Danicka is still panting softly when Lukas convinces himself to unwind his arms from where they locked around her when he came and shift his body off of hers. Her spine twists to allow him to stay inside of her, her legs sliding up one side of him and down the other, his chest still half-covering hers. Lukas mindlessly, comfortingly, cups his right hand over her left breast as though to keep her warm in the absence of his body. Her heart pounds against the heel of his hand still, only gradually slowing.
There's no need for either of them to summarize sex in the aftermath, to assure the other that was awesome or thanks, baby, though sometimes they do this anyway. Sometimes they just want to say that was good or I love you. Most of the time, though, there's simply no drive, no need to underline what's between them with verbal reassurance or reminders. What they have instead is Lukas's hand covering her like that, protective even when his mind feels scattered across space and time, and Danicka's utter, entire relaxation, the openness that at first tortured and intoxicated him, felt like the one time in the world when they were completely together.
She turns her head towards his and nuzzles across his brow, kissing the sweat from above his eyebrows. Her head comes to rest, and she breathes more calmly now. Her exhales tickle the hair at his temple. He threw the sheets on her bed off of them when her legs first opened and the simple movement of her knees parting made his attention sharpen, made him look from the book he'd been reading while he waited for her to her knees under the sheet, up to her eyes. There was no real communication about it beyond that.
Danicka had decided that Lukas showing up to spend the night with her was good reason to toss aside her reading for her class -- Introduction to Psychology, in fact -- and shower, and dry her hair, and come to bed. Lukas, though he sniffed around coming with her, was laughed at, and nuzzled, and told to go make the bed warm. Which, on some level, had delighted him, though not as much as bathing with his mate would. So he picked up a book from her nightstand and flipped through it while the water in the bathroom ran. He made the bed warm for her, drenched in the scent of her that pervaded the sheets and blankets and pillows.
Then she came to bed, her gold hair smelling of conditioner and dry, faintly warm from the dryer but cooling. He watched her as she crossed the room, bareskinned and lazy from a day of classes and study, her breasts high, and her book was still in his hands. Danicka watched him as she slipped under the covers he pulled back for her and laid herself down, looking up at him, her knees falling gently apart. Then:
his eyes flicking across her, blue and sharp and not so much questioning as assessing, deciding. Then:
her book setting down on the nightstand, the sheets rustling as he turned himself over her, wrapped his arm around her waist, bent down to her to kiss her, moved his lower body between her thighs, warmed her cunt against his abdomen, kissed her until he was hard, until she was making little noises of more insistent welcome, til he felt her growing wet against his skin, until the sensation of her arousal made him groan and rub harder against her, until she was squirming to try and get his cock against her, until they were panting for it, until he worked himself into her slowly because
he was patient tonight. Because he wanted to draw this out, tonight. Because she was gasping on every thrust, moaning when he'd give her more, because he wanted to watch her come under him long before he tipped over that edge himself, because he wanted her to come again as he started to lose his mind, biting into her shoulder and fucking her into her bed, growling with those deep, firm throws of his hips.
Sometime in there he'd thrown the sheets back, exposed his back to the world and kept his mate warm with his own body, lifted himself up to watch her, found himself pulled back down by her hands, so surprisingly strong and so demanding, found himself laughing softly and then groaning as she grabbed his ass to make him fuck her a little faster, fuck her a little faster, like that, now, please. So now, as the air conditioning swirls the sweat off of their skin, he lifts his head and grabs the sheet, dragging it up over them, covering them, tucking it absently around her before lying his head down again.
Danicka laughs, and touches his hair. She can move her arms again, so she does, turning on her side and wrapping him up in her limbs, playing idly with the hair at the nape of his neck. She smiles, and her face is so close he can see every individual fleck of amber in those shifting green eyes of hers.
"Is it bad," she says, which is not serious at all, "that I'm suddenly not ready to sleep anymore?"
LukasLukas's eyes are already closed when Danicka speaks. It's not that he's particularly exhausted. It's simply the comfort and closeness he feels right now - a bonedeep sense of primordial security.
He is in his mate's den. He is in her bed. He is still wrapped up in her limbs, and he can smell her all around him, and she is warm, and clean, and fed, and fucked. She will not be hungry even if she were to wake in the middle of the night. She will not need to wander off in search of food, be snatched up by some dark predator in the night. She will not itch because there are no fleas here; she will not shiver because it is warm. He will keep her warm. Perhaps in the spring there will even be cubs.
On some utterly mindless, reptile-brain level, Lukas feels fulfilled. He feels certain, in a way that has nothing at all to do with higher brain functions and prefrontal cortices and the last hundred million years or so of evolution, that all is now very, very well.
Yet his eyes -- those same keen, intelligent eyes that scanned her book with curiosity and rudimentary understanding, which is more than what most would be able to claim given the rigor and intensity of Danicka's courses -- reopen when his mate smiles, and speaks. He can hear that smile before he sees it, and when his eyes open he is already smiling, sleepily and warmly.
"Of course not," he murmurs. And his hand on her breast shifts, becomes a heavy arm across her ribs. He moves a little closer to her, bestirring himself with lazy difficulty, exhaling ponderously as he settles again an inch closer, as though he's performed some monumental task. Now they're so close that his nose rubs against hers, and a kiss would be barely a lift of the chin.
