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It had started as a casual night out.
That was all it was meant to be.
Cherri hadn’t been surprised when Angel had invited her out to their favorite bar. Tuesday nights had always been theirs, oftentimes being the only night he had out of the studio. This week was no different.
A wine red, leather jacket draped open over her shoulders. Underneath, she wore a dress that hung down to her mid-thigh, silky and black alongside her tights and heeled combat boots. Her hair was up and her eyeliner was immaculate. Dressy without being flashy. Casual without being messy. Exactly the kind of outfit that would drive Pen crazy when she got home tonight (although, he always was crazy about her, regardless of how she dressed).
It had been a slow night. Sitting at the bar on a stool with peeling leather seats, talking easily and at length about everything and nothing at all. Angel giggled as he told her about something Charlie said during their morning trust exercises. Cherri complained about the crazy client she had met with yesterday.
“You’re joking,” Angel wheezed.
“I’m not! This bitch was insane!” Cherri said through her own laughter. “She brought all seven of her fuckin’ kids with her, too!”
It was then that the stranger had interrupted them.
He was a tall, angular demon. He spoke smoothly when he asked Cherri if he could buy her a drink.
She waved him off. Told him that she’s taken.
When he left, she thought that would be the end of it.
It wasn’t.
Angel turned back to her expectantly. Puzzled, Cherri raised her eyebrow in question.
“Your client?”
Her sharp grin returned as she rolled easily back into her story. Telling him about how several of her client’s children had tried sneaking back into her workshop during the consultation and had argued with her when she told them to stay in the office.
He laughed, loud and long. “Kids like that need to be put on a leash.”
She’s happy to see him smiling again—he had been seeming so out of it as of late.
Silence weaves between them. The comforting and familiar kind of quiet that exists between people who have long lost the ability to be uncomfortable around each other. Settling in the same way it always had.
It lasted approximately five minutes.
Then the bartender slid a drink across the table to Cherri.
She had only one guess as to who it was from.
She contemplates dumping it. Maybe turning around to throw it at the creep who bought it. Or maybe even reminding him with a black eye that she had told him she was taken.
Angel notices her tense, of course. He knew every quirk and clue of her like the back of his hand. A warm hand settles on her upper arm. Comforting. “Let him look, babe. Free booze won’t kill ya’.”
Cherri considers his words for a long moment before finally letting out a slow, measured exhale through her nose. Breathing out her frustration. Forcing a tight smile. She begrudgingly drinks from the far too colorful glass in front of her and regrets it immediately.
The drink is too sweet. Sickeningly so. She wrinkles her nose at it as if it had offended her, then slides it to her best friend.
She frowns when he laughs at her, but he accepts the free drink with far more grace than she had. He smells it curiously before taking an experimental sip.
He spits it out.
Cherri already has something sharp on her tongue to make fun of him for his hypocritically worse reaction, but before she can get a word out, Angel spins around, scanning around the bar almost frantically.
“Oh, you motherfucker,” he hisses.
“Angie, what’s wrong?” Cherri asks cautiously.
“There’s something in this,” He growls. “Where did that motherfucker go?”
She searches the room, but the man had seemingly vanished amongst the shadows and shifty crowds. She pushes herself up, standing too fast.
Her vision swims. Her legs wobble.
Warm hands wrap around her arms, steady and grounding.
Angel’s voice sounds far away, despite his face being inches from her own.
“We need to get you out of here.”
There’s a chill on the air outside.
Cherri does not feel it.
Instead, she feels as if every inch of her skin has caught fire.
A feverish heat swarms her head, boiling down her veins and scorching her nerves.
Angel ducks into a dark alleyway, dragging Cherri along after him.
He says something to her that she’s too dizzy to make out. She just nods blindly and slides down the wall to the cool concrete ground.
Distantly, she registers Angel speaking again and inclines her head to the sound. He’s on the phone now; the voice on the other line rises with panic before hanging up. Angel sighs and sits down beside her, offering his shoulder to lean against.
“He’s on his way,” he whispers into her hair.
At some point, her stomach begins cramping. She whines involuntarily, wrapping her arms around her middle. Angel winces apologetically and whispers something soft and comforting that she doesn’t quite hear.
She wants to ask what was in that drink, but her mouth can’t seem to form the words.
She feels the low buzz of the ship more than she hears it. Followed soon by the refreshingly cool rush of air against her overly sensitive skin as it lands in the street.
Angel tries to help Cherri up, but her legs won’t hold her weight.
She starts to fall forward and is caught by something steady and warm.
Something familiar.
