Pollinating Toes [James]

[Sabra]

On the heels of her twenty eighth birthday and with the Harvest Moon long since faded into the night sky, Sabra finds herself caught in a snare. Boston seems to be rebuilding itself, and there is hope among the wreckage of the Three Kings by way of a man called Nathaniel Hart. He doesn't look like any white knight and she wonders at his capability from their first meeting. The promotion to enforcer eases some of the skepticism from her, but Sabra can't help but write it off as simply a lull in the storm. It wouldn't take much of one to tear apart the city's newly laid mortar and brick.

One gust of wind and it could all come tumbling down.

Then there is James Morgan, who doesn't seem quite willing to return his stray to the streets just yet and has developed from kind benefactor into Sabra's own sort of personal salvation. Boston and her were alike in that manner, placing their hopes on men, but she liked to think her's was a tad more worthwhile in the long run. Surely, he wouldn't fall to the wolves so easily. Except for her of course, but she was the good type and only bites when he asks nicely.

A phone number written on the palm of her hand and a ride back to her place had turned into much more over the following weeks. It was a good distraction from politics; James offers not only a warm bed, but a slice of normality. A home to return to. Sabra had lost her fear of sticky little toddlers and sometimes, when a man's pleads couldn't leave her mind and death pressed too heavily on her shoulders, holding Izzy to her breast helps. It was all too good to be true and Sabra indulges before it can be taken away from her. Savor the present and forget the past, a principal that ruled her. Animals didn't ruminate on what couldn't be changed and she at least, is half an animal.

In the hush of her apartment, on a rare shared evening free of work, James' skin is warm beneath her hands. The sofa's fabric is coarse against the skin of her back and Sabra arches against him with a soft groan, reaching to undo clasp of her bra and fling it over the couch. "We should really do this more often ya know." She smiles, pausing to lean up and catch the lobe of his ear between her teeth, a mock growl slipping out. Blue collar jobs didn't allow for many days off and it was hard enough to collaborate their schedules, not to mention getting James' sister to watch Izzy, but boy it paid off when they could.

Coordinated movements soon become fumbling, heavy breath and efforts to strip each other as quickly as possible from the barriers of clothing. "James," It has been longer than Sabra would like to admit and the wolf and need rise with equal intensity. She drops her mouth to his throat, nipping at the vulnerable skin there, eyes darkening. Rough hands dip to the valley of his back and she draws her nails up his spine and over broad shoulders, exerting a control that might soon cease to be.

Someone knocks on the door, a loud rap of knuckles that breaks through the fog of lust. "Hey Sabs, ya home?" She can hear the shuffle of feet, glasses clinking together in impatience. "I got a six pack, your favorite." Recognition is instant and with a snarled curse, she draws her hands away from James' undone belt. What in God's name was her brother doing here, all the way from the Windy City? More importantly, what was he doing here at this hour, just when things were getting interesting? Sabra suspected the universe worked in mysterious ways.

Against her, that is.

The knob jiggles and the lock is a small consolation as Tristan's voice takes on a leer, too mirthful for her tastes. "Got somebody in there, eh? Get your clothes on and lemme in!" There was no sense of modesty or awkward situations in the Kross household and she can practically see the grin splitting his face. Sabra distinctly remembers catching her brother with his first highschool girlfriend, and maybe this is a sort of twisted karma for tattling on him all those years ago. Granted, the image of Tristan buck naked and squirming atop the poor girl was punishment enough in it's own way, seared into her mind for all time.

"I am gonna kill you." She snaps, rising to grab the nearest item within reach, which happens to be the tv remote, and fling it at the door. Werewolf strength and aim honed by practice leaves a sizable dent in the middle of the door and a cut off "Fuck!" from her dear brother.

There was nothing like family. Only blood had the ability to get under your skin so quickly and make you want to throttle them within an inch of their lives.

[James Morgan]

His mother had always told him to count his blessings—and now, along with Izzy, Sabra is the new addition to his lucky stars. Maybe just a few mere weeks is too short of a time period for him to get hopeful, but the Shifter has crossed his fingers anyways. As a man who has already loved and lost in some of the worst ways possible, he considers listening to his sister when she warns him against getting too involved with anyone, looking at him with narrowed eyes whenever Sabra comes into casual conversation.

The woman remains a mystery to him, and the pieces to the puzzle are scattered as he continues to try to fit them together. Never had he considered getting involved with a werewolf, his own sister would have attested to the dangers that always came with mixing what she had started to call “the wrong kind.” But Sabra, as it turns out, is not that bad—

The green-eyed woman is the other half of a goofy, drooly hound that James would trust with his one year old daughter on any given day, and the fact that Izzy now even smiles at Sabra’s presence speaks volumes to him.

