Everything in an isolated system strives for the maximum level of disorder.
The evolution of Raphael's sexual attraction to a special daughter of men in his life and the progression of his downfall.
Rated M for mature content in later chapters.
She is wearing that red dress again.
Water drips from her wet hair onto the scarlet cloth, staining the fabric dark, goosebumps spreading over her neck and arms. She has left the pantyhose and shoes in the corner and her legs are completely bare. There is nothing on her but that little piece of red fabric.
Raffe pulls his eyes from her as she enthusiastically digs into her meal. Looking at her is difficult. He needs to focus, now especially. The daughters of men have never been a distraction for him and they wouldn't be now. He won't allow it.
"Please don't wait up for me," he says, though he doesn't think she would, anyway. The girl is so starved, she doesn't seem to get the food in fast enough. He feels a twinge of guilt. Before his kind came into her world, he's sure she had plenty of food.
He shakes the thought off. Humans let their own kind starve to death, while throwing away precious food on a daily basis, and here he is, feeling guilty for them. He needs to clear his head. Get his life back on track. He would get back his wings, settle things with his kind and be done with this human business. The sooner he got away from that fragile, stubborn, distracting girl, the better.
He never knew she had it in her.
Muscles tensing, face hardening, she crouches low and evades the attacking angel, swiftly stabbing her knife where it hurts the most. Clever girl. She knows she can't kill with that. But she can harm. And she chose the best spot to do that.
The angel rolls around on the ground, clutching his crotch. Half a minute and this scrawny girl reduced this otherworldly warrior to a pathetic worm.
Raffe feels something tug on his heart, swelling in his chest, and he almost calls it pride. But no, that's not the right word. He doesn't have any right to be proud of her. She's not his. He merely approves of her fighting techniques, like a fellow warrior acknowledges an equal. Rationally, it seems silly to think so about a daughter of men, but given the circumstances, Raffe can't bring himself to feel wrong about it.
The wind is blowing up her dress around her thighs, reminding him instantly of the fact that she is wearing – yet again – nothing but a flimsy piece of fabric, clinging to her little form in all the places his eyes shouldn't rest.
She slips the knife into her thigh-highs, drawing his eyes to the exposed skin. Despite the violence and destruction around him, Raffe feels dizzy for a moment as his blood surges in his veins.
It's all too much. Moments ago, he still thought she was dead. Here she is, flooding his head with all those big emotions, he didn't know such a small person could make him feel. Overwhelming happiness. Confusion. Relief. Lust.
He grabs her around the waist – the dizziness is back for a second – and lifts her up into his arms, clutching her to his chest. She wraps her arms around his neck and snuggles closer, her body pressing against his. He feels oddly whole, as if a missing piece inside of him slipped back into place.
"Don't let me go," he says, and means it.
Once he started, it all came out in a rush of emotions, first in the form of weak laughter and then in silent sobs against her neck. Raffe is too exhausted to care. For all the time he held back and masked his feelings, he allows himself this one moment of weakness. He wouldn't have the strength to pull away now, anyway.
So he clutches her to him, almost crushing her with the force of his embrace, and buries his face into the nape of her neck, letting her closeness drown out the agony of these past weeks.
His mourning, the guilt, the hatred. Right now it doesn't matter.
She is here, in his arms, all warm skin and sand and silky fabric, and he can fool himself with the illusion that this will last, that she will always be with him. His.
Her scent envelopes him, light and fresh in a way only a living person can smell. He breathes her in, his arms tightening around her even more and her fingers travel up into his hair, soothing him gently.
She is saying something to him, but the words don't register, and they don't need to, for the sound of her voice is enough.
Raffe always thought the phrase 'to never want to let someone go' was cheesy, but it's exactly what he feels right now.
Through the layers of clothing separating them, he feels her heart beat against his chest, strong and steady and alive, and it's the single most amazing thing he has ever felt.
"I'm sure a respectable, modern man would turn his back so he wouldn't see if there was a slip-up."
