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It was late, and you’ve just gotten home after a night out with a few of your work friends, the alcohol running dull in your bloodstream. You fiddled with your keys, leaning your shoulder against the front door, “c’mon..” your mumble slurred against the back of your throat, pressing your forehead against the cold wood as you finally were able to push the key into the lock.

Turning your key, you got into your apartment, clumsily pulling off your shoes as you threw your keys onto the entry table, head buzzing lightly as you slowly made your way to the kitchen for some water. As you went to open the freezer for some ice, you noticed your dishes had been done, odd, you thought, having remembered that you had rushed out the door that day to catch the bus. Then it hit you and a cold shiver ran through your spine, your mind sobering up real quick as you turned to grab your phone, dialing 911, your thumb hovering over the call button when you saw him standing in the shadows.

Poindexter, he was supposed to be locked up! but here he was, somehow having broken into your apartment. How long had he been there? no, how long had he been watching you. You knew that he knew exactly how to find you, how to figure out your new address and schedule, he’s stalked you before, so it was nothing new, he had followed you for years, pushed his way into your life in minor ways that you wouldn’t notice at first, scaring off potential partners or friends if they got too close or did something he thought was wrong, but now, you had no idea how his mindsets changed since then, was he angry? maybe he wanted you dead, or maybe he wanted you back, well, as if he’s ever really had you in the first place.

He thought you were his back then, that's what he told himself and you, telling you all kinds of incoherent things, how you were meant to be, that you were his light, but you couldn’t believe any of it. He’s unwell, mentally unstable, he could believe anything and it wouldn’t matter because it wasn’t real, that’s what the authorities had told you when they had you testify against him and put him behind bars, it all just made you sad and confused, you hadn’t done anything and yet this man had gotten this sick fixation on you, thinking of you as his, and his to protect, no matter how horrific.

Before he could even try and open his mouth, you had rushed towards the exit; trying to get as far away from him as possible, but he was quicker and blocked your way, startling you, your eyes darted around for an escape that didn’t exist, taking a shaky breath, what would calling the cops help? it’d be too late by the time they got here.

Heart racing, you slowly moved back, petrified with the idea of what’s coming next, you threw your phone at him to try and distract him, but it was no use as he just caught it, quickly saying your name in an attempt to calm you. Your shoulder bumped into a bookshelf, mind just racing looking for a way out, you quickly grabbed a pointy glass figurine off the shelf, hesitantly winding up to throw it at him, “wait-wait wait!” he pleaded as he called your name again, hands outstretched as if he was approaching a wounded animal, “i’m not here to hurt you, i promise.”

He pulled out his gun and threw it aside, completely disarming himself, “see? i promise” he whispered, remaining calm as he kept eye contact, “i would never hurt you.” Your arm hung tightly in the air, faltering a bit when you saw the look in his eyes, this can’t be real. There was no jest in him, just something so soft, almost mushy, “you don’t know that” a whisper spilled from your lips, like it was your unconscious speaking to yourself. Alarm bells screaming in your mind when you caught a small twitch in his hand, and you threw the glass figure in his direction just as you ran to flee out the fire escape, Dex blocked the figure with his arm, shattering it, nicking his cheek as the shards scattered onto the floor, he darted toward you, throwing whatever he could get his hands on at the windows handle, shutting it before you could get to it. Startled, you flinch trying to force up the window to no avail, the hairs on the back of your neck tensed up when you felt him growing closer, you ducked down before he could grab ahold of you, eyes finding the stray weapon on the carpet and rushed to it, taking the gun off the floor as you stood up pointing it straight at his forehead, hand fighting against its own trembles as you held your breath, the two of you just stood there silently for a moment, when he opened his mouth, “Pull it.”

You flinched, a sharp breath ripping past your lips, “what?” complete disbelief in your voice, your eyes darted all over his face searching for any sign that he’s bluffing or whatever else, your ears really just couldn’t believe what they’ve heard, is he trying to trick you in some way? why would he be so okay with having a gun in his face, and worse to egg on the person holding it?

A smile eased onto his lips as his eyes stay fixed on yours, a soft chuckle slips from his chest, “Pull. It.” his voice as smooth as honey, “would that make you feel better..?” he tilts his head, “then do it” he leaned into the barrel, “i only want you to be happy y’know…”

He can’t be real right now, there’s no way. “you’re sick” you breathe out, stepping back, “i know” his hand slowly moved up to yours, steadying your hold, looking at you with almost… pity in his eyes, it made your gut twist, he knows, oh he fucking knows, you could never pull that trigger even if you wanted, he knows that you only wanted to scare him, but you could never scare him off, even if you choked him, hit him, stabbed him, or shot him, he’d still come back, staying in the shadows waiting for you to open your arms for him.

