On those older mornings when Akande woke first, he would let Lúcio continue sleeping. Respite has always been hard for them to come by.
On this morning, the sky is just beginning to stir with the pale of dawn. The first snow began falling the day before.
Again, Akande wakes first. The air in their room of the watchpoint is cold, but beneath their sheets their combined body heat makes it tolerable. And Akande is hard. Lúcio sprawls beside him, face buried in his pillow, dreadlocks fanned askew. It's so ordinary. That much rarer for them. The sight makes Akande's chest ache.
He curls into the medic, smiling at Lúcio's sleepy mumbles as he’s drawn back against Akande’s chest and folded into his arms, not a single line of resistance in his body.
It's the closeness that Akande values the most. The warmth of Lúcio sluggishly tucking back into Akande's frame. The soft way he croons, stirring awake when Akande buries his face in the undamaged side of Lúcio's neck, breathing him in.
Safe, Akande silently repeats the mantra. Safe and alive.
“Morning,” Lúcio murmurs, sounding so sleepy and faraway.
“It is a good morning,” Akande kisses the skin behind his ear, gently palming the firm muscles of Lúcio's chest.
Warm hands cover his and stroke the back of his fingers, as though in reassurance. Akande lifts one to kiss the thick bandages wrapping Lúcio's palm, then the wide band over his bicep. His lips linger, grateful no blood has seeped through the gauze in the night.
He doesn't ask if it hurts. He knows how to hold Lúcio so it won't and how to read the tension in his body if it starts.
Lúcio hums sleepily, turning slowly in his arms and burrowing against his chest with a sigh. A warm thigh slides between his own, hooking on the back of his knee. Akande shivers at the ticklish encouragement of lazy fingers down the valley of his spine.
Lúcio is so much smaller than him. So easy to lift and rearrange at his whim. He should be so much easier to protect. He isn't.
The instinct to crowd him down with the shelter of his body surges again, but Akande is careful not to crush when he turns Lúcio on his back. Thighs fall open around Akande's waist, pressing his sides, and that's all the invitation needed.
Lazy and unrushed, the air is hot between them when Akande rocks their erections together in the loose channel of his fist. His free hand smooths the long bandage over Lúcio's abdomen, pleased to find that the one diagonally wrapping his ribs has also stayed on during the night.
Beneath him, Lúcio's breaths warm, drawing deeper, and his chest presses up, demanding more. He always was a fast healer.
Akande watches those dark eyes slide shut at the first push of slick, blunt fingers into him. Lúcio’s low groan rings in his ears, the hand on his cock never ceasing as he's stroked slow, steady and thorough from the inside out. Akande is transfixed at the sight of his fingers disappearing inside his body up to the knuckle, the gentle arch Akande pulls from his body with thrusts timed on the rise and fall of Lúcio’s chest.
“Almost, deeper -- yeah, yeah,” Lúcio pleads with a full body tremble when Akande curls and kneads against his prostate with a smirk. At the stretch of three fingers, Lúcio’s cock begins to drool, twitching against his stomach. Akande throbs in sympathy feeling the tight, hot clench around his fingers, and he tells himself this should be enough.
It’s never enough.
Returning the lubricant to the nightstand, Akande smiles at the man watching him through sleepy blinks, hips raised, lower lip bitten red. Lúcio lies spread in anticipation, but the white of those bandages keep Akande careful when he lowers, taking himself in hand and pressing inside.
He moans, eyes falling shut at the heady sensation of sinking into slick, firm heat. This never gets old. The hitch of Lúcio's breaths, inner walls of muscle rippling to accommodate him. The soft look in Lúcio’s eyes pinched with awe. The hands that dig tight into his shoulders. How Lúcio's whole body relaxes when their hips finally meet at the hilt, last of the strain leaking away.
Akande sighs deep in his chest, hips jogging forward. “Unh….”
It's not the time for teasing or possession. He stretches up to brace on the headboard, and Lúcio moans low and long beneath the languid grind of his weight, deep and satisfied. The soft, wet sounds of the medic cleaving to him make his head fall back, shivering hot.
Lúcio's hands drop from his shoulders to his waist, a heady moan buried in Akande's chest, strong legs squeezing tight against his sides. Akande pants at the gentle pass of teeth, hot mouth and tongue latching onto his nipple, the grip that seizes, groping the cheeks of his ass as he slowly rocks Lúcio into the bed.
“Please,” Lúcio sighs into his chest, writhing gently beneath the pin of his weight. Akande adjusts, angling deeper, and Lúcio mewls, moving with him. “Yeah… aahn....”
Akande could stay like this forever. All thoughts of Talon, Overwatch and uprisings are far from mind. His world has narrowed to the hot, rhythmic clench swallowing him down, Lúcio's tight, blissed expression, sleepy moans pushed from his lungs, legs swaying around him with every smooth thrust. Akande purrs at the thought of waking Lúcio like this every morning, claiming him lazily with all the time in the world, over and over. It's a nice fantasy.
He pulls back far enough to study Lúcio lost in his own haze, heavy eyes struggling to stay open beneath the onslaught of sensation.
“That feel good?” Akande murmurs, voice thick and strained in his own ears. It's difficult to want someone this much. Needing to hold back. Lúcio twitches, a weak huff of breath, and Akande wonders if Lúcio can feel how hard Akande throbs inside him.
