Molly had been kind enough to leave a care package, some sentimental ‘get out of jail’ basket of goodies and spare clothes. It’d all been checked thoroughly, of course, but he’d enjoyed it nonetheless. Frank had been given his wand back after signing his life over several times. The hearing hadn’t gone as smoothly as he’d hoped, but he was at least getting to see the sky and smell the fresh air and eat food that hadn’t been either ran over with a fine toothed fork.

His sister hadn’t been so kind as to pack some smokes, but as it had been a while since he’d had a delightfully delicious cigarette, Frank supposed he could go without one.

Until he smelled it on the street. It snuck up his nose, tickled his olfactory senses, and forced his feet into the nearest shop that he could find. The reassurance of slamming the pack against his palm put his mind at ease. You’d think he had just gotten out of—oh right. Regardless, he nudged one of his newest treasures out into the crisp early evening air. The filter hung precariously between his lips as one hand slid the pack into the breast pocket of his jacket and the other fumbled with the lighter, flicking the flame and enjoying the sound.

The first inhale was like ecstasy. He stopped outside a small park as he breathed it in, eyes closed. It helped to refocus him. Frank knew what he was going to do. Running a hand over the beard that he’d collected, he started off, refreshed, to his flat. After a quick stop for kebab takeaway, of course.

Luckily Molly had been such a sweetheart. Luckily he still had a place to call his own, for now. He had a lot of work to do in the next few days, but tonight was time for him. By the time he was done with his shower, shave, and trim, he’d gone through half the pack. So much for quitting… But to be fair (giving himself an excuse as he applied some aftershave), he was going through some terribly stressful things in his life. He couldn’t be expected to do a completely one-eighty, right?

The fresh feel of fairly clean clothes was better than he thought it would be. For now, he was free. Well, fairly free. Once he’d pulled his jacket on, Frank set out from his apartment in a burst of energy.

It didn’t take long to make it to her flat. Frank ground out the cigarette before making it to her door, exhaling the smoke slowly as he knocked loudly and slowly on the front door. Smirking, he focused on the door. He’d thought a lot about this.

Laney stretched, her toes whispering over the floorboards just enough to catch a footing. The ball of her foot found the floor and she kicked back, whirling herself counterclockwise in the hammock's folded grasp. The world went spinning, her barren, white-walled living room with it, and Laney closed her eyes as the invisible breeze caught her with its dizziness. She spun until the hook in the ceiling decided to get cranky and let gravity win. Laney's eye popped open with suspicious grumpiness and she exhaled the smoke that she'd held in her lungs for the mini carnival ride.

Bowing to her feet, she embraced the headiness. It was like being on the leftovers of whatever Phil had been selling. Not just a circus, but a free ride. An escape from boredom, frustration... the sexual tension that a book hunter turned fuzzy murderer seemed intent on pegging her with for life.

But something echoed in the front of the spacy flat before Laney could give it a second spin. She took another drag, whisked the hair from her eyes like a wet animal, and swooped down to tip her cigarette into the ashtray that lived under the hammock, west of center.

Padding on bare feet to the front door, she peered through the spy hole before pulling it open. Leaning in the frame as was her custom, Lorraine Irving raised a single eyebrow, which promptly disappeared somewhere beneath her hair. "A werewolf, huh?"

Most people would have barred the door doubly tight, but Laney let it creek open. She stared at him for a long moment, her eyes devouring him with unspoken hunger. His face was exactly as she remembered, the same silly and beautiful image that had been keeping her awake at night when she punched her pillows or groaned that she was going to punch his lights when she got a hold of him. No such thing seemed necessary now.

Pressing herself flat into the wall near the door, she made room for Frank to slip in. She'd missed his face, and she didn't need telling twice to know that a man straight out of prison had a certain pretty glint in his eye. She'd seen it for herself.

Shutting the door behind her, she rested against for a second and admired his backside. "You could have at least written. What sort of sod uses prison as an excuse stand a girl up?" She'd only dated one or two of them...

