That Damn Imp

That Damn Imp

XIII

o0o

Koshka stared at Malcolm as he walked across the tiled floor of the shop, coming to a stop before the desk that she was perched behind. Her gaze moved along his form -- his aquiline nose, his defined jaw and broad shoulders, the strong chest under the well-tailored suit.

Even now, knowing who Malcolm really was, and what lurked beneath that well-built form, she still felt the heat of attraction.

"Hello," she said softly, outwardly displaying calm, almost as if he were simply a customer coming to look at her wares. He smiled faintly as if he knew what she was doing.

"You summoned me, so here I am," he said as he stood before her.

"Here you are," she echoed with a small smile of her own, crossing her arms loosely. "Looking as good as ever."

"I could say the same about you." As he spoke, Koshka paid close attention to his physical cues and feelings. There was a bit of nervousness, but he was doing a good job of maintaining his calm, just as she was. They stared at one another for several moments before he spoke again. "What would you like to do tonight?" he asked simply.

"I... am not quite sure." Now that he had asked the question, she found herself coming up short on a definite answer. Part of her just wanted to fuck him, since it had been a while. "Maybe we could just go for a walk?"

"Sounds good to me," Malcolm replied easily. She nodded and rose from her seat. "Let me lock up first and grab my jacket."

"Need any help?' he asked, glancing over at the metal bars that were at the moment retracted against the back wall.

"If it won't mess up that nice suit of yours," she shot back lightly as she moved over to the south side of the wall. He chuckled and slid past the opening in the counter to take the north side, tugging the bars out, the metal flexing as the networking was stretched out until it met the front. Once the task was done, she took a light jacket from one of the hooks behind the counter, tugging it on. As they left the building, she turned to lock the door, and he offered her his arm in a gentlemanly gesture. Almost without thinking, she hooked her arm through his, and they made their way down the sidewalk.

"So, what's the deal with the 'For Sale' sign I saw in the window? I hope I'm not responsible for that, and if I am, I'm sorry," Malcolm asked. Koshka let out a quiet sigh.

"No, no. I was thinking of selling it last year before you came into my life. Once we started dating, I thought I'd shelve that plan and just stick around. But now..."

"Hmm." He placed his hand on hers and squeezed it. "I can't help but feel at fault."

She shrugged. "I've lived in this city long enough. I wasn't just thinking of selling the place, but moving somewhere else."

"Oh? Any ideas?"

"Perhaps a different country. I do have plenty of options. Not sure if I want to go somewhere hot and sunny, or someplace colder. One thing for sure, I want to try something new. Somewhere I've never lived in, beyond a trip or vacation."

Malcolm gave a soft laugh. "Good thing that ones such as you and I have plenty of time to explore said options."

She smiled dryly at that. She'd already lived in a nice variety of places, sometimes actively working and earning a living, other times engaging in a life of leisure.

"Speaking of..." Malcolm paused for a moment. "Do these plans include me?"

Her steps slowed, and Malcolm eased his pace to match hers. "Possibly," she finally said.

"You know one thing you could do, if you're looking to do a job or whatever, that is. You could always open a cat cafe. They're a thing now."

She gave out a quiet laugh at that. "You know... that's not a bad idea. I might have to take up on that. Unless you're just telling me that so you can watch me play with pussy," she teased, sliding into the easy banter she often had with Malcolm.

"What man wouldn't want to see that?" he shot back. She blew a raspberry at him. He chuckled at that. "In all seriousness, wherever you want to go, whatever you decide to do, you know you have my support. And my love."

Love. How often was it said that love was unnecessary, that uttering the word complicated, or ruined relationships? So many tossed around the word to manipulate others, or because they did not understand the depths of their own emotions. But the Puck hadn't uttered that word for either of these reasons.

"I know," she finally managed to reply in a quiet voice. He lifted her hand to his face, pressing his lips to the back of it, peppering her knuckles with gentle kisses. She did nothing to stop him, feeling her nipples harden. Closing her eyes for a moment, she took a slow breath before turning her head, meeting his gaze as he stroked her fingers with his lips, just past the first knuckle. His fingers squeezed around the lower half of her hand, his palm warm against her own.

