Hunter's Folly (Closed)

It was a combination of things that put Davan out; sleeplessness, hard work, a real bed. Most important, though, was the safe place this felt to be, between the little family living here and the general serenity of the home itself, even if he was about to interrupt that by knocking it apart.

Comfortable as he'd come to feel here, having shared meals with them from the moment he walked in the door, it stood to reason that no call or knock or creaking floorboard would wake him. Truthfully, there were more graceful sleepers in the world than he. Not only were there those soft snores to worry about, she'd find that his mouth was hanging open and he was drooling on those poor throw pillows.

He kept right on doing just that as Merry approached, even through those first touches against his face. Whether he was too exhausted for his normal senses to put him on his feet or whether he couldn't see it in him to regard Merry as a threat even in sleep, it couldn't be said. But it took her shaking him to put him back in the land of the wakeful, something that set his eyelids fluttering open with a vague moan of confusion. Immediately his hand went up toward his mouth, noting the drool there and. . .oh. Oh.

Maybe it was weird, so much of him exposed and it was the sensation of his fingers in his own drool that brought the blush to his cheeks, but he'd come to terms with what he looked like by now. Usually people had a chance to get to know him a little better before finding out he drooled in his sleep, might be more inclined to forgive it. "Aw, hell, Merry. I didn' mean t'. . ." His eyes found her in apology as he managed, somehow, to roll himself into a sitting position. There was a collection of scars on his back, at least a dozen of them, some long enough that the ends of them disappeared below the waistband of his jeans. "Guess I ain't had much sleep back at th' motel," he admitted, leaning forward to snatch up his shirt from where he'd left it near the end of the bed. He didn't make much of putting it on, slipping his arms through the short sleeves and giving the collar a shake to set it right before buttoning it down his front. It was, at the moment, the nicest shirt he owned, pale blue and without any stains or tears, even if it wasn't much. "Still, ya shouldn't a' had t'. . .see me like that." Asleep and drooling, or shirtless and scarred? He didn't bother elaborating.

She didn't look disappointed, disgusted or put off at all. In fact, she didn't even seem to notice, from all the stars in her eyes. Or maybe she did notice, and just didn't give a shit. He was human. Humans did things in their sleep and couldn't help it. She was mature enough to shrug it off as human nature.

"It's okay." She shrugged, one-shouldered, flipping her hair out of her eyes with a casual hand. "Everyone falls asleep sometimes. I just wanted you to eat before you crashed."

She stood up off the bed, averting her eyes politely as he buttoned his shirt. She had noticed the scars ricocheting around every bit of his surface, but it wouldn't have been polite to ask this early on. He didn't really even know her like that.

Yes, she was curious, intensely so. The only person nearly as scarred as Davan was her father, and he got his in Vietnam. War was the only thing that scarred a man like that. No amount of house-fixing in the world could produce that amount of damage. But she wasn't about to confront him with questions, and drive him away. Instead, she waited quietly, standing still to try and give him some semblance of privacy, until she was sure he was "decent".

Turning back to him with a smile, she said, "There's a meatball pizza downstairs with your name on it."

Maybe she didn't look disgusted, but Davan's eyes kept searching her face for it, kept looking for those troubling signs of pity that so often crossed a woman's face when they saw him exposed. He didn't necessarily have the stubborn pride of so many men that would refuse another's pity, but he knew that it changed things he often didn't want changing. This didn't seem the case with Merry and, mind sleep-fogged as it was, he was having a hard time putting together why. While not absent a certain self-aware ego, it seemed unlikely to him that attraction could carry a person this far. Even the most smitten teenage girl had faltered when they stole an eyeful of what they thought they wanted.

He'd been asked if he was a soldier enough times that it did sound like an awful convenient explanation. But he couldn't bring himself to do it; he'd been raised to respect the uniform too much to use it as a convenient costume. As much bodily danger as he put himself into for the sake of others, it lacked that same kind of legitimacy. Serving one's country was a noble calling. What he did felt more like a sickness.

"Everyone don't drool all over yer pretty li'l throw pillows though," he pointed out, taking a moment to pick one up and wipe at the little spot. He knew from experience it'd just dry, but it was still pretty embarrassing. Nevertheless, he carried on getting dressed, glancing over at Merry and her politely averted eyes on occasion. He couldn't help but wonder how this changed what she thought of him, if she'd maintain that interest her father had noticed.

His socks were also balled up near the end of the bed, so he pulled them apart and started putting them on, glancing over at the boots he'd left near the bathroom door. He didn't really need to bother with those just yet, did he?

