The exclamation as the pressure of that hot stream hits his aching cock is startled, breathless, a little embarrassingly high-pitched for him, and completely and utterly uncontrolled. The jolt of physical pleasure alone is dizzying, very nearly enough to push him right over the edge with nothing more, but it's not so all-consuming that Deacon's words don't register too. Danse is immensely glad for that, because the pleasure that wells up in his chest at them is of an entirely different sort that only enhances all of it together.
"I can't--it feels so good, Deacon, I don't even have the words for how good it feels--" And he means all of it, verbal and physical, as he gives his cock a few more quick and erratic strokes. Baby is still echoing in his ears, and he knows he'll have to reiterate when he's more coherent how much he likes to hear Deacon call him that. He could stand to hear it just about anywhere, in any context, public or private, sexual or chaste, as long as Deacon kept saying it with that same affection.
He doesn't know about deserve. For as often as he's said Deacon deserves something good or affectionate or pleasurable, and thought nothing of it because it was so obviously true, he finally understands the hesitance to accept it when it's turned back on him. But he knows Deacon means it as much as he himself does, and it raises even more of a flush to his already-red face. It's too much to ask him to hold out any longer, and he lets go of his cock to let that stream pounding at his shaft give him the last push he needs, a sharp and completely novel stimulus that has him crying out as he comes hard across the shower floor without any further touch at all.
It's a long orgasm, even after last night's exertion, body wracked with the shivers of it as his fingers imprint new bruises on Deacon's thighs over the ones he's already inflicted. In the aftermath, panting softly, he kisses Deacon's stomach in a daze.
"If either of us doubted that I really am yours," he murmurs, "that clears it up." It's acknowledgment that this isn't about the imaginary audience of jealous pre-war neighbors and their rosebushes, or even about their mutual acquaintances, who won't be able to sense any of this once they've showered it off. It's between them and about them, and still holds true even in the clarity after orgasm, though Deacon still needs to be taken care of. And will be, thoroughly, if Danse has anything to say about it right now. Deacon is his, every bit as mutually.
There may be no greater pleasure in the world to Deacon than watching Danse come undone. It heats Deacon inside and out, his own skin flushing.
"You can," he commands softly, "That's okay, baby, you're doing so good."
Deacon's stream does eventually weaken as he empties his bladder onto Danse, the other man's fingers practically wringing him dryas they dig into his thighs. Deacon's own cock gives a mighty throb af the absolute vision Danse makes shaking apart in front of him. He praises him throughout, voice soft and fingers petting his hair and cheek.
A beat later, Deacon is sinking slightly on his haunches so that he can press a kiss of his own to the very top of Danse's head, then reaching to turn on the tap so that the water can come to a comfortable temperature.
"I've never doubted you, baby brahmin," he coos softly, offering his hands to help him stand again, content to ignore his own lust for the moment as long as he has Danse to take care of. "Let me clean you up."
After that climax and that gentle kiss, Danse could use the steadying assistance as he gets to his feet again. He lets Deacon hold him and turn the water on, getting his bearings and still feeling deliciously loose-limbed and warm inside, but he's somehow less patient than Deacon is about the prospect of reciprocation.
He drapes his arms gently around Deacon's waist under the lukewarm shower spray, bending down to kiss him softly again and give his ass an affectionate little squeeze. "All right," he says, because the thought of letting Deacon soap him down and run gentle hands all over his body is too appealing to put off just to be contrary, but there's no reason it can't go both ways.
What he'd love right now is to really get his mouth around Deacon's cock the way other things had distracted him from last night, but something tells him there will probably be time for it before he leaves. Right now, his hand closes around Deacon just to stroke him with not-quite-idle tenderness as the water begins to rinse the evidence of his own pleasure down the drain.
"Sometimes I wish I were good at nicknames the way you are," he muses. They're so completely outside the realm of anything that comes naturally to him that he doesn't even really think to draw a distinction between nicknames and romantic pet names and ordinary endearments, only knows that he delights in every single one Deacon bestows on him no matter how silly or unexpected, and he wishes he knew how to return the gesture. "You should have something like that, like the way you call me 'baby brahmin.' I don't even know how to think of that kind of thing."
Deacon hums into the kiss, smirking a bit as he eases back from it and glances up at Danse. The height difference between them can often be forgotten when they spend so much time horizontal or with Danse on his knees, and moments where he's reminded just how much larger the other man is are kid of thrilling, not that Deacon has ever been the sort of guy that gets intimidated by larger men.
He reaches for the soap, but nearly fumbles it as he feels Danse's hand close around him. He'd been so keyed up that he hadn't realized just how badly he wanted to be touched, soft groans of pleasure leaving him as he fights to regain focus on his task and lather up the soap in his hands.
"Oh?" Deacon replies as he begins to rub his lathered hands over Danse's chest, luxuriating in the shape of him and giving his chest a few cheeky squeezes as he works the suds into his thick body hair. He laughs lightly, shaking his head, his cheeks just a little more pink from that thought.
"You just made it easy, is all," he remarks, "You've got those big, brown, beautiful eyes... and well, I felt inspired."
Deacon's shoulders shrug as his hands rub circles of soap lower along Danse's abs, but he smiles up at him with sincerity. "You don't have to think of anything, I'm not deducting points for it."
