Chapter Text
There are certain things you expect to see on a Tahitian beach.
Palm trees and impossibly bright flowers.
White sand and sapphire water.
Small open huts on stilts with thatch roofs.
Then there are things that appear in Tahiti that have no business being there.
Pine driftwood from the Pacific Northwest.
Tumbled beach glass from beer bottles tossed from Chilean fishing boats.
A Viking in tight dungarees.
Jordan's enjoying the vacation, her first in years. She turns her gaze down the beach to see a familiar figure walking confidently toward her. Broad exposed chest, bare feet, and tight button fly dungarees. Dwight is unexpected, but not unwelcome as he settles on the vacant lounge chair beside her.
He does not remark on her nakedness, or the way she twists toward him in the sun’s warmth; he ignores the bead of sweat that makes its way down her belly and the inviting glow of her skin.
He simply says, “Jordan,” as though meeting her here were the most natural thing in the universe.
And perhaps it is.
“Dwight,” she says, letting her smirk carry in her voice.
He smiles, but doesn’t look at her, doesn’t have to. He soaks in the heat with her, letting it warm the parts of him that never fully thaw; not in Haven, not even in the summer. One lazy hand reaches across the distance between them, dragging his fingers up and down the length of Jordan’s arm.
Dwight does not scream.
Dwight does not keel over in pain.
There is no fear of that here.
Not here.
Just blunt fingertips leaving goosebumps in their wake.
She makes a sound in the back of her throat, contentment and peace and love all in a single low hum. It is enough to make him hum back, almost a sigh, and then his mouth is on hers. He doesn’t leave his chair, doesn’t shade her, instead he stretches himself across the gap supported on one arm as he kisses her, letting her keep her sun.
Jordan vaguely remembers not being touched for years, and knows the feeling of Dwight on her lips is more than simply kissing, but she can’t bring herself to care for the gravity of things; Dwight’s mouth is hot against hers and nothing else matters. She reaches out with her hand, gripping his shoulder and tugging gently, he pulls away and looks into her eyes,
“Jordan,” he whispers, and she knows he’s saying more than just her name.
He slowly runs his hand from her arm to her belly, feeling her shake with his touch. She wants him touching her more, kissing her everywhere, and she tries to pull him back down to her; but he stays where he is and lets his eyes wander her body, lets himself study every detail of her. All the healed bullet wounds and knife scars and stretch marks, her past written on her skin, everything she would want to hide, he sees it all and it’s perfect.
Dwight drops kisses down her body, pausing at her nipples, licking the sweat from where her breasts rest on her ribs, dipping his tongue in her navel, making his way to the sweetest part of her.
The heat of Dwight between her legs puts the sun to shame.
The sandpaper of his jaw leaves marks on her skin.
Jordan can’t remember the last time she felt this good.
His thumbs press into the hollows of her thighs where her legs meet her core, pinning her hips to the lounge; Jordan doesn’t mind, she’s not going anywhere, nothing could pull her away from this. His tongue is hot as it swirls against her skin, parts her folds, tastes her again after so long. He is unhurried and lazy as he drinks her in, and here, without the pressure of time, Jordan lets herself enjoy it. After a span of far too long and nowhere near long enough, she sighs as Dwight slowly pushes his finger into her, twisting his wrist slightly as he bottoms out, cupping her in his palm. She can feel him shake as he gasps and mutters, “Fuck, you’re tight," against her.
She squirms, trying and failing to get more friction, not wanting to think about how long it’s been since Dwight was last where he is now. She can feel him smile against her, silently laughing at her vain efforts to gain some kind of control as he drives her towards oblivion using only his finger and his tongue. The closer she gets the more noise she makes, the sharper the edge in her moans, the more torn and jagged her breathing. She feels a shift in Dwight’s rhythm, his growing need to take her apart from the core out, to bring her off and bask in her. Jordan arches her back as she comes, air rushing beneath her, cooling the sweat on her back; he carries her through it, muttering to himself. In the dazy swirls of her orgasm she can hear the words; beautiful, perfect, love.
Dwight moves languorously up her body, drunk on her, revisiting her belly, her breasts, her neck, sucking burgundy roses to bullet wounds. She cards her fingers in his hair and remembers when it was long enough to feather maddeningly on her skin, and thinks about maybe asking him to grow it out again.
He finds his place over her, forearms boxing her in, mouth on hers. The comforting weight of him over her, protecting her from the world, surrounding her; it’s the most at peace she’s ever been. She presses her fingers down his back and they find their way to the waistband of his tight dungarees; she unbuttons them, clever fingers popping each button on his fly. Without his mouth leaving hers he helps her push his dungarees over his ass and down his legs, dropping them on the white sand of the beach. Jordan gives in to the uncontrollable urge to rub her skin against his, not certain why, but the very fact that she can is making her delirious.
She's missed this, she knows that much.
Her nipples drag against his chest as she moves against him and she can feel him shudder and gasp. He shifts, one hand moving to grip her thigh and guide her leg around his waist as his other arm holds him steady. His back is a perfect arch keeping his face even with hers as he sinks into her heat. She gasps and he sighs as his hips meet hers and he stops, eyes drifting closed as they both revel in being one again.
Slowly, steadily, Dwight begins to move, finding the lost and forgotten places in her soul, dark and cold after being alone for so many years and he fills them. They settle into a familiar rhythm, as though they had never lost it, and Jordan laughs, too happy to do anything else. She feels the familiar rumble of Dwight laughing with her.
“What?” she asks, still laughing.
“You’re so beautiful when you smile.” The sun catches him behind his head and he glows in the light before he leans in and kisses her.
His kiss is gentle, familiar, as he rocks deep within her, bringing her closer and closer to the edge. Dwight pulls his mouth away and presses his forehead to hers, their gasping breaths coming together. He stands, pulling her with him, her arms around his shoulders, her legs on his waist, her heat still surrounding him. She rests her head on his shoulder, kisses the crook of his neck, and knows he has her. He walks into the surf, stride never faltering, until they are chest deep in the abyss.
The ocean is warm and soothing, and she lies back in it, letting it hold her in its endlessness. Weightless and drifting they rock lazily in the water. Dwight cups her ass with his hands, holding her to him. Her head and shoulders float freely, hair swirling around on the surface like ink, and she looks up at him with heavily lidded eyes. Tightening her legs around him she undulates slowly, shallowly; his head drops back and he groans, and she's never seen anything more beautiful.
In the failing light he is silhouetted by the molten glow of the setting sun, impossibly broad; her anchor in the ocean, harbor in the storm. His eyes never leave hers as he grips her hips tightly, thrusting as the ocean billows under her, rocking her in time with the waves. Her hands reach for his shoulders, grasping for something to cling to; he pulls her to him, pressing her chest tight to his as she comes, pulsing and quaking around him. Dwight’s mouth is hot mouth on her neck and she can hear him whispering against her skin, mumbling a kind of prayer.
Love you.
Love you.
Love you.
And then she feels him come, filling her with light and joy; she gasps and laughs and Dwight’s words don’t stop.
Love you.
Love you.
Love you.
Elsewhere, a man is closing the eyes of his victim with a gloved hand.
Elsewhere, a body is buried in a shallow grave.
Elsewhere, a woman is remembered fondly by one solitary man.
Elsewhere, a loss has yet to be felt.
But here.
Now.
In the cradle of the ocean and the loving circle of Dwight's arms there is no better place to die.