god just won't have me

you froze.

“are— are you serious?”

she simply shrugged, fingers tapping lazily against the keyboard. “queen bed.”

you exhaled slowly through your nose. of course.

“fine. whatever. we’ll take it.” you said, having no other choice. turning it down meant risking being in the open street at this late hour with six still bleeding under his dark jacket.

the receptionist slid the key across the counter. “no smoking. no loud noise.”

you gave a short nod, already turning away.

six leaned heavily against the doorframe as you unlocked room 644. his breathing stayed shallow and controlled. the gunshot wound had missed his kidney and liver by mere inches, but it still wept through the hasty field dressing you had applied earlier. blood loss left his face pale beneath the rough stuble.

the room was worse than the lobby.

dim. slightly cramped. a single buzzing light in the middle of the ceiling. it smelled like something musky that they tried to poorly cover up by spraying an excessive amount of cheap perfume. and the bed looked barely clean.

“go shower first,” you told him once the door clicked shut behind you. “i’ll change the gauze after.”

“bossy,” he muttered, but there was no bite to it.

“you took a bullet for me,” you shot back as you took a peek through the window curtain, watching if you two were being followed. “you don’t get to complain.”

when you turned, something flickered across his face for a second before it was quickly replaced with that same dry edge.

“i’ve had worse.”

“oh, yeah? congratulations. still getting cleaned.” you entered the bathroom first. it's not any better than bedroom itself. the faucet in the sink was rusted from hard water. no curtains separating the bathtub from the rest of the bathroom. the bathtub itself looked slightly stained with something you refused to name.

you turned the water on before he could respond, letting it run hot. steam started to fill the small space almost immediately. at least that worked.

when you stepped back out, he was already peeling his shirt off, movements slower now that the adrenaline was wearing thin. your eyes caught the wound again. high on his side, angry and raw but clean through.

he closed the bathroom door. then you moved immediately, sweeping the room with practiced efficiency. first the door. you checked the lock, then added the cheap chain on top of it, testing both twice. solid enough. not great, but it would buy time.

windows next. you crossed the room in three quiet steps, fingers already brushing the curtain aside just enough to see out without exposing yourself. ground floor. parking lot view. one flickering light outside. two cars that hadn’t moved since you arrived. you tested the window latch. loose, but functional. it could be opened fast if needed. you cracked it just a fraction, enough to feel the night air and confirm it wasn’t jammed, then slid it back into place.

exit route, if things went bad.

you scanned for blind spots. corners. anything that could hide movement. the mirror angled slightly, good enough to give you a partial view of the door if you were on the bed.

not ideal. but workable.

your gaze flicked to the ceiling next. no obvious cameras. no vents big enough to matter.

no second door. single entry. single exit.

you exhaled slowly. then you listened. water still running. steady. no footsteps outside. no voices lingering. no shift in the air that suggested you were being watched or followed.

safe, for now.

only then did you move back to the bed, grabbing the go bag. you arranged everything out on the bedside table. gauze, antiseptic and tape.

he took longer than you expected. you could hear it in the way the water shifted, the uneven rhythm of it. he was steadying himself, probably bracing against the wall, letting the heat do what it could.

a minute later, the door opened. you stepped back inside just as he emerged from the bathroom wearing nothing but a white towel slung low on his hips. droplets of water still clung to the hard lines of his chest and shoulders, tracing slow paths down the ridges of his abdomen. the gunshot wound sat angry and red just above his right hip, the stitches holding the edges together with tense precision.

“sit,” you said quietly, nodding at the edge of the bed.

he obeyed without argument, wincing as he lowered himself, one hand braced on the mattress. you knelt between his knees, antiseptic and fresh gauze in your hands.

the faint scent of hotel soap mixed with the metallic tang of blood that still clung to the air. your fingers brushed his skin as you peeled away the old bandage, slow and careful, and he sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth, fingers clenching the edge of the bed but other than that he didn’t flinch.

the wound was clean enough. no infection yet, but it still looked vicious. the entry hole puckered and raw, the exit on his back even uglier where the bullet had torn through muscle.

you worked deliberately, dabbing antiseptic around the edges first, watching the way his abs tightened under your touch every time the cool liquid hit broken skin. you pressed fresh pads against both holes, layering them thick, then started wrapping the gauze around his torso, your palms sliding over the warm, damp plane of his back to secure it.

every pass of the roll brought your face closer to his chest; you could feel his heartbeat under your fingertips, steady but faster than it should have been.

