When the scene was over, Gabriel iced Eric down and had Greg move into aftercare position. Eric needed touch after, but it couldn't be the person who'd beat him and fucked him, else he'd lash out while still in that haze of peaceful violence. Greg was a good sop for that, large and soft. Natural cushion.
Time for Gabriel to check on Rhett, then. Rhett was yet holding still, all his ropes in place except where Gabriel had pulled to rip loose a tool. Didn't look distressed any, calm as all hell, so he'd told Greg and Gabriel true.
Gabriel eased the gag off, first. Wiping off the spit with a wet towel, gentle. Rhett didn't say a word, just had those eyes fixed on Gabriel like he was the entire world. Good feeling, to get that response.
Gabriel took the toys out of the ropes, one by one. Rhett held so still. Scared? But Gabriel saw only that steady calm.
Ropes off next. Pulling loose the attachment between the front and the back. Rhett gave a strange stretch, like he'd popped his back wrong. Would have to watch out for that. Gabriel undid the anchors until the ropes fell from Rhett's body entirely.
Rhett kneeled, still staring up at Gabriel.
It was tempting to get out the small, silicone cock Gabriel hadn't used yet. It would fit in Rhett's mouth just right. But Rhett had been clear about what he did and did not want. So, instead, all Gabriel did was ruffle his hair.
Something about that seemed to zap through Rhett like a lightning bolt, leaving tension in its wake. His eyes changing, all of a sudden, from submissive focus to full presence. Rhett pulled out from under Gabriel's hand. Gabriel let him. Rhett'd done good, obedient. So he got to be back on his bullshit for a little while.
Even so, Rhett ended up being the one to take care of a lot of the cleanup. Coiling the hemp ropes without even being asked. Making a kitchen run to change out Eric's ice. Bringing them all whatever they needed to get back to the surface of their minds safe.
It reminded Gabriel that Rhett was into serving, down to the bones. Rhett did a good bit for the living, but he hadn't been pulled into dedicated personal service to anyone. And he liked Gabriel special.
"Hey, Rhett," Gabriel said to him, when Rhett had come back with cleaning supplies. "Wanna be my service sub?" A compromise choice of terms--a lot of folks used "slave" or "servant", but Gabriel couldn't stand either word, not after all the hell he'd been through.
"Yes, sir." Immediately.
"I'll give you time to think about it."
"My answer's still going to be yes, sir."
Thairn had to meet regularly with Mickey and Lucía both to trade the potions secrets. Mickey would pretend to go on a date with Thairn, so he could let her know what he was telling the students, and what he would like Lucía to think he was telling the students. Thairn would arrange tea with Lucía--they each brought their own leaves, so neither had to fear poison--and pass both false and true on, so Lucía could fake being tricked. Which Lucía was doing well enough, thus far. Mickey didn't seem to suspect a thing, and he was exulting over the more drastic of the faked failures.
Tea with Lucía had its uses. Just telling Lucía the latest potion swap would have made for a short and boring conversation. Far more interesting, then, for both of them to discuss potions theory.
Regardless of Lucía's thoughts on people, she was more than happy to have the chance to go on at length about chemistry and neurobiology. It wasn't long before Thairn had a full explanation of how Sleepless Dream worked and plenty of other openings to ask about specific potions, particularly anti-fae ones. Wing Rot sounded especially nasty. Alanna, of course, wanted to know all about it, down to the last gory detail.
Sadistic tendencies aside, Lucía was disproving half the problems Thairn had with wizards. Look at Lucía. In this competition aimed towards blood and violence, and she was trying to win it by research. Thairn had already snagged one useful potion for the Technology Office with Sleepless Dream. Win Lucía over, and Thairn would have abundant opportunities to get all kinds of brews over to the people who knew how to put them to use. Lucía wasn't particularly sociable, but, if anyone who wasn't Mickey could rebuild the Morleys into a different type of enterprise, Lucía could.
As for Mickey.
