There was that moment.

Where the wind stirred, and the world stopped, and he could feel the spin of khurun threaten to throw him out to the very stars he had envoked. Glass mirror behind his eye, stinging as their breath swirled between them.

He had hurt her. But she was here. Showed up at his door. Walked him through the night, where the dead came to life, and the Lantern Flowers burned to guide them all home for the party.

The Kid's voice peeled over it all, and Daniyah's hand slipped out from his. Like so much warm water, poured out of his palms.

'Vamos, Garrod..."

Stared at her for one long breath. Smiled. Nod. "Vamos, pues," he said. Grabbed up her hand, all knuckles laced with a squeeze, and marched on toward the old man with her at his side. Wind at his back, the Techichi's barked, as they sparked and skipped and scraped about the tile floor. Un par de tormentitas. One chewed dried chillies, the other a fresh lime.

Catrinas y catrins already gathered about the old Cazadore. Laughing and smiling as they shared old barbs, and told old stories. Artorias Sinns, Straight backed, and strong again in his calavera.

Un chiflon that cut over the music. "Oye, Viejo!"

The old man raised a brow above the huecos de sus ojos, and found the source of the sound. The candle light flames there, burned the color of fresh coffee. Bright with fire's glow.

Garrod grinning like an idiot. Looked half ready to draw steel. Half ready to cry. "Been a while,"

"Well, if it isn't mi Chamacin," Sinns grinned. Arms crossed, as he leaned back on the heels of his still burning boots. His Hunter's coat long, his feather tall and proud."Todo un cochinero, como siempre," his eyes cut to Daniyah. To the hand held between them. Sighed. "Ay, y esta contigo," laughed as Garrod's arm coiled about Daniyah's.

"Baboso," the old mand said as he cut a look, all thwack of stick to his old student. "Ni me la introduces," looked back to Daniyah, eyes soft and easy as he removed his old cap. Bowed the bald moon of his crown. "Todo mi placer, señorita," he flourished the cap as he rose up. "Bienvenidos a nuestro hogar," set it back on his head. "Las lunas solo saben, what this bruto would have done si no llegaste en tiempo," he laughed. "Probably let me tear down the whole house, por su gusto!" Barked a laugh.

Garrod just blushed and looked away.

"Ahora, my only hope es que el pinche Brayan no llege a joder me la muerte,"

"Who the hell is Brayan?" Brinda asked, peaking out from the pair of Cazadores she had been slunked behind. Better to keep them between her and the ghost of a famous monster hunter. Just in case the old man and his boots got angry!

Sinns raised a brow. "Ah si, la ladronsita," he said all grin. Laughed as he looked to Garrod and Daniyah. Stepped to them, bright silver ringing with the click of each heel. Pat his son on the shoulder. "Real scaps of work you picked up," he said. Something like pride in his voice.

"I'm his protégé!" Brinda corrected. Eyes crinkled with her stormclouds.

"Wasn't much more than a landronsillo when you beat me half to death, Viejo," Garrod said soft as the marigold petals. "Pulled me off the streets,"

The old man laughed. Sharp and warm as the breaking of coals. "Pues si, eso si," he looked to his student, the boy who was like a son to him. At the tattered little band that found their way here. Under his roof. "Oye, esto merese un brindis, no?" All grin across his skull lit face.
 
"Vamos, pues,"
And he laced his fingers back into hers. Daniyah let herself be pulled along to this towering legend of a Cazador, with a grin sharp enough to cut. Garrod's hand was warm around hers, too warm, too sure. The kind of touch that could get a woman killed if she started believing in it. The Techichis skittered around her boots. Sinns' strong voice cracked through the room like a whip.

When Artorias Sinns turned those candlelit hollows on her, she straightened out of old habit, shoulders squared, chin up, like she was about to be evaluated for sacrifice or employment.

