A/N: Movieverse one-shot, set a couple of months after Hellboy has 'outed' himself to the public...He and Liz have ironed out some of the kinks in their early domestic life, and Hellboy tries to keep valid worries on the back burner when Liz decides she wants a night out with friends in the city. If you please, read and review.
"I've had another invitation from the girls," Liz told Hellboy at the winding up of their mid day meal at home, "on pretty short notice, but this time, I'd like to go."
He stopped stacking his emptied oversized bowls to switch his attention to her from his end of the table.
"With Diana and Roxy," she continued, "tonight, to catch a band they're excited about."
"M-hm." Red slightly knew those women as non-agent support staff of the Bureau. "Single, are they?"
"So far, yes."
Predictably, he needed more answers. "Are they reliable?"
"You're asking if they're street smart and properly sensitive to who we are? Don't forget that I haven't exactly lived sheltered." Liz straightened in her chair, fixing him with a definitive look. "I know they wouldn't take me to a rough, dirty dive," she assured, "and it's a thirty minute cab ride away."
There was no need to remind Red that amid the throngs of civilians out for entertainment on a Saturday night, she herself had the potential of being the most dangerous unit of all.
"If you say so." The cleanup forgotten, he crossed his arms, frowned, and impressed a personally relevant caution. "And you three, just try not to make the eleven o'clock news."
"Look who's talking!"
Hellboy had impulsively succeeded in committing the irrevocable BPRD deep cover-busting sin by manipulating a ride out of a sixth storey window of Blackwood's auction house, on the propulsive concussion of Liz's pyrokinetically created flashover. And he damned well knew that his fall would introduce him to every network news press corps in Manhattan – cause a media sensation the second he'd crashed down among the police and crush of hundreds of reporters on the cordoned off street below.
The immediate threat of some thousands of predatory carnivorous tooth fairies desperately needed killing off in the fell swoop of her firestorm. There was no other way. The highbrow private bidding parlour would have already been a total write-off in anyone's opinion, when its floor became the final resting place of seventy completely digested and excreted former human beings. Liz's consuming inferno, contained within the limits of that space, had cleansed it of the slop by default. It could be said it was the only possible final dignity to confer upon those dead, but yet another mission consequence too bizarre for public consumption.
Abe had loaned himself to the complications, too, by exiting from the ornate street level doors of the establishment with Liz – straight into a throng of news photographers. But Tom Manning was most angry with Hellboy for giving an interview before he left the scene. The auction house deaths, the implausibly explained explosion, and the 'non-existent' BPRD special agents had remained the biggest news in New York and all the surrounding states for several weeks.
That initial outrage over the agents should have been rendered academic when only a day after, there was inevitably no possibility of keeping the team out of sight as Hellboy and Johann Krauss took to the streets against one towering supernatural berserker. Hellboy was out in front of all, immersed in battle with a King Kong sized forest god. It was likely the terrified citizens' view that the BPRD had brought all this down upon them. How were they to understand that such a creature had just grown from a magical green bean under the Brooklyn Bridge, to a storeys tall figure of rampaging destruction? In the aftermath of Hellboy's win, the bitter humans gathered on the scene saw in him no champion of their interests, just a hellish freak they'd want taken out of existence.
For him, though, a locked-down score came of it when Liz saw police guns raised at him and the mob growing bolder in attack. Along with every other BPRD related item, the news had been looping a statement critical of the Bureau's perceived condoning of 'inter species marriage'. Let those who took offence at that possibility, eat it and choke. She'd shielded him with her body, passionately shouted her case to defend him, and openly let loose her anger-triggered enveloping flames. He'd gone home afterwards with the mark of a rock strike to his face, and the woman who would risk all to show them how far she cherished him.
"Can't say I'm sorry I did that – but you've never been conclusively identified as the source of the megaton fireball." A subtle smile formed as he brought up a favourite memory of that night's pivotal exposure. "What caption did Jimmy Kimmel hang on you? Oh, yeah – it was 'Girl. Cute'."
"The rumours had power enough. And I can't wait for the day when the speculation on our lives completely fades from the tabloids' prurient interest."
Hellboy tilted his head in a curt nod.
"So – any more questions?" she asked.
"No more." He looked down, then back to her. "You've got it covered.."
