You can’t pull away fast enough. Rejection burns in your ears. You can’t help but think you aren’t drunk enough for this.

You leave Loki’s tie loose, fingers numb and clumsy where they let go. “i’m sorry—fuck, shit—did I…”

“No,” he says softly, quickly. But there’s a subtle firmness to it. His hand catches your wrist, his big fingers encircling your wristbone. His warmth hits you a half-second late, your nerves lagging with the reeling of your head.

He smiles down gently at you, oddly enough. Huffs an almost-laugh through his nose. It lightens the flood in your chest, just a little.

“Hey,” Loki breathes, head dipping closer to yours. It’s electric in itself. “You didn’t do anything,” he tells you.

The words land slow in your chest. You swallow, throat dry. “I thought… I thought you were okay with,” you gesture to the scant, swaying space between you, “this.”

He blinks hard, twice, his pale blue eyes flicking to your mouth and back; like it’s an effort not to look too long.

You notice his other hand on your waist, not knowing when it got there.

“I was.” His thumb presses lightly, and you hear his breath hitch in his throat. “I am.”

“Then what…?” you start to murmur, searching Loki’s face.

There was a paradoxical unreadability about him. He had that tightness, that control, like a string pulled too-tight around his chest. But there was something else there, too. Something warm and boyishly nervous.

“I haven’t done this in… Christ. I just want to slow down.” He says, trailing off close to your ear. His pale blue eyes search yours, bracing for your reaction. “Yeah? That okay?”

Something about the low silk of his voice makes you shudder.

“…Yeah. Okay.”

You feel his hold on your wrist tighten, just slightly, his hand on your waist staying rooted. You’re close enough to smell his aftershave, breathe it in.

“‘m not good at doing it slow,” you slur against his neck, the words bubbling past your teeth easier than they should. You can feel him swallow, thick. His breathing stutters for a moment before he can rein it in.

You press a kiss to the tattoo on his neck, filing away the thought to ask him about it later. “Don’t mean to come on so strong.”

“You didn’t come on strong,” he murmurs. His hand leaves your wrist, then hesitates—hovering, reconsidering before it cups the back of your neck. The touch is steady, yet the choice behind it is far from effortless.

He tilts your head up, gentle, making you look at him. “You came on honest.”

“What do you mean?”

His hand slides up your waist, controlled, thumbing the hem of your shirt. “You know…” His voice is uncharacteristically soft. “I deal with people aalllll day who hide what they want. You didn’t.”

“Then what? what’s your issue, mm?” You demand, hands fisting clumsily in his shirt, still buttoned all the way up.

You didn’t exactly bring guys home with you to take things slow.

His shoulders rise with a small breath. It almost reminds you of a boy scout, preparing for battle, or whatever boy scouts do.

“I’m just…” He shakes his head, sheepish in his own way. He blinks hard. “Slower than I seem. More straightforward. I haven’t, uh, done a lot of things.”

His thumb brushes back and forth, pressing lightly into your side. You can’t tell if it’s to ground you or reassure himself.

“And I’m a little drunk,” he admits, quiet smile playing at his lips. “So I’d rather say it now—when it’s easy—than do the whole… ‘we’re about to tear each other apart’ thing.”

“So.. slower,” you echo, your hand slowly finding the collar of his shirt. You feel his breath hitch. “That’s it?”

“…Most of it.”

You slowly undo the very top button of his collar, watching his body language. His shoulders square like he’s braced against something internal.

“And the rest?”

He blinks hard down at you, eyes flicking. You start to recognize it. His lips part for a moment, and he scrubs a hand over the back of his neck.

“The—uh… control. I don’t like when it’s, um, frenzied.”

He speaks like it’s a challenge to explain himself, even when his head’s floating with whiskey.

“You seem pretty in control,” you murmur, still working on unbuttoning his shirt. You take it slow, watching for discomfort. “Better than me, anyway.”

He chuckles breathily, a disbelieving laugh. “That’s generous.”

You hum, pressing a kiss to the revealed parts of Loki’s neck. You were starting to lose your patience, despite yourself.

“Tell me to stop,” you breathe against him. He shudders.

“I don’t want to.” His hold on your waist tightens. “I want to… feel it. Feel you.” He takes a deep breath, eyes skirting away, embarrassed. “Just without losing my footing.”

A slow, deliberate smile spreads across your face. “Okay,” you say. “We can do that.”

