"Please, Thalia," Maktov hissed, one hand clinging to hers while his free hand caught her by the back of the head. He pulled her close, breathing heavy as he buried his face against her shoulder. What he wanted wouldn't leave his throat. He nudged his nose against her jawline, his lips ghosting over her flesh as his eyes clenched shut. "Distract me."

Thalia bit her lip harder as he nuzzled against her. Her chest restricted and uncertainty peppered her thoughts. She could only think of one way to keep his mind off the pain and, honestly, she wasn't even sure if it was right.

Would he really want to be kissed in a state like this?

Not able to look at Maktov was such a hindrance. His hand tightened around hers, his back arching, despite his efforts to stay still. A strangled groan of pain reverberated, muffled, in his throat. Another sound squeezed through his clenched teeth, not quite a 'please' but definitely in the vicinity.

With no other ideas presenting themselves, Thalia trailed her lips along his jawline. She moved slow, hesitantly, giving him any chance to growl in confusion and pull away should she be reading his unspoken request wrong. Needy - and a bit impatient - Maktov turned his head, his lips grazing hers.

Neither would've been able to say, with certainty, who pressed into the kiss. But the moment their lips met, fully, Maktov seemed to relax a little and sighed against Thalia's mouth. Thoughts no longer completely focused on the pain, on bracing for the sharp aches, on feeling the light claw in his veins as it was coaxed out. His mind focused on Thalia's softness, the heat of her, her scent, everything. His hand at the back of her head pulled her closer, his fingers tangled into her soft hair as he deepened the kiss. With a coy eagerness, Thalia returned the action.

She shifted, bracing one elbow on the bed as she leaned over him. She still held tight to his hand, though this time she pressed it to her chest. Her free hand cupped against the far side of his neck, thumb stroking a wide arch that passed over his jawline and throat. Tense muscles flexed under her touch. An itch to touch him further, more intimately, crept into her fingers.

At the back of her head, a small bead of guilt swelled. He was in excruciating pain. Was this really the best way she could distract him? Surely, if she thought a little longer, she could've come up with something less skeevy.

Maktov suddenly pulled away, fingers tightening painfully in her hair and around her hand. Another strangled snarl of pain worked in his throat. Thalia's eyelids flickered, almost opening, before she caught herself.

Not being allowed to see turned her thoughts toward frustration. She couldn't even chance a look at Mag, couldn't see if the woman even cared what the two of them were doing. Was she intent on the work at hand, not even noticing them? Or was she sneering at their inappropriate actions? Or was this something she'd already seen before?

Instead of focusing on the swirl of contemplations, Thalia focused on him. Her lips found their way along his jaw, coasting along his throat. His pulse throbbed under her, driven to an exhaustive beat between pain and adrenaline. Without thinking - or maybe just forgetting restraint - Thalia nipped at his flesh.

Almost immediately, Maktov inhaled sharply and his eyes snapped open. He'd been enjoying her breath against his neck and the feather-light touch of her lips, chaste exploration as the pain rippled away. Her teeth grazing over him cleaved through everything else, abrupt and jarring. Heat coiled deep inside him as he groaned a deep-chested, "Fuck."

This time, the expletive had nothing to do with pain. Thalia could tell. That one word sent a hot tingle down Thalia's spine. She wanted to hear him do it again, wanted to hear what else she could coax out of him, but before she could nip, his fingers caught her chin. With a firm hold, he tilted Thalia's face toward his. Her eyelids flickered, but didn't open. Against her lips, Maktov sighed, a touch ruefully, "Too much."

Despite herself and the situation, Thalia smiled, though she felt silly with her eyes closed. The pain still echoed through his body, but Maktov didn't mind. Or, perhaps, his mind blotted it out to focus on something better. He caught Thalia's lips again. Her smile melted against him, a breath that barely counted as a sigh escaping her. This time, he wasn't as needy, wasn't as fervent. His eyes fluttered shut, enjoying a slower and softer kiss. A heat burned deep within him, stoked slow and even.

He felt as if that heat could sear him through the bone. Get rid of every ache plaguing him, physical and otherwise.

Likewise, a heavy burn weighed in Thalia's core. Threads of heat reached out, extending out through arms and legs. And everywhere Maktov touched her, she felt that burn in her jump.

They enjoyed the kiss, as if they were lingering over a good wine. Their hands began to drift. Hers to his shoulders, rubbing her thumbs along the curve of his throat to his clavicle; his, tentatively down her sides, exploring her in a restrained way, as far as he could reach. At the back of their minds, they vaguely remembered Mag's presence. That was probably the only thing keeping their actions from going too far.

Relatively speaking.