“Don Sinns,” she said, with genuine respect, “the honor’s mine. I’ve heard stories of you since I took my first steps on the Rondilla. Never thought I’d be standing in front of the legend himself, much less getting welcomed into his home.” She lowered her neck.

"Ha sido ... toda una noche. Estoy agradecido de estar aquí."

Sinns’ gaze drifted inevitably toward Garrod, the old man let out that dry, unimpressed sigh of someone who’d seen centuries of foolishness distilled into his former student. "Baboso," She leaned into Garrod’s shoulder, her whisper skimmed his ear like a teasing knife-edge. “Don’t worry,” she murmured, amused. "Me gusta el desmadre"

"Who the hell is Brayan?"
When Brinda popped out with her stormy little eyes, Daniyah gave the girl a crooked grin.

“Brayan’s nobody you need to worry about. He’s also… retired.”

Permanently. Tragically. Cosmically.
Brayan won’t come, her mind whispered. Brayan can’t.

She could still see it if she let herself: the cavern lit in a sickly pink light. The thing, that thing, rose out of the fissure like a thing made to hate the world. No heaven. No peaceful drift. Just a scream and left nothing to bury.

Don’t think about it. Don’t think about it. Don’t think about it.

She shoved the thought away and leaned a shoulder into Garrod. She didn’t have the heart to tell Sinnns. Didn’t have the stomach for it either. Brayan wasn’t coming. Not stumbling in drunk. Not swaggering in late. Not at all.

“Gracias, Don Sinns,” she added. “For the welcome. And for… keeping this brute of yours pointed mostly in the right direction.” She lifted her chin toward Sinns, a sharp tilt.

Daniyah tilted her head toward the younger girl with a small, encouraging nod toward the kitchen. Brinda blinked. Twice. Then her eyes widened in sudden realization.

“Oh! Right uh, I’ve got it!”

She darted off at once, a whirl of quick boots, nearly colliding with a catrina before skidding toward a side table stacked with offerings. She snatched up the nearest decent-looking bottle and filled her arms with mismatched glasses, then another two for good measure.

“Alright! Shots for everyone!" Brinda's voice was proud like she’d just been promoted to quartermaster. She began her rounds with earnest determination, passing out mismatched glasses. Brinda moved like a rat between the guests, sloshing only a little of the liquor as she filled each glass from the bottle.

“No lo dejes caer!” Rey del Hueso begged the girl.
 
It was an instinctual thing. Shivers up Garrod's spine at the cold whisper that breezed hot against his ear. Had him ease. Curl toward her, smile small, and clumsy. The whole of him soft and tender.

"Brayan's nobody you need to worry about. He's also... retired."

Mornshackle. Glory.

Too raw to think. Raw enough to feel the cold bolt that ran through her. The stiffness of an old hurt. Let him try and catch her in the space of him. Leaned with her. Wrapped his arm all the more about her waist. Eye on her. Hand moved up to pull her steady at the shoulder. Kissed the crown of her head. A stupid thing. Small. Meaningless. But what else could he do?

"Gracias, Don Sinns...For the welcome. And for... keeping this brute of yours pointed mostly in the right direction."

Something shimmered dentro de los huecos of the Old Legend. To be greeted with such respect. To see so much else rooting and budding there along with it. A hum, resonant through the old bones. Rumbled through el viejo's teeth.

"Ay, muchacha," he smiled, sharp as duelist's blade as he shook his head. "Me das honra, como qual no meresco," he embraced them. Too old to care about propriety or their comfort. Too glad to see all the things he got to see. Old bones, calientitos como el caldo rojo del cangrejo. "I'm so happy, tener la Brilliante Bruja del Viejo Plata, al lado de mi bruto, all desmadroso babaso that he is,"

Garrod just blushed the more, squeezed as he was like some white haired flower. Sinns' hat, all up in his face.

"Alright! Shots for everyone!"

"No lo dejes caer!"

To that, Sinns let go. Sharp eyed. He stepped after the Mouse turned drenched rat. A whistle cut through the party chatter like a knife.

