tampered | Log; Complete

Log; Complete

When; 30 September, last of the grab-bag curses.

Rating; R

Characters; Kitty Jones (

kittyjones) and Nathaniel (

natty_boy)

Summary; Kitty has something to tell Nathaniel. And Nathaniel has something to tell Kitty.

Log;

Kitty came out from the shower for the fifth time in the last half an hour.

She still wasn't clean. She didn't know if she was ever going to feel clean again. Not after what had happened with Bartimaeus.

OhGodfuckthecursesfucktheCityfuckeverything.

After they had both woken up, the situation had been... explosive. Kitty had stayed in her flat for as long as possible, but then it had simply got too much, and she'd gone next door. Run next door. Into Nathaniel's empty flat, shutting the door, sinking into the corner, head in her hands, and...

... and after that was over, she's rushed to the shower. Several times. Scrubbing her skin till it was red raw. Almost thankful all her hair had been cut off the other day, otherwise she'd probably have taken the scissors to it herself. The feeling over her was... guilt, and shame, and a terrible, terrible loathing of herself and the City and everything that had happened recently.

Coming out from under the freezing cold water, she walked towards the pile of clothes she'd made on the floor. Reaching out, her hand wavered and stopped. She couldn't put them on.

They were dirty. They'd touched her. If she touched them, put them on... she'd have to start all over again.

Cursing herself and her stupid, stupid emotions, she rummaged through Nathaniel's chest of drawers, finding a large white shirt, and hastily pulled it over her head. It only came down mid-thigh, but Kitty wasn't really in the sort of mood to care at the moment.

Hopefully she'd pull herself together enough to get out of here before Nathaniel came back. And thinking of Nathaniel... the terrible, terrible loathing was overruled by an even more terrible fear, of what he'd say, of what she'd do...

"Fuck. I have to get out of here."

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Before he could stop himself, he smiled with humourless disbelief at her rant. It was oddly amusing when she was angry. He understood now what she meant when she had said the same thing to him before. Absently, he noted that her face was turning red. Well, now, do stop for breath before you pass out...

He snapped out of his thoughts when he realised she had called him John. Again. Fuck. He wasn't Mandrake here, she knew that, she knew what being reminded of who he was did.

Snappishly, he retorted, "I don't think I want a fucking diagram of what you and Bartimaeus di --"

Pain. He felt a blunt but nevertheless explosive pain erupt at his jaw as her fist connected with bone. His grip on her arm immediately slackened and he reeled, stumbled back then fell with the force of the blow, knocking over a chair and taking that with him; a groan from him and muffled crash from the furniture.

Stunned silence. Harsh breathing. Pained groan.

He lay sprawled on the ground, dazed. Slowly, Nathaniel raised a hand to his jaw, felt it gingerly. He winced when he touched the sore spot. He knew it would bruise.

"You punched me," he breathed, incredelous. "You actually punched me. I can't believe you..."

Smiling. He was smiling. Smiling and staring like the patronising prat Kitty was now convinced he was.

In that instance, she'd never been more glad to hit someone in her life.

When he fell to the ground, a rush of emotions swarmed through her body, so many she was practically dizzy. Some commented on a bloody good punch. Some wanted to go and help Nathaniel up.

But the vast majority were just... angry. And looking at his pathetic, dazed face as he felt his jaw like he'd never been punched before... it just made her angrier.

"Want something you can believe, Natty?"

No shouting anymore. But she was shaking. Her voice quivering with rage, her hands twitching by her sides. If Kitty had been an actually cat, every hair would have been very much on end.

"All right. Believe me on this then. If you ever, ever say anything like that to me again, I'll punch you so hard you won't even be bloody conscious to complain about it."

She took a deep breath, trying to steady herself, before she spat out a final insult, "You utter, complete, total bastard."

Nathaniel really hadn't been punched before. Or, at least, not that he remembered. He'd been bloodied up a fair few times, particularly that time when he was 12 years old, and those Resistance blokes jumped him in the alley. There was when Lovelace got him, too. And, of course, the Golem Affair and the revolt with the demons had gotten him, eventually, killed.

So what was this about, this Damn, That Hurt reaction?

Maybe he was just shocked that it came from Kitty. Which was a really stupid thing to be shocked by, actually. Of all people, Nathaniel should have expected Kitty to be the one to punch him (or slap him) sometime. But he still couldn't --

He was rambling. To himself. Listen to her, listen, damn it!

