There's a give-and-take between them that Deacon wouldn't trade for the world. As much as he desires control and autonomy of his own, he admires any show of strength from Danse and finds the act of giving himself over to the other man's care very freeing. Letting Danse position their bodied together for optimal cuddling is an easy task, benefiting directly from it by feeling cared for by someone else for the first time in decades.
Deacon is quiet as Danse explains, his hands rubbing idly over the other man's back and arms as they nuzzle close. "I don't mind that, though... mate," he repeats, "But 'boyfriend' or 'partner' might achieve the same thing."
There are other words or titles that feel even more intimate, but Deacon doesn't speak them, afraid of the implications even if what they are discussing now alone implies the same sorts of feelings.
"I would too, for the record," he admits with an easy smile, "But you're not someone I would want to hide away, and that scares me, if I'm honest. The people that I love get hurt. And I can't lose this either."
Danse's nose wrinkles slightly at the word 'boyfriend,' only because it doesn't feel appropriately serious for whatever this has become. Not that it's a word he's ever had applied to him before, or applied to anyone else, and not that he wouldn't feel a little skittish about more dramatic terminology for the same reason Deacon is avoiding it, but 'partner' smooths out that little furrow as he considers it more thoroughly. He could go for that, he thinks.
He would say so, after that internal debate, but the word love from Deacon's mouth makes his heartbeat speed enough for Deacon to feel it against his own skin where they're pressed together, makes Danse's arm tighten gently around him in glad, unspoken welcome for it. He presses a soft kiss to Deacon's neck, over the marks his fangs have left as a visible sign of their bond.
"I know," he whispers. "I read something once, about...how it's better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all. But I don't believe that. I don't think you do either. I know why you wouldn't." He's seen it for himself, ached for Deacon at the terrible sight of Barbara's blood on his hands--in both more and less literal of a sense than Cutler's had been on his own, but Deacon knows that story, too. It doesn't bear dwelling on now, but the ghost of it is hanging in the air.
"I don't know if it's any consolation, but I can take care of myself better than most." He looks up again, trying for a hint of an encouraging smile. "And when I can't, you've done an admirable job making up the difference so far. You didn't even have to burn down that forest after all, and we came out of it all right."
It's almost enough distraction for Danse to have reminded him of his strength, but it only makes Deacon think of all the times Danse has come to his rescue, which certainly outweighs that one little time in the forest. Acts that have made it so easy for Deacon to admire him and trust him with the whole of his being, making him feel things for Danse that he'd never thought possible.
"You've always been incredibly capable, Baby Brahmin," Deacon coos, his body pressing into Danse's to accompany the way he's being squeezed. "You've saved me countless times now, and I'd burn down every damn forest to repay you."
Deacon can feel that heartbeat, pumping blood through Danse's body in a way that makes him salivate. He's listening to it, eyes drifting closed at the feeling of Danse's lips on his skin and thinking about how satisfying it feels for that heart to beat for him. How that heart pumps blood through his body and how it tastes on his tongue. He can't help but think about it all rushing south through Danse's veins, making his cock strain against him and throb so hard that he can feel Danse's pulse there too-- an unconscious pull of his own power that drinking from Danse has given him.
"Danse..." he breathes, feeling that stir between them and realizing quickly that it might be his doing, his hand skims quickly down Danse's body to reach between them and meet that throbbing erection while his own cock still sits soft against his own thigh, "I... jesus- lay back for me, beautiful... Maybe there's another way I can spend my time repaying you."
It's simultaneously the strangest feeling and also the most natural thing he could imagine right now, and for all Danse knows, this could be entirely his own needy reaction to that sweet, heady praise and affection. He could get drunk on the way Deacon spoils him with words like nobody ever has before. How difficult is it to think he could harden again already at just that promise, the renewed press of Deacon's warm nude body against his, the remnants of Danse's pleasure still binding them together as it dries on their skin?
