Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Thank you SO much, really!” Ken gushes, closing his notebook.  “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate this.”  The two of you sit in the Hunters’ Association break room, exhausted after a long day of fighting Wanderers.  Still, remembering the look of awe on the new recruit’s face as he listened to tales of your battle encounters, seeing how he took notes every time you offered a bit of advice, you don’t regret adding an hour or two onto your workday.  You glance at the clock and realize it’s actually more than two - no wonder you’re so hungry.

“Please, accept this as a token of my appreciation!” Ken says, handing you a little paper bag imprinted with a local bakery’s logo.  

“That’s so sweet, thank you!”  Your stomach rumbles softly as you peek inside at the soft cheesy rolls and glittering sugar cookies.  Hopefully Xavier is still awake enough to meet you for dinner, but at this point it’s just as likely he’s wrapped up like a burrito in his apartment, oblivious to the world.  “I didn’t realize it was so late already.  Let’s head out.”

Stepping into the hall, the two of you exchange small talk about the job and the city as you weave your way through the Association building and eventually reach the main entrance.  Ken turns to you just before you reach the doors.

“It would be such an honor to work with you.  I hope we can team up for patrols some day,” he says, the tips of his ears going red.

“That’s impossible,” says a familiar voice behind you.  “I’m her partner.”  Xavier strides confidently to your side, angling his body so he’s partially blocking you from view.  It’s vaguely threatening, and you have to fight the smile tugging at your lips.

“Oh,” replies Ken, clearly thrown by Xavier’s sudden appearance.  “I thought- I mean, there aren’t any set partners, right?  You just pair off depending on the mission?”

“I’m her partner,” Xavier repeats, his voice taking on a slight edge.

“R-right…”  Ken looks a bit lost as he glances back and forth between the two of you like he’s trying to figure something out.  At last he addresses you.  “Um, I think you said you live in the Bloomshore District.  I do, too, so I’d be happy to walk you ho-”

“I’m also her boyfriend,” Xavier says bluntly.  You feel a blush creeping over your cheeks; that was supposed to be a secret.  Dating other Hunters isn’t prohibited, but can lead to a lot of gossip and speculation around the Association, so you two had opted to keep your relationship quiet, at least for the time being.

“I thought we weren’t telling anyone yet,” you whisper, pinching Xavier’s side gently.  He doesn’t react, instead maintaining his death stare.

“Oh!  Oh, I- I wasn’t trying to-”

“Don’t worry about it!” you say quickly, edging in front of Xavier and waving your hands to indicate how unimportant the topic is.  “Just forget he said anything.  I’ll see you Thursday, Ken.  Take care!”  The newly-minted Hunter mumbles his goodbyes and rushes out the door, leaving you to glare at Xavier.

“Why will you see him Thursday?” he asks, his eyes narrowing.

“I’m his mentor.  Remember the mentorship program I told you about, and how I asked you to join with me?  And you said you had no interest in getting promoted so sleeping would be a better use of your time?”  Tugging your flimsy jacket tighter around your torso, you push the door open and lead the way into the cool autumn air.

“But he’s interested in you.  It’s very obvious.  He won’t be able to maintain professional boundaries if you mentor him.”  Xavier takes your hand in his, intertwining your fingers together as you walk down the street.  His hand is warm and comforting, but you refuse to squeeze it.  You can’t encourage this sort of behavior by forgiving him too quickly.

“You’re being ridiculous, Xav,” you scoff.  “He’s just trying to make the most of this mentorship opportunity.  You get jealous over the silliest things.”

“Silly?” he replies, tightening his grip on your hand.  “Is it silly for me to be jealous when you have a date with another man?”

You laugh, incredulous.  “A date?  Sitting in the break room talking about Wanderers is not a date!”

“It is when you’re talking with someone who looks at you like he did.”

‘Someone who looks at you like he did?’  Does that mean-?

“Xavier, were you spying on us?”  You shake your hand free as you turn to look him in the eye.  “Why didn’t you just come in and join us?”

“I wasn’t invited,” he says petulantly, his lips curling downward into an adorable frown.  You have to roll your eyes to protect yourself from being charmed by his absurd jealousy.

“This is ridiculous.”  You turn away and march down the street.  “I’m going to get hot pot by myself if this is how you’re going to act.”  Before you get more than a few paces, Xavier’s arms wrap around you from behind, his face nuzzling into the crook of your neck.  You shiver as his lips move against your skin.

“You can’t have dinner without me.  I waited for you that whole time even though I was really hungry.”

“I’ll have dinner with you if you stop sulking,” you concede, struggling to keep your voice stern as you melt in his embrace.

“All right.  But only if you promise not to go on another date with that guy.”

“It was not a date!” you cry, trying and failing to unfasten his arms from around your waist.

“He paid for your meal.”  Xavier’s voice is right against your ear, his breath hot on your skin as your heart begins racing.  He shouldn’t be holding you like this in public only a block from the Hunters’ Association, but you’re enjoying it too much to care.

“A cup of coffee is not a meal,” you reply, gasping softly as he presses his lips to your neck.  If you weren’t so hungry, you’d suggest going straight home so you could enjoy this feeling without all these clothes getting in the way.

“You accepted a gift from him.”  He sullenly bats at the paper bag in your hand, his other arm keeping you pressed tightly against him.

“A few pastries is hardly a gift.  Bringing your mentor a little something is customary, a normal human interaction.”  Your head rolls to the side in spite of yourself, giving him better access to the sensitive skin of your neck.

“Let’s go home,” he murmurs, trailing kisses from your ear to your shoulder.  “Please.”

You’re too worked up now to think straight, but the gnawing in your belly overrides even your desire for him.  “We haven’t eaten yet…” you sigh, relaxing into him.  “You said you were hungry…”

“I’ll order takeout.”  His voice has taken on a familiar urgency, and you realize with a start that you can feel his excitement pressing against your back.  “As soon as I finish reminding you that you’re mine.  Only mine.”

“Xavier!  We’re in public!” you hiss, but your indignation is a facade.  Instead of pulling away, you rub your ass against him, savoring the way your stomach flutters as a little moan escapes his lips.

“That was naughty,” he whispers in a tone that makes your knees buckle.  “Oh, I get it.  You want me to punish you.  That’s why you flirted with that guy earlier.”

“I didn’t!” you gasp as his hand slips under the waistband of your uniform.  He teases you through the thin cotton of your panties, leaving you breathless and trembling.  “I wasn’t flirting.  I swear.”

“Hmm.  I guess I can believe you…  But only if you promise never to accept a gift like that again.”

“I won’t.  I promise.”  You try to move your hips to get more friction against your soaked panties, but Xavier has you pinned too tightly; you’re entirely at his mercy in the middle of a public area.  The sun has long since set, but all it would take is one sweeping arc of a car’s headlights to expose you both.  “Just take me home, please.”

“I’d like to, but I have a rule: I only take good girls home.  Will you be a good girl for me?”

“Yes,” you whimper, both hands gripping his wrist, trying to move his fingers where you need them.  “I’ll be so good for you.”

“And if a man tries to give you pastries again?  What will you say?”

“‘No, thank you.  My boyfriend bakes.’”  Your nerves are frayed to the point of screaming as he drags his middle finger lazily between your thighs and all you want is to be somewhere safe from prying eyes.  He can have you against the door or on the floor of the entryway; hell, you’d settle for the maintenance closet in the lobby as long as the door is closed.

