An Exercise in Futility

Author's Note: Set in midst of Season One. A little fun for my two favourite characters! If you like it let me know!

She supposes she is cleaning (if you can call tossing various items into new locations, covering unsightly piles with blankets, and running hot water over dishes cleaning).

Still, for Kenzi, it is a step in the right direction.

Okay, so she is bored. So very bored.

With Bo out of town chasing down leads on her mother, Kenzi has been left to amuse herself. And frankly, 'Robot Hookers 2: Rise of the Robo-Ho' is not nearly as entertaining as the first.

She considers going to the bar and knocking back a few with Trick. Then she remembers the last time she stepped foot there she was hit on by troll with one hell of a mucus buildup. She would rather not repeat that unfortunate incident – there is not enough hand sanitizer in the world.

So she continues to clean.

She is standing on a chair dusting off the shelves (and is finding it ironic that the bottle of Lysol is covered in a layer of dirt) when she hears a key in the door. Bo is home earlier then expected – that is either majorly good or majorly bad. Either way, she picks up the pace. Being caught in the act is bound to land her some brownie points. "How goes the search for Mommy Dearest?" She calls as she stands on tiptoes and brushes the old fashion feather duster that much harder.

No answer.

Kenzi stops mid-dust and turns her head. "Bo?"

Since meeting Bo, she has learned silence is never a good thing.

She thanks whatever higher power created her tiny and agile as she drops off the chair, her stocking feet hitting the floor with a soft thud. She grabs the nearest deadly object (which unfortunately is a spatula) and presses herself to the kitchen counter. She can hear the sounds of someone in what she likes to describe as the foyer (in reality: not even close). She inches herself along the counter, armed and ready to defend.

Did something just growl?

Kenzi pauses. Okay, girl, you have faced some horrible no good things. What's a little growling? Bursting with confidence from her five second pep talk, she launches herself toward the door, spatula held high, a cry fitting an Amazon warrior escaping her lips.
If she could stop mid jump she totally would.

Leaning against the wall, eyes closed, body slightly sagging is Dyson. Right, Bo had given him a key – figuring it would make their late night hookups less intrusive to Kenzi's sleep patterns (but honestly, if they wanted to do that, they would do good to invest in a set of matching ball gags).

Thankfully she manages to toss the spatula and look slightly less spastic when he opens his eyes. Something is off.

"Dyson?" She questions as she tilts her head, quickly searching his body for any signs of injury. No blood. No bruising. Still, he is tense and Kenzi is starting to get just a tad worried. Dyson is supposed to be strong and stoic. "Uh, Dyson, you're freaking out the Kenzi here."

"Bo…" At least he speaks.

Shit, there must be something serious going down in Fae Town. "Not here. Not even close. Out of the city," she turns on her heels. "If I call her now she could be back by morning…"

"Too late," Dyson mumbles.

"Could you be any more cryptic, wolf boy?" Kenzi mutters. And then she does something she has done on many occasions. She reaches out and touches him. Only this time, it is clearly not welcome. Because this time he growls. It starts deep in this throat and causes her to retract her hand.

She is treated to the true meaning of lightening fast reflexes when his hand curls around her wrist. She jerks forward, and her eyes widen. "Dyson, are you okay?" She asks, her mind whirling. Poison. Ingested by chewing on the end of a pen. Placed there by hobgoblins (the sad thing is that she has a very good shot at being right).

He must realize the message he is sending because he lets go of her arm. "Yes…" She sags in relief (just a little. No sense in making it seem she was overly worried in the first place).

Still, he doesn't look okay.

"Do you want to come in?" Kenzi asks, feeling rather lame (especially considering he is already in).

To her surprise, Dyson appears to be thinking it over. She fidgets, twisting a finger in her dark locks. It takes her a moment to realize that he is watching the movement with rapt interest. "Uh, are you drunk?" He shakes his head and there is something about the way he is looking at her that has her wondering if she is wearing a red hood. "Do you want to be?"

"I could use a drink," he confirms.

