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“Hold it,” Deacon called, his voice sounding thin as it was picked up and carried past her by the wind. She hesitated with her hand over the elevator’s call button, turning to regard him as he hovered two doors down the long hall of the dilapidated skyscraper from her and beckoned.
Whisper quirked a brow at him. “Find something?”
“Boy did I.”
What it turned out he had found was a safe tucked under a sturdy executive’s desk in an office she’d already swept. The desk itself was huge, solidly built and with a dark kind of wood she knew must have cost a pretty penny and been a real bitch to get up the stairs.
“Good find. What’s inside?”
Deacon stood aside, presenting the honor to her grandly. “See for yourself.”
Whisper shot him something of a skeptical look. He’d had his silly pants on all day, every move he'd made and every word from his lips had been whimsical, playful. She half expected to open the safe to have a clown puppet pop out at her on a spring like a jack in the box.
But when she crouched - her chestpeice digging into her shoulders and angling awkwardly with the position - and tried to turn the handle, it didn’t budge.
“Locked,” she supplied, leaning back on her haunches and turning her gaze back up to her partner.
Deacon’s arms crossed tightly over his chest, his teeth gleaming with a giddy smile. “Gee, what a peculiar way for a safe to be…”
She studied what bits of his expression she could see around his shades, quickly gleaning the expectation there.
“Looks like a toughie,” she noted.
“Oh-ho it is.”
“Right. So you already unlocked it then.”
“Yep.”
“And you’re not going to unlock it again.”
“Nope.”
She tried to smile, reminding herself that this was a gift. Deacon had been helping her work on her lockpicking and safe cracking ever since they’d first teamed up together. His guidance was truly invaluable, and she was thankful for it…
But they’d been at it all day. It was unseasonably warm for mid march so she’d dressed scantily, leaving her coat and sweater back at their safehouse. What she hadn’t accounted for, however, was the wind that would be blowing through the skeletal structure of what was once the upper floors of Trinity Tower. Even battling Supermutants and riding an adrenaline rush, she found herself trembling and pulling her arms close to her body in between fights.
She flexed her cold fingers, trying to bring some warmth back into them for the task at hand. As impractical as it felt, she had to trust Deacon. She had to trust that he knew she could crack the lock - though by the look on his face she knew it would be a challenge. She had to trust that the experience would be worth the discomfort of kneeling on the hard floor for christ knew how long, concentrating with every bit of brainpower she had left at her disposal.
At least the office they were in had some intact walls, and only a couple of blown out windows. The wind wasn’t whipping around in here quite like it had been out in the hall, which was a plus.
She gave the dial a slow turn, not really trying to feel it catch but instead testing the sensitivity. The glide was smooth like silk and she sighed, starting to maneuver into a better stance. “Get comfy, we’re gonna be here a while.”
Deacon’s boots thunked onto the desk above her head and she glanced back just long enough to see him leaning back in the desk’s high backed chair. “Way ahead of you.”
Five minutes in, and she had only managed to crack one tumbler. 38. When she’d reversed directions and made 4 full rotations without progress, she huffed and gave the dial a spin to reset it.
“Patience, grasshopper,” Deacon crooned.
She struggled into a different position, immediately discounting it as even less comfortable than the first had been and maneuvering back to her knees. “These aren’t exactly ideal conditions,” she explained. “Can’t even hear over the wind in here.”
“Can’t really hear this type of lock anyways. It’s all by touch… try taking off your armor.”
That was probably a good call, actually. The chestpiece kept digging into her stomach and under her arms and the arm braces were affecting her work with their weight. She straightened, lifting her arms one at a time to unclip and remove the armor there before loosening the straps on the ridiculously bulky military chest piece he always made her wear.
It was actually a little bit suprising that he’d suggested such a thing. They were still in the field, afterall, and his rule about her being too green to go without armor was one he never let her break. Now, though, he had pulled his feet off the desk and leaned forward in his seat to help lift the piece over her head.