"Malcolm..." There was no doubt he was aware of the effect his loving kisses had on her, regardless of what part of her anatomy he might administer them to.

"There are other places where I can kiss you. If you so desire..." he murmured.

"I do desire it," she whispered before she was aware of the words spilling out of her mouth.

"You have but to ask. Or command. Either way, I am yours." He lifted his eyes, and she felt her chest tighten as she became lost in his gaze. Both of them were magical creatures, but there was nothing of spells or sorcery here -- only their physical attraction to one another.

o0o

To kiss more of her, he had to remove her clothing, which he did once they arrived at her apartment. He seemed to have missed her even more than she had missed him, his lips and hands eagerly traveling along every bit of flesh that became exposed to him.

Regardless of what she knew about him, her flesh responded as it had always, a warm glow suffusing her nerves with every kiss, lick, and caress. Her nipples hardened, the light casting shadows from them across her breasts at certain angles, and her clit ached under the thin fabric of her panties as he kissed along her inner thighs.

He hooked his thumbs into the waistband of the lacy garment, but glanced up at her before he divested her of her sole remaining piece of clothing. She nodded, and with a movement that was quick yet languid, he pulled the panties down her legs, nuzzling along the sharply-defined valley where her torso met her thighs, his lips drawing ever closer to her center.

"Oh... Malcolm..."

"Let's take this to bed, shall we?" he asked with a soft smile. She nodded, stepping out of her underwear, and they left it on the floor. She lay back on the quilt as he removed his jacket, the crisp white shirt hugging his broad shoulders as he leaned down, his hands hooking around her upper thighs as his tongue flicked across her clit.

She gasped quietly, and he started to hum softly, flicking his tongue against her before taking it between his lips, sucking expertly. It was at moments like this that she wished he had longer hair so that she could grab a good handful of it, but it was a small complaint in the greater scheme of things, and she was happy enough to stroke the short, thick blonde hair, running her fingers through it.

He could have brought her over the edge quickly if he had a mind to, but he slowly slid two fingers inside of her, wiggling them as she squirmed around on the bed, moaning his name. However, he was careful to not take too long, knowing how impatient she could get in the throes of passion. Not that he could blame her, of course.

She finally exploded, screaming his name as she bucked against his face. The modern age had brought with it toys that men and women could use to pleasure themselves, and it was one of the things that made this era so nice. However, there were some things that would never change, such as the deep joy to be found in intimacy with someone whose company one enjoyed. He licked her slowly, drawing out frissons of heat from her core, her thighs shuddering against his face.

"No one else has ever done this as well as you," she murmured when he finally lifted his head.

"Is that so?" he asked in a mock dry tone. She smirked at that, and he smiled back.

"And I'm not just talking about technical skill," she clarified with a purr. His smile widened, and he rose to his knees, looking down at her. She didn't need to look to know that his erection was straining against his pants, but she looked nonetheless. Despite having just been pleasured, a surge of arousal surged afresh through her, even stronger than before.

He reached down, fondling the thick flesh that was nestled between his right thigh and the fabric of his pants leg.

"Is this what you want, kitten?" he asked, a finger pressing down as it traced the outline of his penis. She did not respond immediately, staring at what his hand was doing for several moments before finally looking up at his face.

"I believe you know the answer to that," came her even reply.

"It's all yours." He undid his belt and pulled down the zipper, and with a quick tug at the elastic band of his underwear, he sprung free, thick and hard. She took a deep breath, her fingers digging into the blanket.

"Why, so it is," she replied playfully, almost unaware of the words before they rolled off her tongue. He smirked at that before shimmying his legs out of his clothing, crawling onto the bed and blanketing himself over her, staring down at her, the cool blue of his eyes smoldering with passion.

Reaching down, she took hold of him as she pulled her knees apart, and he needed no further invitation. A pleased moan burst from her throat as she felt his turgid flesh slide within her with pleasing familiarity. Registering his half-lidded eyes, she smiled as she removed her hand from him, and lifted it to his face, caressing his cheek with her thumb.