She had a feeling that Red's thoughts could be taking him somewhat offside as they cleared the table and distributed the rest of their dishes onto the two-tiered cart for outgoing collection. With little to no outside acceptance of them, their consideration of how long they could stand to continue in their essentially cloistered living arrangement had been derailed in the face of big changes.
He didn't hover, didn't interfere or make suggestions, but Red took more than a passing covert interest in what his cute girl had chosen to wear for the outing. Her kickass high-topped boots were staying at home, and he gave tacit approval to the rest of her outfit for its extent of coverage. Aware that he was keeping unsolicited remarks to himself, she crossed to his place on the couch and alighted delicately on his lap. She pressed a square of paper into his hand.
"Here's where we'll be."
"Appreciated." As he glanced over the address, she bestowed a parting kiss between the roots of his filed horns.
"Are they picking you up at the parking? Got enough cash?"
"Yes, and yes."
"I'll walk you out," he offered. He accompanied her to a particular secure staff entrance, through to the gated parking lot. Despite camera surveillance, Hellboy didn't trust much about the roofless dusky open space when it came to Liz going there alone. The street adjacent eight foot heavy gauge chain link fence was clad for privacy on the public side. Roxy stood waiting inside the man-door exit, and came forward at the couple's approach.
"Hi, Liz," greeted the electrician, "and Red. Nice to see you." She waggled a warning finger. "No shock and shorts jokes, please. I've heard them all!"
Roxy had never before been within arm's length of Hellboy, and she had to tilt back her head to make a quick study of his face. The demon appeared rather serious, she thought, feeling that his cat-yellow eyes, while not unfriendly, seemed to be sizing her up and at the same time, entrusting her with responsibility.
"Diana is holding our taxi, about a block from here."
"You girls, look after each other." His approach had softened, but Roxy heeded his direction exactly as he'd intended. He was interrupted by Liz's hands clamped onto his shoulders.
"Don't worry! We'll be fine."
Roxy swiped her access card to let them out, and they subsequently heard Red on the inside, giving the door a shake to ensure it had locked.
"Aww, he loves you," Roxy cooed as they embarked on their walk to the taxi's location. Liz paused a second to take note of a whiff of cigar smoke drifting down on a stray breeze, and knew that Red must now be somewhere nearby and up high, keeping watch over the street.
"That's true," she answered. She spotted Diana, the buff manager of recreational facilities, waving to them from up ahead, "and the meter's running."
. . .
Diana's conversation during the long ride wove in and out on the subject of how this collection of musicians she favoured should record, that they deserved more recognition. The women were cautious to let no mention of the BPRD slip to their driver, who turned out to be one of those lonely, chatty types. They arrived outside the attractive facade of Diana's chosen cocktail bar and grill, where in the window beside the double doors, a large poster proclaimed tonight's performance by 'Fender Crew'. It bore no member images, only an imaginative graphic of three blazing guitars. That confirming advertisement visibly coloured Diana's cheeks and gave wings to her feet as she led the way inside. They stopped at the rails of the sunken dance floor to view its show of coloured swirls and shots of light beams coordinated to the beat of the house tunes. The stage stood ready and replete with the setup of a drum kit, microphone stands, monitors and outsized boxy speakers. Roxy went off to the bar counter to ask for the location of their reserved table.
"Know what? I'm going to dance myself sweaty!" grinned Diana. The round table she'd chosen was satisfactorily located for easy access to the dance floor. She licked her lips, raising her first beer.
"Women glow," Roxy teased. "Promise to act halfway like a lady!"
"When ladies get to have fun, I just might," she winked. "Do you mind sitting close enough to the bandstand to make eye contact with the hot rockers we're about to enjoy?"
Liz pointed to the currently dark stage lighting mounted on a ceiling track. "But when they get lit by those blinding bright can spots, they might only pretend to see you."
"Oh, they'll see me," Diana vowed, avidly watching the subject guitar bearing hotties entering from backstage. "Those of us who aren't blonde with button noses, have to try harder."
"I can't believe you think that way!"
"Well, you two are gorgeous," Diana dismissed with a good natured flirt of her hand.
"As long as we're taking inventory," Liz chuckled, indicating her chest. "Tiny girls."
"And I have the weirdest looking feet," Roxy contributed.
As the drummer led with a shock-inducing intricate downbeat and three guitars struck the initial chords, the red and blue overhead stage lights flashed into life, and the women arranged their seats next to each other, the better to face the musicians and continue chatting.
"So, who do you like up there?" Liz asked.
