Entry tags:

freyr, loki

Clip the wings that get you high
Who:​ Nish and Rafe
What:​ Nish and Rafe have dinner, but they’re both hiding something from the other.
Where: Nish’s apartment
When:​ February 20, 2017, 6pm
Rating: NC-17



Rattled and humiliated from what happened at the courthouse, Nish had gone home early. She needed the time to think, to get her head on straight. She wasn’t supposed to be doing this anymore. She’d all but promised Rafe that she wouldn’t. That she didn’t want anyone else. That he was enough for her. More than enough.

And yet…

She sat on the couch, face pressed into her drawn up knees, doing her best to purge the memory of the way Abel had touched her. The electricity, the mingled fear and excitement. And the horrible need for him that had gone completely - and mercifully - unfulfilled. Her nails dug into her shins as she forced those feelings away, torturing herself with what could have happened, what should never happen again.

’I told you if you went down that road I couldn’t help you,’ she heard. She looked up, even though she knew no one was there. ’I tried to warn you.’

“You didn’t try very hard,” she said aloud, looking at nothing. “He’s cruel as fuck; why do I want him so much?”

’You just answered your own question.’

She bit her lip, hard, wincing and tasting blood. “Am I going crazy?” she whispered. She could almost feel the shrug, the smile.

’You tell me.’

It was 5:30 when she jolted awake from an unintended nap on the couch. Bear was lying comfortably on her stomach, curled up and happy, and she didn’t have the heart to move him. Rafe would be there in a half hour and it was her turn to cook, but there was no way she’d get anything made in time. With a sigh, she dug out her cell phone and pressed speed-dial to her favourite Chinese takeout place, ordering a decent variety of dishes and then laying back with a defeated sigh.

’Hey, look at it this way,’ she heard, ’at least you’re sober.’ She couldn’t help but agree that that was quite an achievement.

No sooner had the voice gone quiet than a knock came at the door. Rafael waited patiently on the other side, both hands heavily laden with a long, wide baking dish. His smile was as bright as ever when he slipped through the door; bright enough to distract, he hoped, from his slower, slightly halting gait. He pressed a kiss to her cheek as he entered the flat.

"I know we agreed it's your turn," he said, "but I got a little bored and… well. This happened." He lifted the dish, raising its numerous, thin layers of rich brown and white into her line of sight. "Have you ever had pavê?"

She kissed him back, smiling, though it didn’t reach her eyes. “I haven’t,” she said, looking at the dish with interest. “This is great, I actually didn’t get to make anything,” she said with an apologetic shrug, “it’s been a shit day.”

Rafael started to follow this up with a question, but no sooner had he set the food down when she heard another knock, this time the delivery guy. She quickly paid for the food and sent him on his way, setting the packages on the stove with a slight smirk. “I guess I know what I’m having for lunch all week,” she joked, rubbing absently at the bandaid on her neck.

He laughed. "We'll take care of it," he said. "Mine's just dessert, anyway. This smells good, though…"

Rafael helped her unload the packages from each bag, opening them and peeking at their contents only after they were all laid out. Then he moved to fetch plates and utensils, serving her as he always seemed to enjoy. After eagerly plucking a few veggie dumplings from one container, he looked back to her, evidently remembering something.

"Oh, what's that?" he asked, his eyes darting to the bandage she had earlier touched. "Are you all right?"

She glanced up from the lemon chicken, and then touched the bandaid again. Images flooded her mind of Abel pulling her hair back, exposing her throat to his teeth. She smiled and shook her head, waving it away.

“Ohh, it's nothing,” she evaded, “Bear must have nicked me in my sleep.”

’So much for honesty,’ the voice chided.

“So what's pavê?” she asked, hoping to distract him.

It worked, at least for the moment. "It's… I think it's like chocolate trifle, here? And a little like tiramisu. But the layers are thinner, and there's no coffee. Just cognac. And I may add a little more cocoa than is typical. And a few thin layers of dulce de leche..."

She sighed, letting the spoon fall back into the General Tao chicken. “That sounds so good,” she said, smiling softly, but even that one didn't light up her face.

He spooned out a bit of beef and broccoli, and barely half a spoonful of rice, then moved to the table to sit near to her. "It's my mother's recipe," he explained.

“I'll have to thank her then,” she said, stabbing a piece of chicken with her fork. “It sounds amazing.” She ate a bit of her dinner, unable to think of a way to not be uncharacteristically quiet.