He shot her a withering glance. He set his jaw, then eased back with a subtle wince when he realised that it probably wasn't the best thing to do now. With a grunt, he heaved himself to his feet and rubbed his hand lightly over his jaw again. The pale skin was already beginning to blossom a dark purple.

"Very well," he replied coldly. "You've slapped me. You've just punched me. I shouldn't be surprised if you did it again." He almost chuckled at her insult, but he held it in check. Political, I-Laugh-At-Your-Pathetic-Attempts Chuckles were saved for the right moment. He wanted to make it out of here --

He snorted. Not alive, surely?

"Bastard, am I? That's not the first time I've been called that." He glanced away from her, tone even but still icy. "Why can't I say that again? I thought you would have been ever-so proud of me for telling the truth."

It hurt him, more than she should know. But it really was true. She had willingly sacrificed herself for Bartimaeus once before. She had earned his respect and everything. He died for her and for Bartiameus, and what did he get in return?

This. All this. The City, her punches, her words. No respect, and certainly no love lost or gained between them. He should have expected it. He was too fucking hopeful.

She hated this. Hated this. Hated being angry at him. Hated him being angry at her. And she just wished... wished he would stop it. Would just get up, and stop talking, and they could... get along again. But he didn't. He wasn't. He was sneering and glaring and being John fucking Mandrake, which meant...

... which meant this was going to be the same as it always was. Neither one of them would stop. Even though both probably wanted to, they couldn't. Stuck in a cycle, a spinning wheel of anger and cursing and broken hea-

Kitty shook her head. No. What was she thinking? That was stupid. Stupid. Stupid. This was nothing to do with hearts. Judging by the colour Nathaniel's cheek was turning, it was about broken jaws.

"Why... what do you mean, why can't I say that..."

Before she knew what she was doing, she walked back towards him, and her hands were... for a minute she thought they were going to come up to slap him again, but no. The cushion was dropped on the floor, and Kitty gripped him hard, one hand on each shoulder, willing him to turn around, to look her in the eyes.

"Don't you understand? It's not true. It's one of the biggest lies I've ever heard. Bigger lies than the ones the stupid pamphlets you used to make about the war. Bigger than..."

She swore under her breath, not knowing what to say, what would make him understand it, except...

With each word punctuated by a little shake of his shoulders, she said all she could say. "It's. Not. Fucking. True. You stupid, stupid prat. It's. Not. True."

Nathaniel recoiled from her when she set her hands on his shoulders. He didn't pull away or step back, but a shiver shot through him at her touch. Fear, repulsion, anger, or something else, he wasn't sure why or what. But there they were.

Stubbornly, he dropped his gaze to the floor, turned his face away from her. Not entirely unintentionally, he moved just so that the bruise (it was appallingly large now) was visible to her. He curled his hands in, short fingernails biting into the flesh of his palm. Don't step away, don't do anything stupid, stay put...

Nathaniel squeezed his eyes tightly shut at her words. He wanted to believe them. But he had dealt in lies and deception throughout his life, and it was the game he knew how to play. Better than friendship, sometimes. Certainly better than feelings and love. He didn't know how, not properly.

He snapped open his eyes and finally looked back at her, face white under the anger. He opened his mouth to snap out some harsh comeback, but the words were still-born. His eyes glinted wickedly. He surged suddenly against her grip. His hand knocked away her arm and moved up to tangle sloppily with her hair.

And, of all retorts, of all cold and sharp insults and stinging words...

Nathaniel kissed her.

Kitty wondered what he was thinking. Sometimes you could read Nathaniel like a book. Sometimes, it was just like was a book written in a completely different language. You knew he was thinking something, and you just couldn't put your finger on it.

When he turned away to flaunt the bruise, she couldn't help but roll her eyes. But when he closed his eyes, and didn't speak, didn't say a word, she found herself thinking –

But then she stopped thinking.

Because of all the things she had been expecting him to do to her... she hadn't expected that.

At the worst, she'd thought he would hit her, but this? This?

It was so messy. It wasn't a soft touch, a gentle brush of lips on lips and tongue on tongue like a first kiss was meant to be. It was... a push. A press. It hurt. He was pressing his mouth against hers like she was going to disappear, and holding onto what little hair she had like a lifeline, forcing her stay there, not to pull away.