“Yeah,” Lúcio breathes out, eyes sliding shut.
Akande grins and pushes more weight behind his next thrust, “Yeah?”
Expression pinching, Lúcio twists away with a sharp, thin whine. His thighs quiver, knees hitching higher around Akande's waist. His breath catches with the heavy grind -- two, three more times -- before the pace eases back, and Lúcio’s whimpers tail shallow and quiet.
Before long, Lúcio is barely murmuring, his sounds soft and involuntary as Akande moves within him, and his head lolls on the pillow. He hasn't opened his eyes in some time.
“Hey,” Akande nudges his chin, earning little reaction, “Stay awake.”
Lúcio mumbles, sounding close to falling asleep again.
“Hey,” Akande tries again, leaning in.
Lúcio's eyes shoot wide in alarm, tugged forward, his hips lift, and his knees knock his shoulders as Akande pushes his thighs up and wide, kneeling over him.
Lúcio’s hands shoot out for balance, weight braced on his shoulders. Searching the face of the man above him, his expression is wonderfully confused. “Akan--”
Spreading his knees and planting his feet, Akande presses back in from his higher angle, relishing Lúcio's disorientation fall to open-mouthed shock, core buckling. His gasping cry tails to an annoyed huff.
“I need sleep, you pervert!”
“How can you fall asleep when you're still this hard?” Akande wonders, stroking the medic's cock as he presses their hips flush.
Lúcio pushes a hand against Akande's smug face with a tired pout. “I'm healing....”
Chuckling, Akande turns and catches two of those fingers in his mouth. He hums, worshipping each digit, suckling down to the knuckle and tonguing the skin between. Lúcio curls and thrusts them against his tongue, narrowed gaze softening when Akande just hums, amused at his force.
Akande nips his fingers, withdrawing with a wet pop. He rocks forward, watching Lúcio’s body curl beneath him. “Does this hurt?” Because he knows, he’s almost certain it doesn’t, but here -- in this -- he needs to be sure.
“No. Tired.” Lúcio’s pout deepens and he proves again how sleepy he is instead, reaching up for Akande anyway.
Relenting with little real argument, Akande eases down into waiting arms, thighs tucking up beneath his drowsy lover. “Then relax,” he smiles, the medic sleepily nuzzling him, “I'll do all the work, my love.”
The arms around his shoulders tense. The flutter of muscles on his cock is harder to miss and Akande hums with question, pulling back to search his face.
Lúcio blinks back at him, jaw tight. Far more alert than he was a moment ago.
Akande brushes a kiss to his mouth, thumb stroking a bead of sweat from his cheek. He feels his smile widen, tugging at the corner. “Do you like when I call you that?” He pulls back, and Lúcio shivers with a bitten off whine, hips rising to chase him, impossible from his angle. “My love?”
Lúcio shudders, glancing to Akande's mouth like he doesn't trust the shape of his words. “If this is you teasing. Please don't.”
Chest to chest, Akande can feel Lúcio's heart pounding. He grins, sharp and knowing. “But you're right: I am a pervert, because I always want you.”
He rolls his hips hard and slow, bearing deep. A bleated whimper escapes Lúcio's throat under the pressure, and Akande growls, drawing back to thrust in again, “When you're across the world, defying me with these bygone heroes,” and again, “When I see you on the news inspiring the masses,” again - a rougher shove, driving a high whimper from the body beneath beneath him. “When you ignore my calls. Glare at me, behind their shields. When they laugh with you… no…” and Lucio throws his head back, crying out, “Idea how hard you beg when you're finally beneath me."
“Beg you to stop talking, you mean,” Lúcio mutters, voice tight and unsteady. “You big, dumb--”
His expression crumbles as Akande plants a hand on either side of his head and proceeds to fuck him in earnest, steady long strokes -- then faster, driving straight down from above. Gasping loud, Lúcio's hands cling tight behind Akande's neck, pulling him closer.
Akande grins, stealing a kiss from the corner of Lúcio’s mouth. “I am big.”
Lúcio‘s groan is caught between molten pleasure and deep exasperation, eyes clenched tightly shut. “Shut up.”
“And I want you,” the words feel like they well from deep inside of him, a dark and urgent pit of longing that yawns open as Akande watches the emotions flicker over Lúcio's face, more telling than any words he could wrangle. He growls and buries himself, leaning their foreheads together, “I always want you.”
Lúcio sobs, sharp and wrenched. He begs, “Stop it.”
“Come, my love,” Akande coaxes, hand curving beneath his head to tangle in thick dreadlocks, “Let's wake up the watchpoint.”
Those words are worth the pleasure of Lúcio struggling for breath, spreading himself open as Akande pounds into him. Of disarming any protest when Akande repositions to fuck him from an angle that has him wailing, hands fisted in the sheets when he comes.
No one arrives to break down the door. Nobody knocks on the wall demanding quiet. Lúcio's shrieks and sobbing pleas echo the halls, but his friends demonstrate their first intelligence in staying away.
The sun is high in the sky by the time Akande finally lets him rest, exhausted and shaking. Outside, the snow is still falling. Nursed with water and lingering kisses, Lúcio collapses in the one dry spot left and passes out cold.
This time, Akande agrees he needs it.