this is why we don't drive stick.

[Danicka] There's this refined, beautiful woman in the Loft, and for once it's not the mistress of the house. She's blonde, and she's lovely. She's older than Katherine though, by a few years. The first time she met Katherine, the girl hadn't changed yet. She was escorting Gabriella to Yelizaveta's and chiding her little sister to be good, to behave. The Sokolovs were a highly ranked family, as wealthy and well-bred if not moreso than the Bellamontes. Danicka was young then, too. Too young, perhaps, to be the governess and watcher of a child, but then, her age mattered less than her skills.

Piano. Russian. Breeding, but also manners. Submission. She could teach Yelizaveta a great deal. And she did. Most of all, she taught the girl who saw ghosts -- or thought she could -- how to lie. How to pretend to be normal. How to pretend to be what they wanted her to be.

Danicka looks dressed for some party with high society. Less of that in her life now that she's in school, really. But she still knows people. She's still someone they meet and want to invite, because she's just so interesting, she's just so clever, so charming, so entertaining. She's a married woman and she doesn't entirely act like one, and they love the idea of some friends' son falling for her at these parties, they love the idea that they might in fact live in some old novel.

When in reality, she stays late at the party and when she goes, she realizes she's near Katherine's, and on a whim, a mere thought, she calls her mate and wonders if maybe he's there.

Danicka had champagne tonight. Maybe even enough that she should be wary of driving, but there she is. Arms around Lukas, and Lukas aching because he was thinking about death and the homelands and her. She rubs his back softly once or twice, then relents. The sword is in the way. He lifts her up to squeeze her, sets her down on her heels again, and asks how much she heard. Danicka's eyebrows lift a bit, considering. She shrugs.

"I heard him try to leave, or the tail end of that part. He sounded upset and trying to restrain it, so he was a little incoherent. Then you told him to ask him anyway, and he talked about Luana, who I vaguely remember very little about." A touch of wryness: "When he said he'd already been seeing her and didn't think to bring it to you until after they had a falling out and reconciled, I half expected you to rip into him. But you were quiet for awhile instead."

Her hand is on his face, lightly stroking, as though she's fascinated by the bone structure beneath his skin. "Then you told him no, and explained why, and he had this look on his face like a fifteen year old being told that his One True Love was being denied to him." She's so blunt, sometimes. So irritated with people's whiny little emotions, or any that she thinks might be whiny. He sees her get frustrated with herself when she feels pathetic, when she thinks she's the one whining. "Gobsmacked and devastated and angry. So he snitted to you about Nathalie and one of his kin and stormed out."

Danicka's hand stills. "You might have another Romeo and Juliet on your hands. At least this one isn't pregnant. So far, at least. Maybe he'll have the sense to obey you. Not play his kin like a card with Nathalie to get back at you or in some lame attempt to manipulate you into giving him what he wants." She smiles. "I may be reading too much into it. But everything he was feeling was written in large print across his face."

[Wyrmbreaker] There's a humorless sort of laugh, his jaw moving under her hand. "I hope he'll have the good sense to listen," he says. "I doubt he will. But if he chases after Luana anyway, we'll have a problem.

"As for Nathalie -- he might've brought that up in petulance, but she shouldn't be chasing the kin of another tribe. Especially not after her anger issues with that other kinswoman, and that cub. But at least if it's another woman neither of them will end up pregnant."

"I suppose I'll have to get in touch with Luana. Maybe I should introduce her to Simon and hope for the best. See if she'll trade one Ahroun for another." It's a backhanded joke at best; after a moment he recognizes that himself and winces slightly. "That was unkind of me," he says.

[Danicka] Danicka's eyes widen a bit when he mentions Simon. She laughs at the joke, stands up on her toes and leans on his chest to kiss him. It doesn't strike her as unkind, and her brow is a bit furrowed when she lets herself down again. "Baby, did hearing yourself say that make you think of Sam?"

There's no anger in her voice. There's no... frustration. Maybe some concern.

[Wyrmbreaker] "No -- just," the corner of his mouth quirks a little, half-rueful, "it's not fair to compare Simon to Leon. He's a fanatic and he doesn't have much in the way of social skills, but he's a good man. He's done a lot."

[Danicka] She's soft again, her brow smoothing, her hand gentle on his cheek. "That's good," she says, that it doesn't make him think of Sam, that he wasn't thinking suddenly, after all this time, of treating her like a whore who just skipped from one bed to another in his pack, who cared more about the muscles and the rage than she ever did about him. Ever could.

Good, that now he knows she trusts him enough that he doesn't worry about walking on eggshells with her. Good, too, that Sam isn't the first thought on his mind.

Wondering, though, why that was the first thought she had.

Danicka shrugs. "I don't know either of them well. At least Simon has the balls to show his anger openly rather than be childishly petulant. Even when I threw him out of my apartment." A beat. "You were concerned for awhile for my safety, if he should catch me alone after that. For awhile. Now he's a good man. What changed?"

[Wyrmbreaker] Lukas likes that sometimes Danicka just touches him for no reason. Not to seduce, not to incite. Just to be in contact. Sometimes she touches his cheek, his jaw. Sometimes she strokes her fingers through his hair, though that always makes him want her. Always reminds him on some primitive, primal level of the way she strokes him after they make love, her fingers passing over and over through the thick soft strands of his hair.

"I guess we had some talks. Understand each other a little better now. For a long while I thought he was just a loose cannon, but ... he's not. He's a weapon, but he's aimed squarely at the Wyrm, and that's exactly what he intends to be.

"Don't get me wrong. He's still not a Garou I'd recommend as a companion to any kin, mate or otherwise. And I don't think he wants to be, either. He's harsh and solitary; he'd know how to protect a kin and little else. But there's honor in him. And while sometimes I think he goes too far, draws the line between good and evil too cleanly, is willing to sacrifice too much of himself for victory," and there's a wry little twist of his mouth there, because by god Lukas knows how ironic it is for him to say that, "I've never seen him turn against his own. I've never seen him bring an ally down just to raise himself up, even when they were doing exactly that to him.

"I trust him. He doesn't carry personal grudges. He carries a huge grudge against the Wyrm, and sometimes that causes him to be blind and fanatical, but that's something I can work with, and respect in a way."

[Danicka] She listens. And the truth is, she's changing enough -- has changed enough, particularly with Lukas -- that if she heard these words from anyone else she'd ignore them. Nod nicely and think I'll believe it when I see it. Because Danicka, the liar, cannot believe anyone.

