The rest:
Spoiler
Mackenzie will lean in, a brush of lips to just along his jawline, not quite making it to his cheek. Mack may try to tug an afghan over their legs (hers and his one), but she knows nothing of designs, so she does not know the tribe of origin. All she knows is she has NAMEREMOVED where she was hoping to get him, hoping to keep him still and safe and warm.
“Like you found me.” She murmurs. She will lay her head on his shoulder, watching his profile. “You maybe had a little help, but you found me. Gave me something to hold onto, when I felt alone and adrift.” She confesses, in that quiet, quiet voice. Her hand will shift, stroking over his chest.
His skin has long lost the softness of youth; there are lines where he’s smiled in years past, and lines where gravity has started to pull him down, like it eventually does with everyone. And, of course, that curious titanium earring piercing his left earlobe; cool in contrast to his warm skin.
As she tucks her head against him, he allows his eyes to close and his profile to sit in sharp relief. Nobody in their right mind would call him pretty; there’s something too feral, too unfinished about him. Like something carved from stone, but abandoned with all his rough edges and predatory aspect intact. “Like I found you,” he agrees in a barely audible murmur. There’s that rough little rumble in his throat again when she runs her hand over his chest.
Possibly he’d meant to say more, but instead he seems to have simply dozed off in the middle of his thought.
At some point in the night, Mackenzie had been lulled to sleep, perhaps by his warmth, his slumbering breathing. But she’s more used to sleeping alone, these days, and at some point will curl up and face away from the other coyote.
The woman stirring beside him doesn’t seem enough to wake NAMEREMOVED. But then, who knows what all he’d been taking before Mackenzie showed up. He dozes on, somewhat fitfully, but oblivious for the time being.
Normally, Mackenzie still wakes several times a night, unsettled by the newness of the cabin surroundings. But it seems, perhaps she’d been worried and tired from thinking about NAMEREMOVED, the marks at the crook of his arms, the molly, god only knows what else. Because even as that golden sunlight starts to illuminate the hotel room, the blonde is still in his bed.
She had, at some point, rolled back over and cuddled into the warmth of him, having lost most of the afghan cover she’d tried to pull over them, earlier. That scent of sun-warmed fur, the clean smell of salt water, something vaguely sweet, and just a touch of sandalwood, with that perfume oil with notes of vanilla, clove and spices he’s mentioned liking before, will possibly rise to his senses.
There’s definitely something… off. Something that scratches at his subconscious, even as he’s starting to rouse from sleep. Since when does his place smell like-- well, Mackenzie?
Turning his head, NAMEREMOVED tries to process what he’s seeing: the tousled blonde beside him, curled up against him like they’d just spent the night-- oh, god. At least he doesn’t shove her unceremoniously out of his bed. No, just a careful attempt to extricate himself without waking her, despite the mattress’s traitorous creeeeeak.
There’s the line between her brows, first, a mildly grumpy expression as she starts to wake. Blue eyes are still drowsy, cracking open. There’s a single, slow blink, before her head lifts to look at him, cheeks lightly flushed still from sleep. “NAMEREMOVED.” Her voice is low, husky… “You okay?” She’ll ask, but trying to prop herself will assure him that the blonde coyote is still dressed, at least.
He freezes, going stock still when he spots that flutter of lashes. As if, by pretending to be a statue, he can fool her into going back to sleep.
But no such luck as she rouses, and invokes his name. “Mack,” he returns, voice rough like he’s been gargling gravel. He sinks back against the bed, running his palms over his face. “Head’s killing me.” A beat, and then he decides to venture, “What’re you doin’ in my bed?” Hard to say how much he remembers of the night prior, given how high he was.
<System> Mackenzie spends a luck point on Because it’ll be funny. .
<System> <FS3> Mackenzie rolls Influence: Good Success (7 7 7 6 4 4 2 1)
There’s a moment, when she starts to speak, before he’s venturing that question about why she’s in his bed. Her tongue will run over her teeth, before she will scoot out of his bed, and well, she lost boots, jacket, and her sweater along the way, but that cami is still on. She’ll head for the sink, getting two glasses of water, though she’ll drain hers, before she heads back towards him.
