Tiff

Tonraq faltered— just a tiny slip in his grin and the light in his eyes before it returned in full bloom, sparked by her jibe. “Which would you prefer?” he asked, a hand on his hips and a tilt set to them. “That I thought up something generic and corny just for you? Or that I’ve been throwing it around all morning because it’s generic and corny?”

He had to say, he liked her. Already. And, it wasn’t the mustard yellow bikini set against brown skin or the flicker of gold in her green eyes. Her hair was cute and curly. Her smile was something to behold and he hoped to be seeing a lot more of it, maybe with the same look she wore now: a sly smirk, one brow raised as she appraised him, clearly unimpressed with his effort. He liked that. The snark. The snide remark. The hidden amusement in her tone as she called him out on a poor try.

It was a stupid line. Tonraq didn’t blame her. But, he did laugh, mostly at himself and the failed attempt to slide into her figurative DMs with an opening quote as bad as what he might see from White Boys On Tinder. 

“I thought it up about thirty seconds ago,” he admitted, blushing slightly. Tonraq looked away, searching the beach and settling on the lifeguard stand where Rico watched with a shit-eating grin on his face. Naturally. “I - maybe - could’ve stalled a bit before coming over here, had something better to throw at you, but,” he shrugged, tearing his eyes off his workmate and beaming at the girl in the sand, “you caught my attention so quickly, I just couldn’t help myself, miss…?”

She stared at him blankly, and his flush worsened.

“Tough crowd, alright.” Rubbing at the color on his chest, he laughed quietly, his hand sliding up to massage the back of his neck. “Well, I’m Tonraq or Ton. Baywatch, even; whichever you like better. I’m off in an hour and it might be nice to go out for a drink? If you want?” He dropped his hand, setting it back on his hip with a return of cockiness confidence. “I promise, no more super corny lines from me, but if I can just say that you’ve got eyes I could get lost in…”

He grunted in the way of response, words falling short of expressing… the edge settling in muscle and bone with the mention of her voodoo god. Not hers, Tonraq remembered. The brief conversation about Loco - though muddled down by alcohol and emotion and a very heated figment of his imagination - still held some clarity in his thoughts. He was using Tiff, manipulating her towards his bidding; or trying. Tiff remained resistant, which, Tonraq gathered, only pissed the Loa off. Loco seemed to think his gifts earned him some stake in her life and actions. 

Not that he was any better himself, with jealousy licking through his veins. 

“I don’t like it,” he said, it being the discomfort obvious in her sleep, the plain-as-day fatigue weaved into her bones like it made up a permanent part of her soul. Her reluctance in answering him. 

Tonraq glanced at her, that jealousy like a hot coal in the pit of his stomach. Too warm, and not quite enough. I’d be better than him if you were mine, he wished he could say. You are mine. But that was only in his sleep, in the fleeting moments each morning before she pulled away from his warmth. Awake, he couldn’t do more than steal a look here or there or coil her golden-brown hair tight around his finger. 

He unwound it, knuckles brushing her neck then down her shoulder before his palm settled heavily on her leg. A firm touch, then he let her go.  

“Does he expect you not to rest? Or eat? Or have any personal relationships?” 

His tone gave away more than Tonraq wanted, but after a second of consideration, he decided it didn’t give away any more than Tiff already knew. He worried about her, cared about her— now, whether she thought of it as love or their less than begrudging partnership— well, he wasn’t going to make the distinction for her. She could believe what she wanted and he’d save the risk of rejection for another time, another place. 

“You’re human, Tiffany. I know you think you’re invincible. I know that fuckwit thinks…” He looked back at the road, resolutely focused on the passing, yellow blurs instead of her. “I don’t know what he’s thinking, actually, but I don’t like it. He’ll ruin you if it means getting his way.”

