[ it'd have been easier to go about all this on his own, that's what he'd told himself, that it was safer to take on all of this on his own. but along the way, she'd somehow gained, not only his trust, but his reliance, seeking her out when he'd recognize trials he couldn't take on alone, from the taping together of his family's photograph to caring for laura when he didn't have the ability to. whether by choice or not, she'd seemingly always been there, right up until he'd begun to feel an emptiness in the perch whenever she wasn't.
he can't categorize where those feelings lie, what it means that his heart beats faster now merely by gazing down to her, in a way that's nothing to do with the accompanying heat lower in his belly. he's seen what it means for him to try to open his hands to instincts like these, to emotions he knows he wants to explore despite the impossibility of it, to the risks that this will all fall apart in a disaster far larger than anything he'd try to stitch together on his own. and he knows what it'd mean for her if he let her get as entangled with him as she does now.
but he doesn't stop, can't, not when she whimpers that plea against his mouth, following it with his name and tenderness on her lips. he'll take command now, simply in the way he reaches between them to properly align himself against her, the blunt tip of his length finding entry into endless slickness, the heat of her welcoming when he presses himself inside again.
with a strained groan, he kisses her again through it, as he finds a steadiness in filling it completely, readjusting to familiarize themselves again with that initial feeling that had thrown them into this, this extension of something that was meant to simply go by in a spontaneous rush, only to fall into the addiction of their company long after the fact. ] God, Wynonna. [ he mutters her name again, moving into a slow rocking that's made easy with everything they'd filled the morning with thus far, yet still as exhilarating as it had been those first moments they'd press together, tight heat taking him over in more than the physical. ]
[ the thought that she'd even, in any way, become a reliability for him wasn't anything she'd given space to at first; the only reason she'd been there to tape back that family photo, to begin with, was because she'd showed up to yell at him, and the situation had catapulted itself into something more critical and pressing. similarly, the only reason she'd been there to tend to him had been due to outside intervention, the anonymous text she'd soon figured out had come from laura desperate enough to draw her in β but the pollen warping their trust and thrusting them into undeniably intimate territory hadn't diminished their certainty of one another, even if they'd needed to take some time apart to really wrestle with what it all meant going forward.
and now, she might be more confused than ever but the flood of warmth in her limbs hasn't dwindled, and neither has the light in her eyes when she looks up at him. he steadies himself above her and she draws him close, draws herself in against him, she can't tell which, only that there's still distance between them that needs to disappear and it won't happen until he's within her; he finally, blissfully guides forward and her hips rise, completely surrendering, fingers clutching tight as a strangled sound works its way up from her throat.
it's different than before, when she'd taken him in, but still slow, tender; she can guide her forehead to his with lips parted to let her noises flow freely, every gasp and whimper that the steady thrusts of his hips provoke, and it's headier to feel him filling her from this angle, deeper somehow, hardness fitting perfectly into her curves while he moves. ] Frank.
[ she can't say anything else, isn't sure she wants to, because what else other than the name he's given her to use can even completely encapsulate what he's leaving her with, pleasure spiking strong and constant from that deep stroke. all she can do is hold on, turn their faces together, one arm slung over his shoulders as their lower halves come together and pull apart, again and again. ]
[ it differs from that first time, no longer merely testing, not left wondering how he might stretch her or how she might move against him. there's only been a limited experience, but somehow that mutual understanding of what they want, those unspoken desires, seem to come across more simple between them by way of those gentle moans that whisper their names and instinctive reaches of their fingers. with her plea, he isn't resisting in his process of sliding inside; once that initial press has him buried deep to the hilt, he'll roll his hips to a steady pace that matches the urgency of her soft whimpers.
he doesn't move fast, only firmly, still reaching for that even tenderness that comes at the careful motions which stroke her from the inside and reverberate to him in turn. as it becomes more clear of how he isn't meant to stay here in this bed with her for as long as he pleases, he recognizes that continued motivation to make it last, to make it good for both of them, still entirely sure of how they'll change and react once they've made it out of this.
but he'd been sincere when he said he wanted her, whether it simply be in the heat of this moment or something that'll outlast the morning and the day. her arm straps him in at the shoulder and he sinks closer in response, a single forearm braced on the mattress to offer that necessary support to thrust his hips forward, as a palm finds a firm grip to her thigh, fingertips enabling a tightening press to held it at his waist. and through the position, he can still catch glances of her, of watching her panting mouth and the way her lips shift to say his name, teeth pressing into the flesh there β and he knows he does want her, just like this, his name, his real name, spoken by her voice, while she sees him bare underneath all his skin as he sees her.
the ache to kiss her strikes him from moment to moment, a messy affair required when he seeks it, lips rolling in fast uncoordinated grazes by way of their thrusting motions, with the occasional swiping of tongues accompanying soft moans from his throat. ]
[ she hadn't objected to his earlier position between her thighs because of what he'd given her, skilled application of lips and tongue that had fully outweighed anything his dream counterpart had accomplished. he'd guided her to her peak without leaving her there to dangle from it, coaxing her through that release with a capability she'd only suspected before (and not just because of what his dating profile had more than implied).
but she likes him this close, almost prefers it, being able to witness those expressions filtered across his face or hear the sound of her name unmuffled, his pleasured groans fully reaching her hearing. and she likes being able to turn her face to his, steal those messy and uneven kisses that end up half-slanted together when she parts her lips to breathe harder from the exertion of their movements.
even this isn't hurried along, their bodies' pacing smooth and gradual, chasing pleasure rather than trying to outlast however many minutes they have left. she's ignoring the sands of time slipping through their fingers, instead residing firm in the knowledge that she has him here while she has him. the tension of his shoulders beneath her forearm and the slide of a large hand across her thigh keeps them definitively nestled, so close that she wonders if he can feel the fevered pulsing of her heart.
(she wants this, she wants this, and she won't know what to do when she doesn't have it in the hours to come.)
her eyes fight to stay open, to drink in every second they're entwined, but it's too many senses overwhelmed by him β sight, scent, taste, feeling β and she has to give up one to more fully embrace the rest, knowing she can trust him to cover her, to move inside her, to keep her safe while she floats, drifts, gives herself up to this moment if it's all she can lay claim to before he leaves, before they have to address the looming acknowledgment of what this means, what it changes for them. ]
[ he wonders if he'd actually stay longer if he didn't already know he'd have to leave once the time had ticked long enough, or if she'd want him to linger in her bed sheets with her even after the fact. as he chases a second release and urges her persistently towards her third, he doesn't imagine they'd be so quick to pursue yet another round following this (or really, he's sure he'd lack the energy to go for it without proper rest first, or at least a good cup of coffee that his body's now running a shortage of), but he wouldn't be opposed to dozing in the comfort of her arms, the ones that embrace him now, soothing to have one outstretched along his back, supporting him against her.
there'll be a thousand questions when this ends, along with the possibility that his stubbornness won't be fully convinced he even wants them answered, to reconsider stepping so deep into this, to leave himself so openly vulnerablr under her touch and her kiss, to let himself want something so unquestionably.
because it all runs on more than mere desire, even if the angle provided allows him to control those impending thrusts, knees braced as he stretches her on each bucking roll of his hips, the pace gradually picked up in rhythm with those panting breaths that mix in with hers. it wasn't lust that brought him to her house at this hour, it wasn't the subtle intention of seeking a physical entanglement; he'd come with a plate of requested fries and an instinctive desire to merely see her, because it'd become so routine now, so necessary to his standard schedule that there was almost an oddity to not seeing her with her pouted lips and smug smirks cracking out a tacky joke in his direction.
it's only her name on his lips now, a whisper between messy kisses, and choosing to not think of how his mind might change in the hours to come, he can only view this with complete lack of regret as he feels the press of her weight beneath them, skin warm and sticky from where theirs cling addictively together.
and when he begins to feel himself approach closer to that peak, a heated sensation that adds speed to his motions, he plucks a set of her fingers, tangling them with a set of his own, squeezing the hold together above her head. ]
[ their days here are mostly driven by different responsibilities now, hers taking her into a unique part of town from where he tends to reside behind that diner counter β and at alternating hours, depending on when she's been called on to tend bar. and as a result all of their meetings since have either been purely coincidental, like their literal collision at the mart a few weeks after the pollen had worn off, or entirely purposeful, like the invitation she'd extended his way to accompany her to chloe's party, or to the movies.
if she wants to see him β if she wants to pursue this β she might have to be more intentional about it, but maybe tonight had been the start of that seeking, unconscious or not. she hadn't set out to ask him to come over when she'd first called him up about that questionable yogurt, but in the end she had, and he hadn't turned her down, finding enough interest there to merit a drive out to the town's fringes. he'd come, and he's here, and it does feel like a shift on more than just the obvious front of knowing what the other looks like naked β because of the hour, because of the tenor their conversation had taken shortly before his arrival, because he'd asked for something stronger over coffee, all new touchstones leading up to him holding her, kissing her deeply, whispering her name.
