alright, come close
let me show you everything I know
the jungle slang
spinning 'round my head and I stare
while my naked fool
fresh out of an icky gooey womb
a woozy youth
dopes upon her silky smooth perfume
-Gooey, Glass Animals
melt
chapter one
He had white hair now.
He didn't know why this was so important, but he grabbed fistfuls of it, yanked and even considered trying to rip it straight from his head. There was a ragged feeling against his back and he realized his knees were giving out, and he was collapsing down the wall.
'Shit.'
His head was fucking pounding. Like his brain was swelling up and thrumming against his skull.
'Dante,' she said, hushed, panicked. 'Dante, look at me.'
This fucking hair. This feeling that something was pouring into his ears and filling up some empty space he'd had his entire life. Something that was now breathing and alive and overwhelming. Something less like water and more like some hard, burning liquor.
Her hand was on his thigh, shaking him gently. 'Dante, it's not safe here.'
He took a ragged breath.
'What the hell…'
'Are you ill?'
He made a rude sound of dismissal. As he did it, his shoulders trembled. 'Never been ill.'
Kat smoothed her hand across the damp skin of his face. He was burning, but that was nothing new. It always felt like his skin was on fire, and now he seemed to lean into her cool hand, pressing into his cheeks and his forehead and kneading slightly at the pressure points as best she could. It cleared his head, gave him something to pinpoint through the haze, helped him remember where he was and that whatever piece of shit demon still hunting them would have a field day if they caught up and found him sitting there like a fool. He knew that he was with Kat and that she was all beat up. He knew that he had killed the fucker that did it. The world was chaotic, overflowing mess of Limbo and reality. His brother, messed up, god knows where he was.
And now his hair was fucking white.
'Dye…'
'What?'
'Hair dye. We need to buy some.'
'Um, what…'
Whatever had filled up in his head was trying its hardest to get out again.
Kat didn't know what to say. She watched him continually lift his head and try to look at her. The alleyway smelt like shit, smelt like rotting, and Kat didn't want to think about what could be amongst the rubble scattered and piled around them. She could only imagine how many people were left homeless and wounded and how many demons were out prowling, taking advantage of the collapse of worlds.
Only moments before he had doubled up, Dante had tried to tell her that getting as much distance as possible between them and the aftermath was their top priority.
And now he wanted dye. For his hair.
'Look at me.' She urged his face up.
He tried opening his eyes again and found that the need to vomit had diminished. She was there, crouching between his open legs. She looked frightened, was a mess of bruises and blood herself. One arm in a ragged sling. She looked the alleyway up and down, aware of their surroundings while he sat there dribbling like an idiot.
The feeling was subsiding— or he was just getting used to it. To the creature inside his head.
'Sorry.'
'What happened?'
He breathed in deeply. 'I lost control at the end there. Against Vergil.' It seemed to make all the sense in the world to him, so she nodded slowly.
'But you stopped, though. You held back.'
'Yeah, well, I can feel it trying to claw out of my fucking skull.'
She tilted his chin up.
He peered at her, frustration and pain in his eyes. But they were still his sharp grey. Just… tinged with something.
'It's just you, Dante.' she whispered, not entirely sure she believed herself. She remembered the fading, bloody veins that had outlined his face. Whatever had come out during that fight with Vergil was not happy about being kept locked up. His trigger had seemed easy to control before. Something had changed.
'I'm not so sure about that anymore.' he admitted quietly. His fingers calmed, ran through his short, jagged hair gently now. 'We need to get out of here.'
She nodded in agreement, slowly rising to her feet. She held out her uninjured arm, hand splayed. He thought that the weight of him might just drag her to the ground again, but she looked so worried for him. He accepted her help, pushing a majority of his weight against the wall. He brushed himself off and tried to get his bearings again. They continued, marginally slower.
'Are you okay?' she asked, trying to keep up with his long strides.
Dante shrugged. 'Dunno what the fuck that was.'
'Once we get somewhere safe I can teach you.'
His brow rose and he looked down at her. 'What?'
'Show you some meditations. It might help you… you know, calm it maybe.'
He snorted. 'It wants a fucking bloodbath.'
'It's who you are, Dante.'
He said nothing, regaining himself now and shoving all that mess to the back of his head. Just a little itch now, an itch he couldn't scratch, on his scalp. But it was better than that pain.
'And your hair is…' It reminds me of Vergil. She tried not to think about that too much. She reached up and ruffled it, smiling at him. 'It… shines when the sun hits it.'
Her comment touched something painful, and she saw it in his eyes for the briefest moment. Vulnerability. 'Shiny fucking hair. Exactly what I was going for, Kat.' he said dryly, to hide it. His layers snapped back into place one by one, something tragic to something gentle, folding up until she was locking eyes with a giant smartass.
'It looks nice, Dante.'
He nodded. His mouth felt too dry to say anything.
'This place is a fuckin' mess.'
'Just keep watch.'
He gave her a bored look, a disinterested flick near his head that resembled a salute. 'Aye, aye.'
Instead of turning back to the decimated laneway, empty from a combination of abandonment and the early, early hour, he caught himself watching her. She had her butt up in the air and her head buried somewhere below the front seat. Occasionally wiggling about, occasionally lifting her foot to scratch an itch on the back of her knee that she was obviously too preoccupied to appreciate. Still wearing those little denim shorts and she had great legs.
She probably wouldn't be happy to know he'd been staring at her ass while he was supposed to be on lookout duty, and so with that thought he turned back to the street, from his lounging spot on the hood of the car, and sniffed out trouble. He was a car ornament like no other, chin in his hand, his leg arched. Fifteen minutes had passed while she tried to play engineer and he tried every comfortable position he could.
'You almost done back there?'
'It's kind of hard to do one-armed, Dante.'
He wanted to take a lot at it, maybe change the dressings, but they needed to get a safe distance away from all of the mess before they even thought about recuperating. Mundus was dead and the demons directly sniffing Dante out were in a wild mess, at a bit of a lost without a leader. They knew only the scent that they had been trained to follow, and they weren't in the clear. It was all they would do until the little shits were dead. Or they found him.
Dante knew fuck all about cars, but his eyes had found (he assumed, it looked like a speed-junkies car. 'Are you saying that because it's red?' she had asked. 'Shut up, Kat.' he had replied) that had only lost one side mirror and earned a few dents to the earlier hubbub. He didn't feel all that comfortable about her messing around with wires but she calmly assured him of her previous experiences. Saintly Kat turned out to be a felon and that was an interesting conversation he was saving for later.
'This is taking way too long.'
'We need to get past the ignition lock.'
'Won't my fist do the job?'
'Maybe. Let's not risk it.'
He shrugged. 'Suit your—'
The engine hummed to life beneath him, the vibrations making him slip off the hood. He found his feet, looked to the open car door to see her stretching her one good arm into the air, her back arched. She had the gall to look smug. He hitched his jacket on his shoulders, a smirk tugging at the side of his mouth.