"Con cuidado, Muchachita!" he barked, but his face was all joy, picado y picoso. "Si no, I'll haunt you desde la tumba!" he laughed as a cup was offered up to him. Clinked glasses with el Rey del Hueso as he embraced with a clatter and pat the handsome catrin vestido de charro en negro y plata. Gave the burning drink a long breath in. "Ah, la agua de mi tierra,"

Garrod took the moment to hold Daniyah's hands. A dancer's step, had him close again, front to front. Head all nested against hers, hairs tangled. "Te gusta la desmadre, huh?" he smirked. Traced his thumbs over her knuckles. Over her bones. And all the stories write there across her skin. Breathed her in. "Toda una remolina entre mis huesos,"

"Oye!" popped up the lopsided crown of lantern flowers. A pair of clay copitas en la forma de calaveras in her hand. "It's time," she said it like it was a secret. Peeped over her shoulder to the crowd all gathered, cups in hand. She poured the last two with care.

"Orale, pues!" Sinns cried out. "Hacia la vida! Y hacia a todas las memorias qual nos deja seguir gozando hasta la muerte!" Cup raised high as he looked about. Settled his eyes on the three that had found him here in this home. Smiled as warm as the setting sun, and took his drink.
 
la Brilliante Bruja del Viejo Plata

When Sinns embraced them both, pulling them together in a tangle of coats, feathers, cold bones, and familiar heat, Daniyah found herself laughing quietly into his shoulder. It was ridiculous. It hit her all at once: the warmth of being welcomed, of being seen, and of standing here as something more than a wanderer drifting through.

The corner of her mouth lift as Garrod murmured “Te gusta la desmadre, huh?”

Before answering, she reached up and let her thumb drag along the line of his cheekbone. He was a mess, dust, sweat, and the faint smear of whatever wild magic flickered behind his eye socket. A smear of iridescent color clung there, one of his strange, sticky rainbow tears. She caught it with her thumb, she brought it to her lips. Tasted it.

“Very much so.”

Then, in a cloud of shimmering pollen, Brinda appeared like a summoned gremlin, holding out the skull-shaped copitas. It’s time. The stage whisper that made Daniyah nearly laugh aloud. The crowd shifted, gathering like a tide. Don Sinns lifted his cup, bones bright with pride.

“Hacia la vida!”

Daniyah raised her cup too. Dipped her chin in respect toward Sinns, cazadore, legend, ghost, host, and a gentler smile softened her sharp edges.

“A las memorias que aún no hemos hecho"
 
Dragged the breath right out of him with a swipe of her thumb. Cool trail there in the wake of the strange mess that eked out of him. Warm of a sudden, for want of that touch and so much more. Slack as he was in breathless awe of her.

"Very much so."

A laugh. Warm and warbled. "Well, aren't I lucky."

Come the crowned gremlin, and the cups. The toast. All fool's grin across Garrod's lips, as his hand snatched it up. Tired. Ruined. Just hanging on, for all the warmth that still buoyed him.

Sinns words rang out. Daniyah's there at the end of them.

Pulled him all the way under. Raised up his cup, with a wobble and wave, and clinked it with Daniyah's. Looked to the Mouse, who almost got away with sneaking a swig of her own. Straight from the bottle.

"Cochina," he whispered between them. Clinked his cup there too.

Brinda grinned with a laugh.

And they all drank it down. Garrod turned toward Daniyah, and chased it with a kiss. One arm wrapped, as the other lulled. Clumsy, tooth knocked. Too hot. Too heavy. The crisp citrus burn of tequila and chiles on his lips. Lime still on his tongue with all the salt of the day' sweat.

Brinda blinked. Took another swig. Cough coughed and scurried off laughing. "Gross," she snorted.

The two techichis there after her.

A wind stirred through the house.

The horned serpent guardian spread its many eyed feathers as it coiled and struck out over the crowd. Across the house, and straight out the door. Kicking up the cempasuchil flowers, and the sweet smell of mazapan.