"Sounds good t' me, Merry. Yer a doll," Davan told her as he got to his feet. His words were soaked with an earnest gratitude that dulled the patronizing edge such a title normally held; he just needed to say something to acknowledge how seamlessly she'd played off this situation. It could've been so fucking uncomfortable, but the nervous tension of being seen that way was steadily melting away from him. He carried on expressing this gratitude as they made their way into the hall. "You 'n yer dad've been so welcomin' t' me--don' think I ever had someone make me breakfast the moment I walked inta a place. It's. . .real sweet a' ya." An embarrassed little smile touched his mouth; shouldn't he have something more articulate to say?

"Everyone don't drool all over yer pretty li'l throw pillows though," He seemed embarrassed, even ashamed of himself. Her brows furrowed in a pained expression. "If it makes you feel any better, I drool in my sleep sometimes too. I think I started back when I was a kid after I got braces."

She habitually ran her tongue across her teeth, an unconscious gesture, as if she still wasn't used to her mouth not being full of metal wires. "It's human nature. It's not like you did it on purpose just to ruin these silly little things." A dismissive wave of her hand towards the bed.

Her expression warmed, though, and she linked arms with him as he crossed the carpeted floor in his socked feet. "You 'n yer dad've been so welcomin' t' me--don' think I ever had someone make me breakfast the moment I walked inta a place. It's. . .real sweet a' ya." "Well I confess, I only fed you so that you'd be nicer to Boson. I can't have a crabby contractor stomping around my house, scaring the fur off my baby!" His body heat radiated pleasantly from beneath his shirt fabric, giving her a vivid spark of imagining curling against him under the covers of her bed, seeking out his warmth to escape the chill of the outside air. The scent of him...she was sure it wasn't just smell, it must have been pheromones or something, because the combination of standing so close to him, touching him and smelling him made places low on her body tighten up in instant response.

She released his arm suddenly, and gave a nervous laugh. "I'm sorry, Mr. Shaw, I shouldn't've gotten so familiar. That was impolite of me."

Color began to creep up from the neckline of her shirt, staining her throat and cheeks red. The curse of the fair skinned!

She rubbed at the arm that had touched his, partly to enjoy the tingling zip of electricity that the brief contact had made, and partly to chase it away before she drowned in hormones.

"Man, I can't even say I had that excuse. M' teeth ain't perfect but they ain't crowdin' each other out fer space, neither." Mostly they were just uneven in size in a way that was considered less than ideal; nothing a set of braces would've fixed, anyhow. Turned out the only real work he'd had done was within the last year, having a back molar that had fallen out replaced with a silver tooth.

"Nah, I just turn int' a goddamn mouth breather when m' brain shuts off," he admitted with a self-depreciating grin. He didn't have any specific problem with throw pillows. Thinking they were essentially useless - he'd never been more interested in a bed because it had throw pillows on it - didn't mean he'd make plans to ruin them.

"She's such a sweet little thing. Purrin' and lettin' me pick 'er up an' everythin'. One place I went, their cat just--it hated everythin' about me, seemed like, an' if I happened to stumble 'cross his hidin' spot, m' ankles were real goddamn sorry. I try t' get along with the pets a' the house but some of 'em just. . ." Whistling, he shook his head and took a moment to appreciate Merry's presence at his side. His arm gave a subtle shift in hers, an effort to set them together more naturally. The soft heat of her skin set against his really was something to think about, something to hope for. His heart beat heavy in his chest to consider it, a night spent in one of these comfortable beds with her, fingers in that pretty blonde hair, lips any damn place she'd let him put them.

It all made him look dazed when she took her arm away, disappointed confusion clear in his expression. It relaxed into understanding soon afterward and he paused with her at the head of the stairs, reasoning, "Ya say that like I didn' just fall 'sleep in yer guest room like I belonged there."Without much warning, he reached down and took her hand, giving a light squeeze before his roughly-callused thumb rubbed thoughtfully at her wrist. He turned, just then, and leaned subtly down so that his face didn't seem on such another level from hers, telling her in low, quiet tones, "Ain't never gonna protest you wantin' t' get familiar." Lingering, just so, he suspected he was getting entirely too close himself, close enough that his eyes left Merry's to consider her mouth, just briefly, but. . .oh, he was leaping over the bounds of decency already.

He straightened his posture but didn't let go of Merry's hand, guiding her downstairs with him. Tired though he remained, his stomach was making some noise in anticipation of that pizza. He could only hope it wasn't as loud as it seemed.