She can believe Lukas, though. He doesn't sugarcoat. He doesn't lie to her. He never did, even at the start, not in the most obvious way, the most intolerable way. He never told her that she was safe with him, that he'd never hurt her. He never tried to tell her that he could protect her from himself so perfectly that she need never fear. He still doesn't try to tell her that. They don't lie to one another.

And what he says fits with what she has seen of Simon, well enough for her to believe it rationally as well as because she trusts him. Danicka leans forward and kisses his chest through his shirt, then drops her hand to his. "Then I'll give him a bit more of the benefit of the doubt," she says quietly. "But don't write him off as unmateable. Neither of you really asked me what I meant when I said that in many ways he reminded me of you when we first met."

Her hand slides into his, fingers intertwining. "And learning how to accept another person, and love them as well as protect them, may make him more than a fanatic. More than a weapon." She draws back a step. "Especially if you think that he's ...good. Everyone can change.

"Let me take you home," she adds, softly, after a moment. "And you can stay sweaty and rough and take me out of my nice clothes and fuck me like no one who wears a tuxedo would ever think to."

[Wyrmbreaker] "I said something like that to him, actually," Lukas replies. "Do you remember that night you told him he reminded you of a younger me? I told him the same thing, only in not so many words. And then I told him he should accept what happiness he finds if he's lucky enough to find it. I guess we'll see if he is, and whether or not he does."

Lukas could talk more about it all. Simon. The crap tonight. Leon, and Luana, and poor Sarita's batshit sister and ... all of that. He could get her views, get her opinions, discuss, plan.

But frankly: he doesn't want to. There was a time when he'd have called a goddamn pack meeting by now to discuss All The Shit We Need To Plan For. These days, he's not so rabid about that sort of thing. No matter what his expectations, it's not a given that Leon will continue to pursue Luana. It's not a given that that will blow out of proportion, and he can cross those bridges when he gets there. If he gets there.

For now -- his mate is coming to him, her hand sliding warm into his. She kisses him through his shirt, kissing him right where her mouth meets his body like she doesn't want to bother getting on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. He doesn't mind. His free hand comes up, cradles her head a moment, loving as that kiss was. He smiles.

"I like your nice clothes," he says, "and I'll have you know, I happen to own a dinner suit. You should bring me to one of your fancy parties someday so we can fuck in the bathroom and come out disheveled as fuck." Ushering her down the stairs, "Let 'em gawk."

[Danicka] The pack that Lukas came to Chicago with was going to take the world by storm. So they needed to prepare for every last potential eventuality. What to do about Hatchet. What to do about sept offices. What to do about this, and then if they do this what to do about that, and and and. Nowadays Katherine might attend such a meeting and be quite helpful in it, but Sarita might just ask him what the fuck he's doing, and Sinclair would begin several sentences with a flatly-spoken, cautioning: Dude. You need to chill, bro.

And the pack that he used to be the Beta of would never have considered allowing it but he might, these days, ask Danicka to sit in, to advice, to give her take on the matter, particularly now that she's the Sept Liaison. The Unbroken Circle would have scoffed. The Unbroken might merely accept. They bend more, and so even in the face of hurricanes, they do not snap in half.

Sometimes, they themselves are the hurricane.


Danicka could talk to him about all of it. Simon, Leon, Luana, Nathalie, this mysterious Walker kin, Sarita, Amunet, the whole mess. But by god, if they haven't had enough of Business lately. She doesn't want to, either, and neither of them push it. They have an unspoken understanding tonight, to just let it all go. She laughs at him, the third or fourth time this evening, and starts to draw him out of the room until he pauses, asks her to wait so he can get his things, whatever he might need to grab.

"I'm aware that you own nice clothes," she informs him dryly, "and trust me, I've known for a couple of years now that you wanting to fuck me with clothes on is more likely to occur than you wanting to actually be naked." He's ready to go, and they head downstairs again, her hand sliding lightly on the banister. He doesn't need to usher her anywhere. He never does, really, though sometimes he has in the past and sometimes still wants to put his hand on her back or her arm and steer her here or there. Once, blitzed drunk, she simpy removed his hand and linked their arms.

Because he's not her usher. Or her escort. Or her guardian. He's just Lukášek.

"You're playing the wrong fantasy, anyway," she chides him facetiously. "It's not fucking-at-the-party, baby, it's the older one. Farm hand and merchant's daughter, personal trainer and trophy wife, what-have-you." She glances at him over her shoulder, lifting a brow. "You like my nice clothes," she says. "Maybe I like you rough and sweaty and naked."

Her feet step down into the hallway. "Like a fucking animal," she murmurs thoughtfully, glancing around -- though not, it seems, to check and see if they're being overheard. She doesn't seem to worry about that.

[Wyrmbreaker] She's looking around; he's following her down the stairs, his weight heavy on each step but his footfalls light. He's smirking a little, that slow smile of his crooked as she muses aloud about this fantasy, refined-and-elegant-lady, rough-and-sweaty-man. She touches down on the ground floor and he's right behind her, closer than he was all the way down, releasing her hand to wrap his arms around her from behind.

Rather suddenly, that. Grabbing her, wrapping himself around her warm and large and -- yes -- sweaty-rough. He bites gently at her shoulder, seizes her firmly but carefully in his teeth and holding her. "Rrr," he says, a playful sort of growl in his chest.

[Danicka] A soft laugh huffs out of her painted lips when he glomps her from behind, presses himself to her back, to her rear. She leans into the embrace, curls her shape to his, and tips her head back against his chest the way she does sometimes when he's bent over her, braced above her while he takes her from behind.

Danicka turns her head enough to brush a kiss over his jawline. "We'd better get out of here," she whispers, laughingly.

So they do. Down the hall to the entryway, saying a quiet goodnight to Lucille. Walking towards the curb, Danicka looks around for his car, asking him if he drove if she doesn't see it, heading towards her own car regardless. "I'd actually like it if you came with me," she says, without even being asked, without wondering with her eyes if that's what he wants, too. Without hesitating. And that means something. It means something that she might tell him she likes it when he fucks her animalistically, wild, biting her as he thrusts into her, hot and sweaty and chasing down his pleasure like prey.

"Maybe you can stroke yourself for me while I drive," she muses, opening the driver's side door.

[Wyrmbreaker] Lukas did, in fact, drive. He tells her so. She can see it too -- the Beemer at the curb, waiting. He doesn't even remotely head its way, though. Follows her to her car. Follows her to the driver's side door, tailing her like an animal; is close to her when she turns to drop her outrageous little musing on him.

His eyes flicker. He leans down and kisses her, just their mouths, then his hand at her hip after a moment.

