Saturday, May 21, 2011

broho defense, kin, wispirs, and james bond.

[Adara Mires] It had been a really hot day and the weather was still very warm. She had contacted Lukas earlier and he had told her to meet him at Katherine's loft. She had made her way there in the evening, so they could talk about a few things.

She entered the Loft, looking around, knowing from her many previous visits that lucille will come and greet her. Today, the pretty oung woman wasdressed in mid thights long shirts, a tank top and running shoes. Her skin was darker than what Lukas wasused to see on her. She had been out a lot lately and for a lnog time every time the weather had been warm. She had now a nice tan. The tribal style tatoo covering her whole left arm, starting from should and ending in four points over the back of her hand, was competly exposed. Long dark brown hair was tied in a ponytail and a backpack was on her shoulder. Just in case she get to use the pool. She was seriously addicted to that pool.

Her emerald eyes found the older latina woman and her lips curled into a warm smile "Good evening Lucille, I"m here to see Lukas" The woman nodded and start ot lead the Fury to the location of the Shadow Lord Adren She walked in a very fluid way, with a grace dancers would actually kill for. Her eyes looked around as they reach Lukas, as always admiring the beautiful decor of the Silver Fang's loft.

[Lukas] This isn't his home, but it's slowly and surely gravitating into a pack hangout. No surprise there, really. There's a pool here. And a huge flatscreen tv. And video games. And a billiards table. And food in the kitchen. Half the pack, more or less, lives here more-often-than-not. The other half -- Lukas included -- still frequents it several times a week, and sometimes daily.

So when Adara comes in, Lucille directs her brusquely upstairs. Lukas is at the pool table, looking up from a tough ricochet shot as the Fury enters.

"Hey, Adara." He nods at her backpack. "Is that for the pool?"

[Adara Mires] She thanked lucille then grinned at him "Has Carter talked to you about my addiction?" She said with a tilt of her head. She moved closer ot the Shadow Lord "Good evening Lukas, how have you been?" She let her bag drop from her should and into her hand as she lean against the table, her hip against the wood.

"You seem to be pretty good at this game" She said, looking down at the balls, having noticed the shot he had lining up. She was relaxed tonight. She had business to discuss with him but even if it was important, it wasn't stressful. It was just soem suggestions, an approuval that she needed and oen or two lose ends that he might help her with.

She could easilly play some pool or lounge in the pool while they talk.

[Lukas] "I'm actually not," Lukas mutters, bending to the shot again. "I got pretty good when I ran around with Kate's brother, but I'm rusty now. And -- no, I just guessed, because when I show up with a bag it's because I'm going to go for a swim."

Cue cracks off ball; ball clock!s into another. Two thumps off the sides, and then -- the ball misses the pocket by an inch.

"See?" Lukas says. "Rusty. Anyway, what's on your mind?"

[Adara Mires] SHe smiled a little more at his words "Well I wish I could help you getting back into playing shape, but I'm an ok player at best"

She watched him take his shot "As ofr the pool, yeah, It's pretty forward of me to assuem I cna use the pool, but I thought that if theocacsion presents itself, I shall not be unprepared" She grin "Same philosophy I use in my every day life actually"

She turn her attention back to him "You remember that my first plan about the Brotherhood's evacuation and defense was met with some..strong reactions from a few non resident kin. After talknig with a few people, I decided to ask a few kin, resident and others for their opinions. Amongst them were Doctor Slaughter and Gladecu. So I canme up with a new one and I wanted your approval"

She tilt her head "I also spoke with Simon about a few things we ould change in the Brotherhood to make it harder to attack. And I have a question about the info you sent me related to what happened to me August and Quinn. Do you have time ofr all this?"

She ask with curiosity, not wanting to keep him away from other businesses.

[Katherine Bellamonte] The clinking of glasses heralds Katherine's arrival.

She's carrying two wine glasses by the stem and holding a bottle of red wine in the other; judging by the silvery webs clinging to the bottle's base its come from her wine cellar. Sensitive Garou noses can scent the dust, the grapes within now nothing but aged liquid. Given the warmer weather, the Half Moon had begun to interchange her wardrobe with skirts and pull the covers off her summer wardrobe.

Tonight, she's in a floating sleeveless button-down, two undone at the collar; the curved neck giving glimpse to more of Ms Bellamonte's creamy skin that most were accustomed to seeing in the cooler months. The soft blue of the material was scattered with tiny birds in flight. Her feet bare. "Oh," she says, setting down the glasses, turning them upward with care, "hello Adara, I thought I heard the door closing while I was in the cellar. I was about to test out one of our vintage reds."

She straightens; sliding a hand to the small of her back and arching it as if she were so delicately human as to have a crick in her spine.

[Lukas] "Adara's here on business," Lukas says, "but she was hoping to take a dip in the pool after."

He takes the bottle from Katherine without having to be asked, getting his keychain out with the other hand. Lukas is the sort of man to carry around a swiss army knife, and a fairly large one too; he flips the corkscrew attachment out and begins to uncork the bottle.

A bit of a grimace as Adara mentions non-resident kin complaints. "I thought the plan was fine as it was," he says. "But let's go ahead and hear it."

[Katherine Bellamonte] The Silver Fang's hand pushes the heaviness of her hair from her face then, blinking once in a slow, studied manner at the Fury's ambition regarding her pool as if she were less wolf and far more thoughtful feline. "I see," she notes as if she did see, some undercurrent not voiced; some deeper intent.

"Do be careful of the pool cleaner; it's humming away at present. I wager, sometimes," she continues lightly; accepting the bottle back from Lukas and setting it to air for a few moments before she pours, "that were it awakened it would spend all its time lamenting the loss of Sinclair's little spiritual friend."

Adara was here on business, though, and Honor's Compass motions her onward with whatever it is; taking herself to a lounger and sinking gracefully into it; one leg crossing over the other.

[Adara Mires] She nodded and smile to Katherine when the elegant Silver Fang stepped inside the room "Good evening Katherine, It's a pleasure seeing you again. How have you been?"

Lukas spoke of her desire to use the pool and her smile turned slightly sheepish. Bit she didn't look away. She was capable of assuming her addiction to that pool. Then she looked back at lukas and moves slightly away form the pool table to she was facing both of them, including Katherine in her conversation

"Well it was pointed out that the plan might need to be simplified as people might panic in case of attack. I know none of uswill, I assumed kin were made of sterner stuff but I decide to take that into consideration. Dr Slaughter suggested two rallying points where kin could gather and we could defend. The bathrooms upstairs and the basement. The plan, as it is would simply be that. In case of attack, kin gather at one of those location and we'll defend it. It's simple and no one should forget it if they panic"

She paused "In itself, it's really too basic but if we make some improvement to hte brotherhood, it makes is better"She said looking at both of them then at Lukas ot see if he wanted her to continue.

[Lukas] As Lukas listens, his brow furrows. He straightens up, foregoing his next shot, laying the cue down horizontally across the edge of the table.

"The entire purpose of the plan is as much evacuation as defense -- not to set up for heroic last stands. The Brotherhood is expendable and replaceable. We'll defend if we can, evacuate and burn bridges and set up elsewhere if we can't. So while a simple plan of 'gather here with weapons and sensitive information in hand and await orders' is fine, the locations Dr. Slaughter picked out are, frankly, unworkable. The bathroom is at the center of the building. Same thing with the basement. If the rest of the Brotherhood is overrun, anyone in either room will be surrounded with no chance of escape. They'll be massacred.

"If you want my opinion, set the rallying point in the kitchen. And make it clear that people are to retreat and escape if need be. It might be a good idea to stash some area-clearing firepower in the kitchen -- molotov cocktails or the sort, to clear a path of escape if it's time to fall back and bail out.

"As for the kinfolk's suggestions -- Dr. Slaughter's done a lot for the Nation and perhaps even more for the respectability of kin in this city, but ultimately she doesn't live at the Brotherhood. Barely even visits. Regarding the rest of the kin -- I'm going to take a wild guess and say Amunet was one of the complainers. Her issue wasn't with your plan; it was with imagined instances of the Garou oppressing her lot, or some such thing.

"The bottom line is that I put this in your hands, and I want it to stay there. If you're uncertain, Adamidas or I can both advise, but in the end this is your project. Don't structure your plan to appease the kin, or anyone else. Listen to suggestions, but in the end, take it with a grain of salt. You live there every day -- more than can be said of anyone else involved in this project. It's your responsibility, and your privilege, to make the call. Do what you think is best. I trust you."

[Adara Mires] She nodded to him "All right. There has been so many little thigs happening with kinfolks and the setting up of new positions to..I don't know, appease them, that I wasn't entirely sure how the complains about the plan shoudl be handled. Or anything related ot kin really. I have this feeling that every time you iwll tell them they're wrong they will start protesting and go on strike or something"

She shrugh slightly "I'll make sure there are weapons and various things stashed around the place so kin can defend themselves if something happens at the Brotherhood. As for the bathroom and basement. Taling with Simon, he suggested we could reinforce the walls and windows of the brotherhood and along those line I was thinking it would be good to do so for the bathroom. He also mentioned installing choke points in the halls that would force people to shift down to pass them, allowing us to shoot the enemy their homid form if they're dancers or slow wyrm creatures down as they would need ot break those points before coming closer. And use the window at the end of the hall near room five as a getaway, as previously considered.

As for the basement, I was thinking that having it connect with the sewer, allowing us to escape and have a rat spirit or another better suited to watch it. We could use human tech, but I think spirits would be better."

Her eyes move to look at one then the other "Renovations cost money and I don't have that kind of money. I think it would be good for the Brotherhood though, evne if we move the rallying points. The more defenses we have the better it would be. With the staff, the owners and 3 other kin residing there, it makes for many people ot defend. The more options we have, the better"

She look at Lukas, waiting for his verdict.

[Katherine Bellamonte] As the Fury speaks; Katherine is silent but for a smile beneath her fingertips; those pressed against her lips; in answer to Adara's query regarding how she has been. It spoke as much as any paltry answer would and Honor's Compass was nary a female to waste her time with tiny details if one could afford as much respect with a smile or simple cant of the head.

Dignity was born in her; as well as that particular sort of stature that when she sat just so in a chair, one arm along the length of the rest; the other against her face she did so resemble a Silver Fang of olde, seated in quiet contemplation upon their throne that you almost quirked a brow; almost envisioned the crown atop her head. She stirs when Lukas begins his reply; and rises to pour out two glasses of wine; the liquid settling in the large crystal ware.

Katherine twirled each a little; and held them to the light a moment; her pale eye scrutinizing the contents before lowering one and passing it to Lukas. "I would offer you one, Adara, but that swimming and alcohol do not tend to meld with any agreement outcome." A brief turn of her mouth, then: "Is Amunet still bristling away, then? That woman has more spikes than a Porcupine."

[Katherine Bellamonte] [agreeable outcome, bah, spelling. Humbug.]

[Lukas] "Make whatever renovations you think are appropriate, as long as they'll pass building code inspections. You probably saw that business about city inspections. I like the idea of multiple emergency exits, but have one rally point, and one backup rally point if the primary is overrun. Make sure both are close to emergency exits. That way we won't split up and get overwhelmed.

"I'd say stash the weapons Umbraside where a Garou can easily access them, too, but where inspectors won't find them. And -- I like the idea of choke points, but don't set too many. Just a few around the rally points. Our own people will have to squeeze through as well, so it's a double-edged sword.

"You shouldn't have to fund this yourself by any means. Put up a notice; ask for donations. I'll see what I can contribute, and I'm sure others will as well."

He takes the glass from Katherine, then, swirling the wine just beneath his nose for a moment, sipping. "Is this the stuff Ed brought over from your family's ancestral cellars in France?" he asks Kate, offhand, and then laughs under his breath. "I haven't actually heard about Amunet bristling lately, but that probably just means she's getting better at hiding her tracks.

"If the kin come at you with complaints again," he says to Adara, "tell them that you're in charge of BroHo defense, period. If they have a problem with it, they can go complain at a Liaison."

[Katherine Bellamonte] "Mm, yes. It is âgés de stock Bellamonte, très bonne." The Silver Fang sips from hers for a moment, then offers a raised eyebrow and murmured: "Poor dear Danicka," when her Alpha notes Kinfolk should go and complain to a liaison.

"How is she enjoying her new position, Lukas?"

[Katherine Bellamonte] A moment later; pale eyes turned on the Fury: "I can help out where it's needed. I believe I am aiding my Cousin Mr Press in some quarter or other to do with protecting the Brotherhood and Caern already," a slender shoulder is shrugged; off hand. "What is a little extra here and there."

[Adara Mires] She smiled softly to Katherine. "It's all right Kahterine. And I wouldn't be so bold as use your pool without one of the residents doing so. I jsut brought mythings in case. I didn't want to have to borrow someone's swimsuit"

She then looked at Lukas "I'm aware of the inspection and will find a kin who knows more about building safety and standards than me. Maybe one of you know of such a kin?" Katherine spoke of Ivan helping already and she nodded "I'll contact him then"

"As for weapons, I'll hide them with Adamidas's help and will make accessible ot kin tolls to make some quic ones, like those molotov cocktails you mentioned earlier. I will make sure the rally points are strong and secure and the emergency exits easilly accessible. And not too many choking points. Too many would be pointless, a few strategically placed ones will be fine as you stated.