He let her have her silence for a time, but it weighed on him more as their dinner went on. When his small serving was gone, he looked up to her, his concern obvious in his darkling gaze. "Nish…" Carefully he set his fork down. A slight furrow creased his brow. "Did I do something to upset you? You know you can tell me, if I did..."

She looked up at him, startled out of her thoughts. “No!” Her voice turning concerned, slightly saddened, “why would you think that?” She sighed softly and set her fork down, the rest of her dinner forgotten. “It's just…” she sighed again, thinking about how much she could say. “I got this new case today. It's…bad.” She was assigned to it less than twelve hours ago, and already her stress level was through the roof.

His lips thinned, slightly downturned at the corners. "I know you probably can't talk about it," he said. "But if you need to vent, I promise I won't say anything. I mean, who would I tell?" He shrugged. She let out a little amused smile at that. His leg stretched out toward hers beneath the table, his foot pressing lightly to hers, and she encouraged the touch with her own leg against his. "What's… what's so bad about it? If you don't mind me asking." She took a deep breath and sighed it out slowly, looking down at her hands as they worried at the hem of her shirt in her lap.

“My client...he’s...a monster.” It was the only word she had for it that fit, the only thing that came close. A humourless smile tugged at her lips. “I’m supposed to detach myself from these cases. Look at it as a problem to solve, a job to do. But I can’t...not when I know what he did, and I have to find a way to defend...that. I tried pulling myself off the case, telling them I couldn’t be impartial, but,” that same humourless smile crept out on her features as she bitterly echoed what she’d been told, “‘as a Public Defender, it’s my job to ensure everyone gets a fair trial. Even Paedophiles.’” She swallowed, suddenly feeling nauseous.

Rafael's smile disappeared altogether. He reached out and took her hand, squeezing her fingers as though reassuring them both of one another's presence, and she squeezed back just as tightly. His teeth nipped at his tongue as he fought for what to say. Nothing seemed suitable; nothing came remotely close to addressing such a thing. He was frowning outright when at last he spoke again.

"I'm so sorry," he said. "I don't know how you do it. There's… there's really no way out of it? At all?"

She took a deep breath, sighing it out slowly. “No,” she said simply. It was more complicated than that, but that was what it ultimately came down to. She was stuck with it. “I haven’t even met the guy yet,” she added, frowning as if it had only just occurred to her that she’d need to talk to the guy face to face. “At least I’m getting paid well for it,” she added wryly.

Rafael had said precisely those words to himself only recently. He could hardly tell her to feel otherwise now. His thumb traced the soft skin of the back of her hand. "I wish I knew what to tell you," he said. "I hope it all goes quickly. And while you're… dealing with this… if you need something from me, please tell me. I'll stay with you if you need, or just bring you food… whatever you want. All right?"

He leaned over to her, softly kissing her cheek. His short beard brushed over her skin: the only rough thing about him. She let her eyes close at the touch, that same familiar warmth flooding her skin. She turned her head slightly, catching his lips with hers in a kiss that was far more hungry than she’d intended it to be. Yes, she needed something from him. This whole day had been nothing but tension from the moment she’d woken up - from the damn cats in the hallway, to this new case, to her humiliating rejection from Abel, all she wanted now was some comfort, some fucking release. “I need to feel good,” she whispered against his lips, all but begging for him to take the hint.

He hesitated only a moment. Then he turned in his seat, his hands falling to rest at her hips, and he drew her into his embrace. He kissed her deeply, opening his mouth to her hunger and need. Then he broke away, his breath coming quick. He pulled her up to him, his fingers laced tight with hers as he led her to her room.

Some part of him wondered if this was his only purpose. He told himself that was not the case, that she wanted more from him than these grasping, desperate tumbles, pleasant as they were. But he swallowed all these concerns down, burying them beneath the scent and taste of her when they reached her room. He left her bedroom lights off, but he knew her room nearly as well as his own. At the foot of her bed he turned her around, his hands soft on her skin as he sought her bare flesh again.

She sighed softly against his lips, relief flooding her limbs until she felt drunk on it. Every touch and kiss seemed to purge something toxic from her, smoothing the frown from her brow and soothing the anxiety that she’d been carrying around all day. Her hands explored him in the dark, unbuttoning his shirt, fumbling with his pants, learning him all over again without the aid of sight, her fingers reading him like braille.

She pulled him with her, laying back onto her bed and finding comfort in his warm weight on top of her. Her fingers tangled in his hair as she kissed him, something she hadn’t realised she’d been starved of, something she refused to ever do with Abel. Now she drank them down like water, letting his warmth heal her parched soul.