The compliment to his eyes still makes him blush, pleased pinkness creeping down his neck even as he's already flushed under Deacon's touch, no matter how many times Deacon tells him they're beautiful. And now that he finally knows what Deacon's eyes look like in turn, the compliment feels all the more meaningful, because Danse doesn't think his own are anything particularly special compared to those clear blue jewels, and yet Deacon calls them inspiring.
"I don't want you to have any doubt how I feel. I don't want you to think you don't inspire me, or that I don't think about you constantly, because I do. You told me once that the sounds I make in bed haunt you...do you have any idea how often I replay the sounds you make when you come? The way you sounded last night--I'll be hearing that in my dreams."
And the quiet noises that fall from Deacon's lips as Danse strokes him are only spurring him on to more of that, fist tightening and thumb swirling softly around the head of his cock as he continues with equally fervent sincerity. "The way you feel in my hand like this, the way you taste, hell, the way your sweat smells after we're finished wearing each other out--it drives me insane. I'm no good at talking about these things, but it does. I need you to know that."
It's unclear to Deacon just what is responsible for making him breathless; the way Danse's hand strokes him more intensely as time goes on, or how heartfelt and honestly romantic the things Danse says to him are. Calling Danse's eyes inspiration for the nickname Baby Brahmin feels nothing like being told he's inspiring and always on Danse's mind. The longer it goes on, the heavier Deacon's breathing becomes, his hands no longer lathering suds over Danse's torso but instead clutching onto him like he's the only thing keeping him upright.
He has to laugh when Danse says he's no good at talking about these things-- it's a ludicrous claim coming from the man that has Deacon's cheeks burning red hot as he gasps for breath. He reaches up to yank the other man into a desperate kiss when he can't contain himself any longer, moaning into Danse's mouth as his hips rut into his hand until he's spilling hotly into it and shuddering in Danse's arms.
"God, I--" he groans against Danse's mouth, cutting himself off with a suppressed whine as he comes down from his orgasm, "I can't believe you'd say that to me right before you need to leave," he sighs, voice airy and somewhat pouty. Deacon draws back, biting at his own lower lip for a moment, his hand pressed to Danse's cheek. His voice deepens with a sort of growl in an insant, somehow all the more aroused even if his cock is momentarily spent. "Dry off, Charmer. I want you in bed again right away so that I can give you something else to dream about. So that I can show you what I think about when we're apart."
Whatever thoughts or plans Danse might have been forming about how to reciprocate the orgasm he's still feeling wrung-out from, they're nothing in comparison to the thrill of having Deacon kiss him like a starving man and fuck his fist like he doesn't have a choice, like he's too beautifully desperate to hold back any longer.
It's the kind of passion Danse was already yearning to spur him to even when they both thought this was going to be nothing but a drug-fueled one-off. And that yearning has only grown and grown the more often they do this, to the point where it's a mainstay of Danse's daydreams now to make Deacon lose himself in breathless gasping pleasure and come hard and hot over his hand or on his stomach or chest or face, to think of the particular way his voice strains when he's falling apart exactly like this. He kisses back with absolutely unabashed delight as he strokes Deacon through the aftershocks, echoing those soft moans and sucking hard at his lower lip with one possessive little bite for good measure.
The pout makes him grin, in that bright and free way he reserves exclusively for Deacon where nobody else can see it, but it drops off his face again with a startled wide-eyed blush and a twitch of his own exhausted cock at that growl, almost whiplash-like in the renewed arousal it brings and clueless but fascinated as to what Deacon could possibly mean.
"God," he breathes. "How could I say no?" He can't, not to this or anything else Deacon could ask, not even when military duty calls. He thinks right now that he could just stay another hour in bed with Deacon and let the recruits train themselves, reprimand from the General or no. The shower is promptly shut off, and he leans in for one more needy hungry kiss, hand cradling the back of Deacon's head, before he does exactly as he's ordered to.
One of Deacon's favorite things about Danse has been learning that he's a different man than he presents to the public. That just like Deacon himself, there's a face he shows others and a face reserved completely for moments like this. Deacon's been much more careful with his own, but when Danse beams at him with an expression he's certain he's never seen on that charming face before, he can't help but beam back with just as much sincerity.
He had almost said something heartfelt before giving Danse instructions. Almost told him that as much as he'd just claimed the other man, that he was his too. That it isn't just Danse that's struggling to articulate the way he feels. Danse is honest to a fault in the same way that Deacon cannot help but spout any fabricated bullshit that comes to his mind. He's too guarded, but he wants to lower his shields around Danse, even if he's terrified of what may come from doing so. There's guilt there, too, because Danse has seemingly been so trusting of him from the start, a fact that makes his chest ache as he follows Danse to the bedroom again, hands immediately finding his body and trailing fingertips across it until he can take Danse's hand and lead him to the mattress.
"Do you trust me?" he asks as if he needs to confirm it. He already knows the answer, but hearing it out loud would hit differently. "Because I'm about to tell you to do something that you'll question my ability to handle. And I'm going to need your trust that I can..."