You stood there, just staring at him dumbfounded for what felt like hours when your mind wandered. “Did you really mean it..?” your question getting out before you could even think it through “what you said back then..”, his eyes lit up as he nodded his head, “every word” the words came out like a prayer, begging you to finally believe him and see his truth, “i’d never say anything to you that i didn’t mean” his eyes searched yours for any resemblance of belief, cause that’s what he needed to finally breathe again, for you to open your eyes to his devotion and see it to be nothing but the truth.

And he saw it, letting out a breath like a shiver, the tension in your shoulders let up a bit, shakily the barrel lowered as he moved closer, every movement hesitant, like he had to make sure that you were okay with it before he did anything. His fingers slid up your arms, “i just want..“ he spoke so softly, but the words left him, struggling to come up with the correct word for what he truly felt, “…to be with you, to be in your life.. it’s all i want, just you” his words dripped with desperation, need, like a need for air, his forehead met yours, he held you by your shoulders almost shaking, eyes wet looking into your soul, yearning.

Your heart pounded in your chest as your grip on the gun loosened, “mhm..?” you hummed, he shut his eyes, nodding his head as he cradled your face, “please..” he breathed, his nose brushing against yours as his thumb graced over your bottom lip, “please” he repeated, whispering your name he leaned in closer, feeling your eyelashes flutter as he finally took your breath away, kissing you.

He was so careful, leaning into you, his hand caressing your jaw while the other moved to your side, brushing soothingly down your arm, your brows knit together, eyes tightly shut as you felt this fingertips brush against your wrist and the gun slipped from your fingers onto the floor, and you kissed him back.

Everything moved so fast from there, the desperation in the air choked you as you leaned into every touch, letting him lead you to the couch. His hands kept shaking whilst they went up your torso, his tongue lapping against your teeth as he let out a quiet groan, weighing you down, your back pressed against the couch cushions, “you are my reason to keep living” he mumbled, his brows curving up against the other, tangling his tongue with yours, pulling out soft sounds from your throat, “you’re my oxygen” he breathed into the kiss, pulling your waist up to his, arching your back.

His fingers slid up your spine, lifting your body up to his, chests touching as your shoulders leaned into the pillows below, the kiss deepening by every gasp. Being so strong, he held you up to him like it was nothing, but that might’ve been the adrenaline pumping in his bloodstream in the moment, manhandling you, just wanting you as close as possible when you let out a sound of discomfort, immediately he adjusted his behavior letting your back relax on the couch again, hands back on your hips; grounding himself.

Incoherent groans spewed from his mouth into yours, lips crashing into each other needily as you got lost in him, your fingers tangled with his dirty blonde hair, tugging at it giving him a pleasant sting. Overwhelmed with it all, a rough whine shot out of him, gasping against your lips as he came in his pants.

Embarrassment overcame him at the realization of what had happened as he hid his face in your chest, panting softly, a quiet whimper came from his lips, “sorrysorry sorry..” he mumbled into your clothed chest “i couldn’t— couldn’t hold back” he gasped, feeling your hand run through his hair softly, tears in his eyes as he looked up at you. You wiped your thumb over his wet cheeks, he was so pathetic it almost hurt your heart, just watching the flowing of emotions in his eyes as you laid there with him on top of you, the scene felt almost nonsensical. You quietly comforting the man you were terrified of just moments ago, a man who was big and intimidating, someone who’s killed dozens with just his hands, here now having made a mess of his pants from just kissing you, having fallen apart from a simple tug of his hair.

“god— you’re pathetic” you whispered in disbelief, your brows relaxing then tensing in a second, a tear spilled over Poindexter’s waterline as he leaned into your palm, nodding his head, his breaths faltering “i am, i am..” he closed his eyes, face twisting not in pain, but something deeper as he let out a small sob, burying his face into the nook of your neck, wrapping his arms around you, “i just want to be yours” he whimpered, “i don’t care how”, he placed kisses down your neck, caressing your side.

You stared up at the ceiling, taking in the quiet air, intruded by the stray sniffing here and there, it was achingly calm when you took a breath, collecting yourself; before you looked back down to him, “Ben— i..” you sigh, “i don’t even know what to call you” you mumble to yourself, sounding so confused with everything right now, you heard his sniffles as he pulled his head up, his chin resting on your chest, “Dex, you can call me Dex” he whispered still a little shaken, “Dex..” you said his name so softly, it sent an euphoric shiver up his spine, letting out a pleasant groan as he pressed his cheek against your chest, your fingers kept playing with his hair as you glanced away for a second, “i.. i really don’t know what to say, everything about this.. it’s just so confusing, i don’t even know how i feel about it all” you start, “it’s like— like my mind and body is at opposite ends, and my heart is all over the place” he saw the conflict in your eyes, “it’s okay..” he whispered, taking your hand in his, kissing your knuckles as your lip trembled, “you don’t have to say anything, i’ll be here” he soothed, tears drying by the corner of his eyes, “i’ll wait for you, doesn’t matter how long” his words made your heart ache, “you will?” you ask, his eyes longed into yours, “mhm” he nodded so honestly, and you don’t know why but that response gave you such relief.

