The kiss is startling in its fervor, but Danse will never complain about that, or hesitate for a second to melt into Deacon's arms and throw himself into the reciprocation. Never in his life has he had anyone it was genuinely difficult to drag himself out of bed with, anyone who could make him want to shirk his military duties for more time in their company, let alone actually consider doing so (if only for a minute.)
And never has he had anyone else who would prioritize him this way, or tell him so. He's glowing at that soft husky promise, kissing the heel of Deacon's palm as it caresses his cheek and looking so deeply pleased by it that he wouldn't even know how or why Deacon could regret saying it. He couldn't let Deacon take that back even if he tried, not now.
"And you call me the charmer," he murmurs, as he finally and reluctantly drags himself upright. "I'll be counting down the minutes until I can come home."
This is it. This is the image that's going to haunt him more than any other. The soft kiss against his palm, the way Danse's eyes seem to take on a new sort of shine, and that unrestricted smile he gives Deacon. It's beautiful. And as gorgeous as he's looked while absolutely debauched, it doesn't compare to seeing him so fucking happy.
His chest aches as Danse pulls away, but Deacon sits up anyway, that ache throbbing harder as he hears Danse say home. It's a perfectly normal word to use for the entire settlement, but in this context, Deacon attributes it to himself and this little house they seem to keep playing homemakers in. Maybe it should be home. It will be. Once Danse is inside of it again.
"Don't let yourself get too distracted, soldier," he teases with a smirk, "But if you do, I wouldn't mind the occasional message letting me know."
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And never has he had anyone else who would prioritize him this way, or tell him so. He's glowing at that soft husky promise, kissing the heel of Deacon's palm as it caresses his cheek and looking so deeply pleased by it that he wouldn't even know how or why Deacon could regret saying it. He couldn't let Deacon take that back even if he tried, not now.
"And you call me the charmer," he murmurs, as he finally and reluctantly drags himself upright. "I'll be counting down the minutes until I can come home."
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His chest aches as Danse pulls away, but Deacon sits up anyway, that ache throbbing harder as he hears Danse say home. It's a perfectly normal word to use for the entire settlement, but in this context, Deacon attributes it to himself and this little house they seem to keep playing homemakers in. Maybe it should be home. It will be. Once Danse is inside of it again.
"Don't let yourself get too distracted, soldier," he teases with a smirk, "But if you do, I wouldn't mind the occasional message letting me know."