Fingers go through blonde hair, as blue eyes will run over his face. “So… you don’t… you don’t remember?” She even sounds almost… hurt. Just the tiniest of tremors on the last word, setting the water down in his easy reach, as blue eyes will avoid golden ones, and her cheeks burn hotter with flush. "I… " She glances towards him, still avoiding his eyes before she turns away. “I don’t get it, you weren’t drunk. You don’t remember getting naked… or touching me… or anything?” She swallows hard enough for it to be audible, and he can see that posture slumping down just a touch from that normal perfect line of shoulders.
NAMEREMOVED’s a little too out of it to even try to track the younger woman’s departure from his bed. He struggles to pull himself upright, wincing as the pain in his head spikes with his movement. And then, somewhat belatedly, her words seem to hit him. One, two at a time and then all at once.
He looks completely confused-- the glazed-over look in his eyes vying with a dawning horror that he might have-- but how? He looks down at himself quickly. Yep, still dressed. Though he stumbles to his feet to go track down something to pull over his tee shirt. Beat up old zip-front hoodie’ll do. It takes him a couple of tries to tug it on, back kept to the blonde. “I-- I’m sorry, I don’t…”
Mackenzie has her head ducked a bit, and even when he does turn around, she won’t look at him. “Drink your water.” No, her voice is tight, and there may even be a hitch in her breathing as she moves to grab her sweater to pull on over her head, before she tugs her hair out from under it, sending another wave of her scent from the tousled blonde waves… which definitely has some of that lingering desert and cigarette scent mixed in from his hand playing with it. “You… you don’t remember /kissing me/?” He had, after all. More than once. Just… not one of passion, but more like protective, to her hair and the top of her head.
The order gets a slight narrowing of eyes, and another beat of pause. As if he has to make it clear that he doesn’t jump to obey.
But the guidance is sound: water’s what he needs right now. Shuffling for the kitchen, he manages to find a glass and fills it from the faucet before downing it all in a few swallows. “Remember you showin’ up at my door. Cause you wouldn’t take no for an answer.” He swipes his knuckles across his mouth, keeping his eyes on her. Then a shake of his head. “I was–” Then he spots the spilled bag of candy on the table. And his gut twists as he realises she already knows.
He leans back heavily against the counter. “I don’t remember what we did.”
“Oh, so now that you’re not rolling on Molly, you won’t even drink from the glass of water I got you? Last night you were telling me how good I smell, and more than happy to get in bed with me. But now…” She glances at him, barely making it to his chin. “Wouldn’t take no for an answer? You didn’t even try to say no. So when you’re high, I’m good enough to touch and… and now, you want it back to status quo?” Mack will sit down on the edge of the bed, to start pulling on her boots. Her hands will come up, elbows on her knees, burying her face in her hands.
“What’s gotten inna you?” he fires back, perhaps a little more sharply than is usually his wont. It’s nowhere even close to him raising his voice; there’s just that slight edge to his normally deep, even-keeled drawl.
The glass is set on the counter, and his thumb and forefinger dug into his temples like it’ll help banish the headache. “I’m real sorry. I shouldn’tve spoke like that. I just-- don’t remember what happened.” Absently he watches her pull her boots on, then pushes away from the counter slowly when she covers her face in her hands. What the hell to do? He makes his way over and sinks down beside her, unsure of how to respond. And feeling, roughly, like death warmed over.
<System> <FS3> Mackenzie rolls Healer: Success (8 7 5 4 3 3 3 1 1)
“Into me?” Is choked out, and she still refuses to look at him. When he sits on the bed beside her, there’s a tension, not quite a wince. One hand comes away from her face, and is held in front of her, palm up. She’s just staring at it a moment.
“I shouldn’t be nice. I shouldn’t care.” She will move her hand, to rest fingertips to the side of his face. It will feel weird, startling at first, a building warmth that will bring tingles up and down his spine. His whole body will feel it, like a warm light spreading through him. There may be a brief moment where his stomach feels queasy, there and gone in a moment. Then that splitting headache will lessen. The aches and pains, the general bogged down feeling of the hangover, will leave him.
The touch to his face is unexpected, and Mackenzie knows by now what that means: he jerks away from it on instinct, breath coming out in a short, sharp huff. Well, at least he didn’t try to hit her this time.
“What’re you doin–” The initial prickling, crawling, almost electric sensation has his heart rate shooting up and his whole body tensing. Then a sound in his throat like a guttural growl; not even remotely human, that sound. Should she glance up at him, a pair of long, knife-sharp canines have erupted from his jaw, and there’s no white left in his eyes. He’s gripping his hands like he’s trying to massage feeling into them, as if they’ve gone numb.
