Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/329393.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      F/M
  Fandom:
      Push_(2009)
  Relationship:
      Nick_Gant/Cassie_Holmes
  Character:
      Nick_Gant, Cassie_Holmes, Cassie_Holmes'_Mom
  Additional Tags:
      First_Time, Masturbation
  Stats:
      Published: 2012-01-29 Words: 13650
****** Driving with the brakes on ******
by victoria_p_(musesfool)
Summary
     Nick discovers a way to help Cassie see more clearly. It's a little
     sketchier than he's comfortable with.
Notes
     content notes: Cassie's 16; one reference to offscreen sexual assault
     of non-canon characters
     Many thanks to Angelgazing for all the encouragement and the beta.
     Title from Del Amitri.
Nick meets her in the bar at the Ritz Carlton in Paris. He's supposed to be
talking his way into a very exclusive poker game when she sits down next to him
and says, "Hello, Nick. I wouldn't, if I were you. Czerny is a shifter, so
there's no way you can win."
Nick gives her a long look over the rim of his glass. She's tall and leggy,
with olive skin, green eyes, and long curly hair. "And who might you be?"
"You can call me Lynette." She lights a cigarette and takes a long drag, her
bright pink lipstick staining the paper. "We could spend a little time chatting
if you'd like, but I already know you're coming upstairs with me."
"So, you're a watcher."
Lynette gives him a sharp look. "Didn't you already know that?"
"I like surprises," he says, forcing his grimace into a smile. Cassie hadn't
been able to give him much to go on before he'd left the hostel. She's been
having some kind of block--he figures either a shadow or a wiper--and it's
making life a little more exciting than either of them likes.
"Well, I've got a few for you, then." Lynette stands, hooks a finger through
one of his belt loops and leads him up to her suite.
Afterwards, lounging against the mounds of pillows covered in expensive, high
thread count sheets, Lynette closes her eyes and then opens them, smiling. She
reaches past him for the notebook on the bedside table and starts drawing. It's
so familiar and so weird at the same time, because he's played out similar
scenes with Cassie for the past couple of years, except not exactly, because,
well, she's sixteen and he's not a pervert. Much.
Lynette laughs as if she knows what he's thinking. "It helps, you know," she
says.
"Excuse me?"
"Orgasms make the visions clearer."
Nick sits up. "What?"
"I think it's because I'm more relaxed and open, so everything is clearer after
sex." Lynette leans past him again, putting the notebook back where she found
it, but this time, she presses her tits against his chest. He can feel himself
getting hard again, and she reaches down to stroke him. He pulls her into his
lap and round two is going really well right up until she leans in and
whispers, "You know Cassie's seen all this, right? You could really help her
out with that little problem she's been having."
He comes so hard his vision whites out around the edges.
As soon as he's got his breath back, he pulls on his clothes and grabs his
Chucks. "It's been fun," he says, heading for the door, "but you have some
really screwed up ideas."
She rolls over, props her elbow on a pillow, and rests her cheek in her palm.
"Do I?"
The sound of her laughter stays with him as he rushes back to the hostel where
he and Cassie are staying. Cassie's asleep, and there's only one bed in the
room, which is why he'd planned to spend the night out. He can't climb in
beside her stinking of sex, especially not tonight.
He uses all the hot water in the little communal bathroom to scrub himself
clean and then wakes her up. They're on a train to Lisbon by the time the sun
rises, and he swears to himself that he's not going to even consider doing what
Lynette suggested. He glances over at Cassie in the seat next to him, the long,
sleek line of her neck as she sleeps, the pale gold curl of her hair, threaded
with pink and purple, the way her small, recently developed chest rises and
falls as she breathes.
He is so going to hell.
*
They have a close call with a bleeder in Buenos Aires, which ends with the
bleeder dead and a web of tiny pink scars on Nick's back from all the broken
glass. Cassie kneels over him with tweezers afterwards, picking out the tiny
shards, her breath warm against his skin and her hands as steady as she could
make them. They polish off a bottle of Jack between them when she's done, and
for once he doesn't nag at her for underage drinking. He has to sleep on his
belly for a week.
But it's the freaked out junkie in St. Louis that's the breaking point, because
she wasn't even a special, just a desperate girl with a knife who wanted
Cassie's wallet, and who was faster than Nick when it counted.
Back at the no-tell motel where they're living, he has to hold the wound on
Cassie's forearm closed with his telekinesis while he sews her up, sure that
even those fourteen tiny stitches will leave a scar. The push and pull of the
needle through her skin nauseates him. Afterwards, he scrubs her blood off his
hands and spends ten minutes puking up bile. He hasn't been so shaken up since
they learned that Kira was dead.
She's staring out the window at the empty parking lot when he comes out of the
bathroom, and she looks so fragile.
"How did you not see that coming?" he asks, his voice louder and rougher than
is probably wise.
She jerks around to glare at him. "I get things wrong sometimes, okay? That
hasn't changed. And lately, everything's been, I don't know, cloudier for some
reason. It's like whenever I get close to anything about my mom now, they've
got layers of shadows between us."
"But shadows can't work long-term against watchers."
"Maybe one can't, but how many shades does Division have, Nick? I'm just one
girl with some gel pens." Her voice cracks and he's across the room before he
can stop himself, wrapping her in his arms and pressing a kiss to the top of
her head. Even sweaty and scared, she smells good.
"One girl and her awesome friend, Nick," he corrects, giving her a squeeze and
cajoling smile when she makes a face.
She relaxes against him for a few seconds that are endless and too short at the
same time--he wants to hold her close and keep her safe forever--and then
pushes her way out of his arms. "Time to hit the liquor store, I guess."
He hates that she has to do this, and he hates being the one who enables it. He
goes and buys a fifth of Wild Turkey, because they don't have time to bother
with fancy drinks that'll take twice as long to do the job.
He thinks about what Lynette said while he's walking back to the motel, thinks
about laying Cassie down on the lumpy motel mattress and touching her until she
comes, clenching tight around his fingers. He thinks about the way her back
would arch, offering hard pink nipples to his mouth, her whole body flushed
rosy with arousal.
He doesn't think he's been obvious with the way he looks at her; she's still
Cassie, the kid with the streaked hair and the too-old eyes who pushed her way
into his life when he was busy going nowhere, even if she's shot up and filled
out a little. He's always been more of an ass man than anything, but Cassie's
legs are a sight to behold, and she likes showing them off, long stretch of
pale thigh beneath a skirt barely long enough to merit the term and above
clunky black boots that come to her knees. He catches other guys looking at her
now, occasionally gets a nod of approval or a smirk of appreciation when he
puts his hand on the small of her back and tries to guide her away from them.
He shakes his head, trying to clear it of the images before he walks back into
the room. She's got a couple of glasses of ice sitting on the table and he
pours out the bourbon wordlessly. They clink glasses and then the liquor's
burning its way down his throat and he remembers that they haven't eaten since
sometime late that morning. So this shouldn't take long.
Cassie knocks back her drink like an old pro and holds out her glass for more.
He pours and waits, pours and waits. Can't look directly at her when her lips
are glistening with bourbon and he wants to lean over and lick them clean. He
sets his glass down, then, afraid of what'll happen if he gets any looser, and
starts to think that's a good idea.
She closes her eyes and scrunches up her face, but then she shakes her head and
slumps back. "I don't understand," she says, flapping her hands wildly. "It
used to always work."
Nick takes another small sip of bourbon to brace himself and stares down at the
ice cubes melting in his drink. "So that watcher, Lynette, from Paris, she told
me that, uh," he finishes the rest of his drink in one gulp, because clearly
he's already too far gone for stopping to do any good, "orgasms help. So I
could, uh, go for a walk and you could, uh, take care of yourself."
Cassie lets out a sarcastic huff of laughter. "Doesn't work."
"What? But she said--"
"Do you think I haven't tried?" Cassie's face is flushed and she won't meet his
gaze and he feels like a terrible person for even thinking about, let alone
having, this conversation. "I've tried and it doesn't--I can't--" She shakes
her head, embarrassment making her angry. "Are you sure she was really a
watcher?"