"See the blond, lead guitar, long legs, with the full sleeve ink?"
"Uh-huh."
"Gabriel Fletcher. Fletch," Diana identified, her heart unmistakably on her sleeve.
"Is he a friend of yours?" Roxy amused herself with ogling three pairs of well fitting jeans.
"Not nearly," sighed Diana, "I've followed this band's local gigs around since I first noticed him, but he's not very accessible to talk with because he won't come out to the bar floor on breaks."
"Why not?"
"He said he doesn't want to be tempted to drink."
"Then maybe you shouldn't be falling for him," Roxy opined with sympathetic sensibility, "but from the way he plays and sings, I totally understand."
"Weeks ago, he told me he has feelers out for a day job. These smalltime gigs are as much outgo as income."
"What else can he do?"
"He wouldn't say."
At the outset, it was mainly female dancers who filled the intimate relative darkness of the floor. Liz, Diana and Roxy joined them and freestyled under the pulsing light show. They copied the steps of other dancers, invented new ones and made each other laugh out loud. Diana took opportunities to trip up close to the stage for the favour of a nod and smile from Fletch. On return to their table, they found surprise shot glasses set haphazardly at their places. Since they had taken the precaution of finishing off their own drinks before vacating to dance, they gathered the unwanted shots to the table edge and requested them to be taken away.
"Hmm, it's flattering, I guess," Roxy said, "but kind of nervy."
"Nine straight up tequilas from strange. More justifiable urban paranoia," Diana added, wishing it weren't necessary to wear her purse to the dance floor.
"If you see someone you'd like to dance with," Liz encouraged, "don't lose the moment on my account."
"And you?" Roxy asked.
"Not interested."
"She's right," Diana agreed. "Just because one of us is spoken for doesn't mean that yours truly is too old and dried up to keep looking."
"That is such a flattering way of looking at it," Liz smirked.
"I'm not saying you've gone all housewife," Roxy amended, "but you act more – sort of goal oriented."
"I get that I was a scatter brained burnout for a long time."
. . .
Abraham was satisfied that he'd finally located his friend as he neared the outer entrance to the indoor firearms practice range. Despite the shooter's neglect in displaying the 'Range In Use' sign, the merman's keen senses distinguished minute muffled pops of rounds being fired and the low hum of the ventilation system. He went inside the unlocked foyer and activated the sign, which set off three short blasts of warning buzzer within the range room. As he stood looking through the wire reinforced glass of the interior door, he saw Hellboy step back from between the panels of his shooting stall. He tossed aside his eye and ear protectors, nodded to Abe and waved him in.
"Red," he greeted as he entered, "will you be staying here alone, much longer?" Abe flattened his gills shut against the acrid residue of burnt powder hanging in the closed atmosphere.
"Nah, I'm done," Red grinned. "Can't have you hold your breath while I empty another clip."
The demon crouched to one knee to gather handfuls of his spent casings from the floor, to save in the reload pail. From the shelving behind the stalls, he slid out a metal case, dropped the unloaded pistol inside and fastened down the lid. The friends walked out of the range to the foyer, where Abe made it his business to turn off the lighting and outer signage.
"Five minutes more on the ventilation?" he proposed.
"This is who you are, Blue," Red snickered, "the one who leaves things clean and pretty for the next guy."
"Thank you. I think." Abe leaned on the wall by the power panel and observed Red absently fitting his flesh fingers through the case's handle. "What's next for you, tonight?"
"I'll take this gun apart and put the solvent to it."
"None of which you would be doing if Liz were here."
"Guess not, Brother. It's just a little too quiet at home."
"Within the year," quipped the merman, "I suspect that will no longer be your problem."
. . .
A customer seated near the end of the bar a short distance from their table, was going out of his way to catch their attention, projecting crinkly smiles and unabashed stares with the hubris of a would-be player.
Roxy discreetly evaluated him. "He's checking us out."
"With a bullet. Not so bad looking from here. And he's got a wing man," Diana reported, then jerked her gaze downward at the nauseating sight of their admirer beginning to pick at his nose.
"Oh, now, that trashes the romance," she giggled, looking shifty-eyed into the circle of her friends.
It was fortunate timing when a server arrived with their plates of aromatic appetizers, at the start of the band's second set break.
"Assuming a promising conversation with any new man," suggested Liz, picking up a fried cheese stick, "how would you handle the question of your occupation?"
