There is a reason Trick said no top shelf

A/N: Written for Shadecat's prompt at lostgirl_tv. Had a blast writing it! If you enjoyed let me know!

It's been a long day and Dyson just wants a cold beer and the company of his own kind.

In reality, what he really wants is a meal that is not made in a microwave and the company of a red hot succubus. But seeing is how the red hot succubus currently would like nothing more than to rip his head off (or perhaps some other vital part of his anatomy), he will have to settle for the beer.

When he opens the door of the Dal, his keen senses automatically tell him three things:

There is a large crowd here – larger than normal.

Trick is visibly and audibly pissed off.

Kenzi is drunk.

Actually, he is sure that he does not need his wolf nature to tell him these things. The bodies are pressed together and there is barely room to maneuver his way toward the bar. Dyson wonders if there was a gathering of the Light Fae that he was not made aware of. Maybe he'll get fed the old 'your invitation must have gotten lost in the mail' line.

He manages to steal a stool from a rather stern looking pixie just as Trick storms by, muttering under his breath about the 'audacity of some trolls'. Dyson knows better than to ask. He waits patiently as Trick stomps out his frustration in rather frightening fashion. Past experience has taught him that it is never a good idea to approach a man of his stature when he is upset. Not unless you want to land on your ass.

He glances down a few stools, noting that Kenzi is paying little mind to Trick's antics or the crowd pressing in around her (and there a few hungry faces among them). The only thing that seems to be catching her attention is the shot glass of pink murky liquid sitting in front of her. She swirls it around in such a manner that he feels a little mesmerized himself. He watches as she throws it back, makes the same face all girls do when they chug hard liquor, and then reaches for the bottle to pour another, her hand teeter tottering as she does so.

Kenzi is shit faced – there is no room for any other interpretation.

Dyson is about to rise and take a closer look (because the last thing he needs is a drunk Kenzi getting into trouble at the Dal…correction, the last thing he needs is a drunk Kenzi causing trouble at the Dal) when Trick slams a mug of ale down in front of him. Dyson sinks back on the stool and faces his comrade. "Rough night?" He asks, and braces himself for the onslaught.

Mercifully, Trick just growls and walks away.

Dyson downs a good portion of the drink right away. Perhaps he should have skipped the Dal all together – avoid the crowd, Trick's anger, and the part of him that won't allow him to walk away from an inebriated human who is currently being circled by vultures (especially given the fact that the inebriated human is one that he actually likes).


Trick is still angry but there is a hint of fear in his voice.

Dyson abandons the ale. He stands quickly and is not surprised when the pixie swiftly reclaims her seat. He is pushing through the crowd to get to the other end of the bar. He arrives to find Trick wrestling the bottle out of Kenzi's hands. He has his head turned away from her and she is protesting with a slurred voice.

"There is a reason why I said no top shelf!" Trick cries as he finally manages to pull the bottle from between her fingers. She slumps forward whining like a puppy. Trick holds the bottle up to the light. "You drank over half of it?" He says, his voice elevating. Panic seems to be taking hold.

"Trick?" Dyson questions as he slides next to Kenzi. She still hasn't raised her head off the bar. "What did she drink?" He is almost afraid to hear the answer. What if she had ingested something akin to poison? He had seen at the brink of death once already and he had no desire to repeat the process.

The older Fae sets the bottle back on the highest shelf he can reach. "A concentrated mixture of siren and succubus sweat, passion fruit and spirits," Trick must note the look of sheer disgust on Dyson's face because he continues. "It's an aphrodisiac, Dyson and a powerful one."

Dyson glances at the human lump that is Kenzi. "So you're saying that Kenzi is uh, going to be…turned on?"

"I wish it were that simple. It would be so much easier to contain," Trick mutters. Kenzi shifts and Trick swivels on his feet so he is facing away from her. "It's an aphrodisiac in reverse. Meaning that she won't be affected…everyone else will be."

"Oh," Dyson says, resisting the urge to run a hand over his face. Why on earth would Trick have such a thing? And out in the open at that? Surely there can't be a big clientele for sweat laced fruit juice.

Yep, definitely should have skipped the Dal tonight.

"All she has to do is look them in the eye…"

Well, that explained why Trick was doing his damnedest to avoid making eye contact with her. Dyson was suddenly filled with the need to do the same. He twisted his body so his back was to her and leaned forward. "What do we do?"

"Get her the hell out of here. There are too many Fae in here to make this a safe situation," Trick points out.