It is the excuse she needs to retreat into the kitchen. She pulls open the cabinet door with enough force to have the handle rip off in her hand (well, actually little force is probably needed). She digs around until she finds what she is looking for, turning back to find Dyson right behind her, and she can't help but feel a little pinned in. "Goddamnit, that's some stealth you are packing there, Detective." She jokes before she thrusts a bottle of murky liquid in his direction. "I present to you Howling Seal, copyright my third cousin on my mother's side. A hermit really. Lives up north, right on the Bay, in this disgusting shack. About the only thing he does right is creates this concoction." She's rambling. "Ah, although, every couple of batches is apt to cause blindness. In humans. I am not sure about Fae." She's rambling and she doesn't know why. "You know what we need? Glasses! Because frankly, I don't know where this bottle's been before it became the home of this rot gut."

She manages to squeeze past him and decides she will ignore the way he seemed to press himself against her. She finds two perfectly clean glasses (okay, two perfectly rinsed glasses) and pops the cork on the Howling Seal. The smell alone makes her eyes water. She pours (more liberal for him). She leaves the bottle on the counter, and picks up her glass. Oh please don't make me loose my sight, she prays before she downs it all – one foul swoop (foul being the perfect word really). She sputters, wondering briefly if she has swallowed a fireball that now rests uncomfortably in the pit of her stomach. When the tears clear from her eyes she sees Dyson. Pouring himself another.

"Drowning out your sorrows?" She asks with a voice that could be described as hoarse. When he moves to refill her glass she covers it with her hand.

"Drowning something," he confirms as he sets the bottle down. The second glass goes down as quick as the first. There is a grimace but nothing more. He sets the empty glass next to hers and runs a hand through his hair.

He seems restless, pacing slightly around the open space of her home. She can feel the fire calming, a nice warmth spreading through her limbs. She grows bolder (not that she needs alcohol for that). "Fae trouble?"

"In a manner of speaking," he tells her as he continues to walk.

"Trick? Hale? Dark? Light?" The words fall from her lips at a rapid pace.

"None of the above."

Kenzi sighs. "Okay, hint taken. You could have just told me to keep my nose out of it. Wouldn't have hurt my feelings one bit." Her brows knit together when she suddenly realizes something – he is circling her. In a manner of speaking. It might not be a tight loop but there is a definite pattern to his movements. "Well, that's creepy."

"Excuse me?" He doesn't still and she finds herself avoiding eye contact.

Whoops, inner monologue became outer, she thinks as she forces a smile. "Never mind." Time to commence Operation-Get-the-Fuck-Out-Because-You're-Making-Me-Nervous. "Bo is supposed to be home by tomorrow night if all goes well." He nods and she realizes Hint
Number One has gone right over his head. Time for Number Two. She over exaggerates a yawn. "You know, it's been a busy day what with all the cleaning and the uh, doing important girly things. I think I am going to hit the sack."

During her speech, Dyson has wound up right behind her again. He is close – definitely beyond the friend zone. She is about to step away when he leans in and does something completely unexpected. She reacts immediately. "Did you just smell my hair?"

He should look sheepish. He should look guilty. Instead he looks as if he is ready to pounce.

"Oh hell no." With those words, she springs to action, throwing her meager weight against him. She still manages to catch him off guard and as he doubles over, she is sprinting toward the nearest room with a locked door.

She gets maybe five steps before his hand closes around her ankle. A little tug, an audible whoosh of breath, and she is eating floor. She is clawing now, desperate to get away.

"Kenzi," he shouts as he crawls toward her. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah, right, I'm going to believe that one, psycho. I don't know who you are or what you've done with my Dyson but you can believe I am going to shove a shoe up your ass for this," she tries unsuccessfully to kick her trapped leg free. "Let me go, you big freak." Another jerk and her ankle is released.

He moves swiftly, covering her body with his own, pressing her stomach to the floor. She squeaks in indignation and tries to wiggle her way out from underneath of him. "What are you? A shapeshifter? An alien? A test tube clone?"

"Dammit, Kenzi, stop moving," he grunts.

"Get off me!" She cries.