"Sometimes," he whispers, smiling still, "just before we sleep, or just after we make love, I think the silliest things. I don't mean to, but I can't help it. They just come to me."
DanickaThe book that Lukas found on Danicka's nightstand tonight was, in fact, a textbook, though not the one she was studying in the living room when he first came over. She normally doesn't keep her schoolbooks in her bedroom but this isn't a textbook for any of her courses. This is a textbook she bought over the summer for her own reading, for her own understanding, and it has to do with both the history and theory of the microprocessor. To anyone not interested in computers it is extraordinarily dry reading. To anyone not interested in perhaps making a life out of studying this sort of thing, it is utterly useless for any class. To anyone interested solely in the workings of Danicka's mind and the exploration of her interests whether or not they are shared, it can only be taken in the way Lukas takes it in: with curiosity, and most basic level of understanding.
That small smile of hers becomes a grin, and then a soft laugh as he moves himself over -- oof! so much work! -- and nuzzles against her. She isn't sleepy at all now. Her eyes are bright with energy and attention, even if her body is pure warmth, every muscle relaxed, her legs soft where they enfold him. Her smile gentles, and her fingertips stroke his hair, massage gently into his neck.
"What sort of things?" she asks, curious now, and close to him, even if a part of her is still considering asking him if he wants to run out with her and get ice cream or go to the park or anything, anything at all.
LukasDanicka knows by now that Lukas seems to have behavioral triggers built into his scalp. Sometimes she'll touch his hair a certain way and his eyes will all but glint with arousal. Other times -- times like this -- she'll stroke his hair, massage his neck, and his eyes will fall closed, his face relaxing as though he might sleep any second.
"I'll tell you," Lukas replies, "but you have to promise not to kick me out of bed for thinking like a Neanderthal."
Danicka"I solemnly swear," Danicka informs him, her tone both gentle and patient and completely mocking, "that I will not kick you out of bed for thinking like a Neanderthal. I may, however," she goes on, her eyebrows arching, "tease you for it."
LukasLukas laughs softly. When he quiets, though, he's speaks a little hesitantly - almost shyly. "I think things like ... now you're warm. And safe. And your belly is full. And you're mine." His mouth flickers into a brief, self-deprecating grin. "Grunt, snort. Chest-beat.
"And I think how good that is. Everything, I mean. That you're here, and warm, and safe, and your belly is full. And you're mine. And I'm just ... happy. Stupidly, quietly happy."
His arm stirs a little over her. Relaxed, it's a firm, heavy weight over her, riding the tide of her inhales and exhales. He kisses her softly, his lips against the corner of hers. Then, softer still, "And sometimes I think of cubs in the spring."
DanickaHer smile is so achingly gentle, a gentleness he didn't know for the longest time existed in her, because her timidity was so much a part of that grand act she kept up for the sake of survival for so much of her life. She can be cold and strong and dislike people who irritate her but oh, she has so much warmth in her. So much tenderness that she gives him that he wonders what she'd be like with their children, that he knows they'd be so very loved and so very disciplined at the same time. That, in her love, she'd push them to be better than laziness or fear makes them, the way she pushed him not to be so lazy with his humanity, not to be so afraid of loss or failure.
She strokes his hair back now from his temple and his hairline, leaning across the pillow and kissing him softly. "That's not stupid," she says, when he talks about how her warmth and safety and fed-ness and closeness make him happy. How everything is good. Danicka nuzzles him, sinking down under the covers close to his chest again, with no plans to leave at all now. "I think the same thing," she murmurs. "Not quite like that, but... you look so content when we're like this." She's whispering now. "Like everything is okay. Everything is... good. It makes me feel satisfied. Almost accomplished, somehow. When I see you happy like that. At peace."
Her eyes are closing now, her words touching his jawline and his neck. "You feel loved and you feel happy and so everything is okay. The whole world is okay because I've made you feel good." She flutters her eyes open and cocks a wry little smile. "That sounds a lot more codependent than it is. I'm just... happy because you're happy. Happy because I get to be a part of it. Happy because you came home, and home is with me."
Danicka is quiet then, and a moment later he stirs a bit, holding her and kissing her softly like he does. Murmuring, after a time, what he says about cubs. Springtime. Danicka, who has let her eyes close again, opens them a little at the words. She remembers one time, a long time ago, when she laid on this very bed and he was making love to her, gasping for her, and she begged him to take the condom off, let her feel him. She could see the resistance flashing through his eyes, the fear, even as he was sliding out of her and ripping it off, pushing himself back inside of her with a groan. She remembers asking him once if he wanted her to get pregnant, and how he didn't, he really wasn't ready for that and he wasn't ready for her to want that and yet: yes. Some part of him. Some deep, wild part of him was addicted to the sensation of her with no barrier, was intoxicated and driven by the thought of making cubs with her, wanted them to be born and grow big and be fed and protected by their strong, gentle mother.
"One day," she murmurs, and that is all. One day.
LukasWhat he said carried no hidden agenda. It was not some attempt to loophole her into agreeing to mother children. Bear cubs. If it had been, he might be upset now, when all he hears back is one day. He's not upset.
He's just ... happy. At peace. Content.