Tonraq’s tone and the sudden loss of his touch drew a mildly surprised and amused expression from the witch, Tiff eyeing him sideling for a moment and allowing herself to feel flattered by his jealousy and concern. She did her best not to laugh at ‘fuckwit’, deciding after her conversation with Loco that it was simply smarter but she could not help the wry quirk to her lips. However, feelings aside he wasn’t wrong and Tiff was fully aware (or, at least suspected) Loco’s plan for her beyond achieving vengeance for her mother’s death. Lonie hadn’t shared much of her Voodoo knowledge for the sake of keeping her away from it as best she could, but she had enough for her to understand that you should never trust a Loa - especially one as powerful as Loco. They had a habit of making deals and never fully communicating the terms in order to get what they wanted (the reason Tiff had never known her father, his life having been a shocking price before she had even been born). There was little doubt in her mind that Loco wanted nothing more than to claim her as his faithful high priestess as her mother had once been to spite her spirit for abandoning him. It had been Lonie’s greatest fear, aside from their heritage being discovered by those who would try to take advantage. “I don’t thin I’m invincible,” she replied, unable to keep the petulance from her voice. “And I already know that, Ton, which is one of the reasons why he’s such a dick - I think, anyways, I’ve never seen if he has a good side but I don’t think any Loa does.” She knew she sounded ridiculous but this was a relatively new level they had somehow stumbled onto. Another sigh, and Tiff’s hand found rest on the werewolf’s nearest thigh to give it a re-assuring squeeze as, not for the first time, words failed her. She wanted to say more, to soothe his concern but if there was one thing that Tiff had learned in the last few weeks was that it was impossible for her to lie to him and the words she so desperately wanted to say caught in her throat. “I can handle him,” she managed to choke out. “As long as I keep my head in it, and keep focused he can’t do anything. He’s waiting for an in, but I sure as fuck am not gonna give it. Mom never wanted that life for me and I’m not gonna let him mess that up even if he wants to hold her spirit over my head.” Or my feelings for you, she added silently. “The I-55 is coming up - it’s a back highway but it’s got less traffic, and gets us to where I parked the trailer outside of the city a lot faster.”

It was an easy thing pulling Tiffany into his lap. Her touch was familiar now, even if that familiarity had been found in a dream. The fragments lingering in his memory, in his blood, felt real enough, all the way down to the subtle give just above her hips and the near-silent beat of her heart behind her ribs. He knew them now, knew other sounds but Tonraq kept the echo of them buried in the back of his head. His focus was on the innocent things, the bits of her he was learning he couldn’t - wouldn’t - live without. Mint shampoo in her hair. The faint smell of flowers near her ear. A peaceful exhale when she decided she was comfortable, the slightest hint of green tea puffing out against his neck, too threadbare for any human to notice. 

And it was bold of him to push his luck any further, but he slipped his arms around her waist and held her close, making a happy, humming sound and turning his head so her hair obscured most of his vision. He closed his eyes, completely content. 

This wasn’t easy, he decided. This was the easiest. Of everything he’d faced since running away, every sick thought and dark want, Tiff was his source of relief from it all. Home. Happiness. Hope. Tonraq stumbled over that word, choked down a disbelieving laugh. 

But, it was true. 

       She was hope. 

A source of it, at the very least. And so he would pretend, same as her, pretend they weren’t hurting or hunting witches, pretend they were a pair of ordinary, irrationally angry idiots with a grudge against the world instead of her ex-coven. It was all PRETEND — his murmured thank you and a quieter I can live with this, too; his laying back, taking Tiff down to the mattress with him. 

She’d have to fight him off if she wanted to go, thorns and all because a bratty swat wouldn’t be enough to dissuade him. Tonraq smiled at the idea of her trying, situating arms and legs so they could lay on their sides, facing each other. 

He caught a piece of her hair and tucked it away. It didn’t stay put, but he used the opportunity to brush his fingers down her chin. 

“I like you more than I should,” he confessed, finding it impossible to look at her while he did. Tonraq set his hand on her hip, toying with the hem of his hoodie. He stared at the frayed edge, instead. “I didn’t think I’d feel like this again.” His fingers slid beneath the fabric and walked up her back, whispering across soft skin. “You’re beautiful, Tiffany. Physically, it’s a given, but…” Nervous laughter wrestled to the surface, tickling his throat. He cleared it, managing to look at her again. 

“Behind all these walls you’ve built… I want you. However I can have you, I want. I’m not going to apologize for that.”

“Oh, I—” Not what he meant. Not the attention he wanted, but an involuntary glance followed Tiff’s across the diner, lingering on the waitress for longer than was modest.