"I do." He never hesitates anymore in saying so when Deacon asks--never has hesitated to trust him when it comes to sex, and always been rewarded for his faith, but the better he comes to know Deacon, the more tender and strangely protective it makes him feel when Deacon comes right out and requests it.
It's the same kind of vulnerability inherent in the way Danse is afraid to ask for softness, knowing that the stern, armored, martial image he's spent his life cultivating makes it hard for others to think he should want it, let alone deserves it. But Deacon offers him that without his even needing to ask, and likewise, Danse isn't stingy with the assurance that he trusts Deacon when it truly matters.
This, though, sets off just enough alarm bells to have him looking deeply concerned. "But you're not going to have me do anything that could hurt you, are you?"
"Good." Deacon eases himself down onto the mattress, beckoning Danse to join him. His concern is heartwarming, but Deacon waves it off easily with a small laugh and a shake of his head as he lays back. "No, not today," he replies wasily enough, leaving it open in case one day he wants something a little rougher. He isn't looking for that, right now.
Right now, all Deacon wants is to give Danse more pleasure and really show him that he's desired. "I want you to sit on my face," he says with a smirk. "You're not gonna hurt me, ok? Just plop that perfect thing down right here like it's your throne. I may not have the words you do, but I can put my mouth to work in different ways."
It's almost comical how wide Danse's eyes can get when provided a reason like this, struck momentarily silent as if the computerized part of his brain is frozen in need of rebooting. However much his body might like this idea--and it very much does, cock already rising to attention again even before his mind has fully processed the thought of this--he understands immediately now why Deacon had made him promise to entertain it without fear, when he'd been reluctant enough last night just to settle his weight atop Deacon while cuddling.
And entirely aside, this proposition is the first time he's realized that anyone would ever set their mouth to such a task. "I--that's really what you want?" He licks his own suddenly-dry lips, breath coming just a little quicker, his mind torn between the image of doing just as Deacon asks him to and the image of doing it to him in turn. He isn't saying no, and he will be taking notes.
He joins Deacon carefully on the mattress, still just lying alongside him for the moment, and then hesitantly moving to straddle his waist to begin with, posture still stiff yet and careful with his bulk. It's clear enough from his positioning that he's not altogether unfamiliar with the concept of having one's face sat on, but he's only ever done it with women, and he's certainly never been the one doing the sitting.
"...it wasn't a metaphor or anything, babe, pretty straightforward," Deacon teases, his expression exceptionally soft at the way those eyes grow wide. God, he could stare at them all day like this. Absolutely drown in them.
He nods again, confident. "I've day dreamed about nuzzling between those cheeks so often I've lost count. C'mere. Let me take care of you."
Hands grasp at Danse's hips, fingers sliding behind them to cup at his plush ass and nudge him higher. Deacon licks at his own lips, his eyes only leaving Danse's to steal a glance at his cock as it fills out again, the sight alone nearly enough to get Deacon's to stir.
Danse isn't sure which aspect of that statement melts him more--the urging to let Deacon take care of him, the way Deacon always does so well as to make him crave it in his alone time, or the casual admission that Deacon thinks about this when he's alone. And not just once, but uncountably often.
The thought of it takes Danse's breath away, makes it catch in his throat with surprise and warm pleasure as he inches forward at Deacon's urging until he can brace and steady himself with hands against the wall. He stalls briefly, self-conscious, the flush to his skin taking on a tinge of embarrassment in addition to the arousal--but Deacon so clearly knows what he wants, with absolutely zero ambiguity, and when Danse already knows how deliriously pleasurable it is to give Deacon's fingers and cock free rein with his ass, the anticipation of feeling his tongue there pushes him the rest of the way until he's hovering carefully over Deacon's mouth on his knees.
So concerned is he about smothering Deacon, though, that his ass is clenched as tightly as all of his other taut muscles, straining as he tries to hold himself in a position where he's not actually touching Deacon at all, let alone putting weight on him.
"Like this?" he breathes, even his voice tense and trembling.
Deacon can't seem to contain his excitement in the moment, kissing along his thighs as soon as he's within reach. His hands knead at Danse's ass to encourage him closer. "Not quite..." he responds between nipping little kisses along the softest part of inner thigh, "...but we'll get there. I'll have you warmed up to it in no-time."
While he does believe Danse when he said he trusts him, he also is keenly aware that he is a bigger man and self conscious still about his potential to hurt Deacon. He understands, of course. There are things about Deacon himself that he is insecure about; thinking that those things will hurt anyone who gets too close to him. Things from his past that Danse doesn't even have an inkling to, that make the concept of having a deeper relationship with the man feel impossible, too afraid that revealing them would send him running. Deacon wouldn't be able to handle it if he did.
He's putting all of that far from his mind as he mouths along the underside of Danse's cock, sucking kisses along his shaft and over his balls. He has to gain Danse's trust now, perhaps not with Deacon but with his own body, and pleasuring it is one sure-fire way to get him to forget those preconceptions and relax a bit more. Deacon's lips part wide, tongue lapping over the middle seam of Danse's testicles before drawing one of them into his mouth to warm and suck at with a groan. He'll work lower, but he'll need Danse to at least meet him halfway.
