In and Out

Part 1: Ease In

His hands rove her body. They're Damon's hands. Old, veiny, sometimes gloved, touching her innocent teenage body everywhere. She wants to get up. He won't let her. He keeps skating over her abdomen, squeezing her breasts, snaking under her skirt and teasing her private area through her panties. She wants to cry out for help, but who would listen to her anyway? Damon is the one who listens to her.

He shoves into her and suddenly it's Zak. Normally joking, charismatic Zak, flying into one of his rages. He shoves into her hard, his hand cracks against her cheek, no regard as to whether or not she's ready. And she's not. It hurts, but it always does. It's supposed to hurt, isn't it? She tries not to cry. It'll only anger him further. She bites her lip, but he's so rough, and she's so sore, she can't...

"Ah-!"

"Hmm?" He stops, brushing a hand over her face gently, so very gently, shushing her. "Shh, hey. Heeey, it's okay. Shh. I'm sorry, did I go in too soon?"

She blinks. That isn't Zak's voice; harsh, crass, and grating. It isn't even Damon's; authoritative, sophisticated, overly jovial. She's afraid to look, afraid of what she'll find there, but she knows she has to. A magician has to be aware of their surroundings.

His dark blue eyes, hooded but filled with concern, look back at her.

"Phoenix..." she whispers his name reverently, tightening her grip around his neck, clinging.

"Yeah, it's me." He smiles that lopsided smile of his, dipping down to press his lips lightly to her forehead. "Good to have you joining me. Are you okay?"

His voice is gentle, calm and assuring, but she can hear the worry in his voice, her Gramarye eyes catch the slightest quiver when he swallows.

"Do you want me to stop?"

It happens sometimes. He's usually very good at reading when she's ready. It's a challenge though. Her body's arousal rarely coincides with her mind's. Her traitorous body which heats and lubricates itself, giving him every sign that she's prepared, while her memories spin shadows and horror stories, terrifying her of any contact at all. He's usually very good at waiting until the cobwebs have been cleared, holding and reassuring her, before he enters. But sometimes even he gets carried away. Instinct takes over. It's not his fault; he'd been at it for at least a couple hours already. Can she blame him for wanting to join with her already?

"I'm sorry..." she looks away, expression blank. She is so good at masking all feeling. All part of the act.

"There's nothing to be sorry for." He lifts a hand to her cheek and she flinches, anticipating the slap. Instead his hand caresses her face, cupping her chin and gently encouraging her to face him. "Except maybe for trying to do more than you can. I've told you time and again, if it hurts, just tell me so. It's okay, I'll stop."

She nods apologetically, feeling like a scolded child, trying to ignore the part of her that's suspicious of him. He's not trying to manipulate her, trick her into giving him more. He's not Damon. He's not going to fly into a rage and hit her if she tells him no. He's not Zak. He means what he says.

"I just... you do so much for me. You shouldn't have to cope with a sickness that isn't yours." She says plainly, conversationally. She never was one to be over dramatic. So the opposite of him, he lies over her and hugs her tight.

"A sickness? Lassa, you're no sickness. Alcoholism is a sickness. You know, that nasty habit you've been helping me break out of?" He nuzzles her neck, and it's such a tender gesture that it makes her heart ache with how foreign and sweet it is.

"Two months and counting."

"Yeah, ain't that somethin'? And all I needed was a hot babysitter. Who knew?" He's back to his slang and purposely incorrect speech. It's endearing, really. Somehow he makes it so. "Look, it's not a big deal. Before this, I hadn't gotten any since college. I think a bit of a challenge is worth the prize, amirite?"

He's teasing, trying to make light of the situation. Somehow, he does manage to pull up at the corners of her mouth, just a bit.

"Don't be crude." There's a smile in her voice, even as she chastises him. This is nice, this easy banter, equals, no need to be afraid of upsetting him.

He looks up to peck her lips and then begins moving back, pulling out.