Phillip was nowhere to be seen. Obviously he had taken his pizza and vacated the kitchen, giving them the first moment of privacy they'd had.

Merry was uncharacteristically silent, eating her pizza in a close-but-not-too-close position next to him, sitting cross-legged on the kitchen counter.

Boson circled the floor under her, meowing pitifully to be let up.

"No kitties in the counter." Merry said sternly, around a mouthful. The cat piped down, but sat stating forlornly up at her.

After hurriedly getting down the first slice, she took a long drink from her water bottle, then stared up at him with an expression of mixed trepidation and determination.

"Why are you here, Davan Shaw?"

The question was so uncharacteristically serious, and her eyes probed his with a surprising intensity.

This wasn't the reaction he'd expected. Observing the way she'd blushed simply looking at him, it seemed to him that a little intimacy was exactly what she wanted. It occurred to him only once his hand-holding had been met with discomfort that he might have been in this situation before. He'd come to know women with those same stars in their eyes who got spooked when he made any sort of advance, anything more substantial than a flirtatious comment or smile. He'd have expected her to be put off earlier than that, frankly, expected her to keep her distance once she had a glimpse of that horror story written across his body. Maybe his holding her hand, looking at her with such obvious desire had made it too real. Plenty of women liked the thought of him, but once his rough hand scraped across their skin, once he started to heat up at all, well. . .things changed.

He was having a hard time believing this was what happened with Merry, though. When it had happened in the past, it had been women - girls, really - who he'd be better off staying away from, anyway. Sheltered girls of eighteen or nineteen who didn't need some guy in his thirties - particularly one who'd lived as he had - taking them to bed. He couldn't pretend he always turned away, did the right thing, but he wasn't in a habit of pressing the matter. Merry, though. . .at her age, beautiful as she was, she couldn't possibly be so inexperienced with men that he scared her off so easily, could she? Maybe all of it was just too soon.

There was a part of him that was annoyed, might have demanded an explanation to why she suddenly went cold on him, but it was overruled by guilt. He'd simply let go of her hand after a few moments with a thoughtful frown, going over what he might have done wrong. He didn't feel so guilty he was about to apologize, though; he'd done it because he wanted to and that hadn't changed. It was just hand-holding, for Christ's sake! It wasn't like he'd groped her or given her some obviously lascivious look over.

He took a seat in one of the kitchen chairs and plopped a couple slices on a plate to start eating, leaning down to give Boson a little scritch before she started crying at her mama. That thoughtful guilt slowed his own eating, but half the slice was gone by the time Merry asked her question. Paired with the way she looked at him, it made his eyes go wide with nerves, like he'd been caught at something. He needed to think on it a few seconds, unsure if she meant what he was doing here, now, with her, or why he'd come into town. He decided on an answer he felt could apply to both and told her, "It seems real peaceful here. Jus'. . .nothin' I gotta worry 'bout 'cept doin' the work, settlin' in." He worried that, vague though it was, maybe coming clean about his desire for peace would drag up too many questions. "Good 'n quiet," he added as an afterthought, taking another bite of pizza.

His eyes went wide, almost scared, as if she had ambushed him emotionally. "It seems real peaceful here. Jus'. . .nothin' I gotta worry 'bout 'cept doin' the work, settlin' in." A pregnant pause, and her eyes glittered with her focus as she watched him struggle for words "Good 'n quiet," he added as an afterthought, taking another bite of pizza.

It was clear she knew that he wasn't giving her a real answer. But rather than grill him or push him, she nodded slowly. She didn't probe further, although it was clear she struggled to respect his privacy. She slid off the kitchen counter, torn between inviting him upstairs to her room, and wondering that if she did, would she be helping him betray someone.

To her mind, he could be hiding a wife, or a relationship. He could be some kind of "Salt of the Earth" pretender that was hiding some sort of horrible serial killer past, maybe he just had a weird fetish or was closeted. She didn't imagine for a moment that his "grown up" job was staking vampires, beheading zombies or banishing demons.

She wasn't a fool, but like so many, she hadn't been exposed yet to the horrors of the underbelly of the world. She had grown up in a quiet lower-middle-class family whose sudden wealth had tossed her into a life that was as alien to her as his world to him. The mysterious circumstances of her mother's death or how it was tied to the house wasn't obvious to her. She grew up enjoying science fiction and fantasy, but never once believing that the ordered world ahead of her had a slimy shadow beneath it.