Thairn and Mickey took turns coming up with ridiculous things to do for dates. Lunch in the training maze their students kept sneaking into and getting lost in, that was Mickey's proposal for one outing. He wore a frilly apron and brought a picnic blanket to set out a meal for them both, laid precisely beneath where they'd had to come out in the middle of the night to unstick Jenna Huáng from where she'd improbably warded herself to the ceiling. He'd joked about the view, and Thairn had told him a carefully-edited story about her ex-girlfriend Claudia, a chain smoker with a touch for magic. That tale had led them off into a conversation about the fun end of magical drugs--light things like dragonsmoke, which was more a party trick than a serious substance--and how their effects differed between faeries and humans. They both managed to keep the topic well clear of life-destroying brews and the aching hollows lost loved ones left in their memories. Thairn had enough of an interest in keeping the mood light that she neglected to bring Claudia's tale all the way to its bitter end.
But she told him later, in the wisplit quiet of the garden, far from prying ears.
Tricia ran her eyes over Thairn's seeds as if Thairn had presented her with a satchel of gemstones.
"May I?" Tricia asked. At Thairn's nod, Tricia ran her hand gently through the first layer, occasionally pressing a seed between her fingers with careful expertise. "Some of these are dried out--not that I blame you, no one told you how to store them. But for the most part, these may well be viable. We'll have to try planting some test samples... if that's alright?"
"Tricia, you can do whatever you like with them. I was at a loss for what to do about them at all until you came along."
"Excellent. I--oh, this one's a pumpkin, but a different varietal than what I have... Do you remember at all what the farm grew?"
"It's been a long time. There was definitely pumpkin..." Thairn hesitated, as if trying to pierce the veil of years. In truth, she had the whole list memorized. "There was something that looked like eggplant, I think, but it tasted like a summer squash. And some dark-green, leafy plants..." Nakij and leish, both crops that grew in the border region between Summer and Autumn lands, not too far from the pumpkinopolises. Carefully selected by someone who knew far more than Thairn about what would seem likely.
She continued with the vague descriptions and the occasional word she'd expect Alanna to know--and the occasional mistake she'd expect Alanna to make. Tricia quizzed her endlessly, only occasionally backstepping to apologize for some trauma of Alanna's she'd stumbled into.
It would be fun to bring Tricia to Faerie. Watch her delight over mundanities Thairn had never even thought about. It was too bad that it would be far too dangerous.
For Tricia.
"This week, Mickey wants me to tell you the actual swap," Thairn said to Lucía, peeling her gloves off as they set up for tea. "To build your trust in me back up, since for the last two weeks, I was supposed to be telling you the wrong ones."
"It's fun, beating him at his own game." Lucía poured in her hot water to steep. "Did that last 'failure' make enough of an impression?" She passed the kettle to Thairn.
"I think so." Thairn, as always, dumped the kettle out, rinsed it four times, and refilled it from the tap. It was useful, playing a paranoid character like Alanna. It let Thairn assuage her own true fears.
"Just think so?"
How to phrase this like Alanna, who was far less comfortable with cloak and dagger? "He was surprised, I think." Ah, yes, attribute Thairn's insight to Mickey, preferably before Mickey actually noticed. "He said that with your past 'failures' and how much pride you have, he'd expected you to start keeping it quieter."
Lucía gave a disdainful sniff. "He doesn't understand anything about science, then, or my 'pride'."
"Oh?"
"Failure is as important to gaining knowledge as success. Show me someone whose experiments always work, and I'll show you someone who isn't learning anything."
"Maybe you can help me learn something from my failures, then."
"Other than dating that idiot?"
"We've talked about this."
"Fine." Lucía handed Thairn a sugar spoon, which was as close to an apology as would ever be forthcoming. Thairn took it, bracing herself for the iron-contact nausea, disguising the distaste as displeasure over the comment. She swapped the spoon out for an ironless one with some sleight of hand the second she saw an opportunity, and only then stirred the honey she'd brought for herself into her tea. She took a sip of the honey left clinging to the spoon when it was done. Ahh. Very nearly relaxing.
"The failure is with potions," Thairn answered. "Tricia's lent me some plant samples, but I'm having issues preparing them..."
Lucía listened to Thairn's explanation, ill-concealing her avarice once she realized what plants they were.
"I've actually been trying to source some of those myself," Lucía said, "but Vernon--well, it doesn't matter. I'll help you with the processing, if you give me your extras? She gave you much more than you needed."
"Oh, would you? That would be so helpful."
Illa's morning routine: Adjust and check glamours. Make the bed just so. Pull athletic tape and clothes from the dresser and wear them. Try not to look down until the boxer-briefs were on. This clever was worse than the usual. The usual tucked its additions and erasures out of sight, but this one couldn't.