She gasps at the sensation of movement inside of her. She doesn't know why it hurts, it's not like she unprepared. She's had two children, it's not like her body isn't accustomed. The things the mind can do...

For a moment she lies there, staring at the ceiling, feeling empty and used, carved out. But then he gathers her in his arms, bringing her head to rest on his chest as he half-sits with his back against the headboard, and reaches for the remote on the night stand. The television flickers on, volume so low they can't decipher a single word, but neither of them is really watching. It's just the comfort of the distraction.

She rests a hand on his chest, the other one lying protectively over her stomach. He slings an arm around her shoulders, hugging her to him, supporting her, as his free hand disappears under the covers. He's probably relieving himself a bit. Poor man... it must be so uncomfortable. This happens far too often.

It's terribly unfair, she thinks. That the men who used her with no care towards her feelings and discarded her when they were finished got everything they wanted. While this man, her Phoenix, the one who concerns himself with her well-being and that of her children first and foremost, must endure this.

"I'm sorry I can't give you more."

"Lassa, you're killin' my mood." He chuckles, brushing his lips over the top of her head. "Here I got this gorgeous chick in bed, and she keeps acting like it's a tragedy. Seriously, you're gonna deflate my ego."

How does he always manage to make her smile? "What ego?" She reaches up to trail his jaw. Not because she feels she must, but she wants to. She never was one for sexual contact, not after what was done to her, but with him she just has these moments of bursting affection she can't restrain.

He groans softly, his eyes sliding shut. He's so easy.

"Tomorrow, I promise." She murmurs against his neck.

He grunts something in the affirmative, eyes still shut, lost in the sensation of her lips against his skin. For all his biting sarcasm and cryptic remarks, he really is little more than a lovesick puppy inside. A fact she's certain her daughter is aware of, but Apollo may be a little slow on the uptake. Machi's still accustoming to this new family dynamic, but he seems to be the one resisting Phoenix the most right now.

Thalassa isn't worried. Phoenix is good to them, even in his own unorthodox way, and she's certain they'll all ease into the semblance of a family. At least he and the children will.

She's not sure where she fits into all this. They aren't anything official, not really. She has her own apartment, though she's spending more and more of her nights here with him instead. They're not exclusive, at least they claim they're not tied down and free to go as they please. And yet she can't go to another. It hurts. He's the only one she truly trusts, the only one she even wants to trust. And he...

He's the single minded type. One-track mind in all he does, the tireless pursuit. There can only be one woman in his life at a time, and it makes her feel awful to know that she's filling that spot. He deserves more than this. She's tried to match him up with other women, but he's terribly prone to self-sabotage.

"Here..." She shifts, her hand sliding down to find his manhood, shooing his hand aside before curling around his shaft.

He jumps. That got his attention. "You don't have to-"

"I know. But may I?" She looks up at him, facing him seriously. She was manipulated and forced to do this in her youth. She knows the difference. She wants to do it now, for him.

He blinks, confused, brow furrowing in uncertainty. He's warring with himself, she knows.

"Thalassa..." Her full name. He means business.

"Honestly, Mr. Wright." She scoffs; she can play this game too. She gives his shaft a squeeze, delighting in the squeak that escapes him. "I wouldn't offer if I wasn't alright."

He shuts his eyes again, trying to keep his breathing under control long enough to give his approval.

She strokes, flicks, squeezes, teases his head. An illusionists' hands, her dexterity is unmatched. He comes apart in moments with a choked groan.

"Wow..." He pants, wetting his lips and trying to form a sentence between gulps of air, "Want... me to... return... the favor?"

She shakes her head. It's not that she wouldn't love his attentions; the wound is just too fresh in her mind right now. But he understands and pulls her closer; embracing her but keeping his grip loose so she can escape should she feel the need to.