They draw apart after a moment. "'kay," he whispers; smiles. A step back -- his hand falling from her body. He rounds the back of the car and slide in the passenger side, buckling himself in before reclining the seatback a few notches. They're still well within few of the Loft if anyone just looks out the window. He keeps his hands to himself, or more precisely, off himself for now.

[Danicka] Sometimes he's like a ...well. Not quite a golden retriever but some large, affectionate, protective, occasionally violent dog. He follows at her heels, as though to stay near her warmth, stay near those lovely hands, sniff at her, maybe she has a treat.

Not at all like a dog, though, not really like an animal, he leans over and kisses her over her shoulder where she turned to murmur to him. She's soft and slow with her mouth on him, but when he touches her hip she breathes in, the first real hint of her arousal in the midst of all this talk about it. Her eyes are smiling when he draws back, and without another word they both turn, they get in the car, and soon enough: the liquid growl of the engine, the music on her stereo --

glitter on the wet streets
silver over everything
the river's all wet
you're all chrome

-- and her calm but cautious driving away from the Loft, heading not towards the west, towards Stickney, but the closer, equally private bed. She's only a block or so away from the Loft when she glances at him, reaching over, putting her hand over whatever soft pants he's wearing tonight. Shamelessly, and turning her eyes back to the roads that are nearly but not-quite empty at this hour, she cups her palm over his balls, caresses him gently through his clothes. Slides her hand up and against his cock, her breathing carefully steady as she starts to play with him long before he has a chance to get to it himself.

"And this is why we don't drive stick," she murmurs.

[Wyrmbreaker] Some part of him wishes she would go to Stickney. It's farther. Darker. Nice long drive, enough for him to finish himself off

or for her to do it. He hasn't quite had a chance to get started yet when she reaches over, and though he knows damn well what she's up to, has time to stop her, he doesn't. He watches. Her hand finds him, cups his balls, strokes his cock. He's still soft, but hardening almost immediately to her touch. His lower belly trembles for a second before he sucks a breath and controls it.

And he's just rapt for a moment, breathing quietly through parted lips, eyes shadowed as he watches her. Her forearm lays against his side, his abdomen. His body is so warm beneath his clothes -- then warmer still when he rouses himself and pulls his shirt off, not caring that they're maybe ten, fifteen, twenty minutes from her place on the outside. If she drives slowly. She doesn't drive slowly.

He laughs suddenly when she murmurs. It's laced through with a huff of an exhale. He drops his shirt at his feet and leans back, raising his hips off the seat to push his pants down. He doesn't give a fuck that they're in the city. That there are streetlights. That her car is low, low, low to the ground; that the windows aren't so tinted that people outside couldn't see inside. If her hand's slipped aside, he finds it and replaces it, wraps those lovely long fingers of hers around his cock.

Naked, his skin is so much warmer. He's growing heavy and hard in her hand, sighing as she touches him again.

"You drive me so insane," he murmurs.

[Danicka] Danicka doesn't know when Lukas became such a willing exhibitionist. Maybe it was always in him, some kind of masculine pride in his body, his cock, his sexuality. Maybe it was when she told him that she thought about coming to his room during those two weeks he just wouldn't fuck her and stripping down for him, showing herself to him, touching herself for him until he joined her, or took her, or lost his mind. Maybe it was when she showed up and helped him make little gourds of healing and when he took her back to his room he found out that she was wearing lingerie under her coat, when she told him to touch his cock.

She thinks it was always in him. He seemed perfectly eager to lean back that night. Asked her without shyness if she wanted him to come for her. Did so, gasping and panting and making a fucking mess of himself. It didn't seem particularly awkward for him. Nor did he get nervous or upset when he found out she videotaped him in the shower, touched herself til she came one night watching it. Nor did he blush, hesitate, or argue when she said she wanted him to do this.

Even if 'this', she's not letting him do.

Danicka can't watch him and the road at the same time. She drank tonight, though not heavily and it was some time ago. She can feel him, though. Feel him get so very hard so very fast, because he's young and he's hot and she drives him insane, apparently. She remembers one night in one of those hotel rooms they shared when they shared nothing else, how she touched his leg and in literal seconds he was hard and ready for it, just because she was near him. Just because they were fed and warm and he knew when she moved closer to him that she was going to fuck him, that he was going to get to have her again.

That was the first night she said his name while they made love. That was the night he saw real fear and pain in her eyes at the thought of losing him, of being unable to keep him because something was wrong with her and she didn't know how to give the sort of loyalty he wanted from her.

Don't think about that, he said as he kissed her that night. So she stopped thinking about that, and he made her scream instead.

Danicka keeps stealing glances. Lukas stripping off his shirt, watching her touch him through his pants. Soft hands, long fingers, glossy nails. She's driving pretty slowly, because she has to. And she doesn't want to finish him off. Sure, she doesn't want stray cum getting on her upholstery, but the truth is, she fucked him in his backseat, fucked him on her car's hood. She's not that concered about it. No, Danicka wants to --

but she's telling him so.

"Don't come, baby." she murmurs, as he's pushing down his pants, though they both know he's just getting started, it's not exactly a threat anytime soon. She helps blindly, pulling elastic and cotton out of her way and wrapping her hand around his cock even as he's urging her there, his bigger, warmer hand covering hers for a moment. "I don't want you to come until I have you at home," she's whispering, her hand slow and soft and light, so far. "Then I'm going to lay you out and make you come all over me. Make me all filthy before I suck you hard again and let you fuck my sweet little pussy."

[Wyrmbreaker] For his part, Lukas can't remember when he first became aware that this woman could be such a little deviant. Maybe he always intuited it, the same way he intuited that her submission was a mask, that her mask was a subversion.

It still makes him gasp a breath out when she tells him what she doesn't want him to do. It still makes him groan when she tells him what she does want him to do. And let's be honest: if Lukas wanted to jerk off in her car, if he was dead set on getting off asap and having done with, she couldn't really stop him. She might not even want to.

He doesn't want to, though. On some level -- maybe the same level that's turned into such a willing exhibitionist, or always was -- he likes this little challenge she lays out for him. Don't come yet. Come all over me. Suck you hard again. Fuck my sweet pussy.

"You're such a filthy little girl," he mutters. His brow furrows, face pulls, when she strokes him like that, base to tip, so slow -- and down again. His head falls back. He sprawls in her passenger's seat, and this is a world away from how he sprawled here once, warmly dressed because it was still winter, relaxed and quiet and calm because they were going home.