And then the healing hits, and his headache fades from a dull roar to a niggling ache, and some of his general malaise seems to lift a little. He places his hands on his thighs, breathing heavily, silent.
“Now you know what I was doing.” She will say, and she will look at him, finally. Blue eyes are dark, emotional. “Maybe you should be a little more moderate in your use of Molly. You’re not some stupid fucking club kid, NAMEREMOVED.” She swallows hard again, and when she pulls the laces of her left boot, she pulls too hard, too tight, one snapping in her hand.
There’s curse words in Spanish, before she’s on her feet, marching towards her jacket. “I know I can’t make you quit. Not the molly, not the heroin,., not whatever else you’re doing to… relax.” She whirls to face him, and her eyes are tortured. “But can I ask you to be careful? Please? I… I know I haven’t known you very long, okay? I’m aware of that, logically. But… it would hurt me, deeply, if you were suddenly gone.”
His jaw’s tight, and he keeps his mouth shut for the time being until – hopefully – those canines decide to retract on their own. It’ll be painful, but this? This is worse.
When the laces snap, he glances down at her boot. Then back up again slowly. “You don’t know me well as you think you do, Mack. You ain’t been in my shoes, so you can save the lecture. Think I can manage takin’ care of myself.” His mouth twitches slightly when she asks him to be careful, but he doesn’t respond to that.
That may not be the best way to address her, in this moment. “No, I’ve never been in your shoes. I’ve also never been so high on Molly I couldn’t tell you if I fucked someone in my own bed the night before.” She will start to advance towards him, and there’s a glint in blue eyes that isn’t the amber-gold of her coyote.
“And clearly you can’t take care of yourself, or you would have cleaned up the candy and the mask before I got in here.” Her voice goes from harsh and growling, to almost satin soft. “Did you forget where I come from? Did you think I wouldn’t know?” Her fingers reach out again, to try stroking his cheek. She will bend to look him in his face, try to catch his eyes. “I could have had you any way I wanted you last night.” Still so softly spoken. “All I would have had to do is touch you, and ask. You came to your bed with me very, very willingly. I just didn’t want you, while you were higher than a god damned kite. I’m not giving you a lecture. I’m asking you to try for moderation. Please.” She will sink down on her knees, looking up at him.
“It ain’t your business,” NAMEREMOVED interjects when she gets to so high on Molly, his quiet voice underscored again with a hint of that chained aggression. Like a thread woven through him, and visible only when the light hits it right. He doesn’t give an answer for the mask, the bag of candy that’s still scattered atop his table. How high was he last night? It was almost certainly more than just the MDMA.
He’s in no mood, however, to look her in the eye. The touch to his cheek makes his mouth twitch like he’s going to bare those sharp canines at her-- but the instinct’s held in check. And then the rest of it, the humiliation of hearing he was some docile, pliant thing that flies in the face of all his efforts to close himself off from people.
“I want you to leave,” is all she gets, in that same low, taut voice when she drops to her knees in front of him.
“It ain’t my business?” Mack asks, and her face is incredulous. “I’m sorry, what was that? You don’t remember the conversation at all either, I suppose. Telling me about your old job. Finding people, even those that didn’t want to be found. Keeping them safe…” She trails off a moment, still looking up at him. “Like you found me. Like you made me feel safe. You claimed me, NAMEREMOVED, not the other way around. Don’t tell me you’re not my business, when you made yourself my business.” That voice is still soft, and there’s a tremble. Should he risk a glance, he’ll see moisture building in those blue eyes of hers.
“You let me touch you, last night. Nothing sexual, that was acting, I wanted to see how high you really were last night. I don’t think it was just Molly, but that’s the only proof I saw.” Her hand will move, try to gently touch the crook of his elbow. “You let me see a little bit more of you. I don’t know what you were afraid of, but it’s not like I’m running anywhere. I just don’t want to lose you. Please. Just tell me you’ll try and be careful. I’m not trying to mother you, NAMEREMOVED. But I care about you, and you can’t stop that, as much as you might want to. You can keep pushing me away, and growling and snapping at me… but I’m not buying it.”
