Texas - There are no strings on me. (strings_on_me) wrote in knowhereic, @ 2017-08-05 09:17:00 |
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A bitch. Really. Harry Dresden had called her a bitch. Well, that was somewhere between a death sentence and foreplay. Thankfully, Tex hadn’t taken offense (she was used to the term being tossed in her direction) and had instead decided to pay Harry a visit. Well, maybe more than a visit. She arrived at the wizard’s home with her duffle bag over her shoulder and a bottle of 14 year old Oban (a rather delicious single malt whiskey) that she’d picked up while she and Grey had been out. Why not? She had the cash, and she’d been there, and the liquor had been there, and Grey was terrible at being a conscience (probably because he didn’t have one). So, she’d come home with the three hundred dollar bottle. And she hadn’t paid for it, in the end, so it was all okay anyway. She’d been planning to drink it alone in her bunk when Harry had taken the bait and after a bit of back and forth, she’d looked to the bed that used to be York’s, then she’d packed up her stuff and had headed out of the barracks. If York had moved out of Harry’s place, it meant Harry had a room. It was Texas’ room now. There was a knock on Harry’s door. *** The knock on the door surprised Harry. The only people that visited were York and Castiel, and since Castiel didn’t feel the need to abide by doors he just showed up whenever he felt the need to. York came inside because he had a key. Therefore, no knocking required. Harry stared at the door for a moment in suspicion then decided whatever had taken the time to knock probably couldn’t be that bad. He was wrong. Harry opened the door on Texas and almost closed it again right after. But his caveman brain was generally incapable of being an asshole to women who weren’t immediately trying to kill him. Since she wasn’t pointing a gun at his head yet, he scowled, eyed her, then said, “What do you want?” Okay, so maybe he was a little bit of an asshole to women regardless of his lizard brain. But this one deserved it because she had put a gun to his head and pulled the trigger. Freaky. And scarily accurate, strong, and probably just this side of crazy. Still, because Harry was a moron, he stepped back and let her in, his eyes narrowing at her duffle bag. Whoa, wait. “Do you have a body in there? I’m the wrong person to ask for help burying it,” he snarked and closed the door behind them. *** “If I had a body in here, it’d be a child.” She shoved the bottle of Oban into his hands as she passed him by and came into the house, slowing up as she looked around. Her eyes ran from the ceiling to the floors, and over the glowing magic fires that lit the place. The furniture. The kitchen. Even the hard wood floors and the rugs. Then her eyes found Mouse. Tex was still for a few seconds, shifting her weight, almost as if she was hesitating, like she might just change her mind and turn around, walk right back out that door. “Hi, dog.” She muttered as Mouse inevitably came over to sniff her. There was an awkward single pat of his head-- a literal pat on the head-- before she shoved her hands in her pockets. “So York moved out.” It wasn’t a question. “That means you have an open room. I’ll take it.” It wasn’t really a question. The tall woman turned around to lock those sharp, soulless eyes onto the wizard. “Just until York’s done playing house with the stray he picked up.” Ed, obviously. *** “Somehow, that doesn’t surprise me,” Harry commented, taking the bottle and eyeing it before his gaze tracked back up to Tex. He almost flinched when she looked him in the eyes. Reflex. But if he looked away right now Mouse was going to get dragged into a very awkward altercation, so Harry held her gaze and adopted a bored expression, body and all. She didn’t have a soul, there was no soulgaze to worry about but honestly? Her being an empty shell of a human being scared the shit out of him more than seeing her soul ever would. Creepy. “Cute,” He said to her statement. “It’s not for rent.” He stalked past Tex, rubbed Mouse’s head far more casually and winked at the dog as Mouse fell into place beside Tex and licked her arm. Good boy, Mouse. His fluffy tail swished back and forth lazily. It was adorable. Now there were three 200+ pounds of monster sitting inside Harry’s living room. Awesome. Harry did grab two glasses though. He wasn’t a big fan of hard liquor but he could nurse a drink of this, probably. It’d cool both their nerves anyway and besides, she’d brought it, by old world terms it was an appropriate gift between people. Too bad Harry wouldn’t give her anything in return. He didn’t invite her in here. “On the rocks?” He asked. *** Tex barely scraped the two hundred mark, at two-twelve. She just didn’t have the same muscle definition that York did-- which was understandable, she was a woman. She was, though, most definitely the most in-shape woman on Knowhere. Well, if you weren’t counting the Goddesses out there, because who could compete against a hundred and twenty pound girl who could lift an 18 wheeler? It just wasn't natural. Not that Tex was natural, of course, nature hadn’t made her into the Spartan she was. “Please.” She said of the offer of ice, dropping her bag on the floor next to the couch. “And it’s good that you’re not renting, because I’m not planning on paying.” So, they were in agreement. Pale eyes remained locked on him, watching his every move. When his eyes finally turned away to mind the Oban and the glasses, the blonde came forward-- a slow, stalking movement. She’d pause when he looked up, holding her ground and his gaze-- until he looked away again, wherein she’d begin to move a second time. A lioness in the high grass, stalking. It was only when he offered up the glass of Oban for her to take that she’d finally tear her eyes away from his to look down at it, plucking it deftly from his fingers before Tex’s attention came right back up. “Don’t worry, when I throw my wild parties, I’ll make sure you’re not home.” Staring him down for a good, hard moment, she’d finally turn her body, keeping eye contact until the last moment, where she deliberately looked away and put her back to him, heading back towards that couch. *** “What are you gonna do in exchange? Cook and clean?” He asked, “I like my sandwiches without mayonnaise.” He was inviting disaster, probably, but a part of Harry didn’t care. Which was stupid. Every time he let himself forget she was a predator she usually ended up with her hands around his throat. Harry applied the cool parts of Winter to the glasses, watching in mild satisfaction as chilled