You can see the weight sighing off his shoulders, the relief in the way he blinks lightly.

“Yeah?” He breathes, drunk honesty making him need to hear it twice, that anchoring agreement.

You just slip your fingers into his hand, guiding. He startles almost imperceptibly at the contact, eyes flicking down to where you’re holding him.

“This way,” you say.

Understanding dawns on Loki’s face, and you hear him sigh through his nose. “Okay.”

You lead him down a short hallway, dimly lit. He follows half a step behind you, work-worn hand still in yours, and you can feel him grounding himself through the contact. The apartment feels warmer back here, softer somehow. The hum of the city fades.

When you reach the bedroom, you don’t turn on the overhead light. Just the lamp by the bed, waxy and warm like bleeding sunlight.

You stop just inside the doorway.

Loki lingers there, taking it in. The bed. The quiet. You.

“This is usually where things get…” He trails off.

“Fast?” you offer.

He nods. “Yeah.”

You step closer, still not crowding him. “Then we won’t do that.”

Something in his expression eases at that. His shoulders relax out of their rigid hold. “Thank you,” he says, low and earnest enough to make your chest ache.

You guide him to sit on the edge of the bed. He perches on your duvet, hands resting on his thighs like he’s not sure what to do with them yet.

It’s almost endearing to see such a big, stoic man almost nervous.

You stand between his knees, resisting the urge to touch him just yet.

“Still slow?” you ask.

He looks up at you, eyes warm and a little glassy. “Still slow.”

You lean in, honey-drip slow, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. The closeness alone makes his breath hitch, but then he melts.

Loki’s hand slides from your waist, fingers lingering before he lets go. He shifts on the edge of the bed, shoulders rolling once, drawing a quiet breath as he pulls away.

“Okay,” he murmurs. More to himself than you.

His fingers go to the buttons of his shirt, clumsy at first. He frowns faintly at them, the effort of concentration written plainly across his face. One button comes undone. Then another. He pauses, glancing up at you, checking.

You don’t rush him.

That seems to help.

He exhales, shoulders loosening, and continues. He moves with slow, careful movements, like he’s aware of every inch of himself right now.

When the shirt finally parts, he shrugs it off with a small, self-conscious breath, like he’s surprised he made it that far.

The tank top underneath sticks a little as he lifts it, catching at his ribs. He tugs it down again, embarrassed, not used to being watched like this. He tries again, slower this time. It comes free. He drops it beside him on the bed, ears faintly pink.

“There,” he says, quiet. Almost shy.

He looks at you then, really looks—eyes warm, searching, still a little unsure.

“Still okay?” he asks, voice low, steady despite the nerves humming under it.

“More than that,” you hum, easing your hands down his chest, laying him down.

You climb on top of him, straddling his lap, feeling his want mount in the growing bulge between his legs.

You slide your hands down his chest again, deliberately slow, eliciting a breathy haah that sounds like it’s been trapped in Loki’s lungs for a while.

He appears almost starstruck, looking up at you. Something about the red in his ears tells you that if he were sober, he’d be cold, distant stone.

But neither of you are sober.

He lifts up, kissing you again. Harder this time. His choice. His hands find their way back to your waist, like he likes it there.

You can feel the callouses seared into his palms as they slide under your shirt. They run back and forth over the soft, bare skin of your sides.

“Fuck,” he breathes out, his hands passing over your chest. Reverent. Feeling you. “You’re… shit.”

“Hmm?” you kiss the corner of his mouth, down to his jaw, then his shoulder. Your hands slide down to his slacks, feeling the tent there. Its big—you can already tell.

Your hand thumbs at his belt. “Can I?”

You hear him stifle a needy noise that bubbles up from his throat—almost a groan. It makes you grin.

“Mmm—yeah. Mhm.”

You slide his belt off after fumbling for a moment, your open mouth searing wet, blooming bruises along Loki’s throat. Your hand slips easily down the front of his pants, palming his heavy, flushed length through his boxers.

“D’you want me to use my mouth?” you ask.

Loki shakes his head no, his eyes glassy with a restrained desperation you hadn’t seen yet.

“I just—can I—I just want to be inside you. I don’t—I’m not used to… shit like that.”

You make a mental note to show him what he’s missing later on. But you don’t want to push him too hard, not yet.

“Yeah. ‘Course you can,” you murmur.