“That’s my good girl.  I can get us home quickly,” he says, his voice hoarse with need.  “Close your eyes.”

A blinding light flashes, illuminating the empty street for a split second.  When it passes, the only proof the two of you had been there is the paper bag of pastries left in the middle of the sidewalk.

Chapter Text

When the two of you finally stop laughing, Ken eagerly directs you toward the dessert table.  Unlike most Hunters’ Association gatherings, this is a proper soiree with more food than you can shake a stick at, and the dessert table is laden with cakes, cookies, and sweets of all descriptions.  Though you’d gorged yourself at dinner, you find you still have room for something sweet.  Your mouth waters as you look over the selection, unsure where you should start.  Zayne would love-  Zayne!

You whirl around, scanning the crowd for his face.  After getting pulled aside to settle a debate about Intelligentia-type Wanderers, you’d been waylaid by Ken until you’d completely forgotten Zayne was your plus one to the event.  He must be so bored, sitting somewhere by himself in this gathering of Hunters.  Even among other doctors or scholars, he isn’t really social enough to enjoy himself without your aid.

The longer you look, the more panic sets in.  He isn’t there.  Did he get fed up and go home without saying goodbye?  No, he isn’t the type to leave you stranded even if you acted like the worst girlfriend in the world.

“Looking for someone?” Ken asks, having noticed your distraction.

“Yeah.”  You turn in his direction.  “I’m trying to find-”

You spot Zayne by the dessert table not ten feet away.  Unusually for him, he doesn’t appear to be aware of the confections right under his nose; he’s staring pointedly at you instead of the mountain of macarons.  Your heart drops into your stomach as your eyes meet.

“Zayne!” you call out, waving him over.  “Did you eat enough dinner?  There are still spare ribs and veggie chow mein left.”

“I’ve eaten a sufficient amount to constitute dinner,” he says stiffly, then turns toward your fellow Hunter.  “Won’t you introduce me to your friend?”

“Oh!  Of course, sorry.  This is Ken.  He’s one of our new recruits.  Ken, this is Zayne.  He’s a doctor at Akso Hospital.  Actually, he’s the best cardiovascular surgeon in the country!”

“Wow!  I’m sure I’ve seen your photo on the news before.  You’re the definition of a lifesaver!”  Right on cue, Ken pulls a pack of Lifesaver candies out of his jacket pocket, sending you into another fit of laughter.

“Ken!  How do you do that?” you cackle, doubling over as he shrugs nonchalantly.

“It’s a gift!”

“Too bad it doesn’t work on Wanderers,” Zayne says.  He didn’t laugh at the joke, and his expression is similar to the one he has when delivering bad news to patients.  The atmosphere immediately sours, and Ken looks off into the crowd like he’s searching for a lifeline.

“Ah!  I think Captain Jenna wants to see me.  It was nice meeting you, Doc!”

Though you’re in a large crowd of your colleagues, the icy silence surrounding you and Zayne makes it feel like the two of you have been transported to the Arctic.  Feeling awkward, you pick up a plate and start loading it with things you know he likes.  He follows you around the table at an uncomfortable distance, offering no conversation aside from “yes” and “no” responses to your questions.

This is no good, you think desperately as you sneak a look at Zayne’s face.  He looks the way he did when you first became his patient: cold, distant, heartless.  You hate that look, especially when you know you put it there.  Wracking your brains for a solution, you suddenly remember the secluded area you found in the garden last time.  There’s a little bench tucked away in a thicket of overgrown jasmine between the venue and the retaining wall.  It isn’t much to look at during the day, but at night it might be a little romantic…  At the very least, it would give the two of you some time to talk privately and hopefully clear the air.

“Let’s go outside for a bit,” you say as you grab his hand.  “Follow me.”  The night is unseasonably warm, like it can’t quite bear to let go of the summer heat, but Zayne’s palm is cool against yours.  Not just cool, actually- cold.  You can’t tell if he’s doing it on purpose or if his Evol is acting up because he’s upset.

“Where are you taking me?” he asks abruptly, his polished dress shoes crunching on the gravel as you lead him around the corner of the building toward the hidden bench.

“You’ll see.  Just trust me.”  When you get no response, you look back at him.  “You’re mad aren’t you?”

“I’m not mad,” he replies in a tone that clearly says he is indeed mad.

You sigh, chagrined, as you reach your destination.  The bench is made of weathered stone, the decorative design along the edges wearing away in places.  It curves in a gentle arc, long enough to fit at least four people side by side.  Directing Zayne to sit, you take a seat beside him with your plate of goodies held out for inspection.

“Sorry, the jasmine was in full bloom when I found this place, but I guess it’s out of season now,” you say, eyeing the withered flowers on the ground.  A few tenacious blooms cling to the stems, but for the most part it looks like overgrown shrubbery.  “I hope the dessert will make up for the lack of ambience.”

“It’s nice,” Zayne says, somewhat pacified.  “Though it’s faint, the scent of the blossoms lingers.  As for the dessert, I suppose we’ll see.”  He waits expectantly, his hands neatly clasped in his lap.

Oh, honestly, you think as you realize what he’s waiting for.  Well, if this makes him less mad…  You select a bite-sized square of cake from the plate, take it gently between your thumb and forefinger, and hold it up to his mouth.  He eats it directly from your fingers, maintaining eye contact as he bites the cake in half and chews thoughtfully.

“Not sweet enough,” he declares gravely.

You pop the other half in your mouth; it tastes plenty sweet to you as the raspberry jam slides over your tongue, but apparently he’s going to be difficult.  You select another piece of cake, chocolate this time, and try again.  The result is the same: not sweet enough.  The process repeats with the vanilla bean cake, the mini apple strudel, and the blueberry macaron.  Zayne’s face remains a mask of indifference, and you’re too exasperated to keep your mouth shut.

“Can we please just talk?  There’s nothing wrong with the desserts.  You don’t like them because you’re upset with me.”

“I am not upset with you.”  His voice is maddeningly calm, clinical.  You set the remaining dessert aside and grab his hands.

“Yes, you are.  I left you alone for a long time while I talked with my colleagues, and you must have felt lonely.  Of course you’re upset with me; anyone would be.”

“I’m not upset with you,” he says again, softer this time.  “You’re at a work gathering.  Of course you need to circulate among your peers.  I’m not petty enough to be hurt by that.  But when you-”  He stops abruptly, suddenly self-conscious.

“What?  Go on.”

Zayne pulls his hands from yours, reaching up to adjust his glasses only to find he isn’t wearing them.  He settles for adjusting his impeccable tie instead.  “When you were with Ken.  I heard you two talking and laughing.”

Is he… jealous?  Of KEN?  You can hardly believe your ears.  “Zaynie, it’s just chatting with a colleague.  There’s nothing to be jealous of.”

“I know,” he says swiftly.  “It isn’t an accusation.  It’s just-”  He stares at the back of his scarred hands, struggling to put his feelings into words.  “You don’t laugh like that with me,” he finally says.  “More than anything, I want you to be happy.  I know I’m not a very fun person-”

You grab his face, cutting him off mid-sentence.  “Zayne.  You make me so happy.  I laugh like that with Ken because he does goofy sight gags, that’s all.  I don’t need that to be happy, and honestly I’d probably get sick of it if I saw him more than once or twice a week.  I don’t need you to be like that.  I just need you to be Zayne.”

The ice in his eyes seems to melt, the warmth of his smile suffusing his face with a softness he only shares with you.  It makes your heart ache to look at him, always so hard and cold on the outside to protect that sweet, soft center.  It gives you an idea.