Only the swiftness of it serves as a clue that it isn't just his own lingering, smoldering arousal being stoked back into a fire. And Deacon seems to realize that it's his doing somehow, though it's clearly coming as just as much of a surprise to him as the knotting had been. That much could at least be blamed on Danse in some capacity, but this--this is new. New, exciting, worth playing with and relishing.
He lies back without hesitation, without protest, cock jerking fully of its own eager accord now at the prospect of how Deacon could carry out this proposal, and cups his lover's cheek in his hand to pull him down into a quick hungry kiss.
"This isn't me conceding that you need to repay me," he says, "but I'd never turn down an offer like that. Please, Deacon..."
The backs of his fingers tease along the length of Danse's shaft as he lies back and pulls him into a kiss that Deacon groans into, licking into his mouth briefly. He scoffs at Danse's reply, lips already traveling down his jaw and neck where his fangs nip lightly at his skin.
"You don't think you've earned it?" he teases, thumbing at the head of Danse's cock as his lips drag over his chest, taking a moment to savor his body. "I'll prove it to you, yet. Don't worry..." Deacon's voice trails off as his tongue laps over a nipple, teeth worrying over it and lips sucking until it hardens and Deacon can draw back, pleased with his work.
"Why don't we start out easy," he suggests as he crawls lower yet. "Tell me what a good boy you are. I want to hear you say it. Tell me what would make you feel good while I reward you."
By the time Deacon's lips are kissing along Danse's happy trail, his mouth is watering so much that he can barely speak. His fingers curl around the base of Danse's dick, holding it in position while he hovers above it.
It's not about earning it, he wants to protest, wants to gather his indignant thoughts and explain to Deacon exactly why, but that sweet sharp little bite scatters them again beyond a hope of pulling them back together for as long as Deacon's mouth is anywhere on his body. He arches gently, pushes his chest up into that heated teasing, his cock throbbing under the bare brush of Deacon's fingers.
The haze of need usually loosens his tongue, makes it far easier to be free with filthy language and confident in his requests when Deacon wants him to be, but this feels different. It's one thing to articulate an already-held fantasy when encouraged, but another to give himself the kind of praise he's still coming to accept he deserves when Deacon says it.
Still, how could he deny a request that sweet? And surely it would make him less good, in Deacon's eyes, if he refused. That's enough to sway him. Danse swallows, thighs parting further as his cock strains impatiently in Deacon's waiting grip, body already aching to feel the slick heat of his mouth.
"I can," he insists, head tilting back against the pillow. "And I...I am. I'm your good boy." The 'your' is crucial; the specific possessive is what makes it easier to say. He can't even summon a fantasy to elaborate on right now beyond the immediate desperation to have Deacon swallow him down, but he rallies.
"Christ, Deacon, everything you do to me feels good. All I want is your mouth, but I--" He falters, flushes, pink creeping down his chest as he finds the words. "I want to see you change again, too. I want to see you look like you did last time--you don't even have to wear the dress, I want you naked this time--"
"Yeah, you are..." Deacon murmurs, finally giving into temptation and fitting the head of Danse's cock between his lips. He groans hungrily as he tastes his arousal on his tongue, tongue curling around him to suck him clean.
Danse's expression is so sweet as he relaxes back, encouraging Deacon to take more of him into his mouth. Jaw relaxing, he moans around Danse's cock as he starts to bob his head lower, his eyes practically twinkling as they notice the flush of pink down over Danse's chest. He doesn't have a lot of practice in this, not in probably nearly thirty years, but the benefit of his powers make it easier to accommodate Danse's size without difficulty, and by the time the other man is asking him to change, he's already letting that heavy cock stretch open his throat to swallow him back fully until he can bury his nose in Danse's pubic hair. The growling that request summons vibrates around Danse's shaft before Deacon is taking a deep inhale of air through his nose, flooding his senses with the scent of Danse while his hands massage at his inner thighs, one sliding lower to play with his balls.
