As the Blood Eagle Flies
By the time the two of them had fought their way in and out of the Watoga underground, Rory was so utterly exhausted that she had suggested simply taking the most direct path back to her C.A.M.P. from there—she’d never been much of a stealth-and-sneak kinda girl, anyway. Neither was Beckett, for that matter; but despite this, he may still have tried to argue for a more meandering route, had his brain not been tied up from trying to parse the exact term she’d used: “as the crow flies.”
It was such an inherently prewar phrase. Rory wasn’t prewar—plenty enough folks in these parts were, but she, and Beckett himself for the most part, wasn’t. Just a year too young; a few younger than him. She was a vaultie, however, and that was basically good-as. There was just something... more about her. Different.
The way she looks. The way she acts.
The color of her hair, sang some strange and distant half-memory in Beckett’s mind.
As it was, going home “as the crow flies” brought the two of them in the path of several enemy encampments—first more Blood Eagles, and second some roving super mutants—and left their team even more broken and bloodied, somehow. And again, had Beckett been in his right mind, he’d have attempted to steer her in a different route.
But at this point, he knew better than to try. Her pride would be wounded to admit defeat now, and she was a stubborn girl.
“My bruises are going to have bruises,” Rory complained, but with a well-meaning smirk Beckett’s way that had the breath sticking in his throat, leaving him bereft of any line to toss back at her. Apparently noticing as much, she simply patted him on the shoulder, causing a billowing cloud of decades-old dust and rust to release from the fibers of his shirt to instead invade his nose.
“No need for a witty rejoinder, Becks. It’s not what I keep you around for, anyway,” she teased him, that same sweet smugness in her voice, as she set back off toward the towering cliff face she had seemingly convinced herself they were going to scale, pausing only to turn up the volume on her Pip-Boy and hum a bar or two of the song currently playing.
The way she walks. The way she talks.
Praise the Lord and swing into position
Can't afford to be a politician
Praise the Lord, we're all between perdition
And the deep blue sea
Jesus, the way she sings, Beckett sighed, keeping the thought in his own head and his eyes very firmly on his partner’s ass as she began to climb up the mountain separating The Savage Divide and the eastern section of forest their base was stationed in.
No one normal had any right being either as tough or as sexy as Rory—and much less being both at the same time. It seemed that for every flirty comment that left her mouth, whether directed at Beckett himself or simply anyone that happened to catch her in the mood, his boss had a scar or two to match.
He often wondered what she’d said—what overly kind thing she’d done—to earn the big, vicious one that sliced her down the middle of her beautiful face.
It had been a hard year for her before people had come back to Appalachia. She had insisted she hadn’t been alone after leaving the safety of that cog-like iron door, but, from the state of decomposition they found corpses wearing that signature blue vault suit, anyone that had left with her had also died not long after that. Evidence like that did not add up.
That, and Rory was far too interested in talking, at length, to anyone she could whenever she could. Oftentimes, when she wasn’t out running jobs for him, Beckett had had to close his bar late to give her and the settlers she kept captive more time to run their mouths. Not that Beckett would ever complain about having business—having business was a key component in running a business, after all. That, and the longer someone would keep Rory at camp, the easier he breathed. And the later in the night it got, the more she’d buy from him and the more she’d smile.
...honestly, Beckett didn’t even mind Rory talking the ear off people.
But that obvious, lurking loneliness just didn’t jive with her story of not being completely on her own since entering the outside world.
And, as anyone in the world could tell you these days, being alone is not ideal for survival; solitude like that eats away at the mind and what makes you human, if it didn’t simply sign your death warrant outright. People needed people—even ex-raider scumbags like Beckett himself.
“Watch your hand here, Becks.” The sound of Rory’s voice called him back to the present, and he just barely caught the sight of her eyes laughing at him and his wandering gaze. “Eyes on what you’re doing, babe. Rocks are sharp here and it would suck for my favorite pretty boy to get all cut up cause he wasn’t paying attention.”
And then she wiggled the fingers of her right hand at him. Such an inappropriately cute movement, once Beckett noticed the context: a dark, rapidly spreading blotch of wetness across the palm of her glove. A tiny rivulet of red began to peak outside the confines of the garment, circling her wrist like a delicate vine, before she removed her hand from his sight and once more began climbing.