“I’ve got you,” Pentious whispers, his arms coming up to wrap around her. “I’ve got you, dear.”
Unconcealed concern knits across his face, shattering all that could have remained of his carefully crafted composure.
His hands shake when he touches her.
In her deprived state, Cherri doesn’t register any of that.
Only that she needs him.
He smells so good; she thinks from where she’s burrowed against his chest. Like metal and smoke and cinnamon. She raises onto her toes to press her face in the crook of his neck, nuzzling and kissing the soft skin she can reach.
Pentious lifts her as though she weighs nothing, cradling her against his warm body. Cherri wraps her arms round his neck, trying to catch his mouth while he exchanges a few words with Angel. He turns his head away from her so that her kisses can only reach as far as his cheek, thanking Angel for calling him as the spider demon walks away to call a cab for a ride home.
She pouts at the snake until he finally turns his attention back to her.
“So impatient,” Pentious tuts softly, his steeled expression slipping back into place. Finally, he leans down enough for Cherri to reach his mouth.
He doesn’t turn away this time.
His hold around her tightens, his lips warm and steady and perfect against hers while she desperately tries to nip at him. She whines when he starts to pull away.
“I’ve got you,” he whispers again.
Then they’re moving, back and out of the alley, up the stairs and into the ship.
She writhes in his hold and makes a feeble attempt to get her legs around him, horrifically desperate for his touch, but he holds her steady as he carries her to the passenger seat.
When he leans forward to sit her down, she stiffens. Her arms lock firmly around him, having decided she was not about to be set down, and nothing was going to convince her otherwise.
He laughs. “I’ve got to get us home, dear.”
She chews her lip, burrowing her face against his shoulder because the only other option is making eye contact; a task she doesn’t think she can handle alongside the embarrassment of what she is about to confess.
“Please don’t,” she manages hoarsely. “It hurts.”
Accepting his fate, he sighs and straightens back to his full height. “Okay, okay,” he soothes, already making his way over to the driver’s seat.
He sits carefully, settling her comfortably across his lap.
However, Cherri’s muddled mind seems to have other plans.
She twists sharply, swinging a leg over him to straddle his lap. She grinds down once, forceful and impatient.
The motion pulls a gasp out of the man, his hips canting up instinctively to meet her.
“Please...” She whines again.
Pentious’ hands slide up her thighs to her hips, firm and grounding, steadying her.
They stay right there as she grinds hard and fast over his lap, gasping at just how much she can feel. Every nerve on her body feels set alight, burning and unyielding. The wave builds embarrassingly fast, jolting through her like lightning.
She shatters apart completely within moments. Crying out, her mouth forming something that is almost his name.
It is too much and not enough.
It is devastating.
It is anything but quiet.
She finds herself struggling to care.
He's quiet for a long moment, scraping his nails patiently over her back and sides while she catches her breath.
Once her breathing finally begins to return to normal, he asks, “feel better?”
“Yes,” Cherri responds like second nature. Pretending to be fine through the worst has always been like instinct to her, lying through her teeth like her life depended on it. However, when another sharp cramp shoots through her abdomen, she fails to bite back a whine, and she knows she can’t lie. Not to him. “No,” She admits, quieter now, cursing the way even her voice shakes.
He presses his lips to her temple. “Will you be okay while I drive us home?”
Cherri shifts her hips experimentally, wincing at the prickling sensitivity. She feels a little better, but she has a feeling that it won’t last long.
She swallows.
“I think so.”
The ship lifts slowly into the air.
Cherri forces her attention on the window, trying to focus on anything but the persistent throbbing in her core and between her legs.
The world outside blurs. She distantly wonders how fast they’re moving.
Pentious’ hands are still shaking as they hover over the control panels.
She isn’t sure how much time passes before they’re finally home.
She knows the sky has moved. She knows that the burning has returned full force.
Pentious carries her inside with the focused attention of a man with a very important job to manage and has zero intentions of getting sidetracked.
She latches onto his neck as he makes his way up the porch stairs. There is a briefly undignified struggle as he tries to fish his key out of his pocket to get the door open without setting her down, but eventually the door opens and is just as quickly slammed shut.
Their jackets along with his cravat hit the floor along the path to their bedroom. After what to Cherri feels like is a small eternity, he finally shoulders open the door and drops her onto the bed.
The sudden lack of touch is jarring to her keyed-up nerves. Her stomach twists painfully, her whole body drawn taught like a live wire.
“Please,” she whines and his hands are on her again in an instant, deft fingers working off her boots and then her leggings.