As with a great many things, Deacon is right about how quickly Danse can warm up to this whole idea with encouragement this strong from so many different angles. Deacon's enthusiasm alone could drive him wild, that eagerness already heating him like plasma from the inside out as soon as those lips descend on his inner thighs, making him spread them wider for both of their pleasure as his mind indulgently recalls the way he'd done the same to Deacon's last night. How could he deny his lover the same pleasure?
He has a sense of the way he'll need to relax for Deacon to reach what he wants, but the fact that he isn't doing so yet is less about worry or self-consciousness now and more about sheer preoccupation, his mind thoroughly consumed with the sensation of Deacon licking and sucking him from this unfamiliar angle as his cock swells back to full mast, and at the rough heat of Deacon's tongue against his sack he lets himself press forward a little in his breathless desire for more.
"Ah, god," he gasps, fingers clenching against the wall as Deacon teases expertly at his balls, body easing very carefully further downward now that the slight trembling is just as much due to the pleasure he's feeling as to the difficulty of holding himself still. He can make it to that halfway point, low enough now to give Deacon's tongue access to his hole even if he's still feeling the burn in his thighs, but the way he removes one bracing hand from the wall to close it around his cock suggests that he can be persuaded further.
"I didn't even know people did this," he breathes, with wonderment. "And the idea of you wanting it all this time--touching yourself thinking about me like this--jesus, you don't know what that does to me."
Deacon's own fingers dig into Danse's flesh as he sinks lower, as if perhaps he can claw him further down, tongue lapping and lips sucking at soft, sensitive skin. He groans as he notices the way Danse stirs, watching from beneath heavy lashes as Danse's hand comes into view. As Deacon's lips leave his sack, his nose nuzzled against it instead, murmuring his response.
"Then tell me," he mutters, lapping kisses trailing along the stretch of skin behind Danse's balls, his own heart racing as he inches closer to his destination. Deacon's own cock gets its second wind by Danse's response, but he doesn't dare remove a hand from Danse's body to address it.
"I can only imagine, given what the idea of you thinking of me in your solitude makes me feel..." Deacon sighs, hot breath against Danse's skin before his tongue brushes across it in a wide arch, seeking out that tight hole while his hands pull his cheeks further apart.
He might have managed some, actually, if just barely, while Deacon was still nuzzling at his balls, but the prospect of that grows more distant with each lingering kiss along his taint, making his breath come too hard and fast to speak eloquently, and as that heated tongue finally begins to work at him, Deacon's hands exposing him more than he expects to be right off the bat, all he can come up with now is a strangled noise of shock and delight.
His hand has gone still on his cock to focus on the sensation of Deacon's mouth, but at this, he squeezes tight along his length, lubricating it with the slickness Deacon is already eliciting from him as he lets out a choked and shuddering breath.
"God damn, it's a good thing I've got my own quarters there," he gasps. The thought is only tangentially connected, not well-articulated, but he thinks at this rate that he'll barely even make it to the Castle without needing to take care of himself again, with everything Deacon's giving him to think about right now.
That initial groan of pleasure inspires a chuckle from Deacon, his hands keeping Danse open above him even if pulling his ass straight down onto his face is their ultimate goal. He's still confident that he'll ease Danse into it as he laps over his puckered rim a few times. And Danse needn't elaborate, either, because the image of him touching himself uncontrollably roadside makes him groan hungrily against Danse's ass, his own cock dribbling out precome onto his own thigh.
Deacon's tongue circles that tight ring of muscle a few times befote the pointed end of it teases at its center, prodding lightly to test its resistance. He can already imagine what Danse might look like during his pitstop, making a mental note to possibly find other things to keep him occupied on their evenings apart. These thoughts have Deacon getting ahead of himself, moaning against Danse and pushing his tongue past his rim almost too eagerly.
This is more than enough to make Danse falter in his concentration at holding himself up, weight sinking further down onto Deacon's face partly from that distraction and partly as a deliberate, needy move to chase more of that pleasure.
"God--"
He's always been vocal, always been prone to needing to stifle himself physically with his hands to keep from being loud enough to alert any too-close passersby that the house isn't empty, but he doesn't have a free hand right now, and the urgent rock of his hips is accompanied by a cry between clenched teeth, as he tosses his head back and jerks himself faster and parts his thighs wider still to let Deacon open him up for more.
The only part of this that Deacon would change is his ability to praise Danse for his behavior. Alas, his mouth is occupied entirely by the way the larger man moves his hips, encouraging him to lap into him deeper and stroke him from the inside. Groans will have to do.
Hands also, one of them easing its grip to pet fond circles into Danse's hip. The soft touches are affectionate and contrast deeply with what his mouth is doing. He can't help himself, either, because Danse is so fucking hot when he gets worked up. It makes Deacon feel like he's on fire, let alone needy in his own ways. His tongue swirls in circles and he finds his hips rotating in time, grinding up into nothing. If he bends his legs and raises his knees just maybe he can rut the tip of his own cock into his belly and ease some of its tension.
The groans vibrating against some of Danse's most sensitive nerves from the inside out should be completely stripping him of words, and they are--and the contrasting tenderness of Deacon's hands is still absolutely undoing him as much as it did the very first time--but when it registers in his pleasure-drunk brain what Deacon's hips are doing, he finds within him an untapped reserve of coherence to speak.