“Boss,” Beckett tried to call to her, but she was stubbornly continuing on. “Hey, maybe we should let you bandage that?” he yelled more forcefully, but getting nothing more than a chuckle for his efforts.
“What do you think I’m still climbing for?” she laughed, not even flinching at what was certainly a more unpleasant wound than she was letting on. Beckett sighed but followed her anyway. Just add it to the list of pain he owed her for; they were only here because he’d fucked up looking after Frankie, after all.
But if she hadn’t been there—hadn’t talked him into being a man for once in his life and reaching out to help his little brother?
Well... Beckett owed Rory. Best to leave it at that.
With this final thought, the pair finally found themselves at the top of the mountain range. Beckett heaved himself up the last bit of rock and groaned gratefully to feel even terrain behind him as he collapsed backwards; but out of the corner of his eye he noticed Rory preparing to trek onwards once more.
“You said you were waiting to get up here to bandage that,” he called after her, to which he only got a grunt of affirmation in response before he heard her kick up rocks as she started off. “Rory! Damn it.”
Hauling his ass back up off the ground and skidding off after her, he managed to make the catlike smile on her face flit away in surprise when he angrily grabbed her wrist. “Becks—”
“If you aren’t gonna take care of yourself, at least let me,” he muttered in annoyance, leading her over to a boulder to sit on while she accepted his help. Rory was so taken aback by the look of concentration on her partner’s usually smirking—if not unreadable—face, that she simply let him do as he wanted. “Why do you carry so much useless shit in here,” he huffed as he pawed through her backpack, looking for whatever it was that he’d determined he needed.
“It isn’t so useless when it’s being used to build that bar I made for you,” she teased him as he finally found the medical supplies he’d been searching for. Beckett made a face of irritation at her flippant, unconcerned air; the sunglasses he always wore obscured the look of worry in his eyes, however.
“Well since I don’t need another bar, maybe carry less junk and more bandages now, alright?”
Rory chuckled lightly under her breath, “Whatever you say, boss.”
There was a part of Beckett—a very specific part of him, that he wasn’t equipped to deal with at the moment—that liked Rory calling him by the nickname he’d given her. It sounded like a title, especially given the fact that she was undoubtedly in charge back at base; but Beckett meant it as a nickname.
A term of endearment for the girl that was very quickly, very obviously, worming her way into the uncharted territory of his heart.
If she had any criticisms for his skill of care, she at least saved it until after he had slipped off her now soiled glove and set about cleaning and disinfecting the wound, which was now free to gush blood. The sight made Beckett more nervous than he really knew how to handle, so he may have been a bit sloppy in his application of the wrap.
A thought in his mind that was affirmed by Rory herself as she inspected the wrap and said, “Wow, you are remarkably shit at this, babe.”
Feeling a completely unwelcome flush on his cheeks at the teasing, Beckett simply scoffed at her and tried to calm down before unravelling the bandage and starting again with a markedly clearer head. “Raiders ain’t usually in the business of patching each other up. Sorry, princess.”
“Didn’t realize we were a raider gang now,” she taunted right back at his sass, which made Beckett roll his eyes.
“You know what I meant, boss.”
“Mm hmm,” Rory hummed, a tiny, genuine smile poking at the side of her mouth as she watched her partner taking his time to wrap her hand in the way she’d shown him a while ago. The roles had been reversed then: Beckett had cut himself on some shattered glass while cleaning up the bar and had asked her to walk him through how to care for a wound while she had cleaned and bound it.
Fast learner, she praised him in her thoughts as he tied the bandage more securely than he had at first.
“Thank you, Becks. It’s sweet of you to care,” she said, voice soft. “And you know I’m just teasing you when I’m mean, right?”
Beckett scoffed again and busied himself with wiping the blood on his fingers on his jeans. “Yeah, yeah. I know,” he muttered grumpily despite the redness of his face. “Meeting your standards now, doc? Or do I need to kiss it better too?”
If he was trying to steer them away from the loving, sincere tone their conversation had been tip-toeing into, that particular turn of phrase might not have been his best choice, as Rory was next saying, voice soft but full of implication, “If you did, I don’t know that I’d be happy with just a kiss on my hand, Beckett.”
