keep one eye on the door, keep one eye on the bed

[attitude]

You know what they say about time giving you perspective? Truer words have never been spoken. The funny thing is, even without being awake for it, I feel all of the years I spent asleep in that cryogenic facility. Been jaded since I woke up. Knew that I'd have to fend for myself in a world that would only seek to take advantage of me.

But, much as hindsight is 20/20, life also has a way of making you complacent when it goes too smoothly. I've grown soft since getting here. The fact that a disappearance even bothers me is proof of that.

I'm better off on my own.

I know that it isn't rational. Having Abel Nightroad as my work partner made me practically invincible by proxy. After all, his body regenerated, provided he had been feeding himself a regular supply of vampire blood, and trust me — vampires aren't hard to find in the city of Darrow. The man was even sure that he could survive being completely decapitated.

Maybe calling him a man would be a bit of a stretch.

Anyway, the point is, I know that I should be taking my danger levels down a notch without Abel around, but frankly, I've got jobs booked up through the new year and I'm not keen on backing down. Anything to keep my mind off the damn fact that I feel like I've been abandoned again, and like I was weak for letting that be a possibility in the first place. So I'm out on the prowl tonight, with the sky pitch dark around me, the only sound that of cars in the distance and the quiet clip of my heels against asphalt.

Today's mark is one I have license to kill, if I spot her. I'm hoping it doesn't come to that, not because I have a problem with killing when it's necessary, but because it always looks better if you bring them back alive.

I'm headed to one of the hidden dive bars in town when I spot him. Harley, walking through this part of town like it's nothing. Fuck.

I could leave him, but... fuck.

Muttering something incomprehensible under my breath, I put on a smile with perfectly lined lips, reaching out to loop my arm around his elbow.

"Hey, I've been looking for you," I say, tone light, even as my eyes are sharp as daggers. "Been waiting long?"

I don't give him much time to reconsider before I press a kiss soft against his cheek.

Comments

[bloodycrescents]

Being addressed by any woman so gently comes as a surprise, honestly, provided it isn't Carla Jean or Kate, but it's even more of one when I realize the woman in question is Faye. She wakes up alongside me like it's nothing, lips on my cheek, and for a few moments, all I'm really aware of is the ghost of that kiss.

I haven't been waiting at all, for her or for anyone. By the look in her eyes, though, she knows that damn well, and I'm not gonna fuck up whatever this is.

"No," I say, shaking my head. "Not long. What...?"

[attitude]

My mark looks our way. I can feel her gaze on us — it isn't heavy so much as it's searching, sliding through the air, taking in every last detail of our interaction. Which is why I try to make it count, letting my long fingers stretch out over Harley's shoulder, and raising myself on my toes until our foreheads practically touch. It's not the sweet intimacy of a loving relationship. Frankly, I don't want to chance it. My acting chops are good, but innocence isn't as easy as it seems to feign.

"Maybe I'm feeling a little antsy tonight," I whisper, even though there's every chance that my mark can't even hear us in the first place. "Your place or mine?"

She's wearing a red coat. I catch the flash of it in my peripheral vision, then I hear steps retreating in the distance. Dammit. It'll take a while to find her again.

I don't know when I started caring more about people's safety than my wallet.

[bloodycrescents]

I have the bone-deep feeling I'm going to be fucking embarrassed soon. It's not as strong, though, as the instinct to lean into her, gut twisting with desire. Reaching for her comes just as naturally, hands settling tentatively at her waist.

"Yours," I say, not quite a question. I can't quite trust the hope that maybe it's exactly what it sounds like and Faye's got it into her head she needs company for the night, that she's picked me because I'm the dumb schmuck lucky enough to be standing here. On the off chance that's true, though, then her place is going to be closer. "I'm way out in the middle of nowhere."

[attitude]

He falls easily into the routine, but something about the spark in his eyes tells me that he isn't just playing along out of convenience. And, much as I hate to admit it, I haven't gotten laid in a while. Maybe I like the brush of his hands more than I should, wide and warm as they skate around my waist. It's not what I pulled him aside for, but sometimes it's better to just go along with what's put in front of you.

"Fine," I murmur, only slightly irked that this means he'll see the state of the place I live. Not that I'm modest or care much about appearances; I don't. But there are a lot of trade secrets tucked away in my apartment.