“Now, let’s see if we can’t fix these desserts.”  You climb into his lap, grab a chocolate macaron from the plate, and set it carefully between your lips.  His eyes sparkle with amusement as you tilt your chin at him, prompting him to accept your gift.

“This is extremely unhygienic,” he says drily, but his eyes close as he leans in.  His lips linger against yours before he bites the macaron in half, a gentle heat radiating off his skin.  He leans back, chewing thoughtfully, and uses the tip of his finger to poke the other half of the macaron into your mouth.  “Though your methods are unorthodox, they do improve the flavor.  This is the best one yet, but still not sweet enough.”

“All right, then,” you say, accepting his challenge.  There’s one macaron left on the plate, a strawberry and vanilla that you know he’ll like.  “This is the last one.”  You take it carefully between your lips and lean forward.  He opens his mouth to accept it, but before he can bite it in half again you push the whole thing past his lips.

“Mmph,” Zayne groans in surprise as your tongue rolls against his fleetingly before you pull back and clamp a hand over his mouth.

“I thought I’d add a little extra sugar,” you whisper as he chews, eyeing you with a slightly dazed expression.  When he swallows, you remove your hand.  “Your impression?”

“Needs more sugar,” he breathes, surging up to capture your lips in a kiss.  The ice in his veins has given way to a passionate heat, one hand tangling in your hair while the other slides maddeningly along the small of your back.  You wrap your arms around his shoulders, sweet strawberry and warm vanilla mingling on your tongue as you kiss him like it’s your last night on earth.  Desire flares in your belly as he moans into your mouth, his arousal pressing against the back of your thigh.  You rock your hips gently in his lap, wondering how far you can push it before he snaps.  Not very far, as it turns out; Zayne pulls back, breathing ragged like he’s just run a marathon, pupils blown wide.

“Sweet enough?” you ask, licking a crumb off the corner of his mouth.

“Perfect,” he whispers.  “But now I’m in the mood for something sweeter still.”  You gasp as his hand slides under the hem of your dress, his fingers teasing their way up your thigh.  “May I have some?  Please?”

“Here?”  You can hear the party still going, music and laughter muffled through the walls of the venue.  This area is secluded, but if someone stepped out and heard something, it wouldn’t take long for them to find you.  “We can just ditch the party and go home.”

“It’s at least a 40 minute drive,” he murmurs.  His mouth burns a trail down your throat until you feel your resolve begin to crumble.  Your hands reflexively curl into tight fists in his hair, your legs spreading of their own accord as his fingers begin gently massaging between your thighs.  In just a moment you’re breathing heavily and throwing your head back, your hands directing his mouth down past your collarbones.  40 minutes is far too long, you’ll combust before then.

“There’s an unmaintained park about 2 minutes away,” you pant.  “No lights in the parking lot.”  Zayne raises his head to look at you, eyelids heavy with desire.

“Did I mention the passenger seat reclines all the way back?”

“Works for me,” you mumble, sliding off his lap and pulling him to his feet.

Inside the venue, Tara approaches Ken by the main entrance to the hall, looking for you.

“I think she had some kind of emergency,” he says.  “I just saw her and Dr. Zayne sprinting toward the parking garage like they were being chased by Wanderers.”

Chapter Text

When you arrive at the art gallery, you’re surprised to see Ken, a colleague from the Hunters’ Association, working security.  He, like you, has taken on a part-time gig, this time with a high-class event planning company so they would always have someone with Wanderer fighting capabilities in case of sudden protofield fluctuations.  He sticks close to you during the opening ceremony and speeches, clearly feeling out of place among Linkon’s elite, and you sympathize.  Since getting involved with Rafayel, you’d ended up feeling like a fish out of water at more exhibitions and parties than you cared to count.

“Are we allowed to eat the food here, or…” Ken trails off, looking longingly at the heavily laden buffet table.

“I’m not sure about security staff, but as a private bodyguard I’m technically here as a plus one so I’m allowed.  Wait here, I’ll bring you a plate!”

Weaving your way through the crowd, you spot an exasperated Rafayel gesturing for you to join him.  He’s surrounded by a number of high society types and appears to be very unhappy with his situation.

“Miss Bodyguard!  Finally.” The pout on Rafayel’s face would be adorable if he weren’t in the middle of a professional event.  You raise your eyebrows in warning as you take your place beside him, plastering on a less than convincing smile before turning to his guests.

“The famous bodyguard!  Darling Rafayel hasn’t stopped talking about you all evening,” a woman says.  Her sour expression indicates she’s displeased with that fact, and in an instant you realize who she is: Erminia, the owner of this very gallery, the one Raf has been complaining about for months.  She has a bad habit of inviting him to her home late at night to discuss “business,” and the one time he actually went she answered the door in a negligee.  You take an immediate dislike to this woman.

“Not just my bodyguard, but also my inspiration,” Rafayel says proudly, slipping an arm around your waist and pulling you in close.  “In fact, she mixed the paints I used in my latest piece.”  He gazes at you fondly.  “We should probably put your name on it next to mine.”

“Oh!  No, not at all!”  You’re blushing; you always get flustered when he praises you in front of his fancy art people, especially when he does it while looking at you like that.  “I just followed your instructions.”

“My instructions were, ‘Mix some of this and that, you decide how much of each.’  Those colors are all your creations, cutie.”  His arm tightens around your waist, making it impossible for you to wriggle away without causing a scene.  He’s determined to show you off.

An old man who looks vaguely familiar chuckles.  “With such a lovely muse, it’s a shame you only paint landscapes and abstracts.  I’d dearly love to see your impression of this nymph.”

“Oh, I’ve got plenty of sketches, even a few finished pieces, but they’re private.  For my eyes only.”  Rafayel’s other hand drifts over your hip possessively.  “I’d rather burn them than show them to another soul.”

You know exactly which pieces he means.  Some of them you did pose for, but others he created from memory: close ups of your face in the throes of pleasure; intimate sketches of you in various positions; and one very lurid painting depicting you leaning back against his headboard, legs spread, gazing at the viewer with a sultry expression.  You’re sure it’s exaggerated, but he swears up and down that it is a true to life rendering of your first night together.

“Rafayel!”  Your face is burning with embarrassment as you push him back away from the group.  “Excuse us for just a moment please.”

“Yes, excuse us.”  He smiles like the cat that got the cream as Erminia turns away in disgust, searching out Thomas in the crowd to voice her displeasure.  Keeping one arm around you, Rafayel weaves elegantly through the throngs of people and pulls you into the service hallway leading to the staging area.  The second the two of you are out of sight, tucked into a little alcove, he buries his face in your neck.

“Where have you been?  I missed you.”  He nuzzles your ear, planting soft kisses along your jaw until you suddenly remember why you were upset with him.

“No!  No, wait.  Not here.  Raf, why did you tell that man about… those?”  Even in the relative privacy of the alcove you don’t feel safe describing them explicitly.  “You should have played it off like you didn’t know what he was getting at.”

Rafayel scoffs.  “Pablo?  Puh-leeze.  He’s an old-time artist.  He’s been painting muses longer than you’ve been alive.  Even if I’d denied it, he’d have known and kept pushing to see them, so it’s better to own up to it and tell him flat out I’ll never show him.”

All this artist stuff is nonsense to you, even if it is true.  Art exhibitions and high society parties are so full of hidden meanings and intrigue and backhanded compliments it makes your head spin.  You’d rather deal with Wanderers any day.