Across from her, Beckett was doing his damnedest not to give away the hammering of his heart inside his chest. Rory was a terrible flirt—and he meant that in the way that she was constantly spitting out cute little lines like that at him, and not that she was actually awful at it. Because she wasn’t. She was the opposite of awful.
She always knew just what to say to make Beckett wonder what if.
What if she meant it? What if she let him flirt back? What if she kept it up? What if she let it go further?
What if she did let him kiss her?
Beckett was through with wondering. He wanted to know. But the middle of the Appalachian wastes was not the place for that conversation.
So, instead of what he wanted to say, Beckett simply said, “You ready to go home, Aurora?”
Rory may have tried to make the rest of the trip home go as quickly as possible. She was fairly sure Beckett didn’t realize that he’d gave his game away by using her real name—hell, he probably didn’t even notice he’d done it at all. The man didn’t exactly dwell on his words; but she’d always liked that about him.
So many men tried to impress her with words, usually when they didn’t have anything else to offer her. Words were plenty pretty, and she often missed literature and poetry night from the vault, but out in the wastes, you had to be strong before anything else. Until real towns and settlements could be established, where the pen could once again be mightier than the sword, so to speak: well, you had to know how to use a damn sword.
Beckett had many times proven his strength to Rory, so that wasn’t a worry. But beyond that, the two of them just clicked together. There hadn’t been many people in Appalachia before settlers and raider gangs recently moved into the territory, but there had been the odd wanderer like herself that she’d come across. Plenty had been fair to her. A few had been allies in tough times. A couple had even shared her bed.
But never once had she let someone into her own space. Set up in her camp. Split her resources. Live in her home—her sanctuary.
But she’d immediately taken Beckett in. And he’d fit into the missing slot in her heart without forcing it and without her even realizing it.
She loved him.
And she wondered whether he knew.
Well Rory was through with wondering. And just as soon as they got back to their home, she’d settle that score in her mind once and for all. Any time beyond now would never be better, so why wait?
Their moment eventually came, rather fittingly, at Beckett’s bar.
At the moment it was a simple construction: “just a wooden box with a flat surface,” as Rory had first described it, perhaps out of embarrassment with her creation, before Beckett lit up like a fourth of July firework and hugged her so hard he cracked her vertebrae all the way down her spine.
One day she still wanted to make him a proper bar, once she was a little more confident in furniture making. If only he’d asked her for a house—those she’d mastered almost as soon as she’d left the vault; walls, a floor, and a roof to keep out the spring rains were a necessity.
But Beckett had never pressed her or asked for more than she’d already delivered. Even now, he was soaking a rag in water from the purifiers in the nearby river to wipe down the bar top he was so immensely proud of. The bar top Rory was now moving to seat herself on.
“Something I can do for you, boss?” Beckett asked, not even raising an eyebrow at the action; he’d had to get accustomed to her sitting or standing or laying on everything when she’d first brought him back to her camp. Rory liked to be comfortable in her space, and most anything had once been—or would someday become—a chair for her.
“Phrasing, babe,” she giggled at him, taking the rag from his hands to toss into the bucket on the ground beside him.
“Well then, what is it I can do for you, sweetheart?” he asked, setting his hands on the bar top like he usually did when he was relaxing with a customer. But with how Rory was sitting, all this did was pull Beckett even closer into her orbit, his stomach pressing ever so softly into her knees. And she felt the blood rising in her cheeks accordingly.
“Ooh, very smooth,” she cooed, surprised by him reciprocating so easily for once. And knowingly, it seemed. “But. Well, just wanted to check in on you. Make sure you’re alright. Open ear for you to talk into, like I always offer.”
Why was she backing off? That’s not what she’d planned to do here.
“There is something I wanted to talk with you about, yeah,” he replied, leaning back a bit but leaving his hands where they were on either side of her hips.
“Shoot, Becks. Happy to help.”
He paused before smiling a bit at her words. “Heh, you really are, aren’t you?” he muttered more to himself before speaking more clearly. “I know you’ve already told me I don’t need to thank you for what you just did for me—”
“—and you don’t.”