"Mmm. Kitten..." he purred as he pushed forward, filling her in the way that only he could. She clenched around him. Gods, she had ached for him during their separation. She knew she could have easily found amusement from any of a number of more than willing males -- human or demon -- but she'd found herself constantly thinking of Malcolm and Puck during her time alone between her vengeance-demon work. Wrapping her legs around his middle, she ensured that he would not be able to fully extricate himself from her -- not that he wanted to, she knew.

He rained hungry kisses along her face, neck, and shoulders as he thrust into her wildly, wrapping his arms around her tightly when he finally reached his peak. Even after she relaxed her grip on him, he did not pull out right away, instead simply burying his face against her neck and breathing against it, giving the passion-warmed skin gentle, lingering kisses.

After several tender minutes of this, he finally settled down at her side, draping an arm across her middle as he rested his head on a pillow, staring at her with a warmth in his eyes that she could lose herself in.

She said nothing, rolling over to face him, burying her face against his chest, feeling the linen of his shirt against her forehead and cheek.

"Was the sex that good that I've rendered you speechless?" he teased gently. She did not look up, and felt his hand move to her head, stroking her hair as he ran his fingers through it. She knew very well who he was, and how she'd resisted him for so long. Part of her wanted to be angry, even after he'd offered her a suitable apology, and waited for her to permit him to come to her bed. She was supposed to be a tough-ass bitch, a vengeance demon who responded to people in pain. She'd successfully fended him off -- even as she was well-aware of her lust for him -- for all that time. Yet when he had shown up on her doorstep, she'd practically folded more quickly than a cheap card table, even knowing fully well who was behind that carefully-cultivated mask.

He finally spoke. "Is something the matter, kitten?" he asked gently. His fingers trailed down her face before hooking under her chin, coaxing her gaze upward. "You're not regretting this, are you?" His face and tone exuded concern, and she quickly looked down again. He kissed her forehead.

"You and I have wanted one another for so long," he commented. She did not argue, and he kissed her forehead again. "I know demons are supposed to be all hard-ass, and yeah, I know that the fae and demon races don't have the best history of getting along with one another and that you were afraid of being simply another notch on my bedpost." He stroked her cheek with his thumb. "There are indeed things about you and I that will remain true through the end of time. But who says that change and sameness can not co-exist? The universe is full of balances and contradictions that work well together. Look at you, Koshka. You're a vengeance demon. Yet coming to know you, I've come to see that you're capable of great kindness and sweetness."

"Oh stop, you're making me blush," she teased. He smiled faintly.

"Likewise, you're well aware of the reputation I carry as the Goodfellow. But just as vengeance is only one aspect of who you are, playfulness is merely one part of what makes me... well, me. It doesn't mean that I'm incapable of steadfastness... especially when a divine creature such as you are concerned. The better I get to know you, the deeper my commitment to you goes."

She finally looked back up at him.

"The past is past. The future is ours, and I do believe you would be happier sharing it with me. I hope that doesn't sound presumptuous of me," he said.

"... Not at all," she finally said after a moment before she lifted her face to nuzzle him.

o0o

Moscow, Present Day

Russia had come a long way since the time of Ivan the Terrible, but several things didn't change... like the multicolored onion-shaped domes of St. Basil's, or how bitter the Muscovite winters could be, clinging onto the land even as spring made its advances.

Still, this time, the Puck knew he would get a definite warm-up when they were done wandering around in the Russian cold. She pointed towards a street. "Remember, my house used to be there, huh?" In its place was an apartment building, one of the holdouts from the Soviet era, square and blocky.

"I seem to recall something like that, yes," Malcolm murmured, looking out from beneath his ushanka, the style of hat much loved inside -- and outside -- of Russia in cold weather. At the moment, the flaps were untied, hanging at the sides of his face and framing his features in thick dark fur. Old habits die hard, after all, and knowing Koshka found him charming in the hat only further aided his decision, though the hat was complemented by a sharp-looking winter ensemble of a knee-length jacket that matched the dark color of his hat.

"That was such a long time ago; the details are rather fuzzy. Didn't we end up eating strawberries on the water then rolling around naked in some velvet?" he teased, embellishing the story and leaning affectionately against her.

"I do remember the strawberries. There was nothing about velvet.. but I distinctly recall you wearing a fancy, floppy hat," she teased back before kissing him on his cheek.

