Archive of Our Own ^beta

With her back to him, it’s easier. He doesn’t think he could do it if she was looking at him with eyes as intense as his own. He’s got her eyes, or so he’s been told.

“Come on, baby. I know you can do better than that.”

Andrew whimpers. His hands dig into her hips, dragging her back onto his cock. He’s so deep inside her, and it feels as good as he always feared it would.

“Smurf?”

“What, baby?”

Andrew moans. The sound breaks in the middle.

“I don’t, um.” A lump forms in his throat. Fuck. He doesn’t need this right now. “I don’t think I can—”

“Yes you can, Andrew. You can. I know you can go all night. We’ve all heard you.”

“Aw, fuck.”

He lets go of her for a second to rub at his eyes with his fists.

“Need some water, sweetie? We can take a break. You’re tired.”

It’s not a question. It’s a statement. Like she knows what he’s feeling inside better than he does. Better than he ever could. Smurf looks over her shoulder at him, waiting for him to agree with her.

“No,” he growls. “No, ’m fine.”

Smurf smiles and faces forward once more.

“Okay, Andrew. Whatever you say.”

“Right. Y-yeah,” he says absently.

He pushes away all the thoughts and feelings that crowd his head. He’s not ever gonna confront those if he can help it. What good would that do? He needs to focus.

His hips start to roll against her, finding the rhythm he had before the thoughts got too loud. He hates that the sound of skin on skin is almost as unbearable. But she feels so good, and she takes it so well that he knows he can’t complain.

“That’s it, baby. Just like that. Just like I showed you.”

Andrew groans. He didn’t know he could make her feel good with anything other than a huge haul. If he’d’ve known that, they could’ve been doing this a lot sooner. A get out of jail free card would’ve been nice to have in his back pocket over his long life.

Smurf surprises him when she lowers her upper half as gracefully as a ballerina onto the bed until her head rests on her stacked hands. The change in angle lets him hit her deeper, and groans. She’s so fucking wet for him. She’s so fucking tight. Growing up, he thought she was a no-good whore—and maybe she still is when she needs something from some shady prick from her past—but maybe that wasn’t a bad thing. Maybe it was all just preparation for him, so she could take him so good and deep.

“God, Smurf.”

Her satisfied laugh is low and raspy and sends tingles up his spine.

“You close, baby?”

“No,” he lies.

“It’s okay if you come first, Andrew. I’m a big girl. I can take care of myself.”

She sounds so unbothered. She doesn’t feel like there’s an earthquake erupting inside her, ready to split her in two.

“No. No, I—I can’t let you do that. ’s not right.”

“Then you need to get one of my toys from the drawer, baby, because this isn’t gonna cut it for me.”

Andrew’s brows furrow.

“You don’t need that. I’ve got two hands.”

“You sure do, Andrew.”

It’s a challenge. She doesn’t think he can do it. Or maybe she knows he can, but she wants him to prove it. He’s been proving himself to her for his whole life. It’s what he’s come to expect. But it still stings. When will he be allowed to put down his mantle and rest? Will it ever be enough.

He lets go of her right hip and ignores the blackberry-colored bruises he’s left behind. His fingers find their target with a precision honed over the many years that he has survived based on what he can do with them—fight, shoot, kill, fuck. This is no different. Still, Andrew’s surprised when Smurf moans. He knows she enjoys things; he’s seen her enjoy things. Usually her enjoyment is characterized by a self-satisfied smirk or by her eyes glittering over a martini. Rarely does she express it so vocally, so blatantly.

“Smurf?”

“What, baby?”

“You good? Actually?”

“Yes, baby.”

Urgency and desperation are knitted together in her words, which are echoed in her body. She’s coiled up like a snake. She’s squeezing around him like