'I'm driving.'
She bluntly shook her head. 'Yeah, no.'
'C'mon. Your arm is all fucked up.'
'I don't want to find out what will happen to the rest of me with you driving.'
He put both his hands up, now baring his teeth in his grin. His voice lowered in baritones. 'So you do have a bark. Do you bite?'
'Dante.'
'I promise, cross my heart, that I'll be gentle. That enough? Should we spit and shake?'
She made a face, slightly limped around the car to the passenger seat, where he was, already, with a door wide open for her. She muttered a "thank you", and he got a whiff of her shampoo and the light smell of her skin. Something fruity. A good exchange. He slammed the door and raced around.
'Bear with me, babe.' he said offhandedly, flexing his fingers as his eyes quickly took in every gadget and lever. 'I've driven like four times.'
Kat groaned.
'Are you gonna leave me?'
He glanced up through his eyelashes at her. Both his hands were on her shoulder, generally big and angry but he managed to find some modicum of gentleness. He and Vergil had done a good job sterilizing and treating the wound before, all it needed was a change of bandages and some salve. He had to remove her injured arm from her sleeve, and so as he worked her free hand pulled against her shirt, now bunched up around her neck, across her chest to keep up a degree in privacy.
Kat felt paper-thin and weak. The past week had done a number on her and all he wanted to do was find her a burger. He smoothed the binding across the wound, touching white skin, ghosting over a prominent collarbone.
'Do you want me to leave you?' he countered.
They were in a street toward the west of the city, which had taken a brutal thrashing from the debris of the big fight, and it seemed mostly abandoned. They found an old apartment complex that looked the least damaged and took stock, parking the car in a dank alley beside it. He helped her up the stairs and battered open a door. He forced her on her ass. He wanted to see the wound, didn't want to risk it getting infected.
Enough of her tired protests and his solemn swear that he wasn't going to do anything unchivalrous, and she let him. He crouched in front of her and got to work.
'If you left me, I'd die.'
He ran a hand across his mouth, one of those time-consuming actions that gave him a moment to think his words through. He'd finished his work, helped her ease her arm back into her shirt while she blushed and he tried with all his tiny self-control to not steal a peek.
'You'd be okay. But I wouldn't just ditch you like this.'
'I know.'
'Then why'd you ask?' He didn't mean to, but he'd never been one to quell his frustration, and it came pouring out.
She shrugged, winced from it. 'You don't seem like the type of guy that sticks around for long.'
She was right, and it made him question his own motives as to why he was still here dealing with all the shit Vergil had left in his wake, but it still made him angry. 'Maybe you better take some time to get to know me.' he barked.
'Maybe,' she said softly.
He sighed and rocked back to sit beside her and rested his head against the wall. It felt soft against his hair- severe water damage. His bare shoulders rose and fell with each steady breath. It felt like the first time he had been able to relax— a snooze on the hood of a convertible not included— since Kat had woken him at his dank trailer home. Even then, he couldn't really call a lifetime of watching his ass for demons relaxing, but eh. At least back then booze and sex was involved. Not all this serious… save humanity crap.
'So what now?'
'What now?' he echoed, his eyes closed. 'You heard me before.'
'You're gonna protect us?'
'S'pose so.'
'Really?'
He glared at her. 'Look, I don't really appreciate this fucking interrogation. I don't know if you remember but I kind of saved us all back there. I saved your ass.'
She shrunk back. 'I don't mean it like that. It's just… a lot of responsibility.'
He made a face. 'Yeah, I'm trying to not think about it.'
'Where are you gonna go?'
'I guess I'll start here. Clean up the city, or try to. I don't know what else to do.' He sounded a little lost, that much Kat could tell. In their corner of a dirty, musty abandoned apartment. His coat draped over her, because he said her skin felt cold. His broad shoulders and his dirty wife beater and heat coming in waves off of him. This little imperfect moment of rough hands tending to her bullet wound like she was a fragile thing.
'Always fighting, right?'
He shrugged. 'It's all I'm good for.'
Kat bit her lip. Smothered the urge to touch his face and say something profound, but it just wasn't what Dante needed, or wanted this time. She thought so, anyway. This time he didn't look like he wanted to cry (like he would admit it), neither did he look like he wanted to go berserk. 'Well, we both know you can't drive.'
He seemed so surprised by this little sarcastic nip that he laughed. A short, low sound. He tilted his head at her and smirked— all his mouth was capable of. Or maybe his variation of a smile always looked dirty and sordid. And… and sexy.
'So, do you think you'll need somebody to watch your back?' she asked. Soft, hopeful. She had spent so long looking at Vergil, even when Dante had stepped in and muddled her perception of what a hero was, what was right and wrong. Even when he ran out into a field of bullets and held onto her for all she was worth— which hadn't felt like a whole lot at that point.
He looked over at her, her big eyes, surrounded by bruises and cuts that would take a long time to heal. She was strong, yeah. Anybody that could handle Limbo, especially as young as she had been, was strong in his books. Anybody who had been tough enough to deal with their own nightmares. But she was human. And she was a goddamned friend. He scoffed. 'Like I'm gonna touch squirrel semen.'
That was all she needed. She smiled at him. Eventually when she dozed, her head fell against his arm. He waited for her to wake up.
It felt like she hadn't slept in a week, and it was finally catching up to her. She rested for hours in a day, never left the apartment, except for when they'd go out to ransack the neighboring apartments for food and supplies. He was used to the foul air of Limbo and navigating the crags and rubble, but now it was everywhere, all melded and twisted. It was a dicey neighborhood and the apartment they stumbled upon looked to be the home of previous squatters, something he judged from the empty wrappers of food and the bad smell in the bathroom. Water and electricity was dead. But for now it was far away from the main chaos, a good place to lie low, even if it was a shithole.
Sleeping was never comfortable. Dante had scavenged her blankets and a pillow, but he was constantly moving around. The floor was creaky and he was never content in the space he occupied. And moonlight bathed him, made his skin look pure. Sometimes she felt his eyes on her, but it wasn't uncomfortable. It was like having a guard, a reason for her to sleep. So while he stumbled through insomnia she tried to at least get a few hours in.
Sometimes she would wake up in cold sweat, the heart beating out of her chest. Tiny whimpers muffled into her bag. She didn't want him to hear her cry like that. Reliving the pain of getting shot. Mundus touching her. Blunt cruelty.
'I don't get it.'
Usually he just watched her and didn't say a word. Her tears and her pain were about as modest she was, all snuffles and trembling. Thrashing he could handle, screaming, something he could react to. He had a terrible bedside manner and would probably just make her cry more, but the fact that he was there was enough to make her calm down. The thought of waking up alone, still feeling their hands on her body, made her sick to her stomach. Dante's looming presence and the moonlight made sure that never happened.