Catching him in the crook of his elbow, she whirled round and cut him off, walking him slowly into the wall opposite, eyes on Frank's, as if she needed to find something there in his expression to tell her he wasn't an imposter. "You must think you're adorable, smirking like that." He was. Her other arm was pressed against his abdomen, torn between his warm tummy muscles and the the familiar, rectangular bump in his pocket. She stood higher on her toes, meeting his face inch for inch, or attempting. "Is it true, then?" She whispered, her hand pressing ever more steadily into his jacket. "As famous as me, almost..." Frank was exciting, dorky and safe or a manic would-be con. She wasn't going to tell him that; it was too mushy sounding.

When the door opened, Frank realized how much he’d been missing the sight of real Laney versus Laney-in-his-head. Though, come to think of it, both would probably do the same thing if the time came. His eyes glanced over her clothes, focusing a bit longer than he’d expected, merely chuckling at her rhetorical question. Frank was so tired of that term. Almost as equally tired of the other. “Direwolf, actually.”

It had been too long since he’d knocked on this door, seen Laney, moved beyond a small confined space. He could stretch and run and smoke and relax. Stepping past her, brushing up as he did, Frank wondered how to best come out with what he was planning. Unlike other times, he wasn’t coming over with the intention of playing Scrabble.

Frank’s eyes grazed over the items in front of him before finally glancing over his shoulder towards Laney. “I guess I should have. But everything was in the papers…” Did her statement have an undertone to it? His smirk was staying; she had missed him. Glancing back ahead, Frank made to move down the hall when he felt her small arm slip in his. For now he would let her lead. An eyebrow rose as he matched her gaze. A chuckle escaped him: right now, he felt adorable.

His hands found their way to her back, fingers moving over the bump of a bra strap and down to her mid back. Nodding slowly, he winced (however slightly). “I am the big bad wolf.” Leaning his lower half out towards her, Frank considered his next plan of action. And then it just happened. He pushed her against the opposite wall, lifting her up along it, one hand helping her wrap a leg around while his lips found hers, his fingers spreading out along the material of her trousers. A squeeze here, a press up there. It was sudden, lustful, and ended quick.

Pulling away, he took her hand, pressing a light kiss to her knuckles before pulling her along towards her kitchen. “We should celebrate it. Dangerous criminal back out on the streets.” Rolling his eyes, he glanced back at her, finally stepping into the kitchen.

As if people would mistake Frank for dangerous. Life must’ve thought it was funny with all the irony being thrown around. As Laney found a bottle, his eyes sought her curves, suddenly hungry for something else. But he took his glass and toasted “To the Ministry.” He was sounding rather bitter…

After a sip, he set his glass down and eyed her.

“Direwolf, actually.”

“Dangerous technicality,” she suggested with a shrug. Wolves who came out in the sunlight... it were not as if Laney wouldn’t be prepar-- oh, yes. But who didn’t love living life on the edge? Anything else was boring, suburban.

“I guess I should have. But everything was in the papers…”

“Classy.” She was secretly pleased that he expected her to read more than just the sports section. She did. She kept up on the news... in part to feed her belief that wizards were superior to muggles, but also because Laney wasn’t stupid. She liked to read, but she liked to choose what she read. No textbooks or run-of-the-mill news reports on cauldron improvement. Pperhaps, also, as of late, she read to see Frank’s name in the paper-- though as journalist, and not a convicted murderer.

Big bad wolf. Now that was sexy. Laney had never tried that before... and to think, George had wanted to settle on roleplaying something so cliche as naughty, misguided student.

Her mind tore itself away from George and swam with the sweetness of present. Their breath, Frank’s hand, her own faltering grasp as he pushed her into the cool, solid wall. Caged her in his warmth, his already-subtly-resurfacing scruffiness, and the vague scent of cigarettes to which she’d become nearly immune. “That’s a muggle story,” she murmured, tugging away from his lips before capturing again-- capturing him before he could get his wits together and remember he was trying to keep his paws off her for Merlin knew what reason. "But I'll take it." She pressed her legs encouragingly into his torso, moaning throatily, high-pitched with savage delight-- a very Laney moan, an unanticipated girlish quip that was masked with hungry hands.

She was left dizzy, heady, lethargic and wound-up. Disoriented but heightened in her sense, as if something powerful had brushed from Frank’s lips onto her own. She let him tug her to her own kitchen, lead the way, while her legs trounced after him, regaining their agile, athletic balance. By the time they appeared in the open very kitchen, she had pressed herself into his side like an attention-seeking cat. Short of mewing, she was exactly such a creature.