Ihaven't heard anything about Amunet either, which worries me. But maybe she learned her lesson..we can always hope so."

She let Lukas answer Katherine's question about Danicka before saying

"Speaking of kinfolk, the man who's book was given to Danicka by Quinn was injured by a baby sized acid spweing vcreature. Quinn wanted to save him, I felt like letting him die was better. I idn't want ot argue with her in public nad broad daylight, but do you know if the Garou she called to help actually healed the man who'sl ink to a paranormal reasearch organisation or actually killed him?"

[Lukas] "I actually don't know of any kin who are deep in bureaucracy," Lukas says. "Plenty of policemen and lawyers, but nothing so unglamorous as red-tape dispenser. I'd go ahead and put that into your notice too. Wanted: funds for BroHo safety renovations, building code advisers, and contractors for the work.

"Generally," Lukas has another sip of wine, then sets it carefully on the pool table's edge and picks up the cue again, "I think she hasn't been too burdened by the position." He extends the cue butt-first toward Katherine, "Care to practice with me?"

To Adara, then, "Yeah, she brought the matter to my notice. It's hard to say what would have been worse -- killing someone connected to wannabe Mulders and Scullys, or not killing one after he's seen too much. I actually wanted you to follow up on that. We have his notebook, but he must have other information and links. It'll be good to know just how much they know, and whether or not they'll be a threat."

[Lukas] [drop a char in!]
to air

[air] [don't have any that know about the loft! I'm working on one though!]
to Lukas

[Katherine Bellamonte] Katherine smiles; setting her wine-glass down and reaching for the pool cue. "Why Mister Lukas, I fancied you'd never ask," there's a wink thrown the Fury's way and the Silver Fang drifts toward the table; all flowing silk and perfume. She takes a moment; Honor's Compass and tuts with her tongue about the location and set up.

Finds her desired point of impact and leans over, aiming with one eye closed; fair hair falling over the edge of the pool table. There is a satisfying crack as the shot makes its connection and sends the little colored billiards rolling in all directions. "What is it with the human condition, always chasing after that which they don't understand. It seems the more absurd the idea, the deeper they want to investigate it. Ghosts, Vampires," her eyes widen theatrically a spell. "Werewolves. I think if they knew quite how boring we are when we're not fighting for our lives and theirs, they'd be quite let down in their ambitions about us all."

[Adara Mires] She nodded to his words about hte notice "That was my intention. Write up the plan and then a note asking for help with funds and knowedge."

She listened to the packmates talk about the Shadow Lord's mate. Lukas offer the cue to Katherine so she took a few more steps away from the table to allow them to play.

"I think letting him die from his injuries would have been better. But since he's alive, I'll make the most of it. I'll find out what he knows, who are his contacts, who he spoke to then if he's a threat, I'll ask one of the Doctors ot get me enough drugs to kill him and make it look liek a suicide. Strong sleeping pills will do. The shock of surviving what hadhappened and what he thought he saw would be a good enough excuse for him to crack up and kill himself"

She smiled at Katherine "I think that nowadays the idea of supernatural beings has been so romanticized that they want ot be those being without realizing that we live in a very violent world and that like movie heroes..our odwn time is as regular as theirs. We jsut end up dying younger than most of them to. Also I think some hope to use us as weapons or use supernatural DNA to enhance soldiers...and that it really worrisome"

[Lukas] "Speak for yourself," Lukas says to Katherine, mock-archly, watching her break. She seems to have picked stripes, so he takes solids. "I live a life full of danger, romance, intrigue, and hot babes. Just because you curl up with a Jane Austen book at 10pm every night doesn't mean the rest of us aren't having fun."

He leans down to take his shot then, looking down the table for a moment before picking a shot. He plays like he knows how: bending low, strong fingers forming an open bridge, cue sliding smoothly. He wasn't lying about being rusty, though. Instead of knocking an easy shot into the pocket, he manages to divert it away, muttering under his breath as he straightens.

"If you do end up taking him out," Lukas says, "make sure it's necessary, and make sure his friends don't know where to pick up the threads he leaves behind. The last thing we want is to get a gaggle of angry, nosy humans poking around our business."

[Lukas] (*way belated* you can always just make something up! car broke down outside, etc!)
to air

[Katherine Bellamonte] She leans her weight on her pool cue; her expression one of expectant amusement. "Oh, indeed I forgot I was in the presence of the Shadow Lord version of James Bond," there's an eye roll and the Silver Fang straightens and moves around the table for her next shot.

Click!

One of her striped balls rolls neatly into a corner pocket and Katherine's mouth curls in triumph.

[Adara Mires] She grin at him "I'm sure Danicka would love to hear about those hot babes"She said, teasing. Even if it was true, she certainly wouldn't get mixed into that. After all who was she to get involved in an Adren's life? She just smiled a layful one, then watch them play some.

Lukas tell her to be careful "I will be careful. I have no intentions to have the Veil lifted or have humans mess with our businesses. I'll be discreet" The usually cheerful Fury was very serious about that part.

She moved her backpack up to her shoulder, as Katherine sank her ball, watching them some more.

[air] [maybe i'll play test - if i can decide on a tribe]
to Lukas

[Lukas] "The new, awesome James Bond is totally a Shadow Lord." He pauses a moment, watching crestfallen as Kate methodically starts cleaning up the table. "The old, foppish one was totally a Silver Fang, though," he adds magnanimously. Then he extends the cue toward Adara. "You want to play? I'm getting slaughtered here."

[Katherine Bellamonte] "Foppish?" The Half Moon's eyes narrow in playful outrage, she jabs her Alpha urgently in the ribs. "That was elegance, I will have you know.

Foppish." She sniffs again, and moves to collect her wine glass. "Whenever a Shadow Lord is being defeated, Adara, he will inevitably lay scorn at the door of the nearest Silver Fang. It is a life of injustice and misplaced blame for my own good tribe." Katherine sighs, quite impressively forlorn.

[Adara Mires] She watched them with an amusd smile and took the cue from Lukas "And I thought the Unbroken never gave up?" She said, teasing Lukas. She moved to take her shot "I do think the newest James Bond is the most interesting of them. Still, Sean Connery would kick his ass if he had been born later and had Craig's age right now."

She lined up an easy shot and sunk it. She wasn't a bad player. Living at the Brotherhood has allowed her to practice a lot. "And what would that make him? He had the elegance of a Silver Fang, the cunning charms of a Shadow Lord and the mean streak of a Fenrir...and he was a lover worthy of any Children of Gaia"

She moved to take another shot and the ball didn't angled properly and didn't sink in.

[Lukas] "Sadly," Lukas stage-whispers, "that's usually where the scorn belongs.

"And, with the accent and all, Sean Connery Bond was obviously a Fianna born to a Fianna and a Fenrir whose family used to be a Silver Fang. And then after earning his double-O status, he realized Shadow Lords were better, so he changed tribes. Bam."

[Katherine Bellamonte] "I heard that!" Katherine calls from across the room where she was topping her glass up a little and then doing a pretty little spin and about face to traipse back over. "Also there is absolutely no doubt he was originally a Silver Fang. One can almost sense the breeding emanating from him on screen."

Such is Katherine's belief, it's rather hard not to crack up laughing.

[Adara Mires] She chuckled at both their comments, putting the cue aside and leaned slighly against the table "Well either way, he was the best" She smiled softly

"I tihnk I"ve imposed my presence long enough on you two. I don't want to keep either of you from your business"

She picked her backpack again. Business was done and she was in good terms with both Unbroken but she didn't think either considered her a friend per se. So it might be better not to impose herself much longer. Both f them probably had things to do with their respective mates..wait..Katherine was mated right? She thought she had heard something about that once, but she wasn't sure.

[Lukas] "All right," Lukas says, taking the cue back. "Let me know what happens with the BroHo, all right? Or just post up the new plan when you come up with you. Thanks for bringing it to my attention, Adara."

[Katherine Bellamonte] The Silver Fang takes another moment to shoot, and straightens; nodding at the Fury as she takes her leave. "You are welcome to return and swim in the pool when you like, Adara. Have a good evening, oui?" As the Cliath heads for the stair case, she can hear in her wake the pack-mates and Adren's continuing their bickering.

No matter the surface rivalry however, it seemed decidedly fond; like siblings squabbling over a TV remote.

"Lukas, you are in my space. I cannot line up my shot with your elbow so near. I fear you will cheat and use it to throw my aim off."

[Adara Mires] She nodded to him "I'll do that. I'll keep you posted about that lawyer too. Thank you for your time"

She smiled to Katherine "Thank you for your hospitality. It was a pleasure seeing you again. And I certainly will come back, not just for the pool" After all she got along wih every Unbroken she had met, so spending time in their company was always interesting.

She looked at both of them "Have a good night both of you"

She head out of the loft, wondering what to do. Maybe she should call Carter. It's been too long since she hanged with the grumpy kin. Or she could stop by the Chruch and hang with Rory. In the end..stopping by a bar seemed like a good idea.

[Katherine Bellamonte] [Thank you for the scene, guys! ]

[Adara Mires] (thanks for joining..i missed rping with you)

[Lukas] [thanks back!! i had a good time!]

Sunday, May 15, 2011

joshua and a package from quinn.

[Joshua Coil] *He's been here only a few times. And never with an actual package. Never really with a purpose other than Find Those In Charge, or Present Self to Find Out Who Is Packing. It is capitalized in his head. He pushes through the fence, with surprisingly little noise. He's big, however, so it takes some squeezing.*

[Bronwyn Montgomery] The Princess is already in one of the clearings, still in the process of adjusting to the new caern that's worlds different from the only other one she's ever known. She's dressed down, if Ralph Lauren jeans and riding boots and a cashmere sweater can be considered dressed down.

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] It doesn't take much searching to find Wyrmbreaker tonight. On Caern patrol duty, he finds them. A dark shadow concealed amidst darker shadows, watching them, he reveals himself suddenly and clearly when he rises to his feet. The Shadow Lord is in wolf shape tonight, thick across the shoulders and heavy in the chest, black through and through. He sniffs in their direction, eyes narrowed, and then chuffs a short greeting.

[Joshua Coil] *He notes Bronwyn, and he nods in greeting, though the wolf seems to make him look for a bit longer. He pauses, and offers his throat to the wolf, all too instinctively. Even in homid, showing off the scar. He waits for approach.*

[Bronwyn Montgomery] "Joshua." She nods to him, eyes flickering back and forth between the man and the wolf. She seems most interested in his automatic reaction to the wolf, and her tongue runs along the bottom edge of her front teeth.

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] After a moment's scrutiny, as much with nose and ears as with eyes, the black wolf comes down from the pile of debris he's taken as both his sentry-post and his camouflage. His descent is a series of short bounds, smooth and powerful, until all four paws are on solid earth again. He comes toward them, circling them once to inspect the pair from all angles. He doesn't bear in on them deliberately; doesn't crowd their space menacingly. Still, when he sniffs at them, when he comes close enough to sniff at them, his rage shivers through the air like sheet lightning.

Eventually he stops before them. And an eyeblink later: returning to homid form with the thoughtless ease of shapeshifting back to his birth shape. A man now instead of a wolf, though the blackness of the hair is the same, and the pale blue of the eyes.

"The Alpha of Honor's Forge," he greets Bronwyn, "follower of Peklenc. I'd comment on how unusual it is for a Child of Gaia to follow one of Thunder's brood, except I followed one of Falcon's for years."

He looks at Joshua then, eyes level, calmly curious. "Who are you?"

[Stefan Knezevic] The Theurge doesn't tend to make appearances out of nowhere as a rule. He's one who doesn't do a lot of sneaking up...not on people that he knows and isn't about to kill, anyway. He much prefers walking up to meet with people to appearing in front of them with a pop of air displacement.

Okay, that's a lie. He just doesn't do it in public.

This not being "public," so to speak, that's what happens. He appears, right at his Alpha's side in homid, his dedicated clothes for the day consisting of his leather jacket, a collarless indigo dress shirt, black slacks and boots. His hands fold behind his back, staying silent as he observes. Greetings are best saved for their proper point in time, when conversation is not ongoing.

[Joshua Coil] *He clears his throat.* Joshua Coil, Cliath, Full Moon Child of Cockroach. I am... new here. *His voice... it's like someone stuck a roll full of quarters in the garbage disposal.* I... are you... Lukas-rhya?

[Bronwyn Montgomery] Oh good. He already knows who she is. She studies him closely, trying to determine if this is a good thing or bad. Her attention quickly swings back to Joshua though as he introduces himself, taking in each word and weighing it.

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] "Wyrmbreaker, Cold Victory," Lukas replies by way of affirmation. A moment ago he was feral, unmistakably wild. It's a little jarring to see him extend his hand for a handshake now: very courteous, very civil. "I suppose you already know the rest if you guessed who I am. Welcome to Chicago, Joshua. Have you a deedname?"

