UP TO MY NECK IN YOU
WARNINGS: Sex. Not even language. This is a happy one-shot.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Exam season is upon me, and instead of revising, I bring you some sweet, brief Kate/Garrett fluff. They're a pairing I love, and can't believe I haven't written about yet.
The title of this one-shot is taken from a song by the same name on AC/DC's album 'Powerage', because what's the point of writing about a woman with electricity as her gift if you can't reference bands with voltage in their name?
Garrett's never been good with people. Ideals, sure. He reveres freedom-liberty-justice-for-all, the way some men worship their god. 'Cept he's seen all those things in action, and he's a bit wary of folks who've met Jesus.
But, at his core, he's solitary. A wanderer with no use for anybody. Probably would've been that way even if he hadn't died, and then come back to life. He doesn't remember enough of mortality to make up his mind either way, but he's learned to trust his gut.
When the Cullens ask for his testimony, he agrees. He doesn't like most of them all that much, but there are some rights he'll fight for. Among them, the right to have a family, odd as you like. Besides, the girl in question's pretty cute, and she's already wearing beige, and speaking French, and playing the piano, same as her dad.
Garrett can't see the harm in letting that kind of kid live.
Their eyes meet across a crowded room, just like in a movie.
Garrett doesn't know who she is yet, but she's picture-pretty. Blonde hair, high cheekbones, a smirk like sarcasm—it's as if someone's flipped through his fantasies and made his favourite one flesh.
He collects free-floating scraps of information about her. They might come in handy.
Her name's Kate, plain and simple. Nobody's allowed to call her Katrina. Or Katie. Which is unfortunate, because Garrett wants to.
Succubus, someone says, and he likes the idea. He's not the kind of man who counts the notches on a lady's bedpost, but he enjoys revolution. And doing whatever she pleases with herself—that's rebellion right there. None of this waiting around for a perfect mate nonsense. He can respect that.
Later, he finds out that her sister's the one who snitched to the Volturi. That'd explain why Kate looks so sad sometimes. Mourning doesn't become her. She's too fierce for that, and grief makes her brittle and cold. About to shatter, like a glass full of freezing water.
Garrett acknowledges that his analogies need help, but he'll risk making a fool of himself if it'll make her smile.
Thoughts like that, they're trouble. He's old enough to know better.
Everyone assumes that Garrett falls for Kate when she sends him sprawling flat on his back with her gift. They're an oddly literal bunch, these Cullens. It's a while before that, truth be told.
She's hunting on her own, blurring through the white forest like a wild thing, and he's just returning from feeding. As he watches, she takes down a lynx with eyes that match her own. It's beautiful. She's beautiful.
And he's completely lost his touch for silent tracking.
Kate meets his gaze, her lips ringed with deep, rich red.
"Would you like to try?" she offers, with a ladylike flick of her wrist. An ancient succubus with manners. That's new.
"No thanks. You've got terrible taste."
"Chicken," she says, and his mouth falls open a little. He's been called many things, but never that.
"You heard me. You're scared," she continues. Her bloody grin's gone from playful to sexy.
"Please," he dismisses, appearing at her side. The lynx's steaming corpse smells unpleasant. Not as gag-worthy as human food, he'll give her that, but not something he wants near his tongue either.
"Your reputation as a badass is at stake," Kate says, and those are the magic words. Garrett dips his head down to the open wound and takes a tentative lick.
"Disgusting," he groans a second later. It's like a mouthful of dirt, gritty and unsatisfying.
She shrugs, wonderfully superior. "Any time you want to try again, you know where to find me," she tells him, returning to her meal.
And that's all it takes. He's got a crush on Kate. Half the time, he wants to bring her flowers, and the other, he wants to get her naked. That gift of hers is just frosting on the cake.
The evening before the end of the world, they all huddle around a bonfire and exchange war stories. Garrett's got a few good ones, but Kate's are better. She doesn't charge into things. She plots, and schemes, and wins. Someday, he wants to sit her down and get her to tell him all about her life. He'll bet everything he's got that this woman single-handedly shaped Europe.