Her hand will rub over his knees, before she pushes to her feet. “You want to show me how okay you are? How much you don’t need any caring for? Make me.” Her voice is even, calm, steady. Almost detached. “Bare your fangs at me, NAMEREMOVED. Show me those all gold eyes. I know what it looks like, when we start treading too close to the line of losing control. I’ve done it in front of you, once, after all.”
<System> <FS3> NAMEREMOVED rolls Composure: Great Success (8 8 8 8 6 6 5 4 1)
Mention of his old ‘job’, his time in the Army that seems a lifetime away now, earns her an unreadable look. Cool, though not quite cold. But it’s the tears glossing her eyes that melt away some of the ice, in spite of himself. Then she reveals there was nothing sexual that happened, and a good deal of the brittle tension in his shoulders softens and erodes. He runs his fingers through his hair, his mussed braids.
But then his eyes tick up again when she touches his knee and pulls to her feet. The rest of him stays put; just those bright golden eyes track the younger woman with that predator’s glint in them. "You’re tryin’ to rile me up. She can sense his breathing, his heart rate: steady, measured. All of him maddeningly calm. "But I ain’t going to give you what you want. Need you to leave.
<System> <FS3> Mackenzie rolls Composure: Success (6 6 5 5 4 2 1)
<System> <FS3> Mackenzie rolls Influence: Good Success (8 8 8 6 3 2 1 1)
Oh, she sees that tension fade, the line of his shoulders softening, and that gloss of tears is back, and he can hear her heartbeat shift. “Wow. So it was all bullshit, the whole you being in a bad spot, and you think I can do better. If the idea of being with me gets you that tensed up, it was all bull. And to think I thought you were the sort to shoot from the hip, and not bother with pretty lies.” One traitorous tear escapes to skip down her cheek, before she will take a deep breath. He can almost feel the strength of will the other coyote will summon to shove all of that down, though she can not completely banish the sheen in blue eyes.
“And I need you to talk to me. So it looks like you’ve got a choice.” She’ll take a step back, keeping her body loose, not letting tension take hold. “Not trying to rile you. I’m trying to show you that you are not nearly as good at taking care of yourself as you want others to think. I think, in your current state despite my efforts, that you couldn’t make a brand new shifter give way to you. It’s either that, or cry, because you don’t even give a shit if you hurt me.” And oh yes, that tone, while still soft spoken and calm… is just subtly taunting him.
<System> <FS3> NAMEREMOVED rolls Composure: Great Success (8 8 7 7 6 4 4 3 1)
The older coyote watches her throughout all of this. Still. Silent. As ever, the stone in the midst of a raging flood. The river may overflow its banks, but he’ll still be standing there resolute.
“Don’t need to make nobody give way to me, Mackenzie.” There’s a touch of something like melancholy in his voice. Like he had some rare and lovely bird in his hand, just for a moment; and then it flew away. “Least of all you.” He looks off to the side for a few seconds, and she can see his adam’s apple when he swallows thickly. “Don’t mean t’hurt you, neither. But I do need you to leave. Now.”
She’ll snort at him, and there’s a flush in her cheeks now, darkening the blue color of her eyes. “Then why do you? You seem to hurt me rather often, if you don’t actually mean to, or want to.” Her voice thickens, just a bit.
“Maybe I need you to make me give way. Prove to me that you don’t care, and that I shouldn’t care about you. Show me that the words of the high man, were not the thoughts of the sober one. Because I’ve found that’s more often true, than not. People under the influence, can’t seem to lie very well.” That seems true enough, her voice rings with it.
“I want to understand, NAMEREMOVED. What drives you to this?” Her hand waves at the table. “Do I need to beg you talk to me? I want to know you. Why do you always push me away so hard? What scares you so much about me of all people?”
“Reckon I’ve told you my thoughts before, and they didn’t sit too well with you.” He’s referring, perhaps, to his confession of being attracted to her.
Then he eases onto his feet. Slowly, experimentally, since the headache’s not entirely gone, and starts hunting for where he left his phone. The remainder of her questions are left unanswered. Instead, “You ever want some chance of seein’ me again. You will do like I told you, and get the fuck out of my room.” It’s only a slight turn of his head to face her, but those inhumanly bright golden eyes seek out her blues, and don’t relinquish them until Mackenzie herself looks away.
“You think you wanna rile me up. See what I’m really like.” One corner of his mouth twitches again; his speech remains slow, smooth, a restrained growl. “But you ain’t got the slightest idea.” He snags his phone, and holds it up to her. “Now you leave. Or I’m gonna have to get Marcus to come take you home.” And, well, the Alsatian is rather less restrained than NAMEREMOVED.