And -- a nod to Stefan as he appears.

[Bronwyn Montgomery] Her head tilts toward Stefan just the tiniest bit, her voice clear in his head. Good evening, Stefan. You do like to make an entrance, don't you?

[Joshua Coil] *He doesn't flinch, not in front of the Elder.* Fatal Error, rhya. I have a package for you from Ms. Quinn.

[Stefan Knezevic] Nonsense, fearless leader. If I wanted to make an entrance, I would have appeared in Warform, decked out in my dedicated ritual gear. This is subtlety.

He looks over at her, smiling faintly with a warm that his mental voice lacks, and looks back to Lukas and Joshua. His Tribal Elder gets a faint, respectful inclination of his head in response to the nod.

[Bronwyn Montgomery] The Princess looks all together too amused at something, attention subtly divided now.

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] [*dies* sorry, i'm multitasking and watching portal 2 vids. i gotta get this game!]

"Fatal Error," Lukas acknowledges, and lets go his handshake. "Ms. Quinn -- the Fianna kin? Let's see it."

[Joshua Coil] *He pulls out the package, containing the notebook, the d.v.d. tucked into it, and a wallet.* She said to bring it to you, rhya.

[Stefan Knezevic] He looks from Ahroun to Ahroun, head cocking slightly to the left. Whetever the package entails, he seems intrigued.

I understand we are to be neighbors, more or less, within the next few days. He glances over at his Alpha a moment before looking back to the two.

[Bronwyn Montgomery] You understand correctly. I signed the papers today. All the convenience of a packhouse without the invasion of privacy. What do you think of Fatal Error?

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] Obviously, he can't watch the DVD right now. Lukas flips through the wallet, though, and then the notebook -- holding it up to the dock lights to read. There's a note tucked under the back cover. He glances it over, then folds it away.

"Interesting. Apparently some 'WISPIR' organization has been keeping track of paranormal events in the area. Did you know about this, or were you just the messenger?"

[Stefan Knezevic] I think that I've not yet spoken to him before. One run and this meeting here is my whole experience. So I think little at the moment.

His ears perk up at the news of an organization tracking the paranornal, and he frowns. "Oh, dear. That sounds concerning."

[Joshua Coil] I was just the messenger, Sir. As I have said, I just got here very recently, and I have been unaware of enemy movement on this place. I would like to get involved, however, if I can be of some help. *His voice is calm, but sternly serious.*

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] "Good," Lukas replies. "Quinn mentions she and Adara stumbled onto this. Adara's been pretty dependable on the Brotherhood defense setup, so I think she'll be able to handle this, too. Get in touch with them; offer your help. I'll talk to the two of them about this directly too, and we'll figure out where to go from here.

"Are you staying at the Brotherhood, by the way?"

[Joshua Coil] No sir. I am staying with Melody Drake, a Cliath Shadowlord. She offered me a place to stay when I came here. *He nods.*

[Bronwyn Montgomery] "Melody is our packmate, Rhya."

[Skull-Like-Ox] He's lumbering through the caern. Nowhere to go, nothing particular in mind, just out wandering. He spots a little group of people and heads in that direction.

[Stefan Knezevic] His attention shifts briefly as he hears the heavy footfalls of the Fenrir Ahroun. His watches Ox as he approaches, silent a moment, before he smiles and nods. "Good evening, Skull-Like-Ox. How are you?"

[Skull-Like-Ox] He nods at Stefan. "Hi. I'm fine. How are you?"

[Bronwyn Montgomery] New game. Her attention shifts to Ox, locking on him as long as it takes to make her determinations.

Within seconds, she's looking to Joshua again.

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] [LESS LURK MORE PLAY.]

[ispy] [LURKS]

[Stefan Knezevic] "Well enough." He gives a light shrug. "Have you met my Alpha, or Lukas-rhya or Fatal Error?" Indicating each of them in turn.

[Skull-Like-Ox] "Um. No?"

[Joshua Coil] *He hears his name, though he can't look over - he's not been released by the Elder yet. Damn being so submissive!*

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] "I've met her," Lukas confirms. "Smart wolf. I just wanted to make sure you had a place to stay."

Skull-Like-Ox lumbers up; brick shithouse is the descriptor that comes to mind. "I'm Lukáš Wyrmbreaker," Lukas says by way of greeting, "also called Cold Victory. We haven't met, but the Guardians mentioned you came to town a few weeks ago. I'm your auspice alpha. Your tribal alpha is a Kora Eyjolfsdottir -- have you had a chance to introduce yourself yet?"

[Dorian Del Maro] [Bloody elitist Garou in the Caern. *stomps off to side room*]

[Joshua Coil] *He nods at Lukas, feeling a bit flattered by the 'smart' comment. Of all the things he's never been called before.* Thank you, rhya, *he says, not interrupting, trying to get his comment in before Lukas turns his attention on Ox. And THEN he looks back to Bronwyn and her Lord friend.*

[Bronwyn Montgomery] She nods to Joshua, giving him an encouraging smile in a rare show of kindness.

[Skull-Like-Ox] He inclines his head respectfully to Lukas. "I haven't had a chance yet. Sorry." He extends his hand. "I know you said they said I was here and all but just the same. I'm Brian Miller. Skull-Like-Ox. Cliath Modi, Son of Fenris." His introduction has clearly been memorized via repetition.

[Stefan Knezevic] He smiles a bit to Joshua...friendly, even a bit warm. "Good evening, Fatal Error. A pleasure to have the chance to speak with you finally."

[Joshua Coil] Good evening. I have heard good things about you from Bronwyn. *Is it really a pleasure to hear his voice, when it sounds like Batman from The Dark Knight had laryngitis? He offers out a hand.*

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] Actually, Lukas was calling Melody smart. He's too polite to correct the misconception, though. Besides, it wasn't as though he thought Joshua unintelligent, and the conversation has moved on.

He offers his hand to Brian as well, gripping the other's wrist for a moment. Tall and broadshouldered, it's rare that Lukas seems dwarfed by another, but Skull-Like-Ox manages it. Though standing an inch shorter, the Fenrir seems twice as broad: a veritable ball of muscle.

"You should get yourself over to her," he says -- a suggestion, not a reproach. "Her pack lives in the Cabrini-Green projects, in an abandoned church. Go by Umbral and you can't miss it.

"And on that note," he adds, "I need to resume Caern patrols. Josh -- thanks for bringing me the information. I'll get in touch with Quinn and Adara and clear the details up. If any of you want to pitch in," this is to everyone at large, "talk to one of them."

[Rory] It is not the shrines she visits tonight, as she is but a prospective, but the Graves, instead. There is one in particular that she has ensured was cleaned off, with fresh flowers laid at the head, with a quiet word murmured to the body that decomposes beneath. He is not there, she knows that, but it is comforting none-the-less. He was one of few that accepted her as she was, and she never forgot that.

Even when he was laughing at her inability to smoke weed.

She pats the stone, and stands, before she starts to make her way through the Caern, and - naturally - toward the voices in the distance. There are several things that people notice about her - one, the wasted breeding, two, the blood red curls, and three? her tendency to hide in the shadows, to attempt not to draw attention to herself, and once she's been noticed - her blush.

And, of course, all that Rage.

[Skull-Like-Ox] He nods at Lukas. "I will. Thank you." A broad, genuine smile.

[Stefan Knezevic] "Mm...I am happy to hear it. Hopefully all true things." The tone is gently teasing as looks at Bronwyn and back, chuckling. He takes the offered hand, shaking it.

When Lukas makes to go, he looks to him and nods. "Have an excellent evening, Cold Vicory-rhya."

[Bronwyn Montgomery] "It was lovely to meet you, Rhya." She nods to Lukas, spine loosening just a touch.

[Joshua Coil] *His hand doesn't squeeze Stefan's though it is quite clear he could. He nods only once, not quite managing to meet the Lord's eyes, before he backs off first.*

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] "Likewise," he says, nods to them all, and turns to go. A few paces away he drops back to wolf shape and -- since this area is well-guarded by a growing crowd of Garou -- moves off to quieter stretches of the bawn.

[thanks for the RP, all! i'm failing at this multitasking thing, so i'm bowing out!]

Wednesday, May 4, 2011

love the ones you love.

[Lukas] It's true: sex isn't at the forefront of Lukas's mind as he holds his mate like this; touches her like this. He's touching for the sake of touch. For the sake of closeness, which he never used to allow himself. Even after he finally gave in to what he wanted, to what he'd wanted since the very beginning -- even then, it was a long time before he simply allowed himself to enjoy ... being with her. Allowed himself to show her that he enjoyed this.

All that said: she knows him. She knows how even changing the way she's touching his leg would make his blood stir. She knows that simply dropping such a mention, warm and drowsy and languid, would make him --

well. Do exactly this. There's a pause in his hand -- his arm wrapped around her, his palm stroking gently over her side. And then a quiet laugh as he turns toward her, wrapping his other arm around her as well, turning so that he hugs her against his chest almost like they were in bed already, and he was holding her, and they were about to sleep.

Or fuck. That, too.

"Oh, were we having sex?" he asks, gently joking. Kisses her earlobe, kisses her neck. "I hadn't gotten the memo."

His hand shifting then: moving up, cupping her breast. The feel of her makes his breathing shift. He's nuzzling her now, nuzzling her neck, the side of her face as he caresses her. "I'd like it," he murmurs, all polite tonight, "if you bent over the couch."

[Danicka] Crepes and ice cream after sex, Danicka says, and instantly the mood shifts slightly from warm and languid to something else. Lukas is softly laughing, suddenly more playful, where even his politeness is feigned, is part of the game.

Danicka smiles lazily, because she wasn't playful when she brought it up and she still isn't, has no intention of the sort of gleeful romping that occasionally marks their lovemaking, though truth be told it isn't the norm any more than tying each other up is. She tips her head as he nuzzles her, kissing her earlobe and her neck, giving him more room to do so. Her hand hasn't reached between his legs or touched his thigh, but continues playing idly along his knee. She smiles wryly at his gentle joking, saying in response: "Well not yet..."

There are three layers of fabric, not including linings of this or that, between his hand and her breast, but it hardly matters. He can feel her there, warm through her clothes, soft in his palm, and she hears and feels his breathing shift as he leans into her, rubs his face against her like an animal.

"I was thinking," she murmurs, languid as ever, "about the very first time we made love. How I wanted you like that, sitting up with me on your lap. I love it like that," Danicka admits in whispers. "You're not so far away as when you lie back while I ride you. I can feel your chest on my breasts. Hold onto you when I come without folding in half. I can still look at how beautiful you are. And I can see your eyes, and kiss you, and feel you holding me or grabbing my hips and moving me on you." She sounds thoughtful almost, at this: "I suppose you can't move as much as you can in other positions. But I really love being with you like that."

Her fingers still trace patterns on his jeans. She tips her head back to look at him, her smile warm and quiet. "Would you mind bending me over the second time? I want to see you tonight." At least the first time -- first time, she says, as though crepes and ice cream will simply be a break before they have each other again, as though if he'd just checked his inbox he'd have gotten the memo and read all about the agenda. She nuzzles him again, eyes falling closed, her lips pressing a kiss to his jawline. "Not that I'm saying we have to make love this way or that. Just. I want to be able to see you."

[Lukas] It's quite possible that before Danicka, Lukas had never met a woman who discussed sex so frankly. Or at the least -- had never discussed sex so frankly. What he likes. What she likes. How to tie each other down. What colors meant.

Sex was always a rushed, feverish thing before this. A need that was shunted aside, left in the Unimportant pile until it had grown to such a degree that he stalked nightclubs for one night stands like a wolf stalks forests for prey. A quick trip to a motel or a bathroom. Clothes pulled aside, all but torn off, a hard silent fuck, and a hollow, cool politeness in the aftermath. Shirts put back on, dresses zipped again, the occasional unmeant exchanging of numbers that would never be called. No attempt to learn about each other. No attempt to connect on any level at all.

And then there's this. A long warm picnic on her living room floor. Sex not even really on his mind until she mentions afterward we'll have crepes. Positions talked about so frankly, though not lasciviously: simply in context of

I remember when we did this.
I really like it like that.


The truth is, the first time she wouldn't let him on top of her, he thought it was some fear of dominance, some refusal to submit. The first time she bent over a bed for him, he was very nearly shocked; he'd thought she would have considered it degrading somehow. He barely understood her, then.

He understands her better now. Better than just about anyone on the planet, perhaps. She talks to him softly about what she likes, and why, and he nuzzles against her, eyes almost closed, shivering once in anticipation or stimulation when she says

when I come.

Near the end his eyes open. He kisses her as she's saying it's not that they have to make love some one way, it's not that. She just wants to be able to see him. He kisses her and her words blur a little, and he kisses her again as she's finishing. "I know," he whispers. And, though this is only tenuously related, "I love you."