The beginning branches of trust had begun to extend, enough so that Sabra spends one of her more rare days off with him at her own home, beneath him on the couch with her hands resting against his skin. His only response to her is a crooked smile in agreement as he removes the chain that hangs from his chest, and soon his lips against the flesh of her neck. Large hands move hungrily over the curve of her stomach, stopping with fingers hooked into the waist of her jeans, pulling them roughly towards him with need.

James has never considered himself a selfish man, but there is a degree of satisfaction in knowing that now, as the woman is trapped beneath him with small hands working diligently at removing his belt, she is entirely his. A low groan breathed against her and he pushes her hands away just as pants are being forced out of the way, until something loud and obnoxious sounds from the other side of the room.

The pause is instantaneous and James turns his head towards the door, frowning in an obvious aggravation. “Who the hell??” Sabra throws something forcefully against the wall, and James pushes away from her to sit up right, running a hand through his hair in stress. It doesn’t take him long for realization to set in, if only from the all too familiar manner in which the two communicate. “Well, isn’t it just my day.” he grumbles in exasperation, standing back up to fix his belt and make himself look as presentable as possible.

With long strides he makes his way for the door, opening it half way with it stopped against his shoulder to meet Tristan eye to eye. For how small Sabra is, James hadn’t expected her kin to be the same damn size as he is. “So you’re the brother she never talks about.” He muses with a humored smile, “Well, ya better’a brought enough beer for me for ruinin’ the mood like that.” He moves away, swinging the door open to allow Sabra’s domain open for Tristan’s trespassing. “Warnin’ would’a been nice, though.”

[Sabra]

Tristan didn't expect to be able to look the man in the eye either and he blinks in surprise, doing a fair imitation of a large owl before a grin tugs at the corner of his mouth and he sticks a hand out. "Tristan Kross, the mysterious brother." Once upon a time, he and Sabra had been thicker than thieves, but age and a certain virus had done it's work on them, along with his own pretty lady. It's good to see she isn't alone.

The two men test their strength against each other, Tristan gritting his teeth as he can feel knuckles shift under the force of the Native American's grip. It might have gone on indefinitely, if not for Sabra poking her head up from the collar of a worn shirt and giving him the evil eyes he knows so well. With a cheery grin, he pushes past James, thrusting the beer into reach. "Long time, no see, lil' sis." Sabra reaches for something to throw again, this time at his face and upon finding none settles for following Tristan into the kitchen. He had helped her through, arguably, the roughest patch of her life, but that didn't grant him the permission to interrupt her nearly getting laid.

Even if he did have a huge box of pizza tucked under his arm.

"Where's Sydney? And what the hell are you doin' out of Chicago?" She questions. For the last several years Tristan had made Chicago his home with his fiancee--marriage postponed until they got some money together. Maybe she was just defensive because James was here and exposing him to the light of day might make him vanish, like a sweet dream. She wasn't ready to let just yet, and if did go wrong, others knowing he existed would make it all the more real a loss.

It was much easier to mourn something when it was only you who had lost it. There was no one to call up hurtful memories or pity you. One could heal in peace.

"Visitin' you, that's what." He slides the pizza box onto the table and opens it. When sex wasn't available, or cruelly interrupted, food was a viable substitution. "Food to please the beast." Subtlety wasn't one of her brother's more appreciable qualities.

The two siblings sit down and Sabra beckons James over, scooting close to him, hip solid and warm against his. She gives him a crooked grin, leaning over to steal one last kiss, her palm edging over his knee. It isn't all that hard to fan the fire that Tris had cooled and one more kiss turns into several until he clears his throat pointedly. When they part, Tristan snorts, red-faced and none too pleased. "So when ya gonna have him meet Mom and Dad?" He jerks his chin in James' direction and Sabra has to resist rolling her eyes. Here it came, the mandatory pissing match when any two men with shared interests met each other. Excluding the tiger strength, who would win in such a match of meatheads was up for debate.

Sabra steals the first piece of pizza from Tristan's plate. "You know goin' back to Kentucky would be..." She waves the idea off like an irritant fly, mindful of James' presence. He wasn't any naive human, but neither was he versed in the often complicated world that she lived in. Being a rare creature like a Siberian Tiger must be a blessing. They were solitary creatures by nature, and she wondered if James had ever even met another of his kind. It had to make things simpler. "Dicey." Not worth the risk of running into any old buddies of her's, that was for sure.

It took a lot more than just a visit to make her brother spend gas money though, especially on a trip all the way to Boston. Something more was at play and she was bound and determined to find out what it was. Preferably, without James learning more than he should about why her hours as a cook often extended into the early morning.

[Sabra]

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