They don't talk about cubs very often, truth be told. There was once, in the bowels of some fell laboratory, when she said for the first time that she would be happy, proud, to bear his children. There was another time, not so very long ago, that they laid the most rudimentary of plans: not some amorphous someday but a far more exciting, terrifying someday soon. Because time doesn't wait. Because neither of them want to pass their entire lifetimes together all too soon, and realize they never had time to raise the children they wanted...
one day.
"One day," he echoes back to her, softly. A moment later he answers the rest, "That's exactly what it is. Everything is good. And I'm just ... happy."
A beat goes by. Then he shifts again, moves, gathers her up all loose and warm and turns on his back; sprawls her over his body. "Come here," he says after the fact, when all is already said and done. His smile is a little crooked. He raises his head to kiss her again, a little longer this time, soft and slow. Lukas's fingers are laced loosely together over the small of Danicka's back. His palms are warm, and he discovers that the heels of his hands fit the indents of her lower back like their bodies were shaped for this purpose.
"Sometimes," he murmurs, half-musing, half-thoughtful, but mostly just silly, as he puts it, "I wonder if Gaia has a ... system. For us to find each other, I mean. All the times we must have found each other through all the ages and all our past lives."
DanickaOne day is, in that loose little plan they made, sometime after she graduates from college. Perhaps during that last year of school, when for the first few months of pregnancy she can continue going to classes with some sort of ease. Or perhaps they'll wait til after convocation for her to go off of birth control, just to be on the safe side, but then Danicka might bring up that it could take ages for the hormones to return to normal; she's been on the pill for something like ten years now, or close to it, and she doesn't want to wait very long only to find out that they have to wait, and wait, and wait some more. But in that vague discussion of when and why that time and not another, she said she would rather take a few years off between college and graduate studies than wait all that time for her Master's, or worse, take a break in the middle of college itself.
And he's torn on that. Torn between not wanting to wait forever and not wanting her to give up her life. Torn because in the underworld he wanted to make his decision, his sacrifice, based on whether or not Danicka was happy. He still doesn't quite grasp just how wealthy she is. Look at her -- she buys things she likes but she doesn't really flaunt it. She doesn't take day trips to Paris, but she could. She doesn't buy up loads of property, though her financial guy is howling at her to stop renting, dear god, what are you doing. Lukas doesn't entirely understand, just because he has never seen her financial portfolio or the ledgers of her bank accounts, that Danicka could afford to make any decision she wants go that much more smoothly, paving the way with dollar bills to make things workable, to lift the pressure off of the struggle to raise children and work and study all at once.
One day, yes. One day, in fact one day not that long off, those thoughts in his mind of cubs in the spring won't be blocked by a tiny, hormone-altering pill. One day there may, in fact, be cubs. In spring, or winter. Maybe fall. Maybe a summer baby. But not today. Not this spring.
Just: one day.
Danicka smiles a crooked smile as he wraps her up and rolls her onto him, his voice fuzzily telling her to come when he's already taken her, and she wants to tease him for being so snuggly, for being the cuddliest full moon that ever was or something like that. The sheets go askew, and he warms her back, kissing her. She moves on top of him, her hands on his chest, thinking he means to love her again. Her legs open a little more over him, her hair falling in waves around his cheeks, but he exhales, and his lips leave hers because something about her lower back, and the way his hands fit her body, makes another thought he might think is silly enter his mind.
Her head tips. She watches him in the dark, lit only by their adjustment to the dimness. Her eyes close slowly, open again. "Maybe," she says. "I don't think about it. I love you in this one. If I lose you in this one, it won't comfort me to think that I'll find you again, after dying and coming back." Her hand moves to his face, touches his cheek and his brow, touches his hair. "I want you now. Forever," she says, though this too is a silly word, a promise they can't keep, a wish that doesn't exist.
Lukas
Lukas closes his eyes as Danicka's hands touch his face, his hair. She speaks, really, of a sort of heartbreak -- losing him in this life, wanting him forever, knowing she can't have him forever. No one can. They are mortal, and even were they not also warriors and soldiers in a fatal war, forever is not a possibility for them.
He understands, though. Sometimes it feels like whatever time they have, no matter how much, could never be enough.
"It doesn't comfort me to think of the future. But it makes me happy to think of the past. I like thinking that maybe I've met you before. It feels ... right."
DanickaHeartbreak comes to Danicka's mind so easily. At times she's seen puzzlement on his face, and sometimes something that looks like frustration or sorrow she'd never wish on him, at how easily her thoughts express loneliness, sadness, darkness. It was as though she was born a little more shadowed than others, grows tired more easily than others, mourns more easily than others. She's noticed it herself the more she's around him, because for all his Lordly blood and all his rage, Lukas has a spark of brightness in him instead. Perhaps it's simply that he is one of those that finds it easier to forget the sorrow that's in the world and live only in the joy. And Danicka is one of those who never quite forgets.
She doesn't want to think about whether or not they've known each other before, or if they will know each other again. It makes her uncomfortable, and she can't quite name why. Perhaps because her thoughts, instead of lingering on the comfort she feels right this moment, thinks of what if. What if they've never known each other before? What if they will never know each other again? What if this lifetime, this period of their life, is sole and unique in the existence of both their souls?