cubes formed inside. A waste of energy and magic by all accounts, but Harry liked to have a little fun with the parts of his position that sucked. He felt Texas stalking him though, her eyes were an impossible weight to miss, her silence, the whole of her presence. She was overwhelmingly there. Right in your face, though calm and predatory and patient, waiting for the moment to strike. It appealed to the dark parts of Harry’s soul, not even just the parts covered in Winter’s frost. So when he looked up the last time and caught her eyes directly as she intended, he smirked slightly and watched her walk away. Then she turned her back completely and a little chill ran down his back. Calm down, Dresden. Anything that didn’t find it an issue to turn its back on you was scary. Harry forced himself into focus and followed after her. “I won’t worry about you having parties, I know you have no friends so no one would come,” he replied brightly. “Since your friend is my friend, he’d tell me and I’d just come ruin it anyway.” *** “That’s a pretty neat party trick.” She remarked about the frozen cubes-- swirling them around in her glass before she turned and took a seat on the couch, kicking up black-BDU covered legs and setting heavy boots down onto Harry’s coffee table. With a sip taken of the Oban, she made a slightly appreciative face before considering the taller man again. Her eyes started at his feet-- no shoes. He felt comfortable enough in his new home not to be wearing shoes. It meant he didn’t expect to have to flee the building any time soon. It meant she could outrun him, if he tried. Not only because she was sure she was faster, but he’d cut up his feet on the run and she’d be able to take him down easily. Up to his pants. Casual. Loose fitting. No holes that she could see, and no belt. No lumps or bulges that weren’t god-given, so there weren’t any weapons to be had. Nothing he could use as a make-shift weapon, either. She always wore a belt just for that purpose. Taking another sip of her drink, her eyes strayed up and over his chest, the t-shirt that exposed his arms, making it easy for her to take in the muscle definition there, judging his strength with a few lazy calculations. He was most certainly capable of lifting her, probably of getting her on the ground due to his greater weight, but she was certain she had more strength than he did. Maybe if she didn’t fight quite so hard, it’d be more of a challenge to win. Maybe at only half capacity. Up over his shoulders, along the length of his neck. He had a long neck-- some scruff there. The man needed a shave but Tex found herself very much hoping he might misplace his razor. A smile appeared behind the glass, seen easily enough around her eyes, if not through the wall of the clear glass. His jaw. He looked like he could take a punch. Nothing glass about that jaw-- his mouth, the little curve. Something wanting to be Alpha, but only just managing not to lose it entirely. That was appealing to her. Like the doe in the forest who was trying to be brave and not run. But it was the eyes that did it for her. That was her end goal-- locking pale, pale blue-green onto that deep hawk-brown. It was the look in Harry’s eyes she enjoyed. Another predator had stared back that first day. She’d been looking for it since then, but they’d never had a proper moment alone. “I can make sandwiches. I’ll even cut off your crust before I force it down your throat and watch you choke on it.” Her smile was sudden, sharp, and carrying an oddly sweet edge to it. “You should sit.” Sit, boy. *** It was impossible to ignore her intention. She wasn’t hiding anything she did which said that she was completely capable of holding her own or was a moron. Harry doubted she was stupid. Which left the first. It was chilling and if he admitted it, just a little thrilling too. It had been a damned long time since anyone had looked at him with eyes like that--not just the predatory assessment--because that was what it was, but with that look in them that touched on the animal instincts inside every man. But he wasn’t some doe waiting to be taken by a lioness. He hadn’t sat because their positions had given him the advantage--because he was taller and had a longer reach, because he was just out of her reach if she wanted to kick him, because he knew exactly the steps he’d have to take to close the distance and where he’d grab her if required. Her hair was long enough to take hold of. He noted these details with the dispassionate thoughts of Winter’s core, because the monster inside had stirred--pressed awake by Harry’s own base impulses, keenly aware it was watching something like itself. Keenly aware and purring quietly in the back of his mind. It was pleased. Pleased she looked at him and saw the monster for itself. She’d fight back. She wasn’t weak. She wouldn’t submit. It would enjoy forcing her. She wouldn’t consent, she didn’t need to. Winter determined, why not a little violence with sex? That appealed to Harry’s nature, too. All of this was inside his eyes when he met her pale green-blue ones. “That’s adorable,” Harry commented, finally taking a drink of his own. He didn’t move otherwise. Not yet. The first one to do so would set the other off. Not yet. *** Oh, the smile that curled her lips lost that sweet edge and became little more than the sharp slice of a razor, those bright eyes narrowing down in a clearly pleased way. “I think I’ll enjoy living here. You can bring me breakfast in bed. Rub my muscles when they get sore. Change the channel when I can’t reach the remote.” Blonde eyebrows lifted. “And I’ve never had a pet before.” It was painfully obvious she wasn’t speaking about Mouse, who was watching this little back and forth-- if the dog was smart, he’d take himself out of the livingroom before one of those predators decided to make a move. Texas, after all, had taken a seat for a reason. He was taller, he already had that advantage, but she was lower than his center of gravity now, and that would put him off balance if he came for her. Four paces. That was what it would take. His eyes had slipped to her hair-- his intent was clear enough and there’d been no attempt to hide it. Well, she didn’t mind, it wasn’t like she couldn’t handle a little tug of that pony tail. Not that she had any illusions about it being a gentle tug. “But I think I’ll enjoy breaking you in. Wild horses are always the most fun.” The glass was brought up again, pressed to her lips, which parted to allow a sip of the dark whiskey, the ice clinking gently as she did. But her eyes never moved. She never blinked. She’d engaged him now and the game had started, she couldn’t