“We should celebrate it. Dangerous criminal back out on the streets.”

“Who are you and what did you do with Frank?” She asked, parting from him to bend over the counter and rake fingers through messy hair. She stared at him with suspicious amusement. “Remind me to thank you later... for allowing me to rub off on you.” Double entendre intended. “To thank you,” she echoed. “Very, very much.”

Spoken by anyone else who was once a law abiding citizen, his words would have raised alarm, but coming from Frank, they only added to his adorable nature. Laney knew he was being sarcastic, but it was fun to watch his cleverness unravel, his jokes follow through. There was a confident spark to him, and if it had been induced by some carnal desire, she wasn’t going to argue with it.

She lifted her own glass, clinked against his in cheers, and set it down. Slinking closer, she put her slender hands around one of Frank’s-- the one holding the cup, and coaxed the glass closer to her own lips, sipping after him. “To the Ministry,” she murmured, equally ironic in intention, if not in tone.

If there was a clause against demanding a newly-registered werewolf to drop his trousers, Laney planned to break the law-- many laws-- this fine evening. She magicked the bottle of wine into the air with her free wand hand, and hooking a finger into Frank’s belt look and tugging him toward her living room. She shuffled backward in lazy, natural paces, smiling a dimpled smile as she headed for... whatever furniture she could find. Unfortunately, little fell into their path, and her hammock was a good meter or so to their right. Laney settled into the door frame of the open balcony and let her arms drop to their sides. She leaned nonchalantly in place, whisking her wand at the bottle so that it poured another glass.

Sliding down onto the floor, she sat cross-legged and looked up at Frank with curious, innocent eyes. She summoned her cigarettes, pulled one from the carton, and lit it, taking a drag so that the smoke swirled up toward his waist. “Tell me more about prison,” she insisted, waiting for him to humor her. She spoke as if she'd been a thousand times, as if she was simply inquiring after the weather, or the conditions of that particular prison. And yet, her voice endeared and encouraged, and seemed to include a certain 'he's-all-mine' pride in the fact that she was begging her would-be bed buddy for a blueprint of his cell. Cigarette perched between her lips, she patted the hardwood floor. If it were an uncomfortable place to get share stories of iron bars and windowless walls... an uncomfortable place to get physical... Laney paid it no mind. They could always have her bed for dessert.

There wasn’t much Frank could do in explaining himself. Partly due to the fact he wasn’t sure how he became a direwolf. It just… happened one day. He remembered the day painfully well, the first time he tasted human flesh. Thinking about it made him queasy, so he tried not to think about it. Wasn’t that the healthy way to deal with things? Plus, he had Laney to distract him, with her straight curves and playful eye games she engaged him in.

And her pressing against him in all the right (wrong?) places. It had been a while. It was hard enough to pull back from her, to separate from the wall that was holding them up, to try and keep himself (forgive the pun) caged in. Her lips forced his fingertips to tighten their hold, attempting to pull her as tight against him as possible, to feel her through their clothes. If anything, her smell was making it harder for him to focus.

The things you miss when you’re locked away…

So he had to back away. Even if she kept finding her way back against him.

Laughing at her question, his eyes rolled lazily before she moved away. “If you keep trying, that should be enough thanks.” Of all the things that could have popped out of his mouth at that moment, he was glad it felt so put together.

If she hadn’t pulled away after her sexy theft of his wine, they might have tested out the durability of her cabinets and counter tops. As it were, he leaned forward slightly, glancing down at her hand as she tugged him after her. Another chuckle escaped him, stepping clumsily after her, watching his footing as best he could while still enjoying the view.

It wasn’t until she started to talk that he realized he still had his wine glass in hand. Blinking away from her down below, Frank glanced into the glass, staring into the liquid, finally shrugging before taking a bigger-than-usual wine sip. Mixed with the smell of cigarette smoke… it nearly made his mouth water. Only thing better would be a slab of barely cooked steak.