"What?"
"It's a good thing you're pretty," Cassie snaps, shaking her head.
"Hey."
"I mean, what if it was a push? What if it's not true but she wanted to see
what would happen?"
"What?" he says again, because he never even considered that, but then, if it
was a push, he wouldn't have. "Why would they do that?" But as soon as he says
it, he knows. They think he's stupid, weak, that he'd give in or get gone, or
both, and maybe they know Cassie's the one who's going to take them down in the
end, but they also know she can't do it without him. "They wanted to break us
up."
Cassie finally raises her head and looks at him. "I don't need to be a watcher
to know that's never going to happen." The wobble in her voice breaks his heart
a little bit.
He salutes her with his empty glass. "Damn straight."
She passes out after another drink, facedown on the table, so he carries her to
the bed and tucks her in. He brushes her hair back and presses a lingering kiss
to her forehead. She sighs and snuggles down into the blankets. Then he
finishes off the bourbon so he can stop thinking about the warmth of her skin
under his lips.
*
Still, Nick can't stop thinking about it, and knowing that she's tried it--
Well, it's not like he didn't think she never--He was a teenager once, too, and
it's not like he doesn't still jerk off every morning in the shower, but now he
thinks about Cassie while he's doing it, imagines her on the bed, trying to be
quick and quiet while he's in the bathroom or out getting coffee. She'd have
one knee bent and the other leg spread wide, fingers working furiously at
slick, pink flesh until her hips bucked up off the bed as she came.
There is not enough cold water in the world to save him, so he jacks himself
hard and quick, hoping for and dreading the day he actually walks in on her. In
the normal course of things, as a watcher, he's pretty sure she'd see him
coming (ha, he can't even laugh at his own bad jokes anymore), but she's been
so spun by how cloudy her visions are lately that he can't even count on her
early warning system to kick in with time to spare them both a lot of
embarrassment.
And then he doesn't really have a chance to think much about it at all. They
get a call from Emily that sends them to Rome, where they meet a group of
specials who are planning an attack on the Division facility there.
Cassie spends most of her time with their watcher, a woman named Claudia who
has this way of looking through people that makes Nick's skin crawl. He hopes
Cassie never gets like that.
They sit up late drinking wine, Cassie and Claudia sketching the whole time,
and then they drink little cups of strong black coffee, and Nick is equal
measures relaxed and wired as they toss around ideas for the assault on the
lab, without actually coming to any decisions. There's a plan and maybe
somebody knows it, but this time, it isn't him. He's just the muscle.
After Cassie excuses herself, Claudia moves into the seat next to him and says,
"You're too good-looking. That is the problem."
Nick jerks back, sure he's misheard. "Excuse me?"
"Good-looking men don't have to work hard to please women, and a girl Cassie's
age needs a man who knows what he's doing."
"I know what I'm doing," he snaps before he can think better of it.
"Then why did she tell me it wasn't working?"
"You'd have to ask her." Nick gulps down the last sip of coffee in his tiny
little cup and sets it down with a rattle. "I'll see you in the morning."
He has his own room in the block of apartments they've taken over, but he makes
his way to Cassie's room instead. He stands outside the door, hand on the
doorknob, and wonders about how much of a creeper he really wants to be. Then
he heads to his own room, where it takes him forever to fall asleep without the
sound of her breathing in the next bed over.
*
Nick's part of the mission is to release captive specials from their cells.
He's teamed up with Cassie (they'd both insisted; they trusted Emily and Emily
trusted Claudia, but they weren't splitting up unless there was a very
compelling reason, and Claudia had accepted that with an indulgent sigh), and a
stitch named Maria. After he sets the captives loose, Maria fixes them up as
much and as quickly as she can. Cassie tears the lab apart looking for notes,
papers, and protocols; she manages to download a database before releasing a
virus into the system.
She's shoving paperwork into her bag when she stumbles back, hands clutching at
her head. "Go," she shouts. "Go, go, go. Left, and another quick left, and then
the third right."
That's when the explosions start.
Nick herds his little group through the maze-like halls of the building, and
once they're outside, he doesn't wait for the debrief. He gathers Cassie up and
they run. They don't stop running until they're in Johannesburg.
He sleeps for sixteen hours, and wakes up to the sight of Cassie on the other
bed, files and papers spread out around her, face even paler than her usual
sunlight-deprived pallor.
"What?" he croaks. He clears his throat and then tries again. "What's wrong?"
Wordlessly, she hands over a thick file labeledIT3291021: Fratelli, Anita;
Precognitive.
Nick flips through it, baffled. "I can't read Italian."
"There's a summary under tab two in English." Cassie unfolds herself from the
bed and starts pacing. Usually he's the one who has to move to think, but she's
jittering like she's chased a Mountain Dew with some Red Bull.
He turns to tab two and starts reading about the different things they tried to
improve Anita Fratelli's ability to see the future. The cocktail of drugs
listed makes his eyes hurt. He stops dead when he sees the wordsgenital
stimulation to orgasm: successfuland has to swallow hard to keep from vomiting
on the bed.
"It's okay," Cassie says. "I've already puked my guts out a couple of times."
"This--this is--Cassie--" He's up and moving, pulling her in for a tight hug
that's as much about comforting himself as it is her. He buries his face in her
hair and breathes her in, smelling cheap hotel shampoo and sweat. "I'm never
gonna let them take you."
She wraps her arms around him and says, "I know," her voice muffled by his
body. Neither of them mentions how he might not have a choice.
"At least we know Lynette didn't push me," he says after a few minutes. He
pulls back, looks her in the eye. "And Claudia seemed to think it was a viable
option."
For one of the few times since he's known her, Cassie blushes. "Claudia seemed
to think a lot of things," she mutters, glancing away.
Nick bites his lip to keep from laughing, even though he'd had exactly the same
reaction. "Okay, so, maybe not, you know, right now, with this," he gestures at
the file, rifling the pages from across the room, "top of mind, but in a few
days or something, maybe you could try again."
She shoves her way out of his arms and shakes a hand at him. "What part ofit
didn't workdon't you understand?"
He's way out of his depth here, but he remembers mocking the covers of enough
ladies magazines to say, "Look, a lot of women have a hard time--If you want
some kind of, uh, toy--I could totally get you one." He resolutely does not
think about that, the low electric hum of a vibrator, the soft hitch of her
breath as she uses it, what she'd smell like when she was turned on. Her
skeptical expression doesn't change; in fact, she rolls her eyes at him. He
kind of wants to kiss the doubtful look off her face, so he takes a deep breath
and keeps talking instead. "Or a boyfriend. We could get you a boyfriend, you
know, a nice boy your own age--or a girl. I don't want to be close-minded. If
you want a girlfriend, we could do that, too." He's babbling and he knows it,
but he can't help it. The thought of her with someone else makes his chest
hurt, but if it helps, he'll learn to live with it. He's learned to live with
worse. (He absolutely does not imagine her with another girl. At all.)
"Oh my god, Nick, how stupid are you? Like some mythical sixteen-year-old who's
just figured out where to put his dick is going to be able to help? Do you even
remember being sixteen?"
He swallows hard, because he does, and she's not wrong, exactly, but--"Hey,
your mythical boyfriend has to learn sometime."
She flings a pillow at him and stalks out of the room.
"That went well," he says to the pillow.
The pillow silently judges him.
*
It's three weeks and three continents later when a shadow named Hector shows up
with a message from Cassie's mother about a Division lab in Florida where
they're starting up R16 trials again. His presence reminds Nick of just how
clearly and how far Elizabeth Holmes can see, which gives him more than one
sleepless night that he blames on the Miami heat when Cassie asks. She just
smirks, making him wonder even more how much she actually sees.
Cassie fills the pages of her sketchbook with scenario after scenario, but none
of them end well. They're missing something, and she drives herself nuts trying
to see what it is, until she's sick from alcohol and lack of sleep, while Nick
talks through various possible plans without ever settling on one long enough
to tip Division off. He hopes, anyway.