Whisper leaned over her knees, lifting her arms so they wouldn’t be braced against anything as she focused in on the glide of the lock again and spun it towards-
“Go ahead and get your legs too," he said.
That she did pinch a look at him for.
He beckoned his hand. “C’mon. I know those aren’t comfortable, digging into your leg like that. You may not think you’re thinking about it, but there’s a part of you that’s distracted by it… the less you’re thinking about how that part of you feels, the better you’ll be able to focus on what you’re doing with your hands.”
She only questioned his reasoning for a moment before shaking it off, pulling up onto her knees and twisting to reach the snap on the back of her thigh. Then she flinched, nerves zipping through her and setting her heart racing as her partner’s fingers slipped beneath the strap on her other leg.
“Hey, jumpy. It’s just me,” he chided, one hand moving to steady her hip as the other glided along towards her inner thigh, searching for the fastening.
“It’s on the other side,” she breathed.
He paused, then reversed directions, seeming to move slow as mud along the strap. She managed to get her own piece unfastened but hesitated as she pulled it off; tucking the straps in neatly before setting it on the desk above where she was working. Deacon finally found the snap and employed both hands in removing the piece from her. Nerves rocked her again as he braced a hand against the small of her back, leaning around her to place his piece next to hers.
Okay.
The strap thing she could maybe excuse. The lingering? Sure.
But that? That had not been entirely necessary.
She sank back down onto her haunches, quickly leaning forward to get ahold of the knob of the safe again.
She’d felt that touch before.
In fact, it had only been a few days since she’d felt something very similar.
A stream of excitement rolled through her as she recalled their rowdy night at the Third Rail earlier that week. A drifter had gotten a little too bold with her, cutting off his divulgence of what little he seemed to know about their mark so that he could lean in close to her ear with whiskey-stained breath and a hand shooting up the inside of her skirt uninvited. She’d managed to hold steady then, maintaining the face and mannerisms of a sultry whore as she covertly reached to her knee and tapped it twice. Their signal.
Deacon had already been on his way over and managed to barter her away from the man. Poor guy thought he’d found a good buy for the night. She knew he’d already given her all she’d cared about.
“Thank you,” she’d sing-songed quietly as they ascended the stairs, away from the patrons below.
Even with their relative solitude Deacon had maintained his facade, pressing a hand against the small of her back to guide her as he leaned into her ear. “Oh you’re gonna have a whole lot to be thankful for tonight, sugar.”
“You already passed it, Whisp.”
Whisper released a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding, her shoulders deflating. “What?”
“The second combination. You passed it a while ago.”
“Oh. Uhm…” She adjusted her stance again, blinking in an attempt to dispel the haze that had infiltrated her mind. She hadn’t really been paying attention, had she?
“It’s ok. Just try again.”
A steadying breath soothed through her and she closed her eyes, allowing herself to feel the first tumbler disengage before she changed directions. She paid close attention to the smooth glide under her fingertips, not daring to hardly breathe as the dial spun… and spun… and spun… and…
Well, shit. Now if she unlocked it she wouldn’t know how many rotations it took.
She flicked the dial the other way with a huff.
“Well now you’re not even trying.”
“I am,” she defended. “I just wasn’t sure if I’d passed it. Don’t want us to be here all day…”
“We’ll stay as long as it takes.”
She hunkered down, trying to clear her mind again as she sought out the first tiny little click beneath her fingers and-
“Although it is getting late. Maybe we should order dinner…”
She chuckled at that one. “Hmm. I wonder if the raider compound next door delivers…”
“Nah,” he scoffed. “I was actually thinking Thai.”
“Thai?”