Shaking his head, he sat down next to her on the floor, resting his back against the door frame opposite of her, shifting a leg to lay over hers. “It’s dull.” Frank could almost feel the twitch in the corner of his eye. Finally looking at her face, he studied it a moment in frowning concentration. “Very little to do.” He had read when he could—the amount of literature he’d been able to pour over had been remarkably impressive to anyone but Frank, who knew the amount of time he’d wasted sitting on his arse, waiting.

“But not so little, obviously, to write a letter.” Smirking at that, he finished his wine glass and set it on the floor next to him. With his hands free, he leaned over, reaching for her, pulling her into his lap. His smirk had fallen slightly, helping her to find a comfortable spot facing him, his hands slipping over fabric before resting against her thighs. “It sounds a lot cooler than it really is.” Leaning forward, he kissed the free-range area between neck and shoulder, chuckling. “How’s work been?”

“If you keep trying, that should be enough thanks.”

Laney smirked. She could live with this arrangement. Things were falling into place rather nicely, she thought. And it had only taken a minor attack on Frank’s person, a little glitch in the system that would change his body chemistry forever. Who knew? Maybe werewolves were a strain of men that, when one tried them out for a test fly, they were converted for life. Once you go wolf...

She could see her father’s face now, and it only made her grin harder, her teeth flashing.

Once they were on level, sitting pretty on the floor, backs to the edges of the door’s frame, Laney waited with silent, paced, nicotine-laced breaths to hear the grimy, exciting details of prison. Try as she might to test the limits of the law, she had never landed herself in jail-- which was both a testament to her cleverness (ahem) and quite the disappointment.

But, if Frank told it true, all those other braggarts had only meant to impress their way into her pants. She pouted a bit, slick cheekbones becoming vaguely puffy, brows confused. She was still young, still easily disappointed in a rebel’s broken tales.

“Very little to do.”

The disillusionment lasted only one lengthy inhale. She exhaled like a pacified dragon, laughed like chiming glass.

“But not so little, obviously, to write a letter.”

Allowing herself to be pulled into his lap, she tapped her fingers against his lips in retribution. Only, they soon had the lead, and Laney had to stop herself from letting him know how weak the skin on her neck was. She was torn between laughing at the soft tickle, and shivering at the warmth, the little, thrilling pangs of his mouth. She laced a lazy hand around his neck, palm resting beneath his rich hair and above the veins a vampire would delight in thieving. Her cigarette glowed dimly, ash accumulating in place, smoke rising like a lethargic snake, thin as a reed.

“Work,” she murmured, as if remembering herself. “Is a whole lot of putting men in their place.” She noted wickedly, in her mind’s eyes, the half-dozen times in the past several weeks she’d nearly driven some testosterone junkie into the mud. There was nothing quite so thrilling as an early grave for a man’s designer broom and a bruised ego caked in dirt. Well, maybe a direwolf’s hands on her thighs and the promise of the wood floor pressing into her shoulder blades.

She managed to flounder free of his kisses, bringing his jaw up to eye level with a commanding hand, like some terrible little predator. She smiled wanly, placed her cigarette between his lips, kissed the top of his ear like a sinless maiden, and fell back onto her palms with wicked interruption, splaying her palms behind her and extending her legs like a rag doll. Now that he was (seemingly) willing to do what she’d been trying to get him to do for months, Laney was not above presenting a few hurtles for the game’s sake. Of course, she was anxious to go about it, too. She had not told many people of her dilemma-- and prayed to Merlin she got hers before George did.

“It’s nice outside,” she noted, flicking her hair from her eye with an easy, compulsive tilt. “Maybe we should go for a walk...”

With his lips to her neck, her unique scent in his nose, and hair tickling his cheeks, he merely smirked as she talked about her work. She definitely had a way of wording things. Sometimes that wording was enough to send a shiver up his back…

He was just glad talk of prison was behind them (for now). In honesty, he’d tried to write her a letter. He’d tried unsuccessfully to explain himself time and again. In the end, Frank had supposed she knew what had happened and that he would no doubt get a chance to tell her. She hadn’t tried to run away from him yet.

Allowing her to move his chin, a tongue ran absentmindedly over his lips before accepting the cigarette with a raise of an eyebrow. Inhaling the sweetly bitter drug, Frank allowed his head to lean back against the wooden resting spot, feeling her move against his lap as she repositioned herself, glancing over her chest and down to her hands before coming back up. He was hungry. Breathing out the smoke, it slowly lifted away from them.