"It's me. Just me," he says, his head close to her ear.

"Right and I'm…" she stops mid-sentence when she becomes aware of something pressing against her thigh. Her mouth falls open and her eyes widen. "Dyson is that your...Oh my God, get off me! Get off me!"

To her everlasting relief, he does and she scrambles to her feet to find him standing between her and her escape. He has his hands raised, presumably to show her that he means her no harm. However, she is too busy eyeing the tent in his pants to notice.

"Let me explain," he pleads.

"You better!" Kenzi shoots back and settles for putting the sofa between them. She has her entire body tensed, ready to run should he try anything. She hates that she is a bit entranced by the display before her. "Could you not point that fucking thing at me?"

"I can't help it."

"Typical male response." She would like to stare at the ceiling but she can't very well keep an eye on him if she does that.

"No, seriously, I can't help it," Dyson tells her and she thinks there is a trace of shame evident on his face (at least now she is looking at his face). "It's that time of year…"

"Oh don't tell me you have some screwed up once a year man period because I will seriously barf!" Kenzi exclaims. He steps toward the sofa. "No, no, you stay right there." She reaches down to pick up the nearest heavy object off the coffee table (which just happens to be her shoe – there is something to be said for not cleaning on a regular basis). Thankfully he compiles.

"It's not like that." She can tell that he is having a hard time figuring out exactly how to explain his actions so far this night. "It's mating season."

Kenzi screws her face up. "I thought every day was mating season in a man's eyes."

"For wolves."

A pause.

"Oh." She blinks rapidly as if that will help all this make sense. "Um…"

"It means I am running more on instinct then actual logical thought," Dyson explains.

Things make a heck of a lot more sense then they did ten minutes ago. "You came here looking for Bo because she could take the edge off huh? Bet she could zap your ass until you couldn't move."

"It would be ideal," he says with a nod. "There is a lot of pent up…uh…"

She plugs her ears immediately. "No need to explain. I get it, believe me, I get it!" She waits a few moments before removing her fingers. "My offer still stands – I can call Bo. She can be here by morning. You two can knock boots until you're maxed out. And while you're doing that I'll go find a rock to hide under."

Dyson sighs. "I am afraid of what I might do between now and then."

Kenzi makes a face at the implication of his words. "You weren't kidding on that whole running on instinct thing were you?" She asks. She still has the shoe clutched tightly in her hand as she ponders options. "Do we call Trick? The man has enough herbs, spices and mystical concoctions to put the pharmacy to shame. Surely he must have something to take away the urge to bone."

"He doesn't have anything to stop something that is a natural urge in the Fae. It's a part of who I am, Kenzi," Dyson explains and he actually looks pained. She feels a little sorry for him, and loosens her grip on the shoe.

"Do you have any other lady friends of the succubus nature?" She asks.

"The only other succubus in the area is Dark Fae."

"Right. And I suppose if you stick it in her, you'll create a black hole or something." He doesn't look all that amused at her attempt in humor. "Christ, Dyson, I don't know. Short of tying you down and riding it out, I would say you are shit out of luck."

"Do it."

"Huh?" Kenzi drops the shoe, seeing that he has a look of determination on his face.

"Tie me up," Dyson says and she thinks he is almost pleading. "Make sure I don't hurt anyone."

"Holy crap, you're serious…and kinky." When she sees the look on his face, she adds, "My bad. Clearly not the time to joke about things of that nature. Um…" She looks around. "…we have rope around here somewhere. Always carry it in stock since the Fae decided to start dropping by unannounced. Why don't you have a seat and get comfortable?" It seems like an absurd request.

Still, he complies, choosing a sturdy looking chair from their motley crew collection. She hunts around, still keeping an eye on him, until she finds a good length of rope. With it in hand, she turns back to find him seated, watching her with rapt interest again. Not good. "Are you sure?"

"I am sure," he tells her and his voice has taken on a husky tone.

"Best to do this quickly then," Kenzi says. She wastes no time looping the rope around him, doing her best to avoid that area. She has always been an expert at knots, and makes damn sure that this one is tight and going to hold before she stands in front of him. "Too tight?"