Put on the collar. Feel the faint echo of Thairn.
First task outside the unit was helping with breakfast, that much had become routine. Collect gossip, work out how to code it for the next report. Keep an ear out for interesting scenes with well-connected initiates.
After breakfast, Illa's duties now took him to Gabriel's room. He checked the doorknob. Unlocked, meaning he was allowed to come straight in. A new level of trust he'd won in his maneuvers.
He opened the door, took his shoes off neatly. Pants, too. Left him wearing just a shirt, underwear and socks. Folded and set the pants aside, then knelt to care for the other shoes already on the rack. This one clean. This one needed dirt brushed away. Another pair needed a full conditioning, so he pulled out the shoelaces as a reminder to pick them up on his way out.
Knelt there a moment. Internally, the pause felt calm, meditative. Externally, Rhett was fucking with Gabriel a little bit. Lagging just long enough to invite pain.
Nothing yet. Very well. More, then.
Illa stood and walked further into the unit. Gabriel was scowling at something on his desk--interesting, Illa'd have to sneak a peek at the papers there later. Gabriel's desk had been a fruitful source of information so far, though Illa had to be careful how he went about it.
Gabriel didn't look ready to dress yet, so, Illa went past him into the bedroom. The bedsheets rumpled, scattered with implements. Gabriel had already taken care of those that had to be cleaned right away, or that went into an orifice. The rest were in Rhett's care.
Anything leather, he checked to make sure it was clean, placed under a UV light, and then conditioned if it looked dry. Wood got a similar treatment, but with polish. For metal, Illa tried to make sure the cleaning cloth stayed between his fingers and the implement as unobtrusively as possible. Sometimes he had to touch it anyway, bracing himself against iron-contact nausea, careful not to let it show. Rope that was visibly soiled, he washed and hung to dry. The hemp rope, he oiled. The rhythm and details and click-click-click of it smoothing out every burr and tangle in his mind. He felt inappropriately comfortable here, carrying out his duties and making sure they were done right, pulling up old routines and building new ones.
After cleaning and care, he put the tools away. By size, by material, by sensation. Everything neatly in its place.
But, he was still playing Rhett, of course, so he took one wooden paddle and set it atop the leather floggers, deliberately mislaid. An unobtrusive-looking thing, reddish-brown polished wood the length and breadth of his hand, that sang in the air and struck like to break him while leaving scarcely a mark.
Illa-as-Rhett was pushing. Tempting. Inviting.
He paused, on his knees, and this time, he was rewarded. The smell of tobacco, the rustle of fabric, footfalls on the carpet. Gabriel's hand around Illa's throat, the weight and coolth of an undead body against his wings. He closed his eyes. Focused on the feeling of the brass collar pressing into his trachea.
"You ain't subtle, brat."
Rhett's cocksure chuckle. "Wasn't aware I needed to be."
"You want that paddle on your ass, go earn it for me."
"Have a chore you want done?"
"Yeah. Clean my brat Rhett up, real good."
"The hell does that mean?" Rhett's annoyance. Illa's confusion, alarm.
"You're not taking care of yourself. Don't think I haven't seen it. And if you're not gonna do it for yourself, I'm gonna to tell you to do it for me."
"I don't understand. Sir."
"Got a full bathroom with a shower installed in this unit. You can lock the door, leave the lights off, whatever you want. Just clean up."
Illa could, technically, refuse orders. Call "hold up", or "full stop". Ordering him to take a shower hadn't exactly been in their negotiation.
But, Illa couldn't remember the last time he'd gotten himself to take off all his clothes in the midst of his unit's kitchen and crawl into that clawfoot tub, and he hadn't even realized until now that he was not-doing it. That he'd just rerouted his entire routine around that one piece of self-care.
Shame came, then. "Sorry, sir."
"Don't think I don't know what it's like. But you gotta face these things down anyway." Understanding in Gabriel's gruff voice.
What's he talking about? But, Illa could feel himself, not-thinking the answer.
"Yes, sir," was all Illa said aloud. Jerked his head out of Gabriel's grip, rising to his feet, all bristling with Rhett's stung pride. "You'd better bring me clothes, then." Insolence and anger.
Into the bathroom with a promise that clothes would be next to the door. Closed it, locked it, as if privacy were real when a scrying spell could be anywhere. But he probably wasn't being scried on. Not safe enough to rely on, but safe enough to keep him from feeling like he was on display.