"This isn't working," Cassie says, flinging her notebook against the wall. At
least this time they're staying in a nice place, thanks to some luck (skill)
with the dice, and nobody bangs on the wall in response.
He floats it back to her, setting it gently on the bed beside her. He's been
working on getting better, too, though the sheer possibility his power offers
scares him sometimes. Division certainly takes them seriously as a threat now.
"Hook gave me the names of a couple of specials up in Jacksonville. We can
scope them out, see if they're up for this kind of a job."
"That's not what I mean." She glares and him and he grins in response, knowing
it's only going to make her angrier but not able to help himself. "I think we
need to try it again."
"The mudslides just made you sick, and there wasn't really enough bang for the
buck with the orange creamsicles," he says. "Sweet drinks always make you puke,
and I don't really think you're enjoying them either way. I can get more
tequila, though, I guess."
"That's not the kind of bang I meant," she says. She sits on the bed, her back
to the headboard, and stretches those long legs out in front of her, knees
parted so he can see the candy pink stripes on her panties. She's never
bothered to sit like a lady, and he used to think it was kind of funny. He
doesn't anymore.
It clicks in his head, then, and he can feel the heat flushing through him
already. He jumps up and grabs his sneakers, half-stumbling as he tries to slip
them on his feet while he walks. "Well, okay then. I'm just gonna go for a run.
About how much time do you need? Half an hour? Why don't I give you an hour,
just in case?"
"No."
"You need more than an hour? Gonna order up some porn and--"
"Shut up, Nick." She picks at a loose thread on the comforter and won't meet
his gaze. "I want you to help me."
A second ago he'd been motormouthing along, trying not to think about what
she'd be doing the minute he closed the door behind him, and now his brain
comes screeching to a halt, the full import of what she's asking hitting him
like a freight train.
"Cassie, I--I don't think that's a good idea."
Now she looks up at him, gives him a searching look that he can't resist. "I
need your help. Please?"
It hits him low in the gut, jolts his dick right to attention, and he drops
into the desk chair across the room from her. He doesn't know why he thought he
ever had a chance to win against this. Against her.
"Ah, Jesus, you're gonna be the death of me, Cassie."
Her laugh is brittle and humorless. "Probably, unless we can figure this out."
"Okay." He takes a deep breath in through his nose and blows it out explosively
through his mouth. "Okay. That is not a good frame of mind for, uh, this. So."
He spreads his knees and adjusts himself surreptitiously. "Why don't you get
comfortable and, uh--"
"Why are you all the way over there? Shouldn't you be over here?"
"I'm just gonna talk you through it, okay?"
"Nick--"
"Trust me, Cassie. It's gonna work." Well, it'll work for him. He's not sure
how much it's going to do for her. But he's going to try, for her sake. After
all the times she's saved him, he should be able to do this one thing for her,
right? It's not like--he's not like Division. She's asking him and he, well, he
loves her, and maybe that makes it okay. Or maybe he's just trying to make
himself feel better. It doesn't really matter, because she needs him and he's
never not going to give her whatever she needs. He can hate himself for it
later, if they don't get killed first.
He can hear the sheets rustling as she shifts around, and he won't look--can't,
and not touch, but he gets a glimpse of her in the mirror, pushing those candy-
striped panties down her legs. He blows out another rough breath and says, "Let
me know when you're ready."
She pushes a hand up under her t-shirt and says, "Okay," in a voice that only
shakes a little.
He swallows hard, not sure where to start.
"Okay," she says again, steadier this time, a tinge of impatience to it. He
glances at her in the mirror, sees her hand sliding over her flat belly and
down between her spread thighs.
"Okay," he repeats, and has to clear his throat. His mind is full of images and
completely empty of words for them.
"Nick? You're supposed to be--"
"Right. Right. Okay." He takes a deep breath and tries to steady himself. "Do
you--Does if feel good when you, uh, touch your nipples?"
"Uh, yeah?"
"Then you should do that. Rub your hands over them." He curls his hands into
fists and resolutely keeps them on his thighs. He can hear the change in her
breathing as she gets turned on, glances in the mirror to see she's got her t-
shirt pushed up now so she can rub her thumbs over her nipples, which are just
as pink and hard as they've been in his imagination.
He takes another deep breath and presses the heel of his hand to his dick,
because he hasn't felt this close to completely losing it so fast since he was
sixteen and Amy Sanchez sucked him off under the bleachers.
"You keep that up with your left hand," he says, "and move the other hand down-
-slow, Cassie. Enjoy the way your skin feels. It's soft, right? And warm?" She
gives a soft hum of agreement and he has to close his eyes for a second, but
that just makes it worse, because his imagination is filling in everything he's
not allowing himself to have--the way she shivers at his touch, the heat of her
skin, the soft give of her body under his fingertips.
But she's as impatient as he is, because when he looks again, her hand is down
between her legs, and her voice is hoarse when she says, "Nick?"
"Yeah, yeah. Okay. Good." His voice sounds like it's dropped an octave in
response, which would be hilarious if he wasn't so turned on. "Are you," he
stops to lick his lips, "are you wet?"
"Yeah."
"That's my girl." Her snort of laughter turns into a gasp and he says, "You
wanna spread that around, make it all slick and ready. Circle around your clit-
-up and down, back and forth. Take it easy at first, see what feels good.
There's no rush. We've got all day." He might die from blue balls first, but
he's not going to hurry her through it so he can go jack off. He wants her to
enjoy and remember every second, because God knows, he's going to.
"Nick," she says, and meets his gaze in the mirror. "Nick, look at me."
"Cassie--"
"Not in the mirror, Nick. I want you to watch--Oh."
He does what she asks, though once he's moving, it's difficult to stop at
simply turning around, difficult not to keep moving, until he's on the bed with
her, his fingers sliding over the slick folds of her cunt alongside hers.
"Do that again," he says.
"What?"
"Whatever it was that made you sayoh."
"Oh. O--kay." Her voice breaks a little and her hips jerk up off the bed for a
moment. She looks like every wet dream he's ever had, and his nails are biting
into his palms with the force of how much he wants to touch her. Her breathing
is loud now, and ragged, and he can see her thighs tensing as she pushes up
against her hand. "Nick? Don't stop talking. You can't pick right now to stop
talking."
"I--Okay, right. Keep doing that. Rub a little harder, keep the friction
going."
"I don't think it's working."
"It's working, Cassie. God, you should see yourself, how beautiful you are like
this. I can't--" He sucks in a deep breath; the room smells like her now. "You
smell so good."
"Really?" She sounds skeptical even now.
"Trust me."
She moves her hand to her face, forehead scrunching up as she sniffs her
fingers, and then tentatively licks at them.
Nick groans. It's all he can do to stay seated. He thinks he might be getting a
charley horse from how clenched up his whole body is with the effort to stay
where he is.
"What? What's wrong? Did I do something wrong?"
"No, oh god, no, Cassie. You're just--you're perfect, okay?"
"I don't think so, because this isn't working."
"It's not?" And then he feels like a total jerk because he's doing this for
her, not for him.
She digs her heels into the bed and arches up, hand back between her legs, and
makes a frustrated noise. "I can't, I can't see." The desperation in her voice
is heartbreaking.
"Cassie, Cassie. It's not--You need to relax for this to work. You can't worry
about whether or not you're going to be able to see better or clearer or
whatever. You just have to focus on making yourself feel good, and the rest
will come. Uh, no pun intended."
"I need your help." She gestures at herself. "Hands on."
"I can't do that, Cassie. Even what I've already done is sketchy. You know
that."
"That's such bullshit." She touches herself again and shakes her head. "I can't
do this without you. Please?"
There's no way he can resist that. He practically teleports over to the bed and
gathers her close. "It's okay, Cassie. It's fine. You're fine." He presses a
kiss to the top of her head and one to her temple, but stops short of pressing
his mouth to hers. That's not what this is about. "You're sure about this?"
She meets his gaze squarely, and doesn't blink. "Yes."
