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The number of times they had found themselves near Oberland Station after a firefight was starting to become concerning. Or maybe the number of fights was concerning by itself… Either way, at least they were close to clean water and a bed.
"We need to get to the station," Deacon announced, looking toward the horizon and the setting sun coming through the skeletal trees.
Whisper looked at him, raising a single dark brow as she tried to wipe a little oil off her cheek.
"Why? It's not like it took us long to handle this scrap heap," she said, kicking at one of the downed bots they'd come up against.
"Yeahhh, give it a minute and you'll know," he countered, stepping closer to take her hand in his, tugging it away from the grease mark before she made it worse.
She gave him one of her patented 'you're talking out your ass' looks and he sighed. Adrenaline is a hell of a thing.
To demonstrate, he reached out with his other hand and grabbed her shoulder. Not hard, barely putting any pressure on it at all, but she gasped anway and jerked away from his touch. He held his hand up for her to see. Fresh crimson was smeared across his palm and fingers.
"How do I know? Because I'm brilliant," he said. "And because last I checked, steel and wires don't bleed."
Her eyes widened as they flickered back and forth between his face and his hand a few times. How had she not noticed? She thought they'd gotten out of that scrap scot-free, but now that she'd been made aware, a point on the back of her shoulder started throbbing with pain.
"Yeah, I know," Deacon responded to her facial expression alone. "C'mon, we're only a few minutes out, up the hill." He took her by the elbow, gently, and started guiding her along.
It took her a moment to pull her mind away from the distracting burn, but she managed to get her feet under her and working again before she stumbled. Despite the steep climb they made good time getting to the settlement, its white watchtower a beacon as they crested the slope.
A few settlers raised their hand in greeting as the two of them coasted through the plots of crop toward the homestead in the back that acted as a Railroad outpost. Apparently they were a common enough sight around here to be recognizable. Or at least Whisper was. Deacon hoped he wasn't, not in this guise anyway, it's not one he wore often; but that was a worry for another day.
Once they were inside the tiny single-room cabin, Whisper pulled the string on the bare bulb hanging in the corner, and lit a nearby lantern for extra light while Deacon set their packs down.
"I know this isn't how I usually ask this, but I'm gonna need your shirt off," he said, sounding far too entertained by his own joke.
Whisper rolled her eyes at his humor, but did as he asked, unbuttoning the flannel and letting it slip off onto the floor, following suit with the tank top beneath it.
"Bra too, or would that be too distracting for you?" she teased over her shoulder.
"Har har. I am nothing if not a professional," he said, an extra layer of hubris in his tone.
He gave her just enough time to believe him.
Then his fingers danced up her side, finding the spot she was most ticklish with way too much accuracy to be fair. She jumped and squirmed with a bright giggle she couldn't help, then she turned and glared at him.
He had the gall to lean in and kiss her cheek. "Most of the time," he amended with a grin.
Whisper stuck her tongue out at him childishly, which did little more than make him laugh. She gave him a comically wide berth, watching him the whole time, as she crossed the room to sit on the chair he'd set up. When she reached it unaccosted she sat backwards on the seat and crossed her arms over the back of it, laying her head down on them like a pillow while she waited for him.
He gathered the supplies, and she followed his movements by sound without needing to watch. Water, alcohol, Med-X, stimpak, clean bandages and rags. They'd done this enough times she knew the process: clean, disinfect, inspect, resolve. Even knowing it was coming, the first touch of cold water made her gasp and arch away.
"I know, sorry," Deacon breathed, following up with a rough cloth, carefully mopping up the water running down her skin, and wiping away grime and blood. His other hand landed on the curve of her ribs, steadying her, and the warmth was such a stark contrast it was almost as startling, but it was welcome. If it meant more of his soft, dry hands on her, his fingertips skating over damp, tender skin, Whisper would've put up with ice water being dumped down her back. Not that she'd tell him that - he might just take it as a challenge.
"You good?" he asked as she shivered.