He unwinds his arms from around her, but only to stand. They leave their food where it is. He pulls her up after him, holds her hand as he goes over to the armchairs, holds her hand as he sits on it, holds her hand as she straddles him. He's smiling a little as he leans back, looking at her. Something about that courteous, half-chivalrous holding of the hand, as though he were helping her out of a car, onto a ship, something. Something about the way she looks, coming over him. His hands pass down her sides, past her hips to her thighs. On the way up, his hands slip under her skirt, and he shifts her closer, close enough that he need only tilt his head up to kiss her.

[Danicka] Until Lukas, Danicka never discussed sex so frankly. She put up with what she didn't like; she led by example. She'd guide wordlessly, or she'd roll over, but with Lukas, suddenly it mattered. Suddenly it was important that he know. Suddenly, she cared that he understood what she felt, what she wanted, so that she would not have to simply drift away and ignore him while he fucked her. Suddenly she wanted to be there, entirely.

See him, and hear him, and kiss him after the first peak of her orgasm, after the first wild moan.

The first few times they made love they always stayed so close together. Him sitting up so she could feel him everywhere, all over her, against her. Lying and facing her. Lying on his side behind her. Getting her on top of him again. And even after that, weeks later, when he wanted -- against his own expectation and hers -- to see her face instead of bending her over, he held her against the wall and they were never more than a few inches apart. It was as if, having denied themselves true closeness not just since meeting but their whole lives, they were realizing that they were starved for it, and could not let it go.

He understands her better now. Doesn't grow wary when she wants it rough, when she wants him to fuck her like an animal. Doesn't get defensive when she's playful, when she wants to tease him into near madness. He knows now how her mood shifting doesn't mean she's pushing him away, or that the world is ending, that his love is crashing down around his ears saying no, no, never, all a lie, always was, never will be again.

Danicka feels the words she's saying kissed from her mouth as Lukas begins to lose himself to the thoughts she's stirring. She kisses him back after a moment, chases his mouth as he withdraws, kisses him again before she tells him that she just wants to see him. And he knows, and he loves her, and her hands are on his cheeks because she's turned a bit now.

They part, and stand, and instead of lifting her onto his body he holds her hand like he's going to take her on a walk. A walk of courtship, a stroll around the park at night where he might steal a kiss, too honorable to try anything more. But he's taking her to one of those lush leather armchairs of hers, sitting down and drawing her towards him. Danicka comes easily to him, parting her legs and pressing each of her knees into the cushion. She does not sink down on his lap just yet, standing on her knees close, very close to him. As she does, she reaches up and undoes the band in her hair, letting it all fall down around her shoulders.

Lukas's hands are warm where they drift up under her skirt, urging her nearer, and she lowers herself onto him as his fingertips touch the seamless edges of her panties. The smell of her hair is rich around him, wafting around him as she leans into that kiss, the softness of her mouth belying the force of it, pushing his head back. Her hands are on his shoulders now, and covering his chest, and then sliding up to wrap both arms around his neck.

"Undo my sweater and feel me up," she whispers in his ear, their mouths parted for a moment. Her tongue traces his ear then, her teeth graze it. Her hips roll, ever so gently.

[Lukas] The way he's drawn her onto his lap, the way he's slid his hands under her skirt, one might expect him to pull her panties aside, get his cock out of his pants and bounce her on his lap then and there.

It's not like that, though. There's something slow and warm and tender about all this. They nuzzle each other. They exchange kisses, slow firm things that push his head back against the cushions. Her hair comes down around him, soft and fragrant. He strokes his fingers into it, combing it back, shadows coming and going with the swing of her hair.

She tells him to feel her up. He laughs quietly at the terminology, happy; happy to comply. That single button of her sweater comes undone easily, and he peels it back. For a moment her arms are behind her. Unbidden, electric, the image comes to him: her on his lap, arms folded behind her, wrists in his hands, telling him

green.

His hands go under her top and he's kissing her a little harder now, back lifting from the armchair cushions with his rising fervor. He finds her breasts, finds her bra, caresses her through that soft, plain undergarment. Sometimes she wears mindblowing lingerie. Sometimes she wears these things: plain and cotton, soft and comfortable, and his mind is blown anyway. He pushes her shirt up -- with his hands, and then with his nose, nudging it aside like an animal as he wraps his arms around her. Her back is warm under his forearms; his biceps are warm against her sides, even through his shirt. He dips his head to kiss her breasts, to suck at her nipples right through her bra.

He only leans back when she starts undoing his shirt. Leans back then, gives her the room to undo those small buttons, leaning up and kissing the underside of her jaw when he doesn't want to wait any longer. His hands are exploring the waistband of her skirt now, trying to puzzle this out by touch. He finds a clasp and undoes it, hopes that'll be it, but it's not; there's something else where, and his fingers go back to exploring.

[Danicka] It takes no time at all. She knows this, knows how animal he is, how his slowest, most patient self is still a rushing tide compared to some men. It isn't his tribe, his auspice, nor his rank. It isn't even that he's Garou. It's him. At his most human -- the unchanging, rageless self he became on the night of the eclipse -- his want for her was still like this: carnal and total, rising up out of nothing to consume him. And like everything else, her love and want for him in return is not about in spite of, not even about because of. It is simply: him. And she loves him.

feel me up, she whispers, and he laughs softly. It reminds her of that night over Thanksgiving, when they had their long, heated discussion and decided to stay in his parents' house. When he went from tenderness to restraint to muttering to her that he didn't care, he didn't care who heard her coming for him, when he felt like the sort of teenaged boy he never could have been with the teenaged girl she never was. What she means is just: touch me. touch me right here and don't stop.

Danicka works her sweater off a moment after that pause, that thought that races through Lukas's mind and flickers in his eyes. She doesn't know how to read minds, but it's close -- goddamn close. She kisses him hard then, yanking the sweather off her arms behind her and touching him again, running her hands over his chest with a faint gasp.

Lukas isn't undressed at all, isn't in the process of undressing. Danicka isn't undressing him. And he isn't just tugging her underclothes aside, fucking her right there. She kisses him, slower now, riding him through their clothes while he works her top up her slender body. Breaks away when he bends her back, wanting his mouth on her breasts, and he only leans back

when Danicka pushes on his shoulders, pushes him back to the chair again, puts her mouth back on his again. She doesn't reach for his buttons then, but wraps her arms around his neck once more, kissing him without stopping. Without wanting to stop. When she reaches down, it's not to undress him, but to help guide his searching fingers to the hidden button in her waistband, the last thing keeping her skirt around her hips.

The button slips out of the eye, and the skirt -- now just a long, faintly pleated stretch of fabric -- falls down Lukas's legs to the floor, joining her sweater. Danicka takes a breath, sitting back, and reaches down to pull her top off completely, dropping it behind her and reaching for him again, kissing him again, clad in her underwear and not worried, not hurried, in getting him undressed alongside her.

[Lukas] At the beginning, almost every conversation they had was fraught with misunderstanding and strife. Sex seemed to be the one place where they could communicate unequivocally -- and even then, it wasn't always perfect. It was rarely perfect.

Still. It makes sense. They don't just talk about sex now. They still talk through sex, and this is still a sort of communication. He sees how for a moment she leans back against his arms, waiting for him to take her bra off and suck at her breasts the way he does; feels how she pushes him back and kisses him again. Feels how she's in no hurry to undress him, even though she's all but naked now, down to her underwear.

There's something faintly decadent about that. The woman down to her underclothes; the man still all but fully dressed. All but his shoes, really. He's leaning back again, leaning where she pushed him, and as she comes back to kiss him his mouth lifts to meet hers. His hands rub over her body, up her back and down again, into her panties, over her ass. He works her panties down little by little until they're stretched between her thighs, and his hands urge her to straighten up a little, to put her knees together for a moment so he can push them all the way down. She slips one foot out. The simple cotton panties hang off her other ankle for a moment before some slide or movement of her body drops them to the floor, and then

his hands are pushing her bra up off her breasts, and he's whispering against her mouth, let me taste you, and really it's not sure whether he means her breasts or her pussy or her mouth or --

only that he's wrapping his arm around her, urging her up on her knees, clasping her against his body with her abdomen to the solid wall of his chest, his arm around her thighs, his hand opening over her ass. He puts his mouth to her breasts, mmming aloud as he pulls her nipple into his mouth. Consonants and vowels are all that remain of their spoken tongue now. He sucks on her long and slow, making low sounds in his throat, somewhere between want and satisfaction.

It's his free hand working between their bodies, then -- the smooth front of his shirt and the silky texture of her skin. His fingertips find her cunt. He holds her firmly, holds her tenderly in place, right there, when he strokes apart the lips of her pussy. When he slips his fingers into her, he has to let go her breast and groan against her sternum, biting gently at her skin there as though overcome by the very feel of her.

[Danicka] There are a lot of connotations that could be taken from Danicka straddling him in her underwear, Lukas lounging in a leather armchair still full dressed. It once would have made her look all the more a whore -- if there's decadence to this, the sick truth is that it's fully on the male side of things. Decadent for him, to have a woman like this, to still be clothed and invulnerable, protected from eyes and elements while she is quite the opposite. And if being a whore concerned Danicka, if there was really any chance of her being made to feel like one, then it might matter.

It turns Lukas on. For Danicka, she's simply taking her time. The possibility that it might arouse him to be clothed while she's nearly nude is, in reality, a side effect.

She lets him run his hands all over her, shuddering slightly when he puts them under her panties and caresses her ass, the invisible elastic stretching around his wrists as he pushes the cotton down. Wordlessly he wants her to move, and wordlessly she complies, lifting up. She does not draw her knees together, doesn't end up turning her legs to the side or awkwardly tumbling around on his lap, but stands on her feet. Lifts one, then the other, as he takes her underwear off her ankles.

Sinking back down onto his lap, she kisses his mouth, and he murmurs for her taste, and she -- for once -- reaches up with her hand and stops his from pushing the cups of her bra up. "That's actually really uncomfortable," she laughs softly against his mouth, because she's never bothered to tell him this before, because a moment later she's drawing his fingertips to the slanting edge of the cup, helping him draw it down, away, the strap over her shoulder falling to her upper arm. "That's better," she whispers, and then her fingers are in his hair and it's his mouth and not his hand on her, his tongue rolling warm and soft against her nipple.

Her eyes close then, her head tipping back a bit as she tries to control her breathing. HIs hand moves between her legs, and she gasps, folding over him, her brow furrowing as though in ache.


They make love like that the first time, slowly and -- yes -- decadently on the armchair, in front of the windows. Danicka grabbing his shoulders, hands clenching in the fabric of his shirt as he makes her come with his hand, murmuring to her as he brings her off just like that, luxurious, unhurried. She's clinging to him during it, her gasps turning to moans, moans to whimpers, whimpers to a single loud cry as she buckles forward, panting for air.

It's when he's easing his fingers out of her, kissing her, that Danicka asks him to take her to the couch. At some point or another Kandovany slinks out of her hiding spot and trots around the corner to the second bathroom. She's ignored by Lukas, who is lifting his mate up onto his body to carry her across the room, and ignored by Danicka, who wraps her long legs around him and finally removes her bra completely, dropping it on the carpet on the way over.

He sets her on her knees on the cushions and she smiles at him when she undoes his shirt. All he can see is the top of her head and the city outside of her apartment when she unfastens his belt. Can't see anything at all when she tugs down his pants and his boxer-briefs, takes his hard and aching cock into her mouth, because his eyes close with a groan when she does that. It doesn't last long -- he can't bear for it to, but he doesn't get to the point of gasping for her to stop before Danicka senses, somehow, the nearness of that invisible precipice between Lukas and inevitability.

His shirt comes off -- half-shrugged by Lukas, half-pushed by Danicka's warm hands -- and his pants are stepped out of, kicked aside when he kneels on the couch with her, pushes her back, turns her around.

They can see dim, ghostly reflections of themselves in the glass behind the couch, hovering over the city. Danicka's head tipped back onto his shoulder, face half-turned towards his jawline, her hair a gold aura. His eyes on the glass, bright blue beneath the shadow of his hair. The ghosts don't cease to exist when Lukas closes his eyes and presses his mouth to her throat; they open their mouths and cry out when Danicka and Lukas do, clutch at the back of the couch the way she does, rock into her with slow, hard, firm strokes just like he does.

But it's Danicka who comes, even before the ghosts, riding back against Lukas eagerly near the end, bringing him off seconds after her, moments, a heartbeat or two. There's a pillar behind the couch -- Lukas's hand is on it as though to brace himself, hand flattening out against the cold, smoothly curving surface as he buries those last hard thrusts into her, as he digs his teeth into her shoulder, overcome.

The amount of words they've said to each other in the past hour barely make a handful. They're silent now except for their breathing, elevated and relieved at once. Lukas starts to lean into her, press her to the back of the couch, overwhelmed, and her back arches, shoulderblades pushing against his chest til he remembers himself, wraps his arms around her, and all but collapses sideways on the couch with her

held between his body and the back cushions. Safe.

[Lukas] Inexperienced isn't really a word one associates with Lukas. In the reckoning of the Nation, he's halfway up the totem pole; as far as some Garou ever get, no matter how old they live to be. The truth is Lukas has too much drive, too diligent a work ethic, to ever idle at some terminal rank. If doesn't stop him first, he'll keep rising -- but we digress.