Unable to step backwards out his grip, she jerked her head to the side so his kiss slid onto her cheek and then off of her face, breaking the contact as best she could. "Nathaniel, what are you... what are you doing?"

That was all she could say. She was in shock for a moment. Breathing harshly, her lips swollen, her face pale but for two dark red spots on her cheeks. Her eyes were wide, almost afraid. She pressed her hands against his chest, trying to push him away.

"Get the fuck off of me!"

What the hell was he doing?

He froze, heart pounding, face pale - then the colour came rushing back, the sound, the memories and the whirling myriad of feelings. The tangle of confusion and incredelousness and - want. Need. Somewhere, a part of him crowed with the triumph of identifying the feeling that had plagued him all day and now...

She pulled away from him. He stared at her with wide, dark eyes in a pale, pale face. With surprising ease (or what could have been adreneline), he ignored her attemps to push him away and instead moved in again, with experience behind the actions now, as little as it may be.

He hesitated; what if she - ?

Nathaniel brushed his lips over hers, eased his grip on her, relaxed. He let his free hand go to her shoulder, rest there with a silent request for her not to move. His other hand slipped away from her hair, carefully, carefully caressed her face and he let the kiss linger a moment longer than he dared trespass.

Then he was gone. He pulled away, he dropped his gaze and his cheeks were burning. The cushion lay in the distance between the two.

"Go ahead." His voice was hoarse, all anger gone, but it was laced with unspoken question for her to let him. He didn't know how possible that was. "I know you want to punch me again."

Feeling his arms freeze around her, meeting his dark, sober eyes, watching him hesitate - Kitty thought for a moment that he was actually going to do as she asked. For once. Actually stop and pull away and forget this ever happened. She should have known better.

He kissed her again, and she instinctively tensed up, her mouth and jaw tightening, her hands readying to give a hard push against his chest. But she didn't. Surprise stayed her struggle, surprise as the kiss fell gently on her lips, like it was fuelled by a totally different emotion.

As his hand came down from her hair, she couldn't help but begin to murmur some protestation into the kiss, thinking for a moment that he was going to grab her face, force her to response. But it wasn't. It wasn't that at all. When he lightly touched her face she felt a surge of warmth run through her body. It didn't make any sense. All she was wearing was the shirt, a shirt of light, thin cotton – she shouldn't be feeling warm. But she did, she was, and Nathaniel was -

Was breaking away. Was suddenly gone. As far away from her as he could get. And now Nathaniel was... speaking. Yes. Words. Words that took a good minute to filter through into her mind, and even then made no sense at all.

"Yes."

That was all she could bring herself to say, and even then, it seemed too much. Just forcing that one syllable to stumble from her throat made her feel so... so... inadequate. She wanted to choke it back down again, make the silence return once more, for there to be no need for reply or response. But it was too late now.

Bringing her hand to her mouth she touched it gently with her fingers, as though Nathaniel's kiss had left some imprint there that she was desperately trying to fix in her mind. The shape, the moment. The feeling.

The warmth had left her now and she shivered slightly, crossing her arms and pulling her legs to stand straight beside each other. Folding up like a puppet about to be put in its box. Even her eyelids slipped down, closing her eyes with a movement that was not in anyway forced squeezing, looking more like simple sleep.

"Yes, I think I should punch you," her voice was hushed, muted in its calm agreement. Her eyes opened gently, and she looked at him as he stood there before her. His red face. His soaking wet hair. The purple mark on his cheek. His posture even now straight and tall. His hands. His nose. His eyes. His lips.

Without a word, she looked at Nathaniel.

Then she moved. Walking forward she hardly made a sound, her bare feet treading softly on the floor as she passed the cushion. Walking, walking, walking until she was standing right before him.

Not punching. Not touching. Not speaking, not moving. She was just... there. Arms hanging limply by her sides, fingertips just brushing past the hem of the shirt. Head tilted upward to look into his face. Lips dry and slightly parted in question, faint expectation, and even fainter hope.

"I'm not going to, though."

I should go.

It was the first thought that crossed Nathaniel's mind after he had stepped away from her. A good thing he did move, though - he didn't know what he would have done if he didn't. His hands were shaking. He wasn't sure what from, but they were, and again he found himself clenching them to resist the urge to take Kitty's face in his hands again and to --

His eyes widened when Kitty moved towards him. This is it, he thought numbly. She's going to punch me and I'll probably pass out and that will be it. She'll never talk to me again. Ever. And it's your own fucking stupid fault.