A laugh muffled its way out from his lips, past the cigarette, with a burst of smoke. Lifting a hand lazily to it, he pulled it from his lips after another inhale, glancing around for the ashtray. After flicking the ash away, Frank grasped her hip, shrugging finally and taking another inhale. “It feels nice right here too.” Nonetheless… he ground out what was left of the shared cigarette. “But sure.” Nudging her, his leg bouncing her underneath, Frank had to wait until she got up before he could push himself back up to his feet, a soft groan escaping him.

The hardwood was probably easier on the younger generation in the room. Plus she’d had a softer wood to perch from than him.

Once they neared the front door, however, Frank pressed her against it, hands moving down to her hips, pulling them back against him. His lips found her neck once more, pressing and tasting and moving to the nape of her neck. Greedy fingers tug at her trousers, slipping between them and her skin, pushing them down slowly (but surely, out of his way). “Let’s…” Taking a breath, he smirked and found her ear, whispering to her as if there was anyone else who might hear. “You can take me for a walk after.” And with that, his lips made their way back to her deliciously easily reachable neck.

Laney moved onto her feet with little effort, grinning with wicked intent as she watched Frank climb up from her floor. She didn’t really want to go for a walk.

She meandered casually toward the door, fingertips brushing past his as she quickened just barely to beat him there. He trapped her like a warm birdcage-- freshly shaved, but slightly scruffy all the same-- and Laney was satisfied. Her eyelids felt heavy, and she shut them under her messy fringe just enough so that all she could really see was a mass of human heat, and the light flooding in from the living room beyond. Her fingers wound into his shirt and jacket; the other hand again slipped to his abdomen, but as Frank played with her trousers, Laney felt at liberty to touch the flesh under his clothes. Her palm smoothed over his tummy, which was somehow adorable even when her eyes were closed and not pointed in that direction.

“Let’s… You can take me for a walk after.”

She had no such desire, unless it walking to her bedroom. Walking, sauntering, bumping, and making many a detour for walls and whichever bit of furniture they could find in her still-barren flat.

But now, she was content to let him press her against the door, jar her own way in or out of her own place, and feel his fingers on her thighs. She rustled for breath, which had caught in her throat under his pretty muzzle. “Wolf boy,” she demanded in a loud whisper. “You should have tried to get in my trousers a long time ago.”

Merlin knew had she been hellbent on getting into his. She was past her momentary game of hard-to-get. She wanted the prize.

She slipped her hands into his jacket, brushing them against his wrists, and pushed the thing off. His shirt was pulled up to his neck. Laney gave it a soft tug as she bit her lip with gamine anticipation, and brought him to her for a kiss. It wasn’t until she had collared him with it, until it bunched there around his neck at her bossy, silent demand, like some loose necktie or over-sized collar, that she helped him remove it. His hair was mussed slightly, and she scraped the base of his neck with gentle fingernails.

Next, her hands tugged at his jeans, undoing the button with an easy force of metal through denim. She unzipped him and delighted in the sound of trousers falling loosely to the floor, pooling around ankles, hers and his. Still (mostly) in her own pants and less likely to trip, Laney placed her hands on his shoulders with subtle possessiveness, encouraging him to kick his garments away or die trying in the middle of their bodily excursion.

With that done, she helped him with her own: tighter, clingier, tricky even for the most helpful of hands, and made all the more difficult by Frank’s hunger and Laney’s own kisses. She kicked the dark attire away nonchalantly, standing in a thin t-shirt and cotton boyshorts. Her thumbs looped into the waist of his undergarments, and she grinned, falling against his lips before allowing a ceremonious tug. Frank was naked, Laney still in her knickers. She looked down, none too discreetly, and was pleased. Her hands snaked triumphantly around his waist and down, resting idly but greedily at the base of his back. Her lanky arms, dotted here and there with little tattoos, hugged him loosely. She kissed his sternum, and looked up, expectant as a puppy, effortless as a cat.

Perhaps he should have done a few things in the past few months. Frank was trying to make up for one of them right then, though he liked that it had been put off until now. She knew what he was, now, and she still wanted what was under his trousers. Or acted like it. Wolf boy, though? Amusing and condescending all in one go. So Laney. Not that either had had enough time to really know each other (obviously).