look away either. To look away would be inviting him to make a move, and she needed to see that first move if she had any hope of countering it. Every twitch of muscle was noted, even if she didn’t dare look away from his eyes. She would, however, very slowly and deliberately uncross those long legs and drop heavy boots to the ground, her knees spread wide as she sat up properly and leaned forward, allowing her elbows to fall to her thighs and the drink to dangle from her fingers between her knees. “Something tells me it’ll be your first time begging.” Those words were nearly a purr, a rumble of a challenge as her eyes narrowed again, almost playfully. Well, if you could consider a lioness to be playful while it observed her next meal. *** The air in the room changed. That was, perhaps, Harry’s most dangerous advantage. Because they were both radiating an intensity but Harry’s came with a cold chill that spread outward from the very core of him and touched on everything within a twenty foot radius - leaving behind a blanket of winter frost. His breath came out with a little touch of frost on each exhale, his lips had turned a shade of blue, and at his hands each finger had gathered the sharp edge of arctic ice like the claws of a wolf. He was Winter’s monster, a deadly efficient predator whose instincts were to kill or claim. And this woman? This alike thing? It was nothing. Making its cute little sounds, the words of a peacock. How arrogant it was. To think that Winter would ever beg, that it could ever possess the force of the season itself. How did it plan to tame the mountains or control the oceans? How did it intend to cow a winter storm? She moved, ever so slowly, and the predator within watched her throat with interest, noting the cool pulse therein. The spread of her knees, an invitation for what lay between. Harry tilted his head slightly, and a low growl bubbled up from his throat. His eyes locked onto her chest and the interplay of muscle and skin, the flesh his claws could tear clean through to her core. He had wanted. And if he sank his teeth into her throat she’d struggle and if she didn’t he’d make her. The rush of lust and the desire for violence and blood coursed through with the beat of the wizard’s heart and then- The storm broke. The monster lunged for her throat with a snarl of rage and raw desire, to claim, to mate, to fuck, and kill her if it wanted. And it did. *** Yes. The tick of pure pleasure on her face couldn’t be missed. It was like watching a wolf step directly into a trap. And now that trap was snapping shut. Dresden lunged forward and Tex didn’t move back-- no trained soldier ever retreated, because the person coming after you expected you to stay still, or retreat. The person coming at you had planned their attack, how many steps, how many seconds, how many breaths-- and you could destroy that by moving forward, meeting them made their attack slower because they hadn’t planned for it. They weren’t ready. So the woman leaned forward, pushing up to her feet at the same time, twisting to the side so he’d miss her-- just barely-- those ice claws slicing through her shirt and cutting into skin. She brought the glass tumbler down against the back of that dark head as he passed her by, breaking it and gaining herself a weapon in the process. He’d hit the couch with such force he’d surely take it over, onto its back, and Tex turned expertly, cocking a hip out in an arrogant way and setting a hand to it, the other one bloody from the broken glass, but holding it tight. She had a bag full of guns on the ground. She didn’t reach for them. She didn’t need to. “Here, kitty, kitty.” She lifted that bloody hand, holding the glass, and curled her finger in a ‘c’mere’ motion, those cold eyes locked onto the creature just now righting itself. Creature, because that wasn’t Harry Dresden, those weren’t his eyes-- not really. Oh, sure, Harry was a predator, but he was a predator in the same way that a dog was a predator. This? Well. This was a wolf, but even a wolf couldn’t stand up to a lioness. And she was more than happy to demonstrate. *** He hadn’t expected it to attack, that was true, it moved just away so that claws ripped through cloth and flesh and that glancing blow of pain came down on the back of his head as he tumbled into the couch and turned it over. Another snarl of rage rent the air as Winter’s wolf pushed itself to his feet. That sweet, sweet smell of blood filled the air and the cold eyes of the monster tracked over the injury with interest - from the marks it left to the blood in the other thing’s hand. Weak points. Oh, it was fighting back. That was good. That pleased him. What was a little struggle? Half crouched, the predator prowled from around the couch, bare feet sure on the frost strewn tile. Winter was its core, no amount of ice or snow would ever make it slip and in this cold interior it was home. Somewhere inside, the wizard was screaming that he didn’t want this. This wasn’t Harry and he’d never forgive himself for it. Winter’s wolf paid no mind, but moved slowly, forcing the other to turn with him if it wanted to keep him in its line of sight. And once in its desired place, the predator lunged again and swept those glittering claws toward the other’s belly while the other went for the weakened hand and the arm attached. What did Winter care for weapons? It was one. *** One thing Harry could be thankful for, though he didn’t know it at the time, was that Texas wasn’t going to let anything bad happen here. She wouldn’t allow the creature to hurt her more than she could handle. She wouldn’t harm the creature more than Harry could handle. And she wouldn’t let it take anything from her by force. She would make it submit to her. Or, at least be aggressive enough to allow Harry to take control again. The predator lurched and the Spartan spun again. Funny, that Winter thought blood meant weakness. The glass was thrown right at the lunging beast, even if knocked away, which it surely would be, it would slice into flesh and make the thing bleed. And oh, wouldn’t that be fun? You could bleed too, wolf. That damaged hand would curl into a fist, her body shifting again, just slipping out of the way, claws catching fabric but not flesh this time. Her fist caught Harry’s temple, slamming down hard and using that built up momentum, redirecting it down and throwing the beast to the ground near her feet. And there it was. She was on the ground in a heartbeat, into the mount astride his hips, and Tex would begin hitting him-- it-- over and over again, until the creature found the ability to knock her off (which wasn’t likely, considering her