Decorum, though, is fully out the window. He takes that steadying hand off the wall and reaches blindly behind him to grab onto Deacon's hip with bruising-tight fingers, too far gone to temper his own strength now. "Don't you dare," he growls, pushing down as if to pin Deacon one-handed to the mattress. "I'm not leaving without getting to suck you off. You're going to wait for me."
If it's any consolation to Deacon, the way Danse's thighs are trembling and balls are tightening is clear evidence that he won't be waiting much longer at all.
Deacon audibly gasps against Danse's hole as he's pushed down, that order ringing through his body and making him shudder beneath him. His knees drop uselessly to one side, but his hands grip harder at Danse's hips, tugging him down more forcefully to make him sit fully onto his face, his tongue plunging deep inside of him.
If this is a fight for dominance, he isn't sure, but just as Danse has his desires, Deacon has his own, and risking his neck or frankly just smothering himself with Danse's ass is it.
"Fuck!" It's almost a wail, the second time in the span of half an hour that Deacon has pushed him to uncharacteristically vivid profanity with the kind of pleasure he's never felt before or even thought to fantasize about, and he doesn't fight it when Deacon pulls him in without thought of consequence. They may both have cause to regret it later, or they might not, but right now, the only thing holding Danse up from settling his full weight on Deacon's mouth is that hand still pushing down at his hip.
If he is smothering Deacon, the saving grace might be the fact that he can't hold out any longer. Hips still grinding and hand still moving furiously and erratically on his own cock, they both go still as his orgasm overtakes him, his hole clenching and spasming rhythmically around Deacon's invading tongue as the shudders wrack him, his come spilling over his tightened fist and dripping onto Deacon's forehead as his throat looses a hoarse and desperate whine.
There's nothing in this world more pleasing to Deacon than the way he somehow manages to make Danse act uncharacteristically in their throes of pleasure (except perhaps making him laugh, that's probably the runner-up). He's positively radiating joy as he plunges his tongue in and out, dragging it along Danse's inner walls and flicking it across his rim before restarting the cycle again and again.
Luckily, Deacon can spare the moment of shallow breathing to work Danse through another intense orgasm, the hot drip of spend on his head making him growl against Danse's ass. As much as he wants to draw back and lick the other man clean, he keeps his rhythm until he can be certain that he's wrung every drop from him. It isn't until then that his hands ease their grip on his hips, one of them giving his ass cheek a loving little tap to signal him to sit up again.
For all he'd been so nervous and cautious beforehand, he's dazed and spent enough now that the tap almost doesn't register through the haze. It takes him a good few seconds' delay to process it, and only then does he startle and promptly scoot back down over Deacon's chest until he can roll safely off to the side. He's panting even without having done much physical activity, though his muscles all feel like water and it'll take some time for the burn in his thighs to fade. He'll be fine once he gets into his power armor, as if he's done some bracing calisthenics before his journey.
"You're insane," he breathes, a deliberate echo of last night, surprising even himself with the depth of affection in his voice. "That was goddamn transcendental. Come here." He cups Deacon's cheek and pulls him into a kiss, not even caring where his tongue has just been.
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The exclamation as the pressure of that hot stream hits his aching cock is startled, breathless, a little embarrassingly high-pitched for him, and completely and utterly uncontrolled. The jolt of physical pleasure alone is dizzying, very nearly enough to push him right over the edge with nothing more, but it's not so all-consuming that Deacon's words don't register too. Danse is immensely glad for that, because the pleasure that wells up in his chest at them is of an entirely different sort that only enhances all of it together.
"I can't--it feels so good, Deacon, I don't even have the words for how good it feels--" And he means all of it, verbal and physical, as he gives his cock a few more quick and erratic strokes. Baby is still echoing in his ears, and he knows he'll have to reiterate when he's more coherent how much he likes to hear Deacon call him that. He could stand to hear it just about anywhere, in any context, public or private, sexual or chaste, as long as Deacon kept saying it with that same affection.
He doesn't know about deserve. For as often as he's said Deacon deserves something good or affectionate or pleasurable, and thought nothing of it because it was so obviously true, he finally understands the hesitance to accept it when it's turned back on him. But he knows Deacon means it as much as he himself does, and it raises even more of a flush to his already-red face. It's too much to ask him to hold out any longer, and he lets go of his cock to let that stream pounding at his shaft give him the last push he needs, a sharp and completely novel stimulus that has him crying out as he comes hard across the shower floor without any further touch at all.
It's a long orgasm, even after last night's exertion, body wracked with the shivers of it as his fingers imprint new bruises on Deacon's thighs over the ones he's already inflicted. In the aftermath, panting softly, he kisses Deacon's stomach in a daze.
"If either of us doubted that I really am yours," he murmurs, "that clears it up." It's acknowledgment that this isn't about the imaginary audience of jealous pre-war neighbors and their rosebushes, or even about their mutual acquaintances, who won't be able to sense any of this once they've showered it off. It's between them and about them, and still holds true even in the clarity after orgasm, though Deacon still needs to be taken care of. And will be, thoroughly, if Danse has anything to say about it right now. Deacon is his, every bit as mutually.