"Okay." He takes a deep breath and reminds himself that this is all for her,
and for the people they'll be helping escape Division. "We're gonna get you
there."
He runs a hand down her body the way she'd done earlier, her skin as soft and
warm against the pads of his fingers as he'd imagined. She shivers at the
lightness of the touch, and he repeats it, letting her get used to having his
hands on her. He cups one small breast, thumbs the nipple playfully and grins
at her when she gasps and pushes into the touch. He leans in to lick at the
curve of her breast, tasting sweat and cheap hotel soap, and then sucks her
nipple into his mouth.
Her hand flails out and then anchors itself in his hair, short fingernails
scraping against his scalp, and his hips jerk against her in response. She
keeps running her fingers through his hair as he curls his hand into the slick
heat at the apex of her thighs.
"Jesus, fuck, Cassie." She's so wet and hot against his fingers, and she moans
when he rubs at her clit. He eases one finger into the tight grip of her cunt
and she gasps and clenches down hard on it. "That better?"
"Y-yes."
"Okay." He keeps circling her clit and then pushes another finger in. "God,
you're so tight. I--I'm not hurting you, am I?"
She thrusts up against his hand. "No, no. Feels good."
"Good." He goes back to sucking her nipples, fingers fucking into her slowly,
curling to rub at just the right spot. He flicks at her clit and her whole body
goes stiff.
"Oh, oh, god, Nick." She clamps down on his fingers, pulsing around them, and
he smiles against the curve of her breast. He holds her through the whole thing
and slips his fingers out when she's done. They're slick and shiny and he can't
help but put them in his mouth and moan a little at the taste of her.
She flops back against the pillows, breathing heavily, and presses her legs
together like she's trying to wring the last little bit of pleasure out of her
orgasm. He's panting, too, and desperate to bury himself inside her, but he
won't. He swings his legs off the bed, trying to get control of himself so he
can make a break for the bathroom, and she wraps her fingers around his wrist.
"Nick, I--" She stops, eyes closing and forehead scrunching up again, and then
she's scrambling for her pens and notebook, and he's free to run away.
He goes into the bathroom and jerks off hard and fast, fingers that smell like
her pressed against his mouth.
*
Cassie fills another notebook with sketches of the Jacksonville facility, the
staff and security schedules, and rough portraits of some of the specials
they're going to rescue. They don't have access to a wiper this time, so
Division knows they're coming, but Cassie's seen everything so clearly that it
doesn't matter. Between the pusher and the porter Hook set them up with, they
manage to get the handful of specials out before they burn the place down.
They celebrate the rare victory with a trip to New York, because Cassie's never
been to the Museum of Natural History and after watchingNight at the
Museumforty times on crappy motel basic cable, she wants to go.
"My dad brought me here once," he tells her as they pay the entry fee. "For a
long time, after he died, I forgot the fun stuff we used to do." They'd spent
some time on the run before his father died, but he'd been lucky with some of
the families who'd taken him in before he was old enough to be on his own. He's
tried to pay some of that forward with Cassie, who's probably had even less of
a childhood than he did, but it never feels like enough.
He takes a map and they start following the line of dinosaur stickers on the
floor that leads to the dinosaur exhibit. Cassie takes his hand and squeezes,
and when she doesn't pull away, he twines his fingers with hers. He's not
unaware of the looks they get, but for once, he's not going to let himself
care, especially since Cassie doesn't seem to.
She looks older than sixteen, all long legs and swagger in her heavy boots and
short skirts; she hasn't had an awkward stage yet, and he's pretty sure she's
not going to, which is amazing, because he remembers sixteen, remembers his
hands and feet being too big for his body, his legs suddenly too long, and the
way he couldn't quite get himself coordinated. Cassie has none of that
awkwardness; he's never met anyone who was more herself than Cassie, and sure,
some of it is a front, because she's only sixteen and she's still figuring
things out, but what's essential is already there. He knows, because he knows
her.
After the dinosaurs, they go to see the blue whale and the exhibit on deep sea
creatures, and then it's time for the space show at the Planetarium. She holds
his hand all the way through that, too, and he likes it too much for it to be
any kind of a good idea.
They eat burgers at Shake Shack and stroll through Central Park and generally
act like tourists, because for once, nobody's chasing them and they have
nowhere else to be.
"What's on the radar?" he asks, slurping down the last of his shake.
She gives him a small, secretive smile. "Nothing you need to worry about right
now."
"That's not exactly comforting."
Her laughter rings out, bright and loud, turning heads. He wraps an arm around
her shoulders, pulls her in close, determined not to let anything dull her
shine. Not even him and his inevitable fuck-ups.
The apartment they're staying in belongs to a friend of a friend, a fifth-floor
walkup with eight foot ceilings, prewar molding, and hardwood floors. And only
one bed. And that's when Nick realizes he's completely fucked. Or, well, not.
He and Cassie haven't talked about it and he's not sure they should. He knows
he's not going to be able to say no if she asks again, knows it's going to take
all the willpower he has to take it slow and not let it get out of hand.
Because it's one thing to help her get off if it makes the visions clearer, but
something else completely to hold hands and act like they're a couple. He wants
the latter even more than the former, and he wants the former pretty much more
than anything, so yeah, he's utterly and completely fucked.
So it's with some trepidation that he crawls into bed beside her that night.
She rolls right up against him, and it's not like they haven't shared a bed
before, but the last time was before he'd started looking at her like she was
more than his sort of kid sister, before he'd touched her and licked her taste
off his fingers.
She slings a leg over his and rubs up against him, smiling. "Hi."
"Cassie." He tries to sound like a responsible, disappointed adult, but mostly
he sounds like he's pleading. For what, even he isn't sure.
"We can have the conversation, but I know you're going to give in. I've seen
it." Another thrust of her hips, and Jesus, she should not know how to do that
yet. "So why don't we skip the part where you're really annoying?"
He takes a long moment to think about it, though he knows she's right and hates
himself a little for it.
"Fine."
Her triumphant smile turns into a shriek of laughter as he rolls her over onto
her back and blows a raspberry against her neck.
Nick's never really thought much about the advantages of being a mover during
sex, but now he's able to get her undressed and keep his hands on her at the
same time. There's something amazing about that, about the way pulling her t-
shirt over her head loosens her ponytail, spreading her hair all over the
pillow, pale gold and pink and blue in the light filtering in through the
blinds. He buries his face in it for a second, breathing her in, before he
starts touching her, hands sweeping lightly down her body, like he's still not
sure he's allowed to do this, but she's letting him, arching up into the touch.
He leans in to lick at one taut, pink nipple and then blows on it, making her
shiver. She grabs his hair just like the last time, and he grins. "You like
that, huh?"
She tugs on his hair. "Yes."
"Good." He spends some time on her tits, enjoying the way she gasps and pushes
up into his hands or his mouth, the feel of her nails against his scalp.
Her hand moves from his hair to the back of his neck, squeezing a little, and
he moans against her skin, rubbing himself against her hip. She skates a hand
down his back, rucks up his t-shirt, and slides her fingers around the edge of
his waistband. He jerks against her again and then reaches back to grab her
hand before she can get any further. He moves it down between her legs, getting
her fingers slick and then licking them clean, closing his eyes to enjoy the
taste.
She makes a short, choked off noise and then says, "Nick," in a scandalized
little voice.
He grins. "Why don't you get started and I'll be with you in a second." He
wants to watch her for a moment, see the way she touches herself, pale fingers
with nails painted bright blue against honey-colored hair and glistening pink
skin.
He slides one hand slowly down her body to rest on her hip; the muscles in her
belly jump when he rubs it with his thumb and she shivers, her fingers working
quickly against her clit. He strokes the soft skin on the insides of her thighs
with his other hand, then slowly starts pushing first one and then a second
finger inside of her.
She wraps a hand around his wrist and he stops.
"Cassie? You okay?"
"Yeah." She thrusts up and clenches around his fingers. "I--Yeah." She slides
the hand up his arm and cups his cheek, rubbing her thumb over his lower lip,
and he can't help himself--he licks it. She smiles, then plucks at his t-shirt.