position spread over him and with a low center of gravity), or until it cut into her so deeply that she couldn’t continue on (also unlike, considering how hard her hits were, how many could Winter take in this body?). Submit, pretty kitty. That was what the shit-eating smirk on Tex’s face said as she hit him over and over again. *** It was fast and it was strong and it fought with an admirable tenacity, if Winter had any respect for it. In time it would. In the moment it cared only for ripping the other apart. He hit the ground with a snarl and then the other was on him in a fury of blows. Tex had assumed correctly that the wizard could take a hit. He wasn’t in control, there was nothing to knock off balance, the wolf lacked the instinct to protect a very human face and with the other astride him he only sought to reach out and rake those claws across one thigh and aim up for her vulnerable side. But she wasn’t stupid, the part Winter didn’t account for was her training. She didn’t leave herself vulnerable and exposed. She had her own instinct and it was in alignment with her mind. She could ignore the pain as well as the wizard ever did, fight through it if needs be. Winter had attacked and it found a match, or at least something not easily broken. A challenge if nothing else, but something it couldn’t easily consume and it could respect that. Not an equal, never that, but something just as dangerous that would fight to assert itself. Not worth the trouble when there were easier things to eat. Tex’s hits kept coming and when the look in the wizard’s eyes changed he didn’t stop her. He didn’t want to. Winter abandoned him to the pain, having done its part and then retreating to let its human host deal with the aftermath. If the host died, Winter wouldn’t care, it would simply move on to the next. It had no sense of self preservation. You couldn’t kill the seasons. *** Tex wasn’t out of control, she wasn’t hitting with abandon. Every swing was carefully measured, pulled back to exactly the right height, brought down with exactly the right force, placed in exactly the right spot on the wizard’s face. And in a perfect cadence that ensured it would be overwhelming-- no time to regain bearings, no time to focus, no time for anything but haphazard grasping and clawing, which was something she could (mostly) defend against with her free arm and hand. That would be sliced up, along with her thighs, but her sticky bits remained safe. And as soon as she saw it, as soon as there was that shift, as soon as the other predator turned tail and ran? Well, the blows stopped and the woman perched atop Harry just hung there and panted, hair in her face, cheeks flushed from exertion, staring down at the man beneath her. She waited, calm and steady, until he looked back at her, and ensuring that they’d met eyes and that Harry was Harry, and he knew exactly what was going on? She punched him again. “Call me a bitch again.” It was half threat, half taunt, but it left her with a small smile, and she sat back, her rump meeting with his lower abdomen as if he were some lovely throw rug for her enjoyment. Well, that had been fun. “So. You’ll be doing the cooking and cleaning.” Because she was moving in. *** Harry didn’t fight her, he hardly registered anything she’d said. His brain had dutifully began reporting his injuries, the places across his body that hurt. His head was pounding and felt like it was going to explode. He was fairly certain she’d broke his nose. But none of that mattered, he’d deserved every ounce of pain she’d given him because he’d lost control. When Tex sat back on him, Harry raised his arms and covered his face, his breathing rugged not only from the exertion of the struggle but the rush of raw emotion that ran coldly through his heart. He’d lost control. Any other woman in the world wouldn’t have survived this… this thing that pushed at him. He didn’t want this. He had once tried to die so that Mab wouldn’t turn him into her personal monster and look how easily he’d given in. Oh, god. Harry’s fingers tightened in his hair, he made a strangled sound and then said very quietly, “You need to leave.” *** “What?” That was how long it took Tex to realize something was wrong-- that covering of his face. The rush of breath. And then it was impossible to ignore, when he’d grasped his hair that way and made that sound. That sound, it twisted her gut a little and she leaned in, both hands coming out-- one bloody and one not-- to grasp at his wrists and slip her fingers over his to slide them from his hair, pulling his hands away from his face. She’d pin his hands down to the wooden floor, slightly above his head. It gave her a perfect angle to look down at him and observe the damage she’d done. Well. Shit. “I think I broke your nose.” She’d certainly given him a black eye, a split lip, plenty of bruising. She hadn’t expected this reaction. Had she gone too far? “You’re gonna be fine-- you got any aspirin?” Something to help with the pain, that was. *** Harry didn’t meet her eyes when she looked at him. She’d chased off Winter effectively, but the man was still there and he’d never wanted to be the monster everyone was waiting for him to be. The self loathing was evident. He didn’t care about the pain, he’d lived with worse. She’d left him bruised and bloody and broken on the surface, but the real damage was internal. He didn’t meet her eyes because he was too ashamed. She was a strong woman, she’d done everything right to protect herself and make her point, to make him understand her point (when he thought hard enough about it later) but still. Winter pushed and pushed, it picked at him constantly, day in and day out, it toyed with his reason and his desires. It made him want and want and urged him and he had denied it for almost three years now. He’d held on, he’d stayed himself. Until today. Today it won and he’d tried to hurt her. It didn’t matter she was stronger than that. What if it had been Maggie? Harry’s brain whispered to him. Or Karrin. “Please,” Harry said, “Go away.” *** She tightened her hands on his wrists just slightly and leaned in, bringing her face closer to his, her lips near his ear. “There’s my begging.” She said in a whisper, lingering just a second before she leaned away and removed her hands, then climbed off of him. Her thighs burned from the scratches, but they were easy to ignore. Stepping over him, she headed for where Mouse was lingering in the doorway of the bedroom and she nodded towards Harry. Go on, dog. And with that, Tex was disappearing into the bathroom, to paw through what was there. Nothing. Who didn’t have bandages in their medicine cabinet? So