she could lie, say she's only in this to scratch an itch that was in desperate need of satisfying, but that'd be a poor excuse to drive a wedge between them, to distance herself the way she would've liked to before she'd glimpsed more than begrudging tolerance in his gaze. she's seen more than that now, fondness and desire and something else besides, so naked and open that it would normally send her running in the opposite direction β but instead she chooses to wrap herself around him and hold on for dear life.
she senses him behind closed eyes, the syllables on his lips that form her name across their breaths, and all the while the warmth inside her burns hotter and hotter, threatening to burst; her thighs squeeze hard at his hips and she's rocking to meet him now, fingers interlocked tightly with his. ]
Don't stop. [ she knows he won't, not when the sweetness of release is within their shared grasp, their unison movement and the slide of skin over skin nudging her ever nearer to the edge β and then, right in that moment, she unfurls, that tension within breaking open finally, sensations hard enough to send shudders coursing through her, without and within, as she claims his mouth for a grateful, hungry kiss. ]
[ the entire conversation had begun with the most absurd topic, a question that was instantly met with a roll of his eyes which he'd imagine she'd be able to see in her mind even with their distance, considering the consistency in which her ridiculous commentary frequently sprouted it. and not once did he intend or expect the mood to shift as it did, for casual comments to twist into subtle flirtation that even he wasn't entirely sure could be used to describe it, not until she'd ask him what he would want, and he casually answered a drink, without ever having the idea that it would somehow lead them to where they are now, rolling relentlessly in her bed sheets.
after the pollen, they had brushed aside their behaviors during their time with tangled limbs in his bed, crediting the compromised air as a reason for it, but if evidence of tonight (this morning) had proven anything, it was that the pollen might have hardly affected them at all, as soon in the easy way they engage together, whether in physical urgency or the playful banter that they can somehow bat back and forth in between.
but all the hints had been there from early on, back when conincidences had stopped being just there and had transformed into purposeful meetings, intentions on either of their parts to find each other either in a regularly set timeframe at the diner or some phone call to encourage one of them in the other's direction (mostly him to her, and mostly to fix some other fidgety appliance). everything had become a chain of excuses, to hear her, to see her, and it isn't until now that frank's coming to realize how much he wants her as a regularity in his every day, as a solid constant for him to draw himself back on whenever he feels himself stray towards his standard brand of darkness.
dont't stop, and he won't, only driving himself harder between her thighs, sore slickness nudging their hips in fervid presses, to where all he needs to move is a bracing on his knees that allows him to dive into her with little resistance. even as he feels her inevitable clench, the sweetness of her gripping desperately around him as if to keep him there, he moves as if it really might just be the last time that they have this, to make it good, to make it memorable for both of them.
he's forced to part from her kiss when his teeth grit unintentionally, a rasping groan caught in his throat as that build finally reaches its intended place. curling his fingers tighter within hers, he lets his release fill her once more, every drop left there as a reminder as if memory were not enough. though the memory definitely won't vanish, not of this, of any of it, sure that he'll feel the phantom sensations of her clenching around him even in the hours to come, that her moaning cries of his name will still ring softly in his ear, and her taste will remain heavy on his tongue even in the coming days. ]
[ god, she's going to be feeling this later; it's the first thought she has when he finishes within her, heat flooding her system as the fringes of her climax finally ripple out, down the length of her limbs to the tips of her fingers and toes before finally evaporating altogether, leaving her to fall limp beneath him with her arm still draped across his back. it'll take her a minute to remember how words work, to regain all sensation in her lower half, to even think of using her hips at all, and in that interim she can nudge her nose against his cheek, sighing softly.
in some ways, she's grateful they waited until now, the temptations from the pollen drifting in through that cracked window almost too strong to resist until she'd inadvertently prodded his injured shoulder; if they'd done this then, allowed hands and mouths to explore more than just above-the-waist territory, she really wouldn't have been able to look him in the eye after that, questioning everything. now, there's nothing about this that she doubts, when he strains over her for those few lengthy seconds, hips powering through until the end, and then finally stills.
idly, she lets her hand stroke over him β his hair down to his shoulders and between those rounded curves along his spine, lightly using her fingertips to trace the arc that shifts with even the slightest movement from him. she hasn't squeezed out from underneath him, and she's not complaining about the subtle press of his weight against her or the fact that they're still technically joined. but she does let her eyes flick open, and she does venture a glance over in the direction of the clock on the bedside table, pushing out a sigh between subtly pursed lips.
her gaze drifts back to his and if her hand relinquishes its grip on his fingers it's only to smooth along the side of his face, combing down the edges of his beard when it moves along his jawline, hairs thick and soft to the touch. the idea of doing this would have never entered her mind until now β and now, it's the first instinct she has. ]
Do you have to go? [ the question leaves her soft, almost a whisper but not quite, her voice a little deeper, thicker from the hour and the earlier strain; she can feel sleep tugging on the edges of her consciousness but she doesn't want to drift off and then wake up to find the bed empty, no sign of him here apart from those cold fries and two empty glasses on the coffee table. but she'll surrender her hold on him because she knows he has things he needs to take care of, and she doesn't know if she's necessarily earned more of a right to his presence than anyone else here. ]
[ heβd been able to gather himself back together after a single release, letting the energy flicker back into his legs for him to scoop her up into his arms and around through the foyer and all the way up the stairs to her bedroom, before carrying on even further from there. but itβs now with this second β hips bucking a little harder in indication of how this one was felt a little stronger, heavier, by way of the more gradual build-up, the taste of her stirring him slow before sheβd offered those additional strokes to excite him further β the exhaustion truly begins to be felt, beginning with his legs that had supported him thoroughly from his knees, up towards his chest where his heart had collided with the walls as it pounded ferociously within.
he knows he should direct his attention to the clock, take note of the time and begin a quick scramble to clean himself up and gather his clothes from downstairs, but her fingers slip away from his for the purpose of merely caressing him, gentle strokes that urge him to shut his eyes as he partially hovers over her, hips nudged a little low against her with his weight from the decline of strength. itβs a soothing touch from her that makes it all the more difficult to move from where he lays, leaning his cheek into her palm.
and then she presents the question, his eyes blink slowly open, soft gaze falling over her, flecks of sun slipping through the curtain now to provide a developing glow along her cheeks.
of course he has to go. because that was always the plan, always the inevitable outcome of all of this, especially when it was never supposed to be anything more. and he has the response on his tongue, ready to let the yes float from his lips and accept the end of their dreamlike morning β but it never comes, the word not quite forming as his mind spins different ones entirely. ]
Not if you want me to stay. [ he says in an equally soft whisper, the light rasp of his own voice more natural with his standard tone. turning his eyes, he presses a kiss into her palm, lips brushing over the lifelines before he lets his face sink into her touch again, gaze peering back to her with as much of a focus as he can conjure with tired eyes, intent on letting her know that he means it.
heβll have to slip downstairs to scramble for his phone and make a quick call to a part-timer to bribe him into taking an earlier shift, but the small chore is bearable compared to the thought of leaving her altogether for the extended hours ahead. ]
[ she can tell he's equally reluctant to extricate himself, though whether it's a product of tired limbs or something else altogether remains unclear, especially in these early morning hours when they're both struggling to keep eyes open now; this would be around the time when she'd already be faceplanting into bed after a late night shift at the bar, refusing to set an alarm for herself until morning became afternoon and she could drive across town to jane dough or the diner for some much-needed refueling.
he'd disrupted her routine in more ways than one, but the exhaustion making itself known in her consciousness dwindles in the warmth that lingers after he turns his face into her hand, brushes his lips against the inside of her palm, a push against those faint lines.
and she smiles, briefly contemplative, her head shifting along the mattress to keep him in her view, when he doesn't give her the yes she's anticipating, knowing the commitments that tug him in a direction opposite from the one that leads to this place, to her bed. she'll weigh on the answer she gets instead, teeth momentarily digging into the swell of her lower lip, because what she knows she wants and knows she needs are two very different things.
(she wants him to stay, and what she needs β or who β is a version she's yet to fully venture down for fear of what she'll unearth, because the truth might sit closer to home than she's really comfortable embracing at this juncture.)
her answer doesn't make it out of her in words, not immediately; she manages a nod, a slow incline of her head, almost like she's bashful admitting it at this stage, teeth still scraping across her lip before she releases it, lightly wet and shining, to give him a little more than that. ] Will you?