In the distance, a sweet song carried through the wind. La vos toda angustia y dolor, dulce como las flores del campo santo.

Sinns huffed, and waved away the next drink offered up to him. "Ya es tiempo que me voy,"

Brinda looked up at him, big eyed and confused.

The serpent alebrije landed on the old skeleton's shoulders. "Someone is waiting for me," he said wit ha smile to the young girl, jug of booze clutched to her chest. Nod to the other two. "Cuida los, eh, ladroncilla?"

She looked back at the brute and the witch. Shook her head. "I, but," looked back at Sinns, who just smiled down at her, with his coffee colored flames.

Hat came off his head, easy with a twirl. Thwumped right onto Brinda's head. Easy above the crown of marigolds, that dusted their pollen in veils.

Brinda sneezed. Grabbed up the hat, and shook it off her head. "Wait, viejo!" she called out. The party already pouring out of the old home. Sinns' boots ringing clear as silver bells with each step down the way. She ran out, behind to procession of cantantes, mariachis, catrinas and catrins. Out the door she shout. "Sinns!" saw him already there at the end of the way. Head bowed to a flower merchant draped in a shawl patterned with white callas, and bright cempasuchiles. A slap as soon as he got up. An embrace

The wind blew strong. Glassy wings cast their spectral shine across the night. And the pair of ghosts were scattered in the storm of golden petals.

Brinda blinked. Hat clutched to her chest. Bottle nestled there behind it. Wide eyed. Tears clung. She choke out. "It was nice to meet you,"

A yip yip from the River Twin. A low rumble from the Storm Twin. Both at her side as the hats proud feather stirred in the breeze, and the procession of the dead and the living laughed and sang, and danced down the golden road of lantern flowers.
 
She kissed Garrod back, he tasted heaven, fire and a long day that should’ve ended an hour ago. She felt it, his lips were eager, but the rest of him sagged, heavy as wet cloth. She pulled back just enough to look at him, fingers brushing his chin once. “You’re dead on your feet, Baboso"

The party began to drift toward the door in a tide of lantern glow and laughter. Rey del Hueso, already halfway to the threshold, lifted two bony fingers to the brim of his hat in a lazy salute. “Mantente vivo, cazador.” He rasped as he shuffled out with the rest.

Daniyah exhaled and murmured to Garrod in their shared breath, “Bed. Now. Before you collapse on the floor, and I have to drag your heavy ass.” She nudged him gently toward the hall, making sure he was steady enough to get himself there. "I’ll be right behind you.”

Once he was headed off, she followed the sound of Brinda’s sniffles outside. Daniyah plucked the bottle from the girl's arms with a smooth, practiced swipe. “No more,” she said, tucking it behind her hip. “If you drink another drop, you’ll be wearing your stomach on your shoes." Somewhere down the street, firecrackers snapped and sparkled.

Brinda’s mouth opened in protest, but Daniyah quickly claimed the air. The festival roared beyond them. Families carried candles to the cemetery gates. “Go into town. Look at the festival.” The girl nodded, still wide-eyed, still starstruck, still trembling with everything she’d just witnessed. "No dejes que la niña se meta en problemas." she ordered the two techichis pressed against Brinda's legs. Their tails wagging softly.

“This won’t be the last time you see him, Brinda." she said quietly. “Spirits always come back when they’re remembered.”

Daniyah headed back to the warm, exhausted man waiting inside.
 
A groan through grinning teeth. "Baboso, ahogado, toadstool." he laughed. Winked, and wobbled. "Am I sensing a theme, bruja?"

'Mantente vivo, cazador'

Pulled his eye to the fancy catrin. A little salute in turn, fingers to brow, and a smile all burned down torch.

Till a warm breath kissed his lips, and swirled about his nose. Pulled his eye right back. Half lidded and glassy as it was.

"...and I have to drag your heavy ass."