It makes it all the more precious and lucky and dear. It makes it all that more painful to think of losing, and she cannot bear to think of that for long.
Danicka doesn't answer, and lays her head on top of his chest in lieu of words, closing her eyes against his skin.
LukasSo recently did they make love, so recently was he joined with her in the most primal possible that Lukas still feels exquisitely attuned to his mate. Small wonder, then, that he senses the turn of her mood. She lays herself against his chest and he wraps his arms around her - as though this is instinct; as though this is the only thing he could possibly do right now.
"Baby," he murmurs, "are you okay?"
DanickaShe doesn't stir on his chest. Her eyes are closed, her hair spread over his arm, locks of it draped down his ribcage like curtains across the frame of a window. After their tumbling about the sheets have gotten a little tangled, cover half of her ass, but she isn't complaining about the cold. She isn't shivering. The air conditioning is on but her skin is still cooling from sex, from being so close to him. She breathes in his scent, drowsy with it, like it's a drug. His hands slide up from her lower back and his arms wrap around her, much as they were at the end, right at the end when he couldn't bear any separation, when she was arching and the sound of her voice was so wild, so lost, that his arms held her in the world.
Like he could stop anything, and everything, from threatening to part them.
Her mood has faltered, and she draws away from talk of lives they no longer live and may not live. He notices. He couldn't help but notice it, close as they are. And he knows her, knows her better than anyone ever has. Knows her, she thinks, better than anyone ever will again.
"Sometimes," Danicka says quietly, "I feel like there was a door in me that's always been locked. Even I didn't know what was inside of it, and most of the time forgot it was even there. Then I met you, and the next time I looked, it was unlocked. Not like you had the 'key' or something sappy like that, just... I wasn't able to open it until after I'd known you. Inside was this whole new aspect to my life, all these things I didn't know before or couldn't do before or wouldn't have even thought of before. All of it so good, too.
"Whenever I think of what's going to happen to me if I lose you, it feels like -- well, not like I won't be able to go through that door anymore. I just don't think I'll want to. I'll want to close it most of the time, because all of it is so much a part of my life with you, and I won't be able to bear it. All this goodness turned painful because you aren't there anymore." It'll kill me, she wants to say, but she knows how his arms will tighten, how his heart will break, and she doesn't say it. She closes her eyes and listens to his heartbeat, to his breathing.
"I don't know if we've ever met before in a past life. Or if we'll ever meet again. I don't know if you'll be able to wait in the Homelands before your spirit is needed back on earth again, or if I'll be able to find you there. They're lovely thoughts, but I don't know. I can't put faith in the thought that maybe we knew each other before, and... it makes me think of losing you over and over, every time one of us dies. Life is full of so much pain, and what if in those past lives we couldn't ease it for each other?"
Danicka opens her eyes again, but doesn't lift her head. He's so very warm. "I don't mean that it doesn't feel right. And sometimes it does make me very happy to think about it all. But... what if this is the only time we've ever had, or will ever have? If this is the one time in all history that the universe let us find each other, at the right time so that we went through everything we did the way we did, distrusting and disliking each other and then reaching each other, loving each other, learning to trust each other, changing each other how we have. What if this was our only chance, and we had to hold close to each other and not let go because we might not ever get another shot?"
Her hand moves, and strokes his arm lightly. "I'm okay," she answers finally, a direct correlation to his question. "It means we were very lucky, and that we've done very well. But it's a bit sad, too."
LukasEven without her saying what she thought - that losing him would make all that goodness unbearable, that losing him would kill her - his arms tighten around him. The rise of his chest against hers is sharp, pained. He kisses her where her hair begins to sweep back from her temple, but her hair is askew right now, a torrent of gold - his lips catch on it, his breath warms it.
"If there's a Gaia at all," he murmurs, rough with emotion, "then this can't be our only chance. That would be too unfair. Too much to ask.
"I love you." That's so plain, so simple, so naked. And this could be maudlin, this could be trite, but there's such force behind his voice, quiet as it is: "I love you more than one short life can hold."
DanickaDanicka's eyes are closed, or closing, aching because Lukas can't help but notice when there's sadness in her, and he can't help but ask, and she can't help now but tell him the truth. For the longest time now all she's wanted is to be able to see him happy, to be a part of that happiness, but she can't deny that sometimes the world is simply very sad. Sometimes the truth of the matter is: you have to hold on so tight, because things do fall apart. And losing the ones you love is inevitable, in the end. One just hopes not to lose them, before that end.
"Baby, don't," she whispers, her hand closing on his arm, her palm warm on his bicep. Her brow is furrowed, eyes opening once more, dark green with ache. "Don't be sad. I'm okay. I just don't want to think about this right now. I love what we have. It's enough."
LukasIn the darkness, their eyes find one another. Lukas wishes he didn't see such ache in hers. He wishes he saw what he saw in those precious moments after: pleasure, and contentment, and happiness, and the inexplicable and delightful energy that all but zinged through her as she declared she was no longer tired.
She's no longer happy. He puts his hands on her face, big and warm and a little rough. He cradles her face in those hands, his thumbs along her jawline, his fingers wrapping around the back of her head. Gentle, very gentle. When he kisses her, though, it's a deep, passionate thing, emotion brimming to the surface.