Dyson knows he is not wrong. He has to move quickly – Kenzi might be incapacitated now but experience has taught him that she will get a second wind before passing out for good. In that short period of time she could manage to infect the whole bar. He turns, mindful of where her head is. He reaches out for her just as she decides to take a swan dive off the stool.

Dyson lunges for her but an ever so helpful brownie gets to her first. He winces as the pair makes eye contact. The change is immediate. The usually docile brownie's face breaks into a wide lecherous grin. His grip on her hand tightens as he helps her to her feet. She sways and Dyson thinks her akin to a grenade, just waiting to go off. He inserts himself in between the infatuated brownie and the tiny girl.

The brownie is not impressed.

Dyson does not care. He has a good two feet on the other man and he is not above using it to his advantage. "Run along," he warns, his eyes flashing yellow for good measure.

Even a horny brownie knows better than to tangle with a wolf.

With that crisis averted he turns his eyes already upward just in case. Even in his peripheral vision he can see that Kenzi has managed to go from one situation to another. The pixie is clearly intrigued, stepping closer to the tiny human girl with a look of hunger on her face. Dyson winces, despite their cute name and delicate features pixies are known to be vicious. The last time he was bitten by a pixie he had to call in sick to work. He reaches out to pull Kenzi to him by her shoulders, hoping the physical act will send the message that Kenzi belongs to him (of course for that to actually work, Dyson would have to bite her – and somehow he thinks that would be more trouble than it is actually worth).

As predicted, it does little to deter the pixie (it was worth a shot though). She is fluttering her eye lashes and cooing. In her drunkenness, Kenzi seems to think her admirer is cute as a button for she is reaching out. Dyson wastes no time in wrapping his arms around Kenzi's waste, easily picking her up and spinning her around. He can hear the exasperated hiss of the pixie.

"Dyson, you have to get her out of here," Trick advises him as Kenzi wiggles against him. He grunts as her backside comes into contact with a rather delicate part of his anatomy. Thank God, he hasn't looked her in the eye.

"D-man, put me down! I am, I am…not some fair maiden," Kenzi cries loudly and she is struggling harder now. The crowd is attracted to the commotion giving her a whole new audience to seduce.

Thinking quickly, he frees up one arm so he can cover her eyes with his hand. She does not take kindly to this, bucking wildly and calling him a few very colorful names. Dyson thinks she'll thank him later and does his best to keep her right where she is.

This time it is her foot that connects with his crotch and he howls in pain, his hands automatically loosening. She responds by sinking to the floor and as he blinks through his pain Dyson is treated to the sight of her leather clad behind wiggling as she crawls away from on her hands and knees.

"For the love of God," Dyson mutters.

He pushes through the crowd that has surged around her only to find her upright.

And charming the pants off of a gnome – quite literally. The gnome is wasting no time in shedding himself of his clothing and Dyson worries that he'll hump her leg next. Still seemingly oblivious to her newfound ability to work everyone into a frenzy, Kenzi is laughing now, spinning away from the display.

Dyson looks at the ceiling.

Kenzi's eyes fall on a will'o'wisp, who becomes so infatuated a nearby table combusts into green flames. Somewhere behind him, Dyson can hear Trick screeching for a fire extinguisher.

"Kenzi!" Dyson calls, hoping to reason with the part of her brain that isn't soaked with alcohol. "Time to go."

"Ugh, that sounds boring, wolf boy," she retorts, unaware that the gnome has just run between her legs stark naked. "Why are you always so boring?" For good measure, she slaps his arm.

Having a conversation with someone while fixated on a spot on the wall is proving to be difficult. As is trying to keep her pinned down. He lunges for her instead, trips over the naked gnome and nearly finds himself face first in the fire. He feels the heat singe his hair, and growls. Enough is enough.


His voice, laced with his mounting frustration, echoes through the bar. A few around him freeze. He turns – and makes the second biggest mistake of the night (the first being ever stepping foot in the Dal to begin with).

He makes eye contact with Patient Zero.

Dyson groans before it comes over him – an immediate and pressing need to have this tiny being standing in front of him, blinking at him with bleary eyes. Logically he knows better, but at the moment logic is taking swiftly letting go of the controls. He reaches for her, easily catching her even as she makes to move to the right. He inhales deeply, his innate nature coming to the surfacing. Her smell is intoxicating.

Flush against him, she is warm and soft. When she moves, the friction created is delicious. Dyson growls and his head descends. He catches her off guard and open mouthed, perfect for what he has in mind. He wastes no time claiming her lips and using his tongue. She has gone rigid in his arms, her hands coming up to his shoulders presumably to create leverage.

He's not letting her go. At least not until he has to breathe.