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"You can," he commands softly, "That's okay, baby, you're doing so good."
Deacon's stream does eventually weaken as he empties his bladder onto Danse, the other man's fingers practically wringing him dryas they dig into his thighs. Deacon's own cock gives a mighty throb af the absolute vision Danse makes shaking apart in front of him. He praises him throughout, voice soft and fingers petting his hair and cheek.
A beat later, Deacon is sinking slightly on his haunches so that he can press a kiss of his own to the very top of Danse's head, then reaching to turn on the tap so that the water can come to a comfortable temperature.
"I've never doubted you, baby brahmin," he coos softly, offering his hands to help him stand again, content to ignore his own lust for the moment as long as he has Danse to take care of. "Let me clean you up."
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He drapes his arms gently around Deacon's waist under the lukewarm shower spray, bending down to kiss him softly again and give his ass an affectionate little squeeze. "All right," he says, because the thought of letting Deacon soap him down and run gentle hands all over his body is too appealing to put off just to be contrary, but there's no reason it can't go both ways.
What he'd love right now is to really get his mouth around Deacon's cock the way other things had distracted him from last night, but something tells him there will probably be time for it before he leaves. Right now, his hand closes around Deacon just to stroke him with not-quite-idle tenderness as the water begins to rinse the evidence of his own pleasure down the drain.
"Sometimes I wish I were good at nicknames the way you are," he muses. They're so completely outside the realm of anything that comes naturally to him that he doesn't even really think to draw a distinction between nicknames and romantic pet names and ordinary endearments, only knows that he delights in every single one Deacon bestows on him no matter how silly or unexpected, and he wishes he knew how to return the gesture. "You should have something like that, like the way you call me 'baby brahmin.' I don't even know how to think of that kind of thing."
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He reaches for the soap, but nearly fumbles it as he feels Danse's hand close around him. He'd been so keyed up that he hadn't realized just how badly he wanted to be touched, soft groans of pleasure leaving him as he fights to regain focus on his task and lather up the soap in his hands.
"Oh?" Deacon replies as he begins to rub his lathered hands over Danse's chest, luxuriating in the shape of him and giving his chest a few cheeky squeezes as he works the suds into his thick body hair. He laughs lightly, shaking his head, his cheeks just a little more pink from that thought.
"You just made it easy, is all," he remarks, "You've got those big, brown, beautiful eyes... and well, I felt inspired."
Deacon's shoulders shrug as his hands rub circles of soap lower along Danse's abs, but he smiles up at him with sincerity. "You don't have to think of anything, I'm not deducting points for it."
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The compliment to his eyes still makes him blush, pleased pinkness creeping down his neck even as he's already flushed under Deacon's touch, no matter how many times Deacon tells him they're beautiful. And now that he finally knows what Deacon's eyes look like in turn, the compliment feels all the more meaningful, because Danse doesn't think his own are anything particularly special compared to those clear blue jewels, and yet Deacon calls them inspiring.
"I don't want you to have any doubt how I feel. I don't want you to think you don't inspire me, or that I don't think about you constantly, because I do. You told me once that the sounds I make in bed haunt you...do you have any idea how often I replay the sounds you make when you come? The way you sounded last night--I'll be hearing that in my dreams."
And the quiet noises that fall from Deacon's lips as Danse strokes him are only spurring him on to more of that, fist tightening and thumb swirling softly around the head of his cock as he continues with equally fervent sincerity. "The way you feel in my hand like this, the way you taste, hell, the way your sweat smells after we're finished wearing each other out--it drives me insane. I'm no good at talking about these things, but it does. I need you to know that."
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He has to laugh when Danse says he's no good at talking about these things-- it's a ludicrous claim coming from the man that has Deacon's cheeks burning red hot as he gasps for breath. He reaches up to yank the other man into a desperate kiss when he can't contain himself any longer, moaning into Danse's mouth as his hips rut into his hand until he's spilling hotly into it and shuddering in Danse's arms.
"God, I--" he groans against Danse's mouth, cutting himself off with a suppressed whine as he comes down from his orgasm, "I can't believe you'd say that to me right before you need to leave," he sighs, voice airy and somewhat pouty. Deacon draws back, biting at his own lower lip for a moment, his hand pressed to Danse's cheek. His voice deepens with a sort of growl in an insant, somehow all the more aroused even if his cock is momentarily spent. "Dry off, Charmer. I want you in bed again right away so that I can give you something else to dream about. So that I can show you what I think about when we're apart."
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It's the kind of passion Danse was already yearning to spur him to even when they both thought this was going to be nothing but a drug-fueled one-off. And that yearning has only grown and grown the more often they do this, to the point where it's a mainstay of Danse's daydreams now to make Deacon lose himself in breathless gasping pleasure and come hard and hot over his hand or on his stomach or chest or face, to think of the particular way his voice strains when he's falling apart exactly like this. He kisses back with absolutely unabashed delight as he strokes Deacon through the aftershocks, echoing those soft moans and sucking hard at his lower lip with one possessive little bite for good measure.
The pout makes him grin, in that bright and free way he reserves exclusively for Deacon where nobody else can see it, but it drops off his face again with a startled wide-eyed blush and a twitch of his own exhausted cock at that growl, almost whiplash-like in the renewed arousal it brings and clueless but fascinated as to what Deacon could possibly mean.