"Why are you still wearing this?"
He laughs, because there's nothing he wants more than to take it off, to be
with her completely, for this to be what she thinks it is instead of what it
has to be, if he wants to be able to look at himself in the mirror in the
morning. He should tell her, should lay down the rules and the boundaries, but
she has a habit of breaking rules that goes back long before she met him.
"I don't see what's so funny," she says, the breathless hitch in her voice
warring with the pout. She rolls her hips and slides her hand between them,
fingers ghosting over the hard rise of his cock, and there is no way he's going
to be able to hold on if she starts touching him.
He does it without thought, wraps her hands in the invisible grip of his
telekinesis and holds them in place. Her eyes widen in shock and he can see
something else, something dark and needy, in the shape of her mouth, the
flutter of her lashes. It sparks something hot and hungry inside him that he
has to push aside for now. He flexes his wrist again, curls his fingers just
right, and her whole body arches, hips bucking up as she comes, hard and hot
around his fingers, her chest heaving with the effort and the release.
He strokes her through it, trying to memorize every gasp and moan and twist of
her hips.
When she's done, she pulls her t-shirt back on and curls up next to him, one
arm draped across his belly, already falling asleep. He lies beside her and
tries to will his hard-on away since he can't escape to take care of it without
waking her, and as much as the idea of jerking off beside her appeals--and he
is totally not imagining her hand curling around his dick, the soft brush of
her palm against the shaft, her fingers rubbing over the head as he slips his
tongue into her mouth--he hasn't sunk that low yet.
He falls into a light doze and is woken a couple of hours later, when Cassie
sits bolt upright and says, "They're coming. Bleeders and burners. We have to
go." She's already stumbling around, gathering their stuff up.
He's learned not to question her when she's like this; he just shoves his
meager wardrobe into his duffle and follows her out into the night.
*
That's the last bit of peace they have for a while. New York bleeds into
Toronto, La Paz, Manila, Melbourne, Kyoto.
They're in Cairo, trying to track a lead on Cassie's mother, when she stops
sleeping, spends two nights and a new packet of silver pens trying to figure
out what she's seeing.
"I can't," she says, flinging her pen away, hands shaking with sleep
deprivation or caffeine or adrenaline. All three, probably; the smudges under
her eyes are a dark purply-black and her face is drawn and pale. She looks like
a painting of a saint Nick saw somewhere and can't remember, though given what
he knows about saints, he's pretty sure it didn't end well for her. He's
determined that's not going to be the case with Cassie.
"Hey," he says softly, kneeling down in front of her, hands on the warm skin of
her thighs. He gestures and the pen rises from where it's staining the carpet
silver and settles on the table again. "Hey, why don't you take a break, get a
little sleep and try again when you're fresher?"
"I can't," she says again. "I was so close to seeing everything, but then it
disappeared, changed into something completely different."
"Like it was wiped?"
"Yes." She shakes her head. "No. I don't think so. Maybe a shadow? Or a
pusher."
"Fake memories leading to fake decisions?"
"I--Maybe?" She shakes her head; she'd cut her hair in Manila, but it's growing
back now, pale and curly, and for the first time since he's known her,
completely blonde, without any colorful streaks. He misses them a little.
He rubs her legs gently and she lets her head drop back and shifts forward into
the touch. He thumbs the soft skin on the inside of her thighs and smiles when
her breath hitches.
"Do you trust me?"
She raises her head and glares at him. "They say there's no such thing as a
stupid question, but I think you just proved them wrong."
"Well, you know you can't trust anything they say." He ducks his head and grins
at her, up-from-under, and her mouth curves slowly in response. He unzips her
boots, slides them off and runs his hands up her legs. He kisses her insteps,
the sharp smell of sweat a jolt to his senses, then licks the little hollows of
her ankles.
She lets out a soft moan. "Nick." The way she says his name makes him hard.
"God, your legs," he mutters, running his hands back up over them, and then
resting his hands at the top of her thighs. He can see the yellow polka dots on
her panties, can see the crotch is already wet, can smell her arousal. It makes
his mouth go dry.
"Can I?" he asks, brushing his fingers over the edges of the leg-holes.
She shivers. "Yes. God, yes. Please." He traces her through the wet cotton,
leans in to nuzzle her thigh. She jerks back with a squeak. "Oh!"
"Cassie, is this okay?" He looks at her over the ruffled edge of her skirt,
waits until she meets his gaze.
"Yes."
He hooks his fingers in the waistband of her underwear and lifts her up so he
can slide them off. "Lean back."
She does, tilting her hips up just a little, and he drapes her legs over his
shoulders.
"This is gonna be so good," he says, mostly to himself as he breathes her in.
Then, "Hold on." Her fingers curl around the edge of the seat as he runs his
fingers along her slick pink folds. He teases her a little at first, builds up
the anticipation for both of them before he leans in and licks, gathering salty
wetness on his tongue.
Cassie lets out another surprised squeak and he smiles and presses a kiss to
her thigh before getting back to business.
He goes slow, easy licks and kisses, enjoying the way she tastes and smells and
feels, cataloguing the sounds she makes and the way her hips jerk and her nails
dig into his scalp when he does something she really likes. He swirls his
tongue around her clit, starts spelling out the promises he's never actually
said, though he made them the day she handed him that lotus in Hong Kong. She
starts pushing up into his mouth, a steady stream of wordless cries falling
from her lips as he brings her close to the edge and then backs off. Her whole
body is shaking above him when he pushes two fingers into her cunt and sucks
her clit into his mouth, stroking and licking in time with the fierce beat of
blood in his ears.
She flails out with her other hand, grabs his hair and starts trying to fuck
his face, her heels digging into his shoulder blades as she thrusts against his
mouth. He gives up on technique then, just licks and sucks and strokes until
she comes apart with a low hoarse moan that might be his name.
He keeps going until she pushes him away with trembling hands. His face is
slick with her come and he licks his lips, savoring the taste before he swipes
his t-shirt over his mouth and chin.
Cassie stays sprawled in the chair, and part of him wants to unzip his jeans,
drag her down onto his cock, and fuck up into her while she's still fluttering
with the aftershocks, but he doesn't. Her eyes open wide, like she can see what
he's been thinking.
"You never," she croaks, then clears her throat and starts over. "I know what
you're doing."
He gives her a smug grin. "I think I've still got a few secrets left."
"You're planning to rush into the bathroom now and jerk off."
He winces. "Okay, maybe not as many secrets as I thought."
Her legs are still hooked over his shoulders and she presses her heels into his
back. "Do it here."
"What?"
"So you have a thing about me touching you that we're going to have to talk
about at some point, but right now, let me watch you, the way you've watched
me."
He should argue, should give her every reason that this is a bad idea on every
level, but her eyes narrow and her mouth curls like she's gearing up for a
fight, and he doesn't want the mind-blowing orgasm he just gave her to go to
waste. And he desperately needs to come, so it's possible he's not thinking
clearly at all.
He holds her gaze while he unbuttons his jeans, one button at a time, waiting
for her to look away. She doesn't, of course, because she's never looked away
from anything, even things she shouldn't have to see. Her focus shifts when he
shoves his jeans and briefs down and takes his dick in his hand, and she bites
her lower lip over a soft gasp that he echoes when he spreads precome over the
head and down the shaft.
Nick lowers his gaze then, too exposed to her knowing look, and presses his
face against her thigh while he jacks himself with hard, quick strokes, the
scent and taste of her surrounding him.
She runs her hand through his hair, short nails scratching lightly at his
scalp, and his whole body tingles with need and pleasure. He gasps out her name
against her skin, over and over, like he's dying and it's the only prayer he
can remember.
He opens his eyes to see that her other hand has found its way down between her
legs, and that's it for him, he's gone, vision whiting out around the edges as
he comes.
