Archive of Our Own

It was the slightest touch, nothing but a ghostly brush to the back of his hand. She had been standing at his side as she often did, weapon tucked under her arm and hand dangling low, and as she’d lifted it to wield her gun she’d grazed him along the crease of his knuckles. That was all it had been. A connection of skin, achingly brief and painfully accidental. He was sure that, should he put his mind to it, he could still feel her at the point of contact.

Pathetic really, how it still existed so clearly in his mind. Never before had such a cursory occurrence claimed him with such intensity.

Danse lay upright in his bed, expression blank as he stared at the ceiling to watch nothing at all. He was motionless besides the rhythmic sweeping of his thumb against the back of his hand. The site where she’d graced him and where he now attempted to replicate it. He’d replayed it over in his head more times than he knew was sane, sullied the moment with countless recreations because perhaps if he did it just one more time, something might happen. It would all make sense, clarity would leap out at him and sink its teeth into the wistful hope that such an action was performed with intention. 

His heart thundered. In fact it had seldom adopted a steady pace since it’d happened. Akin to nervousness, a feeling that he was masterfully trained to smother. So what made this so different? What made this so unsinkable?

The dim flicker of a lantern waned in the late of the night, casting an array of odd and spindly shadows across every corner of the room. The dark confines of his quarters made for as cosy a space as could be achieved on the Prydwen. A yellowing and thin sheet served as a meagre substitute for a blanket, pushed halfway down Danse’s body to collect across his navel. He didn’t have to look to know that the incessant drumming of his heart was visible through his chest, as though it were trying to beat its way out of its ivory prison. Danse raised the very same hand that had fallen victim to her touch and placed it over the top of it, as though the futile gesture would somehow steady its frantic rhythm. 

A sigh pushed his torso upward and into his hand. His own touch, rough yet familiar against the skin that knew it. He was almost insulted on her behalf, how could he hope to replicate such a feeling? His hands; large and calloused and patterned with creases and a spattering of dark hair across the backs of them. And hers; soft and fine like the curling of ferns and gracefully deliberate in every movement. How could he even try to pretend?

Pushing his palm up, Danse swallowed. For a moment, the dull tracking of the ceiling had shifted from a simple constant to a focused ritual. He lightened his touch, like she might, and pressed four fingertips against his sternum with all the pressure of a landing feather. 

A touch like hers, tempting and vague and dangerous. His heart jumped to meet it. For a moment, it was her, as long as he just kept looking up. He wet his lips, thoughtful.

The thrill of the recreation was closely shadowed by the shame of clarity, a sudden recognition of his actions that made him wince with embarrassment. As he drew his hand away from himself it landed at his side to match the other and he lay in stiff symmetry. Still his lips felt dry, so he wet them a second time and caught himself. Maybe she made him nervous. That made things a little easier and certainly more explainable.

But did that really make sense? A woman, smaller and weaker and much less robust than himself. She’d proven many times to be no imminent threat. He was so strong compared to her. 

Danse felt his fingers curl against the dirtied mattress and his brow stiffened. His chest punished him again with a distracting flurry as he encouraged his mind to win purchase over his body. Failing, he watched the ceiling but saw her, the figment of his hardships delicately laid out: her parted lips and rising bare chest, tousled hair strewn across Danse’s pillow below her and her touch gracing his neck, his shoulders, his hair where she held tightly as she sang out his reward in jagged breaths. The paladin shut his eyes firmly, but not fast enough for it to be in denial.

No, she didn’t make him nervous, though that was no great revelation to the soldier. Somewhere in the deeply denied recess of his mind, he knew what it was. A guilty glance downward did nothing but confirm it and he followed raised hairs to the limp sheet that cupped his form. It didn’t do much to hide the real confirmation he was looking for. 

Danse was too tense to sigh. He propped himself up, moving to release a cluster of nervous tension. The sheet slipped down but anchored itself firmly against the growing curve of an erection, and he watched over himself in idle dismay. Perhaps if he ignored it, the problem would disappear altogether.

Discipline was a dear friend of his. He wasn't about to abandon it for some small sin of the flesh, which appeared to be the headline of his issues. He’d dealt with feeling pent up, frustrated. He was only a man after all, and every man had needs. Those needs, usually, were met with a begrudged few minutes of joyless self-pleasuring and followed sharply by the shameful void that pursued it. It never really made him feel good in any lasting way, so why bother at all? Besides, Danse was a busy man. If he allowed himself to fold at any bodily impulse then he was sure that it would affect his performance as a paladin. He simply didn’t have time for that. 

For an unauthorized moment, Danse wondered if it was the same for her. Did she have time? Did she ever lower her head into the drooling maw of lust? Did it ravage her like it did him?

A hard swallow broke the room’s silence and Danse had found himself staring blankly at the ceiling again, only this time he pulled his hands up to drag across his face before he dug his palms into his eyelids. The breath he drew was shaky and strong.

Did it feel good? 

His palms sunk harder. Perhaps it would be better if his breath was held.

Could he make her feel better?

Dry lips mapped out the shape of ten, then nine and eight. A distraction.

Could he make her–

The knocking of a fist against his door seemed to serve as a far better distraction than mindless counting, as it saw him shoot up and clasp at the sheet, keeping it bundled in his lap. The stillness of shame held him firmly in place as he awaited some indication that it in fact was not his imagination. It followed shortly after in the form of another knock. 

“Just a moment,” retorted his strong response. He was pleased that his cadence had remained firm and stoic, just as it usually did. Good. Nothing was out of place.

The sheet remained wadded at his middle when his feet hit the floor. Craning down, Danse pulled his jumpsuit out from under his boots. He drew it up his legs before threading his arms through and fastening himself up haphazardly. It – unfortunately – did very little for the glaring issue between his legs, but as he stood, the will to remain firm in every other aspect seemed to rival it. Dismissive, he steadily arrived at his door, pulling it ajar and revealing only the left side of his frame. He’d prefer to answer whatever questions such a cautious response might entice than to leave no room to ask at all. 

Except, this was the very last person he’d hoped to see.

“Ah, um–... Paladin,” she began, a soft concerned crease not uncommon on her brow.

Of course it was her. Who else would disrupt him off duty and this late? 

“What do you need, Knight?” Danse’s response was as usual: cut and dry and thus, unusual for his odd behaviour. He prayed for an opportunity at redemption, hoping such a thing didn't show on his face.

She paused, looking up at him then back down and up again, as though whatever response she had to offer was not the first one to cross her mind. She continued with it regardless.

“Sorry, I know this isn’t-... can I come in? I don’t want to be seen just hanging around. Might look…” she paused again, a soft tilt to her head and an upward inflection in her next word: “... weird?”

The paladin followed only the intonation of her request, taking in her hushed sounds and lulling tone. The words found themselves lost in his focus, all meaning attached to them left lingering in the air before the crease of her brow hardened. Inquisitive, curious. Just as she always was. Such a reaction saw him reply hastily.

“Yes,” was the word that claimed mastery over the rest. Eager and thoughtless, emerging simply to relieve the silence and unburden the soldier from his trance. Had he had processed her words however, his response would certainly have been different.

Pausing for a moment, Danse broke his gaze, pulling the door a little wider while using it to shield the better half of his body. It was an invitational gesture, and one that she took up with ease.

She’d been in his quarters more times than Danse cared to admit, certainly more times than decorum demanded. Innocent reasons; the patching of wounds or the dropping off of gear, the occasional game of cards over a stale whiskey. Decent company was in short supply, and she just so happened to be rather pleasant company to keep. Decorum could excuse blameless companionship, Danse was sure.

As she entered, she kept her head low. Her fingers toyed at one another, a soft clicking suggesting an incessant picking at her nails. Something lingered in her stance and settled alongside her as she sat soundlessly down onto Danse’s bed. Her eyes flitted over the disturbed and crumpled sheet, the skewed pillow and deep dip in the mattress, earning a frown.

“Sorry to uh…” her gaze returned to her fiddling fingers, “… Sorry to wake you.”

Danse, meanwhile, had turned his back to the woman to shut the door before carefully manoeuvring himself to perch, pulling a chair out from his desk. She didn't spare him a glance as he half turned to face her, threading his fingers and resting his hands over his lap. The glaring issue between his legs had begun to fast resolve itself following her startling arrival, making quick work of the paladin’s self evolving fantasy. Reality was always bitterly sobering.

“I wasn’t asleep,” he corrected, and she found visible relief in those words. “But I plan to be soon, so make it quick.”

Although his words were concise, there was no harshness in their delivery. She knew that, and he knew that she knew that. The softening of her face confirmed it, and she finally lifted her gaze to meet his gentle expectancy.

She took a second to search for her words, seeming to lose them the very moment her eyes would leave his to wander over the hurriedly fastened jumpsuit that covered him, to where it dipped low and unbuckled at the neck and dared to reveal a slip of his chest. She swallowed, her expression unreadable. 

“I couldn’t sleep,” she admitted. “Nightmares. I… I didn’t really know-... I don’t really know what to do. I was thinking maybe… uh, maybe you could help me?”

The chair groaned as he shifted back into it, brow pinching for a second so split that he was sure she had missed it, and she had. The string of words were disjointed, so unorganised that Danse felt himself somewhat inclined to not believe them. But then again, she had caught him at a bad time. Perhaps she was just feeling awkward. 

A thoughtful sigh parted the short silence between them. 

“Nightmares?” Danse offered, the question emerging as more of a statement. Alongside his bluntness was uncertainty. What could he do about her nightmares?

Her silence fed the awkwardness of her posture, drawing in the paladin’s gaze to scan her wordless response. She shrugged, scratching at one thumb with the other. 

“Well,” he attempted, “There isn’t much I can offer you, Knight. But I can keep you company for a short while. Do you want to talk about it?”

“You aren’t too tired?”