“I know, sweetheart. I know,” he cut across her, hesitating before taking one of her hands in his. “Helping people comes so naturally to you, even to washed up ex-raider scum like me. That blows my mind. Almost as much as how easily it comes to you.”
“Might help that I had an easier time growing up,” Rory demurred, but with a little smile when he searched her face.
“But still. I’ve never wanted to be better before... uh...” Beckett scratched at some phantom itch on the back of his neck before mustering his courage. “Before I met you. But now, even more than that, I want to be better for you.”
“This might come as a surprise, but I like you already, Becks. For just what you are,” Rory laughed, but cut herself short at him not mirroring her humor.
“See, that’s what I mean. Rory, you don’t even think I need to change. How do you manage to see the hidden good in everyone, even someone like me?” he asked, but continued on without response. “But that don’t matter. I know I can try more, and I want to be more for you.”
She stilled, her hand in his going a little cold. “If this is you saying you need to go on some... some spirit journey away from me to find yourself, then—”
“No baby, nothing like that. I’m not going anywhere,” he assuaged her mounting fears. “I just... You deserve someone who loves you. I want to know I can be that for you, before we act on what we got going here.”
Rory stopped the retort—you don’t... you don’t love me?—in her throat as she scrutinized the look in his eyes, just barely visible beyond his dark shades. More carefully, she asked, “Becks, have you ever been in love?”
He blanched a little at that, but thankfully didn’t retreat from her. “Uh, no. Not really much room for that in the lifestyle.”
That made sense. “I understand,” she said quietly. Then, “Becks, how do you feel when you’re around me?”
“Uh,” he panicked silently under her gaze. “Not—uh, not great at feelings, boss.”
“Right, sorry. What I meant is: what happens, in your body or your brain, when we’re together?”
He took a moment to suck in a few breaths and regain his composure before considering her question. Rory did this with him often: asking him to explain things in his own way. And it was usually to get him to understand something she was trying to tell him, in her own way.
This seemed like the sort of thing he wanted to get right, so he began slowly, “Well, you make me smile. Way more than I’ve ever been used to; sometimes I do it without even noticing.”
“Ok, go on,” she prompted softly, in the tone she usually took with him in situations like this.
Gaining confidence under her empathetic gaze, Beckett continued, “You make me laugh; and I feel like I can tell any joke I think of and you’ll get it. You never make me feel stupid or cruel, so I speak my mind. And it makes me feel all giddy and dizzy when I can make you smile, especially when you were in a bad mood before then.”
And she smiled at him in that moment, pushing him on more. “My head feels light, even as my chest feels tight. When you tease me, it makes me feel like I have a fever. It always feels like a hundred-degree summer in here when you’re four drinks in and propping up my bar all night.”
“Well that’s your fault for over-pouring. How do you not lose money doing that?” she laughed at him.
“You’re the only one I give extra to,” he admitted with a grin, stopping her dead. “But more than anything, babe, I’m just so happy now. So safe. I’ve never really had a home before; even with Frankie, we were constantly on the run from settlement to settlement. But now, in this place—with you—I can’t think of anywhere else that would treat me better, or any place I’d rather be.”
It was a moment before Rory could answer that. “I feel the same way.”
“Y-yeah?” he asked, gripping her hand a bit tighter.
“Yeah,” she replied. Then, “And I love you, Beckett.”
She seemed to have robbed him of his breath, so instead of waiting for him to collect himself, she said, “So if that’s also how I feel around you, and I love you, can you maybe consider that you love me too?” After a moment, she realized she may have been a little forceful and amended with, “I don’t want to tell you how you feel, because only you can decide that. But—”
“You love me?”
The vulnerability in his voice was incredible. And it caused such an instant outpouring of feeling in her heart that Rory couldn’t help the grin on her face. “Yeah, Becks. I do.”
That was all he needed it seemed, as Beckett was rushing forward to kiss Rory in an instant. Maybe it was the raider in him, but there was no mock-awkwardness in it—no forced slowness, like Rory had always experienced before now.
Beckett was not awkward: He knew what he wanted and how to get there.
Beckett was not shy: She’d told him how she felt, and there wasn’t any point denying their connection.