He kneels there, the harsh sound of his ragged breathing loud in his ears,
until her hand tightens in his hair and then disappears. She pulls back,
scrabbling for her notebook and pens. He gets up slowly, knees and back
cracking in protest at being in one position for too long. He strips off his t-
shirt and uses it to clean himself up, then tosses it towards the duffle with
his other dirty clothes and puts himself away. He finds a shirt that doesn't
smell like it could stand up on its own and pulls it on.
Cassie lets out a sigh, pen still moving rapidly over the page.
"Cassie?"
"We're okay," she says, yawning and stretching. "We're gonna meet some people
tomorrow who can help us, and after that, some people who are going to try to
kill us and fail, but for tonight, we're okay."
She curls up around the notebook, pen still in her hand, and finally falls
asleep. Nick picks the book up and studies the pictures for a few minutes,
trying to figure out what they mean, but he's warm and lethargic from his own
orgasm, and if people are going to try to kill them tomorrow, he really should
sleep. The other bed is littered with balled up scraps of paper and takeout
containers, so he lies down beside her, and falls asleep before he can start
listing the reasons it's a bad idea.
*
Over coffee in the morning, they meet Fahima, a wiper, and Etan, a pusher.
"Claudia sent us," Fahima says, waving the waiter over as she sits down next to
Cassie. "She told us that helping you would help all of us."
Nick looks up sharply at those words, an echo of the ones that set him on this
path to begin with. He glances at Cassie, who gives him a quick, almost
imperceptible nod.
"Okay," he says. "What do you know?"
Four days later, they work together to free a handful of specials from a
Division facility near Istanbul. Thanks to Cassie's visions, they're able to
capture and hold a Division agent long enough to get some information on
Cassie's mother.
"She's alive," he says, "but not for long. They're just trying to lure you in,
Cassie. Once they've got you, they're gonna take you apart like a--"
Nick knocks him out with one punch and glances over at Cassie.
She rolls her eyes and puts a hand over her heart. "My hero."
"Come on, Cassie. Don't be that way." His knuckles are still stinging and he
curls his hand up and cradles it against his belly.
"Fine. I am secretly all swoony over your badassery. Is that what you want to
hear?"
It is, but now he can't admit it. "It sounds stupid when you say it like that."
"Duh." She finishes whatever she's sketching and pushes her notebook back into
her bag before he can see, which means whatever it is, it's bad. "He wasn't
lying."
Nick thinks about how easy it would be to clench his fist and break this guy's
neck. How he wouldn't even feel bad about it, if it meant protecting her.
She gives him a startled glance and then shakes her head. "Now we have to wait
until he wakes up so he can tell us what he knows about my mother before Fahima
wipes him."
"Oh, right," Nick says sheepishly.
Fahima gives them an amused look. "Your mother chose well," she says to Cassie.
Cassie's mouth curves into a small, secretive smile. "I know."
Nick files that away for later consideration.
*
Once they've got information from the Division agent, who's only too happy to
talk after Etan pushes him, rescuing Elizabeth Holmes owes more to pure dumb
luck than to Nick's skills or Cassie's visions. Or maybe it's just that she's
been planning it since before Cassie was born and has had time to work out all
the kinks and the variables. Nick doesn't like to think too much about that.
Whichever it is, at the end of it, they're holed up in a Hilton in Arlington,
in a two-bedroom suite already reserved under the name Mary Wilson when they
straggle into the lobby late that night.
Nick wedges a chair under each door and then collapses face down on the bed.
Cassie and her mom are hugging and crying in the other bedroom, and it's not
his place to intrude. Also, he really doesn't want to face her when the drugs
wear off and she realizes what he's been doing with her daughter.
He can't sleep, though, not without Cassie breathing softly next to him, so
eventually he gives up on the idea and stumbles out into the little living room
area. He figures he'll get used to being on his own again eventually--he did
after his father died and then after Kira left. He can do it again. He doesn't
have to start tonight.
Elizabeth is sitting at the counter that separates it from the kitchenette,
stirring some honey into a cup of tea.
"Can't sleep?" she says, and she sounds a lot more alert than she had when
they'd found her, or even a couple of hours ago when Cassie closed the door to
the other room. "You had a busy day."
He shrugs a shoulder. "You, too."
"Division kept me asleep a long time. I don't mind a little insomnia now." She
takes a sip of her tea. "There's more tea in the cabinet. Or you could always
open the mini-bar."
He shakes his head and sits down across from her, unsure where to start. He's
so tired he can't make his thoughts line up coherently. "You knew my father?"
She blinks as if he's surprised her. Score one for him. "Yes, very briefly."
She sets her cup down and touches his hand. He forces himself not to flinch.
"He was a good man."
"He believed in you."
"Yes. Much like you believe in Cassie." She smiles. "She's so grown up. I knew
she would be, but reality is different, sometimes, from visions."
"Naming her Cassandra was kind of evil," he blurts, uncomfortable and not sure
how to make it better, how to say what he wants without giving too much away,
without knowing what she already knows.
Elizabeth laughs softly. "It seemed clever at the time, knowing what I knew.
But she's grown into it. She's had to. All of us, with these powers, these
gifts, we all grow up quickly, one way or another, and watchers even more than
most." She runs a finger around the rim of her teacup. "She had her first
vision when she was three. She screamed and cried for hours." She looks up and
holds his gaze, eyes uncomfortably sharp for someone who was supposedly too
drugged to hold a spoon a short while ago. "It was of your father's death."
It's a gut-punch and she knows it, watches him suck in a shocked breath with
something like compassion.
"The future is what we make of it, Nick, but only so much and so far. Some
things we have no control over." She takes another long sip of tea. "Of the
options available, this was the safest future I saw for her. The one where she
not only survives but is loved and protected." She gives him that direct look
again. "I can't say that it's what I'd have wanted for her, had things been
otherwise, but they're not, are they?"
"No. They're not." He gets up, paces the room, his whole body aching but unable
to keep still. "She's good," he says. "She's a good kid." The word comes out
easily--he's always been a good liar; always had to be--though it stings.
Cassie would yell at him for using it, even though it's true, if only in the
most technical sense. Even if her mother knows it, too. "You should be proud of
her."
"I am." She looks down into her teacup. "Your father would be proud of you."
He chokes on a laugh. "I don't even know what to say to that."
The door to Cassie's bedroom opens. "Mom?" She sounds so young. Nick thinks his
heart would break if she hadn't already broken it.
"I'm here, Cassie. I'll be right in."
"Okay." She yawns and closes the door.
Elizabeth gets up and puts her teacup in the sink. She stands there with her
back to him for a moment, looking frail and tired in the sweatshirt and jeans
they bought for her at Goodwill. Nick can see her knuckles are white from her
tight grip on the countertop.
"I sent her to you, Nick, but she chose to stay." She turns and gives him a
sad, tired smile, and heads back into the room where Cassie is waiting.
Nick stands there and tries to absorb that for a few seconds before he heads
back into his bedroom, alone.
*
He must fall asleep eventually, because he wakes up with a start to find Cassie
kneeling over him, wild, terrified look on her face that maybe he imagines,
because it's gone between one blink and the next; only the past couple of years
of familiarity keep him from moving her off him before he can stop to think.
"What's wrong?"
"She's leaving."
"What?"
"My mother. I saw it. I thought I could change her mind, but I couldn't."
He hasn't had nearly enough sleep or been awake nearly long enough to follow
this conversation, but he can feel himself getting angry on Cassie's behalf.
"She left?"
"Not yet. But she's going to." Cassie's fingers curl into his t-shirt, a silent
demand he can't meet.
"I--It's probably safer for you to go with her."
Cassie lets out a small huff of laughter and shakes her head. "Seriously, Nick,
it's a good thing you're pretty." She's smiling when she says it, though, and
her mouth is curved in an affectionate smile. She lets go of his shirt,
smoothes out the wrinkled cotton gently, and sits back.
"Hey."
She crosses her arms over her chest. "How could you think for one minute that I
was leaving you?"
"Because," he says, thinking,that's what people do, "you've got your mom back.
That was the goal, wasn't it?"
"One of them. But we were supposed to stay together."