He pulls back with reluctance to find her blue eyes impossibly wide. Somewhere deep inside of him, he knows staring into them will prove even more dangerous but he can't stop himself. He is lost.

"Dyson?" She says slowly and he thinks she may have sobered up just a little in the last minute or so (because truthfully he lost track of time when he was stuffing his tongue in her mouth).

"Kenzi," he replies, his lower body thrusting against hers. He is more than ready to claim her. He wonders is Trick has managed to put the fire out on that table or if he will have to find some other nearby surface.

"Uh," Kenzi has her hands on his arms now, her fingers digging into his arms slightly. She tears her gaze from his and looks wildly around the room, pulling more under her spell as she does so.

Dyson can feel them moving in, eager to take her from him. He growls, feeling the wolf begging to be released. He sets her down gently and turns to the crowd of lust fueled Fae. "Mine," he states as if it is a matter of fact. A boggart steps forward to challenge that claim. Dyson smirks, his one hand coming out to protect Kenzi from the violence that is about to occur. He launches himself at the other Fae, easily tackling him through a table.

Behind him he can hear Kenzi's frantic screech. "Trick!"

He growls in the face of his competitor for good measure and then stands. Turning he finds Trick wielding the extinguisher as if it is weapon, his eyes on her shoes. "Kenzi, you need to get out of here!"

"She's not leaving without me," Dyson promises.

"Dyson, you big idiot, you no good to her," Trick points out.

"I'll go home," Kenzi says even as she sways on her feet. She may have come to her senses a bit but she is far from sober.

"And run into Bo? If you infect her, she'll suck you dry without even realizing what she is doing," Trick points out as he clunks the gnome over the head with the end of the extinguisher.

"What the hell is going on?" Kenzi cries, slapping at the hand of the will'o'wisp when he attempts to grab a handful of her breasts.

Dyson can still feel the need to take her on the nearest available surface but it is not as strong. Reason seeps through – perhaps if he doesn't maintain eye contact the lust fades to the background. "How long before it runs its course?" He asks Trick.

"When she sobers up, everyone infected will be free," Trick answers.

"Infected?" Kenzi cries. "Did I catch some Fae disease? Am I going to die? I am going to be super pissed if I go out because of some rabid strain of Fae cooties!"

Despite knowing better, Dyson grabs her arm, his eyes fixed on the ceiling again. Even touching her has his body reacting but he thinks he can control it. "Come on, and keep your eyes closed."

They must make quite a pair with his gaze skyward and her hands covering her eyes. Somehow they make it through the crowd with only knocking over a chair and bumping into one rather nasty troll. The cold autumn air helps to keep his desire at bay as he maneuvers her toward his car.

Given her state, Dyson has to help put on her seatbelt. His hand accidently brushes her breast and she jumps, her hands falling away. He reacts immediately, pulling his head up to avoid eye contact. It bounces off the roof of the car, and he groans. "Kenzi, keep your eyes covered!"

"Sorry," she mutters but thankfully she compiles.

He is rubbing his head as he comes around the front of his car and gets in the driver's seat. He starts the engine and makes for a hasty exit, noting that Trick is watching from the door to the Dal. No doubt, the older Fae is trying to appease his conscience that he didn't just hand over Kenzi to a horny wolf.

The truth of the matter is that he did – but Dyson will suffer to ensure that Kenzi doesn't find herself at the hands of a Fae with questionable morals.

The drive is silent at first, Dyson expertly guiding the vehicle through the quickest route to his loft. He can hear Kenzi breathing heavily next to him and the sound does nothing to improve his mood.

"Dyson," she begins quietly. "Will you please tell me why everyone wants to get in my pants? It's not mate with a human day at the Dal is it?"

"No." Well, at least not officially. "You drank an aphrodisiac."

"No I didn't. I feel fine – I mean I'm buzzed and all but I don't want to take a ride on anyone's disco stick," Kenzi counters and he wishes she had not used those particular words. His brain is already working overtime to create a vision of her straddling him, moving her hips to take him in over and over again. Good Lord, and he hasn't even looked her in the eye for a good five minutes.

"It doesn't work on you – it works on everyone else," Dyson explained. "All you have to do is look them in the eye."

Kenzi is quiet for a moment and he knows that her processing speed has been severely hampered by alcohol. "Uh, so I am like a porn version of Medusa? One look and a part of you turns rock hard?"

Dyson nearly stomps on the breaks then and there. When he speaks, he can hear the husky quality in his voice. "Essentially." Maybe this was not a good idea. Maybe he should find some sunglasses, plop them on her face, and deliver her to Hale with explicit instructions.