"It's fine, Kenzi," he assures her, even though he looks uncomfortable.

With him on lockdown and her nether regions safe, she isn't sure what to do next. She can't very well go to bed and leave him trussed up like that. Besides, she has a feeling she should keep an eye on him - stake out style. Which means she is going to need coffee. She heads back to the kitchen and begins to perk up a cup of something black and strong. She is very aware of him eyes following her. It does nothing to calm her frazzled nerves. "Do you want to watch TV or something?" She doesn't stop for an answer, scrambling for the remote and turning it on to find Ross and Rachel making out. A groan from her companion and she is changing the channel. "Yeah, probably not the best idea." She settles on the news network currently flashing pictures of a multicar pile up in the downtown area. "If that floats your boat then you are sick sick man, Dyson."

He doesn't answer but he does squirm. By the time she has a steaming cup of coffee in front of her face, he is wiggling on a regular basis. It looks a tad pathetic. "Dammit, Dyson, stop trying to air screw! You're not helping yourself one bit." He growls in response. "Okay, okay, instinct and all." Her eyes fall on the Howling Seal. "What if we get you rip roaring drunk? Cloud that mind of yours…"

"I'll try anything." He sounds strained.

Kenzi pours another rather large glass of the homemade brew. She moves to stand before him, noting the look of stark lust in his eyes. She reckons she hasn't had that many hormones coursing through her body since she was a teen – and even then, she is sure there is no real comparison. "You smell delicious," he tells her.

Kenzi thrusts the drink toward his mouth. "Drink, wolf boy." She tips the glass and watches as he consumes a good portion of the puke worthy liquid. She pulls it back, noting the trickle from the corner of his mouth. Her own instinct has her reaching out to wipe it away.

Big mistake.

He is quick, turning his head, and capturing two of her fingers in his mouth. She jumps at the contact and before she can do anything about it, she hears the tell tale sound of ropes breaking. "Shit!" She drops the glass and makes to run.

He moves too. She isn't even sure how it happens but she finds herself pressed firmly against a wall. He has a hand beneath each of her thighs, propping her up and he has managed to fit himself between her legs. Her own hands are free and she moves them to his shoulders to push him away. He doesn't seem deterred in the least. "Dyson! Stop thinking with your downstairs brain!"

His response is to kiss her.

And holy hell, what a kiss. Kenzi's eyes widen as his lips cover her own. He seems content to melt her into a puddle. She can't remember the last time she was kissed like this (hell, was she ever kissed like this?). She feels a little giddy, like she is high or something. She wonders if this is how it feels when he kisses Bo. She wants to pull away. She should pull away. It is the right thing to do.

Then why the hell is she locking her legs around his waist. Her eyes shut and her hands move to tangle in his blonde curls. He certainly isn't willing to give up control, shifting the angle, to force her mouth open wider.

Air. Dear Lord, she needs air (and a crowbar).

She uses her grip on his hair to wrench his head back. He growls and the sound seems to go straight to the pit of her stomach. Oh, Kenzi girl, you are playing with fire. She sucks in deep, hoping it will clear her head even as he moves his hips against her. "Bad idea! Bad idea!" She cries loudly, as if her shrill voice will cut through the lust fueled haze taking over his brain.

He moves for another kiss and she lets go of his hair. One hand braces on his shoulder and the other reaches blindly for anything. It falls on a nearby vase (that she 'found'). She doesn't have the time to mourn its loss. Instead she swings with all her might, cracking it over her head. He shouts but at least it has the desired effect. He pulls away long enough for her to scramble and put the bathroom door between them.

She is throwing the lock when he launches himself against it. "Kenzi!"

"Oh holy shit," she mutters as she leans against the door, struggling to catch her breath and calm her whirling mind. She finds herself sliding down the length of the door and resting her chin on her knees.

What she needs is her cell phone. She has no qualms about calling Hale and telling him that his partner is trying to hump her leg. Unfortunately the phone is resting comfortably in the crack of the sofa and there is a horn dog firmly placed between them (literally).