she grabbed a few washcloths instead, wetting one and leaving one dry, before detouring to look for something in the kitchen. She wasn’t able to find any pain medication or anything to help clean up the damage she’d done to his face, or the slice on his arm from the glass she’d thrown, but she did have that expensive bottle of Oban. It was poured liberally onto the dry cloth and she came back over, stepping over him and placing her feet on either side of his chest, so she could sit back down. It was a protective measure, in case that thing came back. “I’m gonna clean you up a little before I put your nose back in place. So just hold still.” She didn’t bother to tell him it’d sting. He’d taken the beating, he could take the aftercare. She pressed the alcohol soaked rag to one of the many cuts along his face. *** Harry cried. He didn’t cry for the pain that was radiating from his head or his face or any of the cuts or bruises. That was all small talk. When your teacher and adopted father taught you how to put up a shield by throwing baseballs at you until you got it right, you learned to live with pain. He cried for everything else. He could hear her distantly putzing around the apartment looking for whatever. Mouse tracked over and laid protectively close, nudging Harry with his wet nose until the wizard had reached out and held onto him and his sturdy weight. The dog settled and let the wizard wet his fur. It was to that scene that Tex had returned. Mouse had lifted his head and given her a look that said, clearly, if she did anything untoward he would rip her throat out. He growled and her watched her every move. She would fix this under his unwavering gaze. Harry had gone only so far as to cover his eyes when she returned. He’d slowed his breathing and was reasserting his self control. Justin DuMorne’s teaching methods had been brutal, but they were effective and his two adopted children had learned how to discipline their emotions. When she touched the whiskey covered cloth to Harry’s face the wizard didn’t do much more than twitch. He could block out pain. He let her clean him up and by the time she’d cleaned enough of the cuts Harry was himself again. He still didn’t look her in the eyes. It was obvious she didn’t find fault for what happened, she wasn’t calling him a monster, or horrified by what had transpired. That was good, it would help him eventually when he was ready to face it. But for now, he was shaken. *** “Well, you’re starting to look less like a bloody pulp and more like Harry Dresden, the Nerd.” She smirked for that and would finish cleaning away the last of the blood on his face and neck. Following that, she turned the washcloth on the dog and wiped at him absently, to get the blood off of his fur, where Harry had buried his face. “There. All better.” She wouldn’t mention yet, his crying. Oh, but she’d tease him for it later. Just not now. Not yet. She was pretty sure she’d broken him tonight, and that wasn’t going to help much. “Now come on, get off the ground, stop being so lazy.” Finally climbing off of him, Tex would stand again, stepping over him and offering down both hands-- she was still bloody, but she didn’t care. It wasn’t anything she couldn’t handle later. “Up.” That next word was a demand. He’d get on his feet with her help, now. Because she said so. *** Harry didn’t want to touch her. She’d proven herself perfectly capable of knocking him on his ass if he ever tried anything ridiculous, but his fears about himself said touching her was wrong. He’d intended to rape her. You didn’t just touch people you planned to hurt, you didn’t banter with them and joke like everything was fine. So when she offered her hands and Harry got to see the damage he’d done to her he just flinched and slowly pushed himself to standing. He backed away from her to keep the distance. He’d fix the rest of his injuries himself, he’d get… no, he wouldn’t contact anyone to help him fix his nose. If he had his way he wouldn’t show his face to any of the people he’d called friends these last few weeks ever again. Harry isolated himself. It was the only way anyone would ever be safe. So he just glanced at Tex and shook his head, “Thanks,” he said, “but I’m not kidding. You can’t stay here. You should go now.” Because the thing inside him found her too appealing. Because she’d pushed him to breaking so easily, because he didn’t know how to look her in the eyes and pretend it was all fine when it clearly wasn’t. Harry touched his face gingerly, wincing, he touched the back of his head and his fingers came away bloody. *** She didn’t like the way he flinched away from her. She didn’t like that he refused to look at her. Had she really scared him that badly? She hadn’t even really hurt him, she’d dodged those attacks, she’d only thrown solid punches to win the fight. She could have done a lot worse. Maybe that was what he was afraid of. “Fuck, Harry, I’m not going to hit you again, stop being such a child.” That said, she stepped in and snagged his wrist forcefully, dragging it towards her-- she’d seen the blood on those fingers as he’d pulled them away and she looked at it when she pulled his hand closer. “You’re fine.” She didn’t know that, actually. But she wasn’t going to act like she was worried. “Turn around, let me see the back of your head.” The eager, softly growling dog at their feet was ignored for now. Yeah, she was being pushy, and grabby, and forceful, but Harry deserved it for acting like a scared child. Because yes, Texas, when a child was scared of you, you were supposed to yell at it and grab it, and demand things of it. You’d be such a good mother. *** She grabbed him and the wizard went rigid, he pulled back on instinct but she had a hell of a grip and he’d just been pummeled by those hands. He wasn’t going anywhere. “What the fuck is wrong with you!” He snarled instead. “Are you trying to make me hurt you again?” He demanded, and then felt like more of an asshole because it hadn’t been her fault the first time. Shit. Shit. “I told you to leave, god damnit.” Why wasn’t she listening? Who refused to go and stayed around the people that attacked them? Who… who cleaned their injuries and pretended it was just something that happened. What the hell was wrong with these people? What the hell was wrong with Harry? “I don’t want this,” he told her, “I don’t fucking want it and you’re standing there and it pushes at me and you’re not listening to what the hell I’m saying.” Because even now his anger could rouse the wolf inside if Harry needed it. It was content to lay dormant after the struggle, but it was always there and right now, it was just laughing at