A bounce of a laugh. "Pues no que no, you'd drag me under," he nudged her back. Turned more a lean, until his muscles and bones remembered how to stand up straight. All, wriggle through the spine till it found some stiffness. Another laugh. "Right, a la cama entonces," he sloughed off her like old skin snagged on bark. Reluctant to give. But peeled off all the same.

"I'll be right behind you."

Did a little toe tap and heel click, all shake of the hip. Laughed as he step-stumbled his way to the room. Clutter of gear scattered around. Armor piled there. Half unpacked traveling pack not too far. Didn't right notice the cool green door, sure on its hinges. Or how the frame's raw wood didn't sag.

Never minded the dusty red pink of the one wall that looked a sky set ablaze. Or the little flowers he and old Sinns had brushed along the window in bright powdery blues and molten yellows.

Hard to tell really. Through the haze of warm, sticky exhaustion.

He did, however, note, after pulling his shirt off, wiping off the strange from his face, and tossing it to the side like the sweat stained, mud streaked, booze soaked, wreck that it was, that the floor was dust free. Stopped with the knock knock of his boot heels. And less noisy.

Bent low, and ran a finger across the floor. Hung there a moment. No splinters in his pads. All corpse hinged over its hips. Rubbed forefinger and thumb together to test the grit. "What in the hells," he muttered.

Hinged up and whirled onto the bed with a thump against the burnt orange linens. All mangled and thrown about. Like a beast had thrashed there, rather than slept. Made him grunt. Still cool beneath his hot skin as he huffed.

Remembered he still had his boots on. Groaned up. Peeled one off with a jerk, thunked it down by the bed's frame. Went down to get the other. Peeled it off and thunked it down. All happy wiggle of his toes as he slumped over his own thighs, all hung out.

"Fuck," he said. Too happy to care.
 
The festival noise outside dimmed to a far-off hum, drums, laughter, marigold-sweet wind, soft guitar plucks drifting from somewhere down the street, leaving only Garrod’s exhausted breathing and the uneven thud of his boots hitting the floor.

Daniyah slipped into the room with the soft rasp of leather on wood, the door shutting behind her with a gentle click. She set a canister on the bedside table, the thing was filled with cold water from the well. Condensation climbed on the outside of the ceramics.

The shroudlantern threw warm light across the room, catching the painted flowers and the dusk-red wall. He slumped there, like a wet rag folded. Boots off, toes wiggling on a spotless floor, shirt tossed somewhere into the debris of gear and linens. His hair stuck up at odd angles.

Daniyah planted a knee on the edge of the bed, leaned forward, fingers pushing a lock of hair off his forehead.

“How do you feel?” she asked, voice warm and low, half concern, half a smile curling at the corner of her mouth.
 
For all the warm spend of his flesh, the whisper drag and scrape of her heels and toes across old wooden floors, worked through his ears and down his spine like the sweetest friction.

Reminders that she was there. In his old house. Moving through the halls. No ghost. Flesh and blood he had danced with. Held. Kissed. Argued and fought with. Hurt.

Had him sitting up at the edge of the bed. Spine stiff, elbows propped against knees. Warm flutters in his belly as he wore a ruinous smile. Just watched as she moved the way she moved. Set heat up the tinder of his bones.

How she stalked. One leg after the other. Hair swishing and swaying about. Spilled over her shoulders. Stuck to her brow. She entered, and the door went click.

Un jarro frio en las manos. Las gotitas de agua choriando sobre sus dedos finos y fuertes, had him pass what tacky spit had gathered in his mouth. His whole head turned after her as she strolled on by. Watched her set the old red vessel, made of older red earth, down against the table. Make her way over, knee sunk against the bed. Pulled him right toward her. All tide to the moons.