Beckett was not slow: Why would he wait, when they were both right in front of each other?
And Rory was more than happy to sit there, on top of the bar she’d built him, and let Beckett kiss her senseless.
“Baby, I may never have been in love before,” he breathed against her lips as his hands grabbed greedily at her hips and pulled her as close to him as she could get, “But all I know is that I’ve never felt this before, and I never want to be without it. And maybe that’s what love feels like for me; so fuck it.”
Rory giggled, her laughs turning into a moan a moment later as Beckett moved to suck at her neck, just below her pulse point. “That’s ok, Becks. Like I said: words aren’t what I like you for.”
He laughed too, knowing she was just teasing him, before biting—hard enough to mark her—on the delicate skin above her collarbone, his tongue jutting out to soothe the red brand as she groaned against him. “Well I may not be the words kinda guy,” he said, raising his eyes to meet hers and trying to make the dearness he felt for her apparent in his features, “But I love you too, Rory.”
“Good,” was all she said in response before wrapping her arms around his neck and dragging him back to her.
The fire that they’d been stoking between them for weeks now—a prod here, a comment there, gasoline getting accidentally poured on when he’d once walked in on her changing—was now a blaze that felt like could burn them alive. It was nearly unbearable.
And, seemingly at the same time, the pair decided they were both wearing too much clothing.
Rory’s shirt was the first thing to go—helped along by Beckett’s more-than-nimble fingers. She didn’t even bother watching where it was thrown, having eyes only for the hungry look on her partner’s face as his eyes traced her every curve, and her every scar.
“Hey Beckett, your bar open today?” sounded a voice outside the door to the front of Rory’s camp building. Annoyed to be interrupted but also feeling that fluttery feeling in her heart, like a teenager being caught in the middle of fooling around, Rory simply rolled her eyes before pushing Beckett back and slipping deftly down to hide under the bar.
“What’re you doin’, doll?” he asked her, staring down at her knelt before him.
“You see my shirt anywhere within grabbing distance?” she teased him and he glanced around before huffing in annoyance at himself and his own empty-headed excitement for having discarded it in such a way. “Just give him a beer and make him get lost. We can lock up after he’s gone.”
As it was, Beckett didn’t have any time to argue her game plan before the wanderer wandered his way into the entertainment area of the camp and right up to Beckett’s bar. “I’m real thirsty, my boy.”
“Sure thing, pops,” Beckett said, his voice only slightly strained. Nothing clearing his throat couldn’t fix. “Pickaxe Pilsner, as usual?”
“Thaaat’s why I always come here if I can,” the man responded, thumping a hand happily against the bar top as Beckett left to grab the man’s drink from the fridge. “Nobody else even pretends to ‘member me, or my order.”
“Happy to provide, friend,” Beckett replied with as much of a smile as he could muster. He returned to his usual place at the bar, scuffing his foot against the floor to nudge Rory’s hands more securely under the safety of the under-bar area. “Can’t be too much for talk today, unfortunately. Gotta lock up soon and get to some other business.”
“Aw, that’s too bad!” the settler booed as Rory tried to stifle her laughter. ‘Other business,’ huh? “Sounds mighty important.”
“Oh, the mightiest of importance,” Beckett half-laughed, causing Rory to snort before she covered her mouth. Well, if it’s that important, why wait?
Tugging on his pant legs, Rory pulled Beckett closer until he was flush with the bar top; then she prodded his feet farther apart so he was more knelt over the bar than leaning above it. Beckett coughing in surprise very deftly covered the sound of Rory pulling down the zipper on his jeans and coaxing his cock free of his boxers.
“Something wrong, son? Be wary of a cough like that: it’s slime lung season here in Appalachia,” the settler warned. Beckett continued to cough as Rory gently pumped her hands along his shaft a few times from under the cover of the bar.
“Ah, nothing like that. Don’t let it trouble you, pops. Just got—” he stopped to groan involuntarily as Rory licked a circle around his head, “—Just got something in my throat. It ain’t contagious, no worries.”
“Uh huh,” the settler intoned, not sounding the least bit convinced. “Well, thanks for the drink, kid. I’ll stop by some other time to check on ya.”