<System> <FS3> Mackenzie rolls Grit: Success (8 5 3 1)
<System> <FS3> Mackenzie rolls Athletics: Success (6 5 3 3 3 3)
“What the fuck are you talking about, not sitting too well with me?” Mackenzie sounds frustrated, her hands gesturing. “You being in a bad spot? I don’t… what thoughts, NAMEREMOVED? The only thing you’ve ever said, that didn’t sit well with me, is that I could do better than you. I still disagree with that.”
Blue will hold gold ones for longer than he anticipated, perhaps, as she steps forward. “I’m desperate to find a way to reach you. Rile you, beg you, whatever the fuck I have to do.” Her jaw clenches a moment, chin tipping up. "I have a sliver of an idea, NAMEREMOVED St. Marie. Though I am pretty sure that’s not even the truth, to be honest with you. "
She’ll glance away to his phone, before she’s laughing, a full throated sound of bitter amusement. “Go ahead, call Marcus. And then I can tell the worried Marine why it is you’re so fucking twitchy and not as strong as you should be. Do you think I don’t know he worries about you, cares about you? Do you think when I went to him that time for help, that his worry for you didn’t show?” She’ll lift her brows. “For a man so determined not to have people worry or care about him, seems you’ve got a few, big guy. Hate to break it to you.”
She will grab her jacket, before she’s darting towards the table, to try and snag that mask, some of the candy, to take with her.
Still no answers to her questions, and no clear sign that she’s getting under his skin, either. The coyote’s still as a shadow in the unlit motel room. Only a slight motion of his head to follow her movements, causing sunlight to glint off his eyes and his earring. The phone’s still held loose in his hand, and there’s deceptive laxity in his posture; in truth, he’s every inch the predator who’s well aware that she’s the very same.
Briefly there’s an urge to stop her from grabbing the ‘evidence’, but it isn’t acted upon. He goes instead to sink back down on the edge of his bed, and fidget mindlessly with his phone.
She’ll head for the door, the only evidence of her emotions in the heaviness of her usually light tread. “Talk to Marcus, please?” She’ll try one last appeal, even as she undoes the latch and lock.
She’ll turn to look at him, her hand on the doorknob. “I want to care about you, NAMEREMOVED. I offered it to you, even if you don’t want it. I know how to not hold on too tight, you know, and understand you have need to be alone more than I do. But I… you’re killing yourself, and the next time could be the last time. If you don’t care about what that does to me, think about the fact it would hurt Marcus, others on the ranch. I’m not the only one who took a quick fondness to you, despite your best efforts.”
“I don’t want to lose anyone else to that shit.” The words come out, sounding as breathless as if the wind had been knocked out of her. She finally loses that grip on emotions, and the tears start to slip past her lashes. “Who else is going to roll his eyes at me and tell me I don’t know anything, if you’re gone?” The ache she feels makes those words unsteady. “Please talk to Marcus. Someone. I don’t… I don’t want to tell Marcus, you know. It would feel like I was betraying you. But I’d rather you hate me, hell, hunt me, even, than you get some shitty Molly, or the other stuff you’re doing… and you’re not even on the planet anymore.”
No response. Nothing. He continues turning the phone around and around in his hands, soothed by the mindless motion. Maybe she’ll spot the sheen of tears in his eyes, or maybe she won’t. But he’s clearly got nothing more to say.
“Fucking SAY SOMETHING, god damn you. Don’t you fucking dare give me the cold shoulder silent treatment. I came last night because I was afraid for you, and I didn’t know why. I Don’t deserve you acting like I’ve wronged you, and what’s worse, is you know it.” She shoves her hands in her coat pockets, freeing them of candy and mask. One curls around her phone, the other around her keys.
“Don’t turn me back into the worst version of me.” The words are whispered, broken, before there’s a sob of sound. It’s almost like she can’t keep standing, sinking to her knees, turning her head to hide her face against the door. “Please, please, please… I’m not strong enough to claw my way out again… NAMEREMOVED… please!” The words are sobbed out, and it’s like she can’t catch her breath. He’ll hear her struggle for long moments, before her right hand will let go of her phone, reaching blindly for the doorknob to pull herself up. “Fucking hell…”