Another few strokes and he takes her hand again. He pulls her hand up his body, smoothing her palm over the contours of his abdomen, the broad architecture of his chest. His heart beats briefly against her passing hand. Then he kisses her palm, sucks at her fingers lovingly, hungrily, before letting her go again.

"Go on," he urges, soft. "Touch me."

[Danicka] "I'm not a filthy little girl," Danicka says primly, rubbing her fingertips in little circles over the head of his cock as she says this. "Look at how I'm dressed."

The hand around his cock isn't the one wearing the bracelet he gave her. That hand is on the wheel. She drives carefully, takes turns slow and easy. It's entirely possible some traffic camera catches her jerking him off in the front seat, him shirtless and pants shoved down, brow furrowed with concentration on the waves of pleasure she's sending through him. He moves his hand over her chest and she huffs a laugh:

"What a nice body," she purrs, catching his nipple between two fingertips, teasing it into a hard little bead of flesh. "What a nice, hot body you have for me." He kisses her hand like it's her mouth and she laughs at him, arm twisted to try and touch him and drive at the same time. Finally he lets her go, lets her trail her hand down his abdomen. "That's right," she says meaninglessly, fingernails feathering over the ridges of muscle that make up his stomach. "That's a good boy," as she finds his cock again.

Go on. Touch me.

Her eyes, so dark in this lack of light, reflecting the red and green of the lights they run to, flick over to him at that, narrow a little. Exhaling, Danicka draws her hand back, wets her palm with her tongue, returns it to his cock and starts stroking him a bit faster. Not too fast. Just ramping him up a little, working him with her hand.

"You think I'm going to stop?" she wants to know, her tone on the verge of chastising. "You think I'm going to stop playing with this hard. Fucking. Cock?"

They slide to a stop at a red light, and Danicka rather quickly bends over, leans over him. Her hair falls across his lap when she lowers her mouth onto his cock so suddenly there's hardly a moment to react. She takes him deep, her hand holding the base of him, her mouth wet and hot on him for

a few seconds, before the light hitting his exposed skin changes and slides off of him again, doesn't let go of him. She presses her foot gently on the accelerator again, licking lips, swallowing. His cock is wet from her mouth. It makes it easier, to tell the truth, to stroke him like she does when they're alone in bed and she's rubbing on his thigh and whimpering that she's wanting to

play with it, baby, let me just play with it for awhile.

She exhales after her tongue retreats back behind her lips. "I think I'm just going to keep touching you til you start fucking my hand, baby. But when you do, I may have to stop. I don't want to get any of your dirty, sticky cum on my pretty dress."

[Wyrmbreaker] Danicka talks about stroking him off until he starts fucking her hand, but

really, long before that, she's already making him shudder in his seat. It's when he calls her a filthy little girl. It's when she disagrees, circling the sensitive head of his cock with her fingertips. That sends a bolt through him, head to toe, knees twitching, hips bucking, stomach flexing, cock jerking against her hand.

On the center divide, Lukas's hand has closed into a fist. He's gripping the grab bar on the door, and

later on, she's praising his body like he keeps it that way for her, making him slant her a crooked smile; later on she's finding her way back down the interlocking ridges of his musculature to his groin, to his cock.

That's a good boy, she says, and he makes some sound in the back of his throat, mnn,. His head falls back again. She works him a little harder then, making him stretch his legs out, brace his feet against the deadpedals at the far end of the underdash compartment. "Fuck," he breathes, "if you're gonna tell me you don't want me to come you can't -- "

Red light. Before he can stop her -- not that he would -- she's leaning down, the seatbelt is whistling out to its full extent, she's got him in her mouth and his seat vibrates with the force with which his head hits the headrest. He grabs the edge of the armrest. He grabs the door bar. It's all he can do not to fuck her mouth, eyes closed, mouth open, gasping --

groaning as she lifts away.

His eyes are all pupil when they open again. An animal's eyes, dark with a rim of ice. He looks at her like she's bewitched him, or like she's not quite real. He looks dazed. She looks -- prim and carnivorous at once, licking her lips, gently resuming the drive. She's stroking him again and he can't think. His chest rises and falls. Precum mixes with her saliva; slicks his cock down. Makes it easier for her to stroke him like this, light and quick, working him into such a state that

soon enough his eyes close again, he leans back, he tries to survive this.

[Danicka] She never would have thought, fucking him for the first time in that dingy motel room, seeing him naked for the first time,

or even holding him against her chest in the aftermath for the first time, touching his hair and murmuring that she was there, right there,

that Lukas would confess all he has to her. That he likes it when she calls him her boy, her good boy, her beautiful boy. That he likes it when she calls him by his childhood nickname. That it's not just okay but fucking hot for him when she plays with him, uses him for her own pleasure, teases him relentlessly until he's holding on for dear life, trying not to lose his mind. She never thought, at the beginning, that he would let himself ever be hers.

A lot of men and a number of women have wanted Danicka to be theirs. Sometimes the closest thing she had to real friends were people who could fool around with her and not try to lay a claim on her. A very long time ago she realized that few of them wanted to be hers, too. Something about her, maybe. She never knew, she accepted it too young and never thought about it much until later, until she met him, until for the first time she wanted to belong to someone, to give herself over to whatever it was she was feeling when she was with him.

Like right now, the inexplicable tenderness underlining everything she's doing to him. The way she's talking to him like he's nothing more than some rough, wild man who is somehow untamed compared to her restraint. It's a game; they both know which of them is the more straightlaced. They both know, too, how much she adores him. How there's nothing playful about the way she feels about his form.

Danicka isn't looking at him, as he looks at her. She's driving away from that red light turned green, jerking him off in the passenger seat, her hand so fucking practiced and so familiar with his cock, his breathing, everything that tells her how much she's working him up. She smiles to herself, driving towards the River North neighborhood where she lives. He starts to gasp, to pant, and her hand gentles, slowing down, teasing him to the point that his lust is almost painful. "Shh," she whispers, when she thinks he's getting too close, getting ready to start fucking her hand, get himself off, come in her car. "Shh, baby, soon."


"Baby," he can hear her murmuring, cutting through his haze of desire a little while later. Then her hand is sliding off of him and she's saying it again: "Baby," so softly, wiping her hand gently on his pants because, let's face it, it's got precum and saliva and sweat on it. "We're almost there. Put your clothes back on so I can take you upstairs."

Her building looms like a glossy black tower right around the corner. She heads for underground parking, not touching him anymore, looking for all the world like this drive has been nothing out of the ordinary, nothing odd, just a quick drive from one luxurious living space to another.