"This is so fucked up," Kenzi mutters.

He can't help but feel sorry for her. She had no idea what she was getting herself into when her sticky fingers selected that particular bottle off the shelf. He glances over at her to find her hands have fallen away. He gets a split second of big blues eyes and nearly drives the car into a fire hydrant.

"Dammit Kenzi, covered!" He cries as he pulls the car back onto the road. She compiles thankfully and he spends the rest of the drive with a raging erection – hardly ideal when operating a vehicle.

Kenzi squeezes her eyes shut so she can use her hands to unfasten her seatbelt and open the door. He comes around to help her from there, taking her hand. For a moment he considers taking it and stuffing it down the front of his pants but he manages to push aside the urge. He guides her to the elevator and makes sure he stays as far away from her as the tiny space will allow her him. She is swaying again, no doubt ready to find a spot and curl up in it. "When you wake up, this will all be over," he promises. It is meant to comfort her but he thinks he needs to hear it more.

"I am never drinking again," she mutters, and her free hand comes up to cover her eyes. She must be having trouble keeping her eyes closed on her own.

Somehow he doubts her words. "Next time stick to vodka," he tells her as the elevator doors open. He jams his hand into his pocket to find his keys. His libido is still in high gear as he opens the door to his home causing his eyes to naturally seek out his bed. It is large, and she would look to so tiny in the middle of it as he moved over her. "Christ."

"Dyson?" Kenzi questions. He had a feeling if she knew exactly what he was envisioning right now she would turn tail and run.

"Let's get you to sleep," he answers, giving her a hard shove inside of the loft. He shuts the door and throws the lock. She is stumbling around, a hand covering her eyes while the other moved about to prevent her from crashing into anything. It would be an amusing sight if he wasn't filled with the notion to tackle her.

He guides her to the bed, the wolf in him livid that he won't be joining her. She is fast approaching the passed out phase of being drunk so he helps her with her boots, his hands lingering longer than they should on the back of her legs. He sets them on floor next to the bed and throws a blanket over her. "Just got to sleep. It will be better in the morning," Dyson promises. He has enough coherent thought left in him to place a glass of water on the bedside table. As he turns to ready himself for a night on the sofa, he hears her call his name in a voice drugged with sleep. He turns to find her blinking at him.


"Thank you," she mumbles as her eyes fall close for the final time.

The damage is already done.

Dyson stands there, looking down at her tiny frame, fists clenched tightly at his side. He would like nothing more than to rip back the blankets and take her over and over until the lust finally left his system. He growls in frustration at the realization that there is nothing he can do but wait it out.

For the first hour, he sits on the sofa nursing a drink and a perpetual hard on. Kenzi is snoring loudly in the background. It should annoy him but instead it adds to his misery. Why hasn't the feelings subsided even just a little? Perhaps he had taken one too many blasts from her baby blues.

Finally, unable to stand it anymore, he strips off his clothes on the way to the bathroom. He runs the shower cold, and steps in, hissing as the ice water comes in contact with his overheated skin. He stands there as long as he can manage and feels little relief. He decides when this is all over, he is heading to the Dal and smashing himself one bottle of siren sweat.

When he can't stand it anymore he adds some heat to the water. His hand travels lower, skimming the muscles of his abdomen. He knows he is about to do something he has not done in a long while. He feels no shame, not if it brings him relief. His hand closes around his erection and his eyes fall shut.

He thinks of Kenzi as his hand moves up and down in a practiced rhythm. He envisions her taking him into her mouth, looking up at him with those impossibly large eyes as she sucks and tastes. He swears he can almost feel her pliant body arch as he sees himself buried inside of her. His hand moves faster now, mimicking the movements of his vision. His Kenzi makes little noises to show her appreciation before she throws her head back, clamping down on him so hard he spills right then and there.

His eyes slowly open to find himself staring into the white tile of his shower. The overwhelming urge has subsided substantially but it still swims around inside of his brain. He cleans himself up and is about to turn off the water when his keen senses pick up the sound of two feet hitting the floor. He tenses as she moves toward the bathroom.

"Dyson?" She calls as she comes right in. He is glad that he is turned away from her and quickly reaches forward to bring back the cold water full blast. Her voice is laced with sleep and the residual effects of alcohol. She seems to pay him no mind as she lurches forward, and out of the corner of his eye he can see her arms wrapping around the toilet.

The sound of her retching combined with the freezing shower should be enough.

But as with everything in the Fae world, it is not that simple.

Dyson feels the familiar tug of lust and groans.