She nods at him, giving him a stern look that is mildened by the blanket in between her teeth. She struggles under the cover of the blanket, trying to wiggle out of the wet dress she wore at the aery.
Raffe can't help the grin that's tugging on his lips. "But we'd lose our heat shelter."
She is rolling her eyes and he feels giddy with happiness. It's completely irrational that such a small action should call forth such a feeling, but it's so mundane, and so very her. It helps him grasp onto the fact that she's really here, alive and breathing and well enough to be annoyed.
"Don't laugh or anything," he continues, teasing her, "because that could be disastrous."
Absolutely disastrous.
She's trying to glare at him, while still biting onto the overlapping ends of the blanket, and the giddiness is bubbling up inside of him warm and pleasant. God, he missed her.
"Have you heard that joke about-"
She's had enough. A ripping sound from beneath her blanket and a second later her ruined dress lands on top of his pants. He actually laughs out loud at that, something he hasn't done in a long time. He doesn't remember when he last felt this happy.
He chuckles and teases her and she shoots right back with a sharp tongue and a twinkle in her eyes . Now that the warmth returns to her body, there is a healthy blush on her cheeks and her movements become less stiff. It's easier to talk about what happened the last time he was with her when she's like this. When she looks so radiant and alive and healthy.
"I wasn't saying you were heartbroken…," she is stammering, clearly trying to talk herself out of the situation to no avail. He decides not to say anything. He doesn't want to think about that night and there's nothing he can say to her.
Her words splutter.
He watches as heat flushes up her neck and cheeks, tinting them red, and suddenly he's aware of the fact that she's completely naked underneath that blanket.
Raffe tries to focus on her words, but a part of his mind stays on this newest, unwanted thought, making his blood boil.
"I just mean it was hard for me to … to watch."
She fiddles with the blanket uncomfortably, shifting in her seat nervously, and for a second, the blanket inches down just a bit, revealing a sliver of her skin.
He doesn't want to look, he really doesn't, but he can't help himself. His eyes roam the soft skin of her throat and cleavage, the curve of her collarbone and just the beginning of the swell of her left breast, before she adjusts the blanket absentmindedly, not even noticing her slip-up.
He feels the world lurch around him and his blood rushes south, dictating his line of thoughts for a few unguarded moments.
It would be so easy. He could just pull that thing off her and take her. Right here. He's almost sure she'd let him. She wants him, too. He recalls the way she gasped into his mouth, when he kissed her that night at the aery, and his loins ache at the memory.
"Well, okay, maybe you did seem just a little bit heartbroken."
The last word rips him out of his thoughts.
She already looks like she regrets saying it, clutching the blanket around her like she wants to hide behind it. Raffe notices that she's shivering from the cold. His thoughts sober.
She's just a little girl. Innocent and young and probably deeply disturbed from the massacre she just witnessed. And yet, she trusts him enough to sit here with him, one of the kind that just brutally murdered every other human around her, defenseless and naked, but for a thin blanket around her, and all he does is fantasize about her like all the other blood-crazed angels. Guilt nags on him.
"You're shivering," he says lowly. "Take a shower. Maybe we'll be lucky and there will be hot water."
Raffe wonders if he should say more. Take her into his arms and hold her. But he doubts it'd be a good idea in his current state. So he gets up and turns away from her. He needs to get her out of his sight.
He bows his head and presses his eyes shut, disappearing into the darkness of the house. Away from the fire, the air cools his skin and helps him clear his thoughts.
Behind him, he hears Penryn get up slowly and shuffle out of the living room.
He should get the house ready for the night. Cover up the windows and slits. Search for supplies and food. He focuses on those simple tasks to keep his mind from wandering.
His hearing is well enough for him to pick up the sound of a blanket falling to the floor over the hiss of the shower. He pushes down the image that the sound evokes.
It is going to be a long night.
There will be more, don't worry. There's a reason this story is M-rated, but I'm not just giving you sole smut. Reviews are greatly appreciated and motivate to keep writing!
Hope you enjoyed,
~K.