“Okay” you swallowed as you sat up with him, kissing his cheek, your legs laid over his lap, “yeah?” surprise clear in his voice, you leaned your head against his “yeah” you breathed out, your temple to his pulse when you curled up in his arms, cuddling close, feeling his heartbeat “promise this is real” you asked so quietly and his heart skipped a beat, “it’s real” he spoke and you knew it to be

When it came to having a man in your apartment, you probably envisioned a polite knock on the door, a perfectly aged bottle of wine, and a tour that probably ended at your bedroom. Some artistic type or a man of means who traveled. No boring lawyers or stuffy businessmen. Dex imagined you preferred someone who could keep up with your particular lifestyle and tastes. Someone interesting. Exciting. What you probably weren't expecting was a beat to shit masked vigilante breaking into your bedroom window and knocking over a vase of burning red tulips.

And yet...

Dex landed on the ground with a heavy thud, followed by the water from the vase and flowers that sat on a small table by the window he just broke open. The space was dark with only the light from the hallway illuminating the room. He heard the footsteps near the room and managed to rip his mask off moments before you came into view. You flipped open the bedroom light switch, turned on the tall lamp in the corner of the room above his head. You wore a silky robe and not much else that Dex could see, which was a far cry from him in his Bullseye outfit currently bleeding on your nice hardwood floor.

"You look nice," he huffed out, breath short, "Really nice."

"I'd return the compliment," you replied, "But it'd be a lie. You look awful right now, which is really saying something, because typically you look great. At least in that way stupidly handsome guys naturally look--"

"Focus."

"You try to focus when someone breaks into your place in the middle of the night and starts knocking things around," you said, a small sigh in your voice as you moved towards him, "I swear I had a dream start exactly like this once..."

You moved to his side and helped him onto his feet. He was careful as you deposited him at the end of your bed. It was then that you got a good look at the damage. There were numerous lacerations on his body. His gloved hands were stained with dried blood. His tactical gear slashed at his chest, arms, and legs. You delicately peer at the cuts, fingers peeled back the torn fabric to inspect.

"They look shallow," you told him. Your hands moved from his leg to his chest, from his chest to his face. "You're a mess and definitely lost more blood than I'd like, but you'll live."

Dex laid on his back at the end of your bed, long legs hung over the side. His scarred face was covered in sweat and grime as he stared up at your ceiling. You left him there for a moment, moved out of the room and out of sight. When you returned, Dex saw a towel in your hand. Instead of moving to his side, Dex watched you move towards the vase by the window.

"Are you--"

"Cleaning the mess you made of my floor?" you interjected, tossing the towel onto the wet spot, "Absolutely."

Dex began to sit up as you collected the fallen flowers, lips parting to reply back to you. However, all that came was a sharp pain and a grunt of frustration. You set the flowers back into the vase before you moved back to Dex's side. Towel on the ground forgotten, you moved to kneel on the bed beside him as he laid back down. Soft fingers reached out to ghost over his hip before it came to rest against the side of his face.

"You took a hard hit around rib seven or eight on your left side," you continued, "No fractures, but it's pretty bruised. So it'll suck to breathe or laugh or basically do any of those fun moving things for a couple weeks. Knowing you, you probably won't put yourself on bed rest. You hero types never do."

A slow smile spread across Dex's lips. Despite the pain, he still preened at being called a hero. He reached out and set a gloved hand against your hip, silently curing not being able to feel the silk of your robe on his fingertips.

"Were you a fake nurse once?" he laughed. The humor cost him as he felt the sting of pain as a result. "That how you know?"

"Yes," you immediately replied, before quickly adding, "Well, yes and no. Yes, I was a fake nurse once, but no that's not how I know. I can see how you got to that conclusion though. I've had a lot of fake jobs. I'm honestly living my best Barbie dream life. Only without the weird body standards that were placed--"

"I'm bleedin' out here, sweetheart."

"Shallow cuts at best. Don't be so dramatic."

You slipped from reach before Dex could take hold of your robe and moved to stand at the end of the bed. Your knee nudged his, waited for his legs to part before you stepped between them. You held your hands out for him to grasp, fingers wiggling impatiently until he took hold of them. Dex bit down the small wave of pain that came with moving, a low grunt escaping his lips as he painfully got onto his feet. He liked how you hovered and made sure he was steady before you escorted him to the bathroom down the hall.

Your bathroom, like you whole place, was slashed with color. Organized in a way Dex appreciated, but not without your touch left behind. Luxurious looking towels hung neatly, fresh flowers in the corner of the bathroom counter, and some sort of fancy decorative soap bowl. More importantly, it smelled like you. Some soft, sweet scent that Dex felt was familiar somehow. His eyes moved over the tiny bottles that were neatly arranged on the large bathroom counter, wondered which one of them held the scent.