His tongue slid softly over hers, as gentle an exploration as the pass of his hands over her body. As he moved above her, he hid a quiet, pained groan in another deep kiss. He focused on her, and his own injuries seemed, to him, to fade. His touch followed every curve and line of her body, as though drawing her naked form beneath his own.

His touches were so goddamn gentle they brought tears to her eyes, rolling gently down her cheeks to soak into the blankets. Where Abel had been rough and punishing, Rafe was soft and loving, wrapping her in a warm cocoon of comfort. She met his kisses with naked hunger, a flutter of excitement spreading out from her belly as he groaned into her mouth.

His lips moved to her neck, neatly avoiding the bandage there; he kissed her clavicle, her breast, the soft plane of her stomach. His teeth nipped gingerly at her navel. At last he settled between her legs, his breath warm against tender flesh, and kissed her once more.

She pulled him close against her with one leg around his hip, soft sighs and moans tumbling from her lips as his kisses moved further down. She hissed just slightly as his touches found a still-healing bruise on her hip, but all pain was forgotten the moment she felt his tongue sliding over her. Her moan was more urgent, one hand fumbling to find his in the dark as her back arched against the bed, the other gently threading through his hair, encouraging but not controlling.

He nuzzled close against her, his mouth open against her slick skin. His tongue pressed into her; teeth scraped light over that taut bundle of nerves, the center of her pleasure. His fingers slipped beneath his mouth, first one, then a second, pushing in alongside his tongue. He could not watch her in the dark, but he could feel her legs against his stubbled cheeks, feel her tremors against his upraised chin.

“Ohh my god,” she whispered, her muscles jerking involuntarily with his every movement, pleasure flooding up and out, filling her with warmth. She’d been wound so tight all day that she could feel her orgasm coming on too fast, her fingers tightening in his hair when she felt his fingers enter her, muscles clenching tight around them as he swiftly pushed her off that cliff. Her moans of pleasure were quiet, but her hips jerked and bucked under his hands and mouth, all of the day’s tension bleeding out of her into the mattress.

Rafe rode every wave of her orgasm, drinking in every fresh pulse of slick heat as it came. His tongue pressed into her one last time, withdrawing only to lave slowly over her wet flesh. His fingers worked in her, slow and steady, drawing her climax out, keeping her on that peak for as long as he could. He kissed her thigh, nipping softly at its trembling plane. His thumb pushed over her, teasing once more, as his fingers slipped from within her.

Breathing hard, skin still tingling with pleasure, she reached down, finding his hand on her thigh and using him to pull herself up to sit in front of him. Her hands found his face, cupping his jaw and leading him up to kiss her, slow and deep. Then she pulled him down onto the bed with her, pushing him gently to lie on his back next to her, intent on giving him the same treatment. Her kisses slowly moving from his mouth to his jaw, nipping lightly on his neck as her hands lightly explored the rest of his body, her hand moving lower, gently stroking him in time with her kisses.

If he sucked in a sharp breath as she lay him back, he hid it well; beneath soft moans and continued touches he concealed both that clipped sound and the faint wriggling of his hips as he sought a more comfortable position on the bed. Deep bruises -- some only narrow lines, some the broader, flatter marks of hands and other, harder things -- still marred his tanned skin from just beneath his shoulders down to the backs of his thighs. He bit his tongue nearly to bleeding, and nearly kept his silence, save for a few small, broken sounds.

Nish didn’t take the sounds he was making for anything other than pleasure, though her kisses and touches were gentle as they trailed down his chest. She curled her legs under her, positioning herself comfortably over him, her hand still coasting up and down his length. Gathering her hair and twisting it to fall down her back, she leant forward, holding him in her hand and letting her lips and tongue coast over his length from the base up, taking her time, her other hand resting lightly on his stomach as she worked. Then she shifted a little, taking him in her mouth, sliding him in slowly, down to the back of her throat, relaxing her own muscles so she could take as much of him as she could.

Gingerly he touched her hair, wrapping one dark lock around his fingers. He did not move otherwise, equal parts eager to let her move as she wanted, and unwilling to exacerbate his wounds any further. His hand slid over her cheek, her hair still intertwined in his touch. The pad of his thumb traced her mouth, feeling the seam of their joined bodies. On one long exhalation he sighed her name, his eyes falling closed as her mouth moved on him.