Sensing the intruder to soon be departing, and with a wicked grin on her face, Rory took that as her cue to fully take Beckett’s cock into her mouth. He kept his cool more this time, but only just barely. “Thanks for stopping by. Do me a favor and close the main gate on the way out, man!” he called after the settler, who just made a noise of discomfort but confirmation as he stepped away.
Beckett waited until he heard the distant groaning of the camp gate from outside before he turned his attention back to Rory, who was looking back at him with large, innocent eyes even as she worked his cock with her tongue.
“You’re a bad girl.”
She removed Beckett from her mouth with a bit of a pop to simply say, “Well I did say to make him get lost, and you’re such a natural bartender that I was afraid he’d never leave. So I just helped things along by distracting you.”
“Is that the line you’re going with?” he asked as she batted her eyelashes at him, feigning guiltlessness.
“Yes,” she said with a smile before replacing him inside her mouth, but maintaining eye contact as she hollowed her cheeks to increase the suction and bobbed her head along his shaft. Beckett moaned above her, his head flopping forward toward his chest as his hands almost subconsciously twisted themselves in her long, unruly hair.
“Baby,” he called weakly, causing her to giggle. “Baby, please,” he groaned at the vibration of her laughing against him, “If you keep that up, I ain’t gonna last.” Rory acquiesced, and no sooner than his cock leaving her mouth was he pulling her up to seat her back on the bar top, feverishly clawing at the bindings around her chest and the buttons on her pants.
“What happened to locking up,” she laughed even as her heart beat wildly against her ribs. She let Beckett softly push her down on top of the bar so he could scoot her pants over and off her ass; he let her panties remain, however.
“Let them come, if they really fucking want to,” Beckett muttered against her lips as he pulled her back up and to him, kissing her hard and just as sloppily as his trembling fingers had felt as he’d undressed her. “I’m going to fuck you right here and right now and everyone can leave if they don’t like it.”
“Sounds good to me,” Rory agreed breathlessly, tugging at his leather jacket and then the dirty t-shirt under it—both falling to the ground to join the puddle of her already discarded clothing. Once his hands were no longer busy with his own clothing, Beckett returned one hand to hold her hips roughly, the other falling below to run the pad of his thumb over the entire length of her sex.
“This all for me?” he asked, stunned by the wetness already present between her legs—so much so that it was soaking her panties. Rory just nodded, feeling dumb and thoughtless from the feeling of him stroking her. “This just from getting me off?”
“That so hard to believe, Becks?” Rory whined out, not realizing that he had been genuine in asking her that.
“For me, hell yeah,” he said, giving it only another moment’s thought before grabbing at the edges of her panties and practically ripping them off her. He had replaced his hands again, this time more hesitant in his touch. “Can I...?”
“Babe, please touch me,” Rory pleaded, feeling like she’d burst into flames in a moment if Beckett didn’t resume his ministrations. At that, he slid an entire finger into her folds, straight up to the knuckle. “Ooh, a little slower, baby.”
“Did-did I hurt you? I’m sorry—”
“Hey,” Rory cut across him, grabbing Beckett’s wrist to stop him as he started to withdraw his finger. “Hey, it’s ok, Becks. It didn’t hurt, you just surprised me. Just try to be a little slower, ok?”
Beckett stared into her face another moment before resuming his motions, excruciatingly slowly. “Like this?”
Rory was half-way between uncontrollable laughter and an incredible, gushing feeling of love for the man. It was apparent he’d never before been with a woman he wanted to treat well. It was sweet, but it was also just not doing it for her.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean slower—I should have said gentler. Try to be gentle until I’m good and prepared for you,” she told him, remembering to smile sweetly as she pulled him in for another kiss, wanting him to know she was still into what they were doing, even if there were hiccups. “And even then, I’m not made of glass. You won’t break me if you do something you didn’t mean to.”
Beckett got the message now and relaxed back into his role of giving her pleasure easily: taking his time and remembering to be gentle. Right up until he unintentionally pressed against Rory’s clit and had her moaning into his mouth—now even Beckett could tell it was time to move things along.
“Becks,” she whispered, dropping her hand to twist around the base of his shaft and reveling at the feeling of it twitch in her grasp, “I’m ready. Please, I need you.”
