A/N: Happy Spoopy Halloween, y'all! Enjoy this two parter BBRae AU as a break from Exhibitionist! :)

'the moon has awoken with the sleep of the sun,
the light has been broken;
the spell has begun...'

~Midgard Morningstar

CARNIVORE

Seven years was a long time to be thinking about someone.

Seven years, and a chance encounter of the rarest kind, shrouded in the same sort of mysticism that encompassed an eerie night like Hallow's Eve. Like the rolling fog, Garfield Logan's mind was in a haze, and he couldn't, for the life of him, go back to sleep, no matter the time.

He stood by the open window of his bedroom and stared out onto the empty streets, the chill of the autumn night air cool against his naked torso, making his skin prickle into tiny goosebumps, and all the fine hair to stand on end. The moon hung low in the black sky, grey clouds — like tufts of cotton — putting thin, ominous streaks through its yellow glow. Breathing in the refreshing air, with the bitter taste of old rain and fallen leaves hitting the back of his throat, Garfield closed his eyes and tried to remember the auspicious events that had taken place on a similar night all those years ago.

Somewhere behind him, his girlfriend breathed softly in her sleep, long, yellow hair like a halo splayed onto the pillowcase and gleaming like spun gold in the moonlight. She was none the wiser to her boyfriend's addled mind, nor to the strange woman that plagued his thoughts and haunted his heart.

He ought to have felt guilty, but three hundred and sixty-four days of the year, she was the furthest from his dreams. It was only one night that she claimed for herself. Besides, it had been seven years. She was gone, like the same wind that had brought her into his life — the one now fluttering through his curtains and washing against his face, ruffling his unkempt hair like a lover's caress. He had to move on at some point, he had to live the life she'd spared. How else did one survive such a close brush-in with death herself? Especially when death had happened to look like her.

Seven years was a long time to still be thinking about someone, especially a woman he'd only come to know for a matter of hours.

Back then, it had felt like a lifetime.

"I'm going to let you live."

Garfield could still hear her sultry voice in his ear, her cherry breath tickling his skin and eliciting another unsatisfied ache from deep within his loins. Even now — even after making love to the woman sleeping in his bed — he still tingled with that familiar, incessant yearning. The desire he never quite seemed to quench no matter how many women he took to bed. Like a sucker punch to the gut, there was nothing he could do about the way he felt, not on the Eve of Halloween, where her presence was practically omnipotent.

She was in the wind when it howled.

In the eye of the moon, where the clouds did not touch.

In the faint rustle of dead leaves as they scurried along the empty streets in a hypnotic dance.

She was in the sharp smell of freshly fallen autumn rain, and when he'd opened his window, he'd unwittingly let in the ghost of her, the memories flooding his senses like a train crash.

Every year, for the past seven years, it was the one day Garfield couldn't take her scent off his skin, or forget the way her cherry lips had tasted. The point of her pink tongue darting out to tangle with his, or to boldly taste the salt off his flesh.

The wind kept him awake, because his dreams consisted of nothing but her.

"I'm going to let you live, and you will never forget me, the same way I won't forget you..."

An eye for an eye. She'd laid her curse on him with a handful of words, and now she resided at the forefront of his mind, just like she'd promised…

Seven years ago, October 31st...

"Are you going to be a moping lump all night, Logan?"

Donna Troy had his best interests at heart, he knew that, but it didn't stop Garfield from feeling like an outsider at a party he'd help plan.

He inhaled deeply and stared into the bottom of his cup because it was currently less judgemental than his friend. "Easy for you to say. You're not the one who was rejected for a pretty boy." His bitterness was difficult to mask, so he didn't even try.

Slumped against the wall in the living room of the fraternity house, Garfield took another deep swig of the tasteless, cheap beer in his plastic cup and continued to feel sorry for himself. Donna's impressive height, now with the addition of a pair of sparkly six inch pumps, forced her to lean down in order to fix the flaxen-haired young man with a tired, unamused look. "Oh, quit it, Gar. You weren't even that into her."

"Was too!"

"No." She shook her head, and clucked her tongue. "You only say that because now that you can't have her, you want her even more." Scoffing with hands on her hips, she added, "Typical of men, honestly."