Arousal pooled in her belly again as she moved, gliding him in and out of her throat, coaxing his own pleasure towards its peak. Her eyes closed, but it made little difference in the dark, his soft touches somehow more intimate and more exciting because she couldn’t see them. A slight hint of concern started to grow in the back of her mind at how quiet he was being, how still, but she pushed the thought away, instead focusing on his pleasure. Her hand wrapped around him at the base, gently squeezing as she slid him in and out, gently sucking and licking, her discordant rhythm adapting to him, reading his subtle muscle movements under her palm splayed against his lower stomach, judging when he was close and quickening her pace.

Rafael's fingers clasped her more tightly; his hand fitted to the line of her jaw, his thumb resting on her cheek to feel each motion when she drew him in. He moaned again, louder than before, every small movement of her hands and mouth pulling him ever closer to the edge. His hips lifted to her, pleasure and pain commingling, inextricable, as he came. Shuddering, he breathed her name again, his fingers clenching and unclenching in her hair.

She moaned softly as he came, smiling a little around him and enjoying the sounds of his pleasure, happily swallowing every bit of it. She slowed her movements, letting him enjoy every moment of it until he finally relaxed under her, and she let him slide gently out of her mouth. Her hands found his in the dark, using him to guide herself up the bed towards him, curling next to him on her side and pressing soft kisses to his chest and neck and jaw, trailing back to his lips and cupping his face with both hands.

His breath still came in quick, sharp bursts as she kissed him. He nestled close to her in the dark, holding her near to him as she touched him and brought him back down to earth. He kissed her lower lip, sucking lightly at its swollen fullness. By slow degrees the pain returned to him, and he rolled her over onto her side, him following shortly behind. He kissed the tip of her nose, the sweat-damp plane of her forehead. His fingers threaded through her hair, untangling strands, draping them over her shoulder.

"Thank you," he said. She smiled, amused, and this time it lit up her face.

“That’s a first,” she murmured with a soft chuckle, still pressing soft kisses to every bit of skin she could find. “I don’t think I’ve ever been thanked so politely for a blowjob before.” He laughed as her hand found his in the dark, threading her fingers with his and toying with them absently. “I should be thanking you,” she said, a little more seriously, “for making me smile. I’ve been pretty grumpy today.” She found his lips with hers, kissing him lazily, taking her time. “But you make me happy.”

"I try," he said. "And the thank-you was for all of it. It's been a good night. I needed it, and obviously you did, too." He kissed her again, and scooted forward on the bed, pressing their bodies flush to one another. His right arm draped loosely over her side; his fingers traced patterns on her back. "Would you mind if I stayed tonight?"

She smiled softly, enjoying the slight tickle of his fingers on her back, and his warmth pressed close against her front. “I always want you to stay,” she whispered, her own fingers lightly tracing his skin down his arm from his shoulder, and back up his side. In answer he nuzzled in close, his breaths already evening into a long, deep rhythm as sleep crept up on him.

* * *

She woke before her alarm, Bear lying next to her ear and purring loudly. She smiled, eyes closed, reaching out to him and idly stroking his fur, sunlight creeping under her eyelids. She could feel Rafe’s arm around her, his body cradling her side like a warm blanket, and had no desire to move. But, as it always did, her alarm finally insisted she open her eyes, and she twisted just enough to shut it off, turning back to smile down at Rafe.

And she froze.

“Ohh my god…” she said, barely a whisper, her eyes raking over his back, a sinking feeling pulling at the pit of her stomach. Gingerly, she reached out to gently touch one of the marks, not wanting to wake him if the alarm didn’t already do so.

Rafael made a small sound as her finger brushed one deep bruise at the small of his back and Nish pulled her hand away, afraid she’d hurt him. Slowly his eyes fluttered open, finding hers in the dimly sunlit room. "Good morning," he said, his voice still rough with sleep. He pulled his arm from around her, sliding it beneath him, fingers splaying beneath the pillow. Still lying on his stomach, he stretched, his back quietly cracking with the motion.

"When do you have to go in to work?" He leaned up enough to peer at her bedside clock. "Do I have time to make you breakfast?" She met his eyes, frowning with a mixture of sympathy and concern, her eyes prickling with tears that didn’t form.

“What happened?” she asked softly, reaching out to touch his shoulder, this time avoiding any of the horrible looking bruises littering his back and thighs. She had experience with injuries, though not quite like these. She quickly judged from the look of them that they were at least a few days old.