“Yeah. Thai. You like Thai? I know a great place just up the street. Usually I’d have my assistant order but seeing as you’re a little tied up…”
She finally stilled the dial at the realization, completely convinced that she’d botched the job again anyways. So on top of working on her safe cracking, he wanted to work on her improv too. She flexed her fingers in and out of a fist, trying to will the irritation out of them. He was a tough teacher, and that really sucked sometimes… but so did the wasteland. This was training. She needed training if she wanted to survive. She knew that…
“Giving up?” he pressed.
She placed her hand back on the knob delicately, visually tracking it this time as she landed on 38. “Remind me why I need to know this again, sir. It doesn’t seem like a good idea to let your assistant have access to your safe.”
“Well first of all I know you would never rob me.”
A very snide Oh really came to mind but she curbed it. Deacon wasn’t talking to Whisper. A businessman - and an important one at that, if the cushy office was anything to go off of… definitely C-level… CEO maybe - was talking to his assistant. His words weren’t indicative of a poor judge of character. They were acting as a cue.
The CEO’s assistant is not a thief.
The CEO’s assistant does not act like a thief.
The CEO’s assistant acts so unlike a thief, he trusts her with access to his safe.
“W-what?” the meek assistant stuttered, dropping her careful work resolutely as she turned up to him with wide eyes. “O-of course I wouldn’t! I wouldn’t dream of-”
Deacon’s hands were propped behind his head, his feet up on the desk again. “Relax,” he soothed. “I just said that I trust you, remember?”
The assistant shrank into herself, dejected as she realized just how foolish she’d looked.
“So nervous,” he tutted. “Try again, honey. You’ll get it.”
Whisper sat her fingers back on the dial and quickly set the first combination before moving onto the second, passing over 38 once, twice, three times, then slowing.
“Good idea, slow down so you don’t miss it…”
She focused in, concentrating on the glide beneath her fingers until finally she felt the tiniest little tink!
Her eyes popped open. 97.
“Good girl,” her boss crooned.
Whisper tucked her chin, trying desperately to hide the heat that had suddenly risen to her face. You can’t fake a blush, afterall, so while it may technically be in character…
“Go on. You’re almost there.”
She took an exaggerated breath before moving on, changing directions and spinning the dial quickly two rotations. There was a tension in the lock that hadn’t been there before. If she lost that then she’d know she’d missed the last integer. In the meantime…
“So, why do I need to know how to do this again?” she pressed.
Boots clomped on the desk above her head as he uncrossed and recrossed his ankles. She stopped her work until he’d settled but when she picked up again the tension was already gone. Shit.
He chuckled behind her as she reset the lock. “Well. Let’s say I’m at a lunch meeting right? I have a client there, I wanna pay for his meal, but oops! I forgot the corporate credit card. I step away from the table, give my handy little assistant a ring and then bing bang boom, I’ve got the card in my hand and the client in my pocket.”
Whisper wanted to tease him for his choice of words, but instead his assistant said “Oooohhh...”
“See? Handy.”
She had to reset the lock four more times, the tension under her fingers seeming to wane gradually after she’d lost the last integer. She knew about where it was now, but every time she thought she had it she would crank the dial the other way, expecting it to catch, and finding instead that she’d guessed wrong. Once, she knew she had failed by the exact moment that Deacon had adjusted his foot, stretching out his calf muscle from above her head. He appeared, most of the time, to be mind bogglingly patient… but he still had his tells.
“Do you want a hand?” he eventually prompted.
“I’ve almost got it,” Whisper answered automatically, resentful of the idea that she would need help at this point. She really was almost there. She had it narrowed down to 3 numbers…
Boots dragged against the desktop, coming to rest gently behind her. “Are you sure? You know I don’t mind coming down there and showing you again…”
She nearly fumbled the lock as something tugged at her scalp. Quickly she realized that her hair, which she had pulled up into a ponytail that morning, was now in Deacon’s hands. He was running his hands down the underside of it, each taking turns reaching the bottom and then switching places to start at the top again. Excitement crawled down the back of her neck, making her breathing stutter as the feeling settled between her legs.