He ripped off the shirt, the athletic tape, the socks, the boxer-briefs. Reached up to the collar to take it off and instead found his fingers wrapped around it, gripping tight until his knuckles showed white as bone in the mirror.
The mirror. Which showed a brown-eyed human man, hair long enough to slip under the collar and brush wisps against his shoulders. Wingless. With a belly button, and with genitals that were only partway his, and partway missing.
The mirror, which showed Rhett Shriver, and not Illa Sh'rettgratti.
He closed his eyes, clinging to the collar still. Lowered himself to the ground. He pressed his back against the bathroom wall until his wings ached, their presence undeniable. Fumbled his hand between his legs until he could feel just enough through the glamour, for all it gave him a headache to have that bizarre, one-sided sensation. That part of his body could feel his hands, but his hands couldn't feel it. He held close the memory of what his own eyes looked like. It was faint, too faint. But he could remember red silk pajamas, Thairn's, the shade of Illa's wings and not far off from his eyes.
Remembered her eyes, golden, seeing him as she collared him, as she called him "Mine."
"Yours," he whispered into the empty room. It wouldn't break his cover, and he needed to hear it.
Carefully, he removed the collar. Wiped it clean with a washcloth--he'd have to give it a proper polish later--and set it on the counter. Brushed fingers over it. Then took his hand away.
He let Gabriel's orders take hold. Cleaned up. Ignored how much felt wrong beneath his hands, just cleaned up.
When Illa was done, he looked in the mirror and saw the one thing he could still change to look more like himself again. He put on the athletic tape and the clothes Gabriel had left and didn't put the collar back on yet, cradling it in his hands instead.
Gabriel was waiting outside the bathroom. He lifted an eyebrow up at the sight of Illa's collar off. Met Illa's eyes. Waiting, patient.
"Thank you, sir," Illa said first, because that much was earned. "May I ask you a favor, sir?"
"You may."
"Could you cut my hair shorter? It needs to be here, at the longest." Illa held his hand to halfway down the nape of his neck, where the end of his hair had been at the start of this mission.
Gabriel nodded. "I can do that."
They moved Gabriel's desk chair into the bathroom for Illa to sit down in. Gabriel pulled a trimmer kit from under the sink, laid the tools out in a row like he was prepping a kink scene. Gabriel checked the length and texture of Illa's hair with his death-cooled fingers. Cut away some of it with scissors. Chose a plastic guard and started the trimmer, buzzing up the nape, the sensation strange and intimate. Careful, competent work. Illa yielded himself to those hands. Let the press of the collar against his palms be the one reminder that this wasn't who he belonged to. Until, finally, Gabriel was done, combing out the last few stray strands, and the person in the mirror looked a little more like Illa again.
Illa put the collar back on himself before Gabriel could, playing it off as Rhett's insolence. It was a symbol, nothing magical, and yet, Illa knew he had to maintain its handling as strictly as any enchanted object. Because if it were ever Gabriel's cold, coarse hands that put it on him...
Then Illa might sink down, and not find the surface again.
Another date saw Thairn and Mickey on the practice field in the chill dawn, sparring and talking evocation theory. Alanna had the excuse of her hands to keep her from casting evocations--deep burns there could cause all kinds of woes--so, once she'd gathered what knowledge she could from defending against his power, he dropped the magic and gave her a more straightforward spar to entertain her.
He was better than she'd expected. He still lost to her--she had decades on him in experience--but better than she'd expected. And there was something to their brief and brutal contacts, the solidity it brought to his presence, the glimpses of him dangerous and quick. And, more, the easy curiosity with which he reacted to his losses--could you show me how you did that?
He offered his shower for them to wash off the sweat after, because they hadn't even gotten around to trading the potion secrets yet. She dropped by her room to pick up a change of clothes. Should she bring the adhesive remover? It wasn't safe to take the glamour off in her shower, where anyone could scry, but his was behind wards. Good wards. It would be the first opportunity she'd gotten for a break.
She tucked the bottle labeled "nail polish remover" between her shirt and bra, and made her way over to his room. Found him whining theatrically to his guards about his bruises while Luke laughed at him and Xavier tolerantly shook his head. It made her think of Illa, suddenly, with a fond ache. Not that Mickey was anything like Illa, as he was demonstrating quite well. Not that he needed to be. Illa had being Illa covered.