Too late he realized the way he was lying, leaving the morning light to perfectly illuminate the marks his work had left behind. He bit his tongue against an outward curse, though it did little to curb the sudden, self-deprecating monologue in his head. He rolled over onto his side, putting his back toward the wall, away from her. His hand reached for hers.

"Nothing for you to worry about," he said. His smile was small and unsteady. He gave her hand a small squeeze. "Please." Then he moved to sit up, casting a glance around for his discarded clothes. Out of sight, out of mind, he told himself, knowing it for the lie it was.

“Hey,” she said, sitting up and reaching for him before he got out of bed, one hand on his arm. “Don’t do that,” she scolded gently, “talk to me. Was...did a client do this to you?” Part of her didn’t want to know; she’d always respected his privacy, studiously avoided asking anything about his work besides his schedule. Until now.

"Oh… no." Rafael shook his head. His hand moved to cover hers, fitting it close against his bare arm. Sitting as he was, and faced with her scrutiny, he felt more keenly aware of each mark than he had before. They were healing, after all; he could go back to work soon enough, and no client would be the wiser. She should not have been the wiser. He frowned at his own foolishness, at his lack of foresight.

"No. I'm sorry," he said, not even sure what he meant to apologize for. "I had a shoot on Saturday. It's… it's all right. I consented." He did not add "initially," knowing that the full truth would only upset her more. He squeezed her fingers where they rested on his arm. "It's okay. Really."

But it wasn’t. Not even a little bit okay. She watched him as he spoke, taking in the slump of his shoulders, the way he avoided her eyes. She knew that posture, too well, but she also knew what it was like to hide. Taking a deep breath, a flutter of fear rising in her stomach, she squeezed his hand, and then touched the bandaid on her throat, carefully pulling it off, revealing that it was clearly a different sort of wound than he thought.

“Bear didn’t scratch me. I was bit,” she confessed. “That guy from the other night...well, turns out we work together. I didn’t tell you because...I was ashamed, and I didn’t want you to worry,” she said, “but I was just hiding. I just...I want you to know that I know what that’s like. And that you don’t have to do that with me.”

His brow knit, but he schooled his concern away in an instant. He heard no regret or hesitation in her tone; he found no reason not to trust her words. He brought her fingers to his lips, kissing them softly. His own reached up, tracing the marks left by someone else's teeth. He had no right to feel the little pang of disappointment that started to form, and so he quickly tamped it down.

"You shouldn't be ashamed," he said, and meant it. His gaze met hers and held it. "As long as it makes you happy, I'm happy for you.” She kissed him back, but her throat was tight with unformed tears.

“But it didn’t make me happy,” she countered. She paused for a moment, finding words, glad that she wasn’t hungover this time. “It felt good, but I didn’t.” She shook her head, feeling the topic slipping away from him again. “I didn’t show you for sympathy,” she held his hand tighter, focusing him on her. “I did it because I trust you. And I…hope that you trust me.” She leant forward and kissed him lightly, one hand on his cheek. “And I’m sorry for lying. That didn’t feel good either. I won’t do it again.” Of all of it, that was the hardest thing to say.

Rafael nodded, understanding her better than he cared to admit. But he had lied only by omission, and while he did not feel precisely good about that, he told himself it was for the best. He kissed her again, then pulled away, rising somewhat awkwardly from the bed.

"I do trust you," he said, moving slowly to gather up his discarded clothes. "I don't mean to… hide things… from you. But I also know you don't want every detail of my work. And it has been sort of nice, having a little distance between work and my personal life."

She nodded, watching him, trying not to focus on the careful way he moved. “I know,” she said, “And I don't want to pry. I just want you to know I'm here...if you need me.” She didn't say it because it didn't sound good even in her head, but she didn't want them to be only dinner and sex to each other. She wanted more, even if that just meant as good friends.

She drew her legs up against her chest, hugging them and thinking for a moment, and then a slow smile spread over her lips. “Let’s go out for breakfast,” she said. It was a spur of the moment idea, but something she suddenly wanted. To go out with him in the day time, sit at a cafe and chat like a normal couple, eat pancakes and strawberries with whipped cream on her coffee.

This seemed to take him by surprise. He set his mussed bundle of clothes on the foot of the bed, already knowing -- and not minding -- that they would soon become a nest for Bear. "Really?" He smiled as he stretched out a hand to her. "All right. That sounds nice. Let's get a shower first, hm?"

She smiled widely at him, her first really happy smile since everything that happened yesterday. “I’m game,” she said, grinning impishly and taking his hand, leading him down the hall to the bathroom.