“Whatever,” you grumble, looking away in irritation.  

“You aren’t mad at me, are you, cutie?” Rafayel asks softly, running his hands up your bare arms, gazing into your eyes with his most disarming smile.

“Yes, I am.  What about Erminia?  She was really upset hearing about us- well, y’know.  She’s an important patron, right?  Why did you talk like that in front of her?”

“Ugh, she’s vile,” he retorts, anger flashing in his eyes.  “I haven’t even told you half of the ‘offers’ she’s made me over the past few months.  So next time she calls me up to ‘talk business,’ I’ll just tell her ‘I’m being inspired tonight,’ and she’ll get the message.”

“But what if she gets so mad she refuses to display your work?”

Rafayel shrugs, unbothered.  “I’m too valuable to her to cut me loose, but even if she did… there are are other galleries in Linkon.  She’s not, like, the queen of the art scene or anything.”

You recall Thomas’s ominous warnings every time Rafayel complained about Erminia.  “You need to play nice.  Be on your best behavior with Erminia.  She could make my job impossible if you get on her bad side.”  The recollection of the look on her face makes you very uneasy.

“Now, can we forget about her for a while?  I missed you…”  His hands dance softly over your back as he peppers your face and throat with gentle kisses.  “I didn’t sleep for days, I just couldn’t stop painting…  Then I fell asleep on the rug and Thomas woke me up and dragged me here…  I wanted to see you first…”  His hands and lips become more forceful, more frantic, after each bit of his explanation.  

The sounds of the event fade into the background until all you can hear is the pounding of your own heart in your ears and Rafayel’s heavy breathing, hot and fast against your skin.  Cool air flows over your heated legs as your long gown gradually inches upward, the hem clearing your knees, your thighs…

“I needed to see you,” he whispers urgently, pressing you against the wall as his hands slip down to the backs of your thighs, pulling your legs up to wrap around his waist.  He’s right, the two of you have spent days apart working away, barely having time for quick text exchanges.  You’ve been needing him, too, desperately needing the good night’s sleep only he can bring you.  Your fingers tangle in his silky hair as his mouth finds yours.

A loud chorus of laughter down the hall brings you back to your senses in the knick of time.  You are tucked away in an alcove in the middle of Linkon’s biggest art gallery during an exhibition of Rafayel’s work, and the artist himself is between your legs, fumbling with his zipper.

“Stop, stop, stop,” you hiss, pushing him away from you and forcing your feet back onto solid ground.  “We’re in the middle of your new exhibit!  Someone will see us, or hear us!”

“We’re making art,” he whispers, leaning down for another kiss.  “They’d be lucky to witness it.”

Ugh, it’s like he wants to get caught!  You can’t begin to imagine the headlines, the damage to your reputation, the reprimand you’d get from the Hunters Association.  You adjust your dress and shove your way past him.

“Wait, please!”  He grabs your arm before you can get back to the main hall.  “Let’s just leave.  You drove here, right?  We can sneak out the back and go to my place, or your place, or the beach.  Anywhere that isn’t here!”  His big sad eyes nearly do you in, but you stand firm.

“Rafayel, this is your job.  You need to do this.  And Ken’s waiting for me, I promised to bring him something to eat.”

At the mention of Ken’s name, Rafayel’s expression goes dark like the sea in a storm.  He moves quickly to block you from exiting the hallway.

“Who’s Ken?  Is he that guy you were talking to earlier?  Why are you bringing him food?”

“He’s another Hunter who’s working security for the gallery.  He hasn’t had time to eat anything because he’s on the clock.”

“I haven’t eaten anything either!”  He looks despondent, the hurt in his eyes shining clearly through the bluster.  “I haven’t eaten all day.  Not since yesterday, or the day before, even.  I can’t remember the last time I ate anything.”

“Well, go grab a plate then.”  Not that you’re trying to hurt his feelings, but he really needs to be responsible for taking care of himself.  “You’re the guest of honor, you can eat whatever you want here.”

“But you’re my bodyguard!  I’m too weak to move.”  He releases your arm, slumping pathetically against the wall.  “You have to bring me some sustenance before I pass out.”

Too weak to move, yeah, right, you think, eyeing him suspiciously.  He’d just had you pinned to the wall, your entire body weight slung around his waist without any sign of fatigue.  He’s bluffing, you’re sure of it.

“All right, let’s find you somewhere to rest while I get your plate ready, okay?”  Slipping under his arm, you guide him back into the main hall and deposit him on a quiet bench set against a wall.  “You’re dehydrated, too, aren’t you?”

Rafayel nods, then closes his eyes as his head falls back against the wall.  “I’m all dried out.”  His voice is thin and weak, an abrupt change from a few minutes ago.  “Like a little fishie washed up on the beach.”  He’s pretty convincing.

You nod sadly.  “I know, that’s why your lips are so dry, like a piece of fish jerky.”

His eyes snap open.  “They are not!”  Catching himself, he closes his eyes again.  “Are they?  I can’t remember the last time I drank anything…”

“Wait right here, I’ll be back in a minute, my little fishie.”

“Don’t take too long,” he calls after you.

Satisfied that Rafayel is fine, you load up a plate and make your way back to Ken.  A quick chat turns into five minutes, then ten, then fifteen as you give him the lowdown on the party guests and how they fit into Linkon’s high society.  It’s oddly fun getting to share the weird bits of gossip you’ve picked up as a bodyguard.

A loud crash and a shrill scream break the festive environment, and you and Ken drop your plates and hurtle toward the source of the commotion with weapons drawn, expecting to find a Wanderer.

“Oh god, he’s bleeding!  It’s his dominant hand!” Erminia cries, leaning against Pablo like she might faint.

“Calm down, everyone!  I’m sure it’s just a scratch,” Thomas says, but his voice quivers with worry.

When you push your way to the front of the crowd, you see Rafayel struggling to his feet, holding a blood-stained handkerchief around the fingers of his right hand.

“It’s nothing, please, I’m fine.  Just a little dizzy.”  Thomas reaches out to catch him before he falls, but misses by a hair.  Your Hunter’s reflexes serve you well, allowing you to slide under him and cushion his fall.

“Rafayel!  Raf, open your eyes!”  You roll to the side, moving him further from the broken glass he’d landed on earlier.  “Please!”

“You came back,” he says weakly, his long eyelashes fluttering against his pale cheeks.  “I was waiting for you…”  

Your heart breaks.  How could you have been so callous?  You know how he is; he certainly hadn’t slept or eaten in days because you weren’t turning up to monitor him.  When he said he was starving, he meant it.  Then you promised to come right back and instead went over to gossip with a work friend when poor Rafayel was waiting anxiously for your return.

“Thomas, call an ambulance,” you say, your voice cracking.  You cradle Rafayel’s face in your hands, whispering, “I’m going to take care of you.  Don’t worry, Raf.”

“Just take me home,” he begs.  “Please.  I want to go home.”

“You need a doctor,” Thomas objects.  “Your hand-”

“It’s just a scratch,” Rafayel replies, using his uninjured hand to push himself into a seated position.  “I just need some rest.  Miss Bodyguard will drive me.”

Against your better judgement, you allow Thomas to help you haul Rafayel to your car and begin the brief drive back to the studio overlooking the sea.  Guilt gnaws at you as you glance over at your patient, his head lolling side to side with every bump in the road.

“Does it hurt?” you finally ask.