"Division still wants us, and staying together is dangerous." He thinks of
letting Kira go, and how it didn't save her in the end. He wants to be selfish
and keep Cassie with him, because if it's going to end badly, he wants it to at
least end with them together. And then he takes a deep breath and forces
himself to be brave. "But now that she's free, we have a better chance of
bringing them down for good." He levers himself up on his elbows, shifts her
back so he can sit up all the way, his hands coming to rest on her hips. He
strokes the soft material of her pajamas with his thumbs, soaking up the sleep-
warmth of her skin. "Cassie, you know I only want you to be safe."
"I'm safer with you. Stronger with you. I know she's seen it, because I see it.
I see it every day."
This was never the plan, or maybe it was always the plan. He can't tell
anymore. "Is she leaving right now?"
"No. In a few days, I think. There are a couple of shadows on staff, so we're
safe for now."
"Okay, good. Because I need more sleep." He eases back down onto the bed,
taking her with him. "Don't worry, Cassie. We'll figure it out." Her weight on
him is warm and solid and comfortable, and he's still tired enough that it
isn't anything more than that, and it's still more than enough.
She wraps her arms around him and tucks her head under his chin, and he's
asleep before he can even start to worry about what they're going to do next.
*
He tries to be tactful, give Cassie time alone with Elizabeth. He spends his
mornings in the hotel pool, letting the steady, repetitive motion of swimming
quiet the jumble of thoughts in his head. He goes shopping for food and
supplies, ditches their cell phones and sets up new ones. He uses the hotel's
business center to let Hook know they were successful. They communicate through
the classifieds in various local papers and on the missed connections website,
and he's glad for once to have good news to share.
He comes back to the hotel room on the third day to find them waiting for him
in the living room. Elizabeth has packed away the clothes they bought for her
in the giant tote bag Cassie'd picked up at the Museum of Natural History. He
does a quick scan of the room, but Cassie's Hello Kitty backpack is nowhere
visible. He doesn't relax, though.
"I have someone coming to pick me up in ten minutes," Elizabeth says, "but I
wanted to thank you again before I left."
"You're really going to leave without Cassie? She just found you." He can't
help the accusing tone. He can't stand it when Cassie cries, and he's the one
who's going to have to put her back together once Elizabeth leaves.
Cassie glares at him, though her eyes are bright and red-rimmed, but Elizabeth
laughs. "It's sweet that you think she'd come with me." She wraps her arms
around her daughter and gives her a tight squeeze and a kiss on the forehead.
"I know I don't need to ask you to take care of her."
"No," Nick says. "Though usually it's more like she takes care of me." He gives
Cassie a cajoling grin, tries to get her to smile back, but he can tell she's
close to tears when Elizabeth lets her go.
"Then I hope you appreciate her." Elizabeth shoulders her tote bag and gives
him a quick one-armed hug. "The room is paid for through the end of the week,
but in two days, Division agents will come knocking, so I suggest you be gone
by then."
Nick looks at Cassie, who looks surprised. "What? I didn't see anything."
"I'm sure Nick can help you with that," Elizabeth says, raising an eyebrow and
slipping out of the room while they're both too embarrassed to do anything.
"Your mother is one strange lady," he says when he can finally speak again. And
since Cassie still looks like she might start crying again, he slings an arm
over her shoulders and says, "I guess the apple didn't fall far from the tree,
huh?"
She elbows him in the gut and he grunts. "Shut up, Nick."
"Come on," he says, "I bought you a present." He hands her a bag from CVS.
She opens it and makes a soft little pleased sound. "Hot pink and turquoise?
You shouldn't have."
"I know. I'm already regretting it, but I kind of missed the streaks."
"I knew it."
"No, you didn't. And I'll deny ever saying it if you bring it up again."
"Yes, I did. And it doesn't work like that." She slides her arm around his
waist and tries to drag him towards the bathroom. "Come on. Help me dye my
hair." Her voice shakes a little and her eyes are still kind of glassy, but she
gives him a brave smile that he can't help but return.
"That's my girl." He kisses the top of her head and lets her lead him in to the
bathroom.
*
They decide to spend one more night in the hotel, since it's paid for and
Cassie, once she knows what to look for, confirms her mother's prediction.
Nick is prepared to spend another night alone, but Cassie crawls into bed
beside him and cries on his shoulder. He strokes her newly-streaked hair and
holds her until she falls asleep, warm and heavy against his chest.
In the morning, he shivers awake, reaching out with hands and powers for the
comforter, but what he's really missing is Cassie's warmth draped over him.
She's curled up beside him, though, and she rolls over as if she senses he's
awake.
"Hey."
He smiles. "Hey, yourself." He tucks a stray lock of hair behind her ear and
brushes his thumb over her cheek. She turns her face into his palm and presses
a kiss to the center of it, and he has to close his eyes for a second and just
breathe through the wave of desire that rushes through him.
Before he can pull his hand way, she wraps her fingers around his wrist. "I
suppose we should have this conversation."
He huffs a small laugh. "I would really rather not."
"And that's it? You get to make the decision for both of us?"
"It'd be easier if you'd let me."
"Easier for you, maybe." She rubs the back of his hand where it joins his wrist
and then lets him go. "You know what the age of consent is in Virginia?" She
doesn't wait for him to answer. "Fifteen. I looked it up." She sits up, draws
her knees to her chest and wraps her arms around them.
He sits up, too, unwilling to give her the high ground. "I don't even know what
to say to that."
She gives him a sharp glance. "When did you start having sex?"
He looks down at his hands. "Sixteen."
"Given that I'm more mature than you now, I can only imagine what you were like
at sixteen."
He can't help but smile at that. "Okay, that's probably true, but Cassie," he
reaches over and takes her hand, "it's not you that's the problem."
"Come on, Nick, you're not gonna actually useit's not you, it's me, are you?
Give me a little credit."
"But it's not you." He laughs again, bitter this time, and rubs a hand over his
face.
"Just my age."
"Not your age. Mine."
"I didn't think you cared what other people think, especially since they
already think we're fucking. Which, let's be honest here, Nick, we kind of are,
despite your freakishness about letting me touch you."
"I don't care what other people think." That's mostly true. "I care about what
I think. I'm still trying to adjust to the fact that I'm a guy who wants to
have sex with a sixteen-year-old girl."
"So you do want to have sex with me?"
"I thought it was pretty obvious," he answers wryly, bumping her shoulder with
his.
"You've got a funny way of showing it."
"Your mother trusted me to take care of you and, oh my god, she probably knows
we're having this conversation." He buries his face in his hands. The fact that
she basically gave him tacit permission somehow only makes it worse.
"She wouldn't have sent me to you if she thought you were a pervert.
Intentions, remember?" Cassie pats him on the shoulder. "And it's not like she
hasn't already seen it." He lets out a small groan. Cassie runs a hand through
his hair, and even while he's cringing in embarrassment, sense memory makes him
go hard at the touch. "I've seen it, too. I just don't know when it's going to
happen again."
"So you thought you'd try to hurry things along?" He gives her a skeptical
look.
She hums noncommittally, then leans in and presses her mouth to his. Her lips
are soft and warm against his, which tingle at the touch.
He freezes for a moment, suddenly aware of her, of how he can feel the heat of
her with his body and how rigidly she's holding herself, still afraid of his
rejection. Of the fact that this is their first kiss. Her first kiss. And god
help him, he can't ruin that, can't push her away anymore. Not when she wants
it as much as he does.
He smiles and opens his mouth, licks at the seam of her lips until she opens
hers, all sleep-stale breath and tentative touch of her tongue against his. He
doesn't even need to think--one second she's still sitting beside him, and the
next, he's moved her into his lap, warm and soft and curvy in the right places.
He cups the back of her head, tangles his fingers in her hair as she presses
herself up against him and sighs into his mouth.
He licks delicately at the roof her mouth, curls his tongue over hers,
catalogues each shiver and gasp she makes in response. She clings to him, hands
pushing through his hair, ghosting over his face, his neck, his shoulders, as
if she's trying to make up for the times he didn't let her touch him.
