Page 82

It was, perhaps, the stupidest outfit she’d worn in a long time. But there were probably worse things to be than a “murderous 1950s housewife” kind of woman right now, especially since she was having people over.

Generally speaking, Mull hated entertaining. She had no idea how to cook and she didn’t do small talk. So she was more than happy to let Natalie and Mrs. Cleaver handle all of that bullshit.

“I feel like an idiot.” Oz announced from the bathroom, apparently having finished getting ready.

“Nonsense, dear, I’m sure you look impeccably presentable.” She soothed, her tone the one of perfect sit-com mothers everywhere. She held up her meat cleaver, running her finger down the edge and making sure it was the sharpest the blade was capable of being.

“…Why are you talking like that?” He wondered aloud.

“Oh, don’t trouble yourself with me, dear. It’s just a little touch of…” She began.

Oz opened the door and she trailed off. He revealed that the only thing he’d been able to find which fit him was a fox hunting outfit, complete with the scarlet red coat.

Sadly, he’d been unable to find a shirt which would fit, so his bare chest was exposed by the plunging black lapels of the jacket.

Oz being Oz, he’d apparently been unwilling to even consider wearing his undershirt for longer than a night. In his mind, it was no doubt contaminated and would need to be bleached several times before it could ever be considered clean, if it wasn’t a complete loss already.

For that matter, it was a bit of a miracle that he’d even consented to wear these extra clothes at all. She had expected him to refuse them, since there was no telling where they’d been and what she could have done with them in her apartment, but he hadn’t even brought up the issue.

She wasn’t entirely sure why he would be more willing to wear her clothes than his own, but either way, it was unexpected.

She looked at him a moment longer, then clasped her hands together in delight. “Oh, don’t you look like the cat’s meow!”

“I don’t know what that means.” He grumbled, looking dejected and unhappy. “And I feel like an idiot.”

“Well, you don’t look like one.” She assured him, standing up to straighten his lapels for him. “I think you look quite spiffy , dear.”

“Why are you talking like that?” He asked again. “And why are you dressed like…”

“Hush now,” she put her finger to his lips, “there’s no need to have unpleasant conversation before dinner. It’s bad for digestion.”

“Natalie…” Oz began, her finger against his mouth slurring his words.

She shook her head, not moving her finger. Truth told, it was actually kind of pleasant. The man’s lips were soft and warm and promised her so much more than she’d ever asked of them.

Clean, hot lust.

She’d never really considered that such a thing was possible before, especially while having an otherwise perfectly normal conversation, but she recognized it now.

She looked into that man’s perfect chocolate eyes and she felt like just throwing herself at his feet like some kind of bimbo on a movie poster. Clutching at his body, trying to feel him against her.

And they stayed that way, both recognizing what the other was thinking.

Natalie’s body grew hotter and tighter, eyes locked with his.

Mrs. Cleaver was a conservative, presentable sort of personality…

but she could absolutely party when the lights went down.

Especially with a man as perfect as Oz. Mull could feel that.

She might be a 1950s sitcom sort of person, but hers was definitely a sitcom world where the couples didn’t have double-beds.

Mrs. Cleaver’s sitcom world involved beds made for two intertwined, sweaty, freaky people.

Oz started to breathe faster, his breath flowing around her finger.

She finally broke their eye contact, to look down at the wide expanse of his chest, which was partially exposed in the ridiculous outfit he was wearing at the moment. It should have been stupid, but the man was just so damn handsome and dignified that he somehow managed to make it work.

“Red is your color.” She decided breathily, taking an unconscious step towards him. “ Definitely your color.”

His own attention was fixed on the bodice of her dress, then cut back to her face. “I’m trash.” He warned her, his voice ragged. “It’s in me, you shouldn’t…”

She met his eyes again. “Have you seen my apartment?” She shook her head, pressing her finger all the way into his mouth. “I love trash, baby doll. I can find so many fun things to do with it.”

No.

No, that was Mrs. Cleaver’s weird G-rated flirty nonsense. It wasn’t dealing with the deeper issue here, and Natalie recognized that she’d need to do it herself.

“You’re not trash, Oz.” She assured him, her voice completely certain.

“You’re the purest, truest man I’ve ever met.