"Miluj m znovu," he says. There's something oceanic, tidal, in the way he turns her under; the sheets tangling and unwinding around them, the bed soft under her shoulderblades. He's large and warm over her, his shoulders as broad as the sky, his hand warm as it finds her breast. "Miluj m , láska."
Lukas[oh jove, how i hate thee. let me count the ways.]
Danicka
His heart aches, and she can feel it as keenly as he senses shadows to her own happiness. Don't, she says, and he holds her so tightly all the same, wishing them back to that moment right after, wondering what he did wrong, how he ruined it, what happened. Danicka kisses him, suddenly, half a moment before his hands on her face begin to pull her closer. It's firm, and filled with something life-giving, something invigorating.
She isn't unhappy now. She hasn't lost her happiness from before. There is simply more, as there always is to her. And it's hard for him not to see these thing as sunsets when they are merely shadows, darkness coexisting with the sunshine. Just as, sometimes, Danicka is that single point of brightness when everything else around him is velvet and black.
Danicka wears her ring always. She takes it off when they shower and she puts it back on when she steps out, before she dries her hair, before she pats the droplets of water completely off of her skin. And he thought -- and she thought, too -- it would never really matter to her. If they married or not, if they had rings or not. If it was legal or simply spiritual, if one of them changed their name or not. She hasn't quite come out and said that it matters to her, but he sees her and she doesn't treat that ring as another piece of jewelry. She wears it when she sleeps, and she wears it on ribbon around her neck when she's in the lab, and this summer he's seen that when she does take it off, there is a faint pale line across her third finger even though her hands are slightly tanned. Already.
Danicka kisses him quickly, suddenly, firmly. And he deepens it as he turns her under him, wanting her, and wanting her to be happy again just like she was before, and wanting, simply, for what he asks for:
love me.
Her legs are folding around him, soft and welcoming, her hands on his face, her fingertips in his hair. She looks up at him as he comes down over her, seeing an ache in him because she ached. But the strange thing is, the hard thing, is how much of their joint sadness comes solely from thinking they have caused it in the other. Danicka is all right. Danicka wishes she could tell him she's all right so that he could believe it -- that her thoughts may be sad, that they may be dark, but that is not all she is. That is not all she has.
Her hand slides around his jaw to the back of his neck, rubbing there once, before she draws him down to her, lifting her head from the pillows to meet him in the air.
LukasMoments before, when Lukas first turned his lover over him, she thought he meant to love her again. Her legs parted around his body; she was so warm in her welcome, and the thought flashed through his mind like a fish in dark water. But they didn't make love then. They talked, and talking, grew sad. Ached at the possibilities and the unknowns. Held on to each other, tried to find each other again. Find each other now, their hands pulling one another close, mouths meeting. He sighs into her kiss, a soft, low sound of want and pleasure and relief as her legs fold around him.
They make love like that, half-tangled in her sheets. She pushes them down off his back as he raises himself on his elbows over her. His mouth finds hers again; they're kissing when he enters her, kissing so he can catch that first sound she makes on his tongue, give it back to her. His hand moves down her body, deliberate, not lightly. He finds her clit with his thumb and strokes her, fondles her as he fucks her, moves into her with those long, solid strokes of his body that she can feel under her palms when she puts her hands on his chest, on his abdomen, down his sides to pull him into her.
When she comes, he's bringing her off with his hands and his cock, giving it to her while she arches under him, giving it to her while she's grasping at his body, the sheets, whimpering and crying out because she can't, she can't take it sometimes, and he's kissing her open mouth and kissing her trembling lip and his hand is over her head, protecting her; he's whispering she can, she can, she can take it, that's it,
oh god come here,
and then he's scooping her off the bed and sitting up on his heels, and she's wrapped all around him and her breath washes over his shoulder; her arms are wrapped around his shoulders, her hand in his hair, and he's kissing the side of her neck furiously and fiercely as she starts to move again.
And later she's riding him and he's leaning back on his hands and he's moving up into her and her hands are on his shoulders, her breasts are small and soft against his chest, she's the one biting his shoulder this time as his hands clench in the sheets; he throws his head back and shouts, rough open vowels of exultation, when he comes.
A second after that his arms are around her. He's holding on to her so tightly and he's biting at her shoulder, at her neck, until they find one another again and kiss raggedly, gasping; she makes him gasp as she winds her hips on him, squeezes him inside her, draws out the last mindblowing sparks of pleasure until he's leaning heavy and warm against her, eyes closed, holding her.
Lukas is quiet, then. Shuddering now and then; gentled, and quiet.
DanickaLukas makes love to her again like he needs it, suddenly and fiercely. Before they were almost playful. Patient, even a little slow at first. They tangled in the sheets and laughed until they were gasping and he was urging her gently to come for him, telling her he loved her, over and over. This time, though, there's something hungry in him when he puts her body under his and fits himself into her legs, into her arms, into her body. And Danicka, because she is his mate and because she is Danicka, understands. Danicka, because she made him sad, needs badly now to be close to him, to see him lifted up again, to make him happy. To heal him, the only way she knows how.
The room grows as hot as their skins this time, Lukas holding himself up so he can pleasure her, kissing her so he can swallow every sound she makes, and Danicka shuddering under him, quivering around him, whimpering, moving that body of hers into his hands as they run over her.