She blearily hummed a curious, maybe confused sort of sound in response.
"Do you need anything?" he clarified with a chuckle. "Med-X? A blanket? A stiff drink?"
"… A nap," she decided after a pause.
"When I'm done, sweetheart, you can just go to bed, how's that sound?"
She just hummed again, burrowing her head into her arms a little more, sighing when Deacon smoothed his hand down her bare skin.
His touches were gentle in a way that made her heart well up with more fondness than she knew what to do with. Every necessary touch brief and careful. He murmured low apologies over the sound of her sharp hiss when he poured the strongest alcohol they had over the wound, as if his remorse could take the sting away entirely.
"You'll be happy to know your streak of luck continues," he said, leaning back. "It's not bad at all. Nicked you with a buzzsaw it looks like - and actually one of the sharp ones this time, it's a nice clean little line."
"Oh wonderful, I was so curious," Whisper intoned, lifting her head finally.
"Quick pinch," Deacon warned before a stimpak dug into the sensitive flesh with a bite and a brief cramp.
Whisper untangled herself from around the chair and turned around, fully expecting Deacon to have moved but he was still in her space, the rag in his hand again.
"If I may?" He motioned toward her face, and she remembered the grease stain he'd pulled her away from earlier.
She closed her eyes and leaned in a little with a soft smile. With permission granted, he started cleaning the rest of her, beginning with the dark smudge on her cheek. Every movement was tender, and oozed affection and care.
"What about you?" she asked after a few comfortably silent minutes, as Deacon moved from her face to her neck and shoulders.
"What about me?"
"Did you get hurt?"
"No," Deacon sighed, and the dejection in his voice made her open her eyes again to look at him. He legitimately looked upset he'd come out of that unscathed. "Bastards saw you first, I guess, and didn't pay much attention to me. One of the first moments I've wished I was a little less stealthy."
"It wouldn't have done either of us any good if you'd gotten hurt too," Whisper protested. "And it could've been a lot worse than this." She shrugged the shoulder that was already quickly healing.
"While you're not wrong," he admitted, dragging the cloth down her arms now, "it's never a warm and fuzzy feeling, you know… seeing you hurt."
He let her go then, finally stepping away. Whisper stood and followed him the few short steps, standing on tiptoe to kiss him on the cheek as he looked away.
"Love you, too, Dee."
She always knew what he was really saying even when he didn't say it out loud. He dropped a kiss on her lips in return, getting a brief taste of her knowing smile.
He watched her stretch, testing the movement of her arm for a moment, before she sighed heavily, deflating with the exhalation.
"I hate adrenaline crashes," she complained, and Deacon breathed out a laugh.
"What, you're not used to them by now? C'mon, they're part of a healthy wasteland diet."
Whisper's chuckle was as quiet as her namesake but he smiled anyway, same as he always did when his jokes got a reaction out of her - good or bad.
She did at least sit on the bed, but didn't lie down quite yet; instead she leaned against the wall by the head and watched him as he sat next to her. He shed his own shirt, laying it on the foot of the bed next to him as he took off his shoes. He followed her eyeline when he stood up and couldn't help the laugh.
"Why, Whisper, if I didn't know any better, I'd say you're more hungry than tired," he teased.
She looked appropriately chagrined for having been caught ogling him and fixed her expression into a coy smile.
He shook his head, amused. "Go to sleep, I'm gonna go wash up, lest my beautiful face suffer the same as yours did."
She was still rolling her eyes at him as he clicked off the light for her and left.
Deacon let out a breath once the door closed behind him. When he'd seen that much blood across Whisper's shirt he'd been worried it would be worse, but it seemed it hadn't bled a lot, just for a long time.
It just didn't make sense, the way he felt.
Whisper was the single most competent person he knew. He'd seen her well and truly injured and this wasn't that. This was minor enough she didn't even notice, and he got all twisted up about it. Why?
The world may never know. Deacon was absolutely sure he wouldn't.