"Take your clothes off."

Four words sent a jolt through his body. Pain be damned, he surged forward. His body crowded your space until you were backed up against the bathroom counter. It had been less than a week since you both returned to DC. Less than a week since the kiss. Neither of you mentioned it. Did you need to? Did you want him to? Fuck if Dex knew. He never did... whatever he was doing with anyone before. You had told him to take off his clothes though. Surely that meant you wouldn't mind if he--

"Easy there, handsome," you said, hand pressed to his chest before he could follow through on his thoughts, "Clothes off for injury maintenance. Not that I don't absolutely adore where that mind of your is. Don't get me wrong. Big fan of that particularly horny idea, but I try not to engage on flirtations with half-dead guys."

"Shallow cuts at best," he repeated your words from earlier, "Don't be dramatic."

He looked down at you with half-lidded eyes, a slow-growing smirk on his lips. You had to admit that it was a good look, even if he was bleeding from several places. He took the pause on your end as an invitation to try and claim your lips once more, huffing in a mix of disappointment and pain when you turned your head at the last second.

"Keep this up and it'll be me telling you to focus," you said, "We can't have that, babe. If you're not sailing the ship and I'm not flying the plane, then who is keeping the car straight on the road?"

"That makes no sense."

"See?" you smiled, "Total chaos already."

You duck under Dex's arm as you move out from between him and the bathroom counter. He watched as you stepped out of the bathroom, eyes following you as you moved back towards your bedroom.

"There should be some water resistant bandages and gauze under the sink," you call out to him from your room, "We'll patch you up and get you clean. Use warm water and a little soap to clean the wounds, but after that you can't get the wounds wet for at least forty-eight hours."

Dex began to disarm his tactical suit. His gun and holster, the many knives he had armed himself with. They all were placed neatly on the bathroom counter before Dex reached into the cabinet beneath the sink to grab the first-aid kit. He moved slower than usual, minding the pain that was shooting through his body with every movement. He set the kit onto the counter beside his weapons before he began to work on his clothes. He glanced in the direction of your room, as he reached down to unlace his boots.

"You still need to explain how you know this stuff," he called out to you, as he kicked off his shoes.

"And you still need to explain why you're bleeding in my bathroom," he heard you reply, "We can get to all of that after we take care of you."

You stepped into the hallway once more. The robe you wore was discarded and a loose pair of sweatpants and a tank top took its place. Your once bare feet had been shoved into a fuzzy pair of slippers. You moved towards the bathroom, leaned against the door frame once you neared. Dex watched as you eyed him for a moment, arms crossing over your chest.

"I think the guy down the hall has a similar build as you," you noted, gaze slowly moving from his feet to face, "Give or take a few inches."

"What's the plan here, sweetheart?"

"The plan is for you to continue taking your suit off and get cleaned up," you replied, hand digging into the pocket of your sweats. Dex watched as you pulled a small leather pouch out from your pocket. The glint of metal peeked out from the pouch. "I'm going to do a little shopping at the five-finger discount store."

Lock picks.

Dex looked from the object in your hands to you. More specifically, your eyes. They were lit with excitement. Pure, unfiltered elation at the mere thought of enacting your skills -- to commit a crime -- for him. The thought brought a slow smile to Dex's lips. He watched as you turned on your heels and moved towards the living room and out of sight. His smile remained as he worked to strip off his tactical clothes, tossing them into a pile on the bathroom floor.

Was this the unyielding loyalty that came with being a good guy? It must be. He wondered how often Matt had stumbled and bled only for Karen to break his fall. Did Murdock feel the same swell of pride that Dex felt in that moment? Daredevil had been a hero much longer. Surely he had gotten used to the feeling of support. Dex was still new to this hero business though. Still new to having someone like you, who was willing to perform some light breaking and entering for him. A crime, but one in service of the good guys, which made the act virtuous in his eyes. The scales remained balanced once more.

Dex tried his best to tend to the wounds. He worked in silence, tossed his gloves onto the same pile of dirty and blood-stained clothes on the floor. He used the fancy soap to wash his hands before he cleaned out the wounds with warm water and soap, made sure the bleeding had stopped before he applied the water resistant bandage. His leg and both arms were taken care of, only just starting on the cut at his chest when he heard you return.

"I hate bachelor pads," you announced, the sound of the lock pick case being tossed onto an end table filling the air. Dex watched as you came into view, pile of clothes tucked under your arm. "Just no personality. They always lack that little something extra, you know? Not an ounce of pizzazz! Bare walls, barely any furniture, no food in the fridge--"

"You looked in his fridge?"

"Of course I looked," you replied, as if it was the most natural thing in the world, "You can tell a lot about a man by how he keeps his kitchen. Anyway, he might skimp on general apartment aesthetics and basic food necessities, but he does keep a decent wardrobe. Got you some fun options."

