“I ain’t sayin’ they’re bad trees, toots,” Axel says, taking an opportunity where he isn’t being regarded as some sort of bizarre horror and rolling with it. (She could have thrown him into a stop sign with extreme force, like someone, or into a garbage can, like someone, or tried to shoot him, like many someones.) “I’m just sayin’ that they’re big.”
He looks up at the girl, who is not nearly as tall as most humans, and scuttles a little bit closer. Standing up on his haunches, he sniffs the air around her as though he’s trying to see if she’s acceptable, and then lowers himself back down.
“What’re ya lookin’ at me like that for?”
“—What the heck is a. Toots.”
She doesn’t know how to react to a talking ferret, really, but she’s tempted to shove him into her bag and take him to Cato for an inspection. Then again, she’s already past the garden gates and really should start heading back—she can almost feel Grandfather pacing frantically at the porch, waiting for her with a shotgun slung over his shoulder in case Abra should be in need of any assistance.
She blinks at the ferret’s movements, squinting and holding her wicker to her chest with a small frown.
”You seem so—brash. I don’t know. Do you need—something.”
“Goddamn, these are some big fuckin’ trees.”
Axel took a wrong turn, meaning he jumped inside the wrong guy’s backseat. He was able to go undetected by the creepy blond guy, thankfully, but that doesn’t amount to much when you end up somewhere completely unfamiliar. (Though it does look like it could be in the same county as where the love of his life lives, at least.)
He waited in the backseat for a good hour after parking, then used his skill set to get out of the vehicle without destroying it—and now, he’s in somebody’s garden in the middle of nowhere surrounded by big-ass trees. So many trees.
”—Watch your tongue.”
Relatively unsurprised and more unamused by the vulgar tongue of the rodent, Abra stares down at the furry thing with a small frown. The oddities in life had always been accepted readily by Abra, who dreamt of talking animals and who knew Cato had animals that felt pain and happiness who he understood so well.
Carrying a bundle of wicker, Abra keeps her eyes on the rodent, narrowing an amber gaze before she gives her head a disapproving shake. She liked the trees.
“They’re nice trees.”
Zero’s hands tangle into her hair and he draws her closer, not particularly caring how they got from Point A to Point B so quickly, so strangely. He remembers that this is the way it used to be, moments changing from one thing to another, the way they’d slip into the intimacy seamlessly.
She loves him and wants him. That was the feeling he was worried about losing, the memory he thought might fade out—but here it is. She loves him and wants him, and he loves her and wants her. There’s nothing more than that. Hell is gone, long gone, and now it’s just the two of them, alive, in love, wanting—like anyone else.
“Can I try something?” he murmurs into her throat, raising dark eyes as he presses another kiss to the skin.
It’s so strange, she thinks—the flickers of the past that begin to ebb and consume her as she feels Zero’s fingers tangle in her own hair. She isn’t afraid—not by a long shot. How can she be afraid now? He was so tender with her, so careful with touch and kissing. Abra can’t help but feel almost reborn in his arms, drawing in a quivering breath as he kisses at her throat, looks at her with those dark eyes.
She’s never known someone like Zero—she nearly falters, whimpering faintly and giving her head a tiny nod. Of course he can, of course he can do whatever he would like to her—because Abra trusts him. She trusts him with everything she has, she would love for Zero to consume her completely and fully. She loves him, she loves him.
Once upon a time, Zero wasn’t the first person to have her. Before they met each other, they’d both been with other people, loved other people. The hellspawn can’t be bothered to remember the name of the man who got to Abra first, but he does know that he did; and Zero, himself, had been with many, many people, mostly meaningless, except for one—who, of course, left him behind. Before each other, and long before Hell, there had been other people and other beds.
Now, it feels almost as if the slate has been wiped clean, almost as if the both of them are new and untouched. They remember what to do, distantly; they’re familiar with one another and their bodies, but it’s as if they’re going back to the beginning again.
Zero kisses Abra like it’s the first time, gently rubs and massages at her covered chest as though he’s never touched her before. He’s missed her. He’s missed her so much.
She gasps sharply as she feels those familiar palms molding into her chest—she doesn’t recall anyone she used to love before him. There were people she knew—a blindfolded boy with a James Dean cool. A man who always looked tired and sad, mostly when he looked at her. All men, all those who drew her to paw at her heart and think of better things—like star formations of her Beau. Abra feels her body arch beneath his tender touch, a strange sort of dampness between her legs causing her to whimper and mewl out softly. Bright eyes flicker, glossy with aching as she draws back from the kiss, feels his jaw and those pretty thick curls.
She feels his manhood against her—shifts against it a fraction, nuzzling at his jaw and pressing into him with a faint coo.
She may have forgotten all the details, but she seems to remember perfectly how to make him weak for her—soft hands touch his jaw, his hair, and his eyes fall shut. Abra almost makes him feel as dreamy as she always is, and he wrap his arms around her as she shifts, smiling and laughing lightly as he presses another kiss to her mouth.
“I love you,” he murmurs, growing slightly bolder as his hands drift over her breasts and her thighs, careful that his touch is as soft as hers.
They used to do this daily, he remembers. They’d stumble up the stairs and fall into bed, their hands all over each other, acting like teenagers, like animals. They’d fall into each other, hold each other while they slept, fell into dreams of one another.
Life is starting to feel real again.
Rough hands that ghost over her covered breasts, causing rosy peaks to harden and tense beneath the touch. She can’t help but be reactive—she doesn’t remember it being this way with Julian. She remembers the viciousness of the act—she remembers cold teeth tearing her and talons that burned white hot. The insertion turned out to be the least of her issues as time wore on—she could never remember anyone but Zero being so gentle with her. A small mewl escapes her—a cry dissolves into their kiss.
”…I love you—so much.”
She manages to whisper this, tiny digits wrapping around his wrists with a small coo. She presses his palms into her covered breasts, lashes lowering as a damp flush fills her cheeks. Their eyes meet. She kisses him once more.