She hoped Illa was alright.
Once behind the wards of Mickey's bedroom, she set down her things and reached a hand out in offer.
"Would you like those healed?" they both asked each other.
Thairn startled, trying to remember Mickey's file--had healing been in there? Or was it one of the many things the DOOR had missed? Couldn't recall. Dismissed the line of thought to find him watching her, head cocked.
"A trade?" he asked. "I've never seen faerie healing before, and I'm not sure how much you've seen of human."
"There aren't too many humans with it. I don't have the full training." It took the affinity, which she had. And at least a decade of devoted study, which she hadn't. "Just a wordplay spell." Not a spell most fae could cast, but she had been bred for magic potential.
"Wordplay?"
"'Kiss it and make it better.'"
"Oh, that's fun." He proffered his arm, where he'd caught a bruise from her parry. "Show me?"
She took it, oddly aware of his smooth skin, the slight prickle of shaved hairs along his forearm. Turned the bruise towards herself and laid a kiss upon it, channeling the magic and letting her lips warm with it. Feeling all-too-satisfied at the way the tension in the muscle beneath loosened, for all that that had nothing to do with her healing and everything to do with his response to her touch. When she released him, he had his eyes closed. Focusing on how the magic felt to his newfound power?
The earlier reminder of Illa had her wanting to hunt for more, peel off Mickey's shirt and seek out the one she was sure she'd left against his ribs, ask if there were any further...
"My turn?" he asked.
She caught herself, nodded. Found an awkward spot on her abdomen that would have been difficult for her to reach herself, but that she could see well enough. Lifted up her shirt to show him.
He traced that area with his fingers. Paused. And looked up at her, a query in his eyes.
Ah. Yes. She'd had the scar covered in glamour for so long, it had gone invisible to sight and touch alike. But it seemed his magic could feel even through such a burnt-in glamour, and of course it would still be there. It had been too deep to ever really fade.
"Just the bruise?" he asked. "I can try with the scar, but, I'm not sure I can heal one this set-in."
"Just the bruise is fine."
He held his hand over her skin, set loose a purple glow that faded away the bruise near-instantly.
He straightened up once he was through. "Any other bruises you want done?"
She held silence, for a moment. "You're not asking."
"Most people don't get scars like that from good memories."
And, that was it. No pushing. She didn't have to tell him anything about it. He'd accept that, the way he'd accepted other old stories she'd intentionally cut short or left details out of. It wasn't relevant to their succession schemes.
So, why did she find that she wanted to tell him?
"Wizard's ice," she said.
He winced. "We never do stop hurting people I care about. Not that I have a clue if this one was connected to my terrible family."
"No," she assured him. Stored his response away to ponder over later. "He was something of a solo artist."
"I hope he's dead?"
"Very." She had destroyed every last one of the hearts in which that wizard had stored his life and magic. Made sure nobody else got hands on the knowledge of how he'd made them. Not after what it had cost her, to fight someone who very nearly could not die.
Not after what it had cost Don.
"Good," Mickey replied. "Otherwise I'd offer to kill him." Matter-of-fact. "Want the first shower?"
"Gladly."
Thairn laid her things out on the bathroom counter. Took off the light exercise top and sports bra she'd worn for the sparring. Contemplated the bottle of remover. Should she? She hadn't been able to remove the breast forms in ages, just slid more adhesive under the edges whenever it began to feel loose.
She groped around for the edge of the enchanted silicone. It all felt like skin to her fingers, but, she could feel on the receiving end of the touch where the sensation went from ordinary to muted. Then all she had to do was just work the remover in where the edge should be and try to pull part of it up loose with her fingernails. Perhaps she should have warned Mickey that this might take a while.
Either the prosthetic was stuck on too firm or she was trying in the wrong place, because it wouldn't come up off the skin properly. She scraped around, a fingernail catching and digging sharp into real flesh, enough to make her flinch. Tried pulling gently on one breast with one hand while feeling her side with another, to see if that would raise the edge up enough, but, it wouldn't come loose.
Tugged. Hard. A sharp pain rent her skin and she stopped. Breathed, slow, trying to calm her speeding heart.
Gripped the side of the sink, closed her eyes, and tried to force down the pound of trapped, trapped, trapped. She wasn't trapped. Her mind was being ridiculous. She did not need to take this glamour off. She should just get the shower over with.