[ her first thought isn't running to more sex, though, and that's really the more damning part of it, because even as those first few rays of morning light start to emanate through the partially drawn curtains, casting the room in a pinkish glow, she's finding that all she's really craving is for him to pull her close, to linger here with her a while, to maybe let herself find rest in arms that have already encircled her once, to soothe herself to sleep with the sounds of his breathing, his heart beating beneath where she chooses to lay her head. her fingers maintain that slow, repetitive smoothing along that growing beard before curving up the side of his face and around the shell of his ear, slipping across his scalp. ]
[ frank isnβt one for setting standard routines in the first place, always running on his own schedule, typically set by his own personal interests and motivations. there were exceptions, of course, mostly in the way of his body having its set schedule of rising in the early hours, never allowing itself longer than three to four hours at a time. but having a set job, in having to conduct actual employees and run on a time clock aside from his own, that all differed from what heβd grown accustomed to.
maybe thatβs why itβs easier to disrupt it now by her simple request, to divulge all of his focus solely on what remains before him, easy when sheβs all that remains in his sights, laying out there before him, the mess of dark locks scattered on the mattress beneath her as she peers up to him with the softness of her gaze. ]
Yeah. [ he answers with the subtle peek of a smile, curved lips entirely directed to her. he bites his own lip soon after, much more briefly with a tinge of regret. ] I just have to slip downstairs and make a quick call. [ because, really, even if he ran on his own command, he still had the mindset to at least be somewhat responsible, especially when it concerned people who didnβt deserve to be screwed over. just because he was too caught up in the haze of rolling around in bedsheets of an oversized bed and huddling against a woman he had more than an attraction to, it didnβt mean people had to starve for it.
reluctantly, he digs a palm to the mattress, the other helping him ease of her, the separation instantly ridding him of a warmth he was getting fairly comfortable with.
but he still leans forward, lips pressing gently to her forehead, a brief but tender gesture before meeting her eyes again. ] But it wonβt take long. Iβll be back.
[ if anyone had ever told wynonna she'd be achieving anything resembling a routine β in habit or in life β even two years ago, she would have laughed in their faces. structure, stability have always been inconceivable ideas, things other people get to have β but not her, not the latest earp heir, not the one who's been tasked with protecting a cursed territory from its own literal demons. you don't get to have a normal schedule when you're always out trying to save the world. so maybe this is her compromise, landing a gig that she knows she can actually wield some of her other, non-shooty skills in. fighting those threats when they come, but otherwise trying to have something of a life. because none of that will happen when she eventually goes back to purgatory, not until the curse is broken and bulshar's been blown to pieces.
she's embraced selfishness before, but not like this, not with anything that might actually matter in the long run, and even if asking him to stay technically falls under that category she can't bring herself to feel completely guilty, not when he slips away from her and drops a kiss to her forehead before promising a return.
the house is almost too quiet again, when he leaves, even if she can hear the occasional creaking floorboard that clues her into his guesstimated location; she shifts up amidst a twisting of bedsheets and then, in lieu of actually getting up at all, chooses to slip beneath them instead, scooting back to lay against the pillows with the blankets covering her. she won't fall asleep in the time it takes him to come back β hopefully β but she's too relaxed to make any greater movements.
she can hear his voice below, thanks to this place's thin walls, even if she can't make out what he's saying, that low register of his rolling up through the floor, and she allows herself a small, slow smile, savoring the lack of tension in her hips with an equally slow stretch beneath the blankets. ]
[ he's tried this before, taking on construction work in lieu of a distraction for something much quieter than he'd assigned himself prior. but there'd been too much unfilled space, days long with the constant flicker of memories pouring into his mind, especially in the late hours in the silence of a small, cramped apartment where only a few borrowed books could let his mind drift to something else for a few minutes at a time. he found partial success with his second attempt, going against settling in a different location to venturing through the country with no steady destination in mind, right up until he'd found beth's company, the first hint in ages at something more for him, something to counter the loneliness, before he realized the anger within him was still too untamed, ferocious and raging when opportunity struck for him to unleash it β and hurting her in the process.
this is an entirely new risk, this selfish decision to let this unnamed thing with wynonna simmer for a little longer, taking it minute by minute without a set decision on where it'll venture to whenever he finally does leave this house. maybe it's in knowing how messed up this town already is, in her knowledge of the bizarre and having an even more expanded history with it than he has, in her awareness of what he's already warned her regarding old scars.
perhaps he's still scrambling for excuses to secure this for as little time as it's allowed, but when he ventures downstairs, back to where it had all started there on that couch, shuffling through his jeans for his phone and shuffling through the contacts for his more recent hire, he doesn't feel guilt in bribing the part-timer to open the doors of the diner back up within the hour, promising to take over for him at a later shift (though he does shuffle back on his boxer briefs in the midst of the call, if only because he can't always be sure there won't be surprise uninvited company, whether in her place or his own apartment). after a fair bit of bargaining, he leaves his phone there on the table, amongst the empty glasses, choosing not to carry it back with him upstairs β he won't need that distraction.
marching his way back up the creaky steps, he hides a soft smile when he shuffles through the entrance of her room, watching her new position beneath the blankets, one that promotes excessive comfort and a tempting invasion of his own. quietly, he'll slide back upon the bed, this time, pinching up the sheet to slide within it with her before he lays there at her side, a casual palm stroking absentmindedly at her hip. ] Hey, you.
[ she doesn't do this, never sticks around and never asks anyone else to. she gets in and gets hers and then finds an excuse to leave, or to kick them out if they're in her territory. and she keeps weighing over her reasons for not falling back on those habits when he heads downstairs for a few minutes to call whoever he needs to β someone to open up in his place, most likely β and everything she comes up with in her head feels shallow, empty. like the fact that, well, she doesn't mind him staying because he'd made her come three times, and it'd be rude to kick him out now. or that there's plenty of space in the bed for them to rest adjacent to one another without necessarily touching. or that it's not weird to let a hookup spend the night (or the early morning) just because she's never done it before.
this is breaking new ground for her too, and she gnaws the inside of her cheek, still wrapped up in her own serious thinking mode until that one loose board on the staircase creaks and he comes back into the room a short time after, briefs clinging to his hips and hands empty β a surprise in itself, since she would've guessed he'd keep his phone within easy reach in case he's needed sooner rather than later.
all those excuses she'd come up with for asking him to stay fly out of her head when he crawls back into bed with her, lifting the sheet up to slide beneath it and share that cocooned warmth rather than keep the sheet between them, and she tilts forward when his hand drops to her hip, inching over until she can curve into the broadest part of him, her arms tucked in against his chest. ]
So... you weren't lying about getting shot in the ass, huh? [ she'd seen the scar when he'd gotten up to make the call, a dark circle with slightly mottled edges against an otherwise lighter curve of muscle, and he's tipped onto his side, which simplifies her ability to let one hand trail down and find it, trying to estimate exactly where to touch through the briefs. ] Did it hurt more, or less?
[ moving in beside her feels easy, far more than it should, but he doesn't even think of that possibility of keeping some sort of space between them, of his remaining above the blanket while she shuffles beneath it, or being confined to his own corner of the bed with a set distance between their bodies. it's mostly natural instinct that has him slip beneath the sheet and raise a simple hand to her skin to offer her to drift into his space, and it's expected and satisfying when she nestles in against his chest, one arm tucking beneath her pillow as the other curls to secure a gentle hold on her at the small of her back.
what he isn't certain of is whether or not they might immediately fall into sleep once they've ventured into comfortable positions. he can't guarantee his own will come fast, on account of old habits that often leave him restless, though exhaustion in his limbs does hint it might not actually be too difficult this time around. but he's surprised with the rise of her question, a brow raising up before he snorts off a small brief laugh, shaking his head as her fingers drift to the aforementioned injury. ]
Might've stung a bit. [ there'd been months for the skin to heal, but even with a light press through the fabric from a curious set of fingers, he does feel the faint remnants of a throbbing, noted with a subtle scrunch of his nose. ] Had to treat it with a bottle of whiskey and the shaky hands of a 15-year old in a dingy motel. Not my best moment.
[ the last time they'd done this, she thinks, he'd been the one with less clothing on and she'd felt the warmth of his body then, uncovered skin against her own bare arms, hands that had idly drifted over the planes of his chest, that defined abdomen. the pollen had warped her own perception, twisted her into thinking she had a right to touch him, and given her tacit permission when he'd responded in kind β but now, there's nothing motivating her hands on him apart from herself, and knowing that he isn't hesitating to reach out to her in turn creates a unique flutter from somewhere in her chest. ]
Just a bit? [ something tells her he's underselling exactly how much pain he'd been in, but he's also got countless other scars from presumably more bullets and other weapons alike, so his tolerance for that kind of thing is probably pretty skewed by now. just the same, she keeps her hand light on him, fingertips a gentle brush over the indent where the old wound resides before her touch ascends to a point midway between his ribs. ]
I β can't scar. Not really. Not the same way. [ not that he's been able to take the time out to glimpse every freckle, every mole on her, not when they were too distracted by what happened after all the clothes had come off β but she's noted the fact that bruises, cuts, scrapes have never taken that long to heal and once they do, there's nothing that stays behind to suggest she'd even been hurt at all. ] I don't know why, it's like β ever since I became the heir, nothing seems to stick. [ A grin finds residence in her expression, mouth curving up at the corners. ] Hell, I'd settle for an ass scar just so it looked like I'd actually been in a fight for once.