She kicks out of them with the kind of desperation that she would have been embarrassed by if the pain of being empty hadn’t overridden all her capacity for coherent thoughts.
Cherri jumps when his perfectly long fingers finally part her—sensitive beyond belief—and tuck into her.
He works her open slowly at first, holding his steady pace even when she squeezes her thighs tight around his hand, bucking frantically against the touch.
“I’ve got you,” he reminds her, voice low and strained between want and worry.
“More,” She begs.
He gives her more.
His pace picks up sharply, his free hand tracing down her hip and back up along her thigh.
He moves down, lips mapping every dip and curve of her body. Her jaw. The hollow of her throat. Her sternum and down her stomach until he’s forcing her thighs back open to give himself space.
His hands are devastating, but his mouth is lethal.
The steady lap of his tongue and threatening brush of his fangs has her coming apart hard and fast, crying out until he hauls himself up to press his mouth over hers, swallowing the sound. She can taste herself on him.
His hand slows but doesn’t stop. Leaning away just enough to drop his forehead onto hers.
His voice is hoarse when he asks, “Are you okay, love?”
“It still hurts,” she admits softly, grimacing as she feels tears starting to prick at the corners of her eye. “I need you. Pen. Please.”
His fingers finally slow to a stop as he’s opening his mouth to ask her something else, but the words fall on deaf ears. Heat hits Cherri like a crashing tide, burning her fever-slicked skin, churning her stomach, pulsing its way down.
“Pen.” She sobs before she can stop herself. “Don’t. Please don’t stop. Please—”
His hand kicks back into motion, eyes wide and wet.
The flames, for a brief moment, recede.
Cold lips press against the top of her head, whispering an apology into her hair.
Words fail her when she opens her mouth to respond. All that she can manage is another soft whine.
He takes his hands away and within moments the fire is unbearable again. Cherri chokes on a sob as he settles between her thighs.
She barely gives him time to line himself up, wrapping her legs around his hips and pulling him into her with absolute determination. Her hips buck wildly against him, forcing a mortifying sound out of him before he adjusts enough to match her bruising pace.
His second length brushes the underside of her stomach on each stroke, smearing his own slick across her snowy skin.
Despite how much as she tries to beg, he keeps his rhythm. The scorching in her core pleads for harder and faster, but his hands remain careful as ever. Even with each punishing roll of their hips, he remains absolutely and unforgivingly gentle.
She wants to cry.
Or scream.
But his mouth is at her throat, and the only sound she can make is his name.
Gentle has never been her thing. For as long as she can remember, she has always been rough and tumble. Scuffs and bruises and dirt and grime. Hands on her skin were never gentle. They had always taken, stolen, and left. She thought that was how it was supposed to be. She thought that was how she liked it.
And then Pentious happened.
He never took from her. Never pushed or pried.
He was gentle. He asked for permission. Constantly and about every little touch. Even things like this, they had talked about. Even in her pain, Cherri knew he would never touch her like this while she was in this state if she had never explicitly told him it was okay.
She’s particularly grateful for that conversation now. She doesn’t think she would be able to handle this on her own.
“Both.” She manages between gasps and moans. “Fuck. Gimme both. Please.”
“I will.” A sharp gasp. “I will, I just—” His sentence ends in a sound that isn’t a word. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
They rut into each other with a graceless desperation, heat pooling between them and filling the air of their shared room. The world around them fades. Her nails rake down the curve of his arched spine. His lethal fangs graze the freckled skin of her shoulder.
He folds over her, hands on her thighs, lifting her legs over his shoulders and raising her hips off the bed. His hips snap forward. Deeper and infuriatingly precise.
The sound that spills out of her could have been heard throughout the whole neighborhood.
Distantly, she wonders how many noise complaints they should expect in the morning.
It will be worth it.
She comes around him again, building back to the edge before the last of the aftershocks even have time to recede. Waves of sensation bleed into each other as time falls away. When he pulls back, exhausted, she coaxes him onto his back, swinging herself determinably over his tail.
Cherri reaches between them, lining both of him up to her core.
Beneath her, Pentious whines, “Dear-Dearest. I don’t think I can last if you do that.”
She can feel him shaking.
The rhythmic trembles down his tail, the twitching of his fingertips against her plush thighs.
She can feel the effort he is using to stay composed for her.
She desperately wants him to stop.
Cherri keeps her eye trained on the serpent's face as she slowly sinks onto him, seating herself on the throne of his lap. He groans loudly, his hips pushing up to meet her.
She bites back a squeal. No matter how many times she takes both of him, the feeling has remained consistently overwhelming.