A pause, a meeting of eyes. The quietness of fidgeting fingers coming to rest.

“No.” Ever sparing with his words, Danse offered a small gesture with his hand for her to continue – a savory compliment to his response. 

She fell quiet for a moment, a concentrated frown across her face as her eyes dodged his. Danse had been considerate. He’d offered his time in exchange for the weight of her issues. His schedule was tight, time alone was sparse and every moment she spent in silence was a moment taken from his rest, but he did not let that sentiment show. It was a courtesy not extended to others but for her, he could make an exception. 

His train of thought halted abruptly as her next words struck him. She pointed her head upward, locked eyes and sucked in a breath before:

“I want to sleep with you.”

It was the paladin’s turn to hold the silence. He did not move, sight trained on her and hands stiffly remaining interlinked in his lap. His brow had raised, shattering his steely exterior and pulling his emotion to the forefront of his being. Shock, disbelief, doubt. He opened his mouth, a question on his lips but it soon closed again. This had to have been a miscommunication, a misunderstanding. Perhaps he’d finally lost it altogether.

Commonly, she wore every ravaging emotion upon her face, and this seemed to be no exception. She shrunk into herself. Embarrassed, perhaps even humiliated at such an admission, she offered a few words of clarity.

“In-.. In this room. With you. I think the company might… I don’t know, help me sleep better. I feel safe with you.”

A slow exhale untangled the tension. Of course she had meant it in the literal sense. Reality, for a second time, had sobered him anew. 

But now he had a new dilemma. She was a knight, a valued member of his team and more importantly, a subordinate to him. He held responsibility over her and with that came the demand of professionalism. It rivalled against his wishes, but he held his duty with high regard. 

“I’m afraid I can’t allow that,” came the response that she had been expecting. It bought with it no indicator of how he felt, of what he wanted, only of what he ought to allow. She frowned, pressing her feet against the floor and leaning forward.

“Please,” she pleaded, hands now pressed together as if in prayer to the man before her, the object of her faith. “I’ll sleep on the floor. I don’t need a-... well, anything. I just… I just don’t want to be alone tonight.”

Danse would be lying if he claimed to hear her soft pleas with immediacy. Something in her expression entrapped him. The furrowing of her brow, the clumsy desperation in her voice, her pretty eyes. The words themselves were secondary to the way in which she had said them. He let her continue, despite knowing his inevitable response.

“Please, Danse. I won’t be any trouble… I’ll-... I’ll be gone before you wake-...”

“Fine,” he gave in easily, and she softened with accomplishment, sinking back against the mattress again. A little smile graced her lips and she thanked him, relieved.

Danse had already pushed himself to his feet and set out to retrieve a bundled bed roll. His mind raced, each thought forming the embryo of reality defying excitement. It was far from admirable, how the beginnings of each thought would dare to venture into the realm of fantasy. Humbling reminders of his humanity and the desires that attached themselves to that title.

But Danse was principled, disciplined. A soldier. Each misguided glimmer of excitement was shot down and put to rest, kicked into the towering pile of hopes that he’d accumulated. She was his knight and he her paladin. The rest was simply biology attempting to dictate. Logic, as always, reigned superior.

She watched from above as he laid out the bedroll. She’d been talking, but Danse hadn't been listening. That was often the nature of their dynamic: her trailing monologue and his quiet performance of duty, lost in his thoughts while she expelled hers. It was easy, comfortable. Perhaps this wouldn’t be so bad.

Upon the completion of his task he rose again and gestured to the bedroll, and she pushed herself to stand again, thanking him.

“Not a problem,” he confirmed flatly. “Glad to help.”

He half watched her sink down, mirroring her actions as he returned to his bed and pulled the sheet over his legs, opting to keep his jumpsuit on. The room, as dimly lit as it was, still very much allowed for the two to see one another and although the finer workings of his appearance were still shrouded in a degree of darkness, Danse felt as though it weren't appropriate to strip down to only his underwear. It was a sentiment not shared by the other.

Threading her feet into the bedroll, the knight had slunk her arms into her jumpsuit and pulled it down her body, revealing her upper half (thankfully) clothed in a ragged tank top. She pulled the bedroll up to her waist and fished around before discarding her jumpsuit next to her. The manoeuvre had hidden her legs from his sight, but her hips and waist had stolen a few seconds of freedom before sinking beneath the fabric surface. 

Danse was grateful at her turning away from him, as it saved him the embarrassment of being caught staring. He truly hadn’t meant to, and perhaps it was merely surprise that had fixed his gaze to her. That was certainly easier to justify. But as he laid back, eyes meeting the ceiling again, he found that the same thoughts that had plagued him before her arrival had returned and this time, with a picture of her frame to feed them.

Even with his back to her, her image stained his mind. The shape of her form hidden just out of view, her clothing that offered little to be imagined. Her underwear that lay thinly across her hips, the tank top that tore in all the places that he cared least to see. Desire saw him envious of the fabric that enwrapped her.

He could hear her breathing, first soft and lucid and then after a while, heavy and long. Sleep seemed to find her within the hour, and Danse had once again found himself in envy as he lay open-eyed and sleepless. He drew his hands to meet his face and sighed, berating himself in his mind.

The two lay there in a stalemate of interests, one seemingly unknowing and the other with all the thought to compensate. Peace and chaos confined to four metal walls. With each rested breath she expelled, Danse felt his reasoning wearing thinner. 

Among that, the quiet shifting of fabric. Perhaps the changing of position, Danse concluded as he pulled the sheet up to his chin and forced his eyes to close, hoping the imitation of sleep might induce the real thing. Except, of course, it did not.

So he opted to lay there for a long while, eyes clamped and ears keen to the indications of her presence. The shifting of fabric had made itself less occasional with time, and the softness of her breathing eventually fell into a faltering, disturbed rhythm.

Nightmares, Danse figured, and he turned in his bed to face her, searching for confirmation of his assumption. His curiosity was satiated upon seeing the mound that encased the knight, twitching and rising and falling in a jagged rhythm. 

Should he wake her, or allow her to keep sleeping? The quality of her sleep mattered, of course, but such a thing couldn't be achieved without dreamless rest. Would it be better to allow her to endure the nightmare? Would waking her serve any purpose at all?

Disregarding all reason, Danse called her name. Once stirred her and twice woke her, and when she woke she gasped and jolted, propelling herself forward. Confusion and fear, and then relief. He was certain he had made the right choice.

“Are you okay?” He asked, concern surfacing in his inquiry. 

She pushed at her hair with her fine fingers, working her upper half out from under the bedroll and holding her head for a moment, regaining her bearings. She swept away a stray strand of hair, twisting her head to lock eyes with the man across from her. 

“Yeah,” she confirmed, although uncertain. “Just-...”

“I know,” he reassured. 

A comfortable silence settled between the two, Danse carefully eyeing her as she adjusted, wrapping her arms around herself and drawing in a sigh. 

“How long was I asleep for? Did I wake you?” She asked, a recurring concern. 

Danse shook his head. “Maybe an hour. And no.”

“Can’t sleep?”

The lack of an answer was all the confirmation that she needed.

Shifting, she pushed the bedroll down the remainder of her body, pulling her legs from beneath it and folding them under herself to kneel. She balled a fist against her eye socket, rubbing sleepily.

Danse, in response, flitted his gaze guiltily across her frame before it landed on her face again. He furrowed a brow when she dragged herself nearer, resting her arms against his bed from the floor and raising herself to stand. She sleepily smiled down at him, and Danse clenched his jaw. 

“What are you doing?” He sharply asked. She didn’t reply.

Instead, she pinched the corner of the sheet that lay overtop of the paladin, hesitating for a moment as he shot up to sit, shifting back against the headboard.

“Knight.” He barked, a low and warning sound that saw doubt flash across her expression. Yet, she gripped the sheet and pulled it back further, swallowing before gently retorting:

“Paladin, when was the last time you shared a bed with someone?”

Her words short-circuited Danse’s mind. He knew what she was asking, and it had little to do with the question proposed. This wasn’t a matter of curiosity, but one of pursuit. And yet, he let her pull the sheet away from him.

“You can’t share a bed with me,” he stated firmly. “It’s highly inappropriate.”

This earned him a frown, and she dropped the sheet along with her gaze. 

“What’s the difference? I’m already sleeping on your floor.” She huffed, feigning innocence.

Danse was in no state to answer. His mind ran rampant with possibilities, with questions of her intentions, with the consideration that perhaps he was asleep and this was just an extraordinarily vivid dream. They coupled poorly with the sight before him: his subordinate, the object of his sleepless nights, standing before him in her underwear and attempting to slip into his bed. He didn’t know where to look, didn't know where was appropriate, didn’t know if they’d already crossed that threshold and now she was his to behold. He’d certainly hoped it was the latter, as his eyes betrayed him and took in her sparsely clad form in uncertain increments before forcing himself to meet her eyes.

The difference was that Danse didn’t know how to resist, didn’t know how to conceal his attraction with such close proximity. The difference was that should she be in his bed, she’d be close enough to touch. 

Seemingly, she had taken his silence as uncertainty, and lowered herself to sit beside him. Ever respectful of her paladin and ever cautious of his space. A part of him wished that she’d make the decision instead.

“People sleep better when they’re together. I trust you and, well, I’d like to think that you trust me. But-... But it’s up to you. If you’re sure that you don’t want to...”

Danse fought the urge to reach out, to grab her and pull her in, to allow himself the honesty of telling her just how desperately he’d like to sleep with her in every meaning of the phrase, but he found himself silent still. It was improper. It went against decorum. It went against his principles.

But as he opened his mouth to deny her, she stood and turned to dismiss herself to her bedroll. Danse’s hand slapped against her wrist as he grabbed her.

“Stay,” he commanded, his voice low and for the first time that evening, absolutely certain.