He doesn't change yet, wanting Danse to get an eyefull of him like this before he does, wanting him to see just how badly he too wants to please him and show his appreciation. His eyelids are heavy as he rests there for a moment, adjusting before he slowly begins to draw back. His eyes finally flutter shut, neck working to take Danse's length over and over.
Danse might not be as out of practice with receiving this as Deacon is with giving it--hell, he wasn't even alive the last time Deacon did this, though anything surrounding that fact is a mindfuck he's been trying not to dwell on.
But the couple of people who've done this for him were never doing it with this kind of affection anyway, this reverence for something more than just his body. Even when he'd uncomplicatedly enjoyed that sort of appreciation, he'd longed for more. The look in Deacon's eyes as he takes Danse's cock in--the tenderness and the joy at pleasing him, so clear and strong they come right through even that pupilless gaze--is everything Danse wanted, whether he knew it all those years ago or not.
If Deacon were swallowing him down any less spectacularly, Danse could keep his own eyes locked on that gaze for as long as Deacon let him, but the thoroughness of this--the hot, glorious tightness of Deacon's throat, deeper than anyone else has ever taken his cock like this before--has him collapsing back onto the pillow again with an utterly helpless sound, an unconscious echo of that sobbing noise Deacon makes that Danse always replays in his dreams both sleeping and waking.
"My god," he gasps, dazed and twisting the sheets in one hand, reaching out with the other to stroke almost clumsily at Deacon's cheek and jaw and the back of his head, because his eyes are shut tight with focus and he can barely think, but he needs to be touching Deacon somehow.
"Stay...stay like this a little longer," he manages. He hasn't changed his mind about what he ultimately wants here, but he needs to drink in just a little more of Deacon looking and feeling like Deacon. If only he had the wherewithal to actually sit up and watch again, instead of arching his back with another shameless moan.
Say what you will about their monstrous changes, but Deacon is thankful that his allow his body to become the perfect shape for his partner no matter their circumstances. With his mouth occupied as it is, he can't deliver the level of praise he wishes to, but it seems that his eyes have said more than words might convey anyway, and as Danse collapses back in ecstasy, he allows himself to get truly lost in his task between Danse's thighs, swallowing around Danse's cock over and over.
That vocalized desire to have Deacon the way he is causes him to choke slightly, that tight burning feeling in one's throat that comes with a swell of emotion. Deacon has spent so long running from himself, desiring to be anyone but who he is. Very new face seems to distance himself further from the last, but that creeping self-hatred eventually catches up, and the moment he begins to get used to the way he looks, he's eager to make the change all over again, but Danse takes away all of that. Danse gives Deacon a reason to appreciate what he sees in his own reflection.
He moans around Danse again, his thumb massaging over his balls while cradling them so that his middle finger can rub along the stretch of skin behind them. The swell of emotion in Deacon's chest just makes him desire to give Danse everything he wants and more, a free hand gripping at Danse's hip to encourage him to fuck up and into Deacon's mouth to take what he needs.
This is the version of Deacon that Danse fell in love with, even if not the first one he'd ever come to feel a kind of adoration for--the only one he thinks he's ever known, even if he's wrong. Jane's form is exciting in the way it ironically feels novel, but half the appeal is that she's still Deacon underneath. The enjoyment lies in being able to share a different kind of pleasure with the same lover, and Danse trusts now that the man he's come to love is the real Deacon, with as little deliberate artifice concealing him now as Deacon is capable of.
Even if he can't interpret that little choke of emotion for exactly what it is, the message still comes across in the way this request from him makes Deacon redouble his efforts, as if reiterating that insistence that he deserves to be repaid somehow for what he wanted freely to give. Danse couldn't even begin to protest anymore.
He can't find words at all, driven wild to a point just shy of overstimulation, incapable now of the restraint he might otherwise still have tried to hang onto. That teasing stroke of fingers, gentler through sensitive skin than the earlier thrusting of Deacon's cock inside him, makes his hips buck upward with no thought other than sharp, desperate need, and his fingers would twist in Deacon's hair if it were long enough to anchor them.