This time, he spoke. Quiet, near the window.
She didn't know what to say, still gulping back her tears, so she waited for him to continue.
'Every time I think about what they did to you, I get pissed. Like killing Mundus wasn't enough.'
And she never had told him everything. They didn't have very long between the trade-off-gone-wrong and the final showdown. It was a strange thing to find the brother she had been relying on since she was younger to be meticulous and cold, while Dante had sat there murmuring gently, trying to dim the trauma in her eyes. He'd played doctor, both kinds, cleaning her obvious wounds, imploring her for others.
Some of them… she didn't want him to see. She would deal with them later. Some of them were personal, some of them she still had to find the courage to face. And when he had realized, she hadn't seen so much anger in one person's face before.
She wondered if he thought about the worst case scenario, all the time.
'Do you… do you wish you had killed Vergil?'
'Yes.' A blunt reply. '…No.' Softer.
'There was nothing you could do—'
'I'm sure there was a whole fucking lot I could do. That's the point.' he snapped, turning away from the window to face her. She was sitting up in her makeshift bed. Small, pale shoulders, her face and makeup a mess from crying and bruises.
'Dante, I don't blame you.'
'Kat—'
'I wouldn't lie.' He still looked grim. She rubbed her arm awkwardly. 'I don't mean to cry, I'm sor—'
Dante made a face and put a hand up. 'Go back to sleep, Kat. I'll keep watch.'
She did so, sighing in what was almost relief. Always, always keeping watch.
During the day he went out scouting and killing, taking in the damage and the long stretch of work ahead of him (and he demanded she throw a few spells up to seal the apartment from unwanted entries while he was gone), he came home with blood on his jacket and shirt, and the only item of clothing she could rotate was her jumper, they decided they needed new clothes.
'It looks like some serious military is rolling into the center of town. The pigs are trying to bring back order. It's not much, but it might mean they're opening up. I'll go buy us some shit.'
'I can't come and buy my own clothes?'
'Ah, no. You're a burden right now. No offense, Kat.' He patted her arm, smirking. 'Those fuckers are still attacking me in broad daylight.'
'Okay, but—'
'You don't want me picking out your underwear? How old are you?'
'Dante…'
'No, seriously, how old are you?' He was genuinely curious.
Her brow quirked, her arms crossed over her chest, but otherwise she made no move to reply. She didn't feel like mollifying him. 'Don't buy me anything ridiculous.'
He moved to walk around her, she assumed towards the exit because he wasn't one for goodbyes unless it was some cheesy one-liner, instead he picked up the tag of her shirt that rested at the back of her neck. Her skin tickled where he touched her. A shudder down her back.
'I'm a size two in pants,' she said quickly, before he got any ideas. He snickered by her ear.
The door slammed open, jolting her out of an afternoon nap on the hard ground.
'Kat?' he demanded.
She sat up blearily, recognized his voice and instantly grabbed for the boots beside her. 'What is it? What's wrong?'
'C'mon. We gotta go. Where the fuck is the seal? Why can I walk through the door?'
She yawned, feeling for her bag and jumper. 'I guess I forgot to put them up after you left.'
He looked displeased and rushed.
Her eyes narrowed as she rounded the hall, finding him standing there with the door wide open and his eyes hard. New blood in his white hair. 'I think they got a scent on me.'
'With Mundus dead, you'd think they'd back off at least a bit.'
'Fuckers need a new hobby.' he muttered.
'I'll put a spell on us, should make the trail dead for a few hours.' She slinked past him, pulling her bag to the side so that she could rifle through it and find her spray can. She rattled it around a bit— nearly empty. His eyes followed her, and they both jogged down the staircase.
'Good.'
'We need to find a café. My laptop is dead.'
'Fine. Eat this.'
One hand still on the wheel, he groped at the back seat and yanked forward what was the greasiest pile of plastic and burger she had ever seen. She had been wondering what smelt like burnt meat and fat when she got in the car.
'I don't eat…' shit.
'Yeah, well, eat it anyway. And this—' he dumped the entire brown bag, containing fries and a packet of onion rings, and a chocolate sundae, on her lap.
'I'm really not hungry—'
'You got shot, you need all the energy you can get. You've had nothing but canned shit the past couple of days. And you're skinny anyway, didn't Vergil ever feed you?'
What he said jolted through both of them. Whatever anger had him strung so tight seemed to melt into the steering wheel, until even his hands relaxed. If she and Dante had ever shared an uncomfortable silence, it was now. And she expected to feel even a pang of hurt, even a small bit of anger towards him for mentioning Vergil. She didn't find it in her. Not when he looked so guilty, and he glanced at her sidelong too often instead of keeping track of the road.
'Sorry.'
She shrugged. 'No big deal.'
'No, I've got a big fucking mouth.'
'It's really okay. I've never had a big appetite.'
He glanced at her one more time, maybe gaging if she was being truthful. And then continued to stare at the road.
Things quietened in her head. She leaned back to see what other surprises he had, to find mountains of bags piled haphazardly. Lots of clothes, a pink pair of panties hanging out. She blushed.
A few bottles of hard liquor, medical supplies, food.
'Dante?'
'Mmm?'
'Did you even have money for all this?'
He didn't reply.
She picked at her greasy chips for a moment, assessing the situation.
'…Dante?'
'Yep?'
'Is it really demons that are after us?'
She watched the smirk form on his face. 'Maybe not just demons.' She grabbed a few onion rings and started eating. He noticed. 'Suddenly hungry?'
'Food just tastes better when it's free.' There was a small amount of glee in her voice that he really, really liked.
'I'll salute to that.'
'What about you? Where's yours?' she asked, as she grabbed a spoon for her sundae.
His nose crinkled. 'I don't eat that shit.'
He dared to venture back into the city. They were low on gas, and they needed her laptop to keep up to date with the shitstorm happening globally now that demons were ransacking freely. And if the unpleasant and contained smell they shared between them in the car was any indication, they both desperately needed a shower.
'You're not alone in this, Dante,' she told him. 'We were only a small fraction of The Order, you know. The others will be doing all they can to fight back.'
It should have given him a little bit of relief. But he always remembered at the last moment that people like Vergil were in charge of shit like that, he didn't want to think about any further corruption in humanities last line of defense. He was only one fucking person.
They pulled into the service station, one shoddy parking job away from getting a complaint from the owners— until they realized that there were none on the premise. The sight of abandoned vehicles, the distinct lack of human noise and business. It was like a graveyard, a wasteland. Rubble and broken roads and buildings that looked half-eaten.
Dante walked the length of the car. She wound down her window and watched to make sure he was watching. It had taken him ten minutes to find the goddamn button to open the fuel cap.
He lazed about against her door, but his eyes were alert in the distance.
She drummed her fingers against the dashboard. 'We'll need to think of a plan.'