As if on cue, Garfield glanced up and his eyes automatically picked her out of the crowds — the object of his desire. Adding salt to the wound, the buxom blonde was dressed up like a character from one of his favourite comic franchises; the X-Men. Not to mention, one of the hottest. Of course she'd be perfect for the look of Emma Frost, white corset and all. He sighed longingly; they'd have been a perfect couple, and maybe he'd have dressed up as Cyclops instead of the angry green avenger.

Donna broke his line of sight by moving to stand in front of him, puckering her lips and furrowing her brows when she'd realized he'd been ignoring her.

"That's not true, Donna," he started, going on the defensive before she could reprimand him. "I've always liked her since elementary school, but I never figured she was into me, and I didn't want to ruin our friendship! That's why I didn't ask her out. And now…" He sulked, feeling down-trodden all over again when he saw the way the jock dressed as Captain America placed a possessive hand on the small of her back. "Now, I'm the loser."

Garfield drained the last bit of his beer before slamming the red solo cup onto a nearby table. He then buried his face in his hands and slid down towards the ground, the music loud enough to bring the floor to a shake with every beat.

"Wow. I don't think I've ever seen you this torn up about some chick. Especially since there are tons of pretty girls walking around your house in skimpy costumes tonight. I'd say plenty of other fish in the sea, Gar. So get up, get your game face on, and go mingle!" Donna hooked an arm beneath his shoulder and hoisted him up with a gentle grunt.

She was always strong considering she was top wrestler on her team, and thus found it easy to manhandle Garfield's smaller form. Her being a babe didn't make it any less mortifying, though. "Quit it! You're embarrassing me!" He swatted at her, coming to his feet when she wouldn't let up, and hoping against hope no one had bore witness to them making a scene. His cheeks were aflame, and he almost growled at his friend in retaliation.

"Why not try a girl out of your norm for once, Gar?" Donna queried, choosing to ignore his dramatic fussing.

He raised an eyebrow at her. "What's that supposed to mean?"

She rolled her eyes, exasperated with his obliviousness. "I mean, maybe try someone not blonde and doe-eyed for once? You sort of have a type."

He appeared bashful at her observation and leered at her with a waggle of his brows. "Oh, Donna. We all know that you're the only brunette for me."

Garfield batted his eyelashes at her before she playfully shoved him away. "In your dreams, pipsqueak," she teased, but not without some colour in her cheeks.

The music boomed to life in the room as the track changed, and couples were dancing along, costumed bodies writhing in the blue strobe lights. "We can't all be tall gingers with biceps the size of watermelons, I guess." Garfield shrugged, wearing a cheeky grin.

Donna's smile grew, dark blue eyes twinkling because she knew exactly whom he was referring to and had no shame in admitting to it. "You never stop, do you?" she chuckled.

"Never."

Her smile was infectious, dimples making her look even cuter in the weird hippie makeup she wore for the night.

"A shame, because if you did, then maybe you'd have spied the cutie eyeing you this whole time." Donna winked before turning on her heel and walking towards the dancefloor, tossing waves of her thick, obsidian locks over her shoulder.

Garfield was thrown off by this new information, and he snapped his head in every direction, wondering if he'd lock eyes with the girl Donna had mentioned.

But no one was staring back, and this, sadly, didn't even surprise all, why have a poor imitation of Bruce Banner when there were practical clones of Steve Rogers walking around?

He was a wallflower, green body paint or not. "Nice try!" he called after Donna, annoyed. "By the way, a hippie isn't dress code! The memo said the theme is superheroes!"

Donna, now dancing and almost lost among the throng of bodies, shrugged at him when she couldn't hear him over the pulsating music pouring out of the massive speakers they'd rented. Realizing she was a lost cause, he waved her away dismissively and decided he needed a top up for his drink if he was going to survive the rest of the night.

Garfield then headed to the crowded bar tables at the end of the room and patiently waited his turn, trying to take his buzzed mind off of the girl he'd lost. One day, he'd stop blaming himself for all of his shortcomings. For ruining his own life. For always putting his foot in his mouth when it came to girls he liked. Glancing off to the side, he found a young couple making out in the nearby corner, their hands all over the place, not caring for whoever saw them. In their own little bubble, the rest of the world didn't exist. Garfield looked fixedly in their direction whilst wearing a forlorn expression before finally growing frustrated with his own jealousy and incompetence.

Inhaling through his nose, he turned his attention back to the slow moving line before him. As he did so, a soft glow of bright red caught his eye. In obvious contrast to the dark surroundings of the frat house, it was difficult to miss and automatically drew his curiosity.