Or.
There wasn't any point at all in covering her chest with a towel, but she did anyway. Cracked the door open enough to see Mickey laid out on the bed, contemplating the hand he'd used to heal her. He turned his head her way.
"You okay?"
"Could you help me with something?"
"I can assure you, if I've left anything humiliating in the shower, it won't be any good as blackmail."
She smiled, despite herself. "Anything in particular you usually leave in the shower?"
He grinned and didn't say, but gamely got up and followed her in.
"I..." She took a breath. No reason for nerves. "I can't seem to get my glamour off."
"You need it off for something?"
"No. I want it off. I have to wear it all the time, and I..." The claustrophobic sensation was rising up in her throat again. "I need a break. At least long enough for a shower." She wouldn't have much longer than that. They'd gotten up this early to accommodate her morning class.
"How do I help?"
"There's this remover. Usually I work it in at the edges," she gestured, "but I can't feel them properly."
"Makes sense." He picked it up from the counter, shook some into a washcloth. She let her towel down, and he hesitated, breath catching. She could see a flicker of desire cross his face, before he covered it, and there was discordance to how that felt. That was one of her goals, wasn't it? Seducing him?
And yet, what Thairn found herself doing instead was asking, "This is all you've seen of me, isn't it? This glamour."
He took a thoughtful moment.
Then answered, soft, "Why do I get the feeling you wish it wasn't?"
That strangling feeling, threatening to break her composure once again. She kept showing him her tender places, raw points she should keep covered. Tactically, it was fine, nothing he could use for leverage, but personally--
Mickey's free hand brushed back her hair, and she startled. Met his eyes.
"Hey," he said, once she was paying attention. "You alright?"
She shook her head. Surprising herself with the honesty.
"I figured." A brief, soothing brush of his thumb against her temple. "Is this the only break you've had?"
"Since getting here."
It took him a moment, and then, "Because of your wards?"
She nodded. "The ones I can disguise as wizardry are... less than quality." A well-trained changeling could disguise better wards, could disguise quite a lot as wizardry, but Thairn was not one.
"Would you like me to..." he paused. "No, you can't let Lucía know you that you trust me that much, can you?"
"I'm afraid not." And I can't trust you that much, either. Not while I ruin this succession for you. He pondered that, as he began to feel out the line of silicone with his hand. It was a strange relief to see his face keep neutral, no hint of that desire now.
"I think you have glue layers on the outside, covering up the edge."
"Ah." That would explain it. The glue would have muted the sensation just as well as the silicone. "Thank you."
He worked at it, rubbing the washcloth into her skin, feeling it out with his fingers. "There we go. I've got it now." He pulled up the edge enough that she could start to feel it. "Want me to keep going?"
She'd probably be able to handle the rest now. "If you would. I think it's easier for you."
"Gotcha." He tipped more into the washcloth and used the cloth to cover his fingers, curling them against her chest, pulling up the edge. The glamour glitched, showing his fingers disappearing into her flesh.
And--ow. She flinched.
He gave her an inquiring look.
"Remover on raw skin."
"Ouch. Not much I can do for you there." A reassuring stroke of his thumb along the hair he was holding back, one she found herself leaning into.
He was going far gentler than she would have, and she appreciated it. Worse than the sting of remover were the times he had to pull the raw skin to the point of tearing. She tried to hold still for those--flinching made it pull worse--but it was difficult. Eventually, he adjusted position to brace her against his body. She closed her eyes just to feel the full flush of him against her, the warmth of him along her skin. To hear the rhythm of his breathing change at the close contact.
"Maybe a sleepover?" he suggested.
"A--" She caught herself, contemplated. "You mean, staying in your room overnight?"
"To give you a break. Since you don't need glamours here."
"Ah. That would be welcome." That would be perfect, on so many levels. She could take a break from the glamour, true, but she could also get closer to him. Investigate his room as he slept. He still hadn't told her what he planned for the Test of the Serpent, after all.
She could spend the night alongside him, in a bed that wasn't empty.
"Good," he said. "I'll let you know what night works for me." He pulled her closer. "I think we're almost done. This last bit's going to hurt."
"Do it."
She shut her eyes and felt the tear--but only for an instant, not nearly as long as the sting should have lasted. Opened her eyes to see a purple glow of healing, already working on repairing her damaged skin.