He glanced at her. 'Plan? Kill as many of the shitheads as I can. That's my plan.'
Kat shook her head. 'Dante, it's not gonna be like fighting in Limbo. There are people. Everywhere.'
'Then they'll just have to get out of the way, won't they?'
'No, it's going to be a major concern. Protecting them. Not just killing demons.'
But people were stupid. Lumbering, smelly idiots who couldn't tell when their asses were being saved. She could foresee herself actually being useful to him, once her arm was healed. She'd need to find a library, or an archive. Time to learn some new tricks.
'Maybe for now it's not a bad idea for you to just carefully clear out the city. Maybe you should hunt at night. I'll figure out the rest.'
He saluted her lazily in agreement.
They drove around for hours, until they came to a small section in the city that seemed the least scarred by Mundus. It seemed to be the idea on everybody else's mind as well— the people that had lost their homes now gathered together on the streets, with the odd military standing out in their stark uniform. She said little as he scouted them, an intense look on his face. It was very rare that he took anything so seriously, and she had to keep reminding herself that he was basically a connoisseur of being on the run. Trailer homes and back alleys and women's beds.
She felt useless as he looked on in silence, almost forgetting she was there. 'Mundus had a bit of a hold on real-estate. But there were always the apartments in—'
Dante tossed her a look and cut in. 'Too risky. We don't want anything permanent.'
Her brow rose at him. 'So what do we do, live in the car?'
'We could.' He nodded absently, gazing out his window again. He had one hand on the wheel and was barely paying attention to the traffic around him. 'I would. But it's not just me anymore.'
'You've got extra baggage now, huh?'
His mouth quirked at her. 'Yeah. You're a real pain in the ass.'
'I'm so sorry,' she said dryly.
He shrugged. 'If you want to curl up with me on the backseat every night, then—'
Kat cleared her throat. 'I get it. No apartments.'
His shoulders trembled with his laugh.
They were looking for cheap motels, nondescript, where Dante could give a fake name and just pay as they went. There were shithole tenements like that everywhere, owners that turned a blind eye to drifters, fugitives, and were used to people that crashed for months at a time and paid with cash.
They found one, close to a café that Kat spotted.
Kat paid straight up with what little cash she had left, one of the last niceties by Vergil and something Mundus and his pigs didn't swipe. Such a petty amount to the riches that had been flowing through their fat fingers. They realized this was something they'd have to deal with later— the whole money situation. For now, showers.
Their motel room was a little grimy, about as grimy as the landlord, but Kat would clean until she was happy. Small, dark, smelt a bit musty. But better than they expected, considering the price. They wondered if the sheets had been changed or if they were in for any surprises left by the previous occupants. He let her take claim on the first shower, didn't even ask her to save him some hot water. He was too preoccupied with the sleeping arrangement. Something she had failed to notice, while she complained about some of the clothes he bought her.
'So, you're never gonna guess what happened,' he called, when she stepped out of the bathroom a good half an hour later. Short wet hair, the smell of shampoo and clean skin. All her makeup was gone, and he realized he had never seen her without it. Maybe it was something she used to hide behind— smoky eyes, thick lips, big hoodies. Now he could see her freckles and her long lashes.
'What—?' She was busy adjusting her clothes when he spoke, and when Kat looked up, she had to double take. One bed, and a very unsubtle Dante draped across it. Like an underwear model. Except now he was in a bed that they had to share and she really couldn't take much more of—
Her mouth opened and closed as she tried to find words fitting enough for her embarrassment. Her pale skin was turning pink. Dante laughed.
'Relax, babe. I'll take the couch.'
He rolled off the bed languidly and sauntered past her.
Every fiber of her body was attuned to his, as his bare shoulder touched her. She turned to watch and she saw him take his shirt off before he even reached the door. Broad expanse of back and a tattoo sloping across tense muscle.
She didn't move until the shower started.
'I'm heading out.'
''Kay…'
She didn't look up at him, her answer had been mumbled into the book in her hands, rustling the page. Dante could only smirk as she flipped another page and shoved her nose into it. The motion drew his attention to her fingers.
'Did they hurt?'
Kat slowly dragged her eyes away from her book. She looked at him hazily, until her brain snapped into focus and she stopped seeing the words and started to become aware that he had just asked her a question. He smirked.
'Pardon?'
Vaguely, he pointed at her wrists. His other hand was running a towel through his damp hair.
She first looked at the book cover, confused. And then her eyes caught sight of the intricate tattoos curling over her skin, her knuckles. It reminded Dante of the roots of a plant, curling seeds, pretty flowers. She flexed them. 'It was a necessity. When I started to become proficient with spells it just became easier than painting them on every day— and now they're much more powerful. The ink isn't cheap. With everything going on the… suppliers were less than willing to give it up.' She lifted her hands. 'I made this ink myself.' She sounded proud.
'Who did it?'
'A friend, from the Order.' Somebody dead. Dante scratched the back of his neck awkwardly.
He'd seen her without her coats and jumpers a few times now, when she wore small tank tops to bed. They went all the way past her wrists, up her forearms, stopping just above her elbows. A lot of ink, over sensitive bone and sensitive flesh.
'All at once?'
She nodded. 'Vergil suggested it.'
Of course he would. Dante's face eased into a scowl. He tossed his towel over the back of his couch and fell into the cushions to start yanking on his boots.
'They've saved my life more times than I can count. They've saved yours, too.' He heard the fondness, and also the frustration of what they signified. They saved her life and made her strong, made her powerful. Enough to change the world around her. But it was a reminder of everything— why she needed them, why she fought.
'They're, uh, nice.'
She smiled and blushed. 'They help ground me.'
'And this one?' Het tapped the middle of his forehead.
Kat brushed the fringe out of her face, the spot seeming to tingle. Kat shrugged. 'Ajna.' she said softly.
'An-whatta?'
'Think of it as an extra eye. One that boosts the spirit world and Limbo for me. As a medium it was imperative. This one I needed more than any other for the war. It helped me faze through Limbo. It helped me speak to you clearly. Now the human world and Limbo are overlapping to such an extreme extent. The spirit world is… well, it's chaos. I can't make sense of much anymore.' She looked troubled.
Dante left his couch, and dipped his weight onto her bed, at the very edge. She closed her book and gave an uneasy adjustment to the covers around her legs, curling them across her lap. Her arms folded and she drew into herself. It wasn't his intention to bring that out of her. He didn't want to scare her. But maybe it wasn't just him, maybe it was men, and maybe it was demons. He just happened to fill both categories.
He cleared his throat. 'So the tats, not just normal ink I'm guessing?'
She shook her head. 'The process is long.'
'Please tell me there isn't any semen involved.'
She shook her head, gave a laugh. Sweet and feminine. As she did so she sat up eagerly and he saw an earnestness in her eyes.