“Yes.”  He says nothing further, his face turned toward the window.

“I really wish you’d let me take you to the hospital.”  You watch him out of the corner of your eye, struggling to keep your attention on your driving.

“It’s not like they could do anything about it.”

“But if you need stitches-”

“My hand is fine,” he says, ripping off the bloody handkerchief to reveal his long, elegant fingers are perfectly intact.  “That was just for show.”

Your jaw drops, and you nearly swerve into the opposite lane in your shock.  “You faked it?  You bastard!  Do you have any idea how worried I was?”

“Oh, gee, I dunno, maybe as worried as I was when you didn’t come back?” he says hotly, turning to face you at last.  “And then I go looking for you, and where are you?  Talking with Ken!  Talking and laughing like I wasn’t waiting for you, like I didn’t exist!”

You drive in silence for several minutes, trying to keep your emotions in check.  At last, you answer him.

“I didn’t do it on purpose.  I was just going to bring him a plate like I promised, but I got distracted-”

“You forgot about me.  Again.”  The tear he brushes from his cheek is very real.  “You forgot me.”

“I did not forget!  I just- Raf, I am so sorry.  I should have just handed over the plate and come right back to you.”  You’re sincerely remorseful, but the apology feels woefully insufficient.  You know you’ve hurt him like this before.

“How long do I have to wait for you before it’s enough?” he asks softly, and you have no idea what to say.  He sighs.  “Just take me home.”

“Where did you get the bloody handkerchief?” you ask after a while.

“That stupid stray cat killed one of my fish.  I tried to save him, but it was too late.  RIP, Gilbert.”

You vaguely remember him introducing you to Gilbert, a beautiful white and orange koi in the courtyard pond.  Though you’re certain the fish was destined for the dinner table at some point, being killed by a cat was not how Rafayel wanted him to go.

“I forgot to throw the handkerchief away,” he continues.  “Like I said, I was really busy with painting, and then Thomas took me away as soon as I woke up this afternoon.”

“When was the last time you remember eating?”

“Saturday, I guess,” he replies, shrugging.  “That’s what my delivery app says, anyway.”

“Saturday?  It’s Tuesday night!” you cry, slowing to a stop at the last intersection.  You’re torn: go right to Rafayel’s studio, or left toward that beachfront restaurant he loves?  “Let me take you out to dinner, my treat.”

“No,” Rafayel says firmly.  “The only thing I want right now is at home.  I dreamt about it while I was sleeping today.  I won’t eat anything else until I have it.”

You know his artistic temperament too well to argue with him, so you turn right and park as close to the house as you can get.  At this point, you’re not sure whether he faked the entire fall, or if he actually collapsed and used the handkerchief to get out of the event early, so you stick close by in case he gets weak or dizzy.  You barely get into the entryway before he’s on you again, his hands hiking your dress up around your waist.

“Rafayel!” you gasp, back pressed against the front door.  “What- you need to eat before you faint again.”

“Wow, you really didn’t get it?” he asks, his expression somewhere between amused and disappointed.  “I dropped so many hints.  I needed to see you before the exhibition, I dreamed about it…”  He drops to his knees, looking up at you pleadingly.  “I can’t eat anything else until I’ve had some.  You know what I need, don’t you?”

A hot wave of desire shoots through you as his tongue paints a picture on your thigh, his sunset eyes peering up at you through thick lashes.  Panting, you run your fingers through his hair.  You try to determine whether he has the energy for something like this right now, but your mind feels thick like molasses.

“Please, cutie,” Rafayel murmurs.  “I’ve been waiting so long already.  Can I have it?”  He presses his face between your legs, inhaling deeply.  “You need it, too, don’t you?”

“Yes,” you whisper, and you see it in his eyes as he switches from pleading supplicant to benevolent god.

“I thought so.  I need it, and you need me to take it.”  A shiver runs down your spine as he hooks his fingers under the waistband of your panties and pulls down.  “I’m really hungry, so I hope you don’t mind if I have seconds.”

Those are the last coherent words out of either of you for a long time.

Chapter Text

“Yeah, that sounds like fun!  We should definitely set that up when we have time.”  

“Yeah?  How about tomorrow?  Or over the weekend?”

“Oh, I’m pretty busy the next few weeks, so…”

“Okay, how about next month?”

Ken is nice and all, but you really wish he would just take the hint.  You’re busy; you will continue to be busy forever because you already have more than enough going on in your life.  But he’s young and new and probably desperate to make friends, and you feel bad for him.  You sigh, remembering how you felt when you first joined the Association.  If you hadn’t met Tara when you did, those first few months would have been pretty lonely.

“Yeah, I think next month will work for me.”  You pull up your calendar in your Hunter’s Watch.  “Maybe the sixth?  I guess we’ll have to wait for the duty roster to know for sure, but-”

“Seriously?” Ken asks, his voice rising an octave.  He clears his throat.  “I mean, seriously?” he says in a deeper tone.  “All right, cool.  Nice.  Uh, maybe we could see a movie after, too.  Grab some dinner…”

The pieces finally click into place and you realize, far too late, that Ken has been trying to ask you for a date the past three weeks.  You’ve basically already said yes, but you thought you were just hitting the training grounds!  Now it’s dinner and a movie?  Your brow scrunches in consternation as you try to figure out a nice way to let him down, but everything you come up with feels too harsh.

“Do you like Thai food?” Ken asks.

“Hmm?  Oh, yeah, I love it-”  Shit.  “I mean, like, I do, but I can’t…  After training, I’m usually pretty tired so I just go home.”

“You have to eat though, right?” he says hopefully, and you struggle not to visibly cringe.  How is he this dense?  “Oh, we could order takeout!  You can come to my place, and we can put on a movie while we eat.”

This conversation is beginning to feel stifling, like you’re trapped in an escape room and can’t find the way out.  Every obstacle you throw out, he dodges; every soft no sounds like a yes to him.  Is this it?  Are you doomed to become Ken’s unwilling girlfriend because you can’t figure out how to nicely tell him you’re not interested?

“There you are, kitten.  I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”  You turn around in surprise, and a large hand suddenly tilts your chin upward.  You have a brief view of Sylus’s face coming closer before he kisses you, hard and deep, his free arm pulling you tightly against his body.  For a few seconds you forget about breathing, forget about decorum, forget about Ken and your colleagues and the fact that you’re in the middle of a work conference.  For those few seconds, all you can do is feel, and what you feel is incredible.

When he pulls back, it takes you a moment to collect yourself.  It really is him, handsome as ever in a dark suit with crimson accents, not a hair out of place.  He was supposed to be in Chansia, but for what purpose you didn’t know; Luke had only said it had to do with protocores, but that was at least half of Onychinus’s business so it didn’t tell you much of anything.  But suddenly he was here, so deep in the Arctic no one would go so far without a good reason and a fair bit of luck- why?

“What are you doing here?” you ask breathlessly, wrapping your arms around his waist like he might disappear if you don’t hold on tight.  “The twins said you were in Chansia.”

“I was, but my business concluded early.”  That was usually code for “the other guy is dead now.”  He runs gentle fingers across your cheek, his eyes soft and warm.  “Since I have a few free days now, I thought I’d pay you a visit.”

“A few days?  Really?  I have workshops all day tomorrow, but after that I don’t have work until Tuesday,” you tell him, excited by the prospect of having him to yourself for an extended period.  Away from the N109 Zone, away from Wanderers and work, you two could just pretend to be a regular couple for a while.