This is a night to be grateful for synth stamina and moon magic both, because this isn't where he wants the night to end, but his urgent, pleading desire to spill down Deacon's throat is too strong. And maybe he doesn't have to find the words for it. Maybe if he opens his mind, projects as deliberately as he can, that request will come through without speech. He has just enough coherent thought to try.
It's the real him as much as it can be. Far from his original face or name, but maybe neither of those are important, given what the man with that face and name was capable of. As Deacon, he has grown into a better man, one that Danse can lay claim to, and that is all that's important, here.
He's overjoyed when Danse gives into the temptation to rut up and into him, and Deacon takes everything he has to give without protest. His thumb massages at Danse's hip while his other hand continues to cradle and tease, his jaw stays slack and throat open, the shift to accommodate his lover the only disingenuous thing about his current form, forgiven hopefully by the fact that it's done in service of Danse.
Thoughts and images flood Deacon's mind, projecting onto his own and making it even easier to give all of himself to the other man's desires. There's a link between them, he knows, evidenced earlier by the way he felt Danse's pleasure with his own, and he feels it now too, a rising tension and need for release, teetering there in that sweet spot. A rumbling moan escapes Deacon around Danse's cock, nearly causing Deacon to shudder around him in pleasure. He wants this just as badly, his eyes fluttering open to look up at Danse again and show him that he's ready for it.
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Deacon is quiet as Danse explains, his hands rubbing idly over the other man's back and arms as they nuzzle close. "I don't mind that, though... mate," he repeats, "But 'boyfriend' or 'partner' might achieve the same thing."
There are other words or titles that feel even more intimate, but Deacon doesn't speak them, afraid of the implications even if what they are discussing now alone implies the same sorts of feelings.
"I would too, for the record," he admits with an easy smile, "But you're not someone I would want to hide away, and that scares me, if I'm honest. The people that I love get hurt. And I can't lose this either."
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He would say so, after that internal debate, but the word love from Deacon's mouth makes his heartbeat speed enough for Deacon to feel it against his own skin where they're pressed together, makes Danse's arm tighten gently around him in glad, unspoken welcome for it. He presses a soft kiss to Deacon's neck, over the marks his fangs have left as a visible sign of their bond.
"I know," he whispers. "I read something once, about...how it's better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all. But I don't believe that. I don't think you do either. I know why you wouldn't." He's seen it for himself, ached for Deacon at the terrible sight of Barbara's blood on his hands--in both more and less literal of a sense than Cutler's had been on his own, but Deacon knows that story, too. It doesn't bear dwelling on now, but the ghost of it is hanging in the air.
"I don't know if it's any consolation, but I can take care of myself better than most." He looks up again, trying for a hint of an encouraging smile. "And when I can't, you've done an admirable job making up the difference so far. You didn't even have to burn down that forest after all, and we came out of it all right."
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"You've always been incredibly capable, Baby Brahmin," Deacon coos, his body pressing into Danse's to accompany the way he's being squeezed. "You've saved me countless times now, and I'd burn down every damn forest to repay you."
Deacon can feel that heartbeat, pumping blood through Danse's body in a way that makes him salivate. He's listening to it, eyes drifting closed at the feeling of Danse's lips on his skin and thinking about how satisfying it feels for that heart to beat for him. How that heart pumps blood through his body and how it tastes on his tongue. He can't help but think about it all rushing south through Danse's veins, making his cock strain against him and throb so hard that he can feel Danse's pulse there too-- an unconscious pull of his own power that drinking from Danse has given him.
"Danse..." he breathes, feeling that stir between them and realizing quickly that it might be his doing, his hand skims quickly down Danse's body to reach between them and meet that throbbing erection while his own cock still sits soft against his own thigh, "I... jesus- lay back for me, beautiful... Maybe there's another way I can spend my time repaying you."
