Last year, there was one night -- Devon can't remember exactly when -- she went out in a tank top and these sparkly blue hotpants, and halfway through the evening the temperature dropped like it was careening off a cliff. Snow started falling. Freezing, on the other side of town, too poor for a cab and past the time when buses ran to that area, she called Franklin. Or Rafael.
He made fun of her while she shivered in his back seat. Snarked. She doesn't think he'd do that nowadays. He doesn't even seem to like fucking with her on top because she might be exposed to the harsh elements of his bedroom. When they sleep together she honestly has to wiggle away and push and shove and nudge him off of her sometimes because he's so... glompy.
Like now. It's late at night and earlier there was sex, and her nails dug into his shoulders a little as she came. The noises she made were wordless, begging whimpers. And then he nuzzled against her shoulder and, thanks to the dinner earlier and the darkness outside and the warmth and the sex and every other signal saying yes, good, sleep now, Rafael dropped off. So did Devon, truth be told. She drowsed, and then she fell asleep,
and might have stayed that way all night if she hadn't started getting so overheated under the covers and within her boyfriend's arms that she was sweaty and uncomfortable.
But Devon just shifted a little. Gently moved his arm and put some space between them. Stuck her leg out of the comforters to the air, instantly helping cool her off. Turned on her side in bed and looked at him, her arm folded under her head.
Watching someone sleep is tender and all that for roughly thirty seconds before it gets incredibly boring. So she started touching his arm. Stroking his forearm. And then she started sing-songing, softly:
"Raaafaaa. Rafa. Raaaafaaaaa."
RafaelHe's quite deeply asleep, and for several seconds there's no reaction at all. Then: a sudden, complete reaction -- eyes snapping open, the pupil constricting sharply against the light. He stares at her for a beat.
Recognition comes in the next. And with it, relaxation; eyelids drooping a little, mouth curling. "Sleeping," he mutters: and so he was. Sprawled beside her, half on his side and half on his stomach, where he'd moved largely by gravity after she slipped out of his glomp. "Time is it?"
DevonStartles her. He's a wolf. He's not human. And the way his eyes snap, the way his nostrils flare -- she remembers, and pulls her hand back instinctively. So for that beat, they're both staring at each other. And then he smiles, warm and lazy-happy, protesting that he was asleep.
Devon shrugs and slips closer, suddenly not minding his body heat. Snuggles up against him, all but forcing him to his side so she can be against his chest and between his arms. "Whenever," is her answer, because it's not like it matters. Only one of them has a job.
Kisses his chest. Really: his clavicle. Nuzzles against it.
"Kinda wanna fuck again," she mutters. "Kinda wanna sleep, but I'm not really tired."
RafaelLights are still on. The one bedside lamp, anyway. Maybe one out in the hall, but that they see only as a crack under the door. Wolf sighs, a contented sound, as girl burrows closer. His arm falls heavy over her. She kisses his chest and he murmurs, affectionate.
"You work tomorrow?"
Devon"Closing," she says, which means not til late. Those are most of the shifts she works. Her boyfriend is more or less nocturnal. She works midafternoon through the evening, and then he's still awake and wants to eat with her, and... it's okay. Until the days when she has to open.
Devon kisses his neck. And touches his hip under the covers. "If we stay here I'm going to fuck you again, babe," she murmurs.
RafaelHe's still half-asleep. That pleasant murk between one and the other. She touches him and his eyes open again: just a little, green-glinting shadows.
"Okay," he whispers.
DevonThat makes her grin, quick and slashing across her narrow face She kisses him, meltingly, her hand moving between their bodies instead of touching his hip, like she meant it to be right there all along.
RafaelHe loves her narrow face, her narrow body, her narrow bones. Skinny thing, he calls her in his mind, and it's affectionate in truth: calls her that only because he's an unpoetic wolf, hasn't better words for her. Doesn't know to think of her as wild, and clear, and a little furtive, a little foxlike. Doesn't know any of that. Except in his bones. There he does know her. And love her. And keep her.
She kisses him and he responds, his big hand warming her hip in turn. She touches him and he breathes in, breathes out. Rests his brow to hers while she hardens him, wakes his body to hers. Eventually he rolls over her, and they're still half under-cover; she wraps her legs around him and he wraps his hand over the top of her head as he kisses her. Loves her.