At first, he assumed it was the glare off of a costume; maybe a set of red gems or a piece of shiny sequins. It shimmered in his peripheral vision, like something that didn't quite belong. It was too bright, too vibrant to be anything of the natural world.

One more concentrated look, and he came to learn that it was her eyes. They were a brilliant shade of ruby red, mesmerizing in the darkness like a set of neon lights.

The colour of blood.

She stood by her lonesome, surveying the crowd with indifference, and leaned back against the bar table. Garfield couldn't help himself; it was like word vomit when he spoke to her when he'd reached the front of the line. "Those are some pretty sweet contact lenses."

He hadn't been prepared for her, if he was being honest. From most angles, she was just a young slip of a woman, but up close, she was a hurricane. Inhaling sharply, he had to back away, like he'd been blown off balance by some invisible force. Once he saw her, he couldn't understand how he'd missed her in the first place; in a room full of vibrantly dressed strangers, she stood out. In fact, Garfield couldn't tear his gaze away from her, much less remember how to breathe.

The woman set her eyes on him, and something a lot like a slow smile curled lips that were painted with a colour akin to the blood of a dark berry. The deep, rich lipstick was in direct contrast to her ivory skin, much like the crimson of her unnatural eyes.

She wore her hair short, cropped just below her ears, but it framed her heart-shaped face in a perfect compliment. Donna would have been proud — her hair was an inky violet, almost black, the purple hues turning blue in the strobe lights. A rounded red gem sat in the centre of her forehead, gleaming like a ruby. She also wore a set of earrings in the shape of sparkling gold stars, as if she'd plucked them from the night sky itself.

"Woah…," he whispered, breathless. Garfield's heart was off to the races, pounding in his chest. No way in hell he stood a chance with a girl like her. Never in a million years. What had he been thinking when he'd decided to approach her? Had he been thinking at all?

"Thanks." Her voice was like velvet, sultry and deeper than he'd expected.

"Uhm...yeah, they uh, really match your...costume?"

His eyes carefully roamed the rest of her figure, and he swallowed at the lump in his throat. "Which, by the way, a take on Vampirella, I'm guessing? Cool. She's a total babe."

The stranger looked down at her outfit, as if trying to deduce the comparison. She wore a leotard that tied at the nape of her neck in a shade of red only a touch lighter than the colour of her eyes. With it, she'd paired a set of thigh high satin boots, a velvety cloak, a sash that spilled down between her thighs, and a flared white collar in spirit of the comic book character. She then lifted her gaze and brazenly inspected his own costume with an indiscernible expression.

"And what are you supposed to be?" she questioned him, stepping closer to boldly run a pale digit down his naked, green torso, right over his quickening heart. It was like static when they touched, and Garfield tried not to let his gaze linger too long on the fullness of her gloss-coated lips.

How was it possible that the sound of her voice — paired with such an innocent, simple touch — could make his blood come to a boil, nearly giving him the symptoms of a heatstroke?

Garfield flexed the muscles of his biceps in a display of bravado, attempting to charm her — or at least make her laugh. "The Hulk, isn't it obvious?" He waggled his eyebrows at her but she remained unfazed.

"Forgive me, I'm not quite versed in this category."

"It's cool," he shrugged. She was way too hot for him to care about what superhero characters she was familiar with or not. "Can I get you a drink?"

This seemed to amuse her, and she smiled wider, baring her teeth. Fangs gleamed pearl white, the sharp tips looking real enough to prick skin. "Damn, you really went all out with those things, huh? They look real! You gotta tell me what costume store you hit up," Garfield commented.

"I'd love to. And I'd also love...that drink."

Finding it difficult to believe that a girl as beautiful as her had taken a shine to him, Garfield felt like he was on cloud nine every time she fixed those ethereal eyes — framed by a thick fringe of dark lashes — on him and only him. Green body paint, cheap green hair dye, and a pair of torn up purple shorts weren't exactly a recipe for most handsomely dressed. Not when there was a Captain America walking around. The fact that she'd come all alone to the party was a crime in itself.

"I didn't catch your name. I'm Gar by the way," he introduced himself, already forgetting everything about his previous infatuation with 'Emma Frost'.

