Private Finished The more you know the less you'll eventually find out

"Okay," Lochlann said. He was softer now, having lost his original plan, which was to highlight her lack of fucking listening skills.

Instead, he pulled two shot glasses from beneath the bar and filled them both with whisky.

"We are going to play a kid's game, but adult style," he said to her. He sat back down across from her after taking a brief moment to eye the bar he'd been neglecting serving, but it was the usual group of three at the end talking in Russian and playing a poker game.

"This game is called simon says,' Lochlann said. "I'm going to tell you to do something, but it's going to start with simon. If it doesn't start with simon, you don't do what I say, okay?"

Lochlann decided to demonstrate.

"So if I said, 'Simon Says touch your head...'" he touched his head as example. " but if i said 'touch your nose'"

He touched his nose.

" You would lose because simon didn't say," he explained, and then he pointed to the whisky glass as her punishment for what would happen if she lost.

"Sound like a plan?" he asked her.

"Okay," Lochlann said.

It was a gamble that she'd take it, but Lochlann liked to gamble with Guin. She surprised him with the things she'd try.

"Simon says put your right hand on your left shoulder," he said, and demonstrated the movement as he was doing so. He started off easy, just as he would as a child, with a few repetitive simon says in a row. When he got to put your left hand on your right shoulder, he slid the shot over to Guin.

"Simon didn't say," he said. "Drink up, baby."

He refilled her glass then and proceeded to take her through the rounds. This time, he started easy and the, because he couldn't help it and wanted to see what she would do, he through in some more suggestive commands.

"Simon says put your right hand on your right breast," he said, and he was deadpan when he said it. He was actually impressed with his own ability not to laugh.

"SImon says run your left hand up your own thigh," he said, but now any laughter was gone because fuck Guin was doing good at this.

he took her through odder ones.

"Simon says hold up three fingers. Simon says take those three fingers and draw a circle on the table. Stop drawing a circle--hah! Simon didn't say," Lochlann said, and then he poured her the final shot.

He'd originally done this to make a point. He was going to say 'Simon fucking says I'm asking for your police contact because Im planning on narrowing down who has what information on Dani's death and to see how much they have. Simon also fucking says that he is looking for a way into Juvie Island to view their records just in case, but doesnt have a way in yet.'

He didn't, though.

Dwelling any more on this was exhausting and he was already exhausted by the conversation.

He started back up again and then, suddenly, he confessed. He put exactly what this memory of Dani, this memory of Guin broken in the hospital, felt like in a dumb fucking game.

"Touch the part of you that hurts the most," he said, and he reached out and touched two fingers to Guin's shoulder from his bandaged hand.

He did it because she would never, ever let him forget that he belonged to her.

"Oops," he said. "Simon didn't say."

He picked up his shot glass and dumped it down the sink.

He missed the door opening when he accidentally dropped his own shot glass. It didn't break, but it did clank in the sink loud enough to cover the sound.

Lochlann's chest hurt.

He was glad he turned away from Guin with her big fucking doe eyes and her 'I don't understand' and her fucking perfect kissable lips. He hated the way her lips moved when she said his name because it was just so fucking...

Perfect.

And it hurt.

Lochlann thought this would give him some answers, some kind of direction to follow, or at the very least, another cold evening with Guin to remind him that they were just very different animals who shouldn't have anything to do with one another. But the longer he sat here with her, the more he kept seeing the similarities.

Moving around a lot. Lack of childhood games. A life that grew up with the expectation of murder. The difference, he knew, was that Lochlann was expected to adapt and integrate. Guin seemed like she was supposed to remain separate forever. In this game of Being Human, he wasn't sure if either of them were really winning.

He turned around just in time to see someone start to talk to Guin and slide his arm around her sides, going lower until it gripped her small butt hanging over the edge of the chair.

And then, the next thing Lochlann knew, he had dived over the bar.

What the fuck? he thought, even as he crashed into the man who had touched her.

What the actual fuck?

Lochlann was in a lot of fights in his life time. Against untrained humans and some other untrained fae, Lochlann could hold his own. He was remarkably fast and surprisingly strong, but he had no training. Anyone with even an ounce of martial arts skills usually had the upper hand.

But he was doing okay because this was Guin the man had touched and--

what the fuck was wrong with him??

Lochlann wasn't even sure why he was fighting or how he was still on his feet or why his face hurt when suddenly Guinevere was inbetween him and she....

...she did something that Lochlann had only ever seen in movies. Just like that.

He stared at her. Blood dripped from the corner of his mouth and his hair was ruffled. He'd been hit in the jaw and it was starting to swell, but any other punches had gone to his abdomen and thus weren't visible.

He looked at Guin. He looked at the guy on the ground. He looked back at Guin.

He looked at her like she had the answers when he said, "What the fuck just happened?"

The men in the pokergame hadn't looked up.

It was that kind of bar.

Guinevere said don't you want the fuck me and he didn't even realize his response was automatic. It came out, thick with his accent, as he said, "Yes m'am."

What the fuck was that?

He reached his bandaged hand up--which was now throbbing-- and ran it through his hair. What the fuck what the fuck what the fuck.

Lochlann had been out of control before. This felt like one of those moments where he ate something, where an urge came up and Lochlann was too weak too deny it. Only here, what had he been fighting against--well, besides the guy that Guin just fucking curb stomped in the groin?