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It's simultaneously the strangest feeling and also the most natural thing he could imagine right now, and for all Danse knows, this could be entirely his own needy reaction to that sweet, heady praise and affection. He could get drunk on the way Deacon spoils him with words like nobody ever has before. How difficult is it to think he could harden again already at just that promise, the renewed press of Deacon's warm nude body against his, the remnants of Danse's pleasure still binding them together as it dries on their skin?
Only the swiftness of it serves as a clue that it isn't just his own lingering, smoldering arousal being stoked back into a fire. And Deacon seems to realize that it's his doing somehow, though it's clearly coming as just as much of a surprise to him as the knotting had been. That much could at least be blamed on Danse in some capacity, but this--this is new. New, exciting, worth playing with and relishing.
He lies back without hesitation, without protest, cock jerking fully of its own eager accord now at the prospect of how Deacon could carry out this proposal, and cups his lover's cheek in his hand to pull him down into a quick hungry kiss.
"This isn't me conceding that you need to repay me," he says, "but I'd never turn down an offer like that. Please, Deacon..."
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The backs of his fingers tease along the length of Danse's shaft as he lies back and pulls him into a kiss that Deacon groans into, licking into his mouth briefly. He scoffs at Danse's reply, lips already traveling down his jaw and neck where his fangs nip lightly at his skin.
"You don't think you've earned it?" he teases, thumbing at the head of Danse's cock as his lips drag over his chest, taking a moment to savor his body. "I'll prove it to you, yet. Don't worry..." Deacon's voice trails off as his tongue laps over a nipple, teeth worrying over it and lips sucking until it hardens and Deacon can draw back, pleased with his work.
"Why don't we start out easy," he suggests as he crawls lower yet. "Tell me what a good boy you are. I want to hear you say it. Tell me what would make you feel good while I reward you."
By the time Deacon's lips are kissing along Danse's happy trail, his mouth is watering so much that he can barely speak. His fingers curl around the base of Danse's dick, holding it in position while he hovers above it.
"You can do that, can't you?"
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The haze of need usually loosens his tongue, makes it far easier to be free with filthy language and confident in his requests when Deacon wants him to be, but this feels different. It's one thing to articulate an already-held fantasy when encouraged, but another to give himself the kind of praise he's still coming to accept he deserves when Deacon says it.
Still, how could he deny a request that sweet? And surely it would make him less good, in Deacon's eyes, if he refused. That's enough to sway him. Danse swallows, thighs parting further as his cock strains impatiently in Deacon's waiting grip, body already aching to feel the slick heat of his mouth.
"I can," he insists, head tilting back against the pillow. "And I...I am. I'm your good boy." The 'your' is crucial; the specific possessive is what makes it easier to say. He can't even summon a fantasy to elaborate on right now beyond the immediate desperation to have Deacon swallow him down, but he rallies.
"Christ, Deacon, everything you do to me feels good. All I want is your mouth, but I--" He falters, flushes, pink creeping down his chest as he finds the words. "I want to see you change again, too. I want to see you look like you did last time--you don't even have to wear the dress, I want you naked this time--"
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Danse's expression is so sweet as he relaxes back, encouraging Deacon to take more of him into his mouth. Jaw relaxing, he moans around Danse's cock as he starts to bob his head lower, his eyes practically twinkling as they notice the flush of pink down over Danse's chest. He doesn't have a lot of practice in this, not in probably nearly thirty years, but the benefit of his powers make it easier to accommodate Danse's size without difficulty, and by the time the other man is asking him to change, he's already letting that heavy cock stretch open his throat to swallow him back fully until he can bury his nose in Danse's pubic hair. The growling that request summons vibrates around Danse's shaft before Deacon is taking a deep inhale of air through his nose, flooding his senses with the scent of Danse while his hands massage at his inner thighs, one sliding lower to play with his balls.
He doesn't change yet, wanting Danse to get an eyefull of him like this before he does, wanting him to see just how badly he too wants to please him and show his appreciation. His eyelids are heavy as he rests there for a moment, adjusting before he slowly begins to draw back. His eyes finally flutter shut, neck working to take Danse's length over and over.