"My job is normal enough to put out there," Diana asserted, "but never with a reveal of anything to do with the Bureau. I learned from my former job when I wrote off anyone who gave me a 'Woo-hoo! You can handcuff me to the bed anytime', and asked to borrow my issued pistol. The best bet for any of us in career Bureau, is one of our own. Don't you think women are a lot more genuinely accepting about certain kinds of weirdness, when it comes to men?"
"Generalizing can be unfair, but I guess you could say that."
"Liz, I didn't mean.."
"Of course you didn't. The last thing I want is for you to walk on eggs around me."
"What she meant," Roxy interjected, "is how lucky you are to have found a single company man. And our most famous one, at that."
"It developed from a long time attachment," Liz clarified. "I didn't have to cold-call."
The flirty nose-picker interrupted with a rude arrival at their table. He plopped his hands wide apart on the surface to keep his balance as he butted his head and upper body into their personal space.
"Hi, lovely ladies," he hailed, with unconvincing courtesy. "Me and my friend want to ask you to join us – maybe we can come over here, with you. How about it?"
"Thanks, but not tonight," Roxy answered with a polite closed smile.
"We were nice, sent you drinks," he cajoled, adopting a prickly edge, "that you sent ba-ack!"
"Thanks again, and please don't send any more." The delivery of Diana's instruction left no room for misinterpretation. Nosepicker bristled at her air of authority.
"Dykes!" he spat, then again leaned heavily on the table, angling for a closeup of Liz.
"Hey, I knew it!" he crowed with a giddy cackle, "you're that girl!"
Roxy and Diana cursed in tandem and stood up to get in his way as he straightened to his full height, stabbing a finger at Liz and excitedly hollering to the bar at large, "It's that girl from TV! The girl with the freaks!" He gave Roxy a rough shove out of his face and veered back to Liz as a hundred pairs of eyes bored into the knot of the disturbance.
"Where's the big red gorilla, Honey?" He stupidly bobbed his head around in an all directional search. "The guy with the tail and the big gun? And the skinny blue thing? You can't be out here with no bodyguard, famous little piece like you! Take me, Baby! I volunteer!"
"Goodbye, now," Liz replied with underwhelmed sarcasm, "I couldn't possibly afford you."
"Sweetheart! Baby! No charge!" he declared, sweeping his obnoxious smile to include the others. "You can party, too!" He emphatically grabbed his crotch. "Plenty of this to go around!" He snatched one of the vacated chairs, dragged it up next to Liz and thrust his face only inches from hers, adding a brief effort of trying to make nice with an ill aimed attempt to pet her hair. Diana slapped his hand away.
"C'monnn, what's it like with them?!" he harangued, his annoyance spiking at her lack of cooperation. "What's it like with the devil himself?!"
Expressionless and calm, Liz saw Diana loom behind the drunken intruder, scowling and thrusting out swift hands to each side of his head.
"What's it like to get f-!" He gargled an abrupt scream as his head was pulled backward by her hands cupped rigidly under his chin. The chair teetered onto its hind legs as he flailed his arms and clutched at his face before crashing to the floor. Diana followed up the advantage, dropped her knee on him and quickly patted down his clothes.
"About time!" Roxy was heard to exclaim as a burly bouncer finally arrived to investigate. "Get rid of this sewer-mouth!"
"You girls all right?" he asked, checking over the supine drunk squirming on the floor.
"Yeah, thanks to ourselves!"
They watched the bouncer help Nosepicker get his legs under himself.
"No cops! No fucking cops," he mumbled, offering no resistance. The offender's embarrassed companion came forward to claim him, and the bouncer escorted them together out the door.
Immediately, an individual with the badge of 'Manager' on the breast of his crisp black shirt walked up.
"Ladies, respect and apologies. We should have been more on the ball and quashed the problem before it went so far. Your beverages and food choices tonight will be compliments of the house, and I'd like to offer you additional rounds of whatever you'd like."
"Liz, are you okay with that?"
"I am," she decided, taking a look around them. "Your hero has one last set to play, and nobody seems interested in bothering us, now."
Liz excused herself to seek out the better light and relative quiet of the ladies' room. She attracted some standoffish curiosity in the company of a dozen women touching up their makeup and checking their phones. In the privacy of a stall, she turned hers on and felt a twinge of disappointment to find nothing incoming from Red. She tapped out a text.
"Will call when leaving. Cab drop, same street, one block west. Love."