She maintained the cherry red smile before stretching out towards him like a feline — nimble and meticulous with every movement. Her lips flickered against his ear, her hot breath sending chills down his spine in delightful ways. "Raven," she whispered, her smooth voice sending shivers down his spine.

Raven.

He licked his lips, trying to maintain composure, knowing he was like a house of cards — ready to fall apart at any second if she so much as exhaled in his direction. "Raven. That's pretty. Like the bird, huh?"

It was a stupid comment to make, and he mentally kicked himself the second he'd let it slip. Garfield couldn't help how tongue-tied he was around her; pretty girls always made him incredibly awkward, especially when they would flirt back, which was a rarity in and of itself.

Desperate to break whatever hypnotic spell she'd cast on him, Garfield grabbed the next available drink from the table, looking for any excuse to avoid eye contact and not caring for the bar line or whomever it angered in the process.

"Dude! What the hell?!" One of the patrons in the line exclaimed, giving the emerald-haired youth a fixed glare.

Raven chuckled behind her hand as she watched on, acutely aware of the effect she was having on him.

"Relax, there's plenty where that came from," Garfield informed the others that were lined up for the bar, knowing that he could always pull rank in the club as a viable excuse for cutting. It wasn't something he cared to do for himself, but to impress a pretty lady...

Garfield handed Raven the cup, ignoring the not so subtle curses being flung his way from the other guests. "It's really not even the best tasting stuff, but once you get a buzz going, you'll hardly notice."

"I'm more of a wine drinker myself, if I'm being honest," she confessed, swirling the frothy beer in her cup. "But tonight, I'm craving something...different."

"Oh? Like what? I can see what else we got, but no promises. It's usually slim pickings at these sorts of parties. We cheap out on the drinks, it's true, but make sure everything else is dope, if you get my meaning." He was already heading to the kitchen to dig out some of the more expensive bottles of alcohol, but she stopped him in his tracks before he got very far. Raven tugged on his hand to get his attention, and it didn't escape him how cool her skin was despite the overwhelming heat of the house.

"I've never been much for crowds," she admitted with a flutter of her long, heavily mascaraed lashes. "I'm only here because a friend of mine wanted to attend. Take me...somewhere quieter, perhaps?"

Garfield's heart felt like it had lurched into his throat, lodging itself there until he choked. "Uh, uhm. I could do that, sure. Yeah," he stammered. "But, are you sure you don't want to dance or something first?"

He pointed over to the centre of the room where writhing, costumed youths were moving to the quick tempo of the blaring music.

"How about a raincheck?" Raven schmoozed, slowly pressing the front of her body against his, and running the palms of her hands up along his bare torso towards the broad lines of his shoulders. Garfield tried to fill his head with thoughts of his sixty-eight year old english lit professor butt naked, but was failing miserably. The chill of Raven's fingers was a welcomed escape from the hot hell that had become the frat house, and he was beginning to think he could lose himself in the deep crimson pools of her eyes.

"I've been told I'm more suited for ballroom dancing instead," she stated simply. Her voice was low and so near, dripping with seduction, meant for his ears only.

Garfield's hands grazed the velvety folds of her burgundy cloak where he subtly held her in place. She felt so good, smelled divine, he was hesitant about letting her go. "A classy girl. I can dig it," he said with a playful wink.

Raven looped her arm through his and hung on tight, her long, trimmed fingernails curling around the swell of his bicep and squeezing. The nail polish she wore resembled the red of her eyes, her fingertips appearing as if they'd been dipped in fresh blood.

"Why don't you show me your room?" she suggested coyly.

All Garfield could do was nod once, warmth spreading from his neck up all the way to his hairline. Her intentions were not lost on him, and as much as he'd gloat about the appeal of a one night stand to his friends, he'd never actually been much of a participant.

Raven clung tighter, pushing her lithe figure as close to his as she could, leeching his body heat the way frost would sap at a flame. He guided her through the crowds of people, pushing by with a tight-lipped half-smile in greeting or apology, as well as a brief wave of his free hand if it was the former. Eyes would widen at the sight of the stunning, jaw-dropping woman holding onto him as the couple passed on through, but no one dared say a word to his face. Instead, they'd whisper behind his back — like they always did — assuming he would never hear them. Garfield would have sneered at them all, knowing exactly what was responsible for their unbridled shock and petty gossip.

How did a guy like him get a girl like her on his arm?

