Author's note: Thank you to NotMarge, Arkytior's Song, kmj1989, anonymouscsifan, and TReneeM for the reviews! Kmj, your comment literally made me laugh out loud. Very true, though.

With the exception of a little snippet next chapter, the next three (and a half, I guess you can say) chapters are all new stuff! I wanted to take the opportunity to add both more interactions with Hank and also the Brotherhood. The goal here is to build a more complete story and add layers to Vivien's relationships. Hopefully I succeed! Until then, I hope you enjoy some fluffiness.

Thank you to everyone who takes the time to read this. Reviews are always welcome!


In the Eye of the Beholder

I'm a little nervous as I let Hank into my safe house.

What's he going to think of it? After all, it's just a tiny studio apartment, nothing at all like the ritzy mansion he's lived in for years. The only furniture I've got are some bookcases, a card table and folding chair, a dresser and a box spring and mattress set. Everything's neat and tidy, though, so that has to count for something. Right?

"I know it's not much, but it serves its purpose," I tell Hank, shrugging.

"And what purpose is that?"

I give him a rueful smile and cross the room over to the bed. I plop down on the mattress and pat the space next to me, an invitation to take a seat.

Hank seems a little hesitant as he sits down. The fact that there's a bed added to the equation between us now seems to have put him on high alert.

I get that. After all, we haven't been able to do anything other than kiss a little bit since that hot make out session in the X-mansion's music room, because we can't let him Beast-out in public.

But now we're not in public. We're completely alone, with no worries about anyone interrupting us. I definitely wouldn't mind if we took advantage of that at some point, since we've barely had a chance to explore that side of our relationship thus far.

Hank tenses up a little when I slip my legs over his thigh. It's the way I usually sit, but right now the closeness seems to be making him anxious. Not because he doesn't want it- or at least I hope that's not the reason- but more because this is so new for us. Knowing Hank, he's worried about fucking up.

To make him relax a bit I choose to not call attention to his apprehension.

"It's a safe house," I explain, in answer to his question.

"A safe house?"

I nod. "Ever since my parents- died- whenever we go somewhere, I get a place to stay in case of emergencies. It's come in handy once or twice, trust me."

"Do your brothers know about it?" Hank asks.

"No," I reply, with an empty laugh. "To be honest, for the past couple months the main reason I've come here is to shower and change clothes after seeing you. I don't want James and Myles to smell you on me and start asking questions."

He winces- I'm guessing because he's thinking of what would happen if that situation did happen and then escalated. It wouldn't be pretty, that's for sure. But that's why I'm being so careful, especially after that near miss with James a few weeks back.

"You're the only person I've ever shown this to," I murmur, trying to impress on Hank just how important my bringing him to this place is. "I... I trust you, Hank."

I wonder if he can see the appeal in my eyes as I hold his gaze, the plea not to betray the trust I'm giving him. Has he realized how hard it is for me to put my faith in other people after being burned so many fucking times? It's why I'm such a loner, the reason I don't let my guard down. Surely he understands that?

"I won't tell a soul," he promises, and the sincerity shines brightly in the blueness of his eyes.

I smile in relief and lean in to kiss him. "Thank you," I whisper fervently. "Now, about your present-"

He looks at me with mild curiosity.

I stand and go over to grab the gift I left over on the counter the other day. "For you," I say grandly, placing it into his hands as I sit back down. I hold my breath as he carefully unwraps it.

Hank smiles nostalgically the moment he sees the title of the book, so I know he understands the reference. He opens to the frontispiece with care, obviously wary of its apparent age. "This is the first non-serialized version," he murmurs in an awestruck tone.

I nod proudly. "Yup. Do you like it?"

"Of course I do," he replies, kissing me. "How on earth did you get your hands on this? It's in such good condition and- oh dear, Vivien, you didn't steal it, did you?"

Well, ouch. That's outright offensive, damn.

"No," I snap, scooting away from him and crossing my arms. "A book collector owed me a favor and gave me a good deal. How could you even think that I'd give you something stolen? Give me some credit, here."

I know damn well he wouldn't want anything to do with stolen property. I would never put him in that position. The fact that he doesn't realize that hurts my feelings.

"I'm sorry," Hank says quickly. "Vivien, truly. I didn't mean- I just-"

"I get it," I sigh. And I really do. I'm a lot more- flexible- when it comes to property laws than he is most of the time. "I'm not exactly known for traveling the straight and narrow. It's an easy assumption to make."

I stare down at the carpet between our feet, still feeling a little wounded despite everything. It kinda makes me wonder why he bothers with me sometimes, when I'm obviously a shitty person compared to him.

"It's an assumption I shouldn't have made," Hank tells me, his expression pained. "Darling, I'm sorry."

He seems sincere in his apology, at least. And I can't find it in myself to stay mad at him, as sad as that sounds. At least from now on he'll know better, right?

"It's fine."

"W-would you like your gift now?" he asks tentatively.

"Sure," I reply, purposely keeping my tone neutral.

Hank reaches into his pocket and pulls out a little box. I can't help giving him an amused glance as I take it from him. Looks like he went for the cliche gift just as much as I did.

I open the box to find a pair of gemstone earrings inside.

"I made those for you," he explains nervously.

"You made these?" I repeat, holding them up to the light. The little green and brown teardrop-shaped stones dangle on delicate silver chains. They're elegant in their simplicity, absolutely gorgeous. I had no idea Hank could do something like this.

He nods sheepishly in answer to my question. "It wasn't hard," he says modestly. "I just polished the stones and used a soldering iron on the silver. I-I picked andalusite because it reminded me of your eyes. And, well- I thought if I made them long enough, you could still wear them in public without showing anyone your ears. Do you like them?"