It's quite slow, this time. It's slow and lazy and long and sweet. It's their bodies tangling together, growing slicker with sweat; it's his hands in her hair and hers on his back. It's the long slow surge and ebb, together and never-quite-apart. It's his mouth against her neck, moaning low in his throat when he comes. And his hand between their bodies, his thumb massaging her clit to bring her off while he fucks her, slow and steady, start to finish.
DevonHis breathing trembles. She can feel it against her lips as her hand moves, working him up. It doesn't take long, let's be real. He's warm and soft and relaxed, and she's saying things like fuck, she's kissing his mouth, stroking his cock. He's hard in moments, ready to go, trying to move closer to her.
But Devon doesn't let him. She kisses him again and guides his hands. He forgets sometimes. Has to touch her, too. Cup her breasts and lower his lead to lick her. Rub himself against her cunt while he plays with her ass. It's a little longer for Devon before she's panting softly, seeking him as he seeks her, opening her legs for him when he rolls himself over her.
And finds her wet. And finds her longing for him, holding onto him with her whole body, trembling a little when she comes, which is very quiet, compared to her full-throated, plaintive cries earlier. Just a whimper. Just her teeth in her lower lip as he's rubbing her clit, working her off until she's panting and squirming away, can't stand it anymore.
They have good sex. It's not always good. Usually it is. Moreso now. They're learning about each other, albeit slowly. Neither of them like to talk much.
When it's over, Devon is so hot she kicks away all the blankets ever. Lays there naked on his bed, sprawled a little, thinking she should get up and pee but her legs are spasming occasionally, shaken.
RafaelAll the blankets ever get flung aside. Wolf's bare back and bare ass and bare feet and bare everything starts cooling instantly in the well-circulated air. Sweat lifts. Skin cools.
Wolf is still slow, satiated, sleepy. He kisses her neck and her collarbone, the way he does. He kisses her breasts, and this is almost methodical: he kisses one nipple and then the other, and on the other he gives a gentle little suck.
He rolls aside, heavily as a mountain sliding into the sea. Groans as he draws out of her and slumps aside, their legs still interwoven, his forearm falling across her waist.
"Why'd it take us so long to start fucking?" he wants to know. It's sort of a genuine question.
DevonDevon doesn't uncover him unless he wants to be uncovered. Who is she to know? Maybe he likes sweating. But he lets the blankets slip away, and he's so warm that he doesn't mind the kiss of cool air on his ... wet dick. Semi. Devon just sprawls while he smooches her here and there, kisses her tits, sucks on her. She chuckles a little as he does.
They're only touching there: his arm. Her belly. He asks her a dumb question.
And she laughs. Out loud. "It was maybe two weeks."
RafaelWolf's indeed got a wet dick and a semi, and whose fault is that. Witch's, that's whose. And now she's laughing because she thinks his question is dumb, and he sort of smirks at her from where he's slumped over.
"Long time," he murmurs. "Should've fucked first time we met. Probably spared a lot of the stupid fighting."
DevonWry, now. "You tried, first time we met," she reminds him. "Offered to pay me. Was weird."
Rolls onto her side, propping her head up. "And when I wanted to, you kept saying it was a 'bad idea'. So..."
RafaelThey had a fight about that once. Her bringing up his proposition. He just shrugs now, a heavy shoulder moving up and down.
"Thought you were for hire," he says, which is a nice little euphemism. He thinks a moment. "Wished you were, maybe. Probably would've just started paying you a salary. Benefits and all."
Corner of his mouth moves up. Settles. He touches her, his hand rubbing slowly up and down her waist, his fingers tracing her skin, the arch of her ribcage, the dip of her navel. Just a soft, curious sort of caressing, as though learning her by sensation.
"Did think it was a bad idea at the time," he adds. "Maybe for a while after too. Complicated and risky. All that fighting, then we throw fucking in the mix. Recipe for disaster."
Rafael"Think you're right," wolf replies, just as quiet. "I don't really know. Never really been with people much. Lovers or friends or ... whatever. Mostly just me. And now, a bunch of people I'm paying."