Sylus smiles.  “Perfect timing, then.  Now, won’t you introduce me to your friend?”

Friend?  It takes you a few seconds to recall that you were in the middle of an uncomfortable conversation with Ken until just a moment ago.  In fact, you’re completely surrounded by Hunters, several of whom are watching you with avid interest.

“Oh!  Yes, of course.  This is Ken, one of my colleagues at the Hunters Association.  Ken, this is Sy-” you catch yourself just in time, “Skye.  This is Skye.”

“Nice to meet you,” Ken says hesitantly, debating whether or not to reach out for a handshake.  He’s clearly intimidated by Sylus’s size and demeanor.  “Are you two, um…?”

“We’re besties,” you reply cheerfully, leaning your head against Sylus’s shoulder.  It’s a silly throwback to the last time he turned up to one of your work events.

“Oh, sweetie, you are such a tease,” he chuckles, then leans down to whisper in your ear.  “You’ll pay for that later.”  A shiver of anticipation runs down your spine.  Straightening up to his full height again, he slips an arm around your shoulder and turns to face Ken.  “Yes, we’ve been together for a while now.  What, she hasn’t mentioned me?”

“Um, no, not- not really.  Not to me, at least.”

“You’re just a very private person,” you say sweetly.  “And I like keeping you all to myself.”

“There’s no reason to hide me, kitten.  I’ve met a few of your colleagues already, haven’t I?”  Right on time, Tara rushes over.

“Oh my gosh, Skye!  It’s so nice to see you again!”  She turns to you, punching your arm playfully.  “I can’t believe you kept this a secret!  You two are official now?”

“Official besties!” you laugh, gasping slightly as ghostly fingers seem to wander up your thighs, tracing patterns on your skin.  He’s directing his Evol under your uniform, touching you in plain sight in a way no one can see.  Concerned by the implications, you glance up to see his crimson eyes give you a warning.  Strike two.  Watch yourself, they seem to say.

Several other Hunters have come over to greet “Skye,” remembering how much fun they all had at the resort a few months back.  Ken seems to melt into the crowd, disappearing like a bad dream now that the object of his affection is clearly off limits.

“Why don’t you join us for dinner, Skye?” Andrew says, gesturing toward the banquet room.  “We had a last minute cancellation so there’s plenty of food for an extra guest.”

“And it’s buffet style, so you can just grab what you like and sit anywhere,” Simone adds, gesturing for the two of you to follow.  

While it’s hardly the sort of high-class fare Sylus tends to favor, the food is of good quality and well-prepared, so you’re not worried about him not finding something to his liking.  In just a few minutes, you find yourselves sitting at a circular table, surrounded by Hunters treating this wanted criminal like an old friend.  The last time this happened you were a bundle of nerves, terrified that someone would recognize him and start a fight.  Now, though, you know him well enough to understand that he wouldn’t have shown up if there were any chance of being recognized, and the entire situation is just funny.

After everyone has finished eating, the room splits into dancers and singers, about half of the assembled guests flocking to the karaoke machine set up at one end while the other half crowd onto the tiny dance floor.  You look up at Sylus, smiling, and incline your head toward the karaoke stage.  He seems to think about it for a moment before finally shaking his head, taking you by the hand and leading you toward the parquet flooring.

His choice surprises you; though he’s taken you dancing a few times, it’s only ever been to classical music, mostly elegant waltzes mixed with a couple of foxtrots here and there.  The music they’re playing now is modern R&B, a style that doesn’t seem at all up Sylus’s alley, but he gives it a valiant effort, and it only takes him a song and a few glances at the other men on the dance floor to give him a fair idea of what you need him to do.  As enjoyable as it is, you’re more excited when a slow song finally starts, giving you the opportunity to wrap your arms around his neck and pull his face closer.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” you murmur, nuzzling your nose against his.

“It’s a good thing I arrived when I did.  I think Ken was about to propose.”  He says it lightly, but his smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“You’re exaggerating.”  It’s hard for you to imagine Sylus really believed anyone could take his place.  He’s not really jealous… right?

“How long were you planning to let that drag on?  Or were you actually going to go out with him just so you didn’t hurt his feelings?”

You look away, embarrassed, and that seems to be all the answer he needs.

“Sweetie, really.  Why did you agree to it in the first place?”

“I didn’t realize what he was getting at until I’d said yes!  I thought he just wanted someone to train with.”

“Because you’ve never been hit on before,” he scoffs.

“Not so ineptly, no.  Three weeks he’s been asking and I didn’t-”  The look in Sylus’s eyes makes your blood run cold.

“Three weeks?” he asks, danger dripping from each syllable.  “Has he been bothering you?”  You wonder briefly if Ken can sense how close he is to a terrible fate.  While Sylus generally stays out of your business unless you explicitly ask for help, he doesn’t play around where your safety or your comfort are concerned, and you have to set the record straight before he handles things his own way.

“No!  No, nothing like that.  Honestly, he was so bad at it I didn’t even realize he was interested in me until two seconds before you stepped in.”  

He grumbles, clearly unhappy with the entire situation, but the crisis seems to be averted when Tara comes up to you excitedly, holding an old Polaroid camera in one hand and waving a photo in the other.

“You guys have to see how cute you are!  Of all the photos I’ve taken tonight, this is the best one.  You want it?”  She holds the photo up for inspection.  It’s a little blurry, the camera’s meager flash not doing enough considering the distance from its subject, but honestly it is a cute picture.  Tara caught you in the middle of an embrace, foreheads touching as you gaze into each other’s eyes.

“Yeah, I’d like to keep it, if that’s okay.”  Every other photo you have of the two of you together is so carefully posed, the background and lighting immaculate, it makes this candid picture feel important somehow.  “It’ll be perfect in our ‘best friends forever’ album,” you joke, angling the photo for Sylus to see.

Tendrils of his Evol snake around your thighs, your hips, your stomach, and you look up at him.  Strike three, his eyes say.  We’re out, now.  Gasping with unexpected pleasure, you pitch forward into his chest as unseen fingers work magic between your thighs.

“Sweetie?  What’s wrong?”  He’s so cool butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth and you kind of hate him for it.  “Your face is all flushed.  Are you sick?”

“Yeah, you look feverish,” Tara frets, peering anxiously at your face as you bite back a moan.  “Should I ask around for a doctor?”

“No!” you pant, gripping Sylus’s arm like a vise.  “I- I just n-need to lie down.”

“I’ll help you upstairs,” she replies, placing a cool hand to your burning cheek.  “Wow, you really are warm!  Maybe you do need a doctor.”

“I’ll look after her,” Sylus interjects.  “This happens sometimes when she works too many extra shifts.  I know what to do.”  He lifts your chin, forcing you to look him in the eye.  “Can you walk, sweetie?”  The sensation from his Evol diminishes significantly until you can stand up straight, sucking in a deep breath.

“Yeah,” you pant, glaring at him.  “I can walk, don’t pick me up in front of my colleagues.”

“Text me if you need anything!” Tara calls after you, watching you stumble forward under Sylus’s guidance.

“I can’t believe you,” you grumble as soon as you’re out of earshot.  “You’re the one who called us ‘besties’ to begin with.”

“A lot’s happened since then,” he purrs, steering you toward the elevator.  “Now be a good girl so your Hunter friends don’t have to hear all the filthy sounds I can pull from you.”  The warning makes you shiver in anticipation of what’s to come.

