#khazrablood

They’d fallen asleep with the jukebox humming, and it’s still doing so. A soft tune that marries the occasion. Gail’s lost in looking at the calendar—where they have it marked plain as day—when they’re enveloped yet again, a face burrowing in the crook of their neck.

“Morning, Bear.”

Charon only grumbles. Nuzzles closer still, breathing deep enough that whistles escape the cavity of his nose. Eventually though, he does shift his head, curious as to what’s captured Gail’s attention.

“You have… notated it.” There’s the hint of a smile against Gail’s cheek. Fondness exudes from him, laces his gravelly voice. “Even though it isn’t like you to forget.”

“It’s important,” Gail murmurs. Gently, they start to card through the tufts of auburn hair; a low, satisfied growl rumbles with the scratch of their nails to his scalp.

Before they can say it, Charon does: “You are important.”

With ease, he turns Gail about-face in his arms. They find themselves lost in those bright blue eyes that glimmer in the low morning light. Weathered fingers caress their face, cup their cheek with a tenderness that’s usually disguised by superficial callousness. Slowly, they wander down, skimming the thick cord hanging from Gail’s neck, where the ring rests in the nook of their collarbone.

Gail rests a hand over his. Their fingers interlock, a touch warm with mutual devotion.

The day is special. Not just because it’s one of the few peaceful, lethargic times.

It’s the day Charon strung that ring around Gail’s neck, crafted with labor and love.

He leans down, and they meet him halfway—with arms looped behind his neck and weight on the tips of their toes. Lips lock together in a romantic dance, only breaking when the need for air becomes too great.

“Many have passed my eyes,” Charon states, chaste kisses ghosting Gail’s lips as he speaks, “but only yours have left me lost.”

“Then, let me lead you back home.”

Another firm kiss pulls the breath from Gail’s lungs.

“Don’t move suddenly, Char…” It’s quiet, every syllable drawling with fatigue. “You have a couple of rather grievous injuries, numerous minor ones. I’ve done the best I’m able, but please… please just rest.”

Gail honestly looks none better. Clearly, they’ve been working nonstop for hours upon hours. Wounds litter their body, the bright red of blood a sickening contrast to pale skin. Their gauntness is more pronounced; occasionally, their work is interrupted by a fit of coughs.

Regardless, they attend to him instead, working to clean a gash in his cheek versus tending to themselves. Charon lightly grips their elbow, halting them, and Gail’s eyes widen a little.

“You’re injured.”

“I’m… I’m fine. My services are needed, I can’t—”

He eases them closer with some tugs at their sleeve. “Lay here. Rest.” 

A smile perks up their cheek, and it’s the most beautiful, peaceful thing he’s seen in days. They sigh as if pondering the idea—though if they do, it isn’t for very long.

Snagging a threadbare blanket from the foot of the cot, Gail slinks against his side, overly mindful of his many bandages and bruises. 

“Can I at least finish cleaning that?” they ask softly, gesturing to his face. He knows it’s pointless to resist, so Charon nods. The alcohol burns and the sutures are uncomfortable as hell, but it at least doesn’t take long under Gail’s expertise. They hum, satisfied, setting the tools aside to nuzzle into the crook of his neck. 

The two are silent for some time. Just laying there. Relishing in the closeness, paying absolutely no heed to the grime and gore that coats them both. He’s taken to burying his face into their hair, enveloping them in his hold; they’ve been peppering light kisses to his steady pulse, along his jaw.

“I thought… I thought I lost you.” It’s only a whisper, so tired. 

“You haven’t,” Charon answers, a pitch low in return. He starts to card through Gail’s locks, easing the many tangles and pebbles of dried blood loose. They crane their head up, hooded eyes gazing into his own. 

After another rake through, he cups their nape, guiding them as they shuffle close. Lips flutter together, chapped and damaged, and as they connect, he assures in a mutter, “I’m here, pchelka.”

Not when Hancock’s lips quirk into that familiar, devious smirk she loves. The heat off his body drowns her, and the breath she’d regained is suddenly taken away again. It doesn’t take much to close the miniscule distance. And he isn’t particularly slow about it, prodding Esper’s lips with his tongue—a plea that she readily accepts. 

His mouth moves to the pulse of her neck, and Esper has to clamp her mouth shut with her teeth to stop any noise from escaping.

“Livin’ dangerously, aren’t we?” he purrs. Keeping his voice so low makes it vibrate along her skin, leaving goosebumps. As Hancock continues to love all over the expanse of her neck and shoulders, one of his hands wanders down. Undoes the fly of Esper’s jeans, tugging them down just enough. And she does the same for him, earning a strangled growl.

He’s swift, wasting no time burying himself into her, gentle but eager. Starting slow, Hancock wraps an arm around Esper’s nape, pulling her close, kissing her deeply to swallow every moan. He pulls away—though not far—letting himself rest for a moment, and he chuckles when she whines.

“Now, now, Espe, I can’t have all the fun. I gotta make sure you’re taken care of… don’t I?” Without any more warning than that, Hancock’s free hand sneaks under her shirt, fingers lightly trailing every roll and curve of her body before they finally ruck up the tank underneath to find purchase around Esper’s breast. The pad of his thumb caresses the perk, dusky nipple, his lips go back to the crook of her neck, and all of it shoots directly to Esper’s gut—gasoline added to the raging fire there.

His teeth gently graze the skin as Hancock murmurs, “Now, unlike that guy out there… I won’t bite.” He shifts, leans somehow closer, only burying his cock deeper still. His tongue rolling along her clammy skin until it reaches the shell of her ear. “Unless… you’re into that sort of thing.” His tone is knowing, and Esper can hear the grin.

“I swear, John…”

That makes him snicker. And he doesn’t hesitate to follow through. With firm, languid suckles, Hancock leaves dark marks littered among the freckles of her shoulders and collarbone. Each one makes Esper dizzy with lust, her hips rolling to try to meet his, teeth gritting together to try to silence herself—it’s not working terribly well.

“Please, John,” she gasps. “Please—”

Hancock starts to move again, and when Esper cracks her eyes open, it makes sense why he did so without much more convincing. His eyelids are lidded, mouth twitching in anticipation. Clearly, he had been watching her as she chased her arousal… and it only magnified his own.

As he fucks her with renewed earnest, he whispers into her ear, leaves sloppy kisses wherever he can reach, continues to give attention to the most sensitive areas of Esper’s body. The peril from mere moments before is forgotten.

She’s fucking on fire. Reaching that point of no return. Somehow, she’s able to croak out, “J-John… I’m—John…”

His face is buried into her neck with a hand bracing on the shelter wall, and his voice is just as strained. “That’s it, sunshine… T-That’s it…”

And as quickly as they’d arrived at that precipice edge, they both nosedived right off. Both sag back against the wall, struggling to regain their faculties in the heavy air of the shelter. Esper moves first, though to do nothing more than reach into her pack for a spare shirt—all they have available to somewhat clean themselves.

Outside, it’s quiet.

Hancock turns the shirt inside-out and haphazardly tosses it in his bag. Esper makes a note of it… because he will forget it’s there. “Maybe we scared him off,” he huffs out with a smirk as they’re both fixing and readjusting their clothes. 

Esper laughs lightly, playfully swatting his shoulder. “As hot as that was… can we please get out of this thing?”