Garfield couldn't help the pride he felt, nor could he ignore the swell of his now inflated ego, and he had to fight off the urge to grin like a boastful buffoon before he made a total ass of himself. As he led Raven up a flight of old mahogany stairs, he could feel the heat of his guests' stares boring into his back. It made him walk a little taller, his shoulders straight and chest puffed out, oozing with a confidence he'd only ever dreamed of possessing.

Of all the guys in the room, and she'd taken a shine to him. Maybe this was finally Garfield's lucky break in his rather abysmal love life. For most of his life, he'd had a very poor track record when it came to wooing the fairer sex, and — much to his chagrin — it hadn't gone unnoticed by the fraternity brothers, who had taken every opportunity to tease him relentlessly on the subject. One side glance at Raven's perfect profile and he wondered if perhaps this was karma, finally paying it forward at last after all his recent girl troubles and subsequent bullying.

Scenarios involving the wily vixen and their possible future played out in his head, making him fidget with barely contained giddiness. Introducing her to his friends, going out on dates to the mall where he'd spoil her rotten, having a romantic, candlelit dinner at one of those super posh restaurants. He was abuzz with emotion, and unwittingly pulled her in closer. However, Raven didn't complain, seemingly content with their intimate touches, her curves fitting against him perfectly.

The music was significantly less audible on the second floor of the house, and there were also significantly less people milling about, as well. Save for a couple or two frantically engaged in a heated makeout session, hands as hungry for one another as their clashing tongues, the corridor was empty. Neither pair paid Raven or Garfield any mind as they walked past them. But the audible sound of lip smacking echoing down the hall was an acute reminder of what it would mean to be alone with Raven in his bedroom.

When her grip glided down to his hand, and her fingers tangled their way between the spaces of his, he started to sweat all over again. Raven continued to follow him down the narrow corridor, oblivious to the turmoil she was causing him while she almost stumbled in her heels to keep up. Garfield only let go of her when he had to pull out the keys to his dorm, fumbling with them in his suddenly clumsy and clammy hands. They had come to a stop in front of one of the many doors that lined the hallway. There with a dry-erase board next to it that read 'Logan' in blue marker, as well as some vulgar, crude artwork no doubt added by his more immature housemates.

"Logan. Is that your last name?" she asked, eyes tracing the marked letters that were written in his hand.

"Ah, yep. I know what you're thinking; there's a Wolverine joke in there somewhere," he teased with a charming smile, temporarily forgetting about the struggle with his keys.

"Gar Logan," she spoke his name slowly, feeling the way it rolled off her tongue.

He didn't know why, but hearing his name fall from her lips in her gravelly, thoughtful tone, it made the tips of his ears burn. As if she'd given him a taste of what it would sound like in a more intimate setting, where his hands and mouth roamed her every curve with nothing but the pale moonlight to guide him along.

"That's me," he noted awkwardly, forcing a chuckle. His mouth felt so dry, his tongue was sticking to the roof of it.

"Are you going to invite me in, Gar?" Raven's heavy cape moved as she closed the distance between them, and her shapely leg pushed to nestle between his thighs.

Her breasts squeezed against his chest and she raked her sharp nails down the most prominent vein in his arm. At some point, Garfield had inhaled sharply, not knowing quite what to do in a situation like this, but too enthralled with her to pull away either. She'd lifted her knee dangerously close to the crotch of his pants, and he almost had to stand on his tiptoes just to make sure the top of her boot didn't press into a very sensitive area. All the while, Raven maintained eye contact, her blood-red gaze unblinking and making it impossible for him to break free of her trance.

"O-of course," he huffed, backing away when she leaned in closer. He could smell the subtle scent of her rosey perfume, and could probably have counted every single lash on her eyelids.

A sly smile weathered Raven's full, painted lips. "The door's open, so what are you waiting for?"

"It's what?" He blinked, temporarily repelling whatever spell she'd woven .

Garfield glanced down at the keys in his hand and then at his bedroom door in disbelief. It was left slightly ajar, when he could have sworn it'd been locked moments before. He scrutinized it peculiarly with narrowed eyes. Garfield certainly didn't recall unlocking it with his key, nor did he remember leaving it open before the party had started. It was a cardinal rule to keep all bedroom doors locked during a gathering for security purposes. Like theft, or a horny couple desecrating the bed sheets.

"What the hell? I swear I locked up!"