The water and air were both cold, so he rushed. He wasn't rushing because of the look Whisper had given him, that would be far too presumptuous. Not that he could ignore it, though, the open appreciation and, for lack of better word, want was written pretty clearly across her face. That was not a look he got often. Not until they'd finally broken down, crossed a line, and actually ended up better for it.
His own lesson haunted him in the back of his mind, when he warned Whisper not to get close to anyone, and not let anyone get close to her. What a hypocrite he was.
Inevitably, he knew someone would use Whisper to get to him. Forget just walking into a possible trap, he'd walk into certain death labeled with a goddamn neon sign, if it was for her. She probably would for him too. But the admission, the confession, had released something else. A rage and a trust that walked hand in hand. A declaration of "mine" that their two voices echoed. A possessiveness that tied them together. He could walk into that trap and come out the other side of it perfectly fine, he just needed her at his back to do it. The impossible.
After she'd taken down that courser, almost went down herself, they'd made a choice they could never come back from. A choice that had terrified them both. It had changed everything. And it'd caught him by surprise when it all changed for the better. If he had thought their partnership was easy before, that was nothing. They'd never had trouble communicating, but now it was like they were of the same mind. His work had literally never been easier, including all the time he had spent working alone. He doubted he could even go back to working on his own after this.
The shiver that worked its way up his back was from the cold, but it was enough to shake him from his thoughts too, and he dried off from his brief scrub-down quickly.
He was happy to note Whisper had, in fact, gotten into bed by the time he came back inside, tucked under several blankets - the cabin was barely insulated against the weather so even inside it was starting to feel chilly. Hence Deacon's immediate quest to put several layers of dry clothes back on.
But his shirt wasn't where he left it. And he didn't see it as his eyes did a quick sweep of the floor. He did see the rest of Whisper's, however; her shoes, socks, and jeans were piled on top of her own undershirt and flannel. He paused and looked around the room again more closely. There was still plenty of lantern light, it wasn't that dark, was it?
"Need help finding something, Dee?" Whisper asked, rolling over onto her back and propping herself up on her elbows.
She'd barely been visible beneath the blankets when he looked before, but now, as she shifted and they fell away, everything came into perfect clarity.
He approached the edge of the bed casually, clasping his hands together and pointing at her with both of them.
"That's my shirt."
Her lips quirked before she could help it, even though she fought to keep a straight face. It was her eyes that gave her away even more, though, as he watched them start somewhere around his waist and travel up in a slow drag.
"And?" she asked.
Never let it be said that Deacon backed down from that kind of challenge - especially one from her.
He grinned. "And I'd like it back."
"Well then I guess you'll have to come take it back."
Deacon was already up on the bed, starting to crawl over her before she even finished her sentence, pulling at the blankets to reveal more of her. She welcomed him, wrapping her arms up around his shoulders and pulling him down toward her. He gave in to the requested kiss as his hands found the bare skin of her thighs, running them up her sides, under the soft fabric.
So maybe he got a little sidetracked before he managed to get his shirt off of her. Her lips were easy to get lost in, the slide of her tongue against his just plain distracting, and don't even get him started on the feel of her skin under his fingertips. Who could blame him if undoing buttons was a little beyond him for the moment?
Alright, fine, he could admit it. He forgot about taking the shirt back entirely. At least until it got in his way, as his hands wandered northward. Those buttons weren't so hard when they were all that was in his way, and he attacked them with a sudden hunger. He made a frustrated noise in the back of his throat as he fought with the sleeves - he was trying to bare more of that wonderful fawny skin, thank you very much, cotton did not belong in this picture.
Whisper laughed as he finally chucked the shirt across the room. "Not very patient, are we? Maybe I would've given it back if you'd asked."
"Whisp, when have I ever been patient when it comes to you?"
She just giggled, and Deacon leaned back in to swallow the sound, just to see if it tasted as sweet as it sounded.
It did. He was developing quite the sweet tooth, it seemed, because he went in for another kiss, and another, and just a few more.