You dropped the small pile of folded clothes atop his gun and knives. Having just finished cleaning the cut on his chest, Dex stood still as you turned to look over his work. You winced at the sight of the cut on his chest, moving to close the distance that was between you both.

"So... you gonna tell me what happened?" you asked, lightly checking to make sure the wound stopped bleeding. "Or am I going with the first idea that came to mind?"

"Which was...?"

"Army of cats. Obviously."

"Less exciting. Mr. Charles asked me to take out a target."

"And I wasn't looped in because...?"

"Seemed like a quick hit," Dex mused, blankly, "Didn't expect the guy to have guards armed with swords. Target was eliminated. Just took longer than expected."

"If only you had someone who could have made sure you weren't walking into danger or something," you pointed out, as you picked up the last bandage and applied it to the cut on his chest. "Someone who could handle that pesky intelligence gathering before you go in knives blazing. I wonder who could have--"

"I have killed before you," he pointed out, tried to ignore the way his pulse picked up at the feeling of your fingers at his chest. "Successfully."

"Which is super cool and all, but you're not alone now, are you?" you asked him, hands dropping to your hips as you looked up at him. "You got me now. That's kinda the deal. I'm supposed to help you."

"You're helping me now."

You rolled your eyes at the low, husky tone he spoke in. However, Dex caught the flicker of a grin on your lips before you spoke again.

"Hit the showers, hot shot. You'll feel better after."

You kissed him so quickly that you were halfway down the hall before he could register the act. It felt so casual. Easy, which was the exact opposite of what Dex felt in that moment. He closed the bathroom door, took a moment to gather himself before getting to work. His socks and underwear were tossed onto the pile of clothes on the floor beside his boots. He aimed to perform a standard military shower. Wet, lather, scrub, and rinse. Two minutes. Get the grime off, get the clean clothes on. That was the plan. So naturally the plan went out the window within the first five seconds.

The shower itself was massive, with the essentials lined neatly on the recessed shelves and a rainfall shower head on the ceiling. Like seemingly every room of your place, you had included some sort of plant life. Not flowers this time around, but some sort of bundle of herbs. A pop of color against the cool marble. It smelled minty and light. Probably calming for you. Absolutely overwhelming for him. Dex had never thought a shower could seem both intimate and intimidating at the same time, but fuck this one was. It was a far cry from the standard shower heads and cramped bathtubs he was used to back in New York. It shouldn't have surprised him that you would find a way to make a DC apartment luxurious.

He spends longer than intended under the spray of the shower head. It was partly because of the act of showering itself -- the smell of the herbs, the softness of the shampoo and soaps you owned -- but mostly it was because Dex wasn't sure what the directive was after the shower. Get dressed? Obviously. Leave? He wasn't sure. Dex had quite literally dropped in, completely unannounced. You helped him. There was really no other reason to linger any longer than he should.

Unless...

"Fuck," Dex cursed under his breath.

He killed the spray of the shower before he did something stupid. Like use up all your hot water or jerk off in your bathroom when you were just down the hall. Dex was not that guy. He wasn't reckless. There was always intention whenever he acted. There was restraint. At least there tried to be. He grabbed a towel, tried to shake off the jittery feeling that formed in the pit of his stomach as he dried off. The pair of sweats you had stolen were perfect when he put them on, if not a little looser than he'd usually wear them. He tidied the bathroom. The first aid kit made it's way back into the cabinet under the sink. He collected the pile from the floor and used a towel to wipe down any surface that he may have tracked blood or dirt. He didn't want to leave the mess. Didn't want to disturb you space. Once done, he carried the dirty towel and clothes with him as he found the in-unit washer and dryer just off from the bathroom, right before your room. He tossed the clothes into the wash, if only so he didn't leave it for you to pick up after him. Only then did he return to the bathroom to put on one of the handful of shirts you had pilfered.

He stared at his options.

Stared again.

A cartoon photo of a dog with the words 'PUGS NOT DRUGS'. A pickle wearing sunglasses and the words 'DILL WITH IT'. The words 'MOISTER THAN AN OYSTER' under a lazily drawn sketch of an oyster. Each shirt somehow worse than the other. Dex fisted the fabrics in his hand as he marched straight for your room.

You were waiting for him.

Sat in the middle of your bed, legs crisscrossed. Smug little smile on your lips. The picture of humor on your face. You were still wearing the tank top from earlier, but you had ditched the sweats, leaving you in a simple pair of panties that hugged your hips. Dex was not going to allow space for that particular distraction in his mind. Something told him your state of undress was strategic, especially considering the offending tees in his hands.

"Your selection of t-shirt options were... a choice," Dex finally said, carefully winding each shirt into a tight ball. "Did you rob an overgrown child?"