His answer came as immediately as one left thumb could navigate.
"Will be there. Glad to have all your little tails safe home. Love back."
Under the drape of her blouse, she clasped both hands over the sweet secret of her slightly rounded belly; the reason she'd kept to her seat during the altercation. She smiled to herself as she realized how often she had begun to perform that instinctive touch, keeping Red's babies safe from harm.
She rejoined her friends in unmolested peace, and poured her complimentary new bottle of lemon Perrier over ice. Diana beckoned her in with a conspiratorial grin, and Roxy's own devious expression as she sipped a frosty margarita, piqued Liz's curiosity.
"I got his wallet," Diana whispered. "I'll keep his driver's ID. If Nasty ever decides to give you future stalker problems, he's screwed."
"But I don't think he will," Liz grinned back, raising her glass to clink congratulations all around for a job well done.
They celebrated freely throughout the end set of Fender Crew. Six beers and the presence of Fletch contributed to Diana's flushed glow as she danced with abandon. At one in the morning, the band members gave broad thanks to the audience and went offstage, but when the applause and whistles and whoops extended out long to summon them back, they returned to satisfy the fans with an encore.
"Well," said Roxy, leaving a tip by her empty glass, "we've had our night. Fun and eventful."
While they awaited their taxi out on the sidewalk, Diana broke off to make the short walk up to a public mailbox, where she deposited Nasty's wallet.
"Look at us," she chortled on her way back, "danced all sweaty."
"Sorry you didn't get to talk to Fletch, though," said Roxy, sadly.
"And thanks for recommending," Liz put in, "He's as good as you said."
With everyone settled in the cab, Liz made her promised call to Hellboy.
"Hi. We're on our way."
"Feeling all right?"
"Feeling fine."
"Great. Soon, then. Bye."
But Liz fell to thinking of how the night's harassment could have become uglier and more wide spread among all those strangers. She shut her eyes to reimagine and analyze the organic reactions within her body at the time, the adrenaline elevating her heartbeat. No circulation pump, she was certain, had ever been the origin and domain of powerful emotions like fear, dread, shame and guilt. So many times, she had known all of these feelings to seat themselves nowhere but in her gut, just below that heart-pump whose function it was to supply her with the strength to hopefully overcome those negatives. Understanding how to direct that energy, how not to flash into flame except at will, had taken her many years to generally master. The pump supplied impetus, too, when the gut was repository for the very best of powerful emotions. The chain of her biofeedback ruminations was broken when she heard Diana speak.
"It's raining harder now," she protested, as they arrived at Liz's predetermined exit location. "Why don't -"
"I won't be waiting long. Maybe see you tomorrow?"
The women watched and waved from the departing car until she was out of sight. Liz moved away from the tall standard of a street lamp, then looked over the gleaming wet cars parked along the sidewalk. All were unoccupied, which was desirable now.
"Here, Babe." She heard him coming toward her from behind a gigantic old oak's shadowy cover, near the edge of a kids' playground park as thunder rolled overhead.
"Are you tempting a lightning strike?" she asked, pushing her rain-dampened bangs off her forehead.
In one more stride to the sidewalk, he'd whisked off his coat and held it overhead to shelter them both.
"I've survived a few," he grinned. "Truth is, I found a nest of baby squirrels in there, and couldn't stop watching."
"Aww." As they fell into step together, that picture of her large demon lover's unfailing affinity for little animals tickled her imagination. "Waited up for me?"
"Up, down and sideways," he admitted, his arm drawing her by the waist. Though his easygoing manner seemed as natural as ever, she had the definite sense that he was leaving any further new topics up to her. She suddenly found it important to say, "Now that I'm older, the club life just isn't so very appealing, anymore. Know what I mean?"
Thoughtfully serious for the space of several steps, he replied, "Counting everywhere I've been over the last – twenty years, that's mainly been the case, yeah."
He held off the sting of pelting rain as they reached the parking lot. Ambling across, he made her squeal in surprise when he shifted his arm down under her thighs to swoop her above the puddles on their way to the attached building. He shut the door behind them and put aside his dripping coat, uncovering her inquisitive expression.
"It's a little strange that you haven't had much to say about tonight," she began, taking an easy hold of his wrist.
Even under the harsh fluorescent lighting, she couldn't mistake the warm gleam in his yellow pupils as he smiled down at her, the timbre of his voice rumbling to a husky caress.