[Wyrmbreaker] If there was no tenderness in her touch, no love underlining everything she's doing to him, he wouldn't let her do it. He would have never let her get as close as she has, given himself to her as much as he has, if she hadn't let him in as well. She knows that, too -- knows how fierce his pride is, how wary, how at the beginning he was so afraid that she was just toying with him. That he was just a cock she could ride, a body she could use, a rough untamed beast interchangeable for any other rough untamed beast in this city.

One Ahroun for another. That's how Sam thought of it once. He didn't even remotely think of it tonight. He felt momentarily ashamed to lump Simon in the same category as Leon, but --

that fear, and all the sequelae that descended from it, have faded to ghosts in his mind. Burned away to ash when she touches him like that, ignites him so, makes him feel so

adored.


She doesn't get him off. He doesn't press. He spends most of that drive with his eyes closed, his hand occasionally dropping to fold over her wrist, occasionally rising to trace aimlessly over his own chest, flick over his hardened nipples. Then she's telling him we're almost there, and his eyes are opening; he's panting out as she takes her hand from him and wipes it on his pants.

That makes him laugh. She's rolling down into the covered parking and he's raising his hips to pull his pants up, wishing he hadn't worn drawstring pants, for god's sake, wishing he'd worn a longer shirt or a jacket. Out of the corner of her eye she can see him adjusting himself, tucking his cock under the waistband before reaching down to grab his shirt and pull it on.

When they get out of her car, he tries to tug the shirt down over the front of his pants a few times before catching her eyes over the top of the car when she straightens. He laughs then, half-abashed. The flush in his cheek equal parts embarrassment and -- to be frank -- the way she worked him up in the car.

"Maybe you can stand in front of me in the elevator," he suggests, "and we'll just hope no one else gets on from the lobby."

[Danicka] Everything around him is passing in a blur. She's turning into the dark ramp to underground parking, pausing at the gate to flick her magnetic key card against the sensor, then driving into the opening black maw towards her assigned spot. There's gleaming, beautiful cars down here, Hummers and Beemers and at least one bubblegum pink Vespa. And while Danicka is driving in, Lukas is tucking himself away, breathing heavily still, swarthy cheeks flushed with color.

"Oh baby," she laughs gently when he's tugging his shirt down, trying to hide his erection. She parks, turning off the Infiniti, and leans over to kiss him before she lets him get out of the car. It's the sort of kiss that's meant to inflame, the sort of kiss she gives him to tell him that once they get upstairs she wants to fuck, the sort of kiss she might give him even if she hadn't been talking to him about it all this time, luring him onward with her touch and her promises.

They part, and she licks her lips as though to taste his mouth again, and get out of the car. She laughs again when he starts making plans, talking about the elevator, as she walks on those slick heels around the car to him. Comes up to him, and smiles lazily up at him. "I think I know exactly what I'm going to do for you in the elevator," she says mildly, and takes his hand, heading for the elevator, swiping that card of hers again to open th doors.

It's late. Late enough that most of the people here, on a weeknight, are already pouring themselves into bed. They work too much to enjoy the money they have, but damned if they're going to give that money to anyone else. They hoard and they cling and plenty of them are older, plenty of them are young and too successful to know how to control themelves. It's not so late that there's no chance anyone else will be getting in, but Lukas is right -- if they can make it through the lobby, chances are they're not going to meet anyone else going up.

The doors slide closed behind them, and she presses the number 23. And when he leans against the wall, she glances up at the camera in the corner, turns to face him, and does her best to block the view from the lens to his body. To his pants. To her hand reaching in under the waistband, taking hold of him again with a low, soft moan

as she resumes exactly what she was doing in the car.

[Wyrmbreaker] In the elevator, Lukas slouches against the rail to give his shirt some slack. His thumbs are hooked into the hem, pulling it down. It's almost laughable, this veneer of human politeness of his, laid so thick that sometimes he forgets it's a veneer at all. Sometimes he forgets that in the heat of the moment he doesn't give a fuck if the Brotherhood can hear them fucking, doesn't give a fuck if every SUV they passed on the streets saw a lovely blonde jerking her lucky boyfriend off while he all but literally lost himself to her touch, doesn't give a fuck if they're almost mauling each other over the remains of pierogi and shepherd's pie at Szalas.

She turns to him in the elevator. He looks at her curiously, and then the doors shut and her hand slips into his pants and

his head hits the elevator panels with a hollow BONG![/b] that makes him laugh an [i]owww that turns into a shudder. He lowers his head and catches her mouth, his hands flexing on the elevator rail; he kisses her drenchingly, thoroughly, gaspingly, eating her mouth as she strokes him against his abdomen.

The elevator coming to a stop brings him back to his senses - barely. Danicka stepping back does the rest. He opens his eyes. He'd literally let her lead him into her apartment by the cock if she wanted to, but provided she lets him go, he pulls his pants back into place and follows her. Close. So close that halfway down the hall he's wrapping his arms around her and trying to kiss her, which makes her laugh, which makes them half-run the rest of the way.

At the door he gets his arms around her again and crowds her against the door, grinding shamelessly against her ass, kissing her neck and her jaw and her cheek as she's getting that door open. There's a plaintive little meow as Kando comes see what took the foodgivers so long, but Lukas barely notices because he's kicking the door shut behind him and grasping handfuls of Danicka's nice, lovely dress and dragging it up her legs, up her hips.

It's dark in here. Outside the window, the stretch of the boulevard straight to the Mile, and to the lake beyond. Lights of the city refracting in, scattering across the dim shapes of the sofa, the barstools at the breakfast bar.

[Danicka] Back at Katherine's place, Danicka may as well have been a wolf bitch, brushing her scent against a male before crouching down in front of him, back arched, telling him in body language and pheremones that she was ready, that it was time for him to mate with her. Ever since then Lukas has been following her around with less and less control, less and less giving-of-a-fuck, eager as hell to taste that promised sweetness.

In the elevator he bangs his head and she pauses, half-startled, her brow furrowing. "Oh, baby," she says, reaching up to rub gently at the back of his head even as her hand is working inside his pants. He leans to kiss her, panting for air, and Danicka squeezes his cock in her hand, jerking him off with quick, sweeping strokes of her hand. The car rises quickly, her mouth going to his neck when he lets her lips go, his half-bared cock occasionally brushing against the satin of her dress.

"Come on, baby," she urges him, and she doesn't, in fact, let go of his cock. Leads him down the hallway walking backwards in heels, too slowly, fuck the neighbors if they come out of their apartments and catch a flashing hint of what she's doing to him, how ferociously his body is responding to her. She gets to the door and leans back against it at first, gasping as they kiss again, til he makes some noise and she decides she may as well unlock the door and let them both in.

