“Tatek—”
He hums against me, the vibration tightening every muscle.
When he slides two fingers inside, my back arches off the floor. I’m dripping, still wrecked from before, but my body responds like it’s never been touched.
He watches me come undone again, eyes burning with something more than lust.
Devotion.
When I come again, it’s with a cry torn from somewhere deep. He swallows it all. Rides the wave with me.
I’m shaking when he crawls back up and kisses me. He doesn’t ask for anything in return.
He doesn’t have to.
I reach down and take him in hand again, already hard. I stroke him slow, watching his face as his jaw clenches, breath hitches, control frays.
He groans, head dropping to my shoulder. “You’ll kill me.”
“You’ll die happy.”
He laughs, breathless.
And then we’re tangled again, bodies moving with instinct and trust. The second time is slower. Sweeter. Less about the fire and more about the burn after.
Afterward, he gathers me close, one hand tracing lazy patterns down my back.
I bury my face in his neck and whisper, “Don’t ever leave me.”
His voice rumbles in my ear. “Not possible.”
We fall asleep like that.
Still connected.
Still whole.
Later, we lie together. His heartbeat is steady beneath my cheek.
Slow. Anchored. The kind of rhythm that doesn’t race with fear or adrenaline. Just... is.
My fingers curl into the edge of his ribs, the skin there warm and smooth, rising and falling with every breath he takes. One of his hands rests between my shoulder blades, broad and sure, stroking lazy, absent patterns down my spine. He does it like he isn’t even aware of it. Like his body just knows mine needs the contact to stay grounded.
We’re tangled together, limbs heavy, breath slower now. Not asleep. Not yet. Just... hovering on the edge of it.
Wrapped in the silence we built with our bodies.
There’s no mission in the air tonight.
No echoes of Obol code humming through the walls. No backchannel pings. No voices on the comms reminding us what we owe.
Just the sound of his breath in the dark and the occasional creak of the old paneling adjusting to our weight on the floor.
I shift slightly, just enough to draw in closer. His arm tightens instinctively, and the stubble on his jaw brushes against my temple as he dips his head to press a kiss to my hair.
I close my eyes and breathe him in.
Salt. Sweat. That faint trace of oil and iron that clings to every soldier long after they’ve put down the weapon.