There's hardly a breath to be taken between her orgasm and Lukas drawing her up, holding her onto him, and she cries out at the suddenness of it and then moans as she sinks back down onto him. She holds onto him, all but clinging to his shoulders, holding him close while he puts his hands on her hips and groans, wordlessly begs her to fuck him, fuck him. Which she does, achingly slow at first, barely able to move after what he put her through, whimpering as her overstimulated skin sends shocks through her entire body. Then faster, regaining her breath and her arousal and pulling back to look at him as she rides him, watching him rather than biting him, telling him
that's it
that's my good boy
give it to me
fuck that cum in me
til he can't hold on any longer, til he grabs the sheets like she was clinging to him moments ago, filling her room with the sort of sounds he never considered letting himself make before he trusted her. Before he knew her. Before he could see, and feel, how much pleasure she gets out of hearing him. Before he knew that Danicka, deviant little thing that she is, might very well work herself on his cock faster even as he was coming, tormenting him,
to get herself off on him again, til he's ragged and pleading with her to stop, oh god, stop, even though she's trembling and moaning again, coming again, collapsing across his shoulder. Her hair spills over his arm, and she pants helplessly after that, holding onto him. It's only fair: she's worn out now from riding him, from coming four goddamn times tonight, from fucking like this. She's limp afterward, and so is he, and yet their arms hold onto each other tight. So tight.
What seems like a very long time later, Danicka nuzzles the side of his neck, closing her eyes.
LukasAs though that's some sort of signal he's been waiting for, Lukas leans back, bringing Danicka with him. The world topples, or they do - they end up on their backs, heads at the foot of the bed, bodies slick and warm as they sprawl.
He's always liked that she's never bothered to get curtains. That every sunlit morning he wakes here, he can see tiny rainbows cast all over the room from the little ornament in the window. That every night he can look out and see the moon, see the stars, feel safe in his mate's den but not quite shut off from the broader world. This is what he thinks of now, tilting his head back to look out that bedroom window of hers.
Somewhere in this lovely, soaring den of hers - perhaps right here in her bedroom - is a bookshelf full of Lukas's childhood books. That warms him too, that that little piece of his past is here. His hand passes lazily up and down Danicka's back, and his breathing is slow and steady.
"I'm sorry if I made you sad," he whispers eventually. "It's just that I'm not afraid of anything when you're with me."
DanickaShe yelps again, and perhaps she knows that it amuses him and endears him all at once when she does this, like no matter how long she knows him, she's so surprised at the way he tumbles them around the bed all the time. Maybe she yelps the way children yelp when they roughhouse and play, because it's fun, because noises go with action and movement and it is nice to be able to make noise, to be loud, to romp and play and topple. But Lukas sprawls, as though to increase the amount of skin exposed to air to release the heat he's built up, twice as much as how warm he usually is. Danicka, conversely, wraps herself around him to increase the amount of surface area connected to him. He sprawls on her bed; she sprawls on him.
The bookshelf she bought when Lukas sent her his childhood library is now in her study, along with another one that is mostly full of textbooks and manuals. She quietly and steadily adds to her own collection because now she can. But here in her bedroom, which no longer has a desk nor bookshelves, there are her nightstands, and she always has one or two of his books on them, as though to keep him near when he isn't in her bed. And no, there are no curtains, never have been. The sun shines so infrequently in Chicago, she thinks, for just a few months at a time, she can't imagine locking it out. Or locking out the moon. Or the stars. Or the lights of the city itself.
She rests her head on the triangular pillow made of his bicep, shoulder, and pectoral, closing her eyes and settling down now that he's stopped flopping them around the bed. She's sweaty and sticky and wants to shower again, but no matter. Not yet. Not quite yet. And if he were to tell her to stay, if he wanted to drag the blankets around them and sleep all filthy like that, chances are she would. Chances are she'd smile, and move closer, and let him stroke her back just like this til she fell asleep.
When he speaks, her eyebrows furrow together. "You didn't make me sad," she tells him, as though surprised he thinks so. She lays her arm across him, protective. "Don't think it means I love you less," she murmurs softly, "that even when you're with me, I can still feel afraid, or sad. It doesn't even mean I'm unhappy, láska."
LukasIt makes him smile that she lays her arm across him like that. Protective. It makes him smile, what she says, because --
"I know you love me. That's one thing I never doubt."
The smile goes away slowly. It doesn't die; it doesn't fade. It simply runs its course. Her air conditioning is humming, but Lukas has the sudden urge to throw open the windows - as much as skyscraper windows will open, anyhow. He wants to breathe fresh air, taste the night.
He settles for tasting her skin - kissing her brow, pressing his lips so gently to her face. "And I don't mind that you can be afraid or sad even when we're together. I want you to be happy, but ... you don't have to be happy for me."
DanickaThere are still droplets of sweat wet on her brow when he kisses her there, and his lips come away salty. Danicka smiles at the press of his mouth to her skin, closing her eyes, her brow smoothing. Her arm flexes over him for a moment, then relaxes again.
"I am happy," she says. "That's what I mean. I can think things that are sad or frightening and still be happy." She lifts her head from him a moment, her hair whispering as she moves, and looks at him, her lips caught in that strange, off-kilter smile of hers that tugs at one corner of her mouth. "And if you don't mind, then don't you get so sad just because I think of something that makes me ache."