"Oh," she says faintly when he pulls back just far enough to give her a curious
look.
"Yeah." He smiles and touches his forehead to hers. "You like that?"
"Yeah."
"It's even better without the morning breath," he says, laughing a little.
"Do you want me to go brush my teeth?"
"God, no." He doesn't think she's serious, but he tightens his hold on her
anyway. "You're not going anywhere any time soon."
She smiles. "Yeah?"
"Yeah."
"You sure?"
He nuzzles her neck, breathes in the scent of her skin. She shivers when he
brushes his stubble over her throat. "I think I'm the one who's supposed to ask
that."
She cups his face in her hands, holds his gaze squarely. "Nick," she says, "we
take care of each other."
"Yeah," he answers. "Always."
He kisses her again, harder this time, and hungrier, wet and hot and open-
mouthed. He uses his teeth on her lower lip and she sparks to it, moans softly
into his mouth and tugs on his hair.
They make out for a long time, until they're both flushed and panting and dizzy
with it. His lips are tingling and hers are red and slick and swollen.
"You're gonna have stubble burn," he murmurs, lying down and pulling her with
him into the warm nest of sheets that smell like both of them already.
"Good," she says fiercely. She nips at his mouth, always ready to bite, and he
laughs.
He strips off her t-shirt, eager to touch warm, soft skin. This time, when she
tries to do the same to him, he lets her, raises his arms so she can tug his
shirt off over his head and toss it to the floor. She just looks at him for a
long moment, and it's not like she hasn't seen him without a shirt before--
they've been living in each other's pockets for the past three years--but
there's a difference now and they both recognize it.
He knows he doesn't have anything to worry about--he knows he looks good naked-
-but he still holds his breath while she studies him, forehead scrunching up in
concentration, like he's something she wants to learn by heart. He lets out a
sigh of relief when her mouth curves into a smug smile and her hands trace over
his chest, mimicking the way he touches her boobs. She brushes a thumb over one
of his nipples, and he sucks in a shuddery breath.
"Huh," she says, doing it again. She leans in and follows her fingers with her
tongue, and his muscles jump at the touch. "Is that good?"
"Yeah," he says, "but not as good for me as when I do it for you."
"Really?"
He shrugs a shoulder. "It's different for everybody. I like it, but I like
making you feel good more."
She narrows her eyes, like she thinks he's feeding her a line. "Seriously?"
He answers by running his fingers along the underside of her tits and then
cupping them, small and perfect against his palms, and thumbing her nipples.
She arches into the touch, her gaze never leaving his, never wavering.
"I really like making you squirm and moan," he confesses, mouth against the
curve of her breast. "I get off on making you come." He feels as well as hears
the hitch in her breath at that, and he smiles before sucking one hard, pink
nipple into his mouth. She lets out a low, rough moan that goes right to his
dick, and he raises his head. "Jesus, Cassie, if you only knew what you looked
like right now."
"Yeah?" Her voice is a breathy whisper.
"Fuck, yes." He sucks on her other nipple, then leans back to blow on it.
Cassie clutches at him, and he shifts up to kiss her again, dirty and wet,
while his hands skim over her body down to the waistband of her panties. He
hooks his fingers in the elastic. "Can I?"
She raises her hips so he can slide them down her legs, and then she kicks them
off, knees already falling open so he can lie between them.
"Wait," she says, and he stops. "Aren't you forgetting something?" She snaps
the waistband on his boxer-briefs.
"Hey!" But he shoves them down quickly and then follows her example, though he
cheats and uses his powers a little so they land neatly next to his t-shirt.
She gives his dick that same focused look she gave his chest, and he has a hard
time breathing under the scrutiny. She reaches down and curls her fingers
around him, and he thinks he could come just from that, from her finally
touching him the way he's been imagining for months. She runs her thumb through
the precome beading on the head, the raises it to her mouth and licks.
"Jesus fuck, Cassie."
She grins and goes back to exploring him, running her fingers lightly along the
shaft, thumbing the vein on the underside. She strokes him once, too gentle,
and looks at him.
"Harder," he says. "And faster." He twines his fingers around hers and jerks
himself a couple of times, showing her what he likes.
"Okay." She gives him a few hard pulls and he drops his head forward to rest on
her shoulder, but he can't stay like that, not this first time, not when he can
watch his dick sliding through her fingers. "Okay," she says again, pushing him
over onto his back so she can shift down between his legs and swirl her tongue
over the head, the soft brush of her hair making him shiver and leaving goose
bumps in its wake. She licks around the head and down the shaft, and it's all
he can do not to shove up into the wet heat of her mouth.
Instead, he pulls her up so he can lick the taste of himself out of her mouth,
salty on her tongue, and roll them over at the same time, so he's on top again,
fingers curling into the slick between her thighs. "God, you're so wet."
"Been wanting this for a while," she answers, pushing up into the touch, her
hand reaching down to press his fingers against her clit. He rubs around it
lightly before flicking his thumb over it, enjoying the way her body responds.
"I want you inside me, Nick. Please."
He hums agreement against her collarbone, and shifts away long enough to find a
condom. His hands maybe tremble a little as he tears it open, but he gets it on
without any trouble and he doesn't think Cassie notices.
He pushes her knees wide, hooks her left leg around his hip, and says, "You
sure about this?"
"Yes." She reaches down to help guide him in. "Jesus, Nick, come on."
She's tight and hot and he forces himself to hold still while she shifts
beneath him, the look on her face going from impatient to faintly puzzled to
curious. She bites her lower lip, her teeth white and even against the swollen
red of her mouth.
"Okay?"
She nods, and he starts moving, achingly slow at first, letting her get used to
it, and then faster, harder, as she starts moving with him, the way he's always
known she could, would if he gave her the chance. The look on her face changes
again, eyes going dark and heavy-lidded, mouth curving in a hungry O as arousal
takes the place of discomfort and she gasps out his name.
He presses kisses to her cheek, her jaw, her chin, lets her draw his mouth back
to hers so they're breathing each other's air as he fucks her. He reaches down
between them to finger her clit, enjoying the way it makes her tighten around
him. She curls her other leg around his hip, presses her heels against the
backs of his thighs and thrusts with him, perfect rhythm played out by the drum
of his blood in his ears, the pulse of pleasure beating down his spine, the
gasp of Cassie's breath in his mouth and the hot, sweet flex of her cunt around
his dick.
"Nick, Nick, I can't," she moans, her voice thin and high and desperate.
"Yes, you can, Cassie. Come on, come for me now." One more thrust of his hips,
plus the flick of his fingers over her clit and she's coming, clenching tight
and pulling him over the edge with her, world going white behind his eyelids.
He gets rid of the condom quickly and then gathers her in close, burying his
face in sweat-damp hair that still smells of dye and conditioner, licking a
bead of perspiration off her neck and enjoying the way she shivers and
stretches, nothing but bare, supple skin pressed against him, chest to toes. He
tangles a hand between her thighs, strokes her gently to a second, slower
orgasm as she relaxes in his arms and sighs into his mouth.
He's getting ready to sleep some more when she elbows him in the chest in her
scramble to grab her sketchbook and pens.
"Ouch." He rubs the spot ostentatiously but she's too engrossed in her drawing
to spare him any sympathy.
"Roll over," she says, and he does, which, well. Yes. He's not going to think
too hard about that right now, or possibly ever.
He feels the cool smoothness of the notebook against his back, and then the
pressure of her hands as she draws. He raises himself up a little on his
forearms and watches her over his shoulder, her face set in concentration.
"What's up?" he asks when she's done.
"Same old, same old," she answers. "People trying to kill us while we try to
stop the bad guys."
"Seriously, Cassie."
She sets the notebook on the table again and shimmies under his arm so she can
curl up against him again. "Seriously, Nick. Nothing's changed."
He stares at her incredulously. "Everything's changed."
She laughs softly. "In here, maybe. Not out there." She cups his cheek, draws
him close for a soft, lingering kiss. "But they're not going to get here until
tomorrow, so go to sleep. We've got some time, but we've still got a lot to
do."
end
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