He thinks a little. Turns his hand over; traces his knuckles over her skin. She's so soft. Like wind and rain never touched her in her life, though he knows that's not true. Girl goes walking around in the woods more than he does. Lives closer to the earth and the spirit than he does.
"And you," he adds, quieter still. "Glad you weren't for hire. Better like this. We're both in it because we want to be."
Rafael[DLP!]
DevonIt is a euphemism, but it amuses her. And it says something that last time this came up, even obliquely, he was furious at her and it made no sense to her. She was the one who should have been offended. He felt like she was trying to hold something over his head. She couldn't fathom why he'd think she would do that. It was a bad fight.
But he doesn't get upset. And she didn't even think he would.
Has a weird reaction though, to what he says. He says maybe he wished she was. Would've paid her. Would've paid to keep her around and fuck him. Take care of him. Maybe it's because they've had sex twice or maybe it's just because they've been together for almost a year. Devon isn't bothered by it. Devon isn't amused by it.
She's a little aroused by it. Doesn't say anything, though. There's another part of her that is confused. Doesn't voice that either.
"You just don't know how to be with people," she says softly, after he proclaims their origins as a recipe for disaster. "Wasn't that risky."
Rafael"Think you're right," wolf replies, just as quiet. "I don't really know. Never really been with people much. Lovers or friends or ... whatever. Mostly just me. And now, a bunch of people I'm paying."
He thinks a little. Turns his hand over; traces his knuckles over her skin. She's so soft. Like wind and rain never touched her in her life, though he knows that's not true. Girl goes walking around in the woods more than he does. Lives closer to the earth and the spirit than he does.
"And you," he adds, quieter still. "Glad you weren't for hire. Better like this. We're both in it because we want to be."
RafaelHe has no idea that turned her on. If he had more awareness, he would've worried that would upset her. No one would blame her for being upset. She knows him better than that, though. Knows he doesn't mean harm by it. Or maybe she just doesn't care what other people think of her. That's a possibility too.
Regardless: he has no idea. She doesn't mention it. Probably for the best; it'd just confuse him. She mocks him gently; she nuzzles him. He closes his eyes and smiles, which is such a sweet, defenseless thing to do. Hardly even wolfish. Hardly even growly and grumpy and intense and brooding.
He opens his eyes again when she sits up. "Don't get why people put fruit and vegetables together," he opines. "Get me something with meat when you get out. I'll shower after you."
--
Which is what happens. She showers first, and he lazes about in bed, naps. He has no idea what time it is still. Could be almost morning, for all he knows. Could be early enough that a midnight snack like this makes sense. Probably the latter. When the shower turns off the silence wakes him, and he comes padding into the bathroom. Hulking, inelegant beast of a man: heavy-footed and prowling. He looks at her in her towel or in her robe or maybe she's standing there naked. He swats her on the bum, lightly, as he passes.
Shuts himself into the shower and washes off the sweat, the stink, the sex. Comes out scalded clean and flushed from heat. Ruffles his head dry on a towel, then wraps another around his waist. She's called in delivery by then.
"What'd you get me?"
Rafael[DLP :[[[[[[[[[[[ ]
DevonShe regrets getting turned on at the thought of being his literal whore. It's just a thought. She wouldn't actually do that. Or want that. Certainly not in exchange for what they have now. But when he says that most of the people around him are hired, people paid from what is now his gigantic coin purse, she feels bad for being aroused.
So she doesn't mention it. He's weird about that stuff, she thinks. Sometimes. Still.
"Right," she murmurs. Her bent arm folds a bit, her hand dropping to his brow, stroking his sweat-dampened hair. "Even if one of us was a dumbass. Thought it might be too complicated to fuck a girl he liked." She scoffs.
Smiles at him. Leans over, nuzzling his temple with the tip of her nose. "Gonna shower," she tells him softly. "Then get something delivered. Dying for one of those salads from Mod Market with the apples on it." Kisses his cheek and moves toward the edge of the bed.
RafaelHe has no idea that turned her on. If he had more awareness, he would've worried that would upset her. No one would blame her for being upset. She knows him better than that, though. Knows he doesn't mean harm by it. Or maybe she just doesn't care what other people think of her. That's a possibility too.
Regardless: he has no idea. She doesn't mention it. Probably for the best; it'd just confuse him. She mocks him gently; she nuzzles him. He closes his eyes and smiles, which is such a sweet, defenseless thing to do. Hardly even wolfish. Hardly even growly and grumpy and intense and brooding.