'What they do is they keep the ink in vials of…'
His first instinct was to summon Rebellion. What usually followed the helpless whimpers he heard, especially nowadays with civilians getting caught up in the middle of the war, was an oncoming attack, and even in the state he was in— still half-asleep, semi-naked, wiping the drool off his chin— he followed his gut.
There was howling wind outside, the smell of wet dirt in the air.
When he stumbled to find footing on the carpet he heard the harsh clinking, a random sound out of nowhere, but he soon recognized it as the sound of somebody repeatedly trying to turn the bedside lamp on.
He blinked, lost the edge of his fight response. It was dark— ridiculously dark. No light of an alarm clock or microwave. And the person trying fruitlessly to turn on the lamp was becoming erratic in breath. Whimpers escalating.
The hand reaching for his back lowered. He blinked and gathered himself.
'Kat?' he mumbled tiredly.
He heard a gasp, heard Kat jump in her sheets. Frantic rustling. He could smell tears.
It was a nightmare.
He was used to this by now. Most nights, the gulps of a shriek in her throat as she jolted awake and immediately went for the lamp. She would turn the light on, get her bearings, remembering where she was and more specifically where she wasn't.
If he felt like it, he would let her know he was awake. Open his eyes and murmur some sleepy nonsense about being okay and safe and he was here. Please go to sleep, I'm fucking tired. But usually she had it covered. Only moments of lost sleep and she was back nestled into her covers, breathing softly and sniffling.
She had no light, now, to wake up from the nightmare.
And he knew he shouldn't, because his close proximity tended to freak her out even more, but he was tired, and he wanted her to stop crying like that. It made his skin crawl.
He put his knee on the bed and didn't miss the way she stiffened.
'Kat, you're okay.'
'I… I forgot where I was, and…'
'You're here. You're in this piss-tiny motel. You're in your bed. You're safe with me.'
'It's so dark—'
'Power's out. Hopefully they've got a generator. Should kick in soon.' He debated reaching out to touch her, because that's how normal people comforted one another. But he thought better of it. They were far from normal. 'It was just a dream, Kat.'
'Just a dream. My brain just keeps making me relive it over and over again.' Kat's voice hitched in an angry, overwhelmed way.
He felt a heaviness on his shoulders. 'The Nightmares?' he murmured.
She shook her head furiously, he felt the motions, could feel the air swooping around her. 'I killed that bastard,' she hissed. 'I'm stronger now. Stronger than him.'
'Then…' his voice trailed off.
'I didn't say a word to Mundus,' she whispered, out of nowhere.
His hackles rose. He felt wide awake now. 'I know, Kat.'
'I held on, just like you said.'
'I know.'
'And he didn't stop. I thought that if I didn't scream or make a noise he would… stop. It's worked before. Can't get any pleasure out of somebody that holds their breath and pretends they're dead, right? You know what he did? He laughed,' she sobbed, angry hitching noises in her throat. 'He laughed and he just kept cutting and—and touching me and putting his—'
'Kat.' He'd never shout at her— at least without any bad intentions. But his voice was finding an edge now, which disarmed her and shocked him. To the core. He'd never felt this draining kind of pain and uselessness, seeing her reliving and feeling these things. She jumped from it, like waking up. He reached out and hoped to touch the top of her head and instead collided with her shoulder. He felt her shudder violently. Instead of yanking back he just stayed there, touching cold skin. 'The fucker's dead. We killed him.'
'I'm not stronger than he is.'
He should have pulled way. Instead his big hand curled over the junction of her neck and he stroked the protruding bone of her shoulder blade. 'The hell you are. You're stronger than anything.'
She started crying softly. 'They just don't care.' She made soft little gasps between her sentences, her body yielding and heaving gently through it. 'They just think they can do whatever they want and touch whatever they want. And ruin what they want.'
'You're not ruined, Kat.'
'I don't ever want to feel like that again.' She took a heavy breath. 'I said that last time. I told myself I was strong enough to fight off anybody that wanted to touch me.'
It made him acutely aware of the fact that he was touching her now, and that it might not be welcome. His hand started to slide away, fingertips barely leaving her skin when her hand snapped out and grabbed his wrist. Another came up and curled around his fingers. They were wet from her tears. She squeezed tightly.
He didn't move. He hardly even breathed.
The fridge hummed back to life and a moment later the lamp beside them flickered on. Revealing the sight of big, stricken eyes lined with tears, red nose and cheeks. A mess of cowlicks and thin limbs. And Dante, reaching over her bed, letting her stroke his hands and watch his tired, broad shoulders in wonderment. His face was on hers, so intent and worried and soaking up her tears, taking on the responsibility for them.
She sniffed, waking up to herself.
'I used to think Vergil was the only one in this world I could trust.'
'You said he saved you.' he said, like an impatient reminder. His voice was a little cold.
She shook her head. 'I used to think so. But I know that he just gave me the means, I saved myself.' Dante nodded in agreement, started to extract his hand but she just held on tighter. 'But… you saved me.' There was admiration, and just a bit more, in her voice.
He snorted. 'I don't think so. I think most of the time I've done the opposite.'
She blinked, wet eyelashes sticking together. 'You ran out there and grabbed me.'
He knew what she was talking about. 'I didn't think Swiss cheese would have been a good look for you.'
Her cheeks were damp but it seemed like her tears had had their course. She got a dimple from a barely-there smile. But she remembered the vibrations and thuds of bullets that had torn and buried into him, his endless grunts of pain while he held her as close as he could to his chest, tucking her head and feet. And the times after, when he had stood up for her, against everything.
'I'm really sorry for doing this every night.'
He shrugged, and realized he had twisted his hand, his fingers now stroking hers. 'Just, you know… I'm here. Or whatever.'
Her smile returned again. 'Thank you.'
He winked, and finally their hands parted. His warmth lingered on her. She remembered herself, and pulled the blankets up higher, as he and his semi-naked form stumbled back and he went head-first onto his couch.
It looked uncomfortable, the way his long legs tried to stretch out, only to dangle over the edge. He folded his arms behind his head and they served as pillows. She felt guilty for taking this bed, which could probably fit about five people if they tried hard enough. Her smaller body was much more suited to the couch, she liked to curl in as she slept anyway. He'd refused her many times and eventually couldn't even find a funny sum of words. You're sleeping in the fucking bed. It's not negotiable, Kat.
He could just stay here. Her stomach twisted with the horror of that thought. And also the nervous… something.
His warm skin and slopes of muscle. She just imagined his heavy weight in her bed, the rift between them, maybe she would put up a blockade of pillows and sheets. The clench in her belly because he would be right there, thrumming, breathing—
His eyes were closed, tight against the light.
She released a heavy breath and turned the lamp off.
'Goodnight, Dante.'
''Night.'
They had been at the motel for a while and Dante didn't seem to have any urgent reason for them to leave. She hardly ever asked about future plans, but wondered if he was scheming and calculating when exactly they should upheave and keep on.