Her hand moves up to his cheek, cups his jaw, and she bends down to his mouth. Danicka closes her eyes again as she kisses him, slow and soft, deep and warm. She breathes in deeply as she draws back, looking down at him. And her thoughts turn to the way the seasons are changing, the way the air outside is growing cooler and the days noticably shorter now. He thinks of throwing open the windows, and Danicka thinks, finally, of what she really wanted to do when she got that strange burst of energy out of nowhere:
"Let's go to the den," she says suddenly, whispering it. And she doesn't even wait, then, for an answer. She starts to lift herself up, scooting to the edge of the thoroughly disheveled bed, knowing full well how much earlier she'll have to get up in order to get to tomorrow's classes, and not caring. "Come on."
LukasIn some ways, Danicka is so much more complex than Lukas. For all that Lukas is the one with two bodies - or five, depending on how you look at it - for all that he's the one with the titles and the responsibilities and the burden of war on his shoulders, he's a simple creature. He tried to make himself cold and cerebral and analytical; tried to adopt some harebrained philosophy that duty to the war should preside above all else, including everything he's fighting to preserve. Even now, when he's not with her, when he's out there and on duty and responsible, when he's got his game face on -- even now, he can make himself analytical, and ruthless, and even brutal.
But he's not. When he's with Danicka, she sees him as he is: a simple creature, warm, very affectionate. Happiness does not coexist with fear or sadness in him. That doesn't make sense to him, really, but then -- he doesn't understand a lot of things about his mate. And that's okay. One of the most important things she's ever said to him was, plainly and simply:
consistency is for children and pets. and i'm neither.
He puts his hand on her face as she smiles the way she does. He doesn't know how to smile like that either, odd and quirky, not the flashing practice glamourous smile she uses for the world but the smaller one, the hidden one that only he sees with any regularity. Lukas suspects strangers would find her public smile more beautiful. He wouldn't agree.
Even before her mouth touches his, he's lifting his head from the bed, meeting her in the middle. His eyes close, and they both sink down, and they share this kiss: slow and soft and warm and deep. When she draws back he looks content, warm, satisfied in a way that only has a little to do with the love they made.
Then, a glimmer of alertness in his eyes, instinctive and animal, when she draws away. "But -- " he begins, but he's not even protesting her idea; he's simply protesting that she's moved away. Her words click a moment later, and he sits up. Laughs, suddenly but softly. "Okay. I'll go grab Kando."
Danicka"Hee. Kitty," Danicka says, her voice low and fuzzy over the word. The truth is, she was thinking that, too: to get Kandovany and put her in her little travel kennel, since the den has food and treats and food bowls and litter box and a bed already, for whenever Danicka goes out there alone or they go out there together. She grins at the mention of her cat, her poor little clawless feline who needs so much protection, who needs to be kept indoors or watched carefully outside so that she doesn't run off and get hurt, unable to hunt for herself, defend herself. The little cat who, for all that, is quite fierce and bites very hard as compensation.
The cat who, in many ways, is much like Danicka herself.
Danicka is complicated. She can think of such sad things without ever feeling as though her happiness has truly abated. For Danicka, happiness is less the exuberant and intoxicating emotion it is for so many people and more a state of being. She was not happy for much of her life. She is happy now. Even when she is sad. And Lukas doesn't quite grasp that, but that's okay. It can be maddening to be with Danicka at times, because there are nights when she bends over for him and he's grunting, swearing, calling her dirty names, calling her naughty or bad and she laps it up, but then there are nights when he does the exact same thing and she's stung, she wants him to be tender, she doesn't like that, not tonight. She doesn't like to talk about the children she's never had, might not have, but she keeps the little glove he brought back from the Underworld, the one he found in his pocket, the one Klarinka couldn't find, the one with the sparklies to keep her fingers extra warm. Danicka does not always make sense. He has to trust her. He has to trust that she is not lying when she says she can be happy and sad at once, has to trust that when she voices a preference in how he makes love to her it is not a rejection of him making love to her. He has to accept how different from himself she is,
and truthfully, he has. And he loves her for it. As she loves him, because he is so very simple sometimes. Because he is simple without being foolish or unintelligent. Because when he is happy he is wholly and completely so, even if that makes her feel a bit bad that she isn't always the same. Because he stopped trying to wear that game face in her presence a very long time ago, and yet she has never tried to expose him to the other Garou and Kin who don't know him as well. Because he makes her feel like nothing in the world exists but her when he loves her. Because he lets her be this wild, inconsistent, maddening thing and loves her still, loves her always, never harms her, never demands that she behave a certain way to keep his love. She doesn't worry much about being understood; a rather strong part of her likes being incomprehensible just fine. Lukas knows her better than anyone. Lukas loves her even when he can't make sense of her. It makes her happy.
Even when she's sad.
Danicka hops off the bed and sweeps her hair back of her shoulders. "I'm going to take a quick shower and then we can go," she says. Looks over her shoulder: "Do you want to drive, or are you too sleepy?"
"I'll shower when I get there," he says, and he's sitting on the edge of her bed and pulling on his pants, the same ones he wore yesterday. "I'm just going to wear my dirty clothes anyway. And I can drive."