She clenches around him as she sets a slow, almost steady pace—the best she can with how hard her thighs are shaking. He squeezes her hips, sounds spilling out of him before he can even think of whether or not to let them. The fire spinning in her abdomen finally begins to dim as she shatters apart around him once again.
“Fuck,” she says through a breathy groan, just shy of frustrated. “Mm. One more?”
Pentious nods, words lost on him as he concentrates solely on getting her there. He hauls himself up enough to wrap his arms tight around his love, burrowing his face into the crook of her neck as he doubles forward, rocking up into her with all the force he can muster.
Her cries notch an octave higher, meeting his every thrust.
“Cherri-” He gasps, a warning in his tone.
“Give it to me.”
He does.
His back arches while his body shakes apart. His face presses hard into her shoulder, still only barely muffling the deep groan he emits.
She follows a heartbeat later, feeling him flood her as she clenches around him. Her vision whites out through the crest of it, and she is certain the sounds she’s making are loud enough to shake the walls.
Silence rushes in like a dam breaking. The warm quiet disturbed only by their combined pants.
There’s a short eternity where neither of them even dares to move, as though untangling from one another might shatter the atmosphere wrapped around them.
Eventually, though, the sensitivity creeps in like crawling ivy. Her thighs cramp from too long spent on her knees.
She opens her mouth, maybe to complain, but all that comes out again is a low whine.
He understands all the same.
Of course he does.
He lifts her with warm, gentle hands, ignoring the mess in his lap as he carefully arranges her beside him.
He presses a fierce kiss to the top of her head, holding her close despite the accumulated heat and sweat.
“Are you okay?” He asks for the umpteenth time, voice stripped raw and rough.
She nods against his chest, tries to thank him, but the words are barely distinguishable. Her voice is absolutely wrecked, even more so than his.
His lips press to her hairline, warm and deliberate and just there.
Cherri finally lets her eye flutter closed, and within moments her heartbeat slows, her breathing deepens, and she is lost to the world.
The stars had moved, but night still looms over the pinkish red glow of Sin City. His hands are still tracing lazy patterns along her back.
“Mm.” she says.
She feels him laugh. His hands move.
A moment later, a bottle of water is pressed to her lips.
He helps her up enough to drink before setting the bottle back on the nightstand, resting back against their nest of pillows. Comfortable silence lays softly in the air, like a blossom-sweet summer breeze.
“Hey,” Cherri whispers.
“Mm.”
“Okay?”
Theres a beat of silence. Two. Three.
“I want to kill whoever did that to you.”
Cherri raises her head to finally get a good look at Pentious’ face. His jaw is set firmly, his eyes bright and fierce, like he’s trying not to cry. She rolls over him, her hands trailing up to cup his precious face. Their foreheads meet as she caresses her thumbs under his scarlet eyes.
“I’m okay,” she says.
She’s not.
They both know she’s not.
They can only imagine what the man at the bar would have tried to do with her after drugging her. If Angel hadn’t noticed the drink was spiked. If she had been alone.
It made her feel helpless in the way she had always hated with every fiber of her being. She valued her independence. Someone had taken that from her tonight.
But for now, she’s just here. And Pentious is here with her.
With all the strength she has left, she tells herself that that is enough.
A bath happens eventually.
He carries her to the bathroom, sets her carefully into the warm water before sliding in behind her.
She lets him cling, lets him wrap himself around her. She allows herself to be held in a way she never had before him. In a way no one else had ever tried to before him.
Once clean, he wraps her in a towel and sets her with all the grace in the world onto the couch while he goes to change the sheets.
She stands to walk back to their room, and he surprisingly doesn’t argue. Instead, he slithers into bed and coils in wait, lifting the comforter to invite her in. She crawls across the bed to him in the dark, finding his warm body and clinging to it like a lifeline. He squeezes her tight, his tail winding between her legs and wrapping itself lazily around her calf.
Her head lands on his chest, thankfully missing the eye on his sternum.
She can hear the steady pulse of his heartbeat. The calm rhythm of his breathing.
She allows them to lull her into darkness.
Somewhere between tossing and turning and half-formed dreams, she thinks she feels his mouth press into her hair once more.
“You’re safe, now,”
She feels his breath right against her ear as he whispers, but he sounds far away. Her fingers curl into his nightshirt. He kisses the top of her head once more.
For the first time in a long time—maybe ever—she believes it.
Sleep rolls in once more to claim her, and she lets it.
Surrounded by gentle hands and cinnamon and warm scales, she is finally safe.