Hopefully he'll be too distracted to care.

I surge up, one hand curling around the back of his neck to pull him closer for a kiss, making sure to keep it rough, suggestive. The type of kiss that you don't give if you're being a tease for the night. The steps I'd been focusing on before, they fade entirely. Threat's gone for now.

But he's here in front of me, tall and lanky and maybe he's not your standard sort of handsome, but there's still charm in those long limbs of his.

[bloodycrescents]

I think first that she's going to lead me somewhere, that whatever has brought this on will come to light, and then it'll be over. I think that and then she doesn't, not at all. The way she kisses me, that goes out of my head, and all I can do is sink into it. Hands steadying at her waist, I pull her closer, kissing her hard, rough nails digging through fabric. The curve of her body under my palms feels good enough I can't help a fleeting thought of backing her toward a wall, not bothering to wait for her place or mine.

A few years back, I might have tried to get away with exactly that. I'm not a dumb kid anymore, though, not completely. One thing I've learned for sure is that, at the end of the night, it's always a woman's choice. I'm a dumb mutt with a bone sometimes, willing to chase nearly anything in a skirt, though some options are infinitely superior to others. If a girl decides I'm worth the time, then it's a delicate balance of keeping her interested and following her lead.

I've never been too good with delicate, but I damn well try. One hand slipping up to cradle her jaw, I don't break for air until I have to.

[attitude]

It's a good thing, relatively speaking, that Harley and I came across each other so early in my hunt. It means we won't have to go far to find my bike; I parked her about a block away, with enough locks and alterations made that unless someone really understands how the mechanics of a motorcycle work down to every last bolt, chances of her getting stolen are slim. My head races, trying to sketch out a plan while Harley seems to be taking me to task, pulling me so close that I can feel his every movement down to the rise and fall of breath.

He probably feels as much from me, as well.

I don't know what it is that makes me suddenly want him. I mean, maybe it's the desperation that I'm misreading right now. The way that he's clinging onto me like I matter, and more than that, like I'm precious. Not delicate, fortunately — I think he's got the hint that I can handle myself, and far better than most people in this sorry city can. But even though we hardly know one another, it feels like our bodies are making up the difference. Like we're both quickly learning what makes the other tick.

"C'mon, my bike's around the corner," I murmur once we finally pull away, reaching up for his hand and lacing our fingers together, squeezing it in reassurance. I'm committed for tonight. "You ever ride a motorcycle before?"

[bloodycrescents]

Confidence isn't my strong point. I can admit that, at least to myself, which I guess says something about how much I've changed since I left home. If I'd let myself think about that for long, Amber would have seen it on me the way predators smell fear on their prey. She would have laughed, fucking daring me to hit her because she knew I never would. But she's not here and I know, when it comes to women, I'm still trying to figure them out and still sure I never will.

But the way Faye's body feels against mine, I start to feel damn sure she's not about to leave me in the cold. That certainty is a relief. Even the idea of a ride between here and getting in her bed is a relief. It means a few minutes to cool down, relax, and hopefully not embarrass myself in front of her. I want to get this right for her. I want her not to be sorry.

I shake my head, following obediently, trying not to think about my dick, hoping she won't notice the way I'm half-hard just from kissing her. "No," I tell her. "Always wanted to, though." I know, with my name, you'd think I would have grown up on them.

[attitude]

"You mean Harley doesn't refer to Harley-Davidson?" I ask, raising a brow as I look over my shoulder. Some of the stereotypes from my years living on Earth linger with me even now, exaggerating the rugged country nature of Americans until they were mostly a caricature in our media. I knew better, somewhat, from having been well traveled. But there was some part of my mind that still viewed the Americans of old as rugged, the type to take to either motorbike or horse.

The old Western aesthetic.

But the spill of street lights over the sidewalk and sound of cars rushing in the distance is enough to pull me back to the moment, drawing my thumb down the center of his palm as I lead him along. I wonder for a moment how it might look to an outside party. Like a woman on the prowl, I guess.

"You'll have to hold on tight. I drive fast," I tell Harley, unlocking my helmet from where I've chained it to the handlebars and tossing it his way. In the small side compartment, I've got a thick leather helmet that I can use in the meantime, and I tuck its straps carefully under my chin as I throw my leg over my bike. "C'mon."