She decided Dante had been decent enough to go buy her some new hoodies and a fresh pack of underwear (and toe-socks? Randomly thought it was a neat idea?), and she also had this wonderful image of Dante going through the drive-thru of some junk food joint after going on a thieving binge, with the cops on his tail. He was… brave like that. So she started buying stuff with her allotted cash. Discounted skirts, some pretty midriffs that nobody ever saw anyway, because she was always swallowed in hoodies and coats.
It took a long time for them to find some measure of rhythm between living together. It was a small, small space they had to share. The kitchen was crammed into a crevice, bar fridge and sink and a small stove. She kept strawberries on the counter and usually forced him to eat a handful daily. She cleaned the kitchen regularly, though any mess came from the dust that settled from the lack of cooking. He neither had any reason to and, according to him, she lacked the instinctive ability to make anything edible (in less elegant wording, with an earning of a hard slap on his ear). The fridge was stocked with orange juice and beer, some maple syrup because she had a buzz for pancakes and cold toppings. He had little possessions besides his clothes and when they started out, neither did she. A few trips to the library, the formation of a rather destructive grocery list and she now had a good stock of everything she needed to do her thing. As long as she didn't blow up the motel he was fine that all her junk, her herbs and dried, creepy things in bottles, her spray cans and stencils, took up a majority of the space.
Eventually they found a way to pass each other without bumping heads, learnt to deal with each other's snores and bad habits, like leaving wet towels and empty bottles of liquor on the floor (him) and the mess of her makeup laying waste to the bathroom and forgetting to open a window when she was fucking around with spells. This small space left little to the imagination for both them.
She was bossy. He didn't like to be bossed around.
And yet time went by so quickly. And he woke up every afternoon, content with the night ahead. It felt like it made him numb, not in an uncomfortable way, being stuck in a routine, but then thought maybe that's what it felt like to be normal. If that was fucking possible.
'Lift it.'
Kat pouted.
'C'mon.' he tried again, patience waning.
'We did this like an hour ago.'
'Yep, do it again.'
She grumbled, heating up under the intense stare he was giving her. She sat on the bed and he loomed overhead, arms crossed, lazing against the dresser. Slowly, she eased her right arm out, slightly bent, finding it hard to stretch it out that last inch.
'Good, okay, do the stretches. Twenty this time.'
'This sucks.' she mumbled, and began to bend her elbow until her wrist touched her shoulder, then stretched out again, repeating the process until, she assumed, Dante was happy or her arm fell off. The pain was dull, but it grew the longer she held on.
'You don't do it that arm will never be useful again. It needs movement after being bent for so long.'
'It frankly doesn't surprise me that you would have been shot enough times to know that.' she bit out.
His mouth twitched. 'Still wondering if you have a bite.'
'I hope you never have to find out.'
'I'm not so sure about that.'
It happened often. She wouldn't called it some bad half-assed attempt at flirting, it seemed to come naturally, even when she had been a stranger. Except now she found herself heating up at half his comments. He liked to make people uncomfortable, and he loved to see her blush. It was in his nature to be so blasé about women and sex. Kat wasn't sure if it was a sign of maturity or if he was more akin to a brazen little kid with a big mouth.
And when he said stuff like that to her, that subtle, honest flirting, he sometimes surprised himself.
Dante cleared his throat, and she continued with the exercise, less interested in complaining and more so about the heat on her face.
'It looks better.'
'Yeah, doesn't hurt so much.' she agreed softly.
'How about here?'
He pressed his thumb against the corner of her lip, still slightly discolored by a light yellow, from a fading bruise. Fingertips found her brow, found scars that would probably never fade. They cut through her eyebrow, made her eyelid squint the tiniest bit.
'Fine,' she whispered. His thumb made a gentle line, forgetting himself. His mouth was tight and his eyes lost. He must have realized he was pushing his limit because he pulled away, still managing to look like a complacent bastard even when sheepish. Kat nodded at nothing in particular, unaware she had gotten way past the twenty mark with her arm. She kept going, even when he stopped touching her. But he returned to press a hand to her flexing bicep and lowered it, before it actually did fall off.
The air abruptly changed when he cleared his throat.
'Hungry?'
She shrugged as he stepped away. Didn't realize how close he had actually gotten.
'Let's go out and eat.'
With humans' slowly taking back control, the military and what remained of the Order now stepping forward, they started learning how to fight back. With heavy patrols setting out night and day and people working at a constant to clean this part of the city up, it wasn't so unheard of to go—
Out and eat?
'Out, out?'
'Your arm's better,' he said offhandedly. 'You need to get out more.' By way he was already searching for his jacket, she knew he expected no refusal. He pretended like he really didn't care what she ate, but once or twice he'd brought home soup loaded with vegetables. Kept the fridge stocked with milk— and now that she could actually leave the house without feeling completely helpless he gave her money to go to the corner store and get groceries herself. She didn't ask where he got the money. And it wasn't much, anyway. Enough to get by. Enough left over for him to stumble home drunk sometimes, forgetting which bed was his.
And that was the thing about Dante. For all his bad temper and foul language. For all that he drank and stared at women and flirted incessantly with her, but then the instant he accidentally walked in on her as she was climbing into the shower he clams up. Staring hard at the wall, grim, clenching fists. And he had run out the door as she screeched at him. It wasn't like he saw anything but an arm and maybe a bit of a shoulder, but that night, he had an offering of white choc-chip muffins and some root beer.
And every night, he stayed awake until he thought she was asleep. He thought she didn't know, but she did.
His nature was violent, not cruel. He was young and lost and had a whirlwind of strength he was still comprehending. He wanted to live, wanted to experience everything, make sure she lived and experienced everything.
He wanted to slay some demons and was burdened with saving the world. Just wanted to take her on a date, without actually saying the words.
'No burgers.'
'Done.'
'Not a club.'
'…Okay.'
'No excessive drinking.'
'Okay, mom. Why don't we just get in our fucking pajamas and take a nap?'
Not that he owned any pajamas. The many mornings had her eyes opened towards the couch to see a wide mouth, and he space between legs to be even wider, and his bedding kicked to the floor to create the picturesque view of a man in the morning in all his bodily glory. All of it.
He held the door open and looked at her expectantly.
She grabbed her shoes.
He spent the entire time keeping her pressed away from traffic and other pedestrians, his arm enveloping her but never touching her. She felt the strain of his fist by her ear, the tense muscles in his arm inches from her back. He watched people like a hawk.
'How about here?' He tossed a nod at a kebab joint.
'Mmm… no.'
He pointed. 'There?'
She shook her head.
'Just choose something.' She heard the or else in his voice.
In the end they settled for the café a few streets from the motel, one that Kat frequented because it had free WiFi and a decent selection of muffins. At three in the afternoon they opened up the kitchens as a Pizza bar. That would do.