Her wrist was small in his grip, a delicate little thing that sent sparks of electricity up his arm upon impact. It fell limp, and she crept forward as her paladin pulled her back to his bed.

Her knees met the mattress and she unfolded herself to sit beside him, her bare legs against his side. Her gaze did not leave him, eyes searching for any wordless instruction to eagerly obey. Danse relieved her of that burden as he commanded:

“Lie down. We sleep back to back, do you understand?” 

His expression betrayed his command, wandering eyes dark and pulse jumping in his neck. The holding of her wrist made it uncomfortable for her to follow, but she nodded her head regardless and manoeuvred herself to lay down on her back.

With Danse still bolt upright, he tilted his head to look down at her and finally released her wrist. She lay there, hair tousled and cheeks pink, eyes wide and searching for something within Danse that he desperately withheld. His throat bobbed before he spoke.

“Turn around.”

And she obeyed. Sinking deeper into the bed, she tugged on the corner of the sheet and pulled it up to her shoulder, turning as she did. Her hair followed her, splayed out across the pillow and falling over her neck to hide her face, her expression becoming a mystery. 

Danse lingered for a number of seconds before he mirrored her, slinking down and pressing his back to hers. Against him, he could feel her quietly trembling. 

Sleep had long been disregarded by the paladin and he lay with his eyes firmly open and jaw clenched hard. With each inhale he could feel her frame, smaller and finer than himself. Warm, but tense. She hardly breathed at all.

Each passing second was agonising. The two lay in stiff symmetry, their backs pressed in yet another stalemate, both desperate to know the thoughts of the other.

Was she afraid? Had he been too firm and frightened her? Was the cold the perpetrator of her shivering and that was the reason why she wished to share a bed? No, his command wasn't misplaced. This was inappropriate enough as it was, he needed to set boundaries with her. If he didn’t… 

Behind him, a hand wandered, trembling all the same. It crept to her side, to behind her, to where her paladin lay. The sheet shifted softly as it lay gently atop Danse’s forearm, her touch a hesitant suggestion. 

Danse froze, his breath held and his thoughts evaporating with immediacy. Her touch, the one he'd agonised over replicating, finally coming to rest against him. He didn’t move. But she did.

Slowly, she slipped her hand downward in response to his silence, his stiffness. She found a hand far bigger than hers, and cautiously she traced her fingers across the back of his knuckles.

Danse remained frozen, silent and still. His heart raced and face felt warm, breath catching in his throat and stomach knotting. He should have pulled away, he should have taken charge, he should have dismissed the aching throb of desire. But God, she made it difficult for him.

“Paladin Danse?” The small squeak of her voice came, and Danse forced himself to take a breath.

“Yes?” He managed, but the word emerged as a whisper.

Slowly, her fingers crept toward his palm. Danse turned his hand, allowing her to gently grip him. It was all the confirmation that she needed.

“I want you to fuck me.”

… What?

Danse stiffened immediately, fingers locked around hers and heart falling over itself as it skipped a beat and then proceeded to thunder. He shot up and turned, pulling at her hand for her to do the same. It was a demand that transcended words, firmer and more certain than anything he could have verbally expressed.

With that, she obeyed. She turned, eyes down and hair curtaining her face, shifting herself up to half sit. She offered only the side of her expression, cloaking her shame with a false sense of anonymity. Her trembling was incessant and travelled through her body and to the hand that clasped her.

“What did you say?” The paladin asked sternly, eager for confirmation. He must have been missing something.

As she turned her head she gripped him harder, finally meeting his gaze. Her expression was one of desperate shame, eyes dark and wide, cheeks flushed. She licked her lips before she spoke again.

“I want you to fuck me.”

And with that confirmation, Danse felt himself reduced to nothing but the instincts of man. 

He released her hand and dove for her waist where he pushed her back down against the mattress. She yelped softly upon impact, wide eyes searching his face frantically. Making short work of the space between them, Danse rose up to lean over her. 

She gasped as though she hadn't been the very one to entice him. Her bare legs parted around him and with a confidence that didn't show on her face, she hooked her legs around the backs of his and pulled him closer.

Danse became feverish in an instant, matching her trembling and thus answering the question of its origin. He pressed his forehead against hers, sizing up the devastation of pressing a kiss to her lips, but her hands had found his hair and pulled him downward. Criminally, she placed a kiss against the sharp of his jaw. 

A short growl emitted from the man above her, at her respectful teasing, at her subtle asking to kiss his lips. Her fingers raked gently down his scalp and to his neck, then back to his hair where she playfully tugged. He couldn’t refuse her of such a desire.

And when their lips met, it was perfect. She was better than he’d ever imagined, her lips soft and warm and so incredibly willing. Taking charge of the kiss, she planted hungry pecks against his mouth. Their mouths met with clumsy fury, Danse’s brow pulled together and he sank himself deeper into the kiss, pushing her head against the pillow and stealing her breath hungrily. Against him, she panted, pulling his head back by his hair just so that she could look him in his eyes and kiss him again.

She was infuriating, teasing and soft, gently catching his lower lip with her teeth before running her tongue along it and sucking it into her mouth. It was his turn to gasp, a hand finding her waist and pinning her still.

“Fuck me,” she emphasised, and Danse dug his fingers against the soft skin of her hips in response.

“Be quiet,” he retorted, his words eaten up by the ravenous woman below him. He could feel her smile as she kissed him and it made him ache.

Hurried hands had found the front of Danse’s jumpsuit where her fingers worked to strip him down to as few clothes as herself. Danse, in response, pushed himself against her, pulling her hips up to meet him.

He watched her face contort at the contact, the firm ridge of his growing erection pressed to the inner crease of her thigh, just short of her middle. She whined and huffed, frantic to drink in the lust-struck expression of her paladin and somewhere in between, she pushed the top of his jumpsuit down his shoulders.

Endearing, Danse thought, the way that she knew not where to look. Her gaze flitted down his arms, his strong chest, his waist where his jumpsuit had come to rest about his hips before finally returning to his face. She looked again and again, almost as though she couldn’t quite believe it was really him. He huffed softly, a satisfied sound, before he met her lips again.

The knight was confident in the introduction of her tongue, pushing it between his lips with ease to meet his own. They deepened the kiss with the parting of mouths, the action performed without grace or concern for neatness. Instead, they allowed themselves to be dictated by the whims of their desire.

Danse drew back before steadily rocking himself forward, nudging his hips against her and parting from the kiss with a wet click to watch her expression again. A needy sound tumbled from her lips, and she came up to clasp desperately around the small of his back, pushing downward to intensify the contact.

“God…” Danse muttered quietly as her lips found his jaw again, this time with no need for gentle encouragement. They attached to him, to the underside of his face, to the stubbled skin of his neck where they latched and bit softly down. The hum of her name toppled easily from his lips.

She seemed to revel in the sound, her legs squeezing him closer, her hands slinking to his front to feel up the expanse of his broad chest and firm shoulders where she once again found his head. She hummed, rocking her hips up and connecting the two by the groin where she hungrily searched for friction. 

Danse, always willing to give into her every whim, pulled himself back to sit on his haunches. She frowned at first, irritation flashing across her face but as her gaze wandered, she brightened.

It was strange, Danse thought, how in that moment he might have felt more nervous than he’d ever felt in his life. Half unclothed and flushed from ears to chest, upright between the legs of the woman who he’d long dismissed to be a distant and filthy desire. It was as if he could feel her eyes burning into him, taking him in, as though he was standing before his maker and awaiting judgement for his every sin and all of which she enticed. 

And she, of course, couldn’t have looked more in place. Danse handled her with hurried tenderness, sliding his hands around the tops of her thighs and pulling her as close as their bodies allowed. He kept his eyes up, trained on her face, a polite gesture that he’d confined himself to. But as she rolled her hips up to find the bulging tent in his clothes, he stole desperately overdue glances of her entirety. 

Exactly where she needed to be, where she should have been every night before. The tank top rode up her body and creased just under her breasts, revealing her stomach and ribs pushing out as she panted. Her hips rocked and across them, the thin fabric of her underwear. Danse had never seen her so bare and yet he only wished to see more, the thin layer of clothing doing nothing but fuelling a primal need to remove them completely.

So he set out to do just that. He lowered himself over her, supporting his weight with his legs and sliding one hand across her ribs, the other still supporting her thigh to hold her securely in place against him. She mewled softly at his touch, her skin blossoming with goosebumps that traced exactly where he’d graced her. Gently, his rough fingers came to slide under the fabric of her top, stopping just short of her breasts. 

Breathless, Danse looked down at the woman, apprehension lost in a sea of lust. 

“Is this okay?” He asked, a wasted formality.

In response she whined, frustrated. As her wandering hands left his body, he sorely missed their absence. In an instant, they travelled the expanse of her chest to pull the bottom of her tank top up and over her breasts, letting it remain bunched across her collarbones.

She struggled to catch his eye given the fresh skin to behold but when she did, she simpered at him. 

“You tell me,” she retorted, her tone playful yet the shyness of her gaze suggested that it might not have been rhetorical. Regardless, Danse responded.

“Yes,” His voice was breathy and quick. “Yes… Very-... yes.”

She giggled, her hands finding his wrist and guiding it gently up to her chest. 

“Touch me before I lose my fucking mind.”

As playful as the demand was, it was a demand all the same. Danse expelled a single note laugh before he gladly fed her desires. His hand fell easily over her breast and as it did, he gently squeezed. God, she was so soft. Her velvety skin prickled in response to every touch, and against his palm a hard nipple begged for his attention. 

It had become easy to neglect his own bodily desires in the face of hers. The incessant throbbing heat of his erection rubbed uncomfortably against the fabric of his clothing, but with every brush and nudge that she sought out, that discomfort evaporated into infuriating need. But even that could be discarded in the wake of every sound, every shift, every whimper that escaped her. No pleasure that he could receive seemed comparable to that. 