He pushed it open, and the heavy, old wood swung with a gentle creak. "Did someone break in?" Peeking inside cautiously, he looked for any immediate signs of distress, but found everything the exact same way that he'd left it.

Raven then brushed past him, heading into the room without a care. Once inside, she grabbed him by the hand and tugged him along, a devious smile painted on her luscious lips. "Are you going to give me a tour or just stand there all night?" she quipped.

"Not much of a tour to be had, honestly." Garfield let her drag him into his bedroom before she dropped his hand and took in her new scenery. He scratched nervously at the back of his neck."Bathroom's over there, and that's my bed." He shuffled around, quickly tidying up any dirty clothes from the floor and flinging them onto the nearby computer chair. "Sorry about the mess, wasn't really expecting...company." He grinned sheepishly, but she was already opening the door to his bathroom.

"Uh, that's cool," he called after her before plopping down onto his mattress. "Guess even pretty girls need to pee," Garfield mumbled under his breath.

A moment later, and Raven popped her head out from the doorway. "You coming?"

"Am I...what?"

Her eyes roamed his body blatantly, no shame or attempt to hide the thoughts behind her explicit ruby stare. Garfield wondered if his blush was visible from beneath the body paint.

"I don't imagine you're going to sleep with that on your skin, are you?" She quirked up an eyebrow.

He glanced down at the splotchy green mess covering his body and frowned. Despite his best efforts, it still looked like tacky green washable paint — the crayola kind — smeared in uneven layers all over his naked torso. Puckering his lips, he answered her, "Well, no. But, I'm also not going to sleep just yet."

A dangerous smile curled on her glistening lips, provocative enough that whatever it was she had left unsaid was still blatantly obvious in her body language. Gulping, Garfield immediately got to his feet as if he were possessed, and remembered how to walk. One foot in front of the other, towards her, like she'd summoned him and it would have been blasphemous to deny her. Raven's otherworldly smile lingered, as if to chide him. How innocent and naive he must have seemed to her. Like he was but a child in the presence of a goddess. And the way she looked, it may as well have been true.

Once he'd joined her at the doorway, Raven disappeared into the cramped bathroom space with a swish of her long, silken cloak. Inside, he found her with knees on the tiled floor, bent over his tub, and filling it with hot water. The faucet knobs audibly squeaked as she fiddled with them, drawing him a bath. Garfield used the back of his hand to mop at his brow where nervous beads of sweat had formed. "I could just shower, you know. Would be faster."

After finally being satisfied with the temperature she'd set, Raven sat on the edge of the porcelain tub, her long, shapely legs crossed as she surveyed him patiently, beckoning him with her eyes. She then cocked her head to the side and replied in a pouty tone, "But there's no fun in that. A bath can be so much more relaxing."

One of her hands idly played with the slow building water, palm barely grazing the surface as she made gentle, rippling strokes with her fingers. Her lush gaze then fell to the hem of his purple shorts, lingering on his narrow hips where they hung low. "Take them off," she instructed, her voice both commanding and velvety at the same time.

The sound of her made him want to immediately obey, to do anything she'd ask, so long as it meant he would please her in some way. Anything at all. "N-now?" he stuttered, heart hammering in his chest.

She nodded slowly. "The water will only grow colder, Gar."

Garfield could still hear the running faucet, bubbling as the water level rose. With itchy, compulsive fingers, he slowly undid his belt, helplessly compliant in her presence. The bright purple material dropped to the floor at his feet, revealing a pair of decorative navy blue boxers as well as the real colour of his flesh where the paint hadn't reached. Raven stood up and made room for him to get into the bath, all the while studying him, unblinking.

Licking his chapped lips and taking a deep breath, Garfield slowly stepped into the tub before lowering his body into the warm water. Already, swirls of jade sullied its clear surface, fading off his skin the moment he'd started the soak. Garfield cupped some of the water and brought it to his face, scrubbing his cheeks and around his eyes with his hands until the green coated his palms and caked into the creases of his fingers. Raven yanked a nearby face towel from the sink and dipped it under the running water, the golden bracelets of her wrists tinkling.

"Let me help," she coaxed.

She wiped at his face, her touch as gentle as the flutter of a butterfly's wings. Starting at his forehead, she then worked her way down towards his cheeks, and then his chin and jaw. When it came to his lips, she was even more meticulous, and her gaze seemed to fixate on her own movements, not paying any mind to the way he openly admired her, mesmerized by the perfect symmetry of her features.