She didn’t even make it to 97.
“That’s distracting,” she managed, resetting the lock again with a flick of her wrist.
He gripped her hair and tugged on it twice, gently, before resuming. “That’s the point.”
Of course it was.
She had to slow down to accommodate this new distraction, her legs beginning to tremble with the tension gathering in her core as her mind wandered back towards Goodneighbor, towards the scene she’d clumsily set for them. She’d been looking for an excuse. She’d had this urge to pleasure the man who had guarded her and helped her and guided her through her new life. She’d craved the connection, sure, but mostly she wanted to give something to him. It was like an itch she needed to scratch, telling her to give him everything she had, to make him see stars.
After all was said and done and they’d gone on like nothing had happened, she’d written it off as a fluke. She’d offered; he’d accepted. Now they could pretend like nothing had happened…
Except she’d been having a hard time pretending.
Now she knew in no uncertain terms that underneath the facade and the mystery and the quippy one liners that composed the creature they called Deacon was a real, red-blooded man who liked getting his dick sucked just as much as the next guy… and it was damn near all she could think about.
Deacon wasn’t sexless. He could get hard… she could make him hard. She could make him come... it had almost been easy. She wondered a few times if she was his type, or if he was just making do for the scene. She'd considered more than once if she could make it happen again…
But the new scene he’d laid out for her, the way he was taking every excuse to touch her, to tease her, to praise her… now she knew she wasn’t the only one who had been wondering… pondering… planning…
“Focus…” he warned.
She breathed a laugh. As if. She had no idea what she was even doing anymore; if she was still opening the safe or if she’d just been spinning the dial mindlessly as she recalled the weight of him in her hand, on her tongue…
“I think you’re getting a little too comfortable down there, sweetheart.” He tugged at her hair again. “Scoot back.”
She couldn’t quite imagine where he could be going with this but did as she was told, shuffling backwards on her knees until he stopped her. Then, with the flat of his hand against her back he pressed forward, forcing her up off her haunches to hold her weight with both hands on the floor, her ass fully on display. “Now, try it again.”
Oh, slick. If he didn’t notice before then he could for sure see her legs shaking now. She was on all fours before him, her neck craning up at an odd angle to see the dial on the safe. Now the rest of her was beginning to tremble with anticipation as her mind flitted over possibilities for what was to come. Would he spank her? Touch her? Jesus, was he going to fuck her right here and now? She reached for what the assistant might have to say about this turn in events. “Th-this doesn’t seem… decent,” she decided. Whisper didn’t even have to doctor the tremble into her voice.
“Don’t worry about that,” he soothed. “Just try again.”
She did so- begrudgingly, her shoulder quickly becoming sore under her weight as Deacon's hands went to work on her…
Boots.
One at a time he lifted her feet off the ground, further destabilizing her, and unlaced and removed her boots. Even with her thick socks her toes became cold quickly and she flexed them.
Between one thing and the next she managed to get to the last pass, preparing to line up the last combination. The one thing, of course, was the sound of her second boot being set aside on the floor behind her. The next was a gentle hand just above her tailbone, soothing in a wide circle over her backside.
The lock reset beneath her fingers. “Fuck,” she breathed.
“Try again.”
Whisper’s hips turned back almost of their own volition. She spun the lock, the trembling of her upper body under the weight it was holding pairing well with the cloud of arousal Deacon was building up behind her to make the task feel truly hopeless. “Fuck,” she gasped again as both his hands slid to her hips. She could feel his knees just touching the insides of her ankles as he knelt behind her and wondered if he’d somehow managed to get his pants off when she wasn’t paying attention. She couldn’t stop the soft moan that slipped from her lips.
Was he seriously going to fuck her? Here? Now?
The lock fumbled again and she rocked backwards, her safe cracking hand hitting the floor beneath her as she begged for any kind of resistance to hit against her core. Nothing was there to meet her, though; his hands at her hips stopping her short.