"Of course I do, baby," I tell him, laughing. How could I not, considering all the thought he put into making them? "Thank you."

To demonstrate I put the earrings on. The stones fall below my jawline, still visible past the braids that are hiding my ears today.

"What do you think?" I ask, tilting my head back and forth to give him a better view.

"Beautiful," Hank murmurs, with that special happy light in his eyes. The one he only gets when he looks at me.

I giggle and swing a leg over him, so I'm straddling his hips. His arms reach up and pull me closer when I lean in to kiss him. The way he responds, so ardently, tells me he's definitely not nervous anymore.

We're really starting to get into it when one last coherent thought occurs to me, causing me to break away. It leaves us both gasping and wanting more.

"Take off your shirt and shoes," I order hastily, so we can get back to the fun we were having.

"Why?" He looks self-conscious.

"Because," I reply suggestively, trailing my hands down his chest. His eyes darken, and I could swear a flash of blue flickers over his skin. 'You're about to get a little 'worked up,' baby, and I'd feel bad if I sent you home with a busted shirt and no shoes in the middle of December."

"Your logic is unassailable," Hank murmurs. He awkwardly shucks off his shoes and socks with his feet while I slip off his glasses for him. His expression is a little downcast as he slips off his shirt, like he's being all broody about turning into Beast when he gets- excited.

Well I can make him forget about that. And I'll do it with pleasure.

I push him back onto the bed and pounce on him with the intention of doing some serious necking. I kiss him heartily, tracing my claws across his skin-

Within seconds blue fur sprouts under my fingers as he loses control and shifts into Beast. God, the way I can push this reserved, awkward man over the edge makes me feel so powerful, so desirable.

Hank instantly flips us over, so he's pressing me into the mattress. I purr and wrap my legs around him, pulling him closer so I can touch him all over. I honestly can't get enough of him.

I reach out and tenderly stroke his face when we finally come up for air several minutes later. His lovely, lovely face, with those sunset eyes glowing down at me and making me feel so wanted and loved.

"God, you're beautiful," I murmur.

He snorts disbelievingly.

"Hey," I chide. "What? You don't believe me?"

"We both well know that I have the ability to scare small children with the mere sight of my face," he observes coolly.

I roll my eyes. "And?" I retort. "I have huge ears and fangs. I'm freckly, skinny, and I have the chest of a twelve year old boy. But do you still think I'm pretty?"

"I think you're beautiful," Hank replies. "But it's not the same thing, Vivien."

Jesus, he can be so stubborn sometimes.

"Sure it is," I scoff. "Hasn't anyone ever told you that beauty is in the eye of the beholder? Whatever you think of yourself, it's not going to change how I see you. You're the smartest, sweetest man I've ever met. Strong, but gentle too. And a genuinely good person who treats me nicer than anyone else ever has. All in a ridiculously sexy package."

He lets out a startled laugh.

"Tall, gorgeous cheekbones, and muscles for days," I whisper in what I hope is a seductive voice. My hands trail over his face, down his drool-inducing arms. "Eyes like sunsets-"

"-Skin and fur like a blueberry-colored shag carpet," Hank adds dryly.

I smirk. "Blue happens to be my favorite color," I purr, pulling him in so I can nibble on his bottom lip.

Hank makes that sexy rumble deep in his chest and kisses me until we're gasping for breath again. "Did you really mean that?" he asks when he finally pulls back. The look in his eyes- this mixture of incredulity and fragile hope, hope that I'm telling the truth- hurts my heart. "What you said about me?"

I pretend to think about it for a moment. "No," I reply sarcastically. "I lied. My favorite color is actually black, Hank. I'm so sor-"

He feigns a displeased growl and rolls us over, both laughing, so I'm on top again.

But then I cradle his face in my hands and kiss him deeply. "I meant every word, baby," I whisper truthfully.

His answering smile has to be the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.

I grin back and lean down to kiss him again, firmly pulling so he shifts to be on top of me once more. He seems quite happy to obey the tacit demand, pressing against me with the full length of his body. God, I love being under Hank like this, feeling so safe and surrounded by him.

Now those big hands of his start to wander all over my front, under my dress. Hesitantly at first, like he's afraid that any moment I'll slap him for being handsy. His claws tentatively graze my breast and then begin to retreat.

But smacking him is the last thing on my mind right now. "It's ok," I murmur. "I want you to touch me, Hank."

"Yeah?" he asks breathlessly.

"Mhmm," I reply. To demonstrate I grab his wrist and move his hand back, arching into his touch to encourage him.

After a moment's hesitation I'm rewarded by this worshipful little gasp as Hank presses his face to my cleavage and starts to kiss everywhere his lips can reach.

To my- intense- delight he's a lot braver after that.

But eventually we allow ourselves to calm down from the fever pitch we worked into, our kisses slowing to a stop by unspoken agreement. Neither of us is sure what would happen if we went all the way, if Hank would be able to stop himself from marking me in the heat of the moment.

So instead for a while we lay cuddled in bed together, with our legs entwined and my face and fingers buried in the fur on his chest.

"It's getting late," I murmur eventually. "We should probably get going."

"Yes, we should," Hank agrees quietly. He kisses my forehead and nuzzles my hair. "But..."

"I know," I whisper. I don't want to go, either. "We can come back here whenever we want to, though."

I say that, but I know it's not enough. Nothing short of being able to spend the rest of my life with him, my mate, will be enough. But with everything standing between us...

Will we ever get that chance?