He stands, pulling his pants up and buttoning them. Catches her by the hand as she's passing him to go shower, tugs her back with a deft, playful little spin like they're dancing, kisses her again. His free hand finds its way from her cheek to her breast, and then all the way down to her ass -- how scandalous. When he draws back he's grinning, his eyes clear and bright.
"I'm going to go find kitty now," he says, mimicking her tone with a great deal of amusement and no malevolence at all. "Be right back."
DanickaHer smile turns to a grin at him. It isn't that smile he thinks of as the world's smile, which is glamorous and gleaming but hiding something, a little bit coy, the very smile that infuriated him while simultaneously hinting that there was more under the surface, because it was just too perfect, too good to be true, too much what he knew Shadow Lords wanted from their Kin. No, the grin she flashes at him now is ...well, kind of stupid. She's so happy she figured out what she wanted. Not ice cream, not a walk in the park, but to go home to their den, open the windows and smell the garden and the oak outside, and sleep out there instead. She's quite pleased with herself. And pleased, bizarrely, with Lukas staying filthy.
Danicka goes easily when he grabs her hand, spinning a bit on the ball of her foot and then standing on her toes to reach his mouth. She slides her arms around his neck as he kisses her, breathing in when his hand finds her breast. Even though he just got dressed again, she exhales a sigh when he reaches down to her ass, their mouths parting. Danicka's eyes are slightly hooded, her body close to his. The truth is, if her body weren't all but aching from sex at the moment, she would touch him through his slacks. Stroke him until he hardened to her, ask him if he was sure, didn't he want to get clean, maybe she could --
but she doesn't play with his body the way he plays with hers just now. She's aroused, the reality of it flickering in her eyes as he touches her, but it's a fire she banks, smiling. "Oh, you know Kando. It'll take you a good twenty minutes to herd her anywhere."
Danicka stands on her toes and gives him a kiss on his cheek, smiling. She turns again, and walks a few steps down her hall to the master bath. She leaves the door open behind her as the water starts to run, and somewhere in the apartment, a collar-less and bell-free cat the color of marmalade hides under some surface where Lukas's arm can't reach. Her tail twitches as she readies herself, watching for his ankles.
About five minutes later -- it was, in fact, a quick shower -- Danicka's water turns off again. She lets her hair down, only the edges wet, since there was no need to soak her head. She is moving quickly, strange after a full day, slipping her finger back into its ring and throwing a few things she knows she doesn't have at the den into a large lavender purse. The clothes she wears are simple and just yanked from the closet, a pair of jeans with a tear at the knee and a long-sleeved black and white top she's had since Forever Ago. She doesn't even bother with a bra, and Lukas discovers she does own flipflops. Her bag doesn't match her outfit at all, and her hair is in a ponytail, and she looks flushed and excited when she comes out into the apartment proper, looking for him and for her cat. "Did you get her?"
LukasWhile Danicka showers and gets dressed again, Lukas is, in fact, herding the cat. It's a long process; it involves a lot of coaxing, a lot of cajoling, a bit of bribery and more than a bit of chasing. Kandovany doesn't like her carrier. It's small, even though it's the largest one recommended for her size, and more importantly it closes her up where she can't see anything very well. Recently, she's learned how to undo the zipper from the inside. It's a feat, considering she has no claws, but then - Kando is resourceful, and clever, and more than makes do with what she does have.
"Almost!" Lukas calls when Danicka comes looking for him, the tips of her hair wet, her cheeks flushed. Kando makes a dash for Danicka, and Lukas swoops in from above - catches the little feline under the ribcage swiftly and gently, scoops her up and puts her, finally, into her carrier. "Got her," he announces, grabbing his keys from the counter. "Come on."
His arm is waiting for her when she nears. He lays it over her shoulders, hugs her against his side. They leave her apartment with its huge glass windows and its granite countertops, stainless steel appliances; they ride down twenty-three floors and go over to the garage and find his car. Lukas is driving, so Danicka gets to hold Kando, and Lukas suggests that maybe they can let Kando out, she'd be so much more comfortable like that. Whether Danicka agrees or tells Lukas to stop spoiling the cat, Lukas circles down out of the parking garage and out.
The streets are quiet. It's too late for tourists, too late for traffic. Truth be told, Lukas likes Chicago in the wintertime better. The weather sucks, but the city seems vast and silent, primordial with its glittering lights and monolithic buildings. But then, he always was a creature of the cold.
It's a bit of a drive out to Stickney. Taking the Eisenhower out, he lets the car cruise at seventy-five, reaching across the center divide to hold Danicka's hand. They talk a little about trivialities. Do they still have eggs? He'll go get milk from the Jewel-Osco in the morning. He'll make breakfast so she can sleep a little longer, because she has class all day and he's just going to loaf around and zonk. But if she feels bad she can make him kolaches on the weekend.
He loves that their den is just past Home Ave. He loves their little den, period, and he muses that he better get started redoing the outer walls because it's almost autumn, and then it'll be winter. He worries a little about the magnolia they planted; it's so cold here, and that's a southern tree; he wonders if he should Awaken it, too, and
this is what they're talking about as he pulls into their little detached garage, the door rattling down behind them.