The second the elevator doors close, shielding the two of you from prying eyes, his Evol is back between your legs, working you into a frenzy.  Before you reach the top floor, Sylus picks you up in his arms as your back arches, your breath coming in quick, frantic gasps.  In just a few strides he brings you to the door of his suite, setting you down against the doorframe while he presses his keycard to the lock and shoves the door open.

His Evol switches suddenly from stroking to binding, black-red mist coiling around your knees, waist, and arms as you’re levitated across the threshold, through the sitting room, and into the opulent bedroom.  But instead of depositing you on the bed like you expect, it carries you over to the desk and bends you over it, pressing your torso into the hard mahogany.  As the dim mood lights flicker on, his Evol tangles in your hair, forcing your head to turn to the right where the wall is covered in a floor to ceiling mirror.  It gives you the perfect view of Sylus stalking toward you like a tiger hunting its prey, his strong fingers unbuckling his belt as he goes.

“Don’t give me that wide-eyed ‘what are you doing’ look, kitten,” he growls.  “You know how you got in this position.  I warned you, didn’t I?”

“Yes,” you whisper, your eyes locked on his in the mirror.  You couldn’t look away now even if you wanted to.

“And still you said it a second time.”

“Yes.”

“And then a third.”

“Yes.”  While you don’t think any of this is fair, considering all you did was echo his earlier statement, by this point you’re desperate enough to admit to anything.

“All actions have consequences, sweetie.  Now you’re going to watch me administer those consequences until I’m convinced you’ve learned your lesson.”  He roughly pulls your skirt up around your waist.  “And the next time Ken or anyone else asks you to ‘train,’ remember how sore you are after the workout I give you.”  You feel suddenly wobbly as your restraints dissipate, leaving you still bent over but free to move if you choose.

“You’re not using your Evol?” you ask, whimpering with excitement as his body weight pushes you harder against the desk.

“Call me old fashioned, but I prefer doing this part hands on, kitten.”

Chapter Text

“That’s the last of it!  Thanks so much for your help, Ken.  I don’t know how we would have managed without you.”  You slam the back of the van shut now that the last of the equipment has been packed in.

“Happy to help!  But I do wonder why you didn’t have someone lined up to begin with.  That stuff was REALLY heavy.”

“My friend was supposed to help us move it, but he appears to be running late.”  You glance at the time on your phone - 15 minutes past ETA and still no message from Caleb.  It’s very unlike him, and you’re starting to worry.

“He’s coming all the way from Skyhaven, right?” Simone asks, coming around from the front of the van.  “That’s a long trip on a Saturday.”

Sensing your unease, Ken pats your shoulder.  “Transports get backed up all the time, especially on weekends.  I bet he’ll be here any second.”

“Yeah, yeah, he totally will.”  Just then, you spot Caleb’s car parking in a short-term spot about 50 yards away and close your eyes in relief.  He’s safe.  He’s okay.  He’s here.  It’s been months since he came back, but dread still sinks its hooks into you any time you can’t get a hold of him.  

You watch Caleb emerge from the driver’s seat and sprint toward you.  Unsure of what’s happening, Ken’s grip tightens on your shoulder and he steps in front of you as if to shield you from this weirdo running full tilt in your direction.  Seeing this, Caleb slows down and puts on his most charming smile.

“Hey, pipsqueak,” he says, not even out of breath after all that running.  “I’m really sorry I’m late.”

“You should be,” you retort.  Your worry transmuted into anger as soon as you realized he was all right.  “You know how long I was waiting?  You didn’t even text!  Poor Ken here had to help us carry all that heavy equipment.”

“I’m sorry.  I woulda been here on time, but it was outta my control.”  You can hear the regret in his voice as he glances at Ken’s hand on your shoulder and then his face.  “Thanks for helping her.  I’ll take it from here.”

“We’re already done,” you retort, crossing your arms.  “Ken did everything.”

“No, no, not everything!” Ken objects, embarrassed by getting all the credit.  “I just carried a few things, not a big deal.”

“Well, I need to get going,” Simone says before you can further the argument.  “Ken, you need a lift back to your car?”

“Uh, yeah, if you don’t mind.”  He seems eager to escape whatever is going on between you and Caleb.  “I’ll see you Monday.”  Waving, he and Simone get into the van while you continue glaring at your guilty boyfriend.

“Can I give you a hug?” he asks hopefully.

“No.  I’m still mad.”  You start walking toward his car, and he quickly catches up, peering anxiously at your face as he walks alongside you.

“C’mon, I’m really sorry!  But it wasn’t my fault - there was a puppy in the street and all the cars swerved and stopped.  I had to get out and use my Evol to levitate it over to its family on the sidewalk.  But there were cars facin’ the wrong way and it took a while to get traffic movin’ normally again.”  He rushes ahead to open the passenger door for you.  “I’ll show you the dashcam if you don’t believe me.”

“I believe you,” you say when he gets in on the driver’s side.  “That’s not the problem.  Caleb, you scared me.  Do you know how terrifying it is when you disappear, even just for a little while?  I start thinking about all the bad things that might happen to you.”

“I’m sorry,” he says again, pulling onto the main road.  “I just couldn’t leave that puppy in the street like that.  Will you feel better if you call me a big dummy?”

“No.”  Your anger has largely ebbed away by this point, and you know he’s sorry, but once you’ve gotten into brat mode it’s hard to shut it off.

“Okay, I’ll do it for you then.  ‘Caleb, you’re a big dummy,’” he says, affecting a higher register in a terrible imitation of your voice.  “‘You owe me braised pork and apple crumble for being such a big, dumb, dummy.’”  He switches back to his normal voice.  “Okay, pipsqueak, if that’s what it takes.  Let’s go to the supermarket to get a few things.”  He switches back to “your” voice.  “‘Really?  You’ll do whatever I want just like that?  You must really love me.  Oh, Caleb, you’re the best boyfriend in the whole world!’”

You lean over and smack his arm.  “I don’t sound like that, dummy!”

“It’s a perfect imitation of you,” he says, smiling mischievously.  “So, do you forgive me?”

“Maybe.”  You fold your arms over your chest.  “We’ll have to see how I feel after dinner.”

“Fair enough.”  He glances at you, then continues in a casual tone that immediately sets you on edge.  “So, you and that Ken guy seem close.  How come you never mentioned him before?”

“He’s just a colleague,” you reply, rolling your eyes.  “I have a lot of colleagues I don’t tell you about.”

“Do they all put their hands on your shoulder like that, and step in front of you when other guys approach?”

“Maybe.”  You shrug nonchalantly.  “They’re pretty protective of me, I guess.”

Caleb glances at you again, his brow furrowed.  “How come they can be protective, but when I do it you always say, ‘I’m a Hunter, not a little kid!’ or ‘I don’t need your help!’”

“They’re my colleagues, they’re just doing their jobs.  You’re not actually jealous of that, are you?”

“Of course I am,” he admits.  “I’m jealous of anyone who gets to spend time with you, especially if I can’t be there.  You know that.”  He sighs.  “Did you tell Ken about me?”

At this moment, you have an opportunity to soothe Caleb and calm the whole situation down, but you choose not to take it.  In fact, you choose to actively make it worse.

“No, but I don’t think he’d be surprised.  He probably saw the pictures of you and me and Grandma at my place.”  Caleb’s head snaps to the right to fix you with a look of horror.

“What was he doing at your place?  When was this?”

“Oh, y’know, just having some drinks.”  Technically he was one of about ten guests, but it was more fun not to say so just yet.  “The last time was… two weeks ago, I think?”