"Done. If you notice more lights, call me." When Mag spoke, it was as if cold water doused Maktov and Thalia. Both pulled away from each other and, in a rush, Maktov hurriedly shrouded himself in shadows before Thalia could look.

His chest heaved gently as, with some embarrassment, he tried to calm his body down from its fevered... distraction.

In an effort to peel his thoughts away from Thalia, he took inventory of himself. His wound had been dressed with clean bandages. No little flashes of light glittered beneath his shadows. A wave of fatigue licked over him, lapping further along his body the longer he thought. Now that the cloak of continual pain had been ripped away, and Thalia's engaging presence had parted from him, every fiber of him felt weak and flimsy and fuzzy.

As he took stock of himself, Mag cleaned up her work area. Bottles and vials were shoved into her bag, along with stained rags and unused bandages. "I'll send Cherie back tomorrow with an elixir, maybe some calming tea. I don't get a lot of shadow demons, so I need to reference a few things first. It's probably a good idea if he doesn't strain himself, in the meantime."

Thalia jumped up from her position hovering over the bed. She tried to ignore the blush burning her face or how her lips tingled from their atypical exercise. Mag's words and her body language betrayed no exasperation with the two of them. She still gave off the air of someone unfamiliar with nonsense. When Thalia thought she could talk without sounding winded, she said, "Thank you for your help."

"It's what I do."

Thalia shifted, from foot to foot. She wasn't sure what to do or what to ask. Though she tried to jumpstart some avenue of questioning in her mind, her mind sputtered. Had the kissing frazzled her brain that much? Groping for a next step, Thalia wanly asked, "Should we file a police report or something?"

"No," Mag's voice turned dark and barbed. That single word spoke volumes about the witch's plans for the attackers, though it was masked in words too vague to be a threat. "I already cast a protection spell over this place before I entered, so now I will handle the attackers."

"Okay..." Thalia moved to her purse, sitting on her dresser not far away. Riffling through it in the dark, her fingertips found the familiar texture of her wallet. She turned to address the witch again. "What do I owe you, then?"

At that, Mag zipped her duffel bag up loudly. Her green eyes flicked to Thalia, the room a little darker with her candles extinguished. Thalia thought she could see a glow beneath the surface of that gaze.

"I don't do this for payment." Mag glanced to the bedroom door, securely closed after she'd entered. Beyond, Cherie and Taryn's voice carried, along with the sound of the television. "I do this to keep our community safe."

Our community. Thalia'as focus zeroed in on the teenagers' talking out in the living room. Happy laughter and teasing words and amused outrage. So many different emotions in such a small conversation. It was normal in Thalia's home.

It might not be so normal in others.

Maktov had a spot in this 'community.' As did Taryn and, by extension, Thalia. Fresh and old memories bubbled up in her mind. Maktov, bloodied. Taryn, a little younger, sobbing after a long run home. The pain he voiced, when he was angry at her staring. The nights when more than one teenager took shelter under her own roof, for merriment or safety. The way eyes followed Maktov, Taryn, their friend. The lulls as conversations became heavy and uncomfortable.

With determination in her movement, she emptied her wallet of cash. Perhaps a hundred dollars, barely. Before Mag reached for the door, Thalia cut her off and thrust the money forward. Bewildered green eyes met her gaze as she said, "Take this. Call it what you like, a donation or a payment. If you need something, anything, I'll do what I can to help."

After a moment's silence, as Mag stared down Thalia's expression, the witch sighed and took the money. Slowly, she pocketed it and pushed out from the bedroom. With a shout, announcing they were heading home, Cherie popped his head out from the living room.

"I'm done. It's time to head home," announced Mag, a hand on her hip and her bag on her shoulder. Cherie nodded, shoving his sneakers back onto his feet as he told Taryn to text him later. From their spot on the couch, Taryn nodded, thanking the two guests. The smile didn't quite reach their eyes, Thalia noticed.

She'd check on Taryn after walking Cherie and Mag out, she decided.

Before Mag entirely left the building, Thalia grabbed her by the crook of the arm. The witch paused, glancing down at her. Almost immediately, Thalia released the witch, her own hands going wide as memories brought a flush to her cheeks. She couldn't meet Mag's eye. "Sorry, but what Maktov and I did back there... I just... I'm sorry. That was probably very odd."

At that, a corner of the witch's lips quirked up and a puff of amusement left her. "You know, the myth of true love's kiss has some root in truth. There's a power behind such displays of caring, regardless what you may be to one another."

With that, Mag clumped off to her car, where Cherie waited with a curious gaze. Thalia watched as the witch flung her bag into her trunk, ushering her nephew into a seat, before driving off into the night. As the car dwindled in the distance, her mind still gnawed at Mag's departing words, before turning to go back inside.