You catch Loki’s mouth in a deep kiss, feeling his blood rush into the scent of you.

His hands grab and feel and worship every inch he can reach, far past thinking and deep into wanting.

.

.

.

“Oh, fuck,” Loki pants, one arm braced above you, the other holding your waist hard enough to bruise. Sweat beads on his forehead, his slick-backed hair falling messy over his face.

You’re mewling below him, breathy moans punching out of your chest with every thrust, dizzy with how deep he is.

You knew he was gonna be big.

But jesus, not this big.

You didn’t expect him to know how to use it, either.

“Shiitt—David, fuck!” You moan, hooking your arms around his neck.

“Do you need me to slow dow—aahn…” Loki groans, his head dipping into the line of your shoulder. The muscles in his torso ripple with every delicious, stirring movement of his hips.

You can feel every vein of his impossibly fat dick stretching you out, the space where the two of you meet all creamy and perfect.

“Don’t—mmmph—don’t you dare,” you gasp.

He nods breathlessly, his lips swollen from how hard he’s biting them to keep from groaning too loud.

The cord in his chest—the one he keeps coiled tight—starts to unravel faster than he can rein it in.

His hips snap up more and more erratically, small groans of pleasure escaping his lips as he holds onto your hips for dear life. “Jesus—fuck…!”

You rake your nails down his back, digging them into his skin and making him shudder hard.

You can feel his cock throbbing hard, his veins throbbing like it hurts so good. His hand on your waist moves to swipe sweat-slick baby hairs from your forehead, glassy eyes flicking between yours.

Without thinking, your hands come up to cup his face above yours. Your thumbs brush over his stubble, a breathless, too-tender gesture that makes you both seize.

“Oh, ah-haahh.. mmph..” You whimper, pulling Loki down so that your foreheads touch.

You watch as his eyes roll back into his head, his long eyelashes fluttering. The muscles in his shoulders tense as he gets close, his hips faltering and losing their rhythm.

“I’m gonna—fuck…!” Loki gasps, pulling out right as he cums. He spurts all over your inner thighs, his breath shuddery and panting.

He collapses next to you, blinking hard and breathing harder.

You share that blissful, unthinking moment where the adrenaline and breathless air crescendo into this.

“Fuckin’ A…”Loki sighs after a long beat.

“Mmm?”

“Nothing,” he shakes his head.

You watch him sit up slow, with a carefulness that suggested too much movement would shatter something.

His breathing evens out, deliberate. Controlled again. Too controlled.

You notice the warmth drain from his eyes. They’re distant now, that open glassiness having shuttered back into the cave of his mind. Locked behind something practiced, careful, safe.

He must have sobered up.

“Are you—” you start to say.

“—I have to go.” He says it quick, avoidant, but not unkind. Like he’s stepped too far and cant backpedal fast enough.

He gets up, before you can answer. He shoves his slacks back on, buttoning his shirt to the top quicker than he could get it off. Precise, button after button.

Familiar armor sliding into place. He won’t look you in the eye.

“You just—what the fuck?” you blink, pulling your shirt back over your head. You’re still sticky with sweat and cum.

“Hey,” you try again, softer now. “David.”

He stills.

For a moment, you think he won’t turn around. Then he does — and there’s something naked in his expression that has nothing to do with his clothes.

“There’s a case—I have to… Someone..”

He cuts himself off, jaw tightening. A shake of his head, like he’s frustrated with his own lack of honesty.

“Sorry. ‘M sorry.”

It isn’t a plea for forgiveness.

It beckons distance, pushes you away.

You follow him to your door anyway.

You stumble after him, trying to find the words to interrogate him, cuss at him, anything.

“Hey. What the hell?” You say, but it’s more of a plea. A sad one.

He pauses there, hand on the handle, like he’s bracing himself.

Then he turns back and cups the back of your head, forehead pressing briefly to yours.

His eyes are filled with something that makes your heart clench.

The kiss he leaves on your forehead is fierce and restrained all at once. Like it costs him something.

“Thank you,” he murmurs. The weight of it lands heavier than anything else he’s said all night.

"Got it. I'll be at the station soon." The brightness of his phone screen highlighted the tired features of his face. He blinked, he checked the time. It was four in the morning. "Shit." David set his phone down on the nightstand, breaking into a loud yawn.

The room filled with darkness again. You had your back turned to him, you pretended to keep sleeping. Maybe if you tried hard enough, your body would go back to sleep...