“you didn’t have to do that,” you murmured, eyes on the bandage instead of his face. “take the bullet. i had the shot lined up. you stepped right into it.”

his voice was low, rough from the pain and the exhaustion. “you're still on that?”

“should i not be?” you asked back, sharply. the casualness of his tone did not sit right with you.

his gaze dropped back to you, steady, unflinching. “it’s just the job.”

you paused, raising an eyebrow. “your job scope includes risking your life for the work partner you barely knew? yeah, i doubt that.”

he simply shrugged. “you're a good shot. i might need you.”

“that’s not a good enough answer, six.”

“it’s the only one you’re getting.”

a beat.

“don’t do it again,” you said, softer now.

something shifted in his expression. something you couldn’t quite name, but it was gone almost as quickly as it appeared.

“can’t promise that,” he replied, exhaling slowly as you pressed the last strip of tape into place, his breath stirring the hair at your temple.

you swallowed, the air between you suddenly too thick for the small room. your fingers stayed on his skin a second longer than necessary, tracing the edge of the bruise just to make sure the tape was holding, feeling the heat radiating from him, the slight tremble in his muscles from holding still. “still. thank you. i owe you one.”

he didn’t answer right away.

“don't mention it,” he said finally, like it explained everything. his eyes were steady on yours, that same unreadable calm, but something heavier flickered there tonight. something that made your stomach tighten.

you cleared your throat, trying to ease the tension. you gathered the used supplies with hands that weren’t quite steady and stood. you disappeared into the bathroom and locked the door behind you.

the water was hot, almost scalding, and you stood under it longer than you needed to, letting it beat against your shoulders, your back, your thighs.

you told yourself it was to wash off the blood and the sweat of the night, but really you were stalling, mind replaying the feel of his skin under your palms, the way his breath had hitched when you touched the wound, the low rumble of his voice admitting he’d taken the bullet for you.

eventually you shut the water off, dried off, and pulled on the oversized t-shirt and shorts you’d grabbed from the trunk. nothing special, just clothes that didn’t smell like gunpowder and metal.

when you stepped back into the room he was already under the sheet on the far side, propped against the headboard, one arm resting protectively across his bandaged ribs. the lamp cast a low golden glow over the bed, softening the sharp lines of his jaw.

you walked straight to the chair in the corner, dropping into it like it had been your plan all along, knees drawn up, arms crossed over your chest.

“i’ll take the watch,” you said, voice even. professional. “you need the sleep more than i do.”

he watched you for a long moment, eyes narrowing just slightly. the silence stretching until it felt heavy before he slowly sat up. a soft groan escaped his lips, hand still on the wound. “you’re tired. we both are. just come to bed.”

“i’m fine right here.” you shifted in the chair, pretending to scan the window like you were already on lookout, but your pulse was too loud in your ears.

the watch was an excuse. anything to keep from sliding under the sheets with him. from feeling the mattress dip under both your weights. from lying inches away from the man who had just stepped in front of a bullet for you. sharing a bed like this, even for sleep, felt like crossing an invisible line.

“i’ve pulled longer watches than this. you rest.”

he sighed, the sound low and frustrated, and pushed himself up a little higher against the pillows, wincing at the pull on his side.

“bullshit. you’re dead on your feet. we move at first light. first light means we both need to be sharp. get in the bed.”

“six, you—”

“that’s an order if you want to make it one.” he cut you off.

you hesitated, fingers tightening on the arms of the chair until your knuckles went white. you could feel his eyes on you, patient but unrelenting, the same stare he used in the field when he knew you were pushing yourself too hard. refusing would only make it weirder, would only highlight how much this night had already shifted something between you.

finally, you stood slowly, crossed the room like it was a minefield, and perched on the very edge of the mattress first, testing it. the sheet was cool under your thighs.

“you mind?” he asked, and it only took two seconds before you quickly understand what he meant.

he was asking if you mind him sleeping in just a pair of grey sweatpants. the bandage already covered half his upper body, only leaving his chest visible.

but still, he asked.