"I went with the shirts Mr. Two Doors Down would miss the least," you replied, eyes warily on the slowly forming ammunition in his hands, "In my defense... Well, actually, I have none."

"It's been a long night," he told you, slowly stepping along the side of the bed.

"You now have something to keep you warm."

He bounced the first shirt off your forehead. He reigned in the strength, kept it light, but accurate enough to make his point. Judging by the look of shock on your face, the point came across perfectly.

"Try again, sweetheart."

The command only made you bolder.

"What?" you asked him, the arch of your brow raising in challenge, "You got something against hilariously punny graphic tees?"

Another shirt was tossed. Another forehead hit. You don't even bother hiding your laughter at this point.

"It's like you enjoy getting under my skin."

"So much," you confirmed, all sweet smiles and temptation, "If you get under mine, I promise it'll feel just as good."

Dex felt his breath cut short at the words and the velvety smooth way you delivered them. His fingers flexed against the last shirt in his hands. Sweat formed at the crown of his head. Was he breathing normally? Probably not, if he were judging from the look you now gave him. A slow creeping realization, curious and mortifying all the same.

"Dex," you carefully prodded, "Did I say something wrong?"

Yes. No. Shit. His immediate lack of response had you shifting from where you sat, edging closer to the end of the bed.

"You're fine," he insisted.

"You just look--"

"I'm fine."

"Are you sure?" you checked again, as your eyes moved over him. Head to toe, then back to his face. "Your body's temperature kicked up, same as your heart rate. I think I freaked you out."

Fuck. How did you know?

"Have you never--"

"I have," Dex stopped you, "A couple times. I'm not a... I have."

He left out the fact it had happened in between tours when he was in the military nearly twenty years ago. There would be no mentions of how it had been one night stands with women whose faces he doesn't remember. No confessing that it had been awkward, more than a little uncomfortable, and not at all enjoyable. He had resorted to handling business on his own since then. It was simple, scientific even. When his body had a need, he took care of it. Like basic car maintenance. Keep the parts in good condition before things became a problem. It never occurred to him that handling things on his own might throw a wrench in things later down the line.

Dex watched as you sat up on your knees, hand outstretched. Fingers impatient. The familiar waggle of manicured nails as you waited for him. He slowly made his way to the side of the bed. The t-shirt in his hand was dropped into yours before he climbed onto the bed beside you.

"I want to make sure we're on the same page," you said, tossing the shirt onto the nightstand beside the bed, "And that intentions are clear, because we work together and we're professionals. Also friends... and now I guess we're people who kiss. There's nothing to be ashamed or nervous about."

"I'm not ashamed."

"But you are nervous," you pointed out, "And that means it's on me -- as your super awesome partner in not crime, but government approved activities -- to make you feel safe. So..."

You rolled off the side of the bed and padded into your walk-in closet. Dex watched as you seemed to dig deep into the space before you emerged with a small metal case. You returned to the bed. Your bare leg pressed against his sweats as you sat beside him. You set the box in front of Dex and left him to figure out the rest. He popped open the lid, lifting it up and away to reveal countless passports and photos. Picking up passport after passport, Dex looked at them closely. Different names, addresses, birthdays, and hair color. Yet each woman in the photo was still you. The passports themselves were different as well. Endless colors and passport types. Regular, diplomatic, service... It didn't matter the type. Dex had been aware of what you did. It hadn't been until he saw the sheer volume of passports that he realized just how many people you had embodied in your career.

"Delaney Monroe?" he read the name off one of the passports.

"That's Detective Delaney Monroe," you smiled, "NYPD. A bit of a hard-ass, but she got me out of a few pickles."

"Alina Sokolova?"

"Financier. Bratva. So professional, so fabulous. Winters in Russia were too cold for my liking though. Plus I'm a tequila girl at heart, not a vodka lady."

"Francesca Lucia Russo?"

"She was a contessa," you dreamily said, before a heavy sigh followed, "I had to burn that alias mid-job though. Couldn't use the ID."

"Why?"

"Ran into a private military firm about ten years back. Anvil. Some other Russo got the drop on me."

"How'd it end?"

"A sweaty mess," you replied, with a shrug of your shoulder, "I slept with him. Just once -- or, well, a few times over the course of a night. He was fun in the dangerous way, but there was a look in his eyes that I didn't trust. Like if I stayed long enough he'd find a way to steal everything of value and destroy my life. I disappeared after. Left this particular ID sitting in the bottom of the pile. I didn't like the idea of using it again and potentially getting back on his radar."

Dex tucked the contessa back at the bottom of the passport pile, placing the other passports back in the case.

"Is that what you like?" Dex found himself asking, as he closed the lid over the metal case, "Dangerous?"

You looked at him then, found that his eyes had already been watching you. He tried to keep his heart rate even, hoped his words came out more curious than desperate. If he failed, you showed mercy and didn't mention it. Instead, you reached over to take the case into your own hands.