Harry. Darkly amused. “I’m sorry,” he said, “I’m sorry I lost control.” *** Wait. What? What was he going on about? “Hurt me?” She stared at him for a moment, the look on her face similar to one that she might be wearing if she’d just figured out he had two heads. Or, you know. Just one leg. Ahem. “You didn’t hurt me, you idiot. You tried to hurt me, and you failed. Miserably, might I add, and then I beat your ass.” That was how it’d gone down, Harry, and don’t you forget it. She kept hold of his wrist. He wasn’t going anywhere. “I don’t care if you told me to leave, you don’t get to order me around, Dresden, I’m stay. And you’re going to march your ass into that bathroom, and you’re going to let me look at your head, and clean up your arm, then you’re getting a fucking shower, and I’ll patch you up. Then, and only then, will I listen to a damn thing you have to say.” Bleeding heads weren’t a good thing, even Tex knew that, and she wasn’t having any of this push back. His wrist was tugged again, strong enough to actually pull the taller, heavier man towards her, force him to take that step forward. “Well if it wants to come out for another round, I’ll put my boot up its ass again. But until then, you’re going to do what I tell you. Bathroom. Now.” If she had to man-handle him there, she would. Yes, Harry. This was a Spartan. And your gentle, sweet York could be just as terrible as this woman-- only, much nicer. But he was just as powerful. *** Harry didn’t understand what the hell was happening. He’d wanted to hurt her, he’d wanted to do awful things to her. She’d stopped him cold, it was true, that part he wouldn’t ever deny and he would be glad for the rest of his life she’d done it. But it didn’t change the fact that he’d tried. There was a line between thought and action, there was choice. Harry had said that to Castiel, there was a dark part inside everyone but it only mattered what you did with it. And Harry? He let it win. He tried to rub his face but it hurt too much. He tried to pull away again but she was too strong. He wouldn’t draw on the magic that would force her out, not after that. Not after what he’d done. Harry just stared at Tex. His head hurt. “Okay,” he said. Fighting would just make it worse. He didn’t want to fight anymore. He wanted to go to sleep and never wake up again. Harry stopped resisting physically, but mentally he was erecting every wall he could grasp with his head half broken. He wouldn’t hurt her again. Inside, Winter chuckled. It had won once, it would win again, soon, wizard. Soon enough. But Harry relented, he moved into the bathroom and he let the woman look at his head. He did everything she demanded. What else could he do? She wasn’t going away. *** No. She wasn’t going away. Just like York hadn’t gone away. Given his far more agreeable nature, she would check out the cut on his head and clean it up as best she could. He’d need stitches. She’d call York later. A check of his arm would deem stitches necessary there, too. That would also be cleaned, all without her saying a word to him. What more did she need to say? And when those were cleaned up, she’d reach a hand out to tilt his head up, forcing his face to tip up towards her. “Look at me.” She demanded. It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t quiet. *** He hadn’t complained the whole time she cleaned him up. She wasn’t gentle but she was thorough and if it hurt him who would care? He didn’t, it was a welcome pain because what was it next to everything else. He wasn’t some masochist or moron who wanted to hurt himself out of self loathing, he just felt that she deserved the right to make it sting. So he kept quiet and let her poke and prod and clean pieces of glass out of the back of his head. God damn, she’d hit him fucking hard. At least it was a testament to how thick his skull was. The idiot. When she tilted his head back by main force, he didn’t resist. He squinted an eye at her because his head hurt, but he did look. “What?” What now. *** “You didn’t hurt me.” She said that plainly, firmly, and with pale eyes locked to his darker, dimmer set. Fuck. He looked broken. “Do you hear me? You didn’t fucking hurt me. You can’t hurt me. Are you listening? Look at me.” Even though he hadn’t looked away, he surely didn’t dare. That soulless stare. “You didn’t hurt me.” It was repeated yet again, her hand remained holding his chin. “Now say it.” She wanted to hear you say it, Harry Dresden. She wanted to know you understood. It was another demand. One of many tonight. But this may have been the most important of them all. She wasn’t going to let go, and she wasn’t going to back down, she was going to stay there, towering over his sitting form, holding his face to force him to look up at her, until he said the words. “You didn’t hurt me.” *** She said the words and Harry’s eyes flickered. He wanted to look away, he didn’t want to look her in the eyes when she said the words. She had blood all over her body and it was true that a lot of it was his, but she had her own injuries she hadn’t touched. Those had been his fault. “I wanted to,” he said instead, quiet. “I couldn’t stop myself.” He wasn’t strong enough. Harry paused, still staring up at her. “You said there was something I wasn’t telling you and York… That was it.” Another pause, Harry licked his lips. “There’s this thing inside me.. It pushes me to do things. Constantly.” This time he did look away, but he brought his gaze back to hers, because she needed to understand. “I didn’t…. Hurt you, but I tried, and next time the next woman won’t be so lucky, or smart, or prepared. And I don’t fucking want to do that. I hate this.” *** Harry was just having a bad night, wasn’t he? He’d just made it worse with those words. What was he thinking? He wasn’t. Maybe she’d knocked his brain loose or something. “You wanted to, but you didn’t. You couldn’t stop yourself, but I could. And I did.” Her eyebrows lifted. She’d stopped him. She’d put an end to it. And pretty easily, if they were going to start taking score. The thing inside him. She released his face and pressed her hand against his chest instead. He was sitting on the closed toilet seat. It was a good thing. Because when she pushed him back, his back hit the tank and he didn’t fall off. She held him there instead, and stepped around his knees, moving to sit herself down in his lap, her rear on his thighs, her legs spread to accommodate his waist. And like this, they were the same height, the thickness of his thighs eating up the height difference between the two as she used him for a chair. And that allowed her to lean in and bring her face close to his. “You didn’t hurt