again. Just slow rocking motions against one another, Devon whimpering here and there, their lower halves grinding and winding slowly.
--
It is some time into November 1st now. Franklin is sleeping in the car, waiting for his phone to buzz because Devon promised she'd let him know. In maybe four hours the sun is going to rise. It'll take at least thirty minutes for them to get back to Rafael's place. Shower. Fall into bed again.
She holds him. Murmurs assent, but doesn't move. Just holds him, in her arms. In her body.
Forgive her this thought: in her heart.
RafaelNeither of them move. Well; wolf moves a little. Nuzzles her where that long graceful neck meets that softly toned shoulder. The arch of her collarbone, the strap of tendon. His arms settle around her, and then he relaxes. She knows he's asleep when he forgets to hold himself up; weighs rather heavy on her.
Perhaps she nudges him. Perhaps she whispers to him, or speaks his name. He comes awake with a very small start; murmurs some incoherent little growl.
Then he rolls off her. Rubs his face with one hand; gets dirt on his forehead, too. Yawns. When he sits up the blanket falls forward off his chest. He gathers it up, briefly exposing her to the night air -- but then he tosses it over her. Keeps her warm while he starts reaching for their discarded clothes.
"Don't work tomorrow, do you?"
DevonWakes him up with a scritch on his back. Wakes him up by nuzzling him, saying his name. Says oof and presses against his ribs. He's so heavy. She's smiling at him though. He growls, and she adores him for it. Kisses his messy cheek.
Devon starts shivering after a bit; it's really cold now, and he's gone, and they're not fucking. She reaches for the blanket as it slides away -- but he's throwing it over her anyway. Picking up their clothes. Devon smiles, and wipes up again. Offers some to him. Again. Maybe this time he'll take advantage.
She yawns in answer, shakes her head. "Nah. I asked off a long time ago. Got some 'religious holiday' cred for the sabbats and esbats. Even though, y'know."
They're horseshit, and not really her religion, but sort of? Sure.
Devon shrugs and takes her rainbow boyshorts when he gives them over, lays back to wriggle into them. Pulls on her unicorn dress, hood back. Has no idea she has dirt on her face when she sees it on his and offers him yet another wipe. "You've got gunk all over your face."
RafaelHe takes the wipe this time. Cleans himself up, which he feels a little silly about: wiping his junk because sex is messy. He can't decide what to do with the wipe afterward. Maybe it's biodegradable? He watches her for a cue.
She gives him another one. Gunk on his face. He looks skeptical; then he smirks. "Got dirt on your face too. Kinda cute." And he accepts the wipe: wipes his face.
Meanwhile she's pretty much dressed. He gets started, pulling on his shorts, his pants. Finding his shirt wherever they tossed it; pulling that on too. He didn't bring a jacket. It wasn't that cold, or maybe he just didn't notice. He shakes out the thicker blanket when she gets up off of it, bits of leaves and twigs and other forest debris flying every which way. When it's reasonably clean he drapes the blanket around his shoulders, then holds out his arm to include her. Now they're both under the thick blanket. She's under the thin, too. They're warm.
He picks up the cooler. Stuffs pillow into duffel, throws duffel over shoulder. She grabs her backpack, the half-finished bottle of wine. He holds his hand out for the latter; upends it, drinks, hands it back.
"Okay." They're ready to go. He pauses for a moment, arm over her shoulders, to look back at the tiny clearing; the glimmering lights in the distance. City's darker now than it was. Lights go out for a few hours, and then it's another new day. "Thanks for showing me this place."
DevonShe doesn't feel silly. Sex is messy. Boys are full of spunk and it's messy and gross, especially when it cools off, but Devon cleans herself up matter-of-factly, just like she goes to pee after they fuck without apologizing, or tells him he's sucking her nipple too hard without feeling bad about saying it. She has a plastic grocery bag for trash. Smiles as she holds it over to him. Ties the bag off when they're done with it; she can drop it in the trash on their way out.
Devon re-corks the wine. She leaves the dirt on her face, since he thinks it's soooo cute on her. She finds her gold sneakers, which isn't hard, and shakes them out before she puts them on: never know if spiders are creeping into your shoes while you fuck your boyfriend. She really has fallen asleep in the woods a lot.
They shake out the blanket after re-packing the cooler. Shove stuff in her backpack, into his duffel. Ready to pack out. Snuggled under a blanket, which will make it hard to walk out -- there's some climbing up and some single-file pathways and then a descent they need to be careful of. Devon gets her phone's flashlight turned on again, holds that to one side as they share another, almost ceremonious, drink of wine.
They head up from the clearing back to the side-path, and she pauses, looking back at him. He's looking down at the city of Golden.
Devon just smiles. "There are a lot of others," she says, which doesn't sound like a dismissal. It actually sounds more like a promise.
RafaelWhen the path narrows enough that they can no longer walk abreast, he switches blankets with her. Gives her the thick one, even if it's a little twiggy, and takes the thin one. She promises him -- not quite that they'll be back here, but that there will be others. Other secret places she will show him. Other tiny sites of worship. Other holy grounds of that amorphous, naturalistic religion they share. He follows her, holding his hand out for hers. It's all right if they can't walk side by side. He still wants that contact, their fingers entwined as long as they can manage.
"Good," he says quietly.
DevonSo she holds his hand. Lights the way, even though he could see in the dark if he wanted. She texts Franklin on the hike down, waking him up so the car will be getting warm, so he'll be ready to take them home.
They toss their trash and leave the park that they're not supposed to be in this late. Devon climbs into the car with Rafael, snuggling in the dirty blankets. Franklin glances back, makes sure they're ready to go back down the mountain before he drives off. Devon snuggles up to Rafael in the back seat, arms wrapped around his waist. They smell like dirt and leaves and, well... sex. And wine. Which they are still sharing back and forth on the way down to Denver.
The car will need to be detailed to get all the leaves out, get the dirt scuffs off the back seat. That's part of what Franklin is paid to do. But when they pull into the garage, Devon also pauses before going inside, stopping to talk to Franklin briefly. Hands him something from her backpack pocket, almost... shyly. No, shy indicates cuteness. She's just awkward and stiff about it, not knowing how to do these things.
Rafael can't see. Might have to ask later. Might have to drag out of her: she gave him a charm she made, a protective talisman to keep with him when he drives. That and some cash. A tip. A thank you.
--
They go upstairs together. Leave luggage by the garage door with slightly muddied shoes and leave wine on the counter. Head upstairs and right to the shower, because as tired as Devon is now, she doesn't think she can sleep all filthy like this. So: they stand in the hot water for a while, barely able to wash, holding each other under the streams. Rafael helps her wash pink and blue and green and yellow dye out of her hair. She washes off mascara and gold lipstick and rainbow eyeshadow and they mostly wash off their temporary tattoos. They clean dirt out from under their fingernails, mostly.
She goes to sleep with wet hair, naked, which is a rare thing: she loves her pajamas. But he wraps her up close. Keeps her warm, since she doesn't even have socks on.
"Happy new year," she mutters, seeming nonsense, just before they fall asleep.
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