Danse supported her breast easily, cupping it gently as a thumb came up to sweep experimentally against her keen nipple. She writhed as he did, lips parted and back arching into his touch, but equally away from the point at which their bodies connected. 

He felt the absence immediately and chased after her, shifting closer to loom over her bare form. Her legs scrambled to cling to him, slipping on the fabric of his clothing, hips wriggling back to press herself to him. It was desperate, almost pathetic, and Danse felt his desire twofold. 

Leaning down, he pinched her nipple sharply and gently rolled his fingers, connecting his mouth to the crook of her neck and sucking a kiss against it as he did. His hips dipped and bucked against her as he worked on her undoing, tongue drawing a line up her neck, breast tenderly cupped in his hand. He rocked against her with an eagerness that heard the old springs of the mattress begin to creak and she gasped at the hard ridge nudging firmly between her legs, him hot against her skin. 

Panting, her legs fell loose around him, only to draw up and open. She eagerly sought every touch, none of it close to being enough and when she did, she slipped her hands into the waistline of his jumpsuit and tugged gently.

Danse pulled himself away from her begrudgingly, releasing her breast and kneeling upright again. There was a misplaced look upon his face, as though that same nervousness from earlier had made itself more apparent. Panting still, she propped herself up onto her elbows, looking up at him.

“You okay?” She asked softly, concern laden in her voice.

He nodded, his hazily dumbfounded expression returning each time he would meet eyes with her. And yet, still, he hesitated.

“I… I haven’t done anything like this in a very long time,” he tentatively admitted, eyes still searching her body as though he were attempting to memorise every square inch of flesh. Lust was heavy in his voice, smothering the intention of his words. 

Danse had anticipated disappointment, a change in the heated pace of their interaction, perhaps even a complete change of heart from the girl beneath him. But as he spoke her grin widened and she reached her hands up to fall over his shoulders easily.

“So does that mean I get to break you in?” She playfully retorted, her gaze half lidded and smile enticing and absolute. That, of course, was not about to sway her.

“As long as you’re gentle with me,” came his light-hearted response, any nervousness in his disposition evaporating in an instant. He leaned down again, pupils wide and warm breath cascading across her.

She laughed then pushed her hips back against him, perhaps to distract him from her hands returning to his waistline again. 

“I know you don’t mean that.”

Another short laugh in response to her, this time from him. He placed his hands over top of hers and pushed them downwards, revealing a trail of dark hair and sharply defined hips that held her attention in an instant.

“You know me well, Knight.”

But she wasn’t listening, she couldn’t. Not with the sight that befell her and the one yet to come. She watched fervently, guiding the jumpsuit down his hips, her thumbs threading into the waistband of his underwear as she did. If she’d had it her way, Danse would be bare in a swift pull.

But he didn't allow for that. As she pulled down, he caught her again and shot her a stern look, taking her hands and halting the motion once again. She countered him with a drawn out whine, meeting his expression with one that pleaded wordlessly at him. 

“Just the uniform,” he encouraged, beginning to work the fabric down his thighs.

Danse watched her open her mouth to protest, watched her eyes flick up to his face and down his body again, watched her expression shift from one of dismay to unadulterated desire. It seemed he never failed to keep her attention, despite her complaints. She could be patient, as patient as she needed to be. 

With his jumpsuit discarded, Danse found his position between her legs again, hands easily returning to her thighs as he drank in the sight below him. Her arms rested at her side, wishing to disobey his command to keep them there but if they did so, they’d find themselves sneaking into the waistband of his underwear. Patience, she reminded herself.

Although, such a thing did not come easy. She bit her cheek at the sight before her, the paladin’s erect manhood sheathed in only the thin fabric of his underwear and leaving very little to the imagination. He was big, that much was obvious, but as he doubled over her he attempted to conceal it as much as he was able, pinching the front of his underwear and pulling it away from himself to adjust. Pink spread across his cheeks, uncommon but captivating, forcing her to suppress the urge to flip their positions and sink herself onto him immediately.

Instead, she rested her hands over her breasts and puffed softly, making eyes with the man above her.

“You shy, Paladin?” She taunted, a smile blooming across her darkening expression as she toyed at her breasts.

The question tempted a bashful laugh from him, because yes, he was. Not only at the few clothes that the two shared between them, but at the revelation of finally being above her. Even with her close to bare below him – with her playful remarks and tempting performance – he still wasn’t convinced that this was anything more than just a deliciously bountiful dream. He certainly wasn’t about to pinch himself to find out.

Instead of gracing her with an answer, Danse opted for action. Lowering himself, he claimed the woman’s wrists in his hands and pried them from her chest, opening them outwards and holding them still at either side of her shoulders. Her smile grew, eyes fixed to him as he sunk his head down to meet the midpoint of her chest, where he softly pressed a kiss and tracked her expression. Her breaths evolved into pants in an instant, anticipation twisting in her stomach. 

She squirmed as he kissed her up to her collarbone and back down again, veering off to work his way down to a breast where he hovered just above it. Cruelly, he let the anticipation eat her. Between his hands she writhed in desperate impatience. 

“Please…” She muttered, eyes wide and pleading, voice breathy. Who was he to deny her?

And as he lowered himself, she fought against his hands again. She was easy to pin, an unworthy opponent to a man of his stature. Avidly, he drew his tongue across her nipple and sucked it into his mouth, releasing just as quickly. She yelped, struggling and twisting in his grip with delight.

Danse pushed his weight into her, opting to lay overtop of her with his hips aligned to hers, the hard length of his thinly clothed cock pressing to her middle. The two sang a symphony of bated breaths as they connected, Danse claiming her breast between his lips again. 

Soon, they found themself rocking against each other, cursing the space between them as the paladin redirected his focus to her other breast, offering it the same gentle treatment as the first. He revelled in her reactions, her swaying hips and jagged whines, her clenching fists and fluttering eyes. Against her, his cock throbbed, nesting itself with an infuriating lack of precision. It only wound her up tighter.

He took his time with her, alternating between each breast with gentle kisses and sharp sucks, tasting her soft flesh and grazing his teeth gently against her. His mind swarmed with the obscene acts to follow, seeing he too become impatient at their pacing. 

So he pulled away, head lifted to drink in her image once again. She couldn’t meet his gaze.

“More?” He asked, a response to a particularly frustrated whine. She nodded, feverish and warm, a thin sheen of sweat across her brow.

But that wasn’t enough for him, and that was certainly no way to address her superior. He squeezed her wrists tighter, demanding her attention.

“I want to hear it.”

In no place to deny him, she drew her head forward to look him in the eye, an action performed with great difficulty as she sang out words that needed no thought.

“Please… Please, Paladin, I-... I want more. Please. I need you… need you so bad…”

He’d never thought that he’d hear those words from her, falling from her mouth like a desperate prayer, unwinding at the mere prospect of having him. It shouldn’t have been a surprise to him, not really, but it struck him as one all the same.

And he, simply a puppet to his whims, couldn’t deny her.

Danse crept across the expanse of her torso with his lips, trailing down the middle of her ribs and to her navel, eyes pointed upward at her as he did. His pace slowed the further down he climbed, halting almost entirely as he reached the hem of her underwear.

“O-Oh fuck… Fuck, are you… are you gonna…?” Her words fell from her untamed and jumbled, disbelieving. She pushed herself up against his incessant grip but found no leniency, falling back with a defeated sob.

Her question didn’t seek a verbal answer, or at least that was what Danse had decided. Drawing his head back, finally, he stole a glance downward.

To his delight, her desire had soaked her underwear and it clung to her womanhood, the fabric becoming translucent and altogether useless. He drank in the sight with worshipping eyes, the divinity of her arousal captivating and pulling a primal hum out of him. He was certain she would be his complete and utter undoing. 

Danse lay against the mattress unable to resist the soft rocking of his hips against it. He planted a kiss against her through her underwear. She swore and writhed, legs rising and falling and scrambling to find purchase against the mattress below her. If Danse had all the time and patience in the world, he would tease her to completion with nothing but gentle kisses and firm restraint. Perhaps another time, he figured.

One hand released a wrist, confident that the woman below him would put it to good use and she did, placing it immediately amidst the thick dark crop of his hair and clutching softly. Danse hooked a thumb into her underwear as though she were as delicate as silk and pried it aside slowly, a thin strand of her nectar connecting cloth to flesh.

His warmth breath found her immediately, and she whined and huffed and panted at the proximity alone. The hand in his hair tugged and pushed him down, needy and impolite in her haze of desire. Danse was gracious not to punish her.

Instead, she found only reward. Danse tentatively placed a kiss against the hot crease of her womanhood and upon its landing, decided that it had not been nearly enough.

The first lick had been experimental, curious, new grounds that Danse had been at first hesitant to explore. But upon its gentle placement, a hunger arose in him that pulled him apart like a wild animal. 

The sound that emerged from her was obscene, a jagged cry that fell into a sob as her hips bucked upward into the sensation, hand clawing in his hair for him to sink down deeper and as she did, he obliged. He pushed his tongue between the heat of her lips and drank her in. It pressed flatly against her clit, dragging up the underside and sucking gently as he closed his lips around it, clicking softly as it released. Below him she whined, long and pained with the intensity of her pleasure as her hips curled upward and into his mouth, rocking against his tongue. 

Her second wrist was released with the hope that it too would find his hair, and she once again did not disappoint. Without removing himself from her, the paladin drew his arm across her hips and pinned her under it, cruelly ceasing her rocking. To counter, she fisted his hair and pushed him down, a demand that enticed another hum from him.

His tongue worked gently, flicking back and forth and just barely dipping into her entrance, her legs trembling as she attempted to force them apart more than her anatomy allowed. Danse fed hungrily between them, drinking in her nectar as though he were starved, as though the taste of her would be the only thing to satiate him. Despite his lust drunk haze, he was meticulous, slow and tender and deliberate with every movement of his mouth, sucking and kissing and teasing against her entrance with a desperation that matched his longstanding desire.