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But the couple of people who've done this for him were never doing it with this kind of affection anyway, this reverence for something more than just his body. Even when he'd uncomplicatedly enjoyed that sort of appreciation, he'd longed for more. The look in Deacon's eyes as he takes Danse's cock in--the tenderness and the joy at pleasing him, so clear and strong they come right through even that pupilless gaze--is everything Danse wanted, whether he knew it all those years ago or not.
If Deacon were swallowing him down any less spectacularly, Danse could keep his own eyes locked on that gaze for as long as Deacon let him, but the thoroughness of this--the hot, glorious tightness of Deacon's throat, deeper than anyone else has ever taken his cock like this before--has him collapsing back onto the pillow again with an utterly helpless sound, an unconscious echo of that sobbing noise Deacon makes that Danse always replays in his dreams both sleeping and waking.
"My god," he gasps, dazed and twisting the sheets in one hand, reaching out with the other to stroke almost clumsily at Deacon's cheek and jaw and the back of his head, because his eyes are shut tight with focus and he can barely think, but he needs to be touching Deacon somehow.
"Stay...stay like this a little longer," he manages. He hasn't changed his mind about what he ultimately wants here, but he needs to drink in just a little more of Deacon looking and feeling like Deacon. If only he had the wherewithal to actually sit up and watch again, instead of arching his back with another shameless moan.
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That vocalized desire to have Deacon the way he is causes him to choke slightly, that tight burning feeling in one's throat that comes with a swell of emotion. Deacon has spent so long running from himself, desiring to be anyone but who he is. Very new face seems to distance himself further from the last, but that creeping self-hatred eventually catches up, and the moment he begins to get used to the way he looks, he's eager to make the change all over again, but Danse takes away all of that. Danse gives Deacon a reason to appreciate what he sees in his own reflection.
He moans around Danse again, his thumb massaging over his balls while cradling them so that his middle finger can rub along the stretch of skin behind them. The swell of emotion in Deacon's chest just makes him desire to give Danse everything he wants and more, a free hand gripping at Danse's hip to encourage him to fuck up and into Deacon's mouth to take what he needs.
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Even if he can't interpret that little choke of emotion for exactly what it is, the message still comes across in the way this request from him makes Deacon redouble his efforts, as if reiterating that insistence that he deserves to be repaid somehow for what he wanted freely to give. Danse couldn't even begin to protest anymore.
He can't find words at all, driven wild to a point just shy of overstimulation, incapable now of the restraint he might otherwise still have tried to hang onto. That teasing stroke of fingers, gentler through sensitive skin than the earlier thrusting of Deacon's cock inside him, makes his hips buck upward with no thought other than sharp, desperate need, and his fingers would twist in Deacon's hair if it were long enough to anchor them.
This is a night to be grateful for synth stamina and moon magic both, because this isn't where he wants the night to end, but his urgent, pleading desire to spill down Deacon's throat is too strong. And maybe he doesn't have to find the words for it. Maybe if he opens his mind, projects as deliberately as he can, that request will come through without speech. He has just enough coherent thought to try.
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He's overjoyed when Danse gives into the temptation to rut up and into him, and Deacon takes everything he has to give without protest. His thumb massages at Danse's hip while his other hand continues to cradle and tease, his jaw stays slack and throat open, the shift to accommodate his lover the only disingenuous thing about his current form, forgiven hopefully by the fact that it's done in service of Danse.
Thoughts and images flood Deacon's mind, projecting onto his own and making it even easier to give all of himself to the other man's desires. There's a link between them, he knows, evidenced earlier by the way he felt Danse's pleasure with his own, and he feels it now too, a rising tension and need for release, teetering there in that sweet spot. A rumbling moan escapes Deacon around Danse's cock, nearly causing Deacon to shudder around him in pleasure. He wants this just as badly, his eyes fluttering open to look up at Danse again and show him that he's ready for it.