"God," he breathes. "How could I say no?" He can't, not to this or anything else Deacon could ask, not even when military duty calls. He thinks right now that he could just stay another hour in bed with Deacon and let the recruits train themselves, reprimand from the General or no. The shower is promptly shut off, and he leans in for one more needy hungry kiss, hand cradling the back of Deacon's head, before he does exactly as he's ordered to.
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He had almost said something heartfelt before giving Danse instructions. Almost told him that as much as he'd just claimed the other man, that he was his too. That it isn't just Danse that's struggling to articulate the way he feels. Danse is honest to a fault in the same way that Deacon cannot help but spout any fabricated bullshit that comes to his mind. He's too guarded, but he wants to lower his shields around Danse, even if he's terrified of what may come from doing so. There's guilt there, too, because Danse has seemingly been so trusting of him from the start, a fact that makes his chest ache as he follows Danse to the bedroom again, hands immediately finding his body and trailing fingertips across it until he can take Danse's hand and lead him to the mattress.
"Do you trust me?" he asks as if he needs to confirm it. He already knows the answer, but hearing it out loud would hit differently. "Because I'm about to tell you to do something that you'll question my ability to handle. And I'm going to need your trust that I can..."
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It's the same kind of vulnerability inherent in the way Danse is afraid to ask for softness, knowing that the stern, armored, martial image he's spent his life cultivating makes it hard for others to think he should want it, let alone deserves it. But Deacon offers him that without his even needing to ask, and likewise, Danse isn't stingy with the assurance that he trusts Deacon when it truly matters.
This, though, sets off just enough alarm bells to have him looking deeply concerned. "But you're not going to have me do anything that could hurt you, are you?"
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Right now, all Deacon wants is to give Danse more pleasure and really show him that he's desired. "I want you to sit on my face," he says with a smirk. "You're not gonna hurt me, ok? Just plop that perfect thing down right here like it's your throne. I may not have the words you do, but I can put my mouth to work in different ways."
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It's almost comical how wide Danse's eyes can get when provided a reason like this, struck momentarily silent as if the computerized part of his brain is frozen in need of rebooting. However much his body might like this idea--and it very much does, cock already rising to attention again even before his mind has fully processed the thought of this--he understands immediately now why Deacon had made him promise to entertain it without fear, when he'd been reluctant enough last night just to settle his weight atop Deacon while cuddling.
And entirely aside, this proposition is the first time he's realized that anyone would ever set their mouth to such a task. "I--that's really what you want?" He licks his own suddenly-dry lips, breath coming just a little quicker, his mind torn between the image of doing just as Deacon asks him to and the image of doing it to him in turn. He isn't saying no, and he will be taking notes.
He joins Deacon carefully on the mattress, still just lying alongside him for the moment, and then hesitantly moving to straddle his waist to begin with, posture still stiff yet and careful with his bulk. It's clear enough from his positioning that he's not altogether unfamiliar with the concept of having one's face sat on, but he's only ever done it with women, and he's certainly never been the one doing the sitting.
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He nods again, confident. "I've day dreamed about nuzzling between those cheeks so often I've lost count. C'mere. Let me take care of you."
Hands grasp at Danse's hips, fingers sliding behind them to cup at his plush ass and nudge him higher. Deacon licks at his own lips, his eyes only leaving Danse's to steal a glance at his cock as it fills out again, the sight alone nearly enough to get Deacon's to stir.
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The thought of it takes Danse's breath away, makes it catch in his throat with surprise and warm pleasure as he inches forward at Deacon's urging until he can brace and steady himself with hands against the wall. He stalls briefly, self-conscious, the flush to his skin taking on a tinge of embarrassment in addition to the arousal--but Deacon so clearly knows what he wants, with absolutely zero ambiguity, and when Danse already knows how deliriously pleasurable it is to give Deacon's fingers and cock free rein with his ass, the anticipation of feeling his tongue there pushes him the rest of the way until he's hovering carefully over Deacon's mouth on his knees.
So concerned is he about smothering Deacon, though, that his ass is clenched as tightly as all of his other taut muscles, straining as he tries to hold himself in a position where he's not actually touching Deacon at all, let alone putting weight on him.
"Like this?" he breathes, even his voice tense and trembling.
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While he does believe Danse when he said he trusts him, he also is keenly aware that he is a bigger man and self conscious still about his potential to hurt Deacon. He understands, of course. There are things about Deacon himself that he is insecure about; thinking that those things will hurt anyone who gets too close to him. Things from his past that Danse doesn't even have an inkling to, that make the concept of having a deeper relationship with the man feel impossible, too afraid that revealing them would send him running. Deacon wouldn't be able to handle it if he did.
He's putting all of that far from his mind as he mouths along the underside of Danse's cock, sucking kisses along his shaft and over his balls. He has to gain Danse's trust now, perhaps not with Deacon but with his own body, and pleasuring it is one sure-fire way to get him to forget those preconceptions and relax a bit more. Deacon's lips part wide, tongue lapping over the middle seam of Danse's testicles before drawing one of them into his mouth to warm and suck at with a groan. He'll work lower, but he'll need Danse to at least meet him halfway.