Nathaniel winced when she looked at him, automatically averting his gaze. He tensed, waited for the blow to come, to accompany her words.

It didn't.

Bewildered, he looked back at Kitty, dark eyes scanning over her face once. His stomach twisted at what he saw there. Nathaniel could read people well; it was a skill he needed to acquire when he was a part of the government. I'm wrong... I must be...

He realised he'd been standing there for a moment too silent and too long. He made to move, faltered, then closed the small distance between them, magician and commoner, friend and ally, Nathaniel and Kitty.

He reached out with one hand and let his fingertips brush lightly over her cheek, trembling and warm.

"Kitty..."

The name was laced with want, with need and desperation and with some unnamed emotion that he was unfamiliar with. He needed to touch her. He needed to kiss her again, to tell her, and he knew it must be a curse but he didn't care - it emboldened him. It actually helped him this time. Oh, God, what am I...

His eyes flickered with silent question.

Please.

Kitty wasn't blind. She saw him looking at her, and then saw the way he swiftly looked away. Was he... afraid? Repulsed? By... by her?

I was wrong. This is wrong. Of course he doesn't want... why would someone like him want... after what I've done, he...

But then she realised that he was looking back again, walking towards her again, and her breath got caught in her throat as he reached out and touched - touched - her. And said her name... God, the way he said her name...

Kitty didn't know what to do. She was ex-Resistance. She was adaptable. She knew how to take care of herself, to change the plan to fit the situation, to manipulate events in her best interests. But here she was and... she didn't know what to do. She was clueless. There was nothing to guide her but basic instinct.

The look in his eyes urged that instinct to become reality.

"Don't speak," she quietened him, smiling a little as he held her face.

Hardly knowing what she was doing, and hardly caring, Kitty raised herself up onto her tiptoes a little, and then she... she kissed him. Gently, slowly, her eyes slipping shut as she felt him, felt Nathaniel. One arm came round his shoulders as she sank her hand into his hair, then trailed it slowly down his head and the back of his neck and round, round to lightly skim over his collar bone and leave it resting there.

The kiss was longer than it probably should have been, but she didn't want to break away. And when she did... she couldn't move away. Her face still right up before him, she leant forward and pressed her forehead to his with a sigh. Her eyes were open now, fixed with his, in a look that was just as filled with meaning as his previous one had been.

Yes.

Nathaniel was stunned. For possibly the third time in about fifteen minutes, he was absolutely stunned.

Her lips were soft, he noted vaguely as they touched his. Her touch was warm, and God, she was touching him. Not slapping or punching or tugging his arm, but it was gentle, almost a caress. She was touching him the way a lover would, and he -- he never knew that. In all his life, in his career, even if women had adored him, he had never been...

The pale skin flushed a light pink where her hand had been, a warm tingle where it came to rest on his collar. Dimly, he realised that he was still soaking wet from his walk in the rain, but he figured it didn't matter too much. He pressed back to the kiss a little, still hesitant and uncertain, and just as he did, she pulled away.

His eyes fluttered open - he didn't even remember closing them. He swallowed against the lump in his throat and the utterly daft words that threatened to spill out. The corners of his mouth twitched into a faint smile when he realised that...

Yes.

Nathaniel leant in to kiss her again, hesitation gone, encouraged by her acceptance and the curse rushing through his veins. He knew what it was now. He couldn't put a word to the name of the magic, but he knew what it made him do. He was actually grateful for that. He wrapped his free arm around her waist, let his fingers splay over the small of her back. His hand dropped from her cheek to slip under her chin, tipping it up to his, and he let it all rush over him.

Want. Need. Desperation. Hunger. Pleading. And maybe the Something Else that had been present since the Golem Affair. He knew that now.

He didn't realise it. He was slowly but surely walking her back, back to the wall and he hadn't pulled away. His kisses were trailing now, the corner of her mouth, tracing her jawline, down her neck, fevered and rushed and distracted. He murmured her name once.

In the corner of his mind, he still couldn't believe what was happening.

When he began to kiss her, to kiss her properly, Kitty found herself unable to do anything except let him. Let him kiss, touch, grab. All she could do was... moan. Softly. So soft it was hardly there at all. A moan and a whispered name in his ear when his arm reached around behind her, like some desperate plea.

"Nathaniel..."