“Pleeease?” she whined.
“Pleeeease open the safe.”
“I can’t.”
“Yes you can. I know you can. Do it and I’ll give you your reward.”
Reward? Reward?
She forced herself back into the task, flying through the first two combinations then soaring too fast past the third one. Something unholy stuttered up from under her breath as she reset the lock again and Deacon tutted, his thumbs soothing soft circles into her hips as he said “Such language. Hardly appropriate for an office setting, don’t you think, kitten?”
“M’sorry,” she breathed, barely paying attention. She had to get the safe open. She had to get the fucking safe open and…
She landed the last number and spun the dial the opposite direction until it… caught. It caught!
“Got it!” she squealed, reaching quickly for the lever to-
“Stop."
Whisper stopped, her hand gripping the lever with a shaking hand.
“Let go.”
She let go, her heart racing with anticipation as one hand slid down to soothe over her rear. Reward, reward, reward…
“Spin the dial,” he said.
“What?”
Strong fingers dug into her hip. “I said spin the dial. Lock the safe.”
But… she’d just gotten it open…
“Go on,” he urged.
She spun the dial, finally resting her dominant hand on the floor again to share the weight of her torso as she tried - and failed - to rock back against his grip.
“Now. I need to know that you can do this under stress. This job can be quite stressful, afterall… so…” He slid a hand up under the back of her shirt, soothing the skin there that hadn't felt a foreign touch in ages.
She felt her breathing hitch, her lashes fluttering. "What kind of stress?"
"Just unlock the safe, kitten."
Whisper shifted on her hands, jostling back towards him just enough to be completely clear about what she wanted before she went to task. He held firm, allowing very little movement from her until she began to get back into her work again. She knew the combination now, so it shouldn't be terribly difficult to pull off, even under whatever stress he had in mind…
His hand suddenly left her back, leaving her shirt rumpled and her skin exposed to the cold air. She shifted, moving to reach back and cover herself. Then she gasped, jolting forward when the asscheek that had been soothed so delicately before was suddenly pinched in a large hand.
The man behind her groaned, holding her hip steady as he kneaded the flesh in his palm. Whisper took a moment to gather her heated thoughts before snatching at the dial again, spinning it quickly and starting over. 38....
He released her ass, immediately cupping his fingers beneath her swollen mound and giving her pause as she gasped in a breath.
"Focus…" he taunted.
Need throbbed against his hand and she knew he could feel it, that he knew exactly what he was doing.
Unlock the safe. Unlock the safe. Focus…
38… 97…
Fuck, she'd always admired his hands. They were bony and thin, with long fingers that always entranced her as he tended to bandages and wrote out reports and fastened his armor around him on the rare occasion that he chose to wear it. Now they were pressing hard against her entrance and she could feel the slick in her underwear as it begged to give way to the threat of intrusion.
Okay. Okay. 38, 97… 108…
She was nearly there, sliding in for a landing on the last integer when those damned nimble fingers slid exactly where she wanted them to, right where she'd dreamed of them doing their work for the last few months of their journey together. She jostled the knob with a gasp as a bolt of arousal rocked through her, resetting the lock.
Motherfucker did that on purpose!
Pressure rolled in a tight, syncopated circle around her clit, sending shocks of sensation throughout her body. Her head dipped as she eased down onto her forearms, moaning without thought or restraint.
“You like that, don’t you?” he purred.
“Yes.” The whine of her answer was pitiful as her hips oscillated with his movements, stirring up something undeniable in her gut.
“You want more?”
“Mhm…?” she squeaked.
“You want to come?”
Her voice fell deep into her chest as she affirmed again, “Mhmm...”
“Filthy girl.”