When he speaks she realizes that he hasn't moved from his position just on the other side of the door. "Kenzi, God, you know I won't hurt
you."

Oh she knows it will be the complete opposite of hurt. The very thought of it has her shifting unconsciously, as if to relieve the tension she is feeling. "If it's all the same to you, I think you are better off on that side of the door." If she can ride him out maybe he'll lose interest, maybe he'll scamper off to find something else to screw. Preferably something Fae – a shifter who is just as hard up as he is at the moment. That would appease her conscience (because right now she is envisioning him running off and dry humping the nearest thing with breasts).

She hears him slide down the door as well. Be strong Kenzi, she tells herself, staring straight ahead. Don't think about the fact that there is a nice slice of man on the other side of the door. One that would like nothing more than to ravish her. She slaps her hand against her forehead. Of course, she would find herself in such a position. She can't get laid to save her soul and when the opportunity presents itself, her morals come into play.

Stupid morals.

"Kenzi."

That husky tone has returned. She should plug her ears and hum loudly. Maybe some Bob Dylan, or hell, a hymn or two. Something the opposite of sexy.

"Please."

He sounds like he is pain and is begging her to put him out of his misery. And she can't deny there is a part of her that wants to unlock the door. She furrows her brows together and takes a deep breath. Don't think about it, don't think about it, don't think about it, don't think about it. It becomes her mantra.

"I won't hurt you. Unless you want me to." There is a pause and he must be running a hand down the door. The sound makes her shudder – in a good way. "Oh the things I would do to you…"

Why does he have to have a voice like that? Why does he have to have a body that looks as if it was chiseled out of rock? It's not fair. She wishes he was a pimply overweight dunce who couldn't put one foot in front of another. Then she would have no problem telling him to 'help himself'.

"I bet you taste…"

"STOP!" Kenzi cries in frustration. It's bad enough he has worked himself into a state – now he's trying to do the same to her. Her brain is whirling, searching for something to bring him to a halt. "Bo! What about Bo?"

"What about her?" She can almost hear him shrug.

"Uh, incase you have forgotten – wait, you've probably forgotten so let me remind you, Bo is your girlfriend. And I know you Fae have your own set of rules and all but I am sure that sexing up your girlfriend's best friend is pretty much universal," Kenzi says (and all in one breath).

There is silence and she thinks she has gotten through to him.

Until he laughs.

Well, that's not good.

"Come on, Kenzi, you know Bo is not my girlfriend. The list of her conquests is nearly twice the size of mine," Dyson tells her. "She is incapable of being monogamous."

"She may not be, but wolves are," Kenzi points out. Is she losing the battle? It almost feels as if she is running out of excuses and just prolonging the inevitable.

"I'm not all wolf."

Oh shit. He certainly has that right.

"Kenzi, open the door," he tells her. Underneath the plea there is a gruffness that has her sucking her bottom lip into her mouth. "I promise you that you will not regret it."

"That is mighty arrogant of you," she says. She looks up to realize that her hand is on the doorknob. Seems he's not the only one fighting instinct at the moment. It's like he's contagious or something.

"Perhaps, but I'll let you be the judge of that." She can hear him shift his weight and it's like he is whispering in her ear. "Come on, Kenzi. I'll beg. I'll do it."

Her eyes fall close and she can feel his lips on hers again. Bad, Kenzi, Bad! Think unsexy thoughts, think unsexy thoughts. She tries to envision Trick naked but instead finds herself reliving the moment in which first came upon Dyson shirtless. Lean muscle, and tattoos decorating his skin. Of course that vision would shift very nicely into him stripping down to transform himself.

She lets out a whimper, barely audible.

Naturally, his keen hearing would pick it up. "There you go. Just open the door, Kenzi. I'll help you." Oh that's not fair - he's turning the tables on her. The big jerk.

The big sexy jerk.

"The lock, Kenzi. Just turn the lock. I'll do the rest." Hot damn, his voice is doing things to her that make her want to scream in frustration. He is definitely in full on seduction mode.