Frank wouldn’t have changed the past few months, though. He liked the waiting game, if only to see Laney squirm. For lack of argument, though, he merely smirked and nodded. He’d thought about it enough times.

Now, though, she was making a mess of his clothes. He just hoped the pack of cigarettes weren’t crushed under their haphazardly placed feet. Well, he worried about it until her lips wiped his thoughts clean (or made them dirtyier). And for a few moments, he was somewhat trapped with his shirt, his arms held hostage as the kiss deepened. Until she let him go and finished her removal, at least. A small shiver ran through him at her touch at his neck.

She helped him refocus, sort of, as they both worked on her trousers. His hands found their way all over her waist, backside, up down and around her thighs, grinning against her lips when they came in for more. And with the trousers conquered and left to wallow away on the floor, he focused on her once again. All of her.

Then her fingers touched sensitive skin, and he glanced from his boxers to her face, feeling a little loss of confidence. Laney didn’t allow him that moment of awkwardness between boxers on and boxers off, that indecisive couple of seconds of hesitation that was easier to notice when lights were on as opposed to the rushed tripping-over-oneself unclothing in the dark. One minute they were snuggly in place, a mere outline of thinly veiled secrecy, the next they were collecting dust at his ankles.

He licked his lips and felt his heart hammering against his chest, butterflies suddenly waking up in his stomach. Frank was still Frank, and he was feeling a bit on display with little to focus on in return. His cheeks were flushed, his ears on fire. He tried to swallow his fear, attempted to boost himself up. Finally he tried to look into her eyes, and though he felt unsure of himself, she brought him back to the present.

His fingers found her shirt, trailed to what he could reach, and started to pull it up her sides. A not-as-confident-as-before smile came to his lips, realizing this was the first time he’d see her completely in her birthday suit. Suddenly he got a little more confident, and it wasn’t long before her shirt was discarded to the side. Glancing down her body once more, he finally went in for another taste, pulling back to watch her face as he did the same to her. Fingers grasped at the top of her underwear, and suddenly the last bit of her decency was out of the way.

Like Laney, Frank was curious. Instead of gazing, though, he decided to do something about it. It was too bad for Laney’s skin that the door was so cool. He wondered if he could get away without putting too much weight on his left leg (it was still sore from the knife wound he’d received over a month before). His rough hands moved over her smooth skin, gripping a cheek as he considered. Frank’s lips found hers again before moving down in hunt of untouched territories, pressing her against the door. She had oddities he hadn’t realized she had, and suddenly Frank wanted to find out if there were more.

After his tongue played with the bit of metal he found, he finally pulled back to look at her. Smirking, his hand that wasn’t holding on to something moved up to flick the ring gently. “Even Miss Irving has her secrets.”

Laney smiled to put his visible doubts at ease, dimple emerging in her cheek to prove her sincerity. Frank’s blush only made her smile harder. Their roles were catching up to them, their contradictory natures and the happenstance of those two colliding. It was new territory, wild and dangerous, alarming and exciting. And things were exactly as they were supposed to be.

She held his gaze reassuringly when he met her eyes. It was her turn to be unclothed, and she didn’t bat a lash. Even so, her heart was thumping, and helping Frank with the task was as much about occupying her own energy as it was a show of confidence. For all her unencumbered sensuality, Laney was still a young woman. She’d had her doubts, until a mere fifteen or twenty minutes ago, about whether Frank was really interest. Whether anyone was interested.

But his keen hands and pretty lips and playful tongue banished those feelings.

“Even Miss Irving has her secrets.”

Her grin was slyer now, close mouthed, crooked. She leaned forward to kiss his jawline and entangled her fingers in the ones on her chest, encouraging him and trapping him in the same moment. “I can’t change into a wolf, but it does seem to get people off.” Hell, it got her off, which was she had it in the first place. Any pleasure it gave others was an added bonus.