It felt… Whisper felt like coming home. She felt like a room warmed by firelight and a cup of hot coffee in hand. The chill that lingered under Deacon's skin from outside was frost melting under her breath. When she hooked her legs up over his hips it felt like walking into sunshine out of the shade - everywhere she touched it was warm and he longed for more. He wanted to feel her skin against as much of his as he could.
It wasn't graceful, the way he slid off the bed again onto his feet and ripped at the fly of his jeans - but it was swift in a way that only desperation could bring. Who cared about the temperature outside as the sun fell? There was warmth incarnate in front of him and he wanted nothing more than to melt into her arms.
Until she melted in his.
Whisper slipped her panties off as Deacon finished stripping, leaving her absolutely bare, the light of the lantern on the desk making her look amber and soft.
She moved to try and wrap her legs around him again but he caught one with a hand against the back of her thigh. As he got back onto the mattress with a creak of the frame he dropped said leg onto his shoulder. He had something better to do with that hand, he needed it free to hunt for the molten, liquid heat between her legs. His middle finger delved into her core without resistance, consumed by the slick that had gathered.
"Don't start testing my patience," Whisper gasped, back arching as she tried to push her hips up against his touch, reaching out for him and managing to get his wrist and a thigh under her hands. "I can take more, Dee, please."
"Only 'cause you asked so nicely."
No such thing as half measures here.
Deacon tucked two other fingers alongside the first, feeling her stretch as he pushed them in with one smooth shove; and at the same time he pressed his thumb to her clit and gave it a harsh roll.
The noise that choked up from Whisper's throat was something unclaimed by the English language but Deacon understood it perfectly, and he reveled in it.
The pace was quick right out of the gate, but not wholly because Deacon wanted it to be - Whisper's grip on him gave her more leverage to move than his grip on her had to stop her. He couldn't bring himself to do anything about it, though, watching her take her pleasure was intoxicating. Just to add to it, he reached down and grasped a breast in his hand, brushing his thumb over the peaked nipple and pinching gently. He could nearly see the heat rising as he built upon the bonfire within her. Each press of his fingertips against that one secret place within her - he knew it just as well as every secret she ever had - was a lit match, lost in the already burning flame. He was merciless, fingers crooking hard against the front of her walls, while his thumb kept the same light, restless pressure against her clit - never too much, not quite just enough. If she wanted the easy build of pleasure she knew he could coax from her, she had to work for it. And she did. She rolled her hips with every thrust of his hand, chasing after the approaching edge relentlessly, her breath hitching in the back of her throat as the tension built like steam.
She was an inferno when she fell apart the first time, and Deacon would willingly turn to ash before he leaned away. He tasted fire on her lips when she moaned.
"Impatient enough for you?" he asked when he let her go.
She panted a couple times before she could reply, "oh, go fuck yourself." There was so little venom in the words, combined with the dazed, blissed out expression on her face, Deacon couldn't help but laugh a little.
"I mean, if you say so," he shrugged and pulled his fingers free of her. He put some space between them as he brought the hand he'd just used to get her off to his cock. He might've added some theatricality to the moan but it was still very real. Damn, he knew she'd made a mess of his fingers but when he spread her slick across his length he was stunned by how wet she'd been - how wet he'd made her. He was so caught up in the feeling he missed it when she sat up, and he didn't manage to make her job harder when she grabbed him by the shoulders.
"Not what I meant," she said as she shoved him to the mattress below her.
"You should've been more clear!" Deacon protested with a breathless laugh.
"Hush, you." Whisper swung one leg over his hips, her hands on his chest and stomach pinning him down, not that he wanted to move anyway.
There was barely a beat between his back landing flat on the bed and the moment Whisper started lowering herself onto him.
The all consuming heat and softness of her walls wrapping snugly around his cock was one of the most effective ways to shut Deacon up. Usually. Sometimes all it did was take out the filter.