[ he knows he's caught in the lie, but the slight upward turn of his lips will let her know that he's plenty aware of that; there isn't much he can say about the agonizing pain of a bullet digging into such a sensitive area, the lasting puncture of the flesh there that he'd been forced to sit on for hours in a van before he could even get half-decent treatment for it (half-decent, semi-decent, he had to improvise). it was just one injury among hundreds he'd gotten again and again, just one before he'd be set on receiving a hundred more. ]
Yeah, I'd bet you'd look real cute with your little butt mark. [ he poses a tease to balance with her standard degree of humor, but his brows do knit together with her further description of her lack of scarring.
what she's said to him had been at a minimum, even if he'd known her to get mixed up with some supernatural elements fairly regularly, but he hadn't come to realize that she might fall under that category herself. still, the description fits, because for as little as he's been able to observe her body more closely, only just now getting a closer look when his mouth had venture down across it, more focused at the time on coating those patches of skin with a trial of kisses, he had taken note of the smoothness along a silky surface, no marks or hints to tell him silent stories of her extended history.
he draws his hand up, palm curving over her shoulder gently as his thumb strokes over the bone, his eyes softly gazing upon the surface there, stretched skin across her collar. ] It just heals on its own?
[ she's never known him to be someone who embellishes a story for the sake of being dramatic, or garnering more interest; if anything, he'd be more inclined to fall back on understatements, diminishing any kind of real pain he might have experienced especially the further removed he is from the event itself. time changes perception anyway, and maybe the more distance he has from the memory, the easier it is to downplay the severity of receiving that type of injury. but she won't harp on it for that much longer, especially once the conversation shifts to her inability to wear a mark for any significant length of time. ]
You could help me out with that. [ she flashes a smirk in his direction, trying to keep the conversation on the lighter end even while she senses it moving faster than she can keep up with. ] How 'bout I roll over and you just take a big ol' chunk out of it with your teeth?
[ but there's information he doesn't have yet, even if he's gotten smaller pieces here and there, already found out about peacemaker and why she has it, but not necessarily why she carries it. a soft sigh precedes her slowly pushing herself up to face him, propping her weight on an elbow as his hand gently tracks the shape of her bare shoulder. ] When I told you I was Wyatt's heir before, I β I didn't give you the whole story. Wyatt, uh, sort of found himself on the receiving end of a good old-fashioned curse before he died. Every outlaw he ever killed with Peacemaker, they're called revenants, resurrects when the next Earp in line to inherit hits their twenty-seventh birthday β and it's their job to use that gun of his to send them all back to Hell.
[ and this is the part where she usually anticipates the beginnings of an odd look, so she's already peering to his face in case one is starting to take shape in his expression. ] It's why I've got my own track record with weird. And why I can't ever seem to scar. And why, sometimes, my reflexes are sharper. Why every now and then I can toss a rev-head clear across a room without breaking a sweat.
[ she's thought about what could happen if she ever finds a way to break the curse, if she'll go back to being normal. but she'd give up all of this if it meant a chance at something good. if it meant alice's safety. ] Look, I'm no Buffy or anything, but β there's power, in what I've got. And I wasn't sure I wanted to tell you at first because I didn't want you to look at me any differently than you started to tonight.
I'll take on that challenge anytime, Earp. [ with regards to snatching a bite at her skin, or any other requests regarding making use of his teeth β all playful banter as they're prone to skipping about in, but there's a tease in there that might linger more on a promise.
if there weren't so caught up in something more eye-opening, the wake of her confession giving him insight on the plentiful holes that had been left about who exactly this woman is. if she expects a shift to his expression, she receives in, a light squinting that sprouts much less confused panic and more sheer and simple curiosity. it's similar to the way he'd been left to wonder about red and his ability to hear the impossible, whispers so distant and far out of ear shot (sometimes, i think you really might just be the devil, he'd said), only to later realize it'd been a blind man to somehow pull all those miraculous feats.
he's never been heavily exposed to those elements, things far out of his understanding, but it isn't that he's entirely resistant to believing in them, either, and when she sprouts her story, connecting the lines between that gun and what she's capable of withstanding, he accepts it as she tells it. ]
Y'know, it's like I said, I don't deal with that shit much, magic and β and curses. [ maybe he's had his experiences with hell, but somehow he doubts his and hers are one of the same. ] But I know it's there. Same way this place is showing that it does. Hell, I β I turned into a damn bear, for Christ's sake. [ he huffs a breath, borderlining a chuckle if he didn't get distracted with a brief pout of his lips, dreading the memory.
his fingers tuck in at her neck, thumb gently stroking the underside of her chin. ] But whatever you can do, whether or not your skin gets all beat to shit like mine does, that doesn't change anything. [ he shrugs gently, a swipe to his lip as he briefly gazes away with a momentary thought before finding her eyes again. ] If I'm β if I'm looking at you any differently right now than I did yesterday, you know that's for a whole other reason.
[ she doesn't wait with bated breath for his answer, but she knows they're both dealing from different decks here when it comes to tackling the supernatural; she'd made as much plain from the first moment they'd met, trying to leverage her track record in this sphere as further motivation for him to trust her at the beginning of it all, and even if his experience doesn't lie as frequently in the realm of weird that hers does, he's seen enough now to have more of an understanding of what she'd had to face back home, why she doesn't necessarily balk at the concept of magically tainted chocolate or spontaneous bear transformation.
and perhaps, by filling in more of those blank spaces on her backstory, he gets her more, even if she's still stopping shy of telling him everything. there are some pieces of her life that don't even have much to do with the curse, but they've defined her as much as it has. maybe even more. but those aren't stories she wants to share while they're curled up together in her bed, while she's listening to him for once instead of spilling further.
her head tips into the path his hand takes across the side of her neck, along her jaw, and when he glances away from her it's only for a few seconds, not long enough for her to second-guess sharing anything because he's already returning to her with the assurance that it doesn't change what's transpired, the seismic shift that's occurred in the waning hours of the evening, the diverging of their relationship onto a new path entirely. the relief that floods over her is palpable, and she ducks her chin down to bite back a grin, silently impressed at his ability to make her stomach perform somersaults without any kind of warning whatsoever.
but when she inevitably brings her face to his again, her fingers curve a loose hold around his wrist, thumb nudging to his pulse, and the steadiness of it centers her too, lips pressing together like she's mulling over what she can even say in response to that. ]
You're something else, Frank Castle. [ soft, a little marveling, and she shakes her head in mild disbelief while she settles into him, not in search of yet another round but not ignoring that impulse to show him her gratitude by closing more of that distance. ] You know that?
[ he's hardly in any position to cast judgment for the circumstances of her life outside of this town, especially in the scenario in which she'd been tossed into something that's entirely beyond her control. he imagines that it might not be the book end to whatever he story really is, especially in the case of whatever this "curse" really happens to entail, or why it's actually there to begin with, but he isn't pursuing more details, letting her exchange those few at a time for as long as she feels comfortable to do it.
when he'd warned her about himself, about the things he'd done, how they might change the way she looked at him, she'd told him that none of it mattered, not when she'd already made her own determination about what kind of man he is based on what she'd seen with her own eyes. she'd assured him that whatever it was he was still keeping close to the vest (literally so) didn't need to be shared if he wasn't ready to drag out that truth β and he still isn't, knowing the weight his scars really carry, and what it might mean for them, for whatever this is if he were bring out his past into this space they've created for themselves.
it's little to do with trust β he holds more trust for her than he'd have ever guessed during those complicated first meetings of theirs β and more to do with preservation, with savoring these minutes, these hours, while they can let it last. ]
Yeah, you got that right. [ he mutters with a playful tone, a soft chuckling that does prompt a parallel ducking of his head in rhythm with her own, one that's short-lived before he finds himself peering back at her, too hypnotized by the softness in her eyes to glance away for too long.
his wrist held by hers, he doesn't draw it away, even if he does drag his fingers lip slightly, allowing his thumb to reach over her lip, a soft caress running horizontally across before he presses a light kiss, chaste but still tender, his voice rumbling a low whisper. ] But nothing quite like you, Wynonna Earp.
[ she says it because she doesn't know where he'd come from, how he'd so effectively pulled down her defenses and made her want to know him β and even now, she's assured by their willingness to fall back on lightly teasing words in tandem with this new understanding, admissions that hold more weight to them. she's still not sure what to call this now, or even if that conversation is ever going to transpire so long as they're both here, but until one or both of them depart this place maybe they can reside contentedly in knowing that, for the time being, they're both a little less alone.
she hasn't given up all of her ghosts, hasn't asked him to share those weights alongside her, to shoulder those burdens once he becomes aware of them, and she's not about to demand that of him either. she'd said as much to him before, when the pollen had infiltrated her senses and made her more susceptible to this, to the wanting of it (whatever you want to tell me, or don't, it's β that's okay), and without that in the air around them now she's finding she feels the same way about whatever secrets he chooses to divulge. something tells her he doesn't want her to bear those responsibilities either, that pain that occasionally lingers in the set of his shoulders, in how he sometimes hesitates before giving her an answer.
but for all that they're still keeping locked away, there's enough they've shared with each other tonight to carry her through β into the rest of this day, and maybe longer than that. she's never really allowed herself to think about the future in those terms, and the more time that passes while she's in his arms, the more she starts to want to.
she turns her mouth to his, a small pressing kiss, and nudges their foreheads together in the aftermath, harboring a smile with eyes closed for those few beats β and then she tucks herself into him, head resting beneath his chin, her cheek turned along his warmth. ] You were wrong, you know. First time we met, you said I wasn't gonna like you very much. [ her head tips back to his shoulder so she can glance up at him, as her voice drops to a bare whisper. ] You were wrong.