"I like a lot of things," you replied, as you moved to return the case back to the closet, "I like dangerous. The thrill of high risk, high reward. Getting lost in it. You don't steal from people for a living and not have a bit of a danger kink. It's fun and exciting and more than a little hot, which are three things I enjoy in life."

Dex watched as you came back into view, moving out of the room to turn off the lights in the hallway and rest of the apartment outside of the bedroom.

"But I also like soft things too," your voice carried into the room, "It's the romantic in me. I can't help it. I like the butterflies and the warm feelings. It's a different kind of thrill. More dependable, to a degree, but just as compelling. There's a beauty in soft intimacy that I don't think you feel when you're riding that risky kind of high."

When you returned to the room, you didn't return to sit beside him on the bed. You leaned against the frame of your door, watched him for a beat before speaking again.

"But, most importantly, I like feeling safe," you confessed, "Because being able to trust another person with my body grants me the opportunity to be as free as possible with my desires and emotions and trust me there's nothing more attractive than being with someone who makes you feel secure."

You moved to the side of the bed and began to tug at the blankets. Dex had no choice but to shift off the bed and follow your movements, moving to stand on the other side as you turned down the covers. He felt his hands begin to sweat as he watched you slip back into bed. It had not been the first time he had laid in the same bed as you. While he was sure you'd like to forget the shoddy CIA safe house, he didn't. Dex remembered the bare walls, the singular bed. The awkwardness of sharing it for a night. It was different from how things were now, but his mind whispered at him. Told him that he should leave. Grab one of the embarrassingly hideous shirts you stole for him and go back to his place. He had taken up enough of your night. Even after everything that happened tonight, his mind found a way to fray the edges of the moment.

"You coming to bed?"

His mind was silenced in four words.

Dex looked up and met your eyes. You were shimmying mid-way down the bed, blankets over you. Your hand reached over and tugged at the blankets on his side, turning them down. Making space. Shifting onto your side, you tucked an arm under the pillow at your head. Your free hand moved to tap at the empty space beside you. The soft lips that Dex desperately wanted to learn the taste of smiled slowly as he moved to get into bed beside you.

"You didn't tell Mr. Charles about what you saw," you said, scooting in as Dex turned on the bed to face you, "You found out I'm a little different and you don't seem to really care. That's... weirdly refreshing. I really appreciate feeling like I don't have to hide that part of myself from you."

"You... You feel safer."

"I do," you nodded, "And I want you to feel safer too. It seems only fair, right? I'm not going to belittle your intelligence and mine by asking if you wanna kiss me. Because -- let's face it -- you do and I want you too, but you seem unfamiliar with intimacy."

Gently, you reached out to take one of his hands into yours. Dex felt his breathing shift, as you slowly brought his palm to the side of your face. His eyes were locked in on the sight of his fingers brushing against your skin, the soft feeling as they moved to comb through your hair. He continued the motion as you continued to speak.

"Heart palpitations," you softly noted, as your tapped a finger lightly to his chest, "Different than before. Less stressed out. More like a heart skip than nervous pounding."

Dex stared at you, his head tilted slightly to the side faintly. Like he was trying to figure out how you knew. He had asked before and wondered a handful of times that night, but it was that moment you answered him.

"I thought I was a witch when I was younger," you lightly laughed, your hand resting against his chest. "I could tell when other people were stressed or happy or hurt. I just... sensed something inside of them. My parents thought I was just really observant, which wasn't entirely wrong."

The hand in your hair moved to trail along your arm.

"It felt like I could see what was going on in people's bodies," you continued, "I could tune into it. Actually feel the chemicals that changed their emotions. That seemed to -- for lack of a better word -- mutate into something more over time. Until my parents couldn't chalk it up to being observant anymore. I wasn't just sensing emotions. I was... twisting the chemicals. The body itself was something I could feel myself tap into and shape to my liking."

Dex watched you, enthralled as you spoke.

"The teachers at Xavier's called it 'body manipulation'," you told him, "I could read bodies like an open book. I could manipulate the pages how I saw fit. The possibilities were endless. It wasn't just detecting how someone was feeling. It was understanding exactly where someone might be hurt. I could speed up or slow down a heartbeat or the amount of air a person could take in or create that extra boost of adrenaline. Anything the body could do, I could adjust. I could make 'em hurt, make 'em feel better, make 'em feel nothing at all. I was able to grasp control of a body and maneuver them at will. The things I could do to were... exhilarating and fascinating and absolutely horrifying all at once."

You felt Dex's hand dipped beneath the blankets that covered you. His fingertips traced a line down your side before his hand came to rest on your hip.

"That's how I took care of those two guys in France," you confessed, "I just delayed their breathing and movement a little... or a lot. It's how I was able to tell which ribs were bruised and how I could tell you were nervous when I made that joke earlier. You kept the fact that I was a mutant between us and that means something to me. So you should know what I could do and know that you can trust me not to hurt you. That's what I want you to take away from this moment, Dex. That you can feel safe around me. Safe enough with me to say or do whatever's in that head of yours."