The point is: he's hardly inexperienced when it comes to war and battle. And he didn't exactly come to their bed a virgin. Still, there are times, flickers and flashes of moments, where it becomes so clear that he was telling the truth, the absolute truth, when he told her she was his first real girlfriend. His first real relationship.

Once, a long time ago, he wanted her and needed her so badly that he all but mauled her every time he got her alone in his bed. Once, she had to tell him -- half-exasperated, almost irritated -- to slow down. To be patient, and gentle, and take her bra off and lick her nipples,

slowly.

Tonight she tells him not to push her bra up. That's actually really uncomfortable, she laughs, and he draws back, almost startled, quite regretful. He immediately reaches to undo her bra all the way; he had no idea; she stops him again. She shows him how to do it properly: slide the strap down, ease the cup aside. His expression is almost rapt, as though she were showing him some great secret, some piece of precious knowledge to be treasured. His eyes flick up to her; he almost looks thankful. He kisses her against before he lowers his face to her breast, and

a little later, she gasps, her brow furrowing the way it did the very first time she couldn't help but kiss him.


The first time he brings her off, she hears him laughing and murmuring to her, yes, that's my baby, that's it. Later, sitting back, letting a little space open up between them so he can see her face clearly, he licks her taste off his fingers. When she kisses him, she can taste herself on his mouth. They go to the sofa, and the second time is a little harder, a little more primitive, his hands grasping at her shoulders and her hips, cupping around her arms as he takes her bent over the back of the couch. He's not at all above watching himself fucking her. Watching the two of them in reflection, the way she moves, the way she takes him, the way he looks behind her and over her, so much larger and darker that his slender, golden mate.


And later: tilting sideways, collapsing on the couch. Holding her between his body and the back cushions, laying his leg over hers, wrapping his arms around her as though it were cold, though it's not. As though he was going to protect her, now, tonight, forever and ever,

though he wouldn't even be able to name what from if she asked.

His chest still moves quick and deep against her back. His breath is warm against her neck, and every now and then an exhale edges toward a groan as though it's all just too much to keep in his mind, in his skin.

[Danicka] She's thought about asking him what he thinks he's protecting her from -- because she knows that's what it is, she knows what's in him that makes him always turn her towards the wall, towards some other surface, whatever is Outside in his mind. She senses it in his arms around her, his head against her shoulder, his leg crossing over hers, mine, mine, nothing will hurt, nothing bad will come, she is mine. There are times when it makes her ache for him, wondering if he'll ever realize that sometimes there's nothing, and he doesn't have to, and that doesn't need to be the beginning and end of who and what he is.

Down in the core of the realm he went with his pack, maybe he learned that. She still amuses herself by thinking that if she asked him what he thinks he's protecting her from, he'd just hold her tighter and mutter, only half-kidding:

Everything.

But the truth is, she doesn't think he think he's protecting her from anything. She may be wrong. Protectiveness may not be the end-all, be-all of who and what Lukas is, but it is twined throughout his very core along with threads of childlike delight, ruthlessness, overwhelming warmth. The truth is, Danicka doesn't think Lukas thinks much about it in times like this. Not consciously. Not coherently. It's just there.

So she doesn't ask. She accepts it.


Danicka is warm where she is, just an inch or two from the back cushions, her eyes closed while she tries to get her breathing steady. Lukas is a breathing, sweating thing behind her, his skin scorching. She touches his hand thoughtlessly, as earlier she touched his leg, and breathes.


Some time later, she doesn't turn around and smile cutely and ask him if he'd like to have crepes and ice cream now. His breathing has calmed, too, but not to the point that she thinks he's about to fall asleep. When she turns a bit to look at him over her shoulder, he's still inside of her, and she's reaching back and up to touch his face.

"Lukáš..." she murmurs, as though he were, in fact, sleeping, and she were about to tell him they should clean up and go to bed, go sleep somewhere safer, darker, go sleep in her bed. It's possible that later, waking in the middle of the night, Danicka will turn over to try and fall asleep again on top of his chest, and feeling him against her hips, her belly, ease him to wakefulness and roll onto her back, pulling him over her. Later, though, and only a possibility.

But her voice would sound something like it does now. Her fingertips stroke a lock of his hair, tucking it back, then again, and again, hypnotically slow. "I'm glad you went on that quest. I'm glad you came back."

[Lukas] Given a little more time, he really might fall asleep just like that. It has nothing to do with exhaustion, inability to stay awake; everything to do with how content, and full, and happy, and home he feels. They're in a den. Maybe not the den, the one where spirits are awakened and oaks are planted, but -- a den, nonetheless, a safe quiet space that smells like her, smells like it's hers.

They're in a den, and they're fed, and they've made love, and now every joint is loose, every bone is liquid. His breathing slows. His arm is heavy over her side. He's so warm behind her that they could sleep like this and never get cold, and in truth if she gave him another minute she'd hear his breathing start to roughen again, roughen and slow at once as he drops off.

She turns. He stirs, and she can see his smile in the half-dark: slow, warm. His lips move. No sound, just a hi mouthed. It might remind her somehow of the way Kando meows sometimes, a soundless pantomiming of her mouth: something like that, animal and very, very quiet.

She strokes his hair. His eyes close. This is why she can't touch his hair without him growing heavy and warm and affectionate and wanting: because it's muscle memory now, the way he feels, the way she touches him. And it's instinct to seek this sort of sated laxity.

He opens his eyes again, though, when she speaks. There's a little more clarity in his eyes. He cups his hand over her arm, turns and kisses her cheek, the corner of her mouth.

"I don't think," he says quietly, a little bit blurrily, "it's really going to change how I act very much. Who I am. But maybe if I remember it ... what happened, what was said and done ... maybe I'll protect because I want to. And like to. Rather than because I feel like if I don't, something terribly will happen."

He yawns. And then he wraps his arm around her, nuzzling Danicka gently.

"I like protecting you," he murmurs. It's perhaps the first direct acknowledgment that yes, what happened in that realm applies to more than just his pack. Applies here, too. And with his sister, and his parents, and ... everything. "I know you pretty much don't need me to, but ... I like that we protect each other. It's what mates do."

Another pause. Ruminative. Then, whispering, "I liked making love like that. You on my lap, facing me. It felt close. We should do it again, but this time you should take me inside you."

[Danicka] It would not be out of place if they just fell asleep here. There's no throw blanket over the back of Danicka's couch, but they wouldn't need one. The back of the couch would block the most direct rays of sunlight from their face come morning. They could sleep, and Danicka would wiggle herself off of his cock at some point or another, maybe turn to face him, to listen to his heartbeat in her sleep. Wake up with cricks in their necks, backs stiff and hips sore. Wake up stretching, and uncaring, and lazing.

They're all but facing each other now, twisted around, propped up, altered so they can see each other's faces. And Danicka is touching him that way she does that so often leads to Lukas wanting her, wanting to be in her, wanting to be close, wanting exactly this -- as though the sex is just a passageway, as though orgasm is just a gateway to this. Which, in a way, it is.

He talks to her, and she's thoughtful, nuzzled and murmured to. It's a strange thing, talking about protection. About who and what he is, what he wants to do, what he likes. They've never really discussed if Danicka likes being protected -- she likes to be safe. She feels safe with Lukas. She's never quite equated the two in talking about it. It matters more to him, she hears in his blurred, sleep-fuzzed voice. To be a protector, to do this. It's why she senses it in him every time, every single time, that he holds her.

"I don't want you to always be protecting me," she whispers, tenderly as she can. "To have it always there with us, a part of why you hold me like this. Sometimes it gets hard to see everything else that's there, because that's so much at the forefront." Her fingers still move in his hair, and she leans to him, curls against him. "I don't want it to change how you act. But it might be okay if changes a little bit of how you think."

[Lukas] Lukas hasn't quite propped himself up. He remains as he is, stretched out, prone, a rather large mass: the continent of Thunder, perhaps. He lifts a hand and touches her face as she speaks, though, touching her cheek and her lip as though he might better understand her like this.

And after she finishes, he's quiet a while. A little more alert now. Alert and aware and thinking, mulling this over, taking his time with it before he answers.

"I don't think it's always at the forefront," he says after a while, quietly. "Protecting you. When I'm with you like this, I'm thinking -- I'm not thinking very much at all. I love you." It's not spoken as a statement, a declaration, but as a description. "I feel warm and happy and ... loved. Safe. Loved." It's worth saying twice. His hand moves on her face, stroking, tracing, thoughtless. "I'm not thinking of how to best protect you."

A faint furrow to his brow, though. A little puzzled. A little sad. And a shifting of his weight, moving just a little on the couch.

"Do you feel ... " he takes another moment to think, " ... smothered? Like I'm always trying to protect you, make your safety my first and foremost concern?"

[Danicka] His thumb passes her lip; Danicka kisses it as it sweeps past, a gesture so thoughtless it's unspeakably tender, so warm it would be enough to ignite his blood if he hadn't already spent himself inside her at least once. Her eyes drift closed there for a moment, but open again to swivel and find his.

"No," she says easily, though not quickly. "Not smothered. But when we're like this I can just sense it sometimes. It may not be the first thing you feel, or the only thing, but it's such a strong thread. No matter where we are or how safe we are, I'll feel like... part of the pleasure you're taking in it is because I'm protected. Not even just that you're protecting me."

She nuzzles him then, trying to get closer to him, looking up at him for the same reason. "I don't really mind it," she whispers, "not really. But I wonder why it's there with all the warmth and happiness and love. I wonder what you think you're protecting me from."

[Lukas] Thoughtlessly -- protective, because she has the truth of it there -- his arm wraps around her as she moves closer. He holds her closer. They nuzzle each other like that's as much a part of their conversation as anything.

And it is.

Another hesitation; another question not so easily answered. "I ... " he begins, and falls quiet a moment. "I don't know." A whispered confession, that. "All the things I couldn't protect you from before, maybe. Or maybe all the things I know are out there."

A pause, and it must cost something to admit this: "All the things I know won't get in here. Shadows and fears. I just -- " his words fail him for a moment, so he touches her instead, touches her face and kisses her brow. "You're so precious to me," he says then, falling back on what's been said before: a trailhead that's familiar even if what comes after it is not. "Maybe I'm just protecting what we have."

[Danicka] It's important that she tells him she doesn't really mind that he's so protective, that it always seems to be a part of the way he holds her. It matters that he at least understands she's not rejecting something in him that is such a deep part of his self, she's not rejecting him, she's not coming out after over two years together and telling him ugh, having just put up with it all that time.

But she does wonder what he thinks he's protecting her from when they're like this. In her apartment, in his room at the brotherhood, at their den above all. What could he possibly be protecting her from?

It also matters that they keep touching, stay so close, nuzzle each other warmly and reassuringly. She kisses him softly here and there, mere brushes of her lips across his skin wherever her mouth passes. And he admits, struggling for the words, that he doesn't know the answer to her question. The first thing that comes to his mind, though, is her past, and her brow furrows a little in ache, her eyes glancing down briefly before coming back to his.

It's harder, then, for him to admit that a lot of it just fear. Shadows. Phantoms of what was, what could be, what might be, but isn't. Is so unlikely as to be nearly unthinkable. A warm kiss comes pressed to her brow, and she leans into him when it passes, unwilling to slide off of him and turn around to face him but wanting to face him all the same. So she twists.

"We're the only ones who can destroy what we have," she whispers to him after a little while. "You don't need to protect what we have from me. Or from yourself. We're what makes it."

Her hand is on his face again, in his hair again. Her eyes open to his fully, deep and verdant green touching on his skylit blue. "I know it will be hard to let go of my past, especially because I kept so much of it from you for so long. Some of it is still hard for me to move on from, every so often." Not frequently, to tell the truth; Danicka has, in terms of emotional maturation and leaving her past behind her to surge like a wave into her new life, been going t something of a breakneck pace. A ravenous, knowledge-devouring pace. An eager, long-repressed pace. But what she means is simple in the end: knowing what he knows now of where she comes from and what she's endured, it will take him longer than a few weeks or months to get over it, come to terms with it in a deeper way than he already has. And she knows that. And it's okay. Just because it didn't happen to him doesn't mean he doesn't have a right to be haunted by it.

She nuzzles him again, under his jawline, laying a kiss on his throat. "I'm not telling you to stop," she whispers, meaning his protection, his arms around her now, all of it. "Just remember what the spirit said to you on the way up and out." Her eyes are closing again, her fingertips drawing tiny circles against his scalp, her body arched in front of his so that she can half-turn and kiss him like this, touch him like this. "Love me."

[Lukas] They shift, and shift again -- try to face each other while staying close. Staying joined. His arm lifts a little as she turns in its circle. His eyes follow her, clear and dark at once in this light.