"That was hot," he tells her, as they're all dispersing at midnight. The mated couples go off in pairs—so do Stefan and Vladimir, but he's doesn't judge—leaving the rest of them alone in the black. He didn't think he'd mind as much as he does.
"You. Constantinople." He means it. She impresses him, but she's probably already figured out that he's a sucker for her. She understands people, Kate from Denali, and he's not a complicated man.
"So you're turned on by naval battles? Original, I'll give you that." She smirking at him again, her mouth like strawberries and her eyes sparking.
"Since it's our last night on earth, want to do something you won't regret?" He says it fast.
"I thought you'd never ask."
Kate strips entirely, although they're way out in the forest. The snow and tree bark must be unpleasant against her skin, if not actually cold. "You'll thank me later," she mumbles against his mouth, by way of explanation, and Garrett laughs.
"I'm thanking you already," he says. She looks like an angel, traced with silver light. Looking at her is finding religion.
He likes kissing her. She tastes like wintergreen, and she's good at it. Nothing gets him going like a woman who knows what she wants. He likes the weight of her breasts in his hands too, pale and perfect. Her happy, fluttering moans flit through his veins like whiskey, until he's dizzy and not to be trusted with fine motor control.
Somewhere around the time when she hitches both legs around his hips, and he's buried inside of her, he forgets that he's trying to impress her, to make her forget all the other men who came before him. His mouth trips on KatieKatieKatie, and he stands on the cusp of something, toes curling over the edge.
When she comes apart, blue sparks fly over her skin, the northern lights caught between them. It doesn't hurt Garrett—just shakes him to the core, making him crest and fall shamefully fast. It's the best thing he's ever felt.
"I don't get to do that much," she admits, smiling at him. It's like her grin, but with fewer teeth, and her fingers toy with his hair.
"Too many heart attacks?" he hazards.
"Something like that, yeah."
"I liked it." He steals another kiss, for the road. For luck.
"Thought you would." Her expression moves to knowing sadness, and suddenly, she looks a thousand years old, and still alive. Like what she is, instead of what she's pretending to be.
He keeps his arm around her when they go back inside, to keep the pieces from skittering away.
That's the only part of the fight that Garrett cares to remember. Otherwise, he'll just end up thinking about the way Kate came unglued in his arms, somewhere between screaming and crying. Or about the way her sister's corpse smelled while it burned. Like flowers, and that's all kinds of wrong.
The loose ends will begin to bother him in time. He hates unfinished things, and the way they come back to bite him in the ass. And that—the worry—is why he asks Tanya for permission to join her family in Denali.
She's gracious about it, but so sad. Carmen scrapes up a smile for him, and Eleazar shakes his hand.
Decent people, Garrett decides, and follows this new, shadowy version of his Katie north.
At first, he's just a substitute for Irina.
Garrett doesn't mind. The dead girl, the one whose ghost lives in the hollows of Kate's bones, was the baby sister. The youngest, and the most loved. Even if he's just the temporary drug of choice, he's also the replacement for someone who mattered. And that's—well, it's something.
But then, Kate starts to smile at him. Really smile, like he's making her happy, instead of dulling the edge. She hugs him sometimes, tentatively. As if she isn't very good at it, and wants to start slowly. They don't talk about the past much. They don't talk much, period, but there's something to be said for comfortable silences.
A month later, he tries to get her out of the house. There's only so many times she can clean Irina's room, looking for traces of her sister pressed into corners.
"I want to try polar bear," he announces.
"You'll like it." She smiles softly. His Katie enjoys it when other people love the same things she does.
"You'll have to come with me. I've never seen one before. Without you, I'll probably miss it." His teeth gleam.
"So true. They're tiny." She grins openly now.
"And they blend in with all that snow," he adds.
Gently, gently, she loops her arm through his, and leads him out into the cold. His first breath lines his lungs with frost, but she's warm beside him. And then, Kate lets go of him, and sprints into the white horizon, shouting for him to follow.
He runs harder than he ever has before, because good things—good people—are worth chasing.