He opens his eyes again when she sits up. "Don't get why people put fruit and vegetables together," he opines. "Get me something with meat when you get out. I'll shower after you."
--
Which is what happens. She showers first, and he lazes about in bed, naps. He has no idea what time it is still. Could be almost morning, for all he knows. Could be early enough that a midnight snack like this makes sense. Probably the latter. When the shower turns off the silence wakes him, and he comes padding into the bathroom. Hulking, inelegant beast of a man: heavy-footed and prowling. He looks at her in her towel or in her robe or maybe she's standing there naked. He swats her on the bum, lightly, as he passes.
Shuts himself into the shower and washes off the sweat, the stink, the sex. Comes out scalded clean and flushed from heat. Ruffles his head dry on a towel, then wraps another around his waist. She's called in delivery by then.
"What'd you get me?"
DevonJust gives him a Look over her shoulder, standing up, her hair all tousled and her pale ass naked. "Because it's good." She stretches.
And off she goes, flicking on the light in his bathroom and turning on the water. Shuts the door; Devon is careless and unconcerned for the most part, but Devon is also private. Devon showers alone. Maybe Rafael looks at the clock and realizes it's not actually that late: it's just so dark already. She comes out of the bathroom and leaves the light on and the fan on behind her, comes out in a towel, her hair wavy and wet but combed.
He swats her. She smacks him with the panties she just picked up from the ground, which were the ones she wore earlier. Good thing he's about to shower.
Those are not the ones she puts on. She just picks up after herself, and puts on clean clothes, but he doesn't find her until he heads downstairs, finds her braiding her hair and watching Parks and Rec on Netflix. Pauses it, looking over.
"Steak and mashed red potatoes and brussels with bacon." Smirks at him. "Don't fret. I'll eat the mean, scary brussels sprouts for you."
RafaelBy the time he makes it downstairs he's got real clothes on. Well; one article: boxer shorts. Baggy, shapeless ones. Good thing he still has that chiseled torso, those lean mean looks of his, or she might find him totally unappealing.
He smirks right back at her. Picks up the box or tray or whatever it is that contains his steak and potatoes and brussel sprouts. "Maybe I like 'em," he says. "They're the tiny cabbages, aren't they?" And he sits down next to her: squeezes into the recliner with her if that's where she is.
Devon"You just complained about people putting fruit and vegetables together, but you're endeared by tiny cabbages?" she says, and refuses to scoot over so he can join her. Her recliner! Bad Rafa.
Rafael"Yeah. It's just cabbages. It's not like cabbages and apples." She refuses to move. He puts his food down, slides his arms under her wholesale, picks her up, sits, sets her back down on his lap. Fixed. Picks his food back up. "I eat vegetables," he insists. "And fruit. Just don't think they belong together."
Devon"HEY," she says, as she is lifted up mid-braid, moved. Doesn't say anything else. He sits back down. She is on his lap. And she immediately stands up, stepping aside, finishing her braid with her back to him.
RafaelIt gives him pause, mid-opening box of food, that she gets up and turns her back. There's a stillness. Then: "You angry at me?"
Devon"Hate it when you do that," Devon says, her voice an instant snap, a tension, but warring with itself,
trying not to be. "Just... move me around. Not like I need to be reminded."
Breathes out and shuts up. She can hear how angry she is. Won't help. Takes her another couple of moments, but she turns. At least in profile.
RafaelTakes him about that long to come up with the next thing he says, too:
"Reminded of what?"
DevonBy then she's finished her braid. Has two of them, still wet, hanging to either side of her neck. Her food is still in its container, waiting on the coffee table. She didn't eat before he got downstairs.
"That... I can't stop you," she finally says, muttering it.
RafaelHe moves behind her: recliner rocking, leather creaking. Sits on the edge of the chair, closer to her.
"Could tell me to stop," he says. "I'd stop."
DevonJust looks at him, her mouth a little smaller than it normally is. Her eyes seem bigger, too. Even without the eyeliner she usually has on.
"All right," she mumbles. "Want you to stop. Don't want you to pick me up or move me around like that."