She speaks of they themselves being the only ones who can destroy what they have. He could deny that; he could name any number of dangers, threats, foes, that could tear what they have asunder, and he would be right. Yet in another sense, she's absolutely right. Such evils could kill him, kill her, end their time together in this world and this lifetime. Such things could not, however, destroy what they have. Not completely. Not so long as they remember his promise to her, which may well be the only promise he's made to her that will take longer than a lifetime to keep:

homeland, spirit-cubs, a den. Waiting for her there.

His eyes close as she nuzzles him, kisses the gentle pulse in his throat. He thinks about what she's said. The past, and letting go. His calf slides gently over hers, the texture of his skin so different from hers -- hairier, for one, though the thought of that makes him laugh quietly for a moment. Love me, she whispers, kissing him, and that laugh comes to a natural end against her mouth. She's turned far enough that his hand finds her breast easily, holds it, holds the heartbeat beneath.

"I do," he murmurs, an answer to the first: remember. And then an answer to the second as well, "I do, láska."

[Danicka] There's a fearlessly unsubtle grace in the line of Danicka's body before his, arching the way she does, twisting to caress and embrace him while his chest moves against her back with every breath. She knows she's beautiful, knows how to intensify it, accentuate it, downplay this to enhance that, restrain one feature to reveal another, quieter one.

Going back to school has not robbed her of the time it takes for her to improve herself in other ways. She asks her accountant for books to read to understand her own investment portfolio better; watches the news until the strings of numbers that used to mean nothing start to take on a sort of pattern. She finds she has a skill for it; her rapid talent with numbers aids her. She takes a class in basic accounting; it pads her GPA because she does well in it; she saves her real energy for the engineering courses that truly challenge her.

Yoga is twice a week, more in the summers. Her classes are later in the day, and she doesn't spend her days on the mats with the trophy wives who have nothing better to do than perfect their warrior pose. Her first teacher noticed that she was not there for relaxation, that she was striving for something, that she was always reaching, and recommended a new studio under a teacher with a bit more... push. Even then, it's one of the most relaxed, gentle things in her life. The way Danicka reaches for greater flexibility, strength, and balance is, in fact, very chill compared to how she plays World of Warcraft.

Her alt is getting near 85, too.

Lukas might be surprised to find out that kung fu is three nights a week on top of midday training on Saturday and Sunday, regardless of what time of year it is or if there's snow or if finals are coming up. She does not care about rank. She cares about skill, and strength, and understanding. He would not be surprised, or disappointed, to find out that once a week, usually on Sunday evening, she goes to the firing range. She's noticed that in terms of schoolwork, her focus tends to be better on Mondays afterward.

It takes effort and careful planning to keep her nights mostly free. She doesn't want to be leisurely anymore. She doesn't want to laze about, waiting for her life to begin. But she tries to get morning classes, does homework as much as she can in the breaks between, sometimes takes a quick powernap between school and whatever kind of training she has that evening, does most of her work on the weekends before and after kung fu. She goes to one class instead of two on the nights she does yoga or training. She doesn't spend more than a half hour to an hour at the range. She tries to be home, or seeking out her mate, when the moon is up and the night is dark.

Often he comes to her and she's in bed half-asleep, breathing in satisfaction and relief when she feels him come around her. Often he comes to her earlier and he brings takeout of some kind or another because Danicka rarely cooks even when she has the time and energy to do so. Sometimes he makes sandwiches or they heat up leftovers, because the point of him being there is not for her to drop everything; the point is just to be together. Sometimes he reads while she does homework. Sometimes he convinces her to take some time off and watch some DVR'd episodes of something-or-other. Sometimes he doesn't get to come to her at all, and she works harder so she doesn't miss him as much.

One day all her hard work will pay off. It is paying off now. Her body is so much stronger, sleeker than it was when they met. She's not quite so physically fragile, not so determined to conceal her strength of will. She grows sharper, faster, smarter, and she does a great deal of it on her own. She does a great deal of it because no one is stopping her now. The only person who really could stop her other than herself is, in fact, the firm foundation she stands on while reaching for these things, the Garou -- of all people -- agreeing that she is a Shadow Lord, and so there is almost nothing she cannot conquer.

He does not give her permission, really. But she would be lying if she said that Lukas's love for her, his presence in her life, his protection, do not deeply inform how much she's grown in the past two years.


Her body arches, and he can feel the growing strength in her, the grace, the ambition. He kisses her throat and feels her pulse a trace, a trifle faster than before. He kisses her and it slows, deepens by her doing. His hand finds her breast and she moves herself on him, moves him inside of her. "Love me," she whispers again, more insistently, rolling her hips.

[Lukas] Lukas is only peripherally aware of and involved in much of Danicka's daily life. He knows she takes classes with more and more intimidating names. He knows she goes to yoga. He might know about the kung fu, but will likely still be surprised if he sees her flip someone twice her size someday. He knows she's doing something with that futuristic weapon-stick in that other bedroom, and he knows

that she's not lazing about anymore. She never was lazy at all. The truth is, if he knew just how much she had on her plate, he'd probably worry. But he'd know better than to try to dissuade her. And now -- he'd know to tell himself,

stop worrying. just love.

And Lukas loves that he isn't aware of every tiny ripple in Danicka's life. He loves that she has a life outside of the Nation. Outside of him, even. She's not bound to him, held in lockstep to his needs and desires. When they spend time together -- and they do spend time together, as much as they can -- it feels like a smaller slicer of a greater whole. A piece of their lives, and not the end-all-be-all.

Sometimes he comes over just to spend time with her. Just to be near her while she does homework, and while he holds conversations with his pack in his mind. Just to be near her while she muses about things that are not quite in his realm of understanding, while he listens and tries to learn.


There's a strength in her body that wasn't there when he met her. There's a strength in her will that always was there, but she didn't display nearly so readily when he met her. She arches as he kisses her, presses into his hand and presses against her body, and she can feel him draw a quicker breath, pant it out in a warm rush.

Love me, she says, differently this time. His eyes open, and he smiles, and

he kisses her, warmer and deeper this time as he slides his knee between hers and opens her thighs, reaches down between her legs as he murmurs wordless sounds into her mouth. When that kiss falls apart those sounds become words after all:

"Turn around and face me, baby. I want to see you."

[Danicka] The day will come, likely sooner than either of them expect, when Danicka will want to show him what she's been working on for already more than a year with that futuristic weapon-stick. They will have to drive a very long way away from civilization, she'll say. He's seen it in use. He has not seen what Danicka has in mind, or how in due time her pistol will be packed away, a memento of one of the first times he ever wanted to give her something and the night she hid under a blanket because she was drunk and cranky. He's going to be so surprised, out in the woods or something somewhere. He might worry.

And he'll know then, too, not to fear for her. Not too much, at least.

Right now she has this much figured out: they have a limited number of charges, as any pistol has a limited number of rounds it can carry. They need to be 'reloaded' with new charges. She guesses its capacity is something well over a dozen. She knows they need time to activate and 'rev up', so to speak, just as she needs time to draw and load her nine millimeter. She knows, from experience, that the kickback is hell on her shoulders and elbows but actually not as bad as some of the heavier firearms she's felt before. She knows she could get them through even stringent security, which is perhaps their greatest appeal. She knows that she is rather far away, yet, from figuring out how to build some kind of charger so that using them does not turn them rapidly into useless, though pretty, rods.

She knows exactly what she'd tell airport security, or anyone else, if they ever questioned them. Personal massagers. Obviously.


Not that she needs them. Has several, absolutely, and Lukas has yet to have his bewilderingly innocent mind exposed to the treasures in tidy, clean boxes under Danicka's bed because they've never bothered to take the time for anything more exciting than manacles. Which, truth be told, and plenty exciting when Lukas couldn't hold himself back any longer and snapped them, rolled her under him, took her once hard and fast, rolled her again and fucked her from behind with barely a breath in between, barely more than a moment to make sure she was all right, she was okay, she could handle this, she wanted this.

Like she wants this now, moving herself on his cock as she stirs him again, wakes him again. She doesn't stop after that first roll of her hips, and fucks him slowly for a few seconds, gently working him hard again while he kisses her, moaning into his mouth when he finds her clit and starts to make her skin hot again, make her pussy wet for him. The first time she clenches around him it's involuntary, a slow, tight ripple of muscle flexing around him, holding him inside of her. They might lose themselves then, let go and fuck just as they are, but Lukas's lips depart hers and he manages murmurs, tells her in not so many words what he didn't get a chance to earlier:

that he likes making love like that, Danicka facing him on his lap. That it feels close. That he wants it like that again, but that he wants her to take him inside this time.

If he got a chance to say exactly that, she might feel bad for not taking him earlier just that way, just as she, in fact, had asked for. She might tell him she couldn't help herself once he slid his fingers into her, once he put his mouth on her breast and sucked each of her nipples into hard, tender little peaks. She might tell him she loves it when he does that, brings her to orgasm without so much as touching himself, lets her just get off on him while he watches, while he holds her, while he murmurs to her that she's so good, that's his baby, yes, that's it. She'd tell him after that all she wanted was to fuck him, wanted him hard and rough and right then and she wanted to give him anything, anything to make him happy, wanted him to have her any way he pleased. Wanted him to give it to her then.

Of course if she tells him any of this, now or later, the words themselves will arouse her all over again. Make her ask him if he'd like to do it again, maybe this time in bed, maybe this time with him atop her, maybe slow this time, filling her with firm, steady flexes of his hips. Oh, and then the things she'll say then, overcome by a night of repeated lovemaking which is still such a luxury, a rarity, and yet

a thing they sometimes simply stumble onto, unable to keep themselves from each other for another moment, as though if they fuck three, four times it will somehow satisfy them.


Now he asks to face her, all but gasping it, and Danicka moans at the thought of having to let go of him, bounces herself on him a few quick, sweet times as though to urge him now, now, please, baby til his hand moves to her hip, holding her there for him to grind his cock into her, which dissolves her, makes her limp with sudden pleasure.

She's not quite sure, moments later, whether Lukas just slid her off his cock with a groan, turned her around, and planted her back on him again or if she had something to do with it. She knows he's holding her thigh around his waist and rubbing his cock on her, and she knows she's squirming, holding onto him,

and she thinks she's begging him for something, but she can't even make out her own words except for the pleading, needful note in her voice. They kiss, and their hands meet between her legs, both of them trying to get his cock into her again, their minds losing coherence too rapidly to even laugh. He fills her up again with one long thrust, holds himself in her for a moment til she's ready, til he can bear to start moving in her.

There's something simultaneously mind-meltingly hot and achingly tender this time. Danicka is a wreck, clinging to his arms and fucking him back so eagerly that for once it's Lukas moaning for her to slow down, baby, slow down, feel me. Yet when she comes, it's after they've worked themselves back to that near-frenzied pace, after a long and torturous ride towards it, and she's quivering and bucking her hips, clutching at him with her hands, letting out gasping whimpers and tattered cries. When he comes, he's holding her hard on his cock, right there, groaning louder than he has all night, still thrusting into her even after the peak of his orgasm has passed.

It takes them awhile to be still. They rub their faces together, softly, eyes drifting open and closed, touching each other with their noses like animals. And like humans, with gentle hands stroking sweaty, hypersensitive skin.


Danicka and Lukas do eventually make it to bed. She's sleepy and happy and affectionate, wrapping herself around him when he picks her up to carry her. She mumbles something about needing to have the couch cleaned just before gnawing tenderly on his shoulder, which makes him laugh. In the shower she remembers their picnic still laid out and this remembrance, likely, precludes any other bathtime shenanigans that she's all too inclined towards. Danicka, wearing a towel and saturated hair, kisses Lukas over and over while he protests, telling him to go to bed, go wait for her in bed, she'll be right back.

He starts to follow her out to the living room anyway, staying as close as a dog to its mistress -- a wolf to his mate. But she laughs, pushing on his chest, urging him back. Go to bed, she says again, kissing him, and he finally relents.


Lukas can hear, through the open door, Danicka quickly putting things in the fridge. Can hear her refill Kando's water dish, hears a cabinet open and close, and a brief moment where, if he's very keen on listening, she gives that silly feline several moments of snuggling, nuzzling affection. Can imagine, if he likes, that she was getting the little treats that he bought out to offer one to the patient pet. It's like her to keep such things private. Even with her cat, who she is so strict with.

When she comes back to bed, she drops her towel but her hair is still wet. No matter. They stay up awhile, because Danicka brought crepes. And the pint of vanilla ice cream. And spoons.


She sleeps on his chest long before they get the chance to rouse each other again. Her hair dries in ripples across his skin, their legs intertwined under the sheets.

uneasy around theurges.

[Lukas] This much is indisputable: so long as Danicka is with Lukas, she'll never go hungry. Not because he's a wolf and he'll hunt for her if all else fails, and certainly not because left to herself she couldn't satisfy her own vital needs, but simply because: he gets so much food. If she'd gone to that corner-nook restaurant in Little Poland alone, she might've left with a serving of hunter stew, perhaps a pierogi or three as an appetizer. Maybe a potato pancake.

Right now, the male standing beside her in her elevator is holding so much food they gave him a box lid to carry it out in. Hunter stew's joined with stuffed beef rolls (because cabbage rolls are for rabbits, he declared) and gulasz; there's a pierogi platter and mushroom soup and a whole bag of potato pancakes besides. And polish crepes for dessert, which he mused about putting vanilla ice cream on as they rode home in her car.