She does it blindly. She does it one-handed. She nearly drops her keys but not quite. She licks his neck, mutters something against his skin about what a nice fucking cock that is, so fucking hard for her, he wants to fuck, doesn't he.

The door falls open and they're inside, Lukas half-pressing her, half lifting her to kick the door shut again. They don't even remember to lock it. Kandovany meows, stands at the end of the hall with her tail twitching before getting bored and trotting off again. Lukas's hands slide up and down her legs, trying to find some extra inch of fabric to pull into his hands but that dress is tight, that dress is satin, and he can't even get it up higher than halfway up her thighs, maybe not even that much.

Danicka's laughing, taking her hand off of him too, too suddenly. "The zipper's in back, baby." She yanks his shirt up and over his head and off, gasping at the sight of him with his arms raised like that, the roll of muscle under his shoulders. She licks one of his nipples, a loose grin flitting over her face. "You wanna fuck, baby?" she asks him, licking his other nipple, closing her mouth around it. "You wanna get inside my pussy and fuck it nice and hard?"

[Wyrmbreaker] For a moment he doesn't even seem to have heard her. Zipper's in the back, but that would require that he still remembers what a zipper is. He can't get her dress up past her thighs so he puts his hands on what he can: on her thighs, on her hips, up and around and

pushing her against the wall, putting his hands on her breasts and rubbing her tits in his palms until she yanks his shirt up and off and he's gotta raise his arms sooner or later. It falls down a moment later, a piece of warm fabric at their feet; he tilts his head back as she licks his chest. His hands brace on the wall for a moment. The broad span of muscle in his chest quivers for a second. Then she's teasing him again, asking him questions he barely has the understanding to process right now, let alone understand.

He takes her face in hand and cups it to his. Kisses her with a sound low in his throat, reaches to run his hands all over her body, searching for this elusive fastening, this mysterious zipper that, right now, holds the key to every last mystery of the universe.

"Yes," he breathes when their mouths part. "Yes, god, yes."

He's found the zipper. He turns her around, a little rough in his haste; turns her around and before he can will himself to get that dress off he's just on her against, grinding against her, biting at her shoulder, growling in her ear as he does his mindless best to fuck her through her dress, through his pants, bearing her to the wall.

Kandovany has long since left those uncouth humans behind, gone back to her warm soft bed. It's just them in her vast apartment, their gasps escaping into the air. He finally gets around to that zipper. It hisses down, all the way down. Her dress goes the same way. Tugged down so fast and swift he drops to his knees with it. His mouth is all over her as he's rising again -- biting at the swell of her ass, sucking at the dip of her spine, kissing her shoulderblade, gripping at the shoulder.

[Wyrmbreaker] [paws!]

[Danicka] There's so little shame in her. Talking to him about fucking his brains out inside the home of a woman she wouldn't speak to without being forced for the longest time. Jerking him off in her car as they passed other cars, under the glow of streetlamps, in front of traffic cameras. Stroking him in the elevator, kissing him. Literally leading him to the door of her apartment by the cock, indecent as all hell.

He knows she doesn't -- even now -- like to feel exposed, to feel vulnerable, and he knows she's smart enough to know that his presence does not secure her from all possible harm, all possible wrongs against her. She is not blindly trusting, and never will be, and so her trust in him means all the more. But by god, her self-protection isn't anywhere close to shame or embarrassment about her sexuality. About her lust.

Pressed to her entryway wall, Danicka moans into his kiss, moans when his hands hold her breasts through satin, play with her through far too many layers. She arches away from the wall when his hands start searching for her zipper, pressing her hips to his, but as soon as his fingertips close on that tiny, half-hidden metal tab he turns her around as though he can't do this without looking at what his hands are doing, or as though some animal part of him is taking over and telling him how to move her, how to mount her, how to mate with her.

She gasps, hands to the wall, as Lukas starts to grind against her, rubbing his bared cock on her dress, that cock she never quite let him put away after the elevator. "Yes," she breathes out, long before he ever gets her unzipped, bares her back in a slowly widening V of lingerie-broken cream-colored flesh. She shivers as his warm hands push under the fabric, strip the sleeves off her shoulders and down her arms, which drop obediently so that he can tug the gown off of her, fast and sudden.

Through her hose he can see her underwear, thong-backed from what is little more than a wide band of lace around her hips. Her bra is similar, all black and blue lace, all hints of satin, all under more layers than his mind can process right now. She doesn't bother to step out of the pool of blue around her ankles, turning her head over her shoulder to try and glimpse him kissing her, biting at her, licking his way up to her.

"Where do you want me?" she wants to know, circling her hips against him as soon as he's standing behind her again, teeth in her shoulder. Her hosiery is soft on his cock, sliding him against the cleft of her ass. "Or should I take you in the bedroom and make you lick my pussy?"

[Wyrmbreaker] That actually makes him bare his teeth - not in anger or threat or anything of the sort but sheer overwhelming want, teeth flashing white, eyes squeezing closed. He bows his head, grabs her hips, fucks so vigorously against her for a moment that she might think he's forgotten about all those remaining, infuriating layers.

He hasn't. He lifts his head a second later and he kisses her, and there's tooth and tongue in that kiss; he nips at her lips and his tongue is in her mouth, he sucks at her and eats at her and is gasping when he draws back. He was gasping anyway. He slaps her ass through her hose, leans back enough that he can see his cock sliding against the cleft of that ass, see the way he's fucking her without fucking her, leaving precum in traceries over the sheer-woven satin.

"I want you right here." He can barely get the presence of mind together to string those words into a row. Punctuation's long gone -- it all comes out in a low, muttered rush, "I'll eat your pussy and suck your tits and whatever the fuck else you want later baby but I need to fuck this pussy,"

and god, he's gotta stop doing this, he's gotta stop ruining her clothes but there goes the hose, ripped open like wrapping paper on christmas day and there are his fingertips sliding between her legs, against her cunt, caressing her through her unabashedly luxurious, unrelentingly inflammatory panties. He moans to feel her like that, wet through the satin, his mouth dropping to her shoulder and biting, kissing, blind.

" -- I need to fuck you right now," he finishes. "Bend over a little baby, give me that sweet little cunt."

[Danicka] She laughs. She's laughed so often tonight, so filled with something between amusement and pleasure and simple delight at his arousal, and it's always breathy and low and as much of a tease as anything, everything else she's done to him. He's muttering incoherently to her now, biting and kissing her relentlessly, mauling her, and she tips her head back and bares her throat to his mouth and laughs like that, laughs when he tears those patterned stockings out of his way, laughs because she wouldn't have been surprised if he'd let her park the car downstairs and then dragged her into the backseat to get inside of her.