They posed in front of St. Basil's for selfies, taking pictures in front of the cathedral and generally having a good time. They wandered around some more before being done for the day and checking in to a comfortable hotel near the Red Square. "One hell of a cold day, huh? I can have room service send up some hot soup and blini," Koshka offered as they made their way to their suite.

"Anything to take away the chill." He wrapped his arms around her waist, leaning affectionately against her back. "Mmm... Russia may be cold, but you're nice and warm."

She smiled at him. "Great minds think alike," she said, poking his side as they entered the room and started taking their jackets off. She closed in on him, fondling him aggressively through his pants. He made for the bed, returning the attention with caresses and kisses, exploring and appreciating her body. While clothes didn't come off, he did slide his hand beneath them, moaning softly as he slid fingertips over her flesh.

"Seems like you're more interested in me than room service... not that I mind," she murmured as she massaged his groin, feeling him twitch under her touch. She continued to tease him with these knowing caresses and touches, keeping him near the edge before pulling away and crossing the room to where their luggage sat. He remained on the bed as he watched her, caressing the noticeable bulge in his pants.

She started to strip down, revealing lacy black underwear, and it took all of his willpower to not simply pounce on her. She started tugging something out of the suitcase, revealing it to be a quilt that was lined with velvet on one side.

"So, a while ago, I was thinking of what you said about rolling around on velvet, and... hmm." She rolled it out in front of the fireplace, illuminating the plush texture of the fabric. The redhead stretched out on top of it, patting the space next to her.

Oh yes. It'd been one of his fantasies, ever since that night in Russia so many years ago when he'd first suggested it.

As he made his way over to her, he quickly shimmied out of his clothing, naked by the time he joined her. The lush material felt divine against his bare skin and he wiggled around on it as he settled down. She was gentle yet aggressive, her lips and hands traveling along his body as he squirmed around. "Is this what you were hoping for?" she asked as she nibbled his ear, pressing her lace-covered breasts against his chest.

"It's certainly..." he kissed and nipped at her neck, "a great start." For a moment, he pressed her down against the velvet, pinning her arms, kissing where her shoulder and neck met. "I'm sure it's going to be all I've been hoping for. And more."

"Well, then..." She wiggled her lace-covered crotch. "You've been waiting for this for how long? Almost 500 years? Your waiting is coming to an end, come and play with me." She licked her lips at him. He growled eagerly, pressing his mouth to hers.

He had indeed waited a long, long time, and it showed; his usual energy and eagerness surpassed. He kissed along her face, grinding his body against the smoothness of her flesh.

Their lovemaking was eager and passionate. For as much energy as Puck had even in his human guise, his lover matched him, caress for caress, stroke for stroke. She egged him on, and the pleasure they shared would be recalled every time either one of them saw velvet. Finally, they were spent, and lay together on the velvet, sprawled out and relaxing. She ran her fingers lightly along his chest as she wiggled against him, the blanket warm against their undersides.

"That was quite the salute for Mother Russia," she teased as she nibbled his ear.

"Forget Mother Russia," he replied, trailing a fingertip around her breasts, and over her midsection. "That was all for you. Well, for you and me. I certainly had a great time." He reached up to cup her face, stroking her cheek with his thumb before his hand slid down her neck and shoulder.

"The fire feels homey. Reminds me of how things used to be long ago. When the family would sleep around the hearth. There's something to be said about old school, hmm?" she asked with a faint smile.

"Sounds good. We'll relax here, and when we're up to it, we can go another few rounds. What do you think?" he grinned.

"Sounds like a plan, my good man."

He smiled faintly at that, running his fingers through her hair. It was definitely a good plan, as all their recent plans had been. They'd traveled to several locales around the world already, enjoying the sights, sounds, and tastes of various cultures as Koshka tried to decide where she might want to live next.

He would accept whatever she decided, and continue living as Malcolm, fitting into his new home -- wherever that might be -- though he did hope that one day, she would want him for himself, rather than the guise he'd created. But for now, he would enjoy what he had, he mused as he ran his hand along her side and hip, feeling her wiggle against him in response.