[ as she curves her body into him, he welcomes that invasion of warmth, the press of her nudging skin on skin that should bring some discomfort in the warmer weather rising from the season but hardly bothers him in the slightest. instead, he merely scoops her hair beneath his fingertips to drag all the strands back from her shoulders, letting it all fall against his hand and the pillow, as his opposite palm brushes over the lower smooth skin at her back.
he doesn't recall the memory at first, trying to pick apart the exact moment before it stitches together slow, the literal lack of a visual making it difficult at first to paint the scene. but he does remember that day, sitting across from her with all of his reluctance, forcing her to put in a majority of the effort towards actually working together to get out of their share predicament. ]
Yeah? [ he asks softly in return when he finds her eyes, mostly because he doesn't have a precise response for it.
there still hasn't been enough uncovered, in his opinion, for her to really cast that judgement. the endless blood on his eyes, the faults that led to his train of losses β he knows the stain they leave on him, how that discovery has always changed the way he's been perceived by other eyes (frank castle, he's a lot scarier than pete), and even if he'd shared the truth of his name, it wasn't enough to unevil the truth of his guilt, of the monster he is. she might not still like him once she finds out who he really is β or maybe he's more worried that she'll know it all and still like him anyway.
he falls quiet briefly, a slight gnawing at his lip as he peers off into a distant corner of the room where light from the window flutters casually. ] I, uh β I had my hand on the button. Back then, right when that buzzer went off, I was ready to push it for you.
Yeah. [ she doesn't know what had called that memory back to the forefront of her consciousness now, of all times, as she settles in against his chest, shifting her weight down the side of his body until she can pillow her head on top of him, and she sighs out as his fingers sweep her hair back, the tips light against her nape and provoking a rise of goosebumps in their wake. she drapes one arm across his middle and traces the shape of his ribs, watching how they expand and contract with his even breathing.
but mentioning it allows her to reflect on the chaos they'd been plopped down right in the center of, without their sight and no easily discernable way to get it back, and she smiles to recall it now, the way she'd had to basically lay out her reasons for why she, of all people, was most qualified to help him in that situation, only the conversation had soon shifted to all the trademark talking points of what could probably be described as a blind date, albeit more literal in its meaning. they'd exchanged seemingly inconsequential information, subjects like favorite movies and colors, and toward the end she remembers her hand drifting toward the center of the table to feel out the edge of her button, stopping just short of actually hitting it before their time had run out.
she's not looking at him when he speaks again, but she feels the vibration of his voice under a cheek that tenses with a smile, slightly incredulous, as if he'd managed to subconsciously pick up on what she was thinking about before saying it out loud on his end. she'll even go as far as to laugh, softly, another exhaled sound as she turns her face into his skin, a brief nudge of her nose, and then it's her turn to speak up. ]
I almost pushed mine. [ her voice stays quiet, though, reflective, fingers still moving idly along his side. ] Though I think I managed to push enough of your buttons after that to make up for not doing it the first time, right? [ and just because he's staying here with her now, as the sun slowly comes up, doesn't mean he's not at risk for her doing it again sometime in the near future. she knows what those eyerolls spell, frank. ] You know, you never did tell me what your idea of the perfect date is. Still too advanced for me?
Did you? [ he barks out a small laugh, a rumble in his belly that vibrates softly against her with the irony of her response. he'd been so persistent then about the whole thing not working, so convinced there was no realistic way of developing genuine interest for one another under those circumstances β especially when a personality like his can often leave a bad taste in people's mouths, already convinced of her judgement long before she even had the chance to conjure it. there's a brief wonder as to whether things would have actually changed if they had clicked on those buttons then, if catching each other's eyes much earlier would have changed the track of their relationship at all. he wonders, albeit briefly because ultimately, it doesn't matter. he can't imagine it would have gone any better than this. ]
I didn't, did I? [ he'd forgotten about that too, the question too complicated then for him to answer without springing up some handwaved lie, which he'd voted against. but he hadn't taken her actual curiosity seriously either, though he knows when the question springs up now, it's with more genuine intrigue for an answer.
he doesn't respond immediately, letting his back simply sink into the mattress as he rolls more comfortably into it, holding her steady there against him, a set of fingers lazily drifting over her knuckles as they let wander a gentle caress over his skin. ] This. [ he realizes the cliche of the response, but his voice is so quiet, fairly relaxed, that there's nothing teasing in the tone, at all. ] It's just β shit's always been so loud. The things I see, the things I fight. That's kind of become the only thing I know how to do, long as I can remember. Even when I left the war, it just β never stopped, y'know? Like I said before, I don't β I don't know what to do when the silence comes.
[ there's more to it, he knows that. it's already more than he wants to say, but the warmth of her lets the words flow, honest on his tongue. ]
But this, I ... I feel like I'm breathing again. Like I'm remembering how to. And I guess, I just β I can't ask for something more perfect than that. [ his chest tightens, wondering if it's too much, knowing it's too much, but she's left his skin so unveiled, every core of him vulnerable for her taking, and he can't think of how to cover those corners again. so he mutters with a soft shrug, adding with a more casual air, ] That or front row tickets to a Springsteen concert.
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he can't categorize where those feelings lie, what it means that his heart beats faster now merely by gazing down to her, in a way that's nothing to do with the accompanying heat lower in his belly. he's seen what it means for him to try to open his hands to instincts like these, to emotions he knows he wants to explore despite the impossibility of it, to the risks that this will all fall apart in a disaster far larger than anything he'd try to stitch together on his own. and he knows what it'd mean for her if he let her get as entangled with him as she does now.
but he doesn't stop, can't, not when she whimpers that plea against his mouth, following it with his name and tenderness on her lips. he'll take command now, simply in the way he reaches between them to properly align himself against her, the blunt tip of his length finding entry into endless slickness, the heat of her welcoming when he presses himself inside again.
with a strained groan, he kisses her again through it, as he finds a steadiness in filling it completely, readjusting to familiarize themselves again with that initial feeling that had thrown them into this, this extension of something that was meant to simply go by in a spontaneous rush, only to fall into the addiction of their company long after the fact. ] God, Wynonna. [ he mutters her name again, moving into a slow rocking that's made easy with everything they'd filled the morning with thus far, yet still as exhilarating as it had been those first moments they'd press together, tight heat taking him over in more than the physical. ]
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and now, she might be more confused than ever but the flood of warmth in her limbs hasn't dwindled, and neither has the light in her eyes when she looks up at him. he steadies himself above her and she draws him close, draws herself in against him, she can't tell which, only that there's still distance between them that needs to disappear and it won't happen until he's within her; he finally, blissfully guides forward and her hips rise, completely surrendering, fingers clutching tight as a strangled sound works its way up from her throat.
it's different than before, when she'd taken him in, but still slow, tender; she can guide her forehead to his with lips parted to let her noises flow freely, every gasp and whimper that the steady thrusts of his hips provoke, and it's headier to feel him filling her from this angle, deeper somehow, hardness fitting perfectly into her curves while he moves. ] Frank.
[ she can't say anything else, isn't sure she wants to, because what else other than the name he's given her to use can even completely encapsulate what he's leaving her with, pleasure spiking strong and constant from that deep stroke. all she can do is hold on, turn their faces together, one arm slung over his shoulders as their lower halves come together and pull apart, again and again. ]
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he doesn't move fast, only firmly, still reaching for that even tenderness that comes at the careful motions which stroke her from the inside and reverberate to him in turn. as it becomes more clear of how he isn't meant to stay here in this bed with her for as long as he pleases, he recognizes that continued motivation to make it last, to make it good for both of them, still entirely sure of how they'll change and react once they've made it out of this.
but he'd been sincere when he said he wanted her, whether it simply be in the heat of this moment or something that'll outlast the morning and the day. her arm straps him in at the shoulder and he sinks closer in response, a single forearm braced on the mattress to offer that necessary support to thrust his hips forward, as a palm finds a firm grip to her thigh, fingertips enabling a tightening press to held it at his waist. and through the position, he can still catch glances of her, of watching her panting mouth and the way her lips shift to say his name, teeth pressing into the flesh there β and he knows he does want her, just like this, his name, his real name, spoken by her voice, while she sees him bare underneath all his skin as he sees her.
the ache to kiss her strikes him from moment to moment, a messy affair required when he seeks it, lips rolling in fast uncoordinated grazes by way of their thrusting motions, with the occasional swiping of tongues accompanying soft moans from his throat. ]
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but she likes him this close, almost prefers it, being able to witness those expressions filtered across his face or hear the sound of her name unmuffled, his pleasured groans fully reaching her hearing. and she likes being able to turn her face to his, steal those messy and uneven kisses that end up half-slanted together when she parts her lips to breathe harder from the exertion of their movements.
even this isn't hurried along, their bodies' pacing smooth and gradual, chasing pleasure rather than trying to outlast however many minutes they have left. she's ignoring the sands of time slipping through their fingers, instead residing firm in the knowledge that she has him here while she has him. the tension of his shoulders beneath her forearm and the slide of a large hand across her thigh keeps them definitively nestled, so close that she wonders if he can feel the fevered pulsing of her heart.