Stuffing his hands between his legs to rest at the bottom of the tub, Garfield's knees bumped awkwardly against the confined bathtub walls. He stared down at his own reflection on the surface of the water when Raven had paused to wring the towel.

"You don't have to do this, by the way. I-I don't want to stain any of your clothes with the paint. It can be pretty annoying trying to get it out afterwards, I should know," Garfield stuttered, but Raven had moved down to wipe at his adam's apple and the base of his neck, dunking the towel — and her hand — into the bath water to refresh it. The porcelain tub was now stained in a transparent shade of jade green, and he could start seeing his own skintone beneath the thinning layer of paint.

"There's an easy fix for that," she responded, amusement laced in her voice.

Briefly placing the towel on the edge of the tub, Raven stood up and undid the bejeweled clasp at her throat, letting the thick material of her cloak sink to the floor to pool at her feet in a heap of crimson silk. She stepped over it in her dainty boots, the pointed heels clicking against his tiled floor. Garfield watched her, speechless and transfixed by her every movement and sound, his breath caught in his throat as rivulets of translucent green dripped down the contours of his face.

She unhooked the chained belt that sat haphazardly at her waist, red gems glowing in their sets of gold. They'd helped hold up a detail of her costume he'd previously assumed had been part of her leotard. A long, thin tendril of mesh red cloth, with small shimmering crystals embedded in it, had fallen between her legs and given her the false appearance of a bodice and skirt with high slits. The material sunk to the ground with her belt to join her cloak, and now that she was in the light, Garfield was beginning to understand that he'd misjudged her 'costume' entirely.

In fact, it didn't appear to be much of a costume at all, and he'd been a fool to have assumed so in the first place.

Garfield swallowed, fear and anxiety he couldn't explain coursing through his blood. He stared up at the girl who'd so easily bewitched him, and took in every curve of her lovely figure in the skin-tight leotard that had remained.

Exactly who was this incredible woman?

There was no way a face — or body — like hers would have slipped his notice in any of his classes, and if they'd shared mutual friends, how was it that none of them had bothered to introduce her? A creature so visually stunning, easily leagues more attractive than any other girl he knew, would have certainly drawn attention one way or another. Plenty of the guys at the college would have clambered at the opportunity to date her, and so to stumble upon her, all on her lonesome at the biggest frat house party on campus, simply didn't add up. Either way, he was noticing her now, and in that moment, it was all that mattered.

The leotard on its own was scandalous, and he could suddenly understand her reasoning for the heavy cloak. The suit itself covered most of her breasts, but opened down from the centre of her cleavage all the way to her navel, the material stretched taught over her curvaceous shape and narrow waist. String, shimmering like criss-crossed gold, held the suit together, giving the material the look of sharp edges where the string stretched over her exposed skin. Her modestly sized chest still appeared just about ready to burst from the tight material, and it sent his heart into a nervous flutter, the warm water doing nothing to help the growing situation between his legs.

"Holy shit…," Garfield whispered breathily, unable to control his reaction to her feminine form. He was in complete awe of her, eyes wide and unflinching, while she appeared to bask in the glow.

Carefully, Raven then bent down and undid the zippers of her thigh-high boots, in the meantime giving him a world-class view of her spectacular bosom. It was like someone had sucked out all the oxygen from the bathroom, and the steam that rose from the hot water was making him sweat. Or so he told himself.

With her boots set aside, and her clothes neatly folded over the toilet seat, Raven did something Garfield had never expected; she then stepped into the tub to join him.

The water — still running from the faucet in a steady stream— shifted with her addition, splashing over the edges when she lowered herself on top of him. He gasped sharply at the new feeling of her wet leotard against his skin, and tried to move away reflexively, but in such a tight space, there was nowhere else to go. Raven wanted to be this close to him, and that much he could never deny no matter how pathetic his self-esteem actually was. She nestled herself between his legs boldly, the ends of her hair already soaked with water as she leaned in to rest against his chest. "You're so tense, Gar."

"A-am I?"

She maintained the same eerie smile, her gold earrings catching the light and twinkling like stars. "You are, but not to worry. We can finish getting all that paint off of you and then I can help you...relax, hmm?"