"Hey," Loki's hand gently nudged your shoulder. His voice was barely above a murmur. "You awake?"

How could you not be awake when the ringtone had ripped through the peaceful and silent night? You groaned in response. It was too early for words.

"Good."

You heard the bed sheets rustling. You felt David's warm skin against your back. You groaned again, though you sounded a lot less annoyed this time around.

He pressed a kiss on your neck. Then another one and another one... His large hand travelled from your side to your stomach. David pulled you against him.

His kisses left a trail of goosebumps on your shoulder. You kept your eyes closed, but your plans to go back to sleep were put on pause.

Loki smirked. He knew that, when he would be back from work, you would accuse him of being unfair. You could never turn him down, because he was too damn persuasive. And he would argue that it was not his fault. You were so easy for him. It was a tirade that happened several times before. And he would never get tired of it.

You noticed that he had stopped kissing you, so you grumbled a few words. "I'm not saying it, but I'm thinking about it really..." It was your turn to yawn. "Really hard."

You earned another smirk, as you proved that the two of you shared the same thought process. Poor you, it was indeed very unfair... His warm breath tickled your skin when he whispered at your ear. "Roll onto your stomach, baby."

You complied. Well, sort of. You let yourself lazily fall forward, until your front rested against the mattress. Good enough.

David wrapped you in a thick layer of praise while he pulled the bed sheets out of the way to have full access to you. "That's it, you're being so sweet to me."

Your leg moved up, to create space for David. He rewarded you with a deep grunt of satisfaction when you offered your body to him exactly how he wanted you to.

"Wanna keep the pillow?" Loki deciphered the mumbled noise you made and he slid a hand under your head. Gently, he lifted your head off the pillow so he could lean it on the headboard. He watched as you nuzzled your face against the mattress. His need for you was purely selfish at this moment, yet he still insisted you stayed as comfortable as possible.

That comfort was conditional. The realization hit you when David pushed more on your leg to get you in the position he needed from you. The stretch hurt your thigh and your hip, but he distracted you before you could complain about it.

He brushed his fingers over your exposed pussy. The wetness of your folds did not surprise him much. He was pleased to watch you take his middle finger in without much resistance.

You sighed when he twisted his hand, his palm now faced the ceiling. He inserted a second finger inside of you, preparing you.

Your whimpers encouraged him to plunge his fingers deeper inside of you. "You're taking me so well..." He kept going until you began to squirm on the mattress. Then, he rudely removed his fingers from your heat. "I know, baby, I know." He purred.

The softness in his voice did nothing to soothe your protests. You did not want him to stop at all.

"I fucked you so good last night..." David stated, you felt his large hand on your ass. "And you want more already?" He clicked his tongue, you could tell that the disapproval in his tone was just for show. Your abyssal desire for him was one of his favourite things about you. The feeling was completely mutual. "So greedy..."

Usually, you would buck your hips towards him or you would try to push back against his body so he would stop teasing you and he would surrender to your impatience. Your current position, pressed against the mattress, did not grant you those liberties.

"I bet you were hoping I'd get called into work early, huh?" David groaned. His right hand pulled on your ass cheek so he could admire the slickness of your skin. "I know you love it when I use you like this."

For a man of few words, he surely talked a lot — too much to your liking in the moment. There would be plenty of times when you would beg to have a long conversation with Loki, but not right now. Not when he teased your folds with the tip of his cock. Not when he had you mumbling a series of please, please, please.

Your pleas worked their magic and David guided his cock to your entrance. He grunted at the familiar, addictive warmth that enveloped him. "Fuck..." He pulled all the way out of you only to fill your pussy back up. Now he understood why you wanted to cut the dirty talk short; you felt too good to resist.

His thrusts were slow and deep, David repeated a couple of times that he knew how much you loved this. How much you loved it when he would use you to feel better... A long make out session with wandering hands, a nice blowjob to unwind after a tough day or a quickie before the sun went up in the sky. He loved all the ways you took care of him.

You placed a hand on your thigh and you pulled on the soft skin. You both whined when that helped him to reach just a bit further inside of you.

David adjusted his position. He leaned his elbow on the mattress right beside your shoulder while his large hand covered yours to keep your thigh pulled. It worked to keep you open and ready for the series of deep strokes that he enjoyed more than anything else, too.