Those were just books and movies, made on a Hollywood set. The world of gardening and teaching middle age women pilates was her world. The "real" world.

"I should...go to bed."

She hovered, uncertain, and finally some wall crumbled inside her and she gingerly touched his arm. "Good night, Davan."

The truth wasn't even that bad of an answer, in this case. Not if it could be taken on its own. But he knew what it said about a man to have such a simple reason to choose somewhere to live. What kind of person chose a town to live in simply because he'd been able to find a good price on a truck? As much sense as it made for a man who was coming off life on the road, who no longer had anywhere solid to call home, for the average person, it was ridiculous. He wanted to avoid telling Merry direct lies as best he could, though, and that made him damn glad she hadn't asked about any of his scars. Truth-telling would have to end soon, to be sure, but he planned on holding on as long as he could have his dignity.

"I guess it's been a long day fer you, too," Davan allowed, lingering discomfort still evident in his voice. The idea of slinking up those stairs to put on his boots, get those old clothes and leave, was suddenly miserable. He'd had a taste of real bed and the thought of going back to that motel made him all too conscious of the pizza in his gut. "I'll jus'. . .get m' things 'n be off t' that damn motel then," he huffed in a laugh, wiping grease from his hand with a napkin before putting his fingers through his still-damp hair.

There was something heavy about the way Merry said good night to him, but Merry's mixed signals had his wires all crossed and all he could think about was how soon it all was. Another week, even another few days, and he might have leaned in for a kiss, but now? Now, he could just fix her with another of those thoughtful looks, trying to pull the right move out of her eyes, somehow, and failing. But boy did he look at them for some goddamn time, long enough that the thoughtful look started to fade and become replaced with something rather smitten, some goofy little smile that made his fingers stroke up her wrist, excitement rushing through him at the soft, unmarred texture of her skin. He dropped his hand back to his knee almost as soon as he'd touched her and, blushing subtly, turned his head away before he stood up, muttering, "G'night, Merry. I'll see ya bright 'n early tomorrow," before he turned back toward the stairs.

"...Wait-!"

She called after him as he trudged upstairs with obvious apprehension. The way he muttered about 'that damn hotel', she couldn't send him off to a place he was clearly miserable in. And he had fallen asleep on that bed so quickly. He liked this place. He said he felt "at home" here.

"Davan, wait." She caught up to him in the stairs, and couldn't help but grab him by the forearm, enjoying the zippy electric butterflies in her stomach that the contact brought. She dropped her hands after just a few seconds, biting her lip. She wanted to touch him SO BAD but she didn't know if she could trust him. Hormones were doing mad things to her!

"Stay here. With-with us. With me." A hesitant, shy smile. "The upstairs rooms aren't being used at all, since we shut down for repairs, you'd have all the privacy you'd need. And you wouldn't have to pay for that hotel." Her shy smile turned sly, tempting him. "I could cook for you?" A little singsong in her voice, arched eyebrow completed the tease.

*pleasegodpleasegodpleasegodsayyes.*

He didn't dare hope for much when she called after him, thinking that she was going to tell him he'd put her off, somehow. Maybe his approach earlier had been more intimidating than erotic, as he'd hoped for. There was a line with men his size, he'd learned; too close too soon and their thoughts of what might happen between them took a dark turn. She'd be sweet about it, he was sure, apologize and take responsibility even when he was supposed to be the goddamn professional in this situation, but. . .

His breath caught when her hand closed around his arm, apprehension and excitement wrapping their fists around each lung. He might not be out of the woods yet and the expression on his face when he turned his face down to look at her broadcast that worry clearly. He was just watching, waiting for the verdict. He knew that having any involvement with his clients was a risky proposition. It wasn't so risky that he resolved not to do it, but he thought himself a fool for it. If it went south, after all, they could decide they couldn't bear seeing him in their house anymore and give him the boot. That had only happened to him a handful of times, granted, but it was enough. Thank God those had been minor jobs to what this one promised to pay him, even if he was giving them a break.

His eyebrows raised in surprise when she actually asked him to stay. Little though she knew about him, Davan didn't take Merry for a stupid woman. She'd seen the scars on his body and heard him talk about peace as the most valuable quality a community could have. It was enough to make anyone suspicious. Yet she trusted him to be in her home when both she and her father were asleep. It left him speechless until she made that last little offer, light enough to shine back out in his tired face when he finally replied, "Another one a' yer breakfasts'd convince me t' stay anywhere."