me.” She said that more firmly, a steady and confident repeat of his unsure words. “And maybe you make the smart decision not to lure back dainty little ladies to your place, offer them a room, try to get them drunk on Oban, and then make bedroom eyes at them.” Her hands slipped down his chest to grab the hem of his shirt and she began pulling it up. She’d tug it all the way up, and if he knew what was good for him, he’d lift his arms so she could tug it up and over his head-- oops, sorry, that probably hurt, Harry. Oh well. Suck it up. “You didn’t hurt me. Say it.” Another demand. *** He watched her steadily, uncertain about what the hell was happening when she plopped herself squarely in his lap like that. Hating that it was so freaking appealing because what the fuck had he just done to her or tried or whatever the fuck had gone down a half hour ago. And there she was leaning close like that, so sure of herself, strong and capable. She’d put him down like a rabid dog and had walked away from it with minimal damage. He’d tried and she’d come out on top. That’s what she was saying and that’s what she was trying to make him understand. The wizard looked at her with his dark eyes, his lips partly spread. God, she was strong, and beautiful. And she was crazy. “I didn’t hurt you,” he said. But he’d tried. And she’d won. And if he tried again, she’d still win. That was what she was saying. Because she could protect herself, because she wasn’t weak or meek or terrified. Of course, Harry, she was a Spartan. She hurt him when she pulled his shirt off, but he adjusted, wincing a little then looking at her again. His eyes were clearer anyway, his brain was alerting him to several different things just then. This was going to get really awkward if she didn’t get off of him. “I didn’t hurt you,” and she was close enough to kiss and Harry wanted to. God damn, he was crazy too. *** There it was. The recognition in his face. The understanding in his eyes. He got it. And she hadn’t even needed to punch him again. Smart boy. He hadn’t hurt her. He couldn’t hurt her. If he tried, she’d win. And every time he tried, she’d just put him down. Over and over and over again. Moreover, if he tried to hurt anyone else, she’d put him down. He seemed to understand that well enough now. Good. “You didn’t hurt me.” She agreed, keeping those too-pale eyes locked onto his darker set. “Now I’m going to get up, and you’re going to get naked, and you’re going to get in that shower. You’re going to clean the blood off of yourself, and then you’re going to get out and I’m going to bandage you up.” A hand slipped up into his hair and she curled her fingers in it, pulling his head back some and exposing his neck a little. It allowed her to lean in closer, bringing her lips against his ear. “And maybe if I’m feeling generous, I’ll let you clean me up.” Because he’d done the damage, after all. She had a feeling he might like to try to repair some of it. Leaning away, she released his hair abruptly and stood, slipping from his lap. “Shower. Now.” While Tex was always a take charge woman, this was a little excessive, even for her. But in his current state? Well, he was a little lost, he needed a little direction, and she was glad to give it. *** “Are you going to get out of the bathroom?” Harry asked, some of his spirit coming back. Maybe she didn’t realize how much her insistence he hadn’t hurt her helped him. But it did. He’d continue to question himself from time to time but at least for the next couple weeks he’d be sporting the bruises to remind him that she’d won. It would help. Maybe more than she knew. So Harry did get up off that toilet like she demanded (who wouldn’t? After that) and already half naked (and self conscious about the scars) he lost the rest of his clothes and he did get into the shower. That helped too. It cleared his head and it helped his soul and it did enough to make him feel human. Mostly. The water was cold because he couldn’t use a water heater without blowing it up. But it was enough. He washed away the blood and it hurt his face and his head to do it, but when he got out of the shower and wrapped a towel around his waist he was a thinking, functional human being who’d put his issues away into their proper places --denial was a hell of a thing--then stepped into his room to find a pair of clothes. Then, because he was an idiot, he went in search of Texas. *** He was an idiot, wasn’t he? Who went in search of a woman who had just beaten them bloody, and could kill them if she really wanted to? Or, hell, even if she didn’t really want to. Maybe she just considered it. Either way, she could do it. Then again, it wouldn’t take much effort from Harry to wipe her off the map with magic, if he tried. The implant in her brain would take her with it, if he went after that little piece of technology. Luckily, the primal Winter wolf didn’t think that way. Right? She’d be found in one of the guest rooms, her bag dropped on the bed and open. The first aid kit was out and the bathroom light was on. Her clothes were on the floor, and when he looked in, he’d find her there, settled on the closed toilet in her underwear-- black, of course. A sports bra. Had he expected anything else? The panties were sporty, too. Nothing lacy here. She was a soldier. And she was stitching a cut on her thigh. She’d already tucked a few stitches in other places-- seven in all, but most of them were just light scratches. The deep ones were her fault, she’d misjudged, and they were easy enough to take care of. She was just tying off the last one when she looked up and set those cold eyes onto him. She was still blood-covered, her hand still needed to be looked at, but she was clearly perfectly fine. A few scratches across her chest, above her breasts and beneath her collar bones. A few on her abdomen. Most of them on her thighs. That was the only spot that had needed stitches, where she hadn’t really defended. “Oh, good, you’re right on time.” Pushing up to her feet, she cut the last string and set the needle aside on the sink. “Sit.” There was just a bit of blood on the toilet seat lid, but not much, maybe two or three drops, from when she’d stood up. *** “Uh, I think I’ll just wait out here,” Harry said from through the door, because the moment he’d spotted her half naked he’d backpedaled right out of the bathroom and into the guest room again, looking around awkwardly despite the fact it was his own apartment. The room had belonged to York previously and while he hadn’t done anything to personalize it it was still just a little weird to be standing inside it. Hey, no one said the wizard had to be logical all the