His free hand came down hard on her ass and she jolted forward, then planted her hands and pushed herself back towards him to seek out that tantalizing sensation against the clit again. He didn’t offer it, instead leaning forward to grip her ponytail and ease her back up to her hands and knees before him. As she rose obediently, arms shaking under her own weight, he pressed against her rear, reaffirming that he was, indeed, as red-blooded and horny as they came. His erection was obvious where it was pressed against her and she ground back against him as he pulled the tie from her hair, letting it fall in loose locks around her face. His hands went to her hips again, squeezing tightly enough to make her whimper as he ground against her entrance.
“Get that safe open… then we can have all the fun you want.”
Fuuuuuuck the fucking safe. She was so done with the safe!
She set her hand to the dial as she huffed air. 38. 97.
Her hand slowed as he pinched the flesh of her ass again, making that same low, hungry sound as another twitch came against her entrance.
God, she hadn’t been fucked in what felt like forever... Centuries, really.
“You’ve almost got it,” he hummed and as she approached the last number, she waited. Waited for a spank, or a hand against her clit, or for her pants to be ripped down and her pulsing need to finally be satiated… but nothing came. She completed the combination, switched directions and felt the blessed catch of the lock under her fingers.
She gripped the handle and yanked the door open, not even bothering to look inside before lowering her head to the floor again with a groan.
“Good girl,” he praised and she rubbed back against him with a whining response. He pulled back on her shirt, easing her up straight to lean back against him. Cool air blessed her throat as she panted, head lolling back on his shoulder while he grasped at her breasts. “That wasn’t so hard, now was it?”
All she could do was whine as he pulled the flesh of her neck between his teeth and sucked, the sensation of a wet, hot tongue against her body feeling foreign after going so long without. Hell, she wasn’t sure she’d ever felt anything quite like it. Her hand rose to grasp at the side of his head as she panted, expecting hair. The smooth, bald skin under her palm reminded her suddenly of who she was now, of where she was, and just exactly what she was doing.
She pushed him harder against her throat, as if his departure would spell something unbearable for her. It didn’t make a lot of difference, though. When he’d decided he’d had enough of his feast, of his fingers pinching mercilessly at her breasts and of her nails digging into his forearm where it was pressed against her side, he pulled away and guided her unsteady body to its feet. Before she knew it she was pinned against the table, suddenly seeing the dilapidated room - the busted windows, the missing panels in the walls, the fallen ceiling tiles - with fresh eyes as the waistband of her leggings were pulled down to her thighs.
Then a hand landed over her ass again and all of that awareness flew out the very shattered, very nearby window with the satisfying sound of skin against skin.
“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that,” he hummed, his voice low and gravelly.
If she had to guess? She'd say probably about as long as she’d wanted to suck his dick.
“Do it again,” Whisper demanded, the mousy secretary long gone.
He obliged immediately, then grasped the waist of her pants and pulled them further down down down, down to her ankles.
“Always knew you were a dirty girl,” he shared, his voice floating up to her from where he was crouched and pulling her calf up out of her pantleg. She kicked the leggings off her other foot once she’d found her balance, eager to do what he wanted, to take what he gave, to hear him say more filthy shit in her ear.
What she hadn’t expected or been ready for was the way he grasped her thighs and pulled her back against him, guiding her core to his rough tongue.
Christ, almighty. Her head immediately dropped towards the surprisingly clean desktop, her hips rolling back as she set her feet apart to give him full access. Gibberish fell from her lips as she rocked back to meet his every nudge, his every insistent caress against her. In the past this position had all but horrified her; visions of her partner’s nose between her asscheeks making her uncomfortable, but right now she didn’t care. She didn’t fucking care. She just needed to come.
Low moans rattled in her chest as he stoked her arousal, his hands wrapping around her front to grip her legs and hold her firmly against him. His own voice rattled into her, the eager sounds themselves seeming over the top but just right as he lapped and sucked at her swollen folds.
When he stood suddenly she froze in anticipation. He was going to fuck her. He was really going to fuck her, wasn’t he?