He reached out for her again, this time setting his hand on her shoulder to help express the gratitude he was feeling a little too exhausted to articulate to his liking. Despite the certainty of that gesture, his head turned slightly, shyly, as he admitted, "I pro'lly shouldn't be so quick t' say yes," fingers rubbing idly at the fabric of Merry's shirt. "But I really ain't a fan a' that motel. It's a wonder that kinda place even does business in a town like this." There was something about it he didn't trust--which was why most of his travel belongings remained in his truck. The bulk of his weaponry was in the SUV, parked safely in locked storage, but his clothes and assorted personal affects were stuffed in a corner of his locked truck bed. This did solve his problem of where he was going to put his things when he needed to remove the cover to make room for materials.

Removing his hand, he huffed a little laugh and turned back toward the stairs, telling her, "Still gotta get m' boots on 'n get everythin' outta m' truck. If I don't have a shave 'fore I see ya in the mornin', ya might wonder what kinda animal ya let in yer house." Hell, even the whole day of work had deepened the shadow of hair down his long neck, which he tried his best to keep clean-shaven. It just wasn't a battle worth fighting on his face, far as he was concerned, so he kept it good and scruffy. Turning back on an impulse, he stepped close again, anchored his hand on her shoulder and leaned down to kiss Merry's cheek, accusing, "Yer too sweet t' me," before making his way upstairs.

His big hand dwarfed her shoulder, and it sent a pleasant tingling warmth through her torso that curled up in her heart like a fire being lit. She covered his big, dark hand with her own, the white tips of her manicured nails gently digging in as she wriggled her fingers in between his.

Her expression softened, but she couldn't hold eye contact due to the nervous butterflies in her belly. She looked down, biting her lip as if she were struggling internally with what to say.

"I pro'lly shouldn't be so quick t' say yes," she looked up hopefully, fingers letting his go so he could fondle the soft fabric of her tee shirt. "But I really ain't a fan a' that motel. It's a wonder that kinda place even does business in a town like this." A wry grin split her face.

"You must be staying at the Frontier Lodge. We had serious issues in the last few years with meth cookers making drugs in that place, it's a rat hole. I don't blame you."

His hand fell back to his side and she tried, unsuccessfully, to mask her disappointment. "Still gotta get m' boots on 'n get everythin' outta m' truck. If I don't have a shave 'fore I see ya in the mornin', ya might wonder what kinda animal ya let in yer house." She chuckled warmly. "Okay. I'll turn the porch light on so you don't trip on anything outside."

He turned to go get his things, but almost as if it was an impulsive gesture, he turned back and gripped her shoulder again, dropping a kiss on her cheek. "Yer too sweet t' me,"

She watched him leave, pressing a hand over her cheek with a shocked, but very happy expression.

"I'm going to take good care of you, Mr. Shaw. I promise." she whispered to his retreating back.

Davan really hadn't expected this kind of eagerness from her. If it had happened that little while ago, sure, but he'd come under the impression that she was thinking better of getting sweet on a guy like him. Charming and handsome as he was, there was still that certain something about him, that whiff of danger that people could pick up on. With how quiet she'd gone after that earlier bout of handholding, he was convinced that had come to live her nostrils. How nice it was to be wrong. His fingers crooked subtly in her own, basking in their smaller shape, their soft warmth. Again he wondered what they might feel like on other parts of his body. Nothing lewd, just yet. . .only touching his skin, free from inhibition.

"Fucken meth cooks!?" The words came out of him crude and incredulous, eyes wide, before he could consider softening his speech. "Gawd, it's a blessin' yer bein' so generous, then. Mighta gotten m'self blown up, an' then who'd fix this pretty place up the way y'all deserve?" He gave her a quick, playful smile.

"Right, right. I'm still pretty damn sleepy, honestly," he admitted, a yawn cracking him as though on cue. He covered it feebly with his hand, figuring it was a pointless gesture by now.


She remained too distracting a presence for him to go upstairs immediately, though. He held her gaze a moment or two after pulling away from that innocent little kiss, gauging her reaction to his satisfaction before he turned. He did hear her, but it seemed unwise to acknowledge that. Difficult, anyhow, for the way those words shot through him. They were the words of a woman who already had some vague trajectory in mind and it knotted his guts with guilt as he remembered, too, what her father had said. Not to lead her wrong. It wasn't a matter of not feeling, though. . .good Lord. What a selfish man he was. There was a pause, perhaps telling, before he climbed the stairs, sought after his boots, and set about gathering his things once they were laced up.