But she shudders when he reaches between her legs and strokes her through a band of silk and lace and cotton so thin and so narrow it's barely even there. She moans when he lowers his face to her shoulder again, as though overcome, and she reaches back behind her,

her hand coming to his hair. It's the softest, tenderest touch she's given him all night. More than the hug as Leon left the room, more than her palm on his cheek. It's aching. And it's suddenly, incredibly electric, a signal that's far past anything verbal, anything out loud. It's adoring. It's simply and gently ...loving.

And if he's not able to get her hose all the way off of her, if he can't even get her past the entryway, if he isn't taking her to the couch or the bed and bending her over or opening her up with his tongue, if he really has lost his mind, if she really has driven him insane, then it's no wonder why she parts her legs a little more, arches her back for him, waits for him with her body wet and open, her hand soft on his scalp, no longer teasing

no longer maddening,

only welcoming. Inviting.

[Wyrmbreaker] He's so out of his mind with lust. She knows how quickly she can work him up. Sometimes all it takes is a certain glance, a certain smile -- a certain way she strokes his hair back when they're in bed together and it's saturday morning and she doesn't have to go anywhere and he's just waking up.

She knows this, and she knows that even at the Loft, if she hadn't wanted to leave -- if she'd wanted to duck into one of the guest rooms and make use of Kate's guest bed -- he wouldn't have protested. She knows if she'd pulled over half a block from Kate's house and climbed over the gearshift and the handbrake to mount him, he would've gladly bounced her on his lap until they both came shuddering and moaning in the passenger seat. She knows she's had him ramped up for half a fucking hour now, brought him near some jagged edge so many times that he's just

out of his mind now. And going at her like the wild animal she called him, tearing at her clothes, grasping at her skin.

And that's when she puts her hand in his hair. And insane as he is, as much as he wants to all but literally take her, devour her, have her -- as much as his mind has fractured into a single white-hot edge of lust --

that pauses him for a moment. It always has. Right from the beginning, when she stroked his hair back when he was already inside her, inside her for the first time, and called him by his childhood nickname, told him

stop. please stop.
be with me.

His mouth comes off her shoulder. His hands never quite stop, but they gentle, and she can see his eyes when he looks at her, meets her over her shoulder. He's so close to her his chest rises and falls against her back with every breath. He's large and warm and dark and strong, and he's her mate, a black wolf out of the mountains of east-central europe; a black-haired boy that, so very briefly, grew up with her in the suburbs of New York. There's nothing that needs to be said. Her hand in his hair says it all. His eyes don't close when he leans into her. Shadowed, they glimmer and glint in the dark, throw back shards of light. His mouth touches hers and this kiss is an eye in the storm, a momentary calm

and connection

before the lagging edge of the eyewall hits, and the storm breaks again, and he's kissing her as her hand's soft on his scalp, her body's inviting, he takes that invitation and his eyes close and that kiss becomes ferocious as he steadies her with one hand, takes his cock with the other and pushes into her.

The kiss breaks apart when he groans, lips parting -- it's almost involuntary. It's a hard, harsh sound, low and very rough. He has her against the wall, crowded there, nearly pinned; he fills her entirely when he enters her, slides in to the base and wraps his arms around her. It could be terrifying to be fucked like this, taken like this, so utterly enveloped like this. Two years ago she couldn't have handled it. Even now, perhaps, if they hadn't found each other again an instant before it began, touched again and loved again, she still wouldn't have borne it.

Some other night and he might mutter at her now. Tell her how that pussy feels. Tell her how he likes it when she whimpers into his mouth, or squirms on his cock. Tonight there's no room for that. He has her in his arms, caught between him and the wall. He holds her; he kisses her; he puts his mouth to her neck and gasps against her in fast, rushing breaths, a grunt or a growl under every exhale, every exhale timed to the throw of his hips.

[Danicka] For half an hour now she's been igniting him, stroking him, all but jerking him off as though she wants him to come all over her, come in her car, just come for her like a good boy. For half an hour he's been wanting, and he would have been happy to fuck her in Katherine's Loft or her car or in the parking garage if he could just have her, if she would just stop teasing him and let him into that hot little pussy. For half an hour now, Danicka's been leading him just like this, guiding him home.

Til he finds it. Not just when he slides into her, groaning so hard he can't even kiss her, can't even speak anymore. Not just when Danicka tightens up around him, moaning, her hand faltering where it rests on him, leaning against the wall he has her pressed up against. Home is in the way she touches him, that hint of gentleness, that wordless plea for him to not forget her, not even now, not even when he can't think, can't find words to describe what he's feeling, how she feels.

be with me.

And he is. And he would have been even without that touch, wouldn't have forgotten who it was wrapped in his arms, but her fingers touch his hair, his hair that gets so long sometimes when he's too busy to get it cut, and he remembers to show her.

i know you.

And he does.


Drawstring pants around his ankles, half-torn hose shredded down to her calves, her dress pooled around her heels, his sneakers still on. It's been a long, long time now since they've bothered with condoms, with those thin guards against a baby neither of them are ready for. It's been a long time since he was worried about her not wanting to use them anymore, because she couldn't understand what it did to him, how quickly he'd become addicted to having her like this, feeling her so completely, she couldn't do this to him and he couldn't lose her like that.

It's been a long time since he started to work at making himself believe that maybe he doesn't have to lose her at all. That they aren't doomed like that.

There's a quiet moment, a stillness when he kisses her softly, when he can breathe. There's his hand stroking her panties aside, working them out of his way, shuddering as he feels her pussy against the backs of his knuckles. And then there's a different kind of connection, and Danicka's hands clutching at the wall, Lukas's arms bearing her up when her knees buckle. He doesn't wait for her to get used to him. He doesn't -- can't -- wait any longer. His thrusts start almost immediately, taking him into her, slipping back, sliding roughly back in again

and again.

Those exhales of his start to match with hers, and with the way she takes him like she does, making those noises that she does, the senseless encouragements, the gasps that tell him

yes. yes, god, yes. don't stop.

give it to me.

The ideas of fantasy, the refined woman and her raw, sweaty male have either fallen away or become threaded into the way he goes at her, the way he can't help but go at her now, grabbing a hold of her hips to move her on him, groaning as he bites down into her shoulder. And it's rare that Danicka is passive, anything close to passive, but she fucking takes it tonight, screams for it, reaches back and all but claws at his bicep just to have something to hold onto while he works her up as much as he can stand, as much as his own lust will let him.