He pulled her off the table, rolling her along the edge of it to face his glistening mouth and shade-less eyes - dark as night save for the thin ring of blue around the pupils. She grasped at his shirt as he pinned her against the desk, not even having a goal in mind just needing to claw at him, to feel how real he was.
Both hands gripped the hair around her face and he cranked her head up to look at him. “You want your reward, kitten?”
She did her best to nod, eyes locked onto his as she sang high: “Uh-huh…”
One hand carded through her hair before settling with an even firmer grip at the back of her head. “Get up on that fucking desk, then.”
She braced the heels of her hands on the edge of the surface and slid up onto it as he tugged up on her hair, her bare legs spreading wide and hooking around his waist as she grasped his shirt to pull him against her core. It was the perfect height. Exactly right to have him finally finally fuck her brains out.
Deacon released her hair and wiggled her legs apart again, sinking to his knees with little fanfare. She struggled for a breath in the moment it took for her to plant her heels, her hands… for him to curl his up under her legs.
Then she was pulling against his grip, trying to squeeze her legs shut as his lips found her wanting clit and created a suction that made her feel electric. Obscenities and prayers spilled from her lips as she arched back, catching herself with a palm planted behind her on the desk as her head lolled.
Fuck… fuck, fuck.
How did she get here? She hadn’t had anything like this in mind when they’d begun their ascent of the tower, blasting through super mutants and mutated hounds and turrets. She’d expected a hard day of clearing an infested building, not being eaten out on a desk by her boss.
But yet here she was, keening and whining and stretching out for a rapture that felt at once imminent and elusive as Deacon feasted unabashedly between her legs.
He finally broke from her, panting for breath after what felt like an impossibly long time without. Those long, deft fingers soothed at her entrance, allowing her a moment of reprieve as he growled out, “You’re right fucking there, aren’t you?”
All she could do was nod, rolling her head forward to see him there, to confirm that it really was Deacon pulling and coaxing at her arousal so precisely. When he pulled the flesh of her thigh into his mouth, sucking insistently at it with those dark eyes holding hers in scrutiny, a small pop of a sound rose from her throat, echoing in the pulse of her cunt against his hand.
He released her thigh, seething in long, heavy breaths as a finger finally curled into her. Whisper moaned, the sensation not exactly tantalizing but still pleasurable in its own way. She’d craved him this way. She’d needed him inside of her, she’d longed for him to know this part of her.
She couldn’t take her eyes off of his as he worked the digit in and out of her, taking it slower than she felt was strictly necessary. It wasn’t exactly the tightest fit, though it suddenly felt foolish for her to have wanted him to jump straight to fucking her earlier. That might not have gone as smoothly as she'd dreamed…
Their locked gaze finally faltered, then broke as he crooked his finger forward, finding the pad of flesh that sat behind her clitoris and caressing against it. She tried to keep her eyes open. She really did… but it wasn’t long before they were fluttering shut, a silent keen caught in her throat. She felt his lips and tongue working against her thigh again as her head fell back, the rhythm of his fingers against her g-spot coaxing her back up towards release. A breathy oath rose from her lips as he sped, then paused to work another finger into her.
When short, high cries began to finally ascend from her throat unrestrained, her legs tensing and rising around his head, his lips released the flesh of her thigh again with a labored breath. “You’re gonna fucking come, aren’t you?” he accused.
She nodded frantically.
“Right here on my nice fucking desk?”
“Yes sir,” she managed, the only semblance of the game they’d been playing before that that she could muster.
“Say please...”
“Please!” she sputtered. “Please please please please please ple-”
His tongue lapped against her clit to pull it into a suction again and her spine curled back of its own accord, the last begging word sticking in her throat as the rapture that that teased at the edge of her being finally washed into her. A sound, high and staccato, finally escaped in its stead as she clawed at the tabletop and tried desperately to close her legs against Deacon’s iron grip. It pulsed through her in almost unbearable intensity as she continued to bend back, hips bucking against her partner's face without her blessing.