"There," he said, "All better."
She watched his hand come close to brushing her chest--then halt, fingers curling away, as he stopped himself. He let go his embrace around her and stepped back. Mouth readying to move like he was about to let loose with one of his quips. But his eyes caught on her. All of him stilled, except for the gaze that drew slowly, lovingly over her.
Over her, and not the illusion of Alanna.
He caught himself. "I should go let you have your shower."
She reached for his hand. Entwined their fingers, the way they did for show, when they were out amongst everyone else. Feeling the way that just the touch of his palm to hers lit up her awareness of her own body, the rightness of how it felt now, even as heat rushed up her skin.
He was looking at her again, his pupils dark. His mouth parted, as if there were words just behind his breath, unspoken and longing to be said. She drank it in, that rapt attention, even as she returned it, letting her gaze travel from his dark eyes to the soft fall of his hair, the curve of his jaw, the motion of his chest beneath his shirt.
It made her want all the glamours off, not just the one that disguised her chest and wings, for no other reason than to see how he'd look at her then.
She reached her free hand out, tentative, to caress his cheek. He leaned into the touch, his breathing turned ragged. Hers was, too, she realized. He held his own hand over hers, to press her palm against his skin. She brushed her thumb along his cheekbone, watched his eyes close shut in response to the touch.
Please. His lips forming silent around the word.
The longing for him flared to burning. The need to feel his hands on her, his skin against hers. She pulled her thumb back to brush his lips, felt them part beneath her touch.
"Please," he said, aloud, hot breath moist against her skin. It made her skin prickle, her body go sensitive, to hear that longing in his voice. To feel even this small bit of contact. His eyes opened to meet hers, dark and intense, and she found herself lost to that gaze. To his touch, as he brushed her hair back behind her ear. She wanted this, wanted him, wanted the way he looked at her, touched her. She let a sigh of pleasure escape, enough to encourage him to run his fingers down past her ear, to the edge of her neck, where it tingled just to feel the contact.
"Yes," she said.
All hesitance fell away. He leaned down, lips firm and sweet against hers, and she pressed up into the contact, her hand drifting from his cheek to the back of his neck, pulling him against her. Everything gone but the feel of yielding lips, the salt taste of skin, the sounds of pleasure from the back of his throat. Which pricked her all to attention, made her want to hear further the way he sounded. She drew her mouth to his throat next, enough to make him shiver, even as he ran his hands down the curve of her body. There was nothing but this.
Only time for this one, lingering moment of bliss. The class soon. The shower waiting. He did nothing to halt her departure from his arms, but he looked like he dearly wanted to.
She met his eyes--heavens, those eyes, how warm they looked, how fond--and offered him a slow, lingering smile. "Sleepover?"
He bit his lip. Nodded.
"Good." She enjoyed one last look at him. "I'll take that shower now. Thank you for the help."
"I hope I can help you more?"
She snorted. "Sleepover. Now, shoo."
"As you wish, dear lady."
Giving Tricia's plant samples to Lucía accomplished what Thairn had hoped in terms of fostering trust. The processing discussions alone began to answer questions about what Lucía was working on for the Test of the Raven. Thairn wasn't skilled enough with potions to put together what it all meant. Clearly psychoactive--Lucía was a neurochemist, after all, and mind-altering substances were big business for the mob. Too complex to encode in direct messages to the DOOR, but, Thairn could use Greta as a messenger, once she had enough intel.
Xavier, meanwhile, remained a puzzle Thairn couldn't just send off to headquarters for an expert to look at. Even if Mickey hadn't asked Thairn to investigate the man, it was essential to Thairn's own plays to know whose piece he was in the game.
"I'm close enough to her now, I think," Thairn told Mickey, out in the garden where the will o' the wisps flew. "But I'm not sure how to make this approach. If I fumble it..."
"...then that will not be fun. Let's start from the ending. My goal is to find out if he's loyal to her, to me, or is playing solo."
"Not whether he's loyal to Malachi?"
"Too subtle for Malachi. Lucía hasn't done any boasting about him to you?"
"Not anything we can rely on. The problem might be that, if Lucía did put him in the game, she likely trusts him more than she trusts me. Alanna's guilty conscience can only take me so far into her confidences."
"Fair. We'll have to pit his potential loyalties against each other, then. Her against me. And him against himself."
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