(she wants this, she wants this, and she won't know what to do when she doesn't have it in the hours to come.)
her eyes fight to stay open, to drink in every second they're entwined, but it's too many senses overwhelmed by him β sight, scent, taste, feeling β and she has to give up one to more fully embrace the rest, knowing she can trust him to cover her, to move inside her, to keep her safe while she floats, drifts, gives herself up to this moment if it's all she can lay claim to before he leaves, before they have to address the looming acknowledgment of what this means, what it changes for them. ]
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there'll be a thousand questions when this ends, along with the possibility that his stubbornness won't be fully convinced he even wants them answered, to reconsider stepping so deep into this, to leave himself so openly vulnerablr under her touch and her kiss, to let himself want something so unquestionably.
because it all runs on more than mere desire, even if the angle provided allows him to control those impending thrusts, knees braced as he stretches her on each bucking roll of his hips, the pace gradually picked up in rhythm with those panting breaths that mix in with hers. it wasn't lust that brought him to her house at this hour, it wasn't the subtle intention of seeking a physical entanglement; he'd come with a plate of requested fries and an instinctive desire to merely see her, because it'd become so routine now, so necessary to his standard schedule that there was almost an oddity to not seeing her with her pouted lips and smug smirks cracking out a tacky joke in his direction.
it's only her name on his lips now, a whisper between messy kisses, and choosing to not think of how his mind might change in the hours to come, he can only view this with complete lack of regret as he feels the press of her weight beneath them, skin warm and sticky from where theirs cling addictively together.
and when he begins to feel himself approach closer to that peak, a heated sensation that adds speed to his motions, he plucks a set of her fingers, tangling them with a set of his own, squeezing the hold together above her head. ]
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if she wants to see him β if she wants to pursue this β she might have to be more intentional about it, but maybe tonight had been the start of that seeking, unconscious or not. she hadn't set out to ask him to come over when she'd first called him up about that questionable yogurt, but in the end she had, and he hadn't turned her down, finding enough interest there to merit a drive out to the town's fringes. he'd come, and he's here, and it does feel like a shift on more than just the obvious front of knowing what the other looks like naked β because of the hour, because of the tenor their conversation had taken shortly before his arrival, because he'd asked for something stronger over coffee, all new touchstones leading up to him holding her, kissing her deeply, whispering her name.
she could lie, say she's only in this to scratch an itch that was in desperate need of satisfying, but that'd be a poor excuse to drive a wedge between them, to distance herself the way she would've liked to before she'd glimpsed more than begrudging tolerance in his gaze. she's seen more than that now, fondness and desire and something else besides, so naked and open that it would normally send her running in the opposite direction β but instead she chooses to wrap herself around him and hold on for dear life.
she senses him behind closed eyes, the syllables on his lips that form her name across their breaths, and all the while the warmth inside her burns hotter and hotter, threatening to burst; her thighs squeeze hard at his hips and she's rocking to meet him now, fingers interlocked tightly with his. ]
Don't stop. [ she knows he won't, not when the sweetness of release is within their shared grasp, their unison movement and the slide of skin over skin nudging her ever nearer to the edge β and then, right in that moment, she unfurls, that tension within breaking open finally, sensations hard enough to send shudders coursing through her, without and within, as she claims his mouth for a grateful, hungry kiss. ]
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after the pollen, they had brushed aside their behaviors during their time with tangled limbs in his bed, crediting the compromised air as a reason for it, but if evidence of tonight (this morning) had proven anything, it was that the pollen might have hardly affected them at all, as soon in the easy way they engage together, whether in physical urgency or the playful banter that they can somehow bat back and forth in between.
but all the hints had been there from early on, back when conincidences had stopped being just there and had transformed into purposeful meetings, intentions on either of their parts to find each other either in a regularly set timeframe at the diner or some phone call to encourage one of them in the other's direction (mostly him to her, and mostly to fix some other fidgety appliance). everything had become a chain of excuses, to hear her, to see her, and it isn't until now that frank's coming to realize how much he wants her as a regularity in his every day, as a solid constant for him to draw himself back on whenever he feels himself stray towards his standard brand of darkness.
dont't stop, and he won't, only driving himself harder between her thighs, sore slickness nudging their hips in fervid presses, to where all he needs to move is a bracing on his knees that allows him to dive into her with little resistance. even as he feels her inevitable clench, the sweetness of her gripping desperately around him as if to keep him there, he moves as if it really might just be the last time that they have this, to make it good, to make it memorable for both of them.
he's forced to part from her kiss when his teeth grit unintentionally, a rasping groan caught in his throat as that build finally reaches its intended place. curling his fingers tighter within hers, he lets his release fill her once more, every drop left there as a reminder as if memory were not enough. though the memory definitely won't vanish, not of this, of any of it, sure that he'll feel the phantom sensations of her clenching around him even in the hours to come, that her moaning cries of his name will still ring softly in his ear, and her taste will remain heavy on his tongue even in the coming days. ]
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in some ways, she's grateful they waited until now, the temptations from the pollen drifting in through that cracked window almost too strong to resist until she'd inadvertently prodded his injured shoulder; if they'd done this then, allowed hands and mouths to explore more than just above-the-waist territory, she really wouldn't have been able to look him in the eye after that, questioning everything. now, there's nothing about this that she doubts, when he strains over her for those few lengthy seconds, hips powering through until the end, and then finally stills.
idly, she lets her hand stroke over him β his hair down to his shoulders and between those rounded curves along his spine, lightly using her fingertips to trace the arc that shifts with even the slightest movement from him. she hasn't squeezed out from underneath him, and she's not complaining about the subtle press of his weight against her or the fact that they're still technically joined. but she does let her eyes flick open, and she does venture a glance over in the direction of the clock on the bedside table, pushing out a sigh between subtly pursed lips.
her gaze drifts back to his and if her hand relinquishes its grip on his fingers it's only to smooth along the side of his face, combing down the edges of his beard when it moves along his jawline, hairs thick and soft to the touch. the idea of doing this would have never entered her mind until now β and now, it's the first instinct she has. ]
Do you have to go? [ the question leaves her soft, almost a whisper but not quite, her voice a little deeper, thicker from the hour and the earlier strain; she can feel sleep tugging on the edges of her consciousness but she doesn't want to drift off and then wake up to find the bed empty, no sign of him here apart from those cold fries and two empty glasses on the coffee table. but she'll surrender her hold on him because she knows he has things he needs to take care of, and she doesn't know if she's necessarily earned more of a right to his presence than anyone else here. ]
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he knows he should direct his attention to the clock, take note of the time and begin a quick scramble to clean himself up and gather his clothes from downstairs, but her fingers slip away from his for the purpose of merely caressing him, gentle strokes that urge him to shut his eyes as he partially hovers over her, hips nudged a little low against her with his weight from the decline of strength. itβs a soothing touch from her that makes it all the more difficult to move from where he lays, leaning his cheek into her palm.
and then she presents the question, his eyes blink slowly open, soft gaze falling over her, flecks of sun slipping through the curtain now to provide a developing glow along her cheeks.
of course he has to go. because that was always the plan, always the inevitable outcome of all of this, especially when it was never supposed to be anything more. and he has the response on his tongue, ready to let the yes float from his lips and accept the end of their dreamlike morning β but it never comes, the word not quite forming as his mind spins different ones entirely. ]
Not if you want me to stay. [ he says in an equally soft whisper, the light rasp of his own voice more natural with his standard tone. turning his eyes, he presses a kiss into her palm, lips brushing over the lifelines before he lets his face sink into her touch again, gaze peering back to her with as much of a focus as he can conjure with tired eyes, intent on letting her know that he means it.
heβll have to slip downstairs to scramble for his phone and make a quick call to a part-timer to bribe him into taking an earlier shift, but the small chore is bearable compared to the thought of leaving her altogether for the extended hours ahead. ]
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he'd disrupted her routine in more ways than one, but the exhaustion making itself known in her consciousness dwindles in the warmth that lingers after he turns his face into her hand, brushes his lips against the inside of her palm, a push against those faint lines.
and she smiles, briefly contemplative, her head shifting along the mattress to keep him in her view, when he doesn't give her the yes she's anticipating, knowing the commitments that tug him in a direction opposite from the one that leads to this place, to her bed. she'll weigh on the answer she gets instead, teeth momentarily digging into the swell of her lower lip, because what she knows she wants and knows she needs are two very different things.