“The last time?”  He’s gripping the steering wheel so hard his knuckles have turned white.  “How often does he come over?”

“I dunno, whenever I feel like it.”  Payback for making me worry about you, you think meanly.  Caleb is clenching his jaw so tightly you’re afraid he might damage his teeth, and every muscle in his body looks tense.  He suddenly chuckles, but he doesn’t look amused.

“I know what you’re doin’,” he says, shaking his head.  “You’re just messin’ with me.  You like it when I get jealous.”

“Maybe a little,” you admit, smiling mischievously.  You place your hand on his knee.  “Caleb, let’s forget about the supermarket and just go home.”

“Sorry, pipsqueak, but I gotta make you a good, nutritious dinner.  You can’t keep livin’ on cup noodles.”

“No, let’s go home and order takeout.  Please?”  You rub his knee persuasively.

“Why do you suddenly wanna go home so badly?  Got something you need to do?”

“Yeah, I do…”  You move your hand a bit further up his leg, hoping he’ll catch your meaning.  The way his ears redden tell you he’s picking up the hint.

“Hmm.  What is it, exactly?  Just tell me.”  Oh, he’s going to be like that about it?  Fine, I’ll play along.

You lift your hand and extend your index finger, then press your fingertip gently against his thigh.  Moving slowly, you form letters with great care: F.  U.  C.  Caleb laughs nervously as you trace the last letter into his jeans.

“I don’t know where you learned language like that, pipsqueak.”  He’s sweating and his cheeks have gone a sweet shade of pink, like a baby apple in midsummer.  “You didn't use to know those words.”

“I’m a grownup now, Caleb.  A Hunter.”  You keep your hand on his leg, tracing patterns on the inside of his thigh with your fingernails.  He shifts uncomfortably in his seat, and you can tell how massively turned on he already is.

“Those Hunters are bad influences.  When I go back to Skyhaven, I oughta take you with me so they can’t teach you anything else.”

“What, you want to lock me up in your house again?” you ask, shifting a little closer.  “You know that won’t work.  I’ll run.  Every time you try to lock me away I’ll work harder to get out.”

Caleb knows, and he hates it.  “I’ll keep tracking you down and bringing you back.”

“Y’know, if you just let me do one thing I’d stay.  I wouldn’t try to run away again.”

“Yeah?”  He looks interested.  “What’s that?”

You lean in to murmur in his ear.  “Let me handcuff you to the bed, and I’d never want to leave.”

Caleb groans loudly, grimacing as if he’s in pain.  His hands grip the steering wheel so tightly you’re starting to worry he’ll crack it.

“Y-you can’t say that stuff when I’m driving, pips,” he pants.  “I can’t concentrate.”

“We’re so close to my building,” you say softly.  “We’re going home now, right?  Not to the supermarket?”

“Of course we’re going home!  I can barely drive like this, you think I can walk around a store right now?!”

Laughing, you lean back in your seat, giddy with anticipation.  You love getting him worked up like this!  Turning toward the backseat, you reach over and pull his duffel bag into your lap as he turns into the parking lot.  You point out an open visitor parking spot and hop out of the car as soon as he turns the engine off.

“Let’s go!  If we’re quick we won’t run into any-”

“I got a better idea,” Caleb growls in your ear, wrapping an arm around you and pulling you quickly toward the foliage on the west side of the building.  You can see your balcony five stories up, and you suddenly realize what he’s planning.

“We can’t, someone’s gonna-”

“Hold on tight.”  Caleb wraps you in his arms, pulling your head against his chest as gravity seems to disappear.  The two of you soar up, up, up, flying past the windows of your neighbors until you levitate horizontally and finally down onto the solid concrete of your balcony.

“Great.”  You swat his arm.  “I lock the doors before I leave for work, dummy.”

“Not a problem my Evol can’t solve.”  Peering at the lock, Caleb raises his hand and manipulates the gravity around the locking mechanism until you hear a soft click.  He flings the door open and pulls you inside, overwhelmed with a sense of urgency.  In a heartbeat he gathers you into his arms, kissing you deeply as he pulls you back toward the bedroom.

“Caleb!”  You pull back, shoving at his chest while he looks at you with confusion.  “Go wash your hands first, at least!”

“Right!  Sorry, I’ll wash up.”  He runs into the kitchen while you slip into the bathroom.

“I’ll be right out!”  You hear him call out your name in disappointment before you close the door, grinning from ear to ear.  It would only take a second to freshen up, but you like making him wait a little.  You take your time washing your hands, combing your hair, even touching up the makeup you know he’s going to kiss off in a few minutes, all to let his anticipation build.

“You okay in there?” he finally calls through the door.  “It’s been a while.”  You check your Hunter’s Watch; four minutes is apparently “a while” to him in this state.

“Coming!  You’re waiting for me on the bed, right?”

You hear swift footsteps and a creak before he replies.  “Yep!”

Trying not to laugh, you emerge into the bedroom to find him perched on the edge of the bed, his leg jiggling nervously.  You want to kiss him, but you hold back for a moment, slipping your shoes off.  Caleb quickly copies you, his eyes laser-focused on your face, watching your expression like he’s trying to anticipate your needs.

“Lean back against the pillows,” you say softly, and he scoots up toward the headboard.  He takes a deep, shuddering breath as you crawl up the bed toward him and straddle his lap, and his pink cheeks are so cute you can’t resist the urge to bite him.

“Ow!  What was that for?”  He rubs the light mark you left, then inspects his hand.  “Surprised it’s not bleeding.”

“I didn’t bite you that hard, you baby.”  You look down like you feel bad even though you don’t.  “Does it really hurt?  I’m sorry, your cheeks look like little pink apples and I just couldn’t help myself.  I’ll go get the first aid kit.”  His arms tighten around your waist, holding you in place.

“I was just playin’, it doesn’t hurt.  You can bite me as much as you want.”  He looks into your eyes, his pupils so wide you can barely see the beautiful violet irises you love so much.  

“Can I… take your shirt off, too?” you ask, pretending to be shy.  You almost have him exactly where you want him…

“Sure, whatever you want,” he whispers, holding his arms over his head for you.  Excitedly, you pull his T-shirt up, your eyes raking over the chiseled muscles of his torso.  As the collar of the shirt clears his face, you catch him off guard when you surge up for a kiss, your hands continuing to move his sleeves upwards and finally over his hands.

Click.  Click.

Caleb’s eyes open and he looks up to see a pair of handcuffs shackled around his wrists, the chain connecting them wrapped securely around the top rail of your headboard.  Dazed, he looks back at you.

“Did you think I was joking about the handcuffs?  You underestimated me, Colonel.”

As you lean forward, fingertips dragging down his chest and abdomen until they hit the waistband of his jeans, Caleb’s face lights up like a Christmas tree.  You smile back, proud to have finally gotten the better of him.

It isn’t until you’re making the bed the next morning, listening to pots and pans clanging in the kitchen while he prepares breakfast, that you notice the handcuffs are missing from the headboard.

“Shit,” you whisper, realizing what must have happened just a second too late.  Your head spins as gravity shifts around you, when suddenly-

Click.  Click.

“You underestimated me, Hunter.”  Caleb’s breath is hot on your ear, his hand slipping under the hem of your T-shirt.  You shiver as his rough fingers dance over the sensitive skin of your stomach.  “There’s a reason they made me colonel.  I always end up on top.”