"I'm 'not very patient' she said," Deacon quoted - too out of breath to be petulant. "Someone's certainly not patient."
He saw Whisper's brow raise and knew.
He was in for it now.
She slid down, inch by inch, until her hips pressed against his, face unchanging from that teasing sort of unimpressed expression that meant he was coming away from this with a lesson in mind.
Then she waited.
All of him, heavy and solid within her, buried, twitching, unmoving. He knew better than to try and move himself, her hands had shifted and now she was holding his hips down with purpose, the smallest bite of her nails digging into his skin acting as a warning.
"Fuck…" he groaned, his own hands coming up to grab onto her waist and cling on.
Her eyes flashed with a 'don't you dare' so clear in them she might as well have said it out loud. He didn't try and shift her weight, didn't encourage her to rock her hips even a little, even though that's all he wanted. In his mind it's all he'd ever wanted.
"Whisp-"
She clenched down around him, the tight and the slick and the heat just intensifying to the point he couldn't finish the word, let alone the sentence. His chest hollowed with every breath he took, none of them deep enough to get oxygen back to his brain.
"Thea-"
"Let's see who's more patient, then." Whisper shifted, not to his benefit, just to get comfortable. She gave the slightest sigh at the feel of his cock dragging just the barest inch within her, but didn't chase it, just settled so her legs wouldn't fall asleep. She was in it for the long haul.
There was another challenge in front of him. He couldn't back down from this one any more than he could when she'd practically demanded he take his own shirt back. What he wouldn't give for that shirt now. The air was getting cooler, making the sweat on his shoulders feel exposed and cold; the juxtaposition between it and Whisper - woodsmoke warm and welcoming, an open door home inviting him in... There was no way he would be able to resist trying to bury himself deeper.
"Rules of engagement?" he asked anyway.
"Don't move. You can do anything else you want, but this-" she squeezed tense inner muslces around him again, "-doesn't move."
"Winner?"
She laughed. "I think we're both winners here."
"Deal."
He immediately started playing dirty, shifting one hand so he could get her clit under his thumb again, circling it with a well-honed intensity.
He had spent so long observing her, learning her. Before they'd ever fallen into a bed together he knew every beat of her heart, and every thought that made her brain tick - it didn't take long to learn her body just as well.
It wasn't the first time, nor would it be the last, that Deacon's ego ran off without his head. He wasn't exactly thinking about how it would feel for him. The scalding warmth alone was enough to suffocate logic and reason. He was nearly overwhelmed before they'd even started.
Whisper, for her part, didn't fight it at all, her head tipping back as she let the pleasure sweep over her. "You always know just how to touch me," she sighed, rolling her neck languidly as tension built lower.
"I know you," he quipped back, using what little he had left going on upstairs. "Down to your core. I'll always know what you need."
"And what - fuck - what do I need right now?" Whisper's breath hitched at the growl in his voice.
Right. She liked that.
"Ohhh, darling," he groaned as he felt her begin to flutter. "You need to be fucked."
Whisper's body bowed, hands scrabbling at his shoulders as she tried valiantly to keep her hips still and just take the pleasure he was giving. Deacon gathered every last ounce of focus he could, willing himself to ignore the way she tightened, the way her channel squeezed down around his aching cock as he continued his ploy with an uncannily perfect touch.
"You don't need anything soft right now," he continued. "You want to be thrown down on this bed and fucked 'til you can't walk straight for days."
"Fuck! Dee-"
"You want nothing more than for me to move, you need me to move. You need this cock pounding into you until you can't think of anything else," he purred.
"I - I can't -"
"Can't what? Can't be patient anymore?" Deacon put just a little more pressure on her clit and gave it a more purposeful roll.
"God-"
"C'mon, be a little impatient then, take it," he urged.
Whisper crested with a broken moan of his name and a sigh, the rippling of her inner walls enough to drag Deacon's hunger to the forefront again and he moaned with her.
"Clever boy," she chuckled after getting her breath back, easing off of him and sitting limply between his thighs.