“oh, no. it's fine.” your heart hammered as you lied.

he nodded, didn’t say anything else, just watched as you swung your legs up and slipped beneath the covers on your side, leaving as much space between you as the queen bed allowed.

the moment you finally settled in, he shut off the lamp at the night stand, leaving the room in complete darkness.

“how’s the wound feeling?” you asked quietly.

“hurts like hell,” he admitted. “but it’ll hold. i’ve had worse.”

you nodded. “what's the plan for tomorrow?”

“we move at first light,” he repeated, voice quieter now. “stay off the main roads. i have a contact in ratcha buri. he owes me. he can get us to the border.”

“and go where?”

“malaysia. we can't stay in thailand for long.”

you blinked, turning your head slightly on the pillow to look at him in the dim glow.

“malaysia?” the word came out sharper than you meant, disbelief threading through it. “that’s absurd, six. we’re in bangkok. the border’s what— twelve, thirteen hours by road if we’re lucky? through half the country—”

“exactly.” he cut you off. “we confuse them. they think we'll head to the nearest border like laos or cambodia. they’ll lock down the obvious routes first. checkpoints, surveillance, informants. borders close to bangkok will be tight within hours if they’re not already.”

you frowned slightly, your thoughts catching up, rearranging.

“....so we don’t go where it’s easy,” you said slowly.

“exactly. we go where it’s clear.”

you exhaled, leaning back down slightly but still facing him now, your mind working through it.

“malaysia’s further, but it’s cleaner once you’re there.” he added. “and easier to disappear once we’re out of southeast asia.”

you studied him for a moment, really looking now. not just at the plan, but at him. the way he laid it out so simply, like it was obvious, like he hadn’t just suggested dragging both of you across an entire country while injured.

“you’re very confident for someone who got shot today,” you said quietly. “and assuming we'll make it that far.”

“we will. i’ll manage.”

you shook your head slow, in disbelief of the absurdity of it all.

“if we die before we reach ranong, i swear to god—”

“trust me. it'll work.”

“it better.”

the conversation finally winding down as the words ran out. the silence stretched, comfortable enough that your eyes grew heavy despite the chair excuse and the tension coiling in your gut. you drifted off facing away from him, the room quiet except for the hum of the air conditioner and the distant traffic outside.

later, hours maybe, you woke in the dark. you were on your side, back to him, the sheet tangled around your waist. for a second you didn’t move, just breathed.

then you felt it.

the solid warmth of him behind you. he had rolled onto his uninjured side too, facing your back, his hand resting heavy on the curve of your hip like it belonged there.

you told yourself it was nothing. just two tired bodies seeking heat in the middle of the night. you tried to drift back under.

but when you shifted, trying to ease the ache in your body, you felt something.

something unmistakably hard pressing against the swell of your ass. thick, insistent rigid line of his cock through the thin fabric of his boxers and your shorts.

your breath caught. you froze.

he groaned softly, low in his throat, the sound vibrating against your spine like a warning.

you stopped moving. pretended to be asleep. but the realization sank in like heat. your ass was pressed right against him, and he was hard because of it. the thought made your pulse spike, made you wet in a sudden rush that left you dizzy and aching. you stayed still for what felt like forever, heart hammering, body traitorously alive. then, testing, you rolled your hips back. just once, slow and small.

his grip on your hip tightened, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise.

“careful,” he warned, voice rough against the back of your neck, barely more than a breath, but there was a growl threaded through it.

you should’ve stopped.

you didn’t.

you did it again. another slow grind, deliberate this time, pressing back firmer.

he groaned louder, the sound breaking into a quiet curse that rumbled against your skin. “fuck—”

you looked back over your shoulder. in the dark his eyes were open, locked on yours, pupils blown wide.

and just like that, the space between you vanished. he tilted your head with one hand, keeping your body still on its side, and kissed you. deep, hungry. his mouth moved against yours like he’d been holding back for years, tongue sliding in when you parted your lips, tasting like heat and restraint finally snapping. you kissed him back, breath shaky, one hand reaching back to grip his hair.

his hand slipped downward, under the waistband of your shorts, fingers finding you already slick. he rubbed your clit in slow, firm circles, and you gasped into his mouth, hips jerking.

“six— fuck—” you broke the kiss, moaning.