Denial had claimed Danse for as long as he had known the woman. He’d refused to entertain his desire, refused to allow it to surface, refused to give into the pleading of his body. Every fantasy had been repressed, every stolen glance at her punished. But now, with her whining and throbbing and clenching around his tongue, he felt every instance of his pining pour out of him and into her aching womanhood.

“God.. fuck- fuck… Please, I… I can’t-…” Her words fell out as a string of incoherent pleas, lost to her with each tender movement, her body merely a vessel in which her desire thrived. It dictated her, removed all sense and reason, reduced her to merely a writhing animal below him. She couldn’t cum yet, not so soon. 

He pulled away, only for a moment. 

“Hm?” He offered, as taunting as she had been, too captivated in pleasing her to offer even a single word.

Another whine, another drawn out sob. “I… I c-can’t cum yet… W-Wait-...” 

And now her hands were pulling up, tugging at his hair to draw him away, hips attempting to sink into the mattress away from him but the weight of his arm refused her movement, her whimpering and fruitless attempts to slow him useless in the wake of his hunger. 

She was close, and he didn’t need her sorry pleas to tell him that. Nor did he feel inclined to consider them. She had done this. She had pulled the paladin apart and reduced him to this state. She had forever sullied the nature of their dynamic, and now she was his to consume and he would do so at will. 

Danse drank her in deeply, his pace increasing, his tongue working with frantic haste to bring her to a climax. She continued to wind, tighter and tighter and tighter until she cried out, her legs drawing up and thighs trapping the sides of his head, her hands clenching and unclenching, her sex throbbing and twitching and attempting to suck in the tongue that incessantly swept past it to tease at her clit. 

With her orgasm came the tumbling sound of his name cast over and over again like a mantra, lost in an army of pleas and cusses and pathetic sounds that cast red across Danse’s cheeks. Her legs trembled, shaking against his head and even through the muffling of her thighs at his ears, each noise that escaped her was heard with perfect clarity. 

He held her there until her thighs fell again. Her sounds had become sweet little whines and satisfied hums, her rolled back eyes becoming clear with sight again despite the watery droplets of her exertion collecting in their corners. Reluctantly, Danse pulled away from her to meet her gaze.

They held the silence for a moment, Danse patiently awaiting her recovery as he kissed the inner flesh of her thighs, stubble tickling her pleasantly. Her hands had softened in his hair, tentatively threading through it. 

“Fuck,” she whispered, the only word that came to mind. 

The paladin rose up, the back of his hand following to swipe across his lips. 

“You can keep going,” he decided, “Do you want more?”

With a soft hum, she rose up onto her elbows and let her legs straighten either side of him. The corners of her mouth pulled up further, her smile laden with intention.

“I’d prefer to return the favour,” she replied.

Danse followed her lead, lifting himself to once again rest against his haunches. The tinge of pink across his expression had become ever present, only intensifying at her suggestion. It was a charming addition to his character and one that she hadn’t predicted for him, but that she now wished to never see him without.

As he kneeled, he cupped his cock through his underwear, concealing it from her view before he leaned down. His unoccupied hand found the back of her head, and he stole her lips in yet another kiss. She responded keenly, tasting her essence on his tongue and purring in satisfaction. It was almost enough to distract her from her proposition. Almost.

It was her that pulled away, pressing a hand between them as she did and dodging his attempt at reconnecting them. He frowned, a counter to her mischievous grin. 

“So shy,” she taunted. He met her gaze with bold intensity, a false exterior that he’d plastered on to conceal the truth in her words. It was an expression that she recognised easily, one that he wore in the heat of battle or in the coming of a particularly foreboding target. One that he wore in the wake of her suggestion. 

It wasn’t that Danse didn’t want her to return the favour, in fact, that couldn’t be further from the truth. Danse ached for it, and against his hand his cock throbbed at the mere prospect. In truth, Danse feared the loss of control. He feared that his indulgence may be his undoing, that if she performed such an act upon him then he wouldn’t know how to be without it. Truthfully, he never thought he would get this far, but the offer dangling before him had placed him within two minds.

It hadn’t escaped him that still, after this, their relationship as knight and paladin had to resume as usual. There was no way of predicting how this might affect them, how it might change things. Had they already surpassed the point of no return? Was there even any point in deliberating? Did he want things to return to the way they once were? Long, lonely nights and stolen glances, suppressing the incessant clawing of desire that was equally returned. Did he want to continue to foster the misery of pining?

She bore back at him, her expression sinking as his silence pursued. The touch against his chest softened, and her fingers softly brushed against the fine hairs below them. Tender, attentive, a gesture that exceeded mere lust. Adoration.

No, he didn’t wish to return to the way things were. Never again.

Danse leaned into her touch and she opened her palm against him. Their lips met, slower this time, deliberate and deep. He could taste her patience in the way she kissed him, waiting for him, matching the turning of his head and the prodding of his tongue. A conversation barren of words, she spoke to the core of his being with soundless lips that pressed every instance of her longing against him.

It pained him to pull away, but the aching of his erection had made it exceedingly difficult to continue to ignore. As they parted, Danse met her hazy eyes and brushed a lonesome lock of hair away from her face.

She awaited a cue, and when it arrived it adopted the form of a hand finding the one against his chest, inching her slowly downward and travelling the valley of dark hair and scarred skin before it reached the band of his underwear. Her eyes remained pointed upward until permission granted her to look in the form of a single nod.

Eagerly, her smile returned, flirtatious and pleased. She wasted little time, hands remaining on his body as she scooted off the bed to stand before him. He turned with her movement, swinging his legs to position themselves against the floor, her between them.

As he had, she pulled the tank top from her body – not that it was doing anything at all to conceal her form – before climbing out of her underwear until she stood in bare completion. 

“God,” he mumbled, hands finding her waist and sliding down and back to claim the curve of her behind, which he squeezed in gentle adoration.

She pushed back into his hand and a bashful laugh escaped her, content in watching her paladin scramble to view every corner of her shape. But the task at hand nagged at her, refusing to wait any longer. She’d prayed for this, and she’d be damned if she wasn't about to cease her opportunity with furious enthusiasm.

Danse guided her as she dropped to her knees, eyes locked fiercely with passion that rivalled the other. She was the first to surrender, to drag her eyes away and run her hands up his firm thighs to look between them. 

Her stomach swarmed, legs weakening as she pushed them together in search of relief from her own incessantly desperate sex. Danse’s underwear strained and nagged at his length, his cock firmly upright and at its tip, a wet patch drenched the fabric and soaked halfway down the length of his shaft. She suppressed a sound, looking up at him with warm cheeks. 

He was impressive to say the very least, but the knight hungered for more. Wordlessly, her hands found the hem of his underwear and finally, she drew them down his legs. Much too engrossed at the sight before her, she barely registered him kicking them off. 

“Fuck, Danse,” she whispered, hand eager in claiming his cock at the base. He was thick and notably heavy as she shifted her thumb to support its mass. 

Danse was big in every aspect, so his size should have been no great surprise. But as it existed in its entirety, the woman found herself at a loss for words. His thick girth complimented the length, the firmness with which it stood, uncut and heavy. She crept her hand up the base and watched her thumb climb to his tip where she pulled back and tempted a soft glide across his frenulum. His tip was an angry shade of red, untouched and furious. Danse huffed loudly at the contact. 

He leaned back, one hand offering leverage against the bed and the other landing atop her head where it carefully thread through soft tresses. She looked so pretty there, kneeling between his legs, her back arched and vibrant eyes flicking between his face and his cock. 

“Just... uhm,” he began, his nervous disposition rearing its head again. “Just go easy. I don’t know how long I can last.”

“Hah, oh!” She playfully chimed. “I don’t remember you offering me that same courtesy.”

That was fair, he supposed. But before he could bite back with a clever retort, the knight leaned forward and pressed her tongue against the wet underside of his tip, cupping the drooling precum before it retreated back into her mouth. 

Danse bucked his hips up, a sharp hiss of air whistling past his nostrils. The hand in her hair gripped harder than he had intended and in response, she beamed. 

“Fuck-... just try to-... Fuck,”

Such a word was foreign to Danse’s dialect, but its first appearance had done nothing but fuel the girl below him. So much so that she giggled and gripped the top of his thighs before all at once, lowering her mouth onto him.

Her head twisted gently from side to side, tongue flat and jaw hanging wide as she committed herself to swallowing his entire length and although she found herself unable to, her effort was undeniably valiant. 

Around him, her throat closed and contracted, tongue brushing and lips firmly sealed. She sucked inward, cheeks hollowing and eyes fluttering closed. Her nails pressed his skin as she held herself there for a moment.

Danse found both hands in her hair, chest rising and falling rapidly when he growled her name. It took every ounce of his being to restrict himself from pushing her head down and bucking up into her mouth, claiming her throat with the brutality that he knew she hungered for. 

Slowly, she drew back, suction firm as she released him with a pop. Naturally, she didn’t offer him a moment to recover.

When her mouth found him again, he pushed her down, fisting her hair and guiding her head to swallow him deeply. She obliged without even the suggestion of resistance. 

It didn’t take her long to work up a pace, leaning back and forth slowly, tongue working diligently. Even at their steady pace the sounds the two created were obscene; the gripping suction of her throat with every nod of her head, her pretty moans and jagged breaths stolen by the intrusion of him claiming her mouth. 

Soon, her hands found their way to join her mouth at his cock. She held him at the base firmly as she drew back, her second hand claiming the space above it and when her eyes met his, she held within her gaze a degree of admiration that Danse had been yet to see in anyone before her.

“I want you,” she muttered, just louder than a whisper. “Fuck, I want you so bad. I wanna show you, Paladin. Let me show you how badly I need this.”