Somehow, the water seemed to magnify her intoxicating scent coming from her skin. Like a rose in bloom after fresh spring rain, pulling him in closer with its sweet perfume. She must have bathed in scented oils, the way it clung to her body.

"Paint. Right. Yeah."

He couldn't think clearly, what with the rising steam, warming water, and the gorgeous woman laying on top of him. All Garfield could do was study the way in which the water slipped down Raven's pale, porcelain skin, and how it settled between her breasts or rolled down the curves of her dainty shoulders, making him lick his lips in wonder. Reaching for her hand towel, she then went back to work, diligently scrubbing down his abdomen beneath the water, getting unnervingly close to the waistband of his boxers.

With her position in such a confined amount of space, there was no way she wasn't already aware of his arousal, which was now throbbing against her belly. Garfield's hands were clenched into tight fists because he didn't know what else to do with them, and he was somehow terrified a single movement would make things worse.

Raven hummed softly to herself as she worked, wiping down his legs and arms and avoiding his gaze. The tune was odd, her pitch matching that of an eerie lullaby, but one that may have belonged in a horror movie. Like those children's nursery rhymes that foreshadowed the monster's coming.

"You have a pretty voice," he noted, trying to steer his thoughts away from the gutter.

"So I'm told."

Garfield forced a smile she did not return.

"And you…," she started, eyes darting along the planes of his face. "You're just pretty." She stroked the side of his cheek with her index finger, moving down his jaw to his neck, where his pulse bounded. Raven licked her lips slowly, her gaze growing heady where she was captivated by his throat. Something in the way the light caught her eyes made them flicker and glow, like ruby red gems.

His gaze then swept along the swell of her lips, taking in how close her mouth was to his. They were slightly parted in silent invitation, her soaked leotard sticking to her body like a second skin as she gripped his shoulders for leverage in the water. In a moment of pure instinct and deciding he couldn't stand her relentless teasing anymore, Garfield propped himself up on his elbows, using the tub's edges for support, and leaned towards her, hoping to capture her mouth with his in a tender embrace. His eyes fell closed, his surroundings becoming cloudy and dream-like. He could feel the huff of her breath as she exhaled, almost taste the sweetness of her tongue.

But Raven's wet finger intercepted him before he could find out what she tasted like. Garfield blinked and found himself staring into her captivating eyes, noting all the various shades that animated them, like he was staring at a map of the galaxy. There were flecks of reds and violets and indigo in her irises; seemingly impossible for a pair of contact lenses. Raven was smiling at him playfully, the tips of her fangs visible against her bottom lip. They gleamed a pearl white against the deep berry red of her lipstick. Lipstick he wanted to smudge all over her honeyed mouth with his kisses.

"Not yet," she whispered, eyes dropping to the fullness of his parted lips before lifting back up to the top of his head. "We still need to shampoo your hair."

She grinned, the lines around her mouth prominent, but not from age or overuse. Raven's visage was akin to that of a painting or a sculpture, where every line and stroke was intentional by the artist who'd created her. Meant to beguile her willing audience.

"Do we have to?" Garfield whined, his arms finding the courage to snake around her trim waist and pull her in closer.

Her bodysuit was now an even darker shade of red from the water it had soaked up, the material not unlike a bathing suit with how it clung to her skin. Raven's entire back was exposed, and his thumb tentatively brushed along the dip of her spine. She straddled his hips in response, causing Garfield to throw his head back against the tiled wall and hiss sharply, eyelids squeezing shut in painful ecstasy. Raven then leaned in, hovering over top of him, her hair falling forward like a black curtain. Closing the distance between them, she tentatively brought her mouth down against his, her lips both soft and cold and fleeting. Before he could react or savour the way she tasted, she pulled back, tugging on his bottom lip gently with her hot mouth.

She then sat up on his lap, hands pressed on his hard chest under the water, and licked her lips in a deliberate, sly motion, making sure he watched her relishing his flavour. At some point, Garfield's hands had grown bold in their exploration and had groped each of her butt cheeks, the tips of his index fingers slipping beneath the hem of her leotard. A low grumble made its way to his throat in the form of a groan when she rubbed herself against him.

"Soon, I promise," she mouthed against his ear, a smile in her voice, and then Raven proceeded to reach for the shampoo bottle sitting on a shelf near the tub.

A/N: Thanks for reading! Expect part two by the end of this week!