When he pushed inside, we both groaned. It had been weeks since we'd had time for anything gentle. Weeks of quick fucks against walls between hunting trips, of using sex like violence to burn off excess energy. This was different. Slower. More intentional.
"Look at me," he ordered, and I did. Met his eyes as he moved inside me, watched his face as he fought for control. "Who do you belong to?"
"You." No hesitation. "I'm yours."
"Whose orders do you follow?"
"Yours."
"Who's going to be there when we find Gabriel?"
"You." My voice broke on the word. "You'll be there."
"Always," he promised, and I believed him.
We moved together, finding rhythm. Not the perfection Gabriel had demanded but something messier. More real. I wrapped my legs around him, pulling him deeper, needing to feel him everywhere.
"Want you to come for me," he said against my neck. "Want to feel you fall apart. Show me how good you can be when you're not afraid."
His hand found where we were joined, adding pressure that made me see stars. But it wasn't just the physical sensation that pushed me over. It was the permission. The safety. The knowledge that I could fall apart and he'd catch the pieces.
I came with his name on my lips and my nails in his shoulders, marking him like he was marking me. He followed seconds later, burying himself deep and groaning my name like a prayer.
"Inside," I gasped as he started to pull away. "Want... want you to finish inside. Want to remember I'm yours."
"Fuck." But he did, pushing deep one more time as he came. Claiming me in ways that had nothing to do with ownership and everything to do with choice.
We stayed tangled together afterward, breathing hard. The rain had picked up, drumming against the windows like impatient fingers. Tomorrow we'd be in Boston. Tomorrow the hunt would continue. But tonight...
"Better?" Nathan asked, pressing a kiss to my temple.
I took inventory. The shaking had stopped. The crawling sensation under my skin had quieted. My body felt like mine again—well-used and satisfied and present.
"Better," I confirmed. "Thank you."
"Don't thank me." He shifted, pulling out carefully. I made a small sound at the loss, and he kissed me again. "We take care of each other. That's what this is."
This. Whatever we were. Hunt partners. Fuck buddies. Two broken people using each other to stay functional. It didn't matter what we called it. What mattered was that it worked.
"Shower," he decided. "Then food. Then we plan."
"Then Boston."
"Then Boston," he agreed.
I let him lead me back to the bathroom, different than before. The mirrors still showed a stranger, but now she looked... settled. Still sharp. Still dangerous. But present in her own skin.
We showered together, washing away sweat and come and the lingering ghosts of conditioning. Nathan shampooed my hair with the same careful attention he'd used to make me come, and something in the gentle domesticity of it made my chest tight.
"I might not survive this," I said suddenly. "Finding Gabriel. Ending it. I might not come out the other side."
His hands stilled in my hair. "You will."
"You don't know that."
"No," he admitted. "But I know you. And you're too stubborn to let him win. Even in death."
I turned to face him, water running between us. "And if I do survive? What then? What happens to a weapon without a war?"