time. He rubbed the back of his head awkwardly and faced the other direction, leaning his back against the doorframe, or more accurately, the wall with his shoulder close to the frame. He may be a reprehensible monster inside, but he still had manners and a basic sense of decency that said you didn’t oogle half naked women while they were sewing themselves up in your guest bedroom bathroom. Man, his life was fucked up. *** “Hey.” She snapped as he moved to wait outside the bathroom. “I didn’t tell you to go outside, I told you to get in here and sit. How am I going to stitch your head up while you’re standing out there? Get in here.” She stepped back away from the toilet and crossed her arms over her chest impatiently. “Or I can call York and have him come and do it.” York had a better bedside manner. “And he’s just going to coddle you and give you a lollipop or something. Take it like a man and sit.” Because she wasn’t going to be sweet and gentle about it, if she was honest. She was just clinical. And it wasn’t anywhere near as pretty as York’s work, but at least it was in his hair. No one would ever see the scar. His arm, he might want to consider waiting for the actual medic. Texas was just as likely to make him into Frankenstein's Monster for fun, rather than trying to make them small and nice. What? It wasn't art, damnit. “Come on. I’m waiting.” Another demand. She was very demanding, wasn't she, Harry? *** The threat to call York worked, because Harry didn’t want to explain what happened. He didn’t want to face York’s disappointment. He wanted the younger man to believe Harry was still good inside for at least a little longer. So Harry sighed and stepped back into the bathroom, distinctly Not Looking at the woman as he turned and plopped himself down on the toilet. He didn’t care about scars. He had enough of them that he stopped remembering where or when he’d gotten most of them. Interestingly though was that he didn’t have any on his back. Harry Dresden wasn’t a coward. Which wasn’t to say he’d never run away from anything in his life, he did all the time --that was why he ran daily, so he could flee when necessary--he just didn’t let himself get shot in the back. But his front? He faced down every threat with his eyes forward. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re really bossy?” Harry asked. *** “Not if they want to keep their teeth.” She told him with a sudden smile. She pressed a hand to the top of his head to force it down, chin to chest, so she could part wet hair and take another look. The needle was plucked up from the sink, still bloody. It was held down to Harry. “Give it a wipe and apply some flame.” To sterilize it, of course. And once he’d done it, she took it back and would waste no time threading the needle again and getting to work. A few solid stitches to close up the wound and she covered it back up with his hair, gingerly. Yeah, she could have trimmed the hair off around it, but Tex wasn’t York, and good enough was good enough. It’d be fine as long as she kept checking it and made sure it didn’t get infected. “Alright, turn around, give me your arm.” Another demand. Demand. Demand. Demand. Tex couldn’t ask for anything. And York couldn’t demand anything. Imagine that. *** “You’re the worst nurse I’ve ever met in my life.” Which wasn’t saying much. Most of Harry’s medical issues were conducted in a morgue, because if he blew any of the machines in there no one was going to accidentally die. The little ME was a close friend who kept all Harry’s bullet wounds out of police files so no one would investigate. Guy was a champ. Tex wasn’t gentle and she didn’t try to be. Harry appreciated it. She was quick and effective and before long he was turning--sort of--to face her. He’d gone so far to offer her his arm. He could be stubborn. She’d made him apply a flame to a tiny freaking needle and Harry’s ideas of flames were huge gouts of burning fire, not something tiny and controlled enough to sterilize a freaking three inch piece of metal, which let him fucking tell you how much cold iron hurt a god damned faerie magic wielding Winter Knight. It was hell. But he didn’t complain. Of course not. He grit his teeth and tried not to pass out. But his head was pounding by the time she’d finished with it and then with his arm. His breathing hard quickened until he’d started holding it and by the time she had tied off the last stitch he was almost out of his head completely. When the needle was pulled out of his already injured body, Harry relaxed and the Mantle now restored, did its part to dully block the pain. He rubbed his face and looked at Tex. “Thanks, I like being tortured by half naked Amazon women. Real pleasure.” *** She wasn’t an artist with a needle, but she was decent. She wasn’t as fast as York, but she got the job done. He was stitched up, and so was she, and she was setting the needle aside when finished, so she could move over to the sink and wash her hands off carefully. The slice on her palm would need stitches too, but for now she just grabbed a hand towel and wrapped it around it. Cold eyes slid back to him when he thanked her and she rolled her eyes. “I’m a Spartan, you idiot. That’s my classification of soldier. We’re from the Spartan Program.” She and York, clearly. “Amazons are pussies.” Not that she knew anything about them aside from what the history books said. And the history books were stupid, she’d decided. What? She’d rather invest her time in other studies. Finally, she turned to face him fully, hip cocked against the counter, her body blocking the door. She even let her head tilt, hair swinging some into her face. “So are you too tired to have sex, or..?” Well. Harry, meet Texas. *** That wasn’t what he’d meant by Amazon. Honestly. When you looked at a woman like Texas, 6’2” and some 200 pounds of solid muscle and cold resolve, half naked and covered in blood, standing there like nothing in all the world could ever touch her, you stopped wondering how ancient tribes could worship women and call them goddesses. It was obvious. It was obvious to Harry anyway. Because that woman standing there was fierce and beautiful and monstrous all the same. She was terrifying and magnetic and ancient peoples would have bowed before her strength and sacrificed babies in her name. Harry didn’t say any of that though. Her question threw him for a loop and all of his calm reasoning went out the window and his hormones took charge. He pushed himself to his feet and looked at her, cold eyes and blonde hair and injuries all. Then he reached out and took a fistful of Tex’s hair and pulled her into a kiss. Yeah, that was his answer. |