Fingers at his hair. Skin rasping quick against skin. He chased it. All desperate for the feel of her. Her voice, a warm balm that spread over him. He hummed. Delight. Fatigue. A swirl of life. All storm gathering,

"Like I cheated death," he laughed. Slunk to her. Head turned to bury his brow against her. Knock of skulls. Lungs full of her scent. Like life so worth living. "Like I don't deserve any of this," he trembled with a cool breath. Wrapped one arm around her waist, the other all tree with fingers branching up her spine. Felt her heat splayed there about him. "Like you look too damned good in my colors for me to care," voice all rumble and growl. He grinned. Shameless, and tender and filthy. Eased with her. "Like I could die right now, and I'd be happy," he said sweet as burnt sugar.
 
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His words, soft, reckless, drunk, and far too honest for anyone.

She slid her fingers deeper into his hair, as his forehead pressed to hers. “You look like death cheated you first.” she murmured, her voice a low, amused rasp. Tilted his face up with a knuckle under his chin. The whole damned night burning through his system like a comet.

Talking about not deserving any of this made something in her chest twist. She brushed her thumb slowly across his cheek. “You don’t...” Dust of glittering color, ghost-light and festival dust, the remnants of strange magic and stranger tears. “None of us do.” It shimmered on her fingertips as she lifted her hand higher, fingertips brushing his temple, then the worn edge of his eyepatch. Not her. Not Brinda. Not Sinns. Not anyone who’s ever killed, or fled like a coward, or broken something they meant to protect. None of them were alone in their mistakes.

Her fingers slipped beneath the strap and eased it up and away. “But we’re here anyway. Cheating the ledger.” A faint, wry smirk tugged at her mouth. She leaned in, her forehead brushing the line of his temple, her breath warm against his cheek.

"Like you look too damned good in my colors for me to care."
“Your soap too." She teased him. "Smell like you. Fit like you.” Her mouth brushed his jaw, a soft kiss at the corner of his scruff.

“You’re drunk. ” she muttered, huffed a quiet laugh against his mouth. “We’ll see if you still feel like dying happy come morning."
 
Like stars popping soft against the roiling cosmos between them. Swirls in the trail of her finger tips. Callouses struck white and hot across grit and scruff. Pads ran cool and clean where the jaro had kissed them, left warm paradoxes of reds, and greens in their traces. All pulsed to blues and ultra violet purples, as the air rushed in after them. Flashed to golds as her touch sank into his skin.

The memory. River running through him. Over him. To the moment between breaths pulled and pushed.

Off came his eye patch. And his air had gone thin. Hitched to a knock of a choke out the back of his neck. Some part of him still knew. To hide it. That part of him he gave up. Carved out. Fed. The memory hazed through glass smoke. Through mirror. A blessing. Earned in silver bite.

The night air ran cold against the weeping wound that was his left eye. Her breath, warm with all her pulse, stormed gentle across its ruined landscape.

He eased in her arms. While his hands spread the more. Spine arched and hips wiggled as she teased him. His fingers splayed across the lines of her back. Muscle and bone, along knuckles of spine. Run smooth and deep along grooves and wells they remembered too well.

Scars tickled by her ash white hair. His hand curled fingers, little and ring, about roots at the base of her neck. Curled them to pull. All ship to its anchor.

Lips teasing against his bones. He just turned, and offered them more to her as he moaned, warm and wanting from the back of his throat.

"Fit like me," he laughed as the sparks at the tip of her tongue tingled his spine.

"You're drunk."

"With you," he played, if only to feel their lips bump and press with all the rounded edges of their plump want.

"We'll see if you still feel like dying happy come morning."

He kissed her. Soft. Sticky and wet. Pecks turned to swirls. Tongue searched for like, as limbs tangled and fingers pulled. Long breath spilled out. Slow and metered between juicy smacks that tickled his ear. He laughed as lips slipped to slide of cheek, and rub of bone. Twine of neck, coiled with hers.

"You gonna cast a spell on me? Bruja." he whispered against her ear. Held her in his arms, as his body moved and pressed. Remembering. Living. "Dejarme comer tu pan dulce, so I can find a little peace?" he kissed her again. Soft against the cheek. Ran his hands through her hair. Another behind the jaw. Down the neck. "Bind me?" he laughed, lips and nose smooshed against her nape.
 