You waited for him to speak.

To say anything.

There were words that could be said. You had offered clarity on your abilities and where you stood regarding him. You gave him space -- gave him the grace -- to act and speak freely. Not in the filtered way he had come to do in life. Not the special words and phrases he practiced until the felt correct on his tongue when he had to speak to people. You had given him permission to act on the thoughts and instincts that came more naturally to him. You wanted him to be that person and you wanted that person when he was with you. Dex couldn't form the words.

So he acted.

Dex's arm wrapped around your hip in an instant, dragged you forward until you were pressed close. He nudged you onto your back until he could cover your body with his. You felt him hot and hard above you, lips parting ever so slightly as your mind seemed to register the sheer size of him pressed against you. The corner of his lip curved at the sight of you beneath him and the smile that spread across your lips. He thought he could get used to this sight.

"I knew you'd be a fun one."

You barely get the last word out before Dex dropped his head down. The laugh in your throat died as he brought his mouth to your. There was no struggle. You moved in -- moved willingly -- and slotted your lips against his. There was no hesitation in your kiss. Your mouth on his burned with urgency and desire. Excitement. You kissed the way you moved through life. With unyielding confidence. A strained sound escaped Dex as he kissed you. Part need, part pain. He should have known you'd zero in on the pain part. No, no, no... A soft, pleading sound slipped from him as Dex felt you begin to push against him, tried to untangle your limbs from his. He didn't make it easy, hands reached even as you managed to maneuver him onto his side of the bed.

"Dex--"

"Please."

The single word of longing on his lips were replaced with your smile, as you leaned in and feathered your kiss over his mouth. You pulled back before Dex could claim your lips again. Nails raked through his hair, from the crown of his head to the nape of his neck. The feel of your hands sent a tingle through his body. He suppressed the shudder that threatened to run through him.

"You're freshly sliced up," you reminded him, "Army of sword-wielding cats, remember?"

You gave the hair under your hands a soft tug. The move drew a small moan from Dex and the way his light eyes seemed to darken only confirmed his obvious enjoyment from it.

"There's no rush," you added, "I'm not going anywhere. Plus you're injured. If I take you for a ride in your current state, you'll probably die and then I'll have to explain to Mr. Charles -- who cannot know about any of this -- what happened to his best and brightest and ohmygod do not make me explain my sex life to that man. There are at least three more horrifying things I'd rather put myself through."

Your fingers gave his hair another tug for good measure before you settled into a comfortable position in bed once more. Dex reached over your body, leaning towards your bedside drawer to pluck the lone hair tie from the surface. He settled into bed, on his side, facing you. His back was toward the door, where the light switch was. You watched as he seemed to aim the tie at an angle to the wall behind your head and shot it through the air. It bounced from wall to wall and turned off the light with a final flick of the switch.

Even in the dark, Dex knew you were smiling.

"Show off."

"Go to bed, sweetheart."

You scoffed in the darkness.

"This is my bed. You're a guest here."

Dex reached out in the dark, curled an arm around your waist once more. You bit down a giggle as he dragged your body closer.

"You're lucky you're cute," you admitted, as you snuggled in, "You're the only person who had ever broke into my apartment and was allowed to spend the night after."

"Get a lot of break ins?"

Dex felt you shake your head against his shoulder.

"A couple when I was at school, but those don't count. Those were mostly sketchy government types."

"Those don't count?"

You stifled back a yawn, body slowly gave in to tiredness.

"Nope," you replied, arm moving to drape over Dex's side, "The only other time was about seven or eight years ago. Back in New York. I was trying to make a career shift back then. Turn my life around or whatever. Had a nice apartment in Manhattan. Decent neighborhood."

"Dangerous city," Dex noted, chin resting on the top of your head as you hummed in agreement.

"Came home one night and found police hanging around. Cops said it was some criminal fleeing on foot who used the fire escape. That didn't explain the broken glass or why there were bullet holes in my walls and window."

Dex froze.

"Ever find out what happened?" he whispered in the darkness.

He heard back nothing. Dex held you a little tighter, hoped that you didn't register the way his heart was racing as you slept. The static in his mind sizzled in the far corners of his thoughts. He sat in the silence, as he felt your breathing change. Slow and steady. Dreaming. The peaceful kind of rest. Dex knew he wouldn't find the same solace that night. Not when your last words spun around in his mind, sent him tracing back thoughts from years ago.

Thoughts of his apartment back when he worked for the FBI.

The same apartment Ray and Matt had broken into, trying to dig up whatever they could about him.

The one with the large safe that once held his tapes and weapons.

The one with the window and the sniper scope he used to shoot into the previously unknown apartment above his own.