And it didn’t stop. He didn’t stop until she was fully flat on the desk, the top of her skull gliding against the finished wood as she attempted - and failed - to brace herself with hands above her head.
Peace finally found her as his mouth pulled back, his fingers straightening again but still moving slowly in and out as he twisted his palm to the floor. Her breaths trembled down with a descending whine, the sound being distorted by the chattering of her jaw as she came down from her orgasm.
Deacon’s hand left her briefly while he mouthed at her folds, kissing them tenderly before pressing into her again with a slow, rocking rhythm. She pulled an arm down to rest over her stomach, the other going over her forehead as she fought to gather herself, to make her jaw stop trembling, to make her shaking legs be still.
“Do you want another?” he proposed and the sound that left her lips was almost a laugh.
She was flat on the table now, fully obscured from him, but still she shook her head as she stuttered in a breath. “I don’t think I can h-handle another,” she replied honestly.
He chuckled, the sound prompting a shiver to roll up her spine as his fingers finally left her. His palm cupped over her mound as his free hand soothed her leg, easing her heel down from where it’d been perched on the edge of the desk, the other following on its own. Finally, he stood.
And somehow, someway, it wasn’t until that moment that she thought to feel self conscious. She could feel his gaze trailing over her half-clothed body, over her arms clinging tightly around herself as she pulled her knees together and hooked her ankles beneath the table. His hand blanketed one of her knees, the other wet on her hip as he leaned over her. "You hiding from me now?" he teased.
Oh god. She was. She'd just come all over Deacon's face and now she just wanted to disappear!
Was this how he'd felt back in Goodneighbor after coming down her throat? Is that why he'd sent her off to clean up so quickly?
Both hands pressed over her face, hiding her from his scrutiny as he laughed.
After a beat wherein she offered the devil her soul in exchange for a perfectly poised and professional poker face, cool fingers wrapped over one of her wrists. "Tell you what," he said, tugging gently at her hand. She realized quickly as his other hand gripped her upper arm that he was trying to help pull her up. She managed to make it to a seated position, immediately pulling her knees up to hug her chest as she tilted her head and allowed a fringe of hair to fall over what was surely still a beet-red face. His palms came to rest against her outer calves as he stood before her, seeming to loom over her even as he maintained a measured distance between them. “How about you stay up here and clean up, then meet me down in the lobby when you’re ready, hm? We’ll go get that Thai.”
She smiled there in her hair cave. What a fucking bit. There would be no Thai. Closest they would get would be some fucking noodles in a cup that had expired 200 years before. Still, he was offering her a moment to gather herself, to find her footing again after being rendered so utterly undone. She was thankful for that. “Okay,” she whispered from behind her hair. Then, “Thank you, sir.”
His thumbs stuttered where they had been soothing her calves, eventually stilling altogether as one hand was daring enough to push the shield of hair from her face. He gathered it in a sober grip behind her head, tilting her darting gaze up to meet his unflinching one.
“For what it’s worth, kitten…" He jostled his grip on her hair as his smile rained down on her, filling her with warmth. "You come like a dream.”
She felt herself melt into his grip; the points where his skin met hers making her feel dreamy and comfortable and safe; accepted. She found a shred of confidence and harnessed it before it could slink away, saying "Well you eat pussy like a god."
Her eyes immediately fell off of his again, nerves skittering as he chuckled. He tousled her hair, intentionally seeming to drop it back in front of her face as he retrieved his shades from his pocket and slipped them back on his face. "See you downstairs," he said, her partner leaving the room with an undeniable, easy swagger. Whisper shivered, the wind picking up from the shattered window to lick at her bare legs as she watched him go.
That… had definitely just happened, hadn't it?
Eventually she dressed and collected her pack, then left for the elevator after swiping a stack of old world cash and a silver pocket watch from the freshly unlocked safe under the desk.