” She finally removed her finger from off of his lips, feeling oddly bad about losing the strangely intimate contact.

“You’re spending your life doing nothing but trying to prove you’re worthy of something.

But you’re worthy of anything.” She paused.

“…Well, anything positive, anyway, because there are a lot of negative things that you wouldn’t…

” She trailed off, recognizing that she was babbling.

“There is no one in this world who I trust more or who I would rather help me. I know you think you’re an evil person, but I legitimately am an evil person,” her voice broke, “so please believe me when I tell you that with one exception, you’re possibly the only other genuinely good person I’ve ever known.

” She swallowed, feeling like the answers to all of her problems could be found in Oz’s eyes, if she just looked deep enough.

“I…” She trailed off again, only getting out a breathy sound.

Oz continued watching her, his jaw tight.

The door buzzed, startling her from her momentary lusty distraction.

She pointed towards it. “I… I should get that.” She explained, like she needed a reason to do something as stupid as step away from him.

Because that’s how it felt. It felt deeply, deeply wrong to be doing anything but throwing herself into his arms. “’Cause…

‘cause Poacher caused your doorman to… you know… quit.” She stepped backwards towards the door, somehow managing to bump into some of the only furniture in the room.

The white ceramic lamp which was sitting on the white plastic and steel end table, toppled to the smooth white floor and white carpet.

It shattered into a million pieces and Mull winced.

Fucking Natalie. This was why the girl was trouble.

“I’m so sorry, I just…” She started to explain.

Oz didn’t even appear to notice the mess, his eyes still focused on hers with longing and a desperate hunger. It looked almost dangerous.

He always looked like a perfect hero. But right now, he was looking at her like someone who would delight in doing evil, evil things to her vulnerable body.

She cleared her throat, feeling like his intense gaze was going to make her clothes burst into flames.

She found she really, desperately , liked the thought.

“I’ll just…” She continued awkwardly walking backwards, like she was backing away from a tiger about to pounce on her.

“…I’ll just get the door?” It came out sounding like a question.

If he objected to that, she was perfectly willing to make whoever was on the other side wait until morning for her to answer it.

Oz didn’t reply, continuing to look at her the way a man lost in the desert looked at a bottle of water.

It was longing, sure, but there was a certainty to it.

He wanted her.

That look silently told her that he was going to have her. It was confident and sure. He was going to use her to make himself feel good. He was planning it all out in his mind. Meticulously.

She knew it. She could read it on his face and in his eyes, boiling beneath his calm surface, like lava. And that knowledge was deeply, deeply exciting.

She bumped into the door, then laughed nervously. “It was just…” She cleared her throat, trying to get ahold of herself again. Natalie’s twitchy weirdness around him wasn’t going to get the job done either, Mull was fairly certain. It was just embarrassing for everyone.

She opened the door.

“Took ya fucking long enough!” Roach shouted at her. “What, did you need to put your fucking clothes back on first!?!”

Mull looked down at her adopted uncle as he was wheeled into Oz’s apartment.

“Hello, Uncle Hector. Lovely to see you, as always.” She was really going to need all of Mrs. Cleaver’s hostess charms tonight, just to keep herself from killing the man.

Or perhaps her mastery of meat cleavers could be put to use instead…

Roach turned to look at her, his face drawing up in horrified confusion. “Christ in a sombrero, what are you wearing?”

She straightened her dress. “My face is being repaired, I broke it when I fell off the roof.”

“Thrown.” Roach corrected, already not letting her live that down. “Which was sloppy .”

“ Fell .” She snapped. “So I seem to be getting powers which ordinarily wouldn’t be used.” She gestured to Natalie’s face. “Like… girly powers, the ones which don’t require masks.”

Roach looked up and down her sitcom ensemble. “How is ‘The Beaver’ doing?”

Oz started forward, temper igniting in a flash, hands clenched into fists.

She could tell what was about to happen and immediately stepped in front of him before he was forced to beat the shit out of a disabled elderly man.

“He means the TV character.” She quickly explained, holding up her hands and pressing them against her partner’s chest to keep him from continuing forward.

“He’s mocking my outfit today, not being gross. ”

Oz didn’t seem convinced by that, but let the matter drop.