He just grinned, a flash of white teeth in the darkening room.
The lamplight flickered across his sunglasses - still on, they were too busy and distracted to remove them until now. Whisper reached over and dragged her finger down the bridge of his nose, taking the shades with her until he took them off for her, eyes not leaving hers as he tossed them onto the desk next to the bed.
The grin on his face somehow looked even cockier. "So? Winner?"
"Yes, you're very patient, and I'm so proud." She rolled her eyes so hard he swore he heard them. "Now, if you'd be so kind, and fuck me."
"Tsk tsk," Deacon chided, reaching out to grab her by the shoulders, one finger tracing the newly knit-together skin he'd tended to, checking to put his faint anxiety to ease, before he rolled them over in a tangle of limbs. "Can't take your own lesson?"
"Dee, I swear to- oh god…"
Deacon had picked that exact moment to thrust back into her, burying himself in to the root, uncontent until he felt his pelvis press against her skin and the slick fluids that had dripped onto him sliding against her. He felt her warmth envelop him like crossing a threshold in winter. And as if he was lingering in the doorway, the cold air licked across his spine to urge him further.
The moan she let loose didn't leave any space between them for more sarcasm and banter, so he gave up on that and focused on fucking her - well and truly fucking her. He held on to her waist, dragging her down onto him as his cock pounded into her wet pussy, and he vaugely wondered if he would be able to see his fingerprints on her tomorrow, but he couldnt't get his hands to loosen - he needed the leverage to get just that much deeper.
And to get that expression onto Whisper's face.
He watched her fall further and further into the throes of ecstacy every time he felt the soft head of his cock butt up against the end of her channel. There was a tension between her brows that he knew. One he recognized.
He felt the fire under his skin. The building heat at the base of his skull that dripped down the length of his spine, pooling in his lower belly.
The lines that Whisper clawed into his back burned and stung with sweat as she lost what control she had left. She clung to him with everything she had, like if she let go she would cease to exist, lost in the pleasure.
This in no way inflated his ego further. Absolutely not.
"'M close!" she whimpered, but he already knew - so was he. Which is why he decided to take a risk.
He pulled his dick from her sopping core, but before Whisper had the chance to be angry about it he dropped down to his stomach on the bed, shoved his fingers into her again to pick up the same rhythm, and sealed his lips to her clit, laving his tongue over it until he felt her pussy clamp down against his fingers and she moaned like her throat was tearing open.
"Ohhh fuck," Whisper gasped in a breath like she was coming up for air. "You ass-"
"I have one, yes."
"-you don't have to keep proving it to me, I get it, I get it, you're patient. I can't- fuuuuck."
Deacon interrupted her again, spearing his fingers into her with a unerring curl and a quiet squelch, and placing a chaste kiss just above the wirey curls between her legs.
"What can I say, Whisp? You inspire the best in me."
"I want you-"
"And I want you! Specifically I want you to come again. I bet I know who's going to get what they want. Now hush, you. Don't distract me from getting you off as many times as I can before I fuck you properly," Deacon said, then licked some of her juices from his palm, continuing up where his fingers were stuffed into her and over her clit again.
"Deacon…" she sighed, "I want to feel you. I want to feel your cock, I need it."
His eyes slammed shut with a huff of rushed breath but he kept to his word and set to work, his tongue curling alongside his fingers as he moved them within her, an obscene wet sound accompanying the sliding friction.
"You feel so good," Whisper moaned, letting her body move freely how it wished to under his ministrations. "God, can you feel how wet I am for you? How wet you make me? No one else has ever done this to me - no one else could ever make me so wet. Just you."
Deacon groaned, voice lost where his mouth was sealed against her, but she could still feel it.
"You love to make me feel like this, don't you? You want to make me feel good - so good. Please, Deacon, please?"
"Please what?" he rasped, voice wrecked and gravelly when he pulled his face back just enough to get those two words out before sucking her clit back into his mouth. His eyes were open again, staring up the length of her body with a simmering, animal hunger.