He's already drifting off, eyes drooping as hard as he tries to keep them open. He's such a boy inside. She's amazed at how he's managed to maintain that spark of naivety and goodness despite all that life has done to him. She isn't like him. She can't recognize her seventeen year old self in the slightest.

She kisses his temple, picking up the remote to shut off the television and setting it aside. He's half asleep, so she carefully maneuvers him down into a lying position. He mutters unintelligibly, wrapping his arms around her waist and drowsily finding a spot on her chest to kiss with sleep-clumsy lips.

He's lonely. She doesn't know the details, but she's been able to gather quite a bit from being around him and piecing together rumors she's heard. That fateful trial lost him more than just his badge. She wonders were all his friends are now, where did they go and why did they leave? Was hasn't a single one of them come to congratulate him on getting his name cleared?

She senses it's something more complicated than that. Something dark, even. But it isn't her place to pry. He'll tell her if he wants to. In the meantime, at the very least, she can offer him a reprieve from that loneliness. It's all she can do for him.

In the morning she wakes to the sound of discordant piano keys and muffled arguing. She dresses quickly and hurries out to find the source. Machi's berating Phoenix for his poor piano playing, complaining in a heavy Borginian accent how it hurts his poor prodigy ears.

Phoenix just laughs, shrugging.

Machi won't have it and forces himself on the bench beside Phoenix, correcting his hand placement with vehemence.

Thalassa smiles to herself. He may act frustrated, but Machi has always been the sort to keep more to himself. If he's putting in the effort to try and teach a hopeless cause like Phoenix, then he really does care. It seems those two have already come further than she thought.

Her theory is confirmed when Phoenix ruffles the annoyed blond boy's head. Machi snaps at him for messing up his hair, but it's more a protest out of principle. He actually looks pleased at the paternal affection.

There's a crash from the office, and Apollo's unique scratchy voice whining about Mr. Hat's clumsiness. Trucy's giggles follow, and then she bolts into the room, Apollo chasing close after in annoyance. But he can't stay mad at his sister, especially since Phoenix fixes him with a warning look.

She doubts any of them have even noticed her lingering in the doorway. She makes her way to the kitchen to prepare breakfast, feeling useless. She's the only one who doesn't fit in here. The only one who's too broken, more of a detriment than an addition. She's not needed.

As she stares down at the skillet, trying to remember if it's Trucy or Machi who likes their eggs over-easy, she feels his arms ease around her waist. She knows it's him. She's memorized the feel of him.

"Hey, there's a fine lookin' lady in my kitchen. I must've been extra good this year." He rests his head on her shoulder, sighing contentedly.

"Or at least you have friends in high places."

"You make me sound so corrupt."

There it is again, that easy banter. How does he make her feel in place, on her feet? She's not one to gush or fuss over things, but he does fill her with a deep sense of self-satisfaction. She wishes she knew how to express it.

She supposes, in the meantime, a delicious breakfast will have to do. "Let me guess. Grilled chicken omelet for you?"

He squeezes her waist. That must have been the right answer. He has such simple tastes.

"Hey..." he says in a softer voice, so the kids won't hear as they set up the table in the next room."Do you want me to return the favor? I'm not asking for anything, I'm all good. I just want to make you feel good."

As usual, one-track mind. When he gets an idea in his head...

"Later, Phoenix." She moves out of his arms to serve Apollo's eggs onto a plate. "And I'm fine today. We can do more than just that."

He nods, watching her through those hooded royal blue eyes of his. "Just tell me if it's not okay."

"It will be." She retakes her position in front of the stove, but he stays back this time, just watching. "As long as you ease in slowly, I should be fine."

"Yeah..." he says, more to himself really, and there's a weight to his words she can't quite decipher. "I just have to go slow with you."

He turns and goes to join the children before she can ask him what he means. Thalassa quirks a brow. He's an odd man, to be sure. Self-sacrificing to a fault. He's different than any man she's ever known in every way imaginable, to the point of absurdity.

Though when she thinks about it, she wonders if that's the appeal.