Clearly she is no match.

"You gave it your best, Kenz," she tells herself before she flicks the lock. She stands as the door opens and she is face to face with one worked up Fae. There is a wild look in his eyes, a grin of triumph on his face (and the tent is back with a vengeance).

She thinks she has lost her mind.

"Okay, dog breath, you better kiss me before I realize how incredibly insane…"

She doesn't even get to finish her sentence before he is on her. A hand tangles in her hair, jerking her head back and he devours her. She tries her best to keep up but she is never going to be a match for whatever biological process is going inside of him. Her own body flush to his, banded there by his arm.

She is not getting out of this without a bruise or two (or three or four).

Breathing is becoming difficult. She whines in protest and he finally releases her mouth. She is dazed, gasping for air. He is looking down at her, eyes a sharp yellow. Her eyes widen and she feels the first lance of real fear since he darkened her door. She tries to pull away but he holds her tight. "I meant it, Kenzi. I won't hurt you." To prove his point, he kisses her again – this time more gently, as if coaxing her to respond.

She does, finally moving her hands around him. God, this feels nice. She could do this all night. The firm erection pressed against to stomach tells her that he has other plans. But for now she'll take what she can get on the kissage front, darting her tongue out to trace his lips.

Those nagging inhibitions are falling away and she grins before she playfully nips his bottom lip. She is not surprised when he growls.

And of course the whole thing dissolves into a fight to satisfy baser needs.

They stumble out of the bathroom, locked together. He is pulling at her clothes. Her shirt rips. She should care (because damn it, it was a favorite of hers) but how can she be mad when Dyson is placing a love bite in the crook of her neck. She hisses, tugging at his shirt. He is only too happy to help and once they are free from that particular restriction they clash together again.

He runs hot, his skin almost too warm for her liking. His hands are everywhere, deftly robbing her of her bra. She gives up trying to keep pace, and lets him take over.

Which must be exactly what he has wanted all along.

She swears she hears him chuckle before he thrusts a hand unceremoniously down her sweatpants. He certainly knows what he is doing because she is clutching his arms, her fingers digging into his skin as she gasps her approval.

God, she's close, oh so close.

And it's like he knows because he pulls out his hand, causing her to let out a growl of her own. The smirk on his face leaves her itching to smack it off but before she gets the chance he spins her around and gives her a gentle shove. Her stomach hits the edge of the table and she places her hands on the smooth surface.

Just in time too. Because Dyson is pulling her remaining clothing away. She takes a deep breath, glad that her hormones have clouded her judgment because she knows very well if she wasn't so damn turned on (and therefore thinking clearly) she would be running for the hills at this point.

There is no finesse (not that she needs it at this point). He moves hard and fast against her and she is left pressed against the table, fingers clutching at the edge. Her breathing is irregular (then again, so is his). She swears her eyes are rolling right back into her head and she struggles to stay on her feet. Finally her knees buckle and she slides toward the floor. He is right there with her, repositioning her on her hands and knees (she is too far gone to see the irony in this).

He uses his hands to help her along and soon she is throwing her head back as her body tenses. She can't stop the stream of filthy words that come from her mouth – both English and Russian. She wants to collapse to the floor but he holds her up with an arm around the waist. She wonders just how long a horny wolf can go on but before she can translates the logistics of it; he presses her to the floor and bites her shoulder.

"Hey, watch it, wolf boy!" Kenzi lifts her head to see that thankfully his teeth did not break her skin. She lays her cheek on the cool surface of the floor. He feels like dead weight over her but she is too worn out to move. She is, however, eternally grateful that she has cleaned.

Soon she is wiggling. "Can't breathe," she tells him and thankfully he moves, sprawling flat on his back next to her. She turns so she can sit up. A hand goes to her hair (a tangled mess is the nicest way to describe it really) and she lets out a long sigh. "Uh…feeling better?"

He reaches out to run a hand over the expanse of her back. "For now."

It takes a moment for the implication of his words to sink in. "For now?"

Oh, hell, it's going to be a long night.