Rafael"Okay," wolf says, hardly more than a whisper. "I won't. Okay?"
DevonDevon nods. "All right."
Blinks a couple of times. Takes a moment before she breathes in, deep, and relaxes again. Comes over and climbs onto him on the recliner, in her pajama pants and camisole and braided hair. And eats a brussels sprout out of his plate.
RafaelHe settles back in the recliner as she returns to him. Doesn't lean back right away. Put his arms around her instead as she settles; tucks his face into the bend of her shoulder and neck for a moment. She can almost hear him whuff.
"Don't mean to scare you or hurt you," he murmurs. "Just sometimes lose control. And other times don't know any better."
DevonShe's held. Rather close. It would be easy for her to read into it all: how he seems hurt, how he seems like he needs comfort, like he was afraid of something. But Devon thinks maybe that's not the best way anymore: all those assumptions. All those guesses, shots in the dark, when she loves him, and he's supposed to love her back.
She puts her hand up and touches the back of his head, his wet hair, while he buries his face against her for that moment.
"You all right, love?" she murmurs.
Rafael"Yeah," and with just that little fanfare, his hold on her loosens; he sits back. "Just missed you."
He looks at his dinner. Steak and potatoes and those absurd, hilarious, tiny little cabbages. With bacon.
"Let's eat," he says. "Where's your salad?"
DevonMissed her. For all the ninety seconds or so that she was angry at him, held apart from him -- and not just physically. It breaks her heart a little.
She's quiet a moment, while he's thinking about salad and steak now. But Devon is still on the other thing. She is looking at him. Still touching his hair.
"That's what you were talking about, isn't it? How it was a bad idea, risky? Was about... if you liked me, and let yourself. And what if I stopped wanting to be near you. How that would feel."
RafaelWolf pauses; he's led back, somewhat unwillingly, to that other topic. Thinks a moment.
"Yeah. Partly. Also what I just said: wouldn't hurt you or scare you on purpose. Leaves a lot of room for bad accidents."
Devon"And then I might go away," she says.
Rafael"Or I might have to," he whispers.
DevonThat makes her brows pull together, sudden and tight and instinctive.
She has never thought of it like that. It's not that she never thought Rafael might leave her -- Devon's anxiety surrounding abandonment has always been a bit high. She doesn't open up to people. She doesn't let herself care about people. There's her mom, and there's her godparents, and there's Rafael, and then there's some friends. Very few are nearly as important to her as her mum or this dumbass she's sharing a chair with.
What if he never loved her back the way she loved him, when she felt herself loving him so much it hurt, and it was scary, and there was no way he could possibly feel the same way and not tell her, not say it, not be willing to promise that he loved her back. Sure. She felt those fears.
It's not really the same, though, as the idea of Rafael leaving her because he might hurt her. Or scare her too much. And he'd have to leave so that he wouldn't do it again. Worse.
Devon looks stricken. Enough that all she does is say:
"No," tight and unhappy, wrapping her arms around his middle, hugging him tightly, hiding her face against his chest. No to that possibility. No, perhaps, to any further steps down this conversation.
RafaelSomething of the same impetus here, driving her to hold him the way he held her a moment ago. He gets it. Of course he does. Puts his arm around her shoulders, holds here where she is: face hidden against his bare chest, his chin resting gently over her hair.
"It's all right," he whispers. "It's not a bad idea. And there's no point scaring ourselves with all the what-ifs."
DevonDevon says nothing. She closes her eyes against his chest, bare and clean. At least one of them can be comforted by the other's scent. Devon seldom thinks about that; she takes it for granted until she feels him searching for her scent against her neck, in her hair, between her breasts. Sometimes, though, like right now, she remembers that she can smell him, and be soothed, and she's grateful for it.
She breathes in deeply, holding him just as tight. Revels, aching, in his warmth and his nearness. Still doesn't say anything when she manages to breathe in again, just as deep, and lift herself up to sit up beside him. Leans over and gets her container of food from the table, her fork, her salad. Leans into the chair with him, their legs tangled, and opens up her salad with its apples and cheese and nuts and chicken. It's fucking delicious, and she doesn't share, because he thinks fruit and vegetables are stupid.
They do share the brussels sprouts with bacon, though. While they watch Parks and Recreation.
No comments:
Post a Comment