One hand groped delicately in warmth between them, searching for Frank. She mightn’t have been so careful with a one-night stand, with George, or Phil, or the rough-and-tumble boys of her youth. But Frank wasn’t the only one nervous about the culmination of months of sexual tension. Laney hid it better, and much of it was quelled in simply knowing that he wanted her, but this was different than the average encounter. It was more thought-out, even if it was spontaneous in a I-think-I’ll-come-over-to-your-flat-since-I’m-out-of-jail way. She felt a strange need to reassure him. Both of them. And to make it worth the wait. She was gentle, where only a moment ago he’d been explorative. The world seemed to work in slow motion there in the entryway of her apartment.

And then things sped up. Laney initiated the consecrated contact with practiced fingers, ginger at first, and then convinced, eager. She pressed herself more purposefully into the door, biting at sensitive spots on his neck and shoulders, and teasing Frank’s lips with her own, presenting the ultimate invitation.

“You’ve probably had yours longer.” He was obviously affected, though Frank wouldn’t have been able to pinpoint it to any one thing, unless it was Laney as a whole. The metal was a fun distraction, something to play with, to entertain himself while his fingers and tongue found their way over her mostly flat landscape. Not that he was complaining, either.

Eyes closed at her touch, a rush of lightness through his abdomen followed with a tightening in the pit of his stomach. His breath whispered out from his lips. His hand gripped new territory, flexing her trapped fingers with his, wet lips and tongue finding their way opposite. His thumb of his other hand caressed her skin as he held her hip.

And then her searching seemed to come to an end and she found what she was looking for. His mouth opened against her skin and he took in a sharp breath. Sensual and patient to lustful and impetuous; all of it felt right. He dragged their hands down to her waist, over the curviest area of her body, both hands grasping on to help hoist. His legs moved in, one supporting more weight than the other, using the closed door to his advantage.

She was left to the positioning, and he worked on keeping them steady. Where it had been cool with a biting breeze to his back, sweat started to form. By the time it came to fruition, both had a sheen of perspiration, a hint of how hard they both labored. Frank was pleased with how much time he felt had passed.

Frank found it harder to hold her up near the end, and he tried his best to let her down gently, now using the door as a means to not crumble. His leg throbbed, his muscles were sore, and he wanted to just curl up and fall asleep. After catching his breath against her lips, Frank pulled back and lead her to the suspended hammock, testing its hold in the ceiling as he dropped down on it. Sprawled out, he finally rolled on to his side and tugged her down next to him.

Tangled limbs and hair standing up on end was the verdict, goosebumps taking over as his body cooled. He wanted a smoke but he was too lazy to ask for it, too comfortable to move, too content to let her go. Frank just needed a little recuperation…

Laney felt the height of their pleasure wash over her, a golden thrill that made her shudder in the heat of Frank’s arms, cry in muffled reverberation against his fevered skin. She tangled weakly around him, sighed as if she were melting, and for all her athleticism seemed thoroughly defeated; she was glad for Frank’s warmth, his solid arms and inviting hands. She leaned into him, dizzy with bliss, the world in her flat dotted like a cobalt night with gray snow flurries. The afternoon sun filtering in filtering in through the french doors, bathing the floorboards in light, made her eyes hurt. She pressed her forehead into his back, fluttered her lashes, and breathed deep Frank’s scent.

Looming over him as he sank into the hammock, she held the braid ropes blooming from the ceiling to keep her balance. The air in her lungs was cooler now, and her bird’s gaze was adjusting to the daylight. She smiled down at him, something unsaid conveyed in her eyes. She let him pull her down as easily as if she were a rag doll, all bloodless limbs and cotton heart. Laney sprawled an arm over Frank’s chest and curled into him, and suddenly her wand came out of nowhere; she’d scooped it up from a table where it lay abandoned in the narrow front entryway, reunited on the path back to the living room. Silently, she summoned what all sane people required after sex, or at least in the interim. Laney had big plans for Frank, and that meant finding sustenance.

She groped two cigarettes from the package and dropped it over Frank’s... package. Setting them both between her lips, she lit them both at once, she stretched over the hammock to lay her wand gingerly on the floor, and took a lingering drag. She pulled them away like one thick fag and exhaled twice the smoke, before separating them like flower petals and offering one to Frank. She leaned back against him, nuzzling his neck and ear and jaw, smiling against it. It was more than having conquered him-- it was contentment. In a way, he’d won her. She would never admit it to George anyone but Frank, but it had been worth the wait.