He still refused to let her out in the field— or, politely requested she stay out of the thick of it, with a little bit of yelling from both parties on the side. Her arm was better, but anything could cause a turn for the worst. She was brimming with energy and the urge to help. She'd learnt spells for better, stronger barriers, which not only protected their home but could also protect the city. She spoke constantly of trying to set up a program at the city hall so that she could teach people how to arm themselves properly, how to guard their homes. Help them help her make the city safer.
She worked day and night to create plans, mapping out safe houses across the city. Ready to do something.
And he didn't dispute her ideas— he thought they were great, would help any way that he could to set it up. She wanted to help the people. He did too, just in a less subtle manner. In a way that might scare them. For that reason he usually went out in the evenings and stayed out into the night. It seemed to be when the demons started to get their bloodlust on. He could hide his identity, cleave some fuckers without huge crowds getting in the way.
And her ideas were great. Brilliant.
She was just too damn weak to do anything yet.
'Maybe I should look for work.'
He sat back on his side of the booth, both his arms propped up along the ledge behind him. Before him, a wide plate, picked clean except for a stack of little black olives (that he'd specifically asked not to be on there, but what the fuck else do you expect from a greasy teenager). So very unlike Dante, he just picked them off or ate around them, swallowing double cheese and double pepperoni in gulps. And he watched her nibble on her cheese and mushroom pizza, slowly but surely devouring it. He didn't seem to mind, content to let his food go down, enjoying a lazy mood. How he managed to wolf it all down in that time and not keel over from heart burn was a matter of fuck you, I'm a demon-angel.
'Really?' he said. He looked at her through lidded, assessing eyes.
'Start contributing money to this whole thing.'
'Why don't you get back in touch with your Order pals?' His dislike of them was momentous. Bad first impressions.
Kat shrugged. 'I called them up. They're sending supplies our way as a… formality. But I don't know if I'm really part of it anymore.' she murmured.
'The way I see it, they owe you a huge fucking bonus. Kat, milk them. Seriously.'
She didn't reply, shoving what remained of her slice into her mouth so that she didn't have to. She winced as the sharp crust went down.
His brow rose. 'Do I have to talk to them?' His voice found baritones. 'Because it sounds like they're fuckin' around with you.'
'Dante, its fine. I keep in touch with them.'
Not entirely satisfied, he let it drop.
Obliviously his fingers tapped along to the monotonous jingle playing over the speakers. She recognized even this small movement as Dante coming up from his semi pizza-coma, and humming with energy.
'So.'
'Soooo?' she hummed, distracted by her food.
'We should go out.'
Her teeth paused around her pizza. She gave him a wide-eyed stare and he was already shaking his hands at her, going ramrod straight in his chair, realizing his mistake.
'Tonight. I mean tonight. We should go out tonight.'
Her heart, which had been in her throat, found a soothing rhythm in her chest again. 'Um, why?'
'For a drink. To dance. I dunno, fucking anything but sitting around in the motel.'
She shrugged shyly. 'I'm not really up for it.'
'For a few hours?'
She kept eating her pizza.
'Kat. Live a little,' he said, exasperated.
'It's not really my scene.'
'What, fun?' he drawled.
'Crowds. Alcohol. Watching you hit on women.'
He smirked, but he looked a little on edge. 'Now why would I do that if I have a date?'
'It's just who you are.' she said, trying to sound as teasing as possible, but it was hard because it was the complete truth.
'I'm not that much of an asshole.'
She nodded blandly, still trying not to get flustered about the "date" comment.
Dante sat forward in his seat, annoyed now. 'Hey. I haven't picked anyone up since all this shit started. I come home every fucking night, don't I?'
Kat was startled by this. She put her last slice of pizza down, stared at him, very seriously. 'Why are you defending yourself? You can do whatever you want, Dante. It's not like…' We're together. And it wasn't like she cared that she smelt perfume on his skin when he got home. That he had lipstick all over his mouth when he woke up. It wasn't any of her business.
'Yeah, I can do whatever the fuck I want.' His voice was finding a snarl, and he knew it, so he abruptly stood up before he started mouthing off and saying something he would regret. She shrunk back.
He started going for his pocket.
'No, it's okay, I—'
He held out a finger to her. Shush. Stop speaking. He dug into his pocket, pulled out a couple of bills and tossed it beside her. 'Enjoy the rest of your pizza.'
'Where are you going?'
'To do whatever the fuck I want.'
She definitely didn't feel any guilt. And she definitely hadn't seen any hurt in his eyes. Dante just didn't get upset about women and gooey feelings. That shit didn't touch him. He probably just wanted to get her drunk, see if she was any less of a frigid bitch after some vodka. Because she had, or she thought she had, seen him staring at her mouth more than once, found any reason to touch her face, or decided that lounging around their room bare-chested and smirking was the best idea ever, just to get a reaction out of her. He was so wound up, even after giving a beating to the most hardcore demons. Wasn't he going out, drinking, letting loose, fucking in an alleyway? (And it was at the most uncomfortable of times that she thought about the latter, like when she was in the shower and she was also doubly trying to ignore the fact that Dante definitely did it for her). Instead of coming home at two every night, a broad, hulking thing that rubbed his eyes and twisted up on the couch and slept.
Kat didn't finish her pizza.
'You fucking piece of shit.'
It gave a sickening squawk and he hammered the Arbiter into its skull, a little bit too much force behind it but he had a lot of frustration to kill. His broad axe tore through its face and hit the hard cement and ripples of heat and red wavered about his feet. A piss-weak gaggle of Stygians really wasn't what he needed right now. Or maybe it was.
And straight after he was going to find a lineup of women and booze.
It started off like this in his head every night he went out. With the intent to get hammered and then find a girl (or girls), and do whatever the hell he wanted until daylight, when the round of hunting started up again. Kat would be fine for one night, just one fucking night, right? She always sealed their room now, learnt a way for the barriers to become accustomed to him so that he could actually get in with a password. She hadn't had the chance to tell him that the first statement he made upon entering their motel room would become the password. Which was why Dante now had the pleasure of repeating "motherfucking cocksucker" every time he wanted in. Her arm was better, she was getting healthier. He just dreamed of waking up in somebody else's apartment, missing parts from the night before, some gorgeous, naked body pressed against him. Like the good old days.
And then it just… faded. The urges. Something else would seep into him. By his sixth drink, pressing some girl into the corner of a club, the throbbing and the sweat just making him feel alive as she stuck her tongue down his throat and pulled at his shoulders. He'd kiss her, her neck, touch her waist and if she was really eager he would already be grabbing handfuls of her.
And then he'd be on his way home, trying not to make too much noise, usually stubbing his toe, as he walked past Kat's bed. It was all a bit of a blur, having to blow the woman off, paying his tab.
A waste of a night.