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He has a sense of the way he'll need to relax for Deacon to reach what he wants, but the fact that he isn't doing so yet is less about worry or self-consciousness now and more about sheer preoccupation, his mind thoroughly consumed with the sensation of Deacon licking and sucking him from this unfamiliar angle as his cock swells back to full mast, and at the rough heat of Deacon's tongue against his sack he lets himself press forward a little in his breathless desire for more.
"Ah, god," he gasps, fingers clenching against the wall as Deacon teases expertly at his balls, body easing very carefully further downward now that the slight trembling is just as much due to the pleasure he's feeling as to the difficulty of holding himself still. He can make it to that halfway point, low enough now to give Deacon's tongue access to his hole even if he's still feeling the burn in his thighs, but the way he removes one bracing hand from the wall to close it around his cock suggests that he can be persuaded further.
"I didn't even know people did this," he breathes, with wonderment. "And the idea of you wanting it all this time--touching yourself thinking about me like this--jesus, you don't know what that does to me."
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"Then tell me," he mutters, lapping kisses trailing along the stretch of skin behind Danse's balls, his own heart racing as he inches closer to his destination. Deacon's own cock gets its second wind by Danse's response, but he doesn't dare remove a hand from Danse's body to address it.
"I can only imagine, given what the idea of you thinking of me in your solitude makes me feel..." Deacon sighs, hot breath against Danse's skin before his tongue brushes across it in a wide arch, seeking out that tight hole while his hands pull his cheeks further apart.
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He might have managed some, actually, if just barely, while Deacon was still nuzzling at his balls, but the prospect of that grows more distant with each lingering kiss along his taint, making his breath come too hard and fast to speak eloquently, and as that heated tongue finally begins to work at him, Deacon's hands exposing him more than he expects to be right off the bat, all he can come up with now is a strangled noise of shock and delight.
His hand has gone still on his cock to focus on the sensation of Deacon's mouth, but at this, he squeezes tight along his length, lubricating it with the slickness Deacon is already eliciting from him as he lets out a choked and shuddering breath.
"God damn, it's a good thing I've got my own quarters there," he gasps. The thought is only tangentially connected, not well-articulated, but he thinks at this rate that he'll barely even make it to the Castle without needing to take care of himself again, with everything Deacon's giving him to think about right now.
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Deacon's tongue circles that tight ring of muscle a few times befote the pointed end of it teases at its center, prodding lightly to test its resistance. He can already imagine what Danse might look like during his pitstop, making a mental note to possibly find other things to keep him occupied on their evenings apart. These thoughts have Deacon getting ahead of himself, moaning against Danse and pushing his tongue past his rim almost too eagerly.
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"God--"
He's always been vocal, always been prone to needing to stifle himself physically with his hands to keep from being loud enough to alert any too-close passersby that the house isn't empty, but he doesn't have a free hand right now, and the urgent rock of his hips is accompanied by a cry between clenched teeth, as he tosses his head back and jerks himself faster and parts his thighs wider still to let Deacon open him up for more.
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Hands also, one of them easing its grip to pet fond circles into Danse's hip. The soft touches are affectionate and contrast deeply with what his mouth is doing. He can't help himself, either, because Danse is so fucking hot when he gets worked up. It makes Deacon feel like he's on fire, let alone needy in his own ways. His tongue swirls in circles and he finds his hips rotating in time, grinding up into nothing. If he bends his legs and raises his knees just maybe he can rut the tip of his own cock into his belly and ease some of its tension.
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Decorum, though, is fully out the window. He takes that steadying hand off the wall and reaches blindly behind him to grab onto Deacon's hip with bruising-tight fingers, too far gone to temper his own strength now. "Don't you dare," he growls, pushing down as if to pin Deacon one-handed to the mattress. "I'm not leaving without getting to suck you off. You're going to wait for me."
If it's any consolation to Deacon, the way Danse's thighs are trembling and balls are tightening is clear evidence that he won't be waiting much longer at all.
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If this is a fight for dominance, he isn't sure, but just as Danse has his desires, Deacon has his own, and risking his neck or frankly just smothering himself with Danse's ass is it.
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If he is smothering Deacon, the saving grace might be the fact that he can't hold out any longer. Hips still grinding and hand still moving furiously and erratically on his own cock, they both go still as his orgasm overtakes him, his hole clenching and spasming rhythmically around Deacon's invading tongue as the shudders wrack him, his come spilling over his tightened fist and dripping onto Deacon's forehead as his throat looses a hoarse and desperate whine.
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Luckily, Deacon can spare the moment of shallow breathing to work Danse through another intense orgasm, the hot drip of spend on his head making him growl against Danse's ass. As much as he wants to draw back and lick the other man clean, he keeps his rhythm until he can be certain that he's wrung every drop from him. It isn't until then that his hands ease their grip on his hips, one of them giving his ass cheek a loving little tap to signal him to sit up again.
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"You're insane," he breathes, a deliberate echo of last night, surprising even himself with the depth of affection in his voice. "That was goddamn transcendental. Come here." He cups Deacon's cheek and pulls him into a kiss, not even caring where his tongue has just been.
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