Danse wasn’t sure if such a string of words would merit a response or if they were just the lust drunk ramblings of worship, but regardless, he hummed in confirmation. 

She resumed eagerly, her hands steadily working his length before she swallowed his tip. A long, drawn out hum sent warm vibrations focused at the most sensitive part of his cock, and his hips thrust upward at the overwhelming intensity of it. But her grip was firm and unyielding and when she sank her head down again, she withdrew a long breath.

At that, her pace increased. Her mouth opened, releasing suction but making up for it with the firm grip that stabilised him. Hands gripped her bobbing head, grunting and panting entangled with the lewd wet sucking of her mouth. Pleasure encompassed Danse, his formerly neglected cock sinking into the soft and fuckable cavern of her throat again and again. The sight alone was enough to drag him to the cusp of his orgasm. 

All at once, the paladin tugged hard and she detached from him, the combination of their fluids glinting against her chin and lips. Panting, he held her in a firm, painful grip. 

“Let go,” he demanded, urgency and command a delicious combination. She obeyed.

Before she could ask, Danse rose to stand, hair still entangled tightly in his grip as though she were merely a toy to use at his disposal. Immediately, her eyes shone with delight. 

“Hands behind your back.”

The only hesitancy in her action was derived from disbelief. Never in her life would she dream of disobeying such a command. 

“Oh my God, please…” She whined, “Please, please, please…”

A sharp tug pointed her head upward, and Danse firmly gripped the base of his cock and held it at her lips, just short of her mouth.

 “Do you want it?”

“A-Anything, I’ll do anything. Please, Danse. Please, I need it.” Her eyes shone with the threat of tears.

“Keep going.”

She cried out a soft sob of frustration. “Please! I’ll be so good, I'll take you so well. Please fuck my face. Please.” 

Squirming below him, her legs rubbed feverishly against each other, hands clenched behind her back, soft sobs rattling her bare chest and glossy eyes searching frantically for mercy in the man’s expression.

Danse could have cum right then and there. He could have worked himself to just her pleas alone and finished on her face. But what would be the fun in that? 

“Open,” he demanded, and her mouth dropped in an instant.

The paladin was quick to align himself, broad hips pushing forward as he bounced the glistening tip of his cock against her tongue, as experimental as it was maddening. Her hot breath travelled the length of him easily, and he pulled her head back to keep her from closing her lips around him. 

“Keep it open.”

She would have nodded if she were able but instead, her obedience reflected in the further opening of her mouth. All at once, Danse thrust forward, sliding agonisingly against her tongue and sinking his manhood deep into the back of her throat. 

She attempted to gasp, but instead her throat tightened and she gagged against the intrusion, lurching her head forward and thus pushing his cock deeper. Danse, in his concern for her, had attempted to pull back but instead found himself met with a glare of fury from the woman. Clearly, their concern was not shared, and she shook her head to sink him in further.

The tight constriction of her throat was aggravatingly good, and steadily he began to pull her head back and forth. Slowly at first, he watched her eyes flutter shut, nostrils flared as she steadied her breathing, focus evident in the crease in her brow.

God, she was doing so well for him. Danse let his pace increase.

With the addition of speed, the paladin felt his lower half alight with pleasure. He gripped her firmly, bucking into each huff and whine she would produce and countering it with pleasured pants, groans of satisfaction and soft mumbles of praise. Her mouth hung open, spittle and precum falling from her lips and dangling from her chin. With each thrust she hummed, and each hum was sharply cut short by the intrusion of Danse’s length.

It wasn’t a pace that Danse could maintain, not without soon reaching an orgasm or breaking her in the process. But her eagerness was a gift not to be wasted, her willing mouth accepting its fate as a hole for him to fuck, and she rejoiced in that. 

Cracking her eyes open, she looked up at her paladin. They were streaked with tears of gratification that rolled down her flushed cheeks, irises thin bands around the dark of her pupils. She pleaded at him with her wholly worshipping gaze alone, looking up with an expression so sinful that Danse could not hold himself back from delivering a hard, deep thrust.

Buried inside her throat, he held himself there, hands pressing until her nose pushed against the dark hair that defined his pubic bone. He pinned her to that spot, watched her writhe and gag and blink little pools of tears from her eyes. 

“Good girl,” he sang out to her. “Fuck, good girl.”

And then he pulled her away. As she withdrew she hacked sharply, drooling and coughing and gasping. Her hands swiped at her face, casting a cocktail of fluids across her forearm. She could hardly register him sitting back down onto the bed, legs shoulder width apart. 

His hands softened in her hair, stroking down the mess he had made of it as she stole a moment to recover. Had he not been so preoccupied with the glow of bliss, he perhaps would have offered her a few wasted words of concern. 

Before he spoke, he let her clear her throat a final time.

“Come here,” he encouraged, leaning back and patting a hand against his lap.

His cock stood firm and proud, twitching as she moved to stand on wobbly legs. He guided her gently as she approached, grip fixed to her hips when she slung her legs to straddle him. To him she weighed nothing, and she reached forward to rest her arms over his shoulders, face close to his. Dipping inward, he placed a tempting kiss against her neck. 

She fought the spent feeling that had temporarily encased her, each carefully placed kiss providing her with the vigour needed to continue. Her skin prickled wherever his lips landed, and she gently tilted her head back to allow him access to the underside of her neck. With eyes softly closed, she didn’t see the slow sneaking of the paladin’s hand tentatively returning to her womanhood. 

A firm hand slipped around the backside of her. Danse’s lips made for a decent distraction, tender and breathtakingly deliberate as two fingers parted her gently. They slipped easily against her, lubricated by her essence and teasing softly against her swollen clit where they circled with agonising gentleness. Atop him, she writhed to part her legs further, the vibration of each whimper felt against his lips as he placed another kiss.

She cussed with each bend of his knuckles, hands clutching firmly against his back and head lolling into the crook of his neck. Her kiss was ferocious against him, teeth gazing and biting down against the soft flesh. The response it garnered was electrifying; a sharp hiss and the tortuous pressing of an index to her entrance. 

He held her there in limbo as she swallowed him down to only the first knuckle. Around it, she throbbed and clenched, a slave to the whims of her desire as she tried mindlessly to take it in deeper. Danse – of course – had no intention of rushing. 

“Please…” she whimpered, squirming against the contact. Her hips dipped, attempting to angle herself to sit deeper onto him. For once, he allowed her to do so.

Only to the second knuckle. Anything else would be far too gracious.

But Danse’s fingers were big; thick and rough, just the one had her panting. Around him, her arms curled and gripped, steadying herself to rock her hips harder, sinking him in deeper until his resolve weakened. 

She was so warm inside. Her quivering walls hugged his index, soft and velvety and torturous to sample. The addition of his middle finger was as experimental as it was thrilling and she refused to heed to his pace. With her teeth still latched down onto him, she pushed down to sink onto his hand. Two fingers stretched her maddeningly as they remained unmoving, the only friction permitted found within her own movement.

“Does that feel good?” The paladin asked breathlessly beside her ear, and he felt the shift of her hair as she nodded and removed her mouth from him.

“Need you to… to fill me up,” she managed between each purr of her approval. 

“Not enough?”

“Mhm, more…”

With her less than patient request, Danse began to work his fingers slowly. He withdrew them to the tips then sunk them in deeply until she drooled against his palm. A pleasured whine matched the hungry throbbing of her walls, and Danse slowly parted his sheathed fingers and tilted them back and forth.

“Hah-... fuck!”  She squealed, thighs beginning to quiver anew. 

Danse was attentive to the cues of her body, listening intently as though she were an instrument responding to the slow tuning of her strings. Each twist and scissor and push emitted a soft sound to indicate his achievement. His lack of experience served him as an aid, each experimental movement earning him a stack of pleased reactions that allowed him to work her in exactly the way she desired until her whimpers became moans and broken cusses. She rocked and swayed into every touch until she’d found herself softly bouncing on his fingers, chasing the deep sensation that his hand alone fell just short of.

But the soft rise and fall of her body against him was maddening, a cruel predecessor for what was to come. Inside her, his fingers pushed and pulled to aid her chasing.

“Do you want to cum like this?” Danse asked, a sweet proposition but one that delayed his overbearing desire. She shook her head before he’d finished asking.

“Fuck me,” she demanded, grinding her hips still. “I… I want you to fuck me ‘til I cum. I want… God, fuck-... please…”

It was a request that seemed to never lose its potency, no matter how many times she had begged for it. Between them Danse’s cock stood neglected and seeping, demanding that such a request go ignored for no longer.

All at once he withdrew his fingers. She gripped him as he did, her body betraying her command and trying its utmost to keep him buried within her. Softening, she pulled away to meet his eyes. Her face wore an expression of pained bliss, brows furrowed and lips parted, chest heaving with anticipation. Danse met her gaze with intensity. 

He firmly took his length into his hand, her slick lubricant clinging to his fingers and sliding up the underside of his shaft as he stroked slowly, easing the sore throbbing of his arousal. Her eyes followed the motion, drunk and hazy and overcome with impatience. 

When she raised herself overtop of him, Danse halted her for a moment, his thick brows stiff.

“Are you sure you want to do this?”

The question, although shallow in the words themselves, carried with them an air of warning. The connection of their bodies promised more than just sex. It promised the destruction of their dynamic as they knew it and introduced an irreparable world of uncertainties. Somewhere beyond the surface, Danse knew the potential for ruin. In his asking he found his own uncertainty, but such a thing seemed to not reflect on her. 

What Danse didn’t know was that she’d mulled this over in her mind many hundreds of times. She’d stared her own doubt in the face until it had cowered into nothing more than just nagging truths. Of course there would be consequences. Of course this would be permanent. But the ache of longing was sure to have broken them in the end. Their destruction was inevitable, and this was how she chose to embrace it.

“Are you?” she asked, resting against his thighs.