She was attractive enough, he’d give her that. Mid-to-late thirties, maybe into her forties; it was hard to tell exactly in the glare of neon and fluorescent lights. The harsh white had a way of exaggerating fine lines, but he liked the whole dark hair and hazel eye look, the bold smile she gave him when she caught him watching. His cheeks flushed with color, spreading down his neck and under his shirt. Tonraq quickly found something more interesting on the table - a fleck of food that hadn’t been scrubbed - fiddling with the buttons on his collar. 

“—guess I haven’t noticed.” 

He let out a tense breath, not yet pulling in the next. Given everything that drove him out to the endless desert, there wasn’t much thought put into relationships on his end… or even a quick fuck when the urge hit him, but Tonraq figured it would be all too open and raw stupid to admit his husband had been the last. So, he pulled himself out that pit, waved a hand for the check, and rolled his eyes over the table at Tiff.

“Of all the wolves to name me after, you go with Balto? A dog.” He looked at her blankly, letting her wonder at his reaction for as long as he could bear it, then raked his fingers through his hair with a quiet laugh. “Guess I need to work on the surly and brooding, huh, Kitten.”

So, the nickname would stick, and it seemed she had no qualms making up monikers for him, however - in his opinion - unbefitting they were. A fucking husky. He shook his head again and smiled across the table, a touch of color resurfacing on his cheeks. It wasn’t nearly as vibrant a blush as the waitress had induced, but he could admit to a sort-of comfort and familiarity with Tiff, now. She’d seen him snap a man’s neck. There wasn’t much more familiarity than that. And perhaps it was a violent introduction, but they seemed better off for it, finally able to relax without the ever-present tension. 

He thanked Doris for the billfold when she brought it, hovering as she did, and rummaged for his wallet. Tonraq slipped a crisp twenty in with the receipt, letting her have the change as a tip.

“Expensive date, aren’t you? And I’m not even sure I want another.” He clucked his tongue with feigned disapproval at Tiff. “Naming a truck Kitty… I’m sorry, you might’ve just ruined your shot with me.” 

The blush was surprising - fully aware of her lack of knowledge of werwolves she had always guessed Alphas to be confident, the atypical machismo who liked to throw their weight around and have literal pissing contests with anything else carrying a dick. Bashfulness had not been in the small category of words Tiff would have attributed to any of them let alone the impressive specimen currently seated across from her. But, then he had admitted to travelling alone for a while and Tiff decided to chalk the blush up to embarrassment over need, as opposed to shyness. The gods only knew what kind of sex drive his kind had and it was obvious to her now he was trying to conceal it in lieu of maintaining focus on his own particular hunt. There was an unabashed, pleased grin that stretched across her features at the sight of his mild discomfort. It was charming, in a way, though the witch’s smile faded almost as quickly as it had appeared as he returned at the sound of his selected moniker for her. She was anything but cute and fluffy and certainly far from harmless - and while fully aware he was teasing her it did nothing to soothe her slighted pride. Regardless, Tiff was far too amused by Tonraq’s flirtations and feeling the best she had in weeks with conversation and a full meal in her stomach. The thought that it also could have something to do with sharing the burden of her self-appointed (and divinely commanded) mission but the witch would not allow herself to venture down that particular path of thought. Vulnerability led to attachment, and that was as dangerous as it was distracting. “You couldn’t handle me anyways,” Tiff fired back, her grin returning as she considered her next move. In the recess of her mind as she plotted how to lose him once in town and attempt to wipe any memory of her (for his safety as well as hers should the coven come looking) she could feel Loco pressing, nudging her in a much different direction than she would have anticipated. { Use him. } That was an interesting concept, she had to admit. Tonraq was formidable = he had dispatched with the mad Alpha easy enough, and Tiff knew even with the Voodoo god’s influence that Loco’s aid had it’s limitations and he wouldn’t watch her back as much as she may need. The werewolf, however, still had a goal similar to hers - similar motivations - and a far more reliable means of transportation than her abandoned, broken down Kitty. Delicately plucking the last fry from the werewolf’s plate she flashed a cheeky wink and popped the golden, deep fried stick into her mouth. “But that almost sounded like you were about to make me an offer.”