"Please make me feel good," she whined. "I want your cock, Deacon. I want you to fuck me, I need it - I need you so bad. I need you to fuck me until I come, and I need you to come with me, in me. I need to feel it dripping out of me."
Whisper got a perfect view of Deacon's eyes going dark before he had to shut them again, going completely still for a moment, mouth slack against her as he started a war within himself. Exactly where she wanted him, so she just kept going.
"You're right - I don't want soft. I don't want careful. I need you to take me apart. I want to feel all of it. I need to see how well you fucked me in the morning."
"Jesus fucking christ," Deacon moaned, pulling away from her clit and swaying up toward her unconsciously.
Whisper took the opportunity to get her hands tucked against his jaw and the back of his head, pulling him up to her to kiss him ferociously. He answered with equal hunger as she licked her own essence from his lips.
It didn't take much, once she got him there - it didn't even take words. Whisper curled under him, angling herself, getting a calf up over his hips to pull him in closer -
He swallowed a sound of victory from her as the head of his cock caught at her entrance, and he wasn't about to tease her now - not anymore. His mind clouded over with soot until he could only think one thing: give her what she wants.
He slid in without even slowing down, the sound of her success morphing to a long drawn out moan at the swift intrusion and the feeling of having him inside her again. The last shred of kindness in him made him pause, wanted to check in, make sure this is what she really wanted and it wasn't too rough. But she screwed her hips down further onto him and Deacon let go. He dragged his length out of her indulgently, giving her time to feel every inch of it, before he snapped his hips forward again.
And again. And again.
The pace he set made muscles burn with the effort but the euphoria in Whisper's voice overrode any sense of being tired in his mind.
She wanted to be taken apart. So Deacon found the seams. Everything he knew about her - everything she'd told him, shown him. Things she didn't know. Places she wanted him to touch she'd never asked for but he saw it on her face every time he did.
He hauled one of her legs onto his shoulder, wrapping his forearm around her thigh to secure it, to pin her open, unable to adjust her position to soften the sensations. Her right hand fell to his knee as she tried to brace herself. Even that would mute too much so he swept her hand up in his other one, lifting it away from him, toward where her left was twisted in the sheets above her head. He snagged that too so he held both her wrists and secured them to the bed, leaning over her now until her leg ached with the stretch and all she could do was take what he gave her. As an added benefit, the delicious column of her bare throat was just so convenient now. Whisper convulsed, tightening around him with a clench, at the first feel of Deacon's teeth on her neck, low, right where neck becomes shoulder; he rutted into her harder in response, chasing that heat. Whisper tilted her head to the side as he licked over the place he'd bitten and sucked on the tender skin, feeling the rush and thrill pooling under the new bruise, spreading as he moved to make a new mark on her collarbone.
She was already flying, coming to an understanding with Icarus when the hand that was holding her leg to his chest went to her clit, putting one finger on either side of it so he could swirl them around the little bud in time with his thrusts.
What would've happened if Icarus had reached the Sun? Would he have burned like this?
If it hadn't been for Deacon catching her in a kiss as she came, sealing her scream behind lock and key, she surely would've let the entire settlement know exactly how high he could bring her. He was already concerned that these settlers knew him too well, it probably wasn't a good idea to make their visit so… memorable.
Deacon's hips stilled as she came down, and when the shudders had subsided and her voice came out as a whine instead of a wail, he broke away from her lips, leaving a few inches of space between them.
"Fuck." It came out more panting than speech, but it was all he was capable of in the moment.
It was more than she could cobble together, though, as she fought against his hands holding hers down with a wordless, jumbled noise.
He let her go easily, moving his hands to the bed next to her shoulders and watching her curiously. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders like she had when he first climbed over her. Same as then too, he gave her the kiss she wanted. Unlike then, he didn't let her subtle taste and the softness of her mouth distract him. He pulled his hips back gently, and thrust home with an easy slide. That managed to reconnect the wires in Whisper's brain that had shorted out.