“I’ve never wanted anything more in my life.”

And that sealed it. 

With a hand still firmly holding his cock, she raised herself again to align the warm heat of her entrance atop him. He huffed at that contact alone, watching her eyes flutter and her lips wordlessly mouth profanities. Before she could sink herself down, Danse allowed his length to part her lips and slide agonisingly against her. His tip threatened to breach her entrance, the slick lubricant offering seamless entry with the haste that both yearned for.

She didn’t allow him to do it again, and as he glided past her hole a second time she grinned, sighed, and sank down onto him.

Together they sang out a symphony of grunts and whimpers, the compression of her walls around his cock an excruciating delight that saw him grip firmly onto the soft flesh of her behind, supporting her as her body untangled itself upon his entrance. Her own grip softened, hands finding his shoulders to hold her trembling frame still. They parted their gaze only to let their eyes roll.

Their pace was feverish and immediate, Danse aiding her bouncing with firm thrusts that sank the better half of his length into her. She cried out, gripping him harder and pressing her forehead to his. 

As his hips snapped up, hers came down. Any notion of carefulness had slipped from their fingers in their frenzy and his tip bumped painfully against her cervix, his size too large to be swallowed all at once. But pain was an easy thing to ignore in such impossibly perfect circumstances, and it soon gave way to an all encompassing flurry of pleasure.

The mattress creaked tiredly, each thrust forcing evidence of its age but becoming lost in the sounds that surrounded it: the collision of flesh, the growling and moaning of ecstasy and the wet sliding of penetration. Atop him she leaned back, just enough for him to view every part of her.

With every upwards buck her breasts bounced softly. Danse watched in blissful disbelief, increasing his pace just to watch the way her body helplessly reacted. He reached a hand upward to find her neck, tossing an obstructing lock of hair over her shoulder as he passed it.

It had been to stabilise her, to hold her perfectly in place while he fucked up into her, but at her beaming and ravenous smile he pressed his fingers down gently.

“Y-...You like that?” He managed, voice breathy and tone darker than she’d ever heard it before. She felt herself clench firmly around him.

“Yes! Hah-... hah-... yes-... harder. Please-...”

Danse felt the need to praise her for managing to say the words at all. He wasn’t sure what exactly she wanted to be harder: the pressure of his hand or his thrusting? So, naturally, he decided to do both. 

Still somehow lucid enough to control himself, Danse applied a little more pressure to her throat and paired it with a particularly hard set of thrusts. He revelled in her reaction; the lolling back of her head and a long sob of elation. He huffed out the jagged sound of her name and sank himself further into her.

With every thrust she pulled him, sinking deeper and deeper until he found himself almost fully seated inside of her. He pulled her forward by her neck, his strength more obvious than ever, and she arched her back and laid her head over his shoulder. Such a position allowed for a view of her back and rear where his second hand remained firmly, guiding the motion of her hips. His fingers pressed into the plush flesh creating perfect divots in the skin, filling his hand and springing upward with every thrust. 

She’d become a ragdoll in his grip, her body supported entirely by him and springing up and down at his will. The sensation was unmatched to any other; the weight of her body against him and the suction of her fluttering womanhood working his length in hard, quick strokes. Any fantasy paled in comparison to the real thing, and the paladin had to ease his pace to keep the coming of his orgasm at bay.

With her mouth beside his ear, he drank in her every sound and countered it with noises of his own, hearing her sharp and breathless moans fall into long and desperate whines as he began to slow and with it, his hand loosened around her neck with the intention of her pulling away. She didn’t.

Before she had any opportunity to encourage him, Danse pulled out entirely. The sound of their parting was lewd and filthy, a slick and fleeting withdrawal that was shortly followed by a groan of disapproval. But such a sound didn’t seem to deter the paladin. With her so malleable in his possession, he lifted her with ease and placed her down against the bed, withdrawing to stand.

With her expression still overcast in lust, she blinked up at him from the bed, a playful questioning across her face. Danse wordlessly tended to it, placing his hands against her hips and encouraging her to lie onto her front. She caught on quickly and gladly.

When she flipped over she arched her back, her legs supporting her against the floor as she doubled over the mattress. Danse cast his hands across her back, sliding into place on either side of her posterior before he noticed that her hands had found their way there too. She tilted her head, cheek pressed to the mattress and hair falling across her face. Behind her, she slipped a hand between her legs and pushed two fingers against the slit of her entrance, parting it and gliding her fingers tauntingly down.

Danse watched as though locked in a stupefied trance. She was teasing him, putting on a show for his viewing pleasure alone. If he had a morsel of self restraint left in him, perhaps he would have let her continue. 

But he was far beyond that. Closing the distance between them in an instant, Danse realigned himself against her, his hands firm against her hips as she took it upon herself to steady him into place. With a single push, he sunk himself into her again. 

She arched against him with more vigor than before, stretching out and threading her hands to her sides where her fingers clutched against the mattress. As he edged himself into her she yelped in bliss. He somehow felt bigger in their new position, every itch of his manhood penetrating her, gliding against her warm cushiony walls.

And from this angle, Danse could watch his length slowly submerge into her in its entirety. 

“You look so good,” he gently praised, leaning down to utter his adoration against the nape of her neck and as he drew back, he watched the downy hairs of her neck prickle and raise.

She mewled with delight, bracing her legs at their precarious angle as he began to move again, this time with maddening deliberacy. He covered the back of her, an eager hand working to grab a fistful of her soft hair and gently tugging back, craning her neck and lifting her head up from the mattress. He could hear her much better that way.

“F-... faster…” came her weak command, but Danse was in no great rush to obey.

No, he was going to take his time with her. He was going to wind her up tighter and tighter until she couldn’t take anymore. He was going to feel every soft, wet inch of her.

“I don’t think so,” he teased, voice a whisper and hips withdrawing achingly slowly. 

She fluttered and clenched around him, a sob of ecstasy the unmasked evidence of her enjoyment. Frustrated, she pushed back, swallowing him down to the hilt and earning her a sharp exhale from the man inside her. If she wanted to do the work, he would let her.

So Danse stilled himself entirely, tugging at her hair a little harder and letting his other hand rest atop her behind. Each complaint was expressed in a series of sweet pants and moans, but it didn’t seem to deter her from willingly pulling herself forward into the mattress before pushing back against him. After the first clumsy few attempts had passed, she began to rock eagerly back and forth, fucking herself with his length.

Danse had let her name spill from his lips as she all but slammed herself back against him, watching his cock disappear and reemerge at a pace far quicker than the one he had set. She laughed, breathy and sigh-like, and he could tell from the sound alone that she wore a satisfied smile.

A sharp slap cut through the room, followed by a punished cry. Danse watched the pink outline of his hand begin to take form across her rear as she steadied her pace to a trembling slow.

“Slowly.”

The word was uttered as a stern warning. It was cast in a tone that she recognised well, one used in the wake of command. One that she knew to heed without question, and perhaps that was why she quickly obeyed. Some things stayed the same, no matter the context. 

Against him she began to work herself at a measured pace, each slide of her body claiming far too many seconds in between. Impatience and desire matched poorly, and her nails dug painfully against the mattress as her body sung with drawn out desperation. Each time that she sunk him in entirely, her lower half would stiffen and tremble in her effort to maintain his wishes.

Behind her, Danse revelled in the sensation, practicing his own self restraint each time she would draw back and forth against him. Every inch revisited had him panting, every twitch and throb triggering a similar chain of reactions in himself. 

Danse released her hair, watching her head land softly against the mattress. She curled an arm up to bury her head into the crook of it, evidence of her frustration muffled and muted. Words tumbled from her, disjointed and nonsensical and altogether incomprehensible to the man behind her, but the sound alone had been enough to see his restraint finally slacken.

She had been held at the cusp of her orgasm at such a torturous pace, imprisoning her in a cycle of rise and fall, where the peak of her pleasure would begin to surface only to have it quite literally pulled from her. Just enough to keep her there, but never enough to let her spill over into ecstasy. Danse had been deliberate in this, his lacking experience making itself apparent in how quickly his own pleasure had threatened to peak.

He soon found himself eating his words. A few long strokes had been enough, holding her still as he reset the pace. A sigh fell from her lips, pleasured relief that saw the arch of her back deepen. 

“Pl-please… I’m close…” were the only identifiable words found in the string of sounds that escaped her.

The sound of her voice tangled itself amidst the rampant desire that had claimed Danse’s thoughts, soon becoming his highest priority. Each stroke was fast and deep and she clung and trembled around him, clenching harder and harder until he felt every pulse of her body. Her sounds no longer matched the rhythm of their lovemaking, falling out of line and emerging as one drawn out cry.

With it, Danse watched her fingers grip and clasp fruitlessly at whatever they could find: the mattress, the crumpled sheet, the hand holding her in place until she bit down against her arm and sang out in muted ecstasy.

As her orgasm rattled her, Danse halted his movement to not only soak in every gripping throb, but to prevent the premature arrival of his own. The sensation was blinding, incomparable to any pleasure he had felt before. Behind her, he basked in every sound and twitch, soaking in the complete gratification of being the one to pull such reactions from her. He wished to live in that moment, submerged in the heat of her elation and consumed by every cue of her body.

Her coiled tension had untangled itself all at once, seeing her frame fall limp and exhausted against the bed, every instance of movement channeling itself to her womanhood. Her cries of delight had tapered into breathless pants and quiet whimpers, head lolling against her arm where her teeth wrapped slackly.

The paladin held himself there until her twitching had begun to cease, and he leaned over her to cover the back of her frame. Inside her, he remained infuriatingly stiff, any movement threatening to spill him over the edge. He gently kissed just behind her ear, her hair soft and warm against his lips.

“Just a little more, Knight,” he assured before all at once, withdrawing from inside of her.

As they parted, her slick fluid slipped from her entrance and connected him to her, stretching thinly until he took a step back. Below him, she gasped a gentle whine, knees buckling and thighs trembling.