(she wants him to stay, and what she needs β or who β is a version she's yet to fully venture down for fear of what she'll unearth, because the truth might sit closer to home than she's really comfortable embracing at this juncture.)
her answer doesn't make it out of her in words, not immediately; she manages a nod, a slow incline of her head, almost like she's bashful admitting it at this stage, teeth still scraping across her lip before she releases it, lightly wet and shining, to give him a little more than that. ] Will you?
[ her first thought isn't running to more sex, though, and that's really the more damning part of it, because even as those first few rays of morning light start to emanate through the partially drawn curtains, casting the room in a pinkish glow, she's finding that all she's really craving is for him to pull her close, to linger here with her a while, to maybe let herself find rest in arms that have already encircled her once, to soothe herself to sleep with the sounds of his breathing, his heart beating beneath where she chooses to lay her head. her fingers maintain that slow, repetitive smoothing along that growing beard before curving up the side of his face and around the shell of his ear, slipping across his scalp. ]
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maybe thatβs why itβs easier to disrupt it now by her simple request, to divulge all of his focus solely on what remains before him, easy when sheβs all that remains in his sights, laying out there before him, the mess of dark locks scattered on the mattress beneath her as she peers up to him with the softness of her gaze. ]
Yeah. [ he answers with the subtle peek of a smile, curved lips entirely directed to her. he bites his own lip soon after, much more briefly with a tinge of regret. ] I just have to slip downstairs and make a quick call. [ because, really, even if he ran on his own command, he still had the mindset to at least be somewhat responsible, especially when it concerned people who didnβt deserve to be screwed over. just because he was too caught up in the haze of rolling around in bedsheets of an oversized bed and huddling against a woman he had more than an attraction to, it didnβt mean people had to starve for it.
reluctantly, he digs a palm to the mattress, the other helping him ease of her, the separation instantly ridding him of a warmth he was getting fairly comfortable with.
but he still leans forward, lips pressing gently to her forehead, a brief but tender gesture before meeting her eyes again. ] But it wonβt take long. Iβll be back.
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she's embraced selfishness before, but not like this, not with anything that might actually matter in the long run, and even if asking him to stay technically falls under that category she can't bring herself to feel completely guilty, not when he slips away from her and drops a kiss to her forehead before promising a return.
the house is almost too quiet again, when he leaves, even if she can hear the occasional creaking floorboard that clues her into his guesstimated location; she shifts up amidst a twisting of bedsheets and then, in lieu of actually getting up at all, chooses to slip beneath them instead, scooting back to lay against the pillows with the blankets covering her. she won't fall asleep in the time it takes him to come back β hopefully β but she's too relaxed to make any greater movements.
she can hear his voice below, thanks to this place's thin walls, even if she can't make out what he's saying, that low register of his rolling up through the floor, and she allows herself a small, slow smile, savoring the lack of tension in her hips with an equally slow stretch beneath the blankets. ]
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this is an entirely new risk, this selfish decision to let this unnamed thing with wynonna simmer for a little longer, taking it minute by minute without a set decision on where it'll venture to whenever he finally does leave this house. maybe it's in knowing how messed up this town already is, in her knowledge of the bizarre and having an even more expanded history with it than he has, in her awareness of what he's already warned her regarding old scars.
perhaps he's still scrambling for excuses to secure this for as little time as it's allowed, but when he ventures downstairs, back to where it had all started there on that couch, shuffling through his jeans for his phone and shuffling through the contacts for his more recent hire, he doesn't feel guilt in bribing the part-timer to open the doors of the diner back up within the hour, promising to take over for him at a later shift (though he does shuffle back on his boxer briefs in the midst of the call, if only because he can't always be sure there won't be surprise uninvited company, whether in her place or his own apartment). after a fair bit of bargaining, he leaves his phone there on the table, amongst the empty glasses, choosing not to carry it back with him upstairs β he won't need that distraction.
marching his way back up the creaky steps, he hides a soft smile when he shuffles through the entrance of her room, watching her new position beneath the blankets, one that promotes excessive comfort and a tempting invasion of his own. quietly, he'll slide back upon the bed, this time, pinching up the sheet to slide within it with her before he lays there at her side, a casual palm stroking absentmindedly at her hip. ] Hey, you.
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this is breaking new ground for her too, and she gnaws the inside of her cheek, still wrapped up in her own serious thinking mode until that one loose board on the staircase creaks and he comes back into the room a short time after, briefs clinging to his hips and hands empty β a surprise in itself, since she would've guessed he'd keep his phone within easy reach in case he's needed sooner rather than later.
all those excuses she'd come up with for asking him to stay fly out of her head when he crawls back into bed with her, lifting the sheet up to slide beneath it and share that cocooned warmth rather than keep the sheet between them, and she tilts forward when his hand drops to her hip, inching over until she can curve into the broadest part of him, her arms tucked in against his chest. ]
So... you weren't lying about getting shot in the ass, huh? [ she'd seen the scar when he'd gotten up to make the call, a dark circle with slightly mottled edges against an otherwise lighter curve of muscle, and he's tipped onto his side, which simplifies her ability to let one hand trail down and find it, trying to estimate exactly where to touch through the briefs. ] Did it hurt more, or less?
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what he isn't certain of is whether or not they might immediately fall into sleep once they've ventured into comfortable positions. he can't guarantee his own will come fast, on account of old habits that often leave him restless, though exhaustion in his limbs does hint it might not actually be too difficult this time around. but he's surprised with the rise of her question, a brow raising up before he snorts off a small brief laugh, shaking his head as her fingers drift to the aforementioned injury. ]
Might've stung a bit. [ there'd been months for the skin to heal, but even with a light press through the fabric from a curious set of fingers, he does feel the faint remnants of a throbbing, noted with a subtle scrunch of his nose. ] Had to treat it with a bottle of whiskey and the shaky hands of a 15-year old in a dingy motel. Not my best moment.
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Just a bit? [ something tells her he's underselling exactly how much pain he'd been in, but he's also got countless other scars from presumably more bullets and other weapons alike, so his tolerance for that kind of thing is probably pretty skewed by now. just the same, she keeps her hand light on him, fingertips a gentle brush over the indent where the old wound resides before her touch ascends to a point midway between his ribs. ]
I β can't scar. Not really. Not the same way. [ not that he's been able to take the time out to glimpse every freckle, every mole on her, not when they were too distracted by what happened after all the clothes had come off β but she's noted the fact that bruises, cuts, scrapes have never taken that long to heal and once they do, there's nothing that stays behind to suggest she'd even been hurt at all. ] I don't know why, it's like β ever since I became the heir, nothing seems to stick. [ A grin finds residence in her expression, mouth curving up at the corners. ] Hell, I'd settle for an ass scar just so it looked like I'd actually been in a fight for once.
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Yeah, I'd bet you'd look real cute with your little butt mark. [ he poses a tease to balance with her standard degree of humor, but his brows do knit together with her further description of her lack of scarring.
what she's said to him had been at a minimum, even if he'd known her to get mixed up with some supernatural elements fairly regularly, but he hadn't come to realize that she might fall under that category herself. still, the description fits, because for as little as he's been able to observe her body more closely, only just now getting a closer look when his mouth had venture down across it, more focused at the time on coating those patches of skin with a trial of kisses, he had taken note of the smoothness along a silky surface, no marks or hints to tell him silent stories of her extended history.
he draws his hand up, palm curving over her shoulder gently as his thumb strokes over the bone, his eyes softly gazing upon the surface there, stretched skin across her collar. ] It just heals on its own?
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You could help me out with that. [ she flashes a smirk in his direction, trying to keep the conversation on the lighter end even while she senses it moving faster than she can keep up with. ] How 'bout I roll over and you just take a big ol' chunk out of it with your teeth?
[ but there's information he doesn't have yet, even if he's gotten smaller pieces here and there, already found out about peacemaker and why she has it, but not necessarily why she carries it. a soft sigh precedes her slowly pushing herself up to face him, propping her weight on an elbow as his hand gently tracks the shape of her bare shoulder. ] When I told you I was Wyatt's heir before, I β I didn't give you the whole story. Wyatt, uh, sort of found himself on the receiving end of a good old-fashioned curse before he died. Every outlaw he ever killed with Peacemaker, they're called revenants, resurrects when the next Earp in line to inherit hits their twenty-seventh birthday β and it's their job to use that gun of his to send them all back to Hell.
[ and this is the part where she usually anticipates the beginnings of an odd look, so she's already peering to his face in case one is starting to take shape in his expression. ] It's why I've got my own track record with weird. And why I can't ever seem to scar. And why, sometimes, my reflexes are sharper. Why every now and then I can toss a rev-head clear across a room without breaking a sweat.