He watches the numbers move toward twenty-three. And, feeling her watching him, or perhaps simply feeling like it -- he turns to her and smiles.


After she gets the door open, he nods toward the living room with its curving glass wall. "Let's grab some napkins and go have a picnic on the floor," he suggests. Which is what they do, Danicka carrying over napkins and drinks, Lukas unpacking their food. He sits crosslegged on the floor beside her, a little angled toward her so he can see her better. When she sits, he leans into her for a moment, nuzzling the side of her face in wordless affection.

After, he starts eating. He starts with the mushroom soup, but soon moves on to the main course. It turns out there's a reason he got so many potato pancakes: he spoons stew on top of it and eats it like that, the napkin spread in his lap to catch any errant crumb or drops of broth. He's so busy stuffing his face that it's a few minutes before he speaks again.

"Can I ask you something?" he says, when he does. "When we were at the bookstore and you went to get cocoa ... was everything okay?"

[Danicka] Let's face it: even at his most human grasping of Danicka's stomach size, Lukas always has and likely always will overestimate how much his mate can eat. When he considers how much she might want, how much might actually make her full but not sick, he roughly doubles the amount and considers himself frighteningly, nervewrackingly conservative. Worries over her, borders on fussing, wondering why she doesn't eat more, what's wrong, is mate sad? Is mate sick? What can he do?

To be fair, Danicka's at least passingly aware of the fact that when she's nervous or upset, when she's most stressed, she has trouble eating. Not that she struggles to keep food down; she simply has no appetite, or is so expertly suppressing it psychologically that she doesn't notice she's ravenous until the stress passes and she wants to eat everything she can. She knows how she and her brother were raised, she knows the two are related, though she's only taken one psych course; she doesn't know every last detail of why and how and what to do and what it means. It doesn't really matter. She eats enough to be healthy, and the truth is; she's far less stressed these days than she ever was before.

With school, with living alone, with a mate and now a husband and sept liaising and the business at the caern, she is less stressed than she was when she was 18 years old. The significance of that is not lost on her: the reality that she lived in a near-constant state of emotional crisis for most of her life dawned on her some time ago, and she hasn't spoken much about it because it is still sinking in.

Sometimes she looks at Lukas and is just thankful, but sometimes she keeps that to herself, too. He worries all the time, and there's no need to worry him. Instead she embraces him, or kisses him, or curls against his side while he sleeps.


She is vastly amused by him right now. Every time she thought they were done ordering he'd add something else to the list and she'd blink at him, smile at the cook, and shrug. She thinks vanilla ice cream on the crepes sounds fantastic, so they stop quickly on the way home to grab a half-gallon from Walgreens.

In the elevator on the way up, she smiles at him. He turns to her, silently but obviously very proud of himself and the amount of food he has procured. Danicka never even tries to pay; it isn't about traditional gender roles or control. She has more money. She also knows that the part of Lukas that had to give up the mountains and fields and forests to live in a human skin has few other outlets for the provision and caretaking he is so driven toward. So he pays, and she accepts, and she always eats a little more than necessary to satisfy her when he's around, because he's so gleeful about feeding her.

And she can't remember the last time in her life when she didn't want to see him happy.


"I was just going to suggest that," she says, to the picnic idea. She has more furniture than she used to; when she tried to start the coalition she bought two leather chairs that equaled about three thousand dollars total, then after the meeting decided to add an oval glass coffee table, but they don't eat there. They eat on the floor between the stereo system and the back of one of those chairs, where the view looks northeast. She grabs her cloth napkins, indeed, but also brings over a couple of teatowels to set the rest of the food on and a pillow to sit on.

Kandovany wanders around. Tries to sniff at their food but is waved away; Danicka adamantly refuses to let her eat People Food. She gets cream on Christmas and that's about it. The declawed cat gives a stretch and walks away, tail flicking in a huff, crawling into the sideboard cabinet that Danicka got a friend at school to carve some holes in. It looks quite chic over against the wall, all dark wood and no one would ever imagine it hides Kando's bed, like the undersink cabinet in the second bathroom hides her litter box. Half the time it's hard to tell a cat even lives there; the maid Danicka has come by every so often is quite good with pet hair.


In any case: the city lights cast their faces in color and shadow, reminding Danicka of a night where they lay together almost in this spot -- actually, a bit over there -- and she saw the same patterns on Lukas's face. She thinks maybe it was around this time of year, a little earlier. She smiles as he leans into her, nuzzling her, and reaches up a hand to touch his jawline and his cheek briefly, extending her neck to that warmth and affection for a moment.

She drinks some red wine she still has from about a week ago -- they had steak and went through a bottle and a half before they stumbled to bed -- and eats at her regular measured, easy pace, eating a fraction of what Lukas does in the same amount of time so every meal they have together isn't mismatched. Her heels were left by the door, her cardigan's sleeves pushed up. Every so often she notices his eyes go to her legs where they're crossed and folded to one side from where she sits on her little pillow. Every so often she notices his eyes trace the hem of her skirt, the shadow between her knees.

Danicka lifts her eyebrows, nodding when he requests permission to ask her something. A very, very long time ago, he'd just jump in; he learned very quickly how well demanding answers from her worked. Even if now she'd answer him as honestly as she could whether he gained permission or not, it still warms her to see how much he's changed. How much they've changed with each other.

She looks a little lost for a moment, then: "Oh --" shakes her head, not to answer no but rather to dismiss the thought that something might have been seriously wrong. "The same old story: I'm uneasy around Theurges," she tells him, dipping her fork into a container to get another pierogi, which Lukas knows by now she prefers vastly to beef dumplings. She sounds a bit ashamed of it, perhaps embarrassed -- though not greatly so. "Not that Maddox reminds me whatsoever of my brother. I just tensed a little when he talked about awakening his guitar."

The pierogi twirls a bit as she puts it on her plate, still stuck on her fork. Her eyes are on what she's doing. "Which I suppose is silly; the spirits you awakened at the house don't bother me. But I know you, and we talked about that beforehand and... I don't know Maddox."

She's quiet a moment, thoughtful. Looks up and over at him, her eyes turned near-black by the lighting. "All Garou can do things to me that I have no way of defending against. I know that. I've always known it and made kind of a peace with it. But Theurges can do so much that isn't even visible, that even other Garou can't always track or make sense of it. And the only Garou who has systematically, intentionally, constantly watched me and terrorized me was a Theurge." Danicka gives him a little shake of her head. "It's just a kneejerk reaction. I excused myself because... well, I wanted cocoa. And because I thought it would be better to take a moment to get over it instead of making a mountain out of a molehill or letting Maddox see that I was uncomfortable. He might have thought it was something he said. It wasn't."

[Lukas] There are few things Danicka doesn't notice. So she notices how her mate looks at her when they eat. How his eyes follow the hem of her skirt, the line of her leg. She notices how he doesn't look away, abashed at being caught. He's not embarrassed. He's not afraid of his desire for her; not afraid of letting her see it; not afraid of what she might do to him if she saw it.

Their eyes meet for a moment. He smiles at her again, but this one is a little more lopsided, darker in the eyes.


On her birthday, he brought her a ridiculous thing, a large wicker picnic basket like something out of a storybook. He was smiling when he gave it to her, an irrepressible grin that showed the absurd dimples in his cheeks that most of the wolves in the Sept would never believe he had. It's a stargazing kit, he explained, for when the summer really comes to Chicago. There was a blanket rolled up inside, soft and light and warm, and two stainless steel thermal mugs. Also, a large planisphere -- he explained that when he was a boy, his father bought him a small one -- and a small telescope that barely fit into the basket.

There was also a little package of treats in there for Kando. It seems that Lukas, not knowing when Kandovany's birthday was, simply celebrates it every chance he gets. Danicka doesn't let her cat become spoiled and lazy and fat. Lukas has trouble resisting feeding her little scraps of beef from his stew every time she comes near.

Later that night, the night of her birthday, they had steak and wine. They started on the couch and slid down to the floor. They leaned on each other and got drunk, then drunker, and then they nearly knocked what was left of the bottle - the second bottle - over when they starting groping and gasping and grasping at each other, rolling onto the floor, her fingers pulling his shirt off, then pulling him over her.

Later on still, he brought her a few more gifts: brought her over again and again and again until, in the end, they were sweaty wrecks on her bed, and the april breeze was sifting through the cracked-open window, and he was wrapping her up in his arms and legs, half-conscious at best, instinctive, to keep her warm.


Perhaps he thinks about that, looking at her skin. Perhaps he thinks about the night the lights played over her body, bounced off the sheen of sweat she worked up as she rode him. She's looking at him then, though, and he swallows his mouthful of stew and potato pancakes, washes it down with a gulp of soda,

(orange, of course)

and then leans over to kiss her briefly and gently. A little after that he asks her for permission to ask her a question; asks his question, hears her answer. He puts his fork down a moment and reaches over, tucks her hair back, puts his hand on her wrist, wrapping gentle and warm.

"Okay," he says quietly. "I just wanted to make sure it wasn't something Maddox and I said or did. Or something I could help with."

He lets her go, then, picks up his fork again. He takes a pierogi. He cuts a chunk of stuffed beef rolls, each the size of a hefty burrito; nothing but more meat and cheese inside. Eastern European cuisine grows out of long winters and mountainous terrain; it's all about heartiness, providing energy for yeomen and peasants -- though, to be fair, it's highly doubtful a peasant would see so much meat in a month, let alone at a single meal.

"I don't know him that well either," he says a little later. "Ironically, I already know the worst of him. Arrogance -- a particularly prickly, solitary brand of it -- and hubris. So far as flaws go, I'd say it could be a lot worse."

[Danicka] To be stared at, noticed, gazed lingeringly at, is something that has always made Danicka's skin crawl. She's felt that gaze since earlier even than most girls, and most girls sense it at ages when if anyone decent knew, if the girls themselves could explain, they would be repulsed. Furious. She's felt those long, unsubtle stares from her own brother. To this day she's not sure whether they were lust or possession. She wonders if, for Vladislav, there's a difference.

No one stares at her when she's out with Lukas. On the subway or crossing the street or sitting in a cafe, no man considers it his god-given right to stare at her as he pleases, as long as he pleases. Danicka knows this would be the case even if Lukas weren't a wall of black terror in the periphery of their ancestral memory. She learned a very long time ago how to ignore it, but she's never unaware of it. The way men look. She wears what she likes regardless. She dresses how she wants to dress, damn them all and their retardedly malicious gazes, damn their unquestioning belief that they are entitled to her, that they are entitled to her legs and her bare arms and the way her ass looks in that skirt, the way her breasts are hinted at through her shirt, because on some level, they already think they possess her.

Sometimes, in a darker mood, she dares them to push it farther. Dares them, so she can show who she really belongs to.

Once upon a time, she told Lukas all those words -- bitch, whore, slut -- mean almost nothing. She was wrong. She knows now what they really mean, coming from the mouths of those who say them, male or female. How dare you, they ask. How dare you belong to yourself.


When she is with Lukas, it's different. There's nothing but want in his eyes. It isn't even strictly appreciation. Yes, she's beautiful. She knows it. She has her issues, but low self-confidence isn't one of them. Danicka rests quite easily in the understanding that she is quite pretty, and her body is appealing, and the lust or lack thereof of others has no impact on that understanding. Lukas's desire for her doesn't make her feel any more or less beautiful, though she'd be lying if she said she didn't sometimes like how reactive he is to her, the sight of her, the smell of her, the way she feels when he finally touches her. She'd be lying if she said she didn't sometimes enjoy, to the point of wanting to laugh, the way he groans when his hand covers her breast, when he puts his fingers between her legs and finds her wet.

When she gets dressed and she knows she's going to see him, she dresses about as well as she always does. Sometimes she wears cutoffs and a sweatshirt, or yoga pants and a t-shirt from thinkgeek. He stares at her anyway. He tugs her clothes off and he makes love to her regardless of all of it. He sometimes wraps himself around her, holds her close, and that's all. That's all he wants. It all means something to her.

She doesn't mind when he traces her legs or her hem with his eyes. She drinks her wine and half-smiles a little at him when their eyes meet. That's all. It could be encouragement, tolerance, affection, understanding, promise, and it would be hard to tell from that smile. Even now, Danicka is engimatic. She doesn't even intend to me, most of the time. It's second nature, and an outgrowth of inner complexities even she only barely understands.


The basket, a week or so ago, made her laugh. She knelt on the floor and went through it piece by piece, curious about each thing inside until Lukas was all but bounding out of his skin wanting her to get something else out, look at all of it, open it open it openitopenit. A blanket, mugs... a planisphere that made her give him the oddest look until he explained, bursting out that it was a stargazing kit, that his father got him one of those when he was young, and then the telescope came out and Danicka kept looking at him through it, grinning back at him.