She turned without instruction, slow and shaky. Hair clung to her forehead and drool-slick cheek before it flopped back against the mattress. Across her face she wore a blissful smile, lips parted and eyes hazy as she traced the ceiling with an unfocused gaze. Her bearings would soon come back to her, Danse figured. Although he hoped that it wouldn't be with any immediacy, as he found himself enwrapped in watching her in such an all consuming state of bliss.

Steadily, she raised her head to catch his eye, a smile remaining across her face.

“So,” she began, still panting. “Are you going to cum in me now?” 

Her question was as casual as any other, a teasing tilt of her head accompanying it.

“In you?” Came his counter, brows raised. 

A soft laugh and a softer sigh. “Worth the risk.”

“It is not.”

“Pft, relax,” she attempted to reassure. “You’d have a better chance at getting pregnant than I would. The risk is naught.”

To emphasise, she lifted an unsteady hand and shaped out an ‘O’ shape before she let her arm fall back to her side. Her expression remained lighthearted, soft. Trustworthy.

It made sense, Danse supposed. With such high levels of radiation it truly was a miracle that any pregnancies occurred at all, and those were reserved for the more careful and health conscious. There had been many occasions in which he’d watched her refuse proper preventative measures such as Rad-X and protective gear. This, he assumed, was probably the result of it. She was honest and he trusted that.

Danse decided that such a conversation required no further dwelling, at least not in that present moment. He placed it on the backburner of his thoughts, a conversation to be had at a later date. And as soon as his concern had passed, Danse allowed himself to fully appreciate the offer. 

Finishing inside of her. Truly, he believed that nothing else could even begin to compare. So, he set out to do just that.

He was on her in an instant, returning to the bed to place himself between her legs just as they had done earlier in the night, with her delicately laid out below him except now, wrecked by the passing of her second orgasm. She looked perfect, her body a map of his accomplishments, each droplet of sweat evidence of his conquering. This way, he got to soak in her appearance in its full glory.

Danse leaned over her and her arms climbed up to wrap around his back, a glowing and euphoric smile pulling at her lips as she captured his half-lidded stare. He leaned down, connecting his lips to hers again.

They kissed with mismatched ferocity, her tired and beaming lips placing achingly gentle kisses against him as he drank them in with burning and desperate desire. There had been no release for the paladin, and she seemed to bask in the glory of his ravenous hunger as she happily soaked in each kiss, bite and groan that he placed against her. His hands found her legs where they finally returned to the backs of her thighs, and with a single sharp tug he drew her legs up and open, lips never leaving her skin. 

She gasped at the haste of his movement, but Danse soon claimed the sound with his mouth. He’d given her what she wanted, and now it was his turn. 

Below him, she lay in ecstatic submission, lax in his grip and whining softly at his rough handling. She had yearned for this; for her paladin to claim her with righteous passion, for his lust to spill into utmost command. If she had it her way, she would lay down willingly and let him fuck her until neither knew anything but the taste of the other’s desire, until they were blind to anything else. 

Danse pulled away but only to bark a sharp command at the knight below him.

“Put it in.”

There had been no doubt regarding its meaning, no questions asked and no trace of wonder. Her actions were immediate as she slipped a hand down to Danse’s front, reaching between his legs to claim his cock and line the head against her puffy and slick entrance. Both sighed as they reconnected, and Danse didn’t let a moment waste. All at once, he bucked his hips forward and parted her entrance with the swollen tip of his cock, sinking into her until their hips once again met. 

She yelped out softly, a sweet and strained sound in response to Danse’s haste. He sheathed himself inside of her and drew out just as quickly, his gripping hands hard against the soft plush skin of her thighs as he began to adopt a pace that matched the fierceness of his lust. 

Danse pulled back from the kiss to loom over her, dark eyes bearing down to watch every twitch of her brows, every parting of her lips, every grimace lost to pleasure. Mercy was absent, long lost to the gripping heat of her snug sex that sucked him in with every snap of his hips, tempting his release nearer and nearer. He grunted and panted, teeth gritted and eyes darting from her face to her bouncing breasts then back to her face again. Harder still, he pushed down to cease her squirming.

With her one hand still across his back, the other came to steady herself against him by clutching onto a thick wrist. Every inch of him stole every inch of her, stretching her wide, his pounding hips slapping against her in painful pleasure. Both sang out a symphony of delighted sounds, hers brisk and sharp and his deep and primal. Each time she dared to squirm or slow them, Danse huffed and held her firmly down.

Just as she had hoped. His unyielding pace served as thrilling confirmation of her success. Glistening eyes pointed upward to meet those that pointed down and as they connected, a mischievous smirk cast across her expression.

“Th-...that all you got?” She taunted, the words practically knocked out of her.

Danse’s eyes narrowed before the ghost of a smile began to take shape across his own expression. The unpersuadable grip of his hands tightened still and anchored her firmly against him, fixing her into place before he craned his head down to meet the crook of her neck. With their proximity so close, the paladin found that he could only draw his hips back by a few meagre inches.

He bit down against her neck, soft jawed and delicate, just enough to feel the thumping pulse between his teeth. Quiet grunts of his exertion became muffled against her, increasing with the thrusting of his hips and rattling any playful remarks from her quivering body. 

The pacing had been unforgiving before, but it paled in comparison to the merciless pounding that the paladin drove into her in the wake of her words. Every slap and whine and moan pried him closer to his release, pleasure swarming each sense and clouding every thought. She had become all that he knew, all that he cared to know, all that he needed. The solitary keeper of his being, the instructress of his mind; filthy and pure and infuriating and blissful all at once. There had become no such thing as knight nor paladin, no duty or shame. Just man and woman, primal and complete, the frivolous concerns of domestic man evaporating in the heat of what made them truly human at the core of their being. Never before had he thought that his undoing would be the very thing to make him feel so entirely complete. And yet, never once did he doubt that it would be performed by her hand.

As his orgasm approached he bit down harder, just enough to make her softly squeak and rake her nails against his skin. Ecstasy surged through his body, collecting at his middle and coiling up like a spring ready to release. It wound tighter and tighter until eventually it couldn’t help but spill, overwhelmed in delight as he dedicated every twitch, buck, sound and breath to her.

“I’m… Can I…?” 

That was all that he could manage, tumbling from between his teeth against her neck like a desperate prayer. She answered with immediate permission taking the form of a long and starved whimper. 

She clung to him fiercely in all the ways that she could. With soft hands holding tightly, she tensed her core and squeezed down against his cock, sucking it inward and gripping him firmly inside of her. He thrust once and then twice, then halted still as his orgasm quaked through him.

He throbbed and spilled inside of her, hot seed coating her walls. Every inch of him was submerged, hips locked and skin connected. Against her neck he panted and huffed, his ears ringing, unsure if his eyes were shut or if they had swarmed with darkness in the vicious coming of his release. Wonderfully thoughtless in an all consuming delirium.

She heaved softly, chest pressing to his, soaking in his orgasm as much as him. Her hand released his wrist to climb up his pulsing body to cradle his head, the other still softly wrapped around his back. Their breathing had fallen perfectly out of sync and as she breathed out, he breathed in to fill the space between them. Each jerk and quiver of his body thrummed into hers. Not a single instance of his orgasm escaped her; filled with him, consumed by him.

Their bodies slotted together without flaw, and as his breathing began to steady itself to a more regular rhythm, she felt the weight of him press down against her. He was heavy, clammy skin gluing them to one another as they lay recovering for a moment in bated silence. 

The steady raking of her hand through his hair pried a low grumble from the man above her, and she countered softly with a gentle laugh. Trembling, he attempted to lift himself just slightly, but the firm wrapping of her arms pulled him back down to rest.

“That was good,” she chimed, her voice small and not yet able to express the depth in her words. ‘Good’ was quite the understatement.

His response wasn’t immediate, and any words gave way to a long and satisfied sigh. The clouding of his orgasm had not yet subsided, but he peeled his eyes open and unlatched his mouth from her gently. A perfect indent of his teeth drew a ring around where he released her and he frowned slightly. That wasn’t supposed to happen.

Shakily, he let her legs drop and gently pressed a finger against the mark.

“Sorry,” he muttered, unsure if it was sincere. 

In response, she huffed a quick laugh. “You don’t hear me complaining.”

Silence fell over them anew, comfortable and complete, soaking into the walls of the room and bringing with it a humbling reminder of their location. The Prydwen, not exactly the most soundproof vessel on earth, but certainly among the busiest. Wordlessly, he prayed that the late hour had prevented too many prying ears from hearing. 

Danse inhaled sharply before pushing himself up, slow and trembling and as he did, he felt himself slip out from inside of her. The sound was wet and slick and the cold air quickly mobbed his depleting manhood and immediately he wished to plunge it back inside.

Between her legs, she felt the warm ooze of cum slide out of her, drooling down to the mattress below. The ache of his absence was immediate and she soon found herself impatiently wishing for its return. There was always the morning. 

With a heavy thump, Danse planted himself to lay beside her on the bed, his nearest arm reaching across to lay softly over her. She raised a hand to meet it, delicately drawing her fingers up and down his forearm. 

They sighed, so strangely in sync that it pulled an amused sound from them both. 

“That was good,” he echoed, an understatement all the same.

As his eyes met the ceiling, the paladin couldn't help but revive the former workings of his thoughts, before she had entered his quarters and abruptly interrupted. Before, well, all this. 

He turned his head to face her, struggling to maintain his train of thought when their eyes met. 

“May I ask you something?”

A thoughtful pinch of her brow appeared in response. She cocked her head slightly. “Sure.”

“Earlier when we were out on patrol, you touched my hand. Had that been intentional?”

The crease in her brow remained and she blinked blankly at him. 

“When was this?”

Danse smiled. “Nevermind.”