[bloodycrescents]

When you think about moments like these, fleeting pictures in the mind, it's usually the other way around, the man steering, woman clinging to his waist. I kind of wish it were like that, that I were someone cooler. Faye is fucking gorgeous, mysterious and bold. Nothing like Effy, but for a moment, I can't help thinking of her, that dark smile in a spill of moonlight as she tugged at my hand and led me into... I don't know. It never mattered. Anywhere.

So I wish I could be the kind of guy a girl like Faye sticks around for, but I'm alright with being good enough for a night, holding tight to her as we fly down the street. She can go faster than I could anyway, seeing as how I've never ridden one before. So I pull on the helmet and climb on behind, arms slung round her waist. "My dad liked 'em," I say with a shrug. "Didn't have one, though, not that he'd let me touch."

[attitude]

By the time we pick up speed on the road, conversation becomes nearly impossible. All you can hear is the wind rushing past your ears and the thrum of the wheel hitting the road. There's a thrill to it that goes beyond what you get in the cockpit of a ship. In space, the awe comes from everything being completely out of reach — the pervasive silence combined with a sudden realization of our place in the world, insignificant at best.

Here, everything matters. You change the very feel of the road. Everything could change in the blink of an eye.

When I kill the engine of the bike, parking it in the alley by my building, I can feel my blood thrumming through my fingertips. Glancing over my shoulder, I help Harley remove the helmet, letting it hang unceremoniously from one of the handlebars as I dismount and grab his shirt.

"I guess this Harley's one I'm allowed to touch, though," I murmur, leaning in for another kiss, this one slow and coaxing, punctuated by the brush of my finger along his jaw.

[bloodycrescents]

Not just allowed, I want to tell her. I'm already dying to be touched, dick twitching as I reach for her. I always want more, never feel like it's enough, even when I'm getting more than I feel I should, but this isn't something I would have expected. From the first time I saw her, Faye may have been interested in me for some reason, but she was way out of my league, too. Like the models in catalogues, I could think about her, but never touch. That's what I'd thought, anyway.

Sometimes it's good to be wrong.

Hand sliding over her hip, I tug her close. "As much as you want," I say, and I don't care anymore if it sounds stupid or desperate as long as it doesn't chase her away.

[attitude]

I don't think that we stop touching each other for a moment between my bike and my front door. I can't even tell you whether or not we pass anyone by as we make our way down the hall, every step sharp as I make sure my heels find purchase against the carpet of the hall. Control became an important factor in this as soon as Harley turned it all over.

One hand behind me as I reach for the knob of my door, sliding the key in with hardly a click. Pushing the door open, we're met with a front of cold air — I don't keep the temperature of my suite as high as the building managers do.

"You're okay if I drive here as well, right?" I grin, inhaling sharply as our lips break contact for a moment, my hands quickly pushing up the hem of his shirt until I can feel his skin, hot against my fingertips.

[bloodycrescents]

When I was younger, new to this, I think I would have been affronted by that. I lacked any finesse whatsoever. I just rushed blindly in. But the idea of handing over the reins might have annoyed me. Now, though I'm not exactly an expert, though the times I get laid are too few, too far between, I'm starting to see all over again that the control has always been theirs. I couldn't say no to her even if I wanted to.

Kissing her hard, I slide my hands down to her ass, willing myself to enjoy the moment. It's too easy to grow impatient, to get swept up so thoroughly that I barely feel the exact things I'm pursuing. It just feels safer in these embraces, where I can bury myself so deep that I don't have to be me anymore. "I'm okay with anything you want."

[attitude]

There's something so young about the admission. He's okay with anything I want — and really, I believe it. But it's been a long time since the prospect of being wanted was enough to excite me; my stomach doesn't flutter at the thought of a kiss, my skin doesn't sear at the briefest of brushes. These days, what it takes to excite me is the give and take of intimacy, of peeling back just enough to know where one's desires meet with their partner's.

In the blanket of darkness, I let myself listen to every signal he gives. The hitch of breath, and the purchase of fingertips to fabric, shifting and sliding until I can feel my skin meet flush with his. Everything's fast now, but I know that could change in an instant. At some point, time will start to present itself as the luxury any of us are loath to release.

"Bedroom," I whisper, explaining where my steps are taking us as I kick off my heels, one hand reaching underneath his waistline to his ass, pulling him closer. "Tell me what you want."