Mouth, hands, breath, hungry, sloppy, offering and worshipping. Daniyah tasted the night on him, smoke, sweat, the tongue of agave liquor clinging to his breath, champurrado, chilies, lime, and garlic. It was a whole feast laid bare, and she drank it in like a woman starved. It slid over her tongue; the salt of a man who’d danced, fought, and cried. Let it stain her mouth, coat her teeth, linger in her lungs.

He asked about spells. About binding. Daniyah’s eyes flicked down to her wrist, to the silver chain coiled there like a serpent. His laughter melted against her throat. “If I would,” she said, low and dry, “you wouldn’t be asking." Her silver chain clirr-clinked softly as she dragged her hand along the line of his throat.

She pushed him back, palm on his sternum, until he hit the mattress. She knelt over him, thighs bracketing his hips, her hair falling around them like a curtain. She caught his wrists and pinned them over his head. Pinned. Held. Leaned over him. She nipped his lower lip, smiling against his mouth. Her mouth ghosted his jaw, then his ear, slow and soft.

"Pícaro, necesitas descansar, agua, dormir. Olvídate del pan dulce."
 
"...You wouldn't be asking,"

The kiss of cool silver ring in his ears, cutting through the warm swirl of a voice like so much milk and honey in the dark hot brew of his mind. Cinnamon and spice, prickling at his skin where the chain ran down him. Over him, and all the scars he bared to her. Had him shudder. Quiver with delight as that moment seemed to stand still.

If she would. Damn how he wanted her to.

All whoosh down to the bed. Heavy thump. Heady swim in it. Eye dazed. Smile widened as he felt her crawl up his bones. Jump him, heavy with the soft give of thighs, and the hard press of knees at his side. Hands up one arm, all rasp an slip. He laughed. as he watched, half blind form the wash of pale hairs trapping his breath in that veil of shroudlit dark. Her eyes. Fucking silver fire. He bucked. Slow. Arched. And rocked under her. Pressed and rasped against whatever let him feel her more.

In his clothes. In his perfume. Fit like him.

"Fuck, Daniyah," fell out of him like smoke between his teeth.

Fuller, and hotter. He breathed ragged. Savored the bite, all groan in sink of delight. Nipped back, with a whimper as she left his lips, teeth trailed against the velvet. Her breath washed over him. More heat for him to have. To drown under the crush and current of her.

"Pícaro,"

"Claro,"

"Necistas descansar,"

"Cuando estoy muerto,"

"Agua"

"Dame la tuya, dulce y calientita,"

"dormir,"

"Despues,"

"Olvídate del pan dulce."

A laugh, turned groan through the teeth. A wriggle. A thrash under her. threw his face to the bed. All neck to her as he ground his hips slow and easy. Flexed his trapped hands against hers. "Tormentadora," he grinned, Face red. Cheeks aching. Lungs rising and falling with want for all the air that swirled between them.
 
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"Cuando estoy muerto"
“So alive, los muertos te envidian.”

One hand slid down his chest, fingers tracing the ridges of old scars, the rise and fall of his breath, climbing down stairs of ribs until her hands found the worn leather belt at his waist.

"Malpensado... you like this." she murmured. Not a question. He did not resist. He yielded beneath her, he was strong enough to rip free if he wanted to. He just watched her through that green eye, chest rising tight and sharp, as if each breath she took from him was a blessing and a curse both. The rasp of leather sliding free of the loops cut through the room like the hiss of a snake. Her other palm framed his wrists. Her hair brushed his jaw like tangled waterweeds dragging down a drowning man.

The belt coiled in her hand, soft and dark with age. Pressed his hands to the headboard above him, wrists crossed. She hooked the belt around them, the leather kissing his skin, snug as an oath. Daniyah tightened the last loop of the belt around a pole in the headboard, and the belt held his wrists tight above his head. A hunter’s knot made with a scavenger’s finesse.