Lukas can feel her hand between her legs, feel her fingers on his cock while she touches herself, her touch and his cock and her sweet pussy slippery, hot,

which is what he hears her moaning near the end, gasping

"Fuck, yes, give me that slick, hot cock, baby, fill me up. Fuck that cum into me,"

and whatever other filth comes to her mind, dark and twisted as it can be so much of the time. There's nothing stopping him after that, nothing he can do to survive that added onslaught, folding his arms around her and cupping her breasts as he presses her to the wall and comes into her, letting loose a wracked sound

because he thinks he might die.


Lukas doesn't die like this. He doesn't stop moving, and he can't, he doesn't stop fucking Danicka even as he's still twitching, his cock still jumping from orgasm. He hears her sudden intake of breath, her gasping little moan, he feels her tip right over an edge he couldn't even feel her getting close to because his own mind was so blown right from the start. He feels her clenching down on him and Danicka,

Danicka feels him hard inside of her still, throbbing inside of her, his gasping in her ear, a curse leaving his lips as she seems to pull him deeper with those long, sweet clenches, squirming back on him, using him even as he's trying to come down from his own pleasure, trying to survive hers, trying to put himself back together again

while she's shattering him all over again.

[Wyrmbreaker] So rarely does Danicka play the passive during sex. So often -- even when he's on top and she's caught beneath him and there really isn't much room, even, for her to be active -- she moves, she squirms, she wraps her legs around him and rides up on him every bit as hard as he's riding her.

Maybe tonight it's because of what she did to him in the car. In the garage. In the elevator. In the hall, literally leading him to her by the cock. Literally leading him to her by his lust. Maybe it's because of the hints of dominance in all that, that she gives in so utterly now that he finally has her. Or maybe it's not dominance and submission at all, nothing so easily categorized and labeled as that, as it is simply

the way they are. The way they interact and meld, organically, shifting and ebbing and molding to one another's desires.


Philosophy aside, then --

god, it's a hard, hot fuck. They're six feet in her apartment and that's as far as they got. She's up against the wall, grasping for the smooth surface that gives her no purchase, reaching back to claw at his arms, the iron-hard, molten-hot muscle there. She's screaming, she's taking it, he's fucking her and grunting like a beast and she's touching herself, she's so wet, she's telling him to give it to her, fill her up, fill her with cum and

when he comes he reaches between her legs, cups his hand over hers, holds her there as he fucks her so firmly against the wall. Enters her so deeply; fills her so utterly.


And maybe that's why, in turn, he's so shattered afterward. After that rough, primal fuck against the wall: she's still moving on him, still pulling the last of her pleasure out of him, and he's so heavy against her back. He's leaning against her and against the wall like his knees might give away any moment. He's trying to survive and she's still moving, still clenching in those long, slow pulses, and he's gasping and shuddering,

laughing now, laughing for the pure and simple joy of it, low and breathless, cursing without anger because oh my god baby you can't do this to me.

His arm clasps her against him still. He presses his free hand against her lower abdomen, cupped over her cunt -- he tries to make her be still, hold still, please. Another shudder wracks through him; it's hard to tell if it's his cock jerking that sets off that sweet pulling clench of her pussy, or the other way around. He feels unspeakably close to her. He can't remember how to part.

He nuzzles her now, blindly, his brow against the curvature of her head, against her ear; his nose against her jawline. He kisses whatever he can reach. She knows he likes this -- being inside her afterward, staying inside her, softening gradually, prolonging that connection. Sometimes he literally falls asleep like that, and she has to draw herself off later, tenderly, laughing at him for dropping off like she's worn him right out. Truth is, if he weren't standing, he might fall asleep now, too.

Breathing slowing now. Heartbeat no longer a frantic thunder through his chest, against her back. He finds her mouth finally and kisses her softly, slowly. It deepens when her hand drifts up, threads into his hair.

That's always felt so tender to him. So loving. So postcoital. He's never told her that, either, and perhaps doesn't even realize it himself. He tilts into her touch for a moment. Gradually, his eyes open; their mouths part.

"Let me take you to bed," he whispers. "Take off these clothes and get under the covers and love you again." A softer kiss, "I want to see your face this time."

[Danicka] She doesn't stop. Oh, when she's just come and she can't bear to be touched and she screams when he wants to play with her clit, Lukas stops sure enough, but when he's moaning and telling her she can't do this, she can't do this to him, Danicka doesn't stop moving. She rides out her orgasm on him without fail, without hesitation, without stopping. And makes him hold on for dear life, makes him moan please, while she's coming and wetness is slicking down his cock all over again, telling him certainly enough that she's not done with him yet, that if he wants this pussy he has to take it

even as she's whimpering, whimpering that he's so fucking hard, baby, you've got such a big cock up inside me as though his mind can handle this right now, as though his body can tolerate the way she's stroking herself off on him.

Eventually it does slow down. Eventually she does stop moving but her cunt is still pulsing around him, tightening and relaxing, just as wet and hot as it has been since he first stripped off his shirt and took out his cock and let her start playing with it in the car. But eventually she does finally go still, reaching back to touch his hair again, which makes him want to fall asleep, fall apart, fall into her and ...stay.

Her breathing is hard still, panting in slow waves where he holds her. She can only kiss him lazily, loosely, her eyes closed and her body worn the fuck out from all that buildup, all that release.

When they part, her fingers are in his hair still and her eyes are opening slowly, deep green to his bright blue. "I'd love that," she whispers back to him, the words almost a sigh, the words a surrender. She nuzzles him over her shoulder, catching the corner of his lips in a kiss again,

and they do go to bed soon after that, Lukas getting out of his sneakers and pushing down his pants, remembering to lock the door. Carrying her to the bedroom, dress left on the ground and heels falling one, two, thump, thump, to the floor when he lifts her up and walks down the short hallway to her suite. They do go to bed and there he peels her hose the rest of the way off, kissing her legs, the insides of her knees, just as he kisses her belly and sucks softly at the skin below her ribcage as he's coming over her, pushing her panties off her hips,

which rise to help him. Their mouths do meet again while he's blindly, far more sanely reaching under her slender back to unclasp her little bra, draw it off her arms and shoulders, toss it aside til it lands somewhere on the floor in her room. By then he's hard again, ready again, feeling her soft legs and her soft belly against his body, feeling her warm arms enfold him. By then she's wet anew, gasping softly that she wants him, as though she didn't just have him out in the hallway.

They do, eventually, go to bed. Take off their clothes and love each other again. But for now, neither of them move just yet.