“Don’t worry, baby. I’m right there with you,” he huffed, a smirk on his face as he removed his fingers and licked them clean of her slick.
Rory scooted as close to the edge of the bar as she could to help him line up. It only took a single misalignment before he was slowly—gently—pushing his way inside her. Beckett groaned as Rory sighed, feeling herself adjust to his size more and more as he took his time.
“Fuck, baby,” he whispered, moving to press his head into the crook of her neck. He didn’t seem to have any words beyond that, but that was ok. As she’d joked with him many times before: words weren’t the reason she loved him.
He’d been fully sheathed inside her for several solid seconds, but even still Beckett wasn’t moving. Rory signaled to him that she was ready by squeezing her walls around him, which drew such a noise out of him that she also noticed a thin skin of sweat appear along his back.
“Baby, what are you doing to me,” he murmured mostly to himself before pulling out and, after a moment, entering her all at once, once more. “That ok, sweetheart?” All Rory could do was nod as she blinked blissed-out stars from his eyes. “Good, cause I’m gonna fuck you straight into this bar.”
Having been given permission, Beckett set a near-bruising pace, all the while whispering that same phrase over and over and over again, like a mantra.
Baby, what are you doing to me, as she bit his lip and sucked his tongue into her own mouth.
Baby, what are you doing to me, as she pinched his nipple between the flat of her index finger and nail of her thumb, and then brought his hand to her chest to do the same to her.
Baby, what are you doing to me, as she felt a coil tightening in her gut and dropped a hand between their bodies—slapping lewdly, wetly, together as Beckett’s pace began to stutter from fatigue—and pushed at that same button he’d hit earlier.
“Becks,” she moaned, trying to keep her eyes open and her body upright.
“Yeah, baby?” he asked, voice strained.
“Becks, I’m—” she had wanted to warn him of her impending orgasm, but it hit her a second before she’d thought it would come. Usually she just had to count—one, two, three, bliss—but it caught her off guard, violently and suddenly and so deliciously hard, that Rory lost her hold on the bar and fell backward against the wonderfully cool surface.
“Oh god baby, what are you doin’ to me?” Beckett moaned as Rory’s walls fluttered through her orgasm, clutching at him and pulling him deeper—deeper than he’d ever felt with anyone before. “I’m—I’m—”
Rory watched his face, mouth gaping and forehead dotted with sweat, through heavily lidded eyes. Had he never before been inside a woman as she orgasmed? His reaction was so genuine that she supposed it was possible. But he was also enjoying it so much that, despite the leaden tiredness seeping into her muscles from the post-orgasmic high, she manually kept squeezing his cock in time with his thrusts and stammered half-words, until he eventually sputtered in his pace and pushed in as far as possible, releasing himself inside her over several long seconds.
Once the moment had passed, Rory felt hands sliding under her back as Beckett lowered himself to her chest, breathing heavily and smiling so widely that she had to laugh.
“Why...?” was all he could manage, his hot breath tickling her as it slipped past her nipple.
“Sorry, you’re just very cute,” she said, petting his hair.
After a moment, apparently a moment of fighting with himself over whether he wanted to ask it, Beckett said, “And what...?”
“What you felt me doing before you came?” she asked, and he simply nodded against her chest. “Well, that was me coming.”
All she needed to see was the unspoken question of ‘women can orgasm?’ in his eyes for her assumptions to be answered. “I was enjoying myself, as I’m sure you could tell,” she stroked his ego, feeling a smirk on her face in response to the wide-eyed kind of innocence on his.
“It felt amazing,” Beckett admitted softly, making Rory’s heart melt. “Does... does that happen every time?”
This time she laughed in earnest. “If you’re good to me, then yeah.”
“Weeell, what’re ya doin’ in about twenty minutes, then?” Beckett asked, trying to be coy as he traced circles on her lower back with his fingers. Rory laughed even harder.
“You, I imagine.”
“Good,” Beckett sighed, apparently relieved with that answer for some reason Rory couldn’t read in his eyes. “Although, we may have to move it to your room. Not sure this bar could take more of that.”
Pushing them both up and pulling Beckett to her face for a sloppily, blissful kiss, Rory simply promised, “I’ll make you another bar.”