Your eyes closed, but your mouth dropped open. It was your turn to speak, you replaced David's dirty talk with your cute whimpers.

He pressed his chest against your back, trapping you between him and the mattress that caved in under both of your bodies. His lips caressed your cheek while he poured desperate grunts into your ear.

You hissed softly when you felt his teeth grazing a bit on your skin instead of his kisses on your jawline. You let go of your thigh to grip on the bed sheets.

His fingers dug deeper into the flesh of your leg to prevent you from writhing away. "I know, I know..." Loki mumbled again. He could feel your pleasure build stronger, your walls clenched tighter around his cock.

Your moan got stuck in your throat when David picked up the pace. He started to chase his own high, he broke the perfect rhythm that would have made you both come together.

"Need it too much, baby." He apologized as he placed a kiss on your earlobe. His voice briefly muffled the sound of your skin slapping against his.

You could feel how badly he needed you, how much he craved the relief only your pussy could give him.

He kissed your orgasm goodbye with a small peck on the corner of your lips. Then, he lifted his head just a bit so he could watch your reactions. The crinkle of your eyes, the scrunch of your nose, the tremor of your upper lip... "So fucking beautiful."

You body jolted forward with each of his thrusts. He moved faster and deeper to get what he desired so desperately.

Suddenly, it all stopped when David buried himself as far as you could take him. He collapsed on top of you, so you could hear every second of his climax.

And you felt every drop of it, too. He had reached his peak while you were left right on the edge... You could call him out on his selfishness for leaving you hanging. But the fullness emptied your mind of its complaint.

All of your heavy breaths mingled together as it took several seconds for Loki to break the silence. "All good?" He placed a small kiss on the corner of your mouth again. He noticed that your lips turned upwards into a blissful grin. This quiet answer was all he needed.

You whimpered at the literal emptiness when he pulled out of you. He cooed at you, letting you know that he, too, wished he could stay this way all morning. Buried inside you, where he belonged.

David gently stroked your cheek with his tattooed knuckles. A silent way to thank you for helping him start the day in the best way.

You relaxed on the bed, your leg moved down a bit so you could try and soothe your aching muscles. You wanted to avoid getting a cramp knowing your man would not be there to massage it away.

"I'll charge your vibrator." David leaned in to kiss the spot behind your ear. "It'll be ready for you when you wake up again."

You moved your head, it was barely a nod but he caught sight of it.

He placed the pillow back under your head after you shifted to lay on your side. David kissed your skin again and he took a deep breath. He committed your scent to memory, your perfume, your shampoo, your arousal... He committed it to memory so it would make this early morning less torturous.

"Be careful at work." You mumbled, he shushed you to go back to sleep.

He got off the bed, only to quickly tuck the sheets around your form to trap you in a cocoon of fabric to replace the warmth of his body. He added a gentle tap on your ass once he was done. He grabbed the toy from the nightstand drawer and he got it all set up for you.

You figured out he was in a hurry: he did not take the time to shave nor to make coffee. You would have to go without the familiar white noise of David getting ready for work. The few birds that chirped outside and the breeze that blew through the trees would make for a decent replacement.

He checked around the quiet home, making sure he brought everything he needed for the day. He threw on his coat, but he interrupted himself to quickly fix the blanket and pillows on the couch. All you would need to do was to get cozy in the living room and to turn on the television. You more than deserved a lazy day after being so good to him.

You tried to follow the sound of David's footsteps, to imagine what he was doing in the other rooms even though you could not see him. Your imagination went blank, your eyelids felt too heavy. Your pillow was cold and oh-so comfortable. You let out a sigh, giving up the fight against your body to stay awake just a minute or two longer.

David checked his phone again. To no one surprise, he was running late. At least it was for the best reason. He zipped his coat and spoke loud enough for you to hear. "Love ya!" The front door opened, then closed right away. And just like that, Loki left you alone with the first sun rays of dawn.

the inspiration for this fic is a post by @/pinupwitchnik on instagram!!!

David’s key turned slowly in the lock, a deep sigh escaped his chest. The door creaked open, and there he stood—tall, broad, every inch the detective the city expected him to be. But expectations were heavy, especially being the detective that solved every case.

David stepped inside, silent except for the low thud of his boots on the hardwood. No greeting, no shrug of his coat. Just the slam of the door behind him.

he didn’t have the energy to put on a brave face for you tonight. He was tired. The kind that sleep couldn’t fix.