She felt him rise and quake under her, a grind of his hips.

“Me llamas bruja” she murmured, each syllable curling like smoke. “The one you think coaxed you off the path... You pretend I put spells on you,” she went on, lips brushing the corner of his mouth. “but I don’t have to drag you anywhere. You walk into my circle on your own.” Her smile a crescent-moon slice in the dark.

“And you haven’t once tried to crawl back out.”

She shifted and leaned back. Daniyah tested the tie, fingers sliding beneath the leather, checking how much slack she’d given him. Barely any. Enough to feel bound. Not enough to break away. He wasn’t going anywhere. She drank in the sight of him, breath ragged, wrists straining against leather, he strained against it like a man craving the sting, cheeks flushed.


“Qué quieres, Garrod?”

The doublet slid off her shoulders and she caught it in one hand, the heavy dark fabric spilling like shed skin. Without ceremony, she tossed it toward the foot of the bed. It landed in a muted thump against the linens, half-hanging over the edge.
 
The drag of her hand tracing down his scars, over his chest. That bite where his own sword had nearly sank into his heart. Down over ribs that had been broken. Shattered. To such pieces his breath had crunched.

Hardly felt her hand tug on his belt. So dizzy with the tingle and spark of all the lightning the tips of her fingers had conjured.

"Malpensado... you like this."

"No sierto," he begged through a laugh. Skin raised, hairs magnetized. Charged up with her.

El jalon.

Had his spine twisting, and arching, as his toes splayed and planted. Legs stayed sprung, and his lungs went on pulling, and pulling dizzied breaths through the riverweeds.

"Porque mientes, hechicera?" too much song in it to be anything but a lie. All white teeth drowned in delightful waters that kept on rising.

Hiss of the belt set his spine to cold lightning. A whole ripple that pulsed down through him and swirled the more at the base of his spine. Just had him squirm the more. Twist the more. Rise the more. Blood fat and full in his cock. Felt her heat rasp and grind the more between their bunching clothes with each wanting hitch and press of his bones along that warm and open mouth.

Blood hot between his ears. Pulse thrumming in his neck. Pounding in his heart. Aching through every inch of him.

Belt snatched him to the post. Felt the stretch of the old supple leather, give as the fibers hissed and crackled with his pull. The old hand carved frame groaned. And he pulled and pulled. Just enough. To say he put up a fight.

"Me llamas bruja,"

"Maldvada y cruel," he said through ragged want.

"The one you think coaxed you off the path..."

"No, no!" Shook his head through his drunken fool's smile.

"You pretend I put spells on you,"

"Silvered, moonwork, the fiend and beloved know you did," all wreck of whispers. Damned and nailed. Bound like a sweat streaked sacrifice. Who only now remembered the rope. He turned his lips from hers. Upturned, and gleeful as he relished in the affections.

"but I don't have to drag you anywhere. You walk into my circle on your own."

Bit his lip. Hard with a sting of red behind his eye. Gave her his face. His neck. His collar bone, while the whole of him lapped easy and slow against her. With her. Relished in the give. The spread. The heat and the weight.

"And you haven't once tried to crawl back out."

He pulled tight. Pulled toward her. Up, and in, all hot and full. Breath through the teeth as he moaned. Oh so delightfully frustrated. The way she looked at him. All silver eyed and sharp toothed.

Hungry for her offering.

"Que quieres, Garrod?"

Doublet thumped away.

He laughed. Like something inside him broke. White hot. Pulled hard on the rope with whine on his breath. A rush through his teeth, and a rumble in his throat.

"Jala me hasta el fondo, Daniyah," he snapped. "Ahoga me." he bit out a smile. "No dejes duda." threw himself back with a thump. Arched. Ground. Worked his hose busting boner under her as he surrendered. Pointed his chin to the mark on his chest. "Make me yours,"
 
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