Kandovany found the treats herself, climbing into the basket carefully while Danicka and Lukas were setting their glasses of wine down on the coffee table so they wouldn't spill all over the couch. One soft kiss had turned into another, and another. They were making out and his hand was reaching under her blouse, mouth to throat, before they realized they should put their glasses down. Proving her cleverness, the cat managed to get the packet of liver treats open with her teeth and after a mighty struggle managed to get two or three out to scarf them down.

It was cool that night, and the breeze wicked sweat off their bodies while they came down together. She fell asleep before the covers came over them. She fell asleep before Lukas even wrapped himself around her to hold her.

Kandovany fell asleep in the wicker basket.


A soft smile touches her as Lukas leans over and kisses her then, touching her hair. She looks down at his hand over her wrist and shifts her arm underneath his palm, slipping it so their fingers interlace. "No," she assures him gently, "it's fine."

He moves to let her go but she keeps hold of his hand, and uses her free one for her fork, making him do the same. "So what about the best?" she asks, concerning Maddox.

[Lukas] So he shifts his fork into his left hand. And he's a little bit clumsier like this, though never quite clumsy. His thumb moves idly over the side of her hand, and then she asks about the best.

His smile is a little wry. "I don't really know yet," he admits. "From what I've seen, he's smart and resourceful. He says he wants to be a part of something bigger -- a pack, a family -- so that's a start. And he tries his best to help. Even when he was an almighty douchebag, even when his worst characteristics were cranked up to eleven, he was still ... doing what he could to help."

So that's how he starts talking about his journey with his pack, which is what he wanted to tell her about when he called her together. He tells her how they were recruiting Margaret and Maddox, and how he wanted to do something a little more personal than a simple seek-and-destroy hunt. Something that dug deeper, showed them for who they were; bonded them more solidly.

He tells her about the realm they went to. The levels, down and down and down, and the corruption they found. "I think it was always a place meant to show a Garou their flaws, so that they could conquer them," he says, "but when we found it it had twisted into something malevolent."

And he tells her about his packmates' trials. What each of them faced, every step of the way. How it made them think, sometimes, of the quest to bring Spring back to the land; how that was dangerous because that rite was benevolent in the end, and this ... wasn't. How it was always some deepseated fear or flaw, dragged screaming out into the light. How it began easy, and got so very hard.

He's finishing up his hunter's stew when he gets to his door. His gate. He admits, quietly, "I was really afraid it'd be like the rite of reawakening. That it'd be you, or ... our future, something like that. I was afraid, ironically, that it might make me afraid again. Afraid for us, afraid of how it might end up, afraid to live for fear of death.

"It wasn't that at all, though. In the end it was really just... about fear, period. Fear of loss, or not being there, or not doing enough, and the worrying and handwringing and overprotectiveness that came out of it. When I walked in, I faced myself. I called my pack to fight with me. He called ... some huge monster that represented the worst of each of us, maybe, to fight with him. We both charged, and we both passed right through the enemy.

"We couldn't help our pack, so we turned on each other instead. I guess maybe I thought if I just killed him, I could help my pack. And he must have thought the same thing because he was me. And every blow we landed was a wound reflected back on ourselves. We tore each other apart while my pack fought for their lives, and I was so scared for them, but ...

"In the end they were okay. They were more than okay. They did great. And I remember looking at myself and telling myself, being their alpha and their brother doesn't mean being their shield and shelter and sole protection against everything. That's not my job. More importantly, they don't need me to do that.

"And it was strange, because -- in a way, that's what I told Stormstrike during my Adren challenge. I guess sometimes it's easier to give advice than to actually hear it."

A small pause. Then he snags another pierogi, eats it thoughtfully.

"When we were leaving, the spirits of the realm spoke to me again. They said, love the ones you love. Don't fear for them. And I suppose in a way they were telling me this applies to everyone else I love, too. Not just my pack, but my kin, my family -- even you." A faint, rueful huff, "I mean, just look at how much food I bought because some part of me is just constantly trying to protect and take care of you, even when you don't need it."

[Danicka] When he comes to Danicka with tales of his adventures, something he did not do for a very long time, she doesn't sit in rapt attention, wide-eyed and awed by his prowess. She does not cry and wring her hands for fear that he could have gotten hurt, she could have lost him. When he expresses his flaws to her, his vulnerabilities, she does not pat his shoulder, there there, or assure him that no, he's actually quite grand.

The first time he failed a challenge, it was the first time he really struck out seeking something for himself, some title, some honor, some power. And she did not want to know if it was unfair, if he'd at least been bested by someone he had no chance of winning against. She wanted to know if he had done well. If he had met some inner standard of his own. She was neither impressed nor disappointed. She was neither cold nor coddling.

Ever since then, Lukas tells her quite often about what he does, what happens to him. How he succeeds and how he fails. How he is challenged, what he learns. He asks her what she thinks. Sometimes, he just tells her so that she'll know. So that she can be, in some limited way, a part of the side of his life she has no way to directly affect. She could not be with him in that realm, helping him like his packmates could, or like he helped them. He's never come right out and say it, the way he holds back from saying some things because they are just too sickly sweet to taste on his own tongue, but she knows that she's still there. He can ask himself what she would do or say, and much of the time, he's right. He knows her now. She's in him.

And she knows how to listen. He'd be surprised to find that this woman with so many 'friends' speaks very little, except that he's seen her in meetings, lingering and listening for a long time before she has anything of her own to say. With Danicka it seems there's no such thing as an awkwared silence, no feeling that her impatience is growing when he pauses to remember, pauses to reflect before he speaks.

She does move, though. Finishes her wine, finishes the dinner Lukas bought, unpacked, all but nudged towards her with his nose. She shifts off her pillow and comes closer to him, leans into him and lets him hold them both up. She doesn't laugh at him when he tells her that at his own gate this time, he had to face a version of himself that could not touch his pack, an enemy he could not touch himself. Danicka has teased him before about what a worrywart he is, but she doesn't laugh.

We tore each other apart makes her tense slightly, but it passes. She doesn't think so glibly about Lukas being wounded, no matter that she knows how fast he can heal.

He calls to mind the Rite of Reawakening, his adren challenge. She leans into him, their arms intertwined now where his curls around her waist, his chest moving against her shoulderblade, her head resting back against his chest, her eyes on the window. He huffs a laugh, referencing the food he bought. Danicka's quiet a moment, then: "And here I thought you just like eating all this so much you can't make up your mind and buy some of everything," she says, only half-teasing.

She's silent a little longer, then, thinking. When she speaks again she's a little more serious, a little softer. "I don't think that part of you is something you'll ever truly conquer completely," she says. "Just like I'll always find it difficult to trust." A pause there. It may be the first time she's just come out and said it, named it, put her own greatest weakness out there. Hearing it, she stops, recognizing its truth before she goes on. "You'll always be afraid for the people you care most about, and try to take more responsibility than is your due on yourself. I don't know why or where that comes from, for you. But I think the best any of us can do is see it. Know it about ourselves. Overcome it, when we can. Admit it when we fail to. And try not to lie to ourselves and call it a strength."

[Lukas] Strange to think that once upon a time Lukas didn't even know if Danicka cared about him at all -- much less what he goes through. The trials and challenges he faces. The things he does for himself, and for others. The things he does to try to better himself in some way.

This much is true: he rarely talks to her about his battles: the day to day skirmishes, the hunts through backalleys and dark places. Sometimes, when something truly dreadful looms on the horizon, he talks to her. He never says it outright -- I want you to know, just in case I don't come back. -- but perhaps it's there in the subtext. Not out of some masochism or sadism, not out of some sappy urge toward creating one perfect night before it all might end, but because he knows how it happened with her mother. She walked out one night and that was it. Weeks later, the Galliard

(that he met once, mindbendingly enough)

that was her mother's packmate came to her and called her to the fence and told her. Seven silver lances. Roaring defiance with her last breath. Glorious, glorious.

-- but that's digressing. The point is: he tells her when it's big. But the little skirmishes, the little battles that could nonetheless prove deadly by some slip of luck or accident of fate -- he doesn't mention those very often. He knows: she tenses when he talks about wounding himself, tearing himself apart. He knows she think glibly about these things. He doesn't want her to ache or worry.

Everything else, though: he tells her about it when he can. To share, to get her opinion, to get her advice -- and, yes. To show her: you're with me. Even when you're not there, you're with me.

And she listens; and she thinks; and there's nothing awkward about that silence. By then they've mostly stopped eating. She rests with her back against the side of his chest, held loosely in the circle of his arm. He eyes the pierogis, balances that against the possibility of ice cream on crepes.

And then, when she speaks, he lays his cheek against the top of her head for a moment. He listens, and he thinks as well. She can feel him laughing quietly, so quietly she can barely hear it. Not out of amusement, or even really joy, but -- something deeper. A sort of warmth and affection as he hugs her closer.

"No one's perfect," he says quietly. "Trite, but true. I'm just happy we try to see our flaws and work to overcome them when we can. And accept each other when we can't."

[Danicka] She cares about him. Not so much about Katherine, about his pack, about the majority of the sept. But she cares about him. To some degree, though often not a great one, she cares about the things he cares about. It's an effort, sometimes, to understand where he's coming from because no matter what he tells her, she will never really be a part of so much in his life. So much that matters. So much that, in a way, defines who he is.

They do the best they can.

A wry smile touches her face when he says something admittedly, well, trite. There's nothing to add to it, however. There's nothing to add to what she said just before it. Danicka is silent instead, leaning into him, looking through those vast windows she has never once tried to curtain.

[Lukas] So they're quiet a while. Danicka looks through her windows. Lukas muses a while longer, wrestling with himself, and then reaches for another pierogi. It's relatively dark in here -- there's perhaps a light or two on in the entryway, the kitchen -- and the lights of the Magnificent Mile, mere blocks away, glow through the windows. After munching down that last pierogi, Lukas pushes his plate aside and leans back, his hand stroking gently and idly against Danicka's side.

"I like this," he says after a while. "Our little nighttime picnics in your living room. I like feeling warm and full and a little drowsy and ... ensconced here with you. Kando wandering around somewhere. It makes me feel the way I do when we're curled up in bed at the den."

There's a small pause. "Safe," he adds.

There's some irony, perhaps, to what he says. A creature like him, six feet and some-odd inches of muscle and might: one wouldn't think he'd be concerned at all about safety. Yet it's never really about physical safety, physical preservation-of-life, the same way it's never really about that when she protects him. Or even when he protects her, most the time.

It's something else. Deeper, primitive: the same animal part of him that likes holding her as they sleep; likes to place himself between her and the door. Likes covering her and mounting her and fucking his cum into her, likes the instinctive belief that yes, now, cubs will come in the spring. To some degree, that part of him informs the protective streak in him, too, which occasionally -- frequently -- veers into overprotectiveness. She's right: it's doubtful he'll ever be entirely cured of it. If he were, he wouldn't be himself. The best he can do is see the line. See when he's over it.

Try.

He stirs after a moment. "Crepes and ice cream?" he reminds her.

[Danicka] For awhile they sit quietly, Danicka's hand idly stroking his knee, moving meaninglessly on his leg. She seems done eating, doing little but feeling Lukas's warmth behind and around her. Soon enough, he's done as well, his hand beginning to stroke her side the way she strokes his knee. There's nothing lascivious about it, not outright and not right now. There's nothing soothing about it, either, neither of them needing or seeking reassurance of anything. They just touch, thoughtless and without need of invitation, when once a very long time ago, they rarely touched at all. And when they did, it was because they could not stop themselves any longer.

The truth is, the amount of time their relationship has gone on has far eclipsed the few that once felt like months to each of them, the mere handful of days between seeing each other and falling into each other. There was a point when Danicka could not stop thinking about how Lukas's chest would feel against her back as he pressed her into the bed, what his breath would sound like, if he'd groan or gasp when he came. She'd spend idle, daydreaming moments wondering whether his fingers would be skilled or fumbling between her legs, if he'd fuck her hand when she wrapped it around his cock, if

he'd hold her afterward. She'd wonder, then, if that's really what she wanted.

There's not much to wonder about anymore. Danicka's been making love to Lukas a long time now, and she has less and less to be curious about, to question. She's found a very different excitement in knowing exactly what to do to him. How even what she's doing now to his leg, altered slightly, could make him breathe in sharply and fight not to hold his breath. How to drive him out of his mind so far that he almost loses himself completely. What he likes, and how to give it to him.

She doesn't change the way she touches his leg. Lukas murmurs that he likes this. And Danicka doesn't say much because she already knows, but she isn't going to tell him to shh, isn't going to tell him not to speak. There was a time, and she still remembers, when he never told her anything like this. He'd never tell her when he felt warm and safe, or when he wanted to hold her. He'd never tell her that he enjoyed her, wanted her, liked to be here with her. She didn't even know how attached he was to this place until she thought of moving and his crest fell.

So she nuzzles him, silent still, her hair and her skin rubbing against the underside of his jaw a wordless agreement.

"Hmm," she murmurs, when he reminds her about dessert. "After sex," she concludes, warm and drowsy and full.
 
Copyright Lukáš Wyrmbreaker 2010.
Converted To Blogger Template by Anshul .