You were in the kitchen, warming up his dinner. His eyes meet yours-and it wrecks him.

He reaches you in four long strides, and then he’s on you—face to your neck, arms around your waist, clutching you like you’re the only thing keeping him together.

He doesn’t speak. Doesn’t explain. He just needs.

Your hands move on instinct—into his hair, down his back, over the thick fabric of his coat. You can feel the way he trembles. Not with cold.

He said nothing for a long time.

But you felt everything in the way he held you.

Like he was trying to ground himself. Like he needed to touch something good and kind, to remember the world wasn't made entirely of horror.

His shoulders shuddered once—then again. And then he was quietly falling apart in your arms, his badge and bravado left somewhere between the crime scene and the front door.

You didn’t ask what he’d seen. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

You just held him tighter.

As his silent tears dampened your shirt, your heart sank. You knew the darkness he carried, knew the things he had to see to protect others, to try to bring justice to this damn town. But you also knew how he carried his own trauma.

When he unlatched himself from you, his eyes were puffy and red and his bottom lip quivered just a bit.

You held his face in your hands, a simple gesture that meant I see you, I know you. I love you.

“Come here,” you whispered, helping him shed his jacket. You took his hand and led him to the couch.

He sat heavily.

“I’ll be right back with dinner. And a beer?”

He nodded.

“Whiskey?”

He nodded again, confirming his choice of drink.

You plated dinner and poured David’s whiskey and a glass of wine for yourself.

You curled up on the couch beside him while he ate. The show you put on was something mindless and didn’t require much attention- neither of you were watching it, regardless.

For a while- after glasses had been emptied, refilled, then emptied again- you just breathed together.

You didn’t need to fill the silence. It wasn’t empty—it was full of unsaid things. Of grief and guilt and too many hours spent on the job and not home with you.

You stood, gently taking the glass from David’s hand- setting it on the coffee table.

“C’mon. Hot shower make you feel better.”

He arose without protest, letting you lead him to the bedroom.

He sat on the edge of the bed, peeling off his socks while watching you scurry around getting him a fresh towel and washcloth. You even went as far as laying out his favorite pair of sweatpants and t-shirt.

He didn’t have a favorite pair of anything until you came around. The t-shirt had become his favorite the first time he saw you wear it. You had made the most delicious breakfast one morning- wearing nothing but his shirt. Then, after breakfast, he bent you over and took you right there on the kitchen counter. It had been his favorite ever since. The sweats were his favorite because you bought them for him- insisting he ditch the jeans and be comfy. He’d never been comfier.

You stood between his legs, trying to coax him into the shower.

He looked up at you with glassy, tired eyes- there was something in them you couldn’t quite read.

His hand cupped your jaw, thumb brushing your cheekbone.

“Thank you.” He said, voice meek.

Then he kissed you.

It wasn’t rushed or desperate. It was slow. Full of ache. Full of everything he didn’t have words for.

He kissed you like you were the first clean breath he’d had in days.

He hadn’t meant to ignite anything—just wanted to confirm you're real.

But it lights something anyway.

You loosen the collar of his shirt, your fingers fumbling with the buttons, and he lets you undress him piece by piece. Not hurried. Not lustful. Just needy in a way that isn't about sex. Not yet. It's about skin. Warmth. Proximity. Something to soften the sharp edges still carved into him.

You pulled away slightly; reluctantly. You wanted nothing more than to comfort David, but you loved him too much to take advantage of him in any way.

Your face must have said what you were thinking before your mouth could.

“I want you, baby.” He said, voice still quiet, rough, “Need to know I’m still a man. Still human. Wanna..Make you feel good.” He said, his hands resting on your hips.

“I just want you to be sure. Don’t wanna..you know…hurt you. Want you to be in the right state of mind, to.. consent.” You mumbled, combing your hands through his messy dark strands.

“I appreciate you lookin’ out for me like that, honey, I do.” He said. “It means more than you know. But I’d never regret makin’ love to you…or just do it to make myself feel better..You’re everything to me.”

His words melted your insides. They were earnest and true and made you wanna give him everything he ever wanted. Not just your body, but your heart and soul- all of you.

Your eyes scanned his face as his hands skimmed your body. His fingers tracing your ribs, your hips, the dip of your waist, as if memorizing proof that you were real, that this was real.