Just… not tonight. He hadn't been laid in forever. And he didn't mean for that to be the end game with Kat, he just wanted her to stop locking herself up in the motel all the time, maybe to at least get some sunshine, because she loved reading and learning but it also equated to pale, sallow. Just to liven up. He wasn't all bad. He was fun, he could make sure she had fun. He could be… charming. Whatever she needed. Whatever he needed to get closer to her, get under her skin like she had—
'Dante, baby? Haven't seen you in a long time.'
He looked her up and down appreciatively, but didn't remember her. Dark hair and big eyes, impressive legs that didn't really ring a bell. Not that he would tell her. 'Yeah. Been busy.'
'Are you busy now?'
Hand on his thigh. She practically glowed under the lights, music so loud the vibrations made her body shudder.
'No.'
'Do you want to be?'
Fingers on his buttons. His mouth twitched. He reached for her hip and took a step closer.
Why the fuck not?
She was awake. She was reading her book and would have been following the words with her eyes religiously, if she wasn't staring at him like he'd just slapped her. He'd slammed the door open, and he'd muttered the password under his breath. He'd scared her with his abrupt entry but as soon as she saw it was him she relaxed. She was still flushed from a shower, even though it was three in the morning. Her hair looked longer wet— but it had been months, now. She hadn't taken the scissors to it in a while. It looked good.
She was clean and warm and curled into a cozy ball on her bed.
And he was drunk and bruised. He hadn't put much effort into fighting with that last batch.
'Dante?' she whispered. She looked exhausted, and worried now that she saw how beat up he was.
He was late. She had stayed up for him.
He didn't really know what he was doing. He figured he should probably go have a shower, maybe pass out on the tiles until the water ran cold. Instead he was swallowing the space between them. She lowered her eyes from his as he did so. The floor between them was nothing, now his knees were bumping the bed. She started looking back up at him, following his legs, to his belt, to where his shirt bunched at his waist. To his face. The look in his eyes.
It was worse than she thought. With his jacket draping off his body, she saw a deep wound on his shoulder, slowly knitting itself together but staining his shirt and skin with blood.
'Are you okay?' she said, harsh words said through an exhale, disregarding her book, nearly throwing it in her haste.
He wanted to say no, thought better of it and wanted to say yes. But nothing came out.
Instead he seemed to fold, like his body was breaking, but he was simply leaning down to touch her cheek. Giving her one of his most intense stares yet. She blinked in confusion and tried to ask him with her eyes, a batter of her lashes that was far from seductive. Her voice died in her throat and her face grew very, very hot, but he just curled his fingers though her hair, the soft ones at the back of her neck. The slow movement made her shudder. Every nerve attuned to it. Stomach doing flips.
All she saw was his clenched jaw and the broad curve of his shoulder because now he was so close. He smelt like bourbon, but mostly like blood and sweat.
She was trying to soak up too much information at once and she was surprised when his forehead touched hers, and then his mouth did.
She had soft, full lips. Her body was shaking so hard, her heart was going nuts. She released a breath against his mouth, hot, mingled with his, something she couldn't control. He wanted to stare at her, see every expression she got from him kissing her, but his eyes just closed, automatically in the moment.
And then her hand was pressing against his heart.
It took him a moment to realize he was almost shaking just as much as she was, and she was basically a trembling mess in his hands. All those pathetic feelings, the guilt of leaving her to walk home alone like that after a squabble, the bitterness of not finding much relief in some random girl, letting himself get cornered in an alleyway for a thrashing that he'd all but accepted like a masochistic punk. All these things sliding off of him like he was watercolor, melting down him like rain. His mouth parted and he ran his tongue along her lip. Slow, careful. He was humming with energy, because he usually never did this sort of thing, taking steps with women. He was used to it being rough and passionate. Kat was all bottled and he realized that he'd always tried slow and careful first with her.
He never wanted to scare her, never wanted her to feel like she was trapped, like he was just another monster. Another nightmare. But he felt like he could just come undone, touch her everywhere, be inside her. A monster that was trying not to be.
Kat pulled away suddenly, merely an inch. 'What… are you doing?' A pointless, obvious, breathless question and he opened his eyes to see the wide look she gave him.
He was scared she only had protests, and he was drunk and he just wanted to make her feel good, make her want him as much as he wanted her. And fuck did he want her. He tipped her head back, and he saw a second of that sultry, single flutter of her lashes, the pucker of her lips that meant she knew what was coming this time, he tilted his own head and just felt the thrill of his canine clashing against her top lip and his tongue on the edge of her warm mouth.
Her fist clenched around the material of his wife beater, dragging it off of his skin. Drawing him closer for a moment as her heart raced and he could have groaned. He was deciding whether or not to touch her with his other hand, put it across her back maybe and pull her closer and closer, but then she shoved him away. Their mouths made a sweet noise as they parted. Her lips were red like her cheeks.
He swayed in front of her.
'I, ah—um…' she stuttered.
'Sorry,' he replied, not meaning it. The silence was long and thick before she replied, finally.
'It's okay.'
She wondered if it really was okay. She was felt so giddy that it was like being the dumb teenager she'd never grown up to be, practically melting under that half-lidded look he was giving her now. She could still taste his tongue and remembered it on her own. She could still feel the heat of him. He was always so warm, like a furnace. She recognized the feeling of being both turned on and not being afraid. Nervous and a bit inexperienced. Heady. Aware of how slow and soft he had been just then. Just not afraid.
It was okay.
She smiled, small and brief, but he saw it.
The truth was that he was ragingly turned on but understood that, even though he'd breached that boundary tonight with basically no casualties, he probably shouldn't push his luck. So, he smiled back. No little quirks. Just fucking glad he finally did that.
He murmured goodnight, touched her short bangs and swooped down the curve of her jaw. He turned to his couch and forgot about showering, just shrugged off his jacket and yanked the wife beater over his back, wincing as the material dragged over the cut on his shoulder. He practically fell onto the couch, glad to feel the material and stuffing was finally softening up from his many nights on it. He didn't bother about covers. It was a hot night.
'Goodnight,' she whispered, in a delayed response.
She turned off her bedside lamp. He considered letting her know that she could keep reading if she wanted to, but knowing her, knowing how little she liked to inconvenience people, she would keep it off anyway.
It was probably twenty minutes later. He was nodding off, doing his best to ignore his semi-arousal as his dozing thoughts were of the kiss, when a small, shaky hand came out to touch his wrist. His arm was falling off the couch. Her fingers curled around him, she was so cold. Or maybe his skin was just too hot.
Either way he slipped out of her soft hold on him and startled her a bit, because she thought he had been sleeping. His big hand grabbed hers. After a moment she squeezed back. He didn't let go until morning.
author's note:
I got a lot of musical inspiration for this. Particularly "Do I Wanna Know" by the Arctic Monkeys, "Melt" by Chet Faker, and of course, "Gooey" by Glass Animals.
thanks for reading!