[ she's thought about what could happen if she ever finds a way to break the curse, if she'll go back to being normal. but she'd give up all of this if it meant a chance at something good. if it meant alice's safety. ] Look, I'm no Buffy or anything, but β there's power, in what I've got. And I wasn't sure I wanted to tell you at first because I didn't want you to look at me any differently than you started to tonight.
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if there weren't so caught up in something more eye-opening, the wake of her confession giving him insight on the plentiful holes that had been left about who exactly this woman is. if she expects a shift to his expression, she receives in, a light squinting that sprouts much less confused panic and more sheer and simple curiosity. it's similar to the way he'd been left to wonder about red and his ability to hear the impossible, whispers so distant and far out of ear shot (sometimes, i think you really might just be the devil, he'd said), only to later realize it'd been a blind man to somehow pull all those miraculous feats.
he's never been heavily exposed to those elements, things far out of his understanding, but it isn't that he's entirely resistant to believing in them, either, and when she sprouts her story, connecting the lines between that gun and what she's capable of withstanding, he accepts it as she tells it. ]
Y'know, it's like I said, I don't deal with that shit much, magic and β and curses. [ maybe he's had his experiences with hell, but somehow he doubts his and hers are one of the same. ] But I know it's there. Same way this place is showing that it does. Hell, I β I turned into a damn bear, for Christ's sake. [ he huffs a breath, borderlining a chuckle if he didn't get distracted with a brief pout of his lips, dreading the memory.
his fingers tuck in at her neck, thumb gently stroking the underside of her chin. ] But whatever you can do, whether or not your skin gets all beat to shit like mine does, that doesn't change anything. [ he shrugs gently, a swipe to his lip as he briefly gazes away with a momentary thought before finding her eyes again. ] If I'm β if I'm looking at you any differently right now than I did yesterday, you know that's for a whole other reason.
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and perhaps, by filling in more of those blank spaces on her backstory, he gets her more, even if she's still stopping shy of telling him everything. there are some pieces of her life that don't even have much to do with the curse, but they've defined her as much as it has. maybe even more. but those aren't stories she wants to share while they're curled up together in her bed, while she's listening to him for once instead of spilling further.
her head tips into the path his hand takes across the side of her neck, along her jaw, and when he glances away from her it's only for a few seconds, not long enough for her to second-guess sharing anything because he's already returning to her with the assurance that it doesn't change what's transpired, the seismic shift that's occurred in the waning hours of the evening, the diverging of their relationship onto a new path entirely. the relief that floods over her is palpable, and she ducks her chin down to bite back a grin, silently impressed at his ability to make her stomach perform somersaults without any kind of warning whatsoever.
but when she inevitably brings her face to his again, her fingers curve a loose hold around his wrist, thumb nudging to his pulse, and the steadiness of it centers her too, lips pressing together like she's mulling over what she can even say in response to that. ]
You're something else, Frank Castle. [ soft, a little marveling, and she shakes her head in mild disbelief while she settles into him, not in search of yet another round but not ignoring that impulse to show him her gratitude by closing more of that distance. ] You know that?
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when he'd warned her about himself, about the things he'd done, how they might change the way she looked at him, she'd told him that none of it mattered, not when she'd already made her own determination about what kind of man he is based on what she'd seen with her own eyes. she'd assured him that whatever it was he was still keeping close to the vest (literally so) didn't need to be shared if he wasn't ready to drag out that truth β and he still isn't, knowing the weight his scars really carry, and what it might mean for them, for whatever this is if he were bring out his past into this space they've created for themselves.
it's little to do with trust β he holds more trust for her than he'd have ever guessed during those complicated first meetings of theirs β and more to do with preservation, with savoring these minutes, these hours, while they can let it last. ]
Yeah, you got that right. [ he mutters with a playful tone, a soft chuckling that does prompt a parallel ducking of his head in rhythm with her own, one that's short-lived before he finds himself peering back at her, too hypnotized by the softness in her eyes to glance away for too long.
his wrist held by hers, he doesn't draw it away, even if he does drag his fingers lip slightly, allowing his thumb to reach over her lip, a soft caress running horizontally across before he presses a light kiss, chaste but still tender, his voice rumbling a low whisper. ] But nothing quite like you, Wynonna Earp.
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she hasn't given up all of her ghosts, hasn't asked him to share those weights alongside her, to shoulder those burdens once he becomes aware of them, and she's not about to demand that of him either. she'd said as much to him before, when the pollen had infiltrated her senses and made her more susceptible to this, to the wanting of it (whatever you want to tell me, or don't, it's β that's okay), and without that in the air around them now she's finding she feels the same way about whatever secrets he chooses to divulge. something tells her he doesn't want her to bear those responsibilities either, that pain that occasionally lingers in the set of his shoulders, in how he sometimes hesitates before giving her an answer.
but for all that they're still keeping locked away, there's enough they've shared with each other tonight to carry her through β into the rest of this day, and maybe longer than that. she's never really allowed herself to think about the future in those terms, and the more time that passes while she's in his arms, the more she starts to want to.
she turns her mouth to his, a small pressing kiss, and nudges their foreheads together in the aftermath, harboring a smile with eyes closed for those few beats β and then she tucks herself into him, head resting beneath his chin, her cheek turned along his warmth. ] You were wrong, you know. First time we met, you said I wasn't gonna like you very much. [ her head tips back to his shoulder so she can glance up at him, as her voice drops to a bare whisper. ] You were wrong.
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he doesn't recall the memory at first, trying to pick apart the exact moment before it stitches together slow, the literal lack of a visual making it difficult at first to paint the scene. but he does remember that day, sitting across from her with all of his reluctance, forcing her to put in a majority of the effort towards actually working together to get out of their share predicament. ]
Yeah? [ he asks softly in return when he finds her eyes, mostly because he doesn't have a precise response for it.
there still hasn't been enough uncovered, in his opinion, for her to really cast that judgement. the endless blood on his eyes, the faults that led to his train of losses β he knows the stain they leave on him, how that discovery has always changed the way he's been perceived by other eyes (frank castle, he's a lot scarier than pete), and even if he'd shared the truth of his name, it wasn't enough to unevil the truth of his guilt, of the monster he is. she might not still like him once she finds out who he really is β or maybe he's more worried that she'll know it all and still like him anyway.
he falls quiet briefly, a slight gnawing at his lip as he peers off into a distant corner of the room where light from the window flutters casually. ] I, uh β I had my hand on the button. Back then, right when that buzzer went off, I was ready to push it for you.
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but mentioning it allows her to reflect on the chaos they'd been plopped down right in the center of, without their sight and no easily discernable way to get it back, and she smiles to recall it now, the way she'd had to basically lay out her reasons for why she, of all people, was most qualified to help him in that situation, only the conversation had soon shifted to all the trademark talking points of what could probably be described as a blind date, albeit more literal in its meaning. they'd exchanged seemingly inconsequential information, subjects like favorite movies and colors, and toward the end she remembers her hand drifting toward the center of the table to feel out the edge of her button, stopping just short of actually hitting it before their time had run out.
she's not looking at him when he speaks again, but she feels the vibration of his voice under a cheek that tenses with a smile, slightly incredulous, as if he'd managed to subconsciously pick up on what she was thinking about before saying it out loud on his end. she'll even go as far as to laugh, softly, another exhaled sound as she turns her face into his skin, a brief nudge of her nose, and then it's her turn to speak up. ]
I almost pushed mine. [ her voice stays quiet, though, reflective, fingers still moving idly along his side. ] Though I think I managed to push enough of your buttons after that to make up for not doing it the first time, right? [ and just because he's staying here with her now, as the sun slowly comes up, doesn't mean he's not at risk for her doing it again sometime in the near future. she knows what those eyerolls spell, frank. ] You know, you never did tell me what your idea of the perfect date is. Still too advanced for me?
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I didn't, did I? [ he'd forgotten about that too, the question too complicated then for him to answer without springing up some handwaved lie, which he'd voted against. but he hadn't taken her actual curiosity seriously either, though he knows when the question springs up now, it's with more genuine intrigue for an answer.
he doesn't respond immediately, letting his back simply sink into the mattress as he rolls more comfortably into it, holding her steady there against him, a set of fingers lazily drifting over her knuckles as they let wander a gentle caress over his skin. ] This. [ he realizes the cliche of the response, but his voice is so quiet, fairly relaxed, that there's nothing teasing in the tone, at all. ] It's just β shit's always been so loud. The things I see, the things I fight. That's kind of become the only thing I know how to do, long as I can remember. Even when I left the war, it just β never stopped, y'know? Like I said before, I don't β I don't know what to do when the silence comes.
[ there's more to it, he knows that. it's already more than he wants to say, but the warmth of her lets the words flow, honest on his tongue. ]
But this, I ... I feel like I'm breathing again. Like I'm remembering how to. And I guess, I just β I can't ask for something more perfect than that. [ his chest tightens, wondering if it's too much, knowing it's too much, but she's left his skin so unveiled, every core of him vulnerable for her taking, and he can't think of how to cover those corners again. so he mutters with a soft shrug, adding with a more casual air, ] That or front row tickets to a Springsteen concert.
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