“I’m alright, darlin’. I want you, if you’ll have me.” He murmured, voice rough.

Your eyes flickered to his lips and back up to his unyielding baby blues. “Of course I’ll have you. Always will.” The last words came out barely a whisper, but loud enough to be carved into David’s memory.

Always.

Within a moment, his mouth was on yours—hungry, uneven, the taste of desperation more potent than the whiskey he’d had just before.

Your clothes and the remainder of his were shed in frantic, clumsy motions, but not for the sake of lust alone—it was about stripping away the day, the blood and grit of the job until there was nothing left between you but skin. Until he could remember he was flesh and bone, not just the badge, not just the case files but yours. Yours to hold, to care for. To love.

The moment you were bare before him, he slowed. “So beautiful..” He muttered before sealing his mouth to your chest, sucking at your skin until you were putty in his hands. He wanted to taste every part of you, claim every inch, erase the bitter tang of violence with the sweetness of you.

His hands gripped and kneaded the soft flesh of your ass. He pulled you flush against him, his cock rock hard against you.

He then pulled you on into his lap and you began to grind your slick heat along his length, earning a moan from him that went straight to your core.

He held you- not as if you were something fragile-but as if you were something solid and grounding. And to him you were that- an anchor. His anchor.

He coaxed you out of his lap and onto the bed.

You gently laid your head on the pillow, watching David’s every move.

He climbed over you, eyes full of hunger and desire.

When you pulled him down closer to you, he followed like gravity itself bound him to you. He pressed his face to your neck, kissing, breathing, grounding himself in the rhythm of your pulse. Your hands traced the slope of his broad shoulders, the tension in every line of muscle, easing him open with touch alone.

“I’ve got you.” you whispered, lips brushing his ear. “You’re here, with me.”

He groaned low in his chest and slid his hands along your body, wanting to memorize every inch. His touch was reverent, then hungry, then reverent again- balancing on a delicate scale.

When he finally pushed into you, he broke. His breath stuttered, his face burying into your neck.

“God—” he rasped, voice cracking, “—you make me feel alive.”

He clung to you, moving with a raw, aching need, every thrust carrying more than desire—passion and warmth. Love.

And you gave him everything: your hands gripping his back, nails in his skin to remind him he was real; your voice whispering his name like a prayer; your body grounding him in the here and now.

He muttered sweet nothings in between moans and curses as he thrust into you, eating up every moan and sigh you were giving him.

You felt the familiar heat curl in your belly, David’s cock hitting inside you just right. He wanted you to come undone under him, to feel you clench and spasm around him; to know he was making you feel good.

Every thrust was a plea, every gasp against your lips a confession he couldn’t voice any other way. He drove into you as deep as he could, angling his hips to hit your g-spot. It was too much- the way he was touching you, kissing you, holding you while the sound of skin on skin rang in your ears. It pushed you over the edge. Your body went taut as waves of pleasure crashed over you. David worked you through your orgasm, eating up every moan and sound like it were mana from above.

His body trembled with the effort of holding himself together, and yet in you, he unraveled—safe to break, safe to want.

Your moans tangled with his, the room filled with the slick sounds of your bodies moving in sync. He moved faster, harder, chasing the edge, but his eyes never left yours.

“Fuck, babygirl..Gonna-mm- gonna cum.” he panted, voice ragged.

“Give it to me David, I wanna feel you.” you whispered, clenching around him, pulling him deeper.

That undid him. With a strangled sound, he buried himself in you, thrusts faltering as release tore through him. His body shook, his face pressed to your neck as he spilled inside you, groaning your name like a prayer.

You held him through it, legs tightening around his waist, arms around his shoulders, keeping him anchored while waves of shuddering breaths left him spent against you. His heart pounded against your chest, heavy and real.

When the aftershocks faded, he stayed inside you, head on your chest, listening to your steady heartbeat. You felt him steady—stitched together by your hands, your lips, your love. Not perfect, not whole, but human. And that was enough.

David’s pleading blue eyes convinced you to shower with him. But you didn’t really need much convincing to begin with.

The bathroom filled with steam as the water ran hot.

For a moment, David just stood under the stream of water, in hopes it would wash his worries away.

It didn’t.

But it helped. You helped.

You ran the soapy cloth over David’s body with reverence, minding the little cuts and bruises he’d been collecting.

He just stood there, letting you clean him-enjoying your caring, attentive hands.