When he kissed her neck, she couldn't help it any longer. She sunk her hands into his hair with a slight groan, pulling him gently upwards to meet his lips with her own, kissing for quantity now rather than quality, mouth upon mouth, touch upon touch, on his mouth and cheek and his neck and... everywhere she could reach.

There was a brief thud as her back hit the wall, but it didn't really register. Her senses, her feeling... it was on a completely different level now, all wrapped up in Nathaniel and his kisses and his touching and... just Nathaniel. There was nothing now between him and her. No space, no air. She pulled away for a moment, her breaths coming in short gasps.

"To change a popular phrase, you've got me between a wall and a hard place, haven't you, Natty?" She murmured this into his ear before biting on it, gently, but still a bite, before trailing her lips down once more to his neck.

Fingers gripped his shirt tightly and pulled him in as she kissed him with a surge of sudden ferocity, fierce and harsh and demanding. But it wasn't enough. Her hands slid up over his shoulders and then down his back, right down, feeling everything along the way. Feeling them in a touch bordering on a squeeze in some certain... areas. This was coupled with a little, playful smirk and then a quick dart forward to kiss him hard again.

He chuckled against her neck when she spoke, the sound low, edged in almost a growl. He kissed her throat, murmured, "That wasn't an entirely appropriate remark, Miss J --" then cut off sharply when he felt the touch of teeth against him, then her lips and...

Fuck.

He groaned into the kiss, the sensations almost overwhelming now, the way she was touching him and kissing him and -- fuck, she did not just...

His hands began to wander, twisting in the thin fabric of her shirt, the other slipping down, then back up, cold fingers against warm skin, and he pressed against her, meeting her demanding kisses with his own, and all around he couldn't hear past the fierce pounding of his heart and the rushing in his ears and --

"God, Kitty..."

It was a good thing she was braced up by the wall, or Kitty might have buckled to the floor at Nathaniel's laugh. The chuckle reverberated through her entire body, melting every muscle in her legs.

"Well, I don't think..." That was all she mannered to stammer out between the furious barrage of kisses Nathaniel was laying on her, and she on him. "I don't think this is an entirely appropriate situation, Nat-"

But then she felt his hands on her, further down, touching and pulling and stroking and... any words she had been about to speak were lost. All the noise she could make was a sudden, guttural cry, which tore itself raw from her throat.

"I – I need..."

What do I need? Want? Need? Is that the same thing?

Does it matter?

Her hands rose upwards, grabbing his shirt and pulling it furiously out from where it was tucked into his trousers. Then they skimmed round the front, and began to tear their way up, attacking the buttons furiously. Sometimes literally tearing, she was sure she heard the odd button or two fall to the ground. But she couldn't really see, her eyes fluctuating between slipped closed and just slightly cracked open as sight seemed to become less and less important. It was touching that was taking over.

Fuck.

He was already pressed flush against her, and she slipped her hands into the small gap which remained between them, running her cool along his now bare chest. Feeling. Then, she stopped still as stone. Her hands cool and still against his fast-warming flesh. Her breath coming in gasps, if it was coming at all. Her face covered in red marks from the rising heat and his lips and...

Unable to delay it any longer, Kitty fixed him with a heavy-lidded stare. "Nathaniel... please, I need..."

She couldn't finish it. But she hoped he understood.

Nathaniel raised his gaze to her, eyes dark and clouded with lust. He pressed his forehead to hers, kissed her fleetingly, smiled against her lips. He slid his hands around her waist, the fabric of her shirt a thin barrier now, and he ran his hands over the smooth skin of her back, touch slow, reverent, careful.

He had to do this right. He couldn't stand for her to hate him now. Not again. Not when he was so close.

He gasped sharply in surprise when Kitty's hands suddenly grabbed at him, tore their way through his shirt, snapping buttons and ripping seams. He arched against her with a groan when her hands slid over him, and he leant in for another kiss. He didn't even register she was speaking until her lips began to move under his instead of returning the kiss and he reluctantly pulled away.

His breath caught at her words. He understood them perfectly. He bit his lip, logic struggling up from the haze of arousal when he realised what she was asking. His body was buzzing, thoughts whirling, heart pounding. He throught through that. Do this right.

He leant in again, touched his nose to hers, smiled faintly. "All right," he murmured. He brushed his lips over hers again, drawing one hand up to smooth over her hair, her cheek.

"All right."

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