He was terrified of what he'd just done. His entire body was still fueled with adrenaline. He was practically humming with the need to move, to do something, and then--

--Guin, fuck, Guin. She was coming at him and for some reason his hands instinctively went to cover his testicles less they face the same fate as the man on the ground but--

--then she was kissing him. A sloppy, wet, rough kiss, and Lochlann was now in the uncomfortable position of having his hands on his own crotch when his boner started so yikes that was fucking weird. But none of that mattered because Guinevere was kissing him and then--

yaaahhhh her hands were in his hair, pulling it sharp sharp sharp

and she was asking him what he'd done that for

and Lochlann could only stare at her wide eyed..

"I don't know," he said, and the panic seeped into his voice for just a moment. But now he realized she was drunk, because he could still taste the whisky in his mouth from kissing her.

"Fuck Guin, i've got to walk you home now," he said, and then, the panic seeped into his voice again. "Unless you don't plan on going home."

Shit, he'd forgotten she was a light weight.

Not in fighting, evidenced by the guy she'd just fucking suplexed, but with the alcohol. It was because Lochlann really weighed over 900 lbs that he forgot that two shots was actually a lot for a small, thin, human woman.

And now her hands were on him, and it was scary because they were so soft, so delicate, and when she turned his face from side to side he started to go limp.

Not his dick, though, that was still hard.

It was just that his body relaxed because she talked in a slow, soothing voice and her touch was gentle and Lochlann was helpless.

"Yeah," he said, before he really thought it over, because two seconds ago that was exactly what he'd been freaking out about. He didn't think Guin should be here. She should be at home, someplace safe, someplace where she wouldn't be tempted to use him as a knife block.

But it was too late to take it back so he announced, "OKAY SO UH. LAST CALL."

It wasn't last call but the guys at the poker game waved him off. One of them looked up and pointed t the bar, pointed to the tip jar, pointed to Lochlann.

They could take care of themselves.

"Okay," he said, and he took her hand and he

what the fuck was he doing????

led her upstairs

what the fuck was wrong with him???

and took the key off his belt loop and started to unlock his apartment door

what the shit????

"I can walk you home in the morning," he said. "You can stay in my bed, I've got the futon."

Lochlann's apartment was small. It had it's own bedroom this time, but the bedroom was more of a storage room that just happened to become a bedroom instead. That's actually what the entire apartment was: an old storage room. The bathroom and kitchen were newer than the rest of the interior and seemed to have been shoved in just where they would fit.

Lochlann had gone to open the door to his bedroom and he was grabbing an extra blanket for the futon for himself when he realized Guin was no longer right behind him.

He double backed and she was in the kitchen, and she was telling him to take off her shirt.

"What?" he said. "No!"

He took a step back and his eyes darted to the knife block. One was missing. Was it because he'd used it earlier or because Guin had taken it?

Fuck.

Fuck.

Fuck.

"Guin listen you can stay in my room until the morning but I don't want to, well, you know," he said.

She smiled.

She fucking smiled.

What was wrong with her?

Her fingers were pointed like a gun at his chest and Lochlann instinctively took a step back, but there was no where for him to go in the tiny kitchen and his back hit one of the walls.

What was wrong with him?

"You don't have to force me," he said. "Because you're not going to do anything but just...go to bed nicely. Like a good Guin. A nice Guin. Not a stabby-Guin."

In his nervous state he was talking to her like he would one of the more rambunctious horses.

He put his palms up flat to show her he was empty and took a step towards her going, "Shhh, shhh. It'll be okay. Just come with me and we'll get you put away good for the night."

"EPONA RAIN MERCY UPON ME," Lochlann shouted when Guin pulled out the gun. His hands, which had been stretched out towards her, went up instead in the common dont shoot position. He stumbled backward into the wall.

"Guin what the fuck loving mothering fuck," he said, and now that he had regained his footing he was a little bit pissed again. "Why do you always have to bring a gun into everything? or a knife? Why can't we ever have one interaction that doesn't end up with me going to the fucking hospital?"

He pointed behind her to the fridge, which along with a grocery list and a reminder for when his library books and rent were due, had the number of his doctor posted on it and a note that said: IF FOUND UNCONSCIOUS PLEASE CALL.

"Do you know, thanks to you, people think I'm fucking suicidal?" he said. He couldn't take his eyes of the gun.

He wondered if it was the same one that killed Dani.

He took a deep breath.

He started over.

"Can you please lower the gun and just come to bed with me--for me?" he pleaded.

Guinevere put the gun away and Lochlann let out the breath he'd been holding.

But then she was in his face and pressing the bag against it, which, admittedly, reminded Lochlann that it fucking hurt. The ice felt good and Lochlann reached up to hold it, and then felt a little bit of embarrassment.

Okay. A lot of embarrassment.

He squinted his eyes shut as though he could hide his own bad actions.

"Honestly?" Lochlann murmured. "I thought you were going to take my freakin' kidneys."

Guin groaned and Lochlann was stirred back into action. He was about to reach out and just pick her up, thinking maybe he could just cart her into his room and throw her on the bed and then lock the door and put the fridge and chairs and tables infront of it until the morning.

But then she said please.

Which was just as well because Lochlann didn't think the door would hold long enough for him to get the fridge.

He eyed her for a moment more and then he pulled his shirt up over his head. His body, which had always been lean and toned, was in even better shape thanks to all of his jogging. He was still perhaps a tad on the too thin side, but he could have easily been modeling men's undergarments. Well--maybe not. There was the matter of the scar across his heart, the bruises blossoming up his sides, and another faint scar over his stomach, one that, surprisingly, hadn't come from Guin.

"oh wow," Lochlann said, looking down at his side. "That is going to hurt tomorrow."

He reached his hand out for her and said, "Can we at least go do this in the bedroom? I'm afraid you're going to fall in here."

Most accidents happen in the kitchen or the bathroom, Lochlann had read.