"I need you, baby," she murmured against his lips. "I need to feel you."
Her breath fanned a still-glowing ember into a new flame. Deacon would've worried that it would consume her, but he knew she was something beyond fire, all steel and stone, unflinching against something as tepid as him.
He tasted salt on her warm skin as he got it under his tongue and teeth again, drawing out flickering sighs with each heavy swing of his hips into hers, barely louder than the smack of skin against skin that grew faster and faster.
His spine was molten, bending and weak, coiling into the pit of his stomach and sending black smoke billowing up to cloud his mind. He could almost see the sparks that scattered across his nerves.
"God, I love you," Whisper moaned, head falling back.
Ignition.
With just that reminder.
He felt the heat give way as he broke with a groan like collapsing timber, caving in to the embers below, as he pulled out to streak Whisper's stomach with lines of white - he half expected it to steam on contact.
Deacon collapsed back onto his heels, chest heaving as the ash and steam cleared from his head.
"We're tied now," Whisper panted without even looking up. "I proved you're at least as impatient as me."
Deacon traced back through their activities.
"I don't think it counts if you're going to play like that, you dirty-talking minx," he complained. She just laughed. She knew he was conceding.
"Can you reach the desk from there?" Whisper asked as she finally lifted herself up onto her elbows.
Deacon looked to the side, seeing his sunglasses still reflecting glittering flame from the lantern, and the rag he'd left there - which he assumed is what she was after.
It was a stretch, but he could, and he only snickered a little at the face she pulled at the cold temperature when he cleaned her off for the second time that evening. Happier circumstances, though.
He moved to get off the bed but she wrapped an arm around his chest and pulled him with her to lie down. He couldn't argue with that, or maybe wouldn't, so he just lifted his head to toss the rag overhand back toward the desk - it hit the chair, but close enough.
"Gonna get cold?" Whisper asked, dragging the thick blankets back over them, tucking it tight against her to keep out the chill.
"Next to you? Impossible." Deacon ran his hands down her sides and across her back as he curled in closer to her.
The low orange light flickered across her face as she drifted, the ethereal way it made her look like living flame not lost on him.
No wonder she always ran warm.
Deacon let his eyelids fall closed, too heavy to keep open, and faded fast to the thought of eyes the same color as a glass of whiskey, taken straight to try and combat the cold.
He woke up to sunlight warming the windowsill, and a furnace wrapped around him. One that shifted and unwound its snake-like constriction when he moved to sit up and stretch. He caught sight of the mark on her neck and drifted a finger around the outline.
"I know, I know… I'm the one who told you I wanted to see it in the morning," Whisper chided her own decision, dragging herself upright.
"Too bad there isn't a mirror in here, cause you can't," Deacon laughed as he got to his feet. "Just think of the poor settlers, seeing that. It'll be a scandal."
She flopped back down with her hands over her face, groaning.
The lazy morning could only last so long, though. They did still have a job to do and they'd be behind now, they needed to head out and get and early start. He gathered up his clothes - save for his shirt, which was still on the opposite end of the room where he'd thrown it the night before. Whisper joined him, already having put on a clean pair of jeans from her pack, and handing him a fresh tshirt from his.
"Get the med kit packed packed away?" she asked him.
He moved toward the supplies still out on the desk as he pulled the cotton over his head and tugged the hem into place. "Ah. Wasteland domesticity," he thought to himself, listening to Whisper tidy up and put the room back in order the way they'd found it. With everything in its place, he slung the strap over his shoulder as she opened the door.
"Ready to go?" she called.
"As I ever am," he replied, sliding his sunglasses into place and looking over at her.
His shirt was comfortably big on her, and he couldn't deny the satisfaction he got from seeing the collar just open enough to catch a peek of purple on her neck.
He met her eye and mirrored the mischeivous smile on her face with one of his own.
He'd let her keep it. For now.