"Just being the guy you'd want to come home to."
Liz stood struck at her instant capture by the tender significance and frank, simple charm of his answer. She seized him in a hug, letting her body melt against him. His unquestioning trust spoke more to her than anything he could say. He sighed a soft, satisfied moan as they rocked in each other's arms.
"Let's go home."
. . .
Fresh from her shower with Red, Liz sat in the middle of their bed, rubbing a towel through her hair. She stopped and looked far across the room to what comprised the eclectic arrangement of his kitchen, curious to know what he was doing. Some time ago, he'd mounted the full sized refrigerator on a platform of pallets stacked up to suit his height, and she could appreciate that his unorthodox inventiveness had eliminated the need for either of them to bend down to the lowest of the shelves.
At that moment he was standing there, hands resting on his hipbones, looking into that open refrigerator and surrounded by a small army of reliable cats responding to the hopeful prospect of a third dinner. Outlined in silhouette against the interior light, he flexed his arms into a casual stretch behind his neck, and she spied with interest at the bulging of his shapely biceps and his deltoids rounding hard at the wide limits of his shoulders. The tip of his tail alternately curled and dropped, seeming to reflect his indifferent interest in the contents of the fridge. He lifted his head and swung around to face her.
"Anything I can get for you?"
Liz grabbed his undivided attention as she threw aside the towel, then raised herself up to full kneeling height, her eyes dancing with a naughty sparkle.
"You've already got me something.." She winsomely displayed the profile of her petite curves, then shook back her hair and assumed a pose with one arm arranged across her pert breasts and the other palm cupped gracefully under her little bump. She watched his lips shape the one rapturous word of his instant response.
"You.." he marvelled under his breath, beguiled to his soul by her beam of radiant pride. His set gaze held their warm blooded connection as he advanced upon the bed. Kneeling with her, he took her face between his hands.
"It's you," he whispered, his eyes softly alight, "who makes all the magic happen for me." He kissed her mouth, and a shiver raced across his shoulders as she curved her fingers around his neck to urge him nearer. He sank down to a low kneel in front of her to even the difference in their heights and pulled her in between his splayed thighs. As she nestled her torso against his and began to slide her arms into a comfortable embrace over his shoulders, some barely perceptible interference seemed to be stealing him out of the moment. His eyes, raised away from hers, took on a serious cast and made a critical scan of their surroundings.
"Liz – I can't blame you if you get tired of this." His breath ghosted her cheek as he looked down between them, to his flesh hand passing gently over her belly. "You and our kids have the right to expect better."
She traced a finger through the beads of his wrist rosary for a moment, then shrugged, giving him the benefit of her practical aspect. "We have time to make some changes. This giant vault has potential." She turned his willing ear closer to her lips. "It's where I sleep and wake up with you. And remember," she murmured with soft affection, "You're always on my mind."
He basked in the rich pleasure of those words, his head bowed by hers while her fingers explored the rugged defined contours of his back with hungry appreciation – fondling across his shoulder blades and mighty lats, stroking downward to his hard hip tensors and the narrowing of his waist. Tendrils of lusty anticipation crept to mass, tingle and flutter in that place where the strongest of emotions excited her mind and body to need the brave, safe, comforting love she held in her arms.
His hands set lightly on her thighs, and reading in her tranquil face that she'd withdrawn into a dreamlike drift, Red had no reason or desire to move. He had found tonight how his own calm acceptance paid off – seemed to mystify, yet draw her more intently to him. Now as she slowly brought up her arms to clasp around his neck and leaned her weight back, he followed her down to the bed and rested on his hands above her. Her unveiled misty eyes stared a challenge into his, and she breathed a little faster as she pressed her palm just below his sternum.
"Can you feel it, right here?"
"It's there, Babe," he whispered low with feeling, "and running wild."
Running as wild as the limit of strength he would use on her. As wild as she needed him to overwhelm her in the rhythm of his visceral, raw energy. She kept her hands on the driving, smooth flexion of his hips, enhancing her sensation of his every thrust inside her until she writhed, cried out and pulsed in tight, gripping waves around him – until the feel, sight and sound of her passion was all he could endure. They rested close together, with no need of anything else.
They'd seen how the outside world could stand on the subject of who they were. Liz could choose to turn her back on all of its intolerance. But she and Hellboy would go where they were called, to face the forces that humans alone, could not. They could count on the one constant that mattered – they had each other to come home to.