The simple act had him gazing at you like you were something holy; like you could wash his soul clean too.

You simply smiled under his heavy gaze and reached for the shampoo. David let out a something between a moan and a growl when you dragged your nails across his scalp. You continued to comb your fingers through his wet hair- making him feel good and scrubbing out the stubborn hair product he liked to use.

When you both were clean, he kissed you slow and easy, savoring the sensation of your warm lips and the hot water running down his back.

You were both slick with soap suds and water- the nonslip shower mat your only saving grace. His mouth found your neck again, pressing heavy, wet kisses and small nibbles all the way down to your breasts.

It was slower, sweeter than before. There was no rush, no urgency to reach the finish line. He was taking his time with you as if the water bill wasn’t due next week.

He lifted your leg up over his hip and slid into you in one slow motion, savoring the wet, smooth, heat.

Your moans echoed off the tile walls, the intensity of the sound drove him absolutely wild- in the best way.

He continued to kiss you deeply; all teeth and tongue. When his mouth wasn’t connected to yours, he was leaving little bite marks along your skin, not enough to bruise, but just enough to remind you of the moment in the morning.

David-who was thriving off your pleasure- thrusted into you faster now, driving you towards your second orgasm.

He hiked your leg up higher, singing your praises- how tight and wet you are, how pretty you look taking his thick cock.

“Thats it, sweet girl. Mhmm, takin’ my cock so good.”

And with that, a toe-curling orgasm came over you, sending electricity through your veins. He held you through it, his grip tightening as he approached his own climax.

Your orgasm sent David over the edge, with a few more thrusts he was spilling inside you again with a loud groan. You held him through this one too, gently coaxing him through his high.

Neither of you moved. He continued to hold you close while he gently lifted your leg off his waist.

“God, you’re perfect.” He whispered, stroking your wet hair. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too.” You mumbled into his moist skin. “So much.”

You embraced each other for a while longer. Water bill be damned.

-

When you and he crawled into bed, David curled toward you like a man seeking shelter from a storm.

You pressed your forehead to his. Let your fingers dance over his ribs, slow and grounding.

His hand slid under your shirt, not for anything more, just to feel skin-to-skin.

And when he finally fell asleep—deep, exhausted, and safe—you stayed awake a little longer.

Watching him.

Protecting him, for once.

You woke to the rustle of sheets and the sharp inhale of breath that wasn’t yours. In the dark, your eyes adjusted to the outline of broad, strong shoulders sitting upright on the edge of the bed, his chest rising and falling like he was trying to catch up with the world that had just torn him out of sleep.

“David?” your voice was soft, still husky from sleep.

He didn’t answer at first.

You slid closer, your hand brushing across his back, slow and deliberate, reminding him you were there. “nightmare?”

His jaw flexed. “Yeah.” A single word, gravel-low. He pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes, like he could scrub the images out of his head. “I was sleepin’ so good too.”

You wrapped your arms around him from behind, pressing your cheek between his shoulder blades. He leaned back into you, just a fraction, like he couldn’t quite help it, like his body yearned for yours. (It did)

“It’s just us. Just the quiet.” You whispered.

His breath shuddered.

Slowly, you shifted around to face him, climbing into his lap so he couldn’t look away. Your hands cupped his face, thumbs smoothing the furrows between his brows. He finally lifted his eyes to yours

“Sorry to wake you up.”

You kissed his temple, lingering. “It’s alright.”

For a long moment, he just breathed against you, the sharp edges of him softening under your steady touch. His hands—those hands that were always gripping too hard, always fidgeting—slid to your waist and held on, not rough, not desperate, just grounding.

“I don’t know what I’d do without you.,” he muttered against your hair, voice quiet but raw.

You pressed your forehead to his, your fingers curling at the nape of his neck.

“You never have to wonder. You’re stuck with me.” You chuckled slightly.

The tension in him broke. He smiled- small, but still there. “No one I’d rather be stuck with, baby.”

Eventually, when the silence settled, you guided him back down against the pillows. He resisted for a moment, restless energy still sparking through him, but your steady presence anchored him. You stayed close, one hand resting over his chest, feeling the uneven thrum of his heartbeat slowly begin to steady beneath your touch.

You didn’t tell him the nightmares would go away, because they might not. Instead, you offered what you could: quiet, warmth, the simple reminder that he wasn’t alone in the dark.