“easy,” he murmured against your lips, voice low and rough. “you’re already dripping for me.”

he didn’t talk much. he never did even in normal circumstances. but what he said landed right against your ear, low and rough, each word punctuated by a growl that sent shivers straight down your spine.

he kept the circles light and deliberate, never giving you enough pressure. his breathing grew heavier against your neck, warm and ragged.

another low grunt rumbled from his chest when you tried to push back for more. “yeah, just like that....”

you lifted your leg slightly, bringing it to your chest to give him more room. he took the invitation with a low growl, sliding two fingers inside you, curling them just right, pumping slow and deep while his thumb kept working your clit.

“fuck— oh my god—” you moaned again, softer this time.

he kissed you deeper, swallowing the sound. his thumb circled faster for a moment, then slowed again, teasing. a quiet grunt escaped him when your walls fluttered around his fingers.

“so fucking wet,” he whispered, barely audible, lips brushing yours. “taking my fingers so well.”

you whimpered, hips rocking gently against his hand. he kept teasing, pulling back just enough to make you chase it before pressing deeper.

the room filled with nothing but your soft moans, his short grunts and growls, the wet sound of his fingers working you open, and the heavy rhythm of your breathing.

“good girl. that’s it.... come on.” every thrust of his fingers drew a deeper growl from his chest, every moan from you pulling another curse against your skin until you were trembling.

when the pressure finally built too high, he didn’t let you pull away. he kissed you hard as your orgasm hit, mouth covering yours completely to swallow every moan that tried to escape. his fingers kept moving through it, steady and deep, while your body went slack against him, panting and walls clenching around his digits.

you didn’t wait. you turned, careful of his bandaged side, and moved to straddle his lap, settling over him in the dark. his hands found your hips instantly, steadying you, thumbs brushing the skin just above the gauze like a reminder to be gentle.

you removed your shorts. then pushed your panties to the side and his boxers down just enough to release his cock. it was hot, thick, leaking at the tip. you sank down onto him in one slow glide. the stretch burned so good, every inch dragging along your walls until he was buried to the hilt, your pussy fluttering around the thick base. he groaned deep in his chest, head tipping back against the pillow, a guttural sound that vibrated through both of you.

“tell me if it hurts,” you breathed shakily, but he shook his head, eyes locked on yours in the dark.

“don’t you fucking dare stop,” he growled.

you rode him like that, slow at first, rolling your hips in careful circles, feeling every thick inch stretch you open while you kept your weight balanced forward to spare his injury. his fingers dug into your hips, guiding the rhythm, and another low groan tore from him when you clenched around his cock on the downstroke.

“fuck…. yeah, just like that—” he grunted, voice wrecked.

you picked up the pace, bouncing with controlled rhythm, the wet slap of skin filling the room as you sank down harder each time, your slick dripping down his shaft and coating his balls. he met you with small, careful thrusts from below, never jarring himself, just enough to drive the head of his cock right against that spot that made your eyes roll back.

you leaned forward, hands braced on the mattress beside his shoulders, and rode him faster. the obscene sound of your soaked pussy swallowing his cock echoing louder in the quiet room.

he cursed under his breath, a string of low curses that vibrated against your throat every time you dropped down fully.

his hands slid up your sides, then back to your hips, helping you bounce, the rhythm growing frantic but still mindful of the bandage taped across his ribs.

your thighs burned, pleasure coiling tight in your core as you approached your peak.

“come on.... let me feel you,” he muttered, one hand slipping between you to rub your clit in tight, messy circles while you kept riding him like you were starving for it. the added friction tore another cry from your throat and he swallowed it with a messy kiss, tongue sliding against yours as you shattered around him, walls pulsing hard, gushing wet down his shaft.

he didn’t stop. his groans turned shorter, rougher, hips stuttering up into you as you kept moving through your orgasm, milking him with every clench.

“fuck.... gonna— shit—” he growled, the words dissolving into a low, broken sound as he came hard, pulsing deep inside you, thick ropes of cum flooding your pussy while his fingers dug into your hips to hold you down, grinding you on his cock through every last twitch.

you stayed there, straddling him, both of you panting, bodies slick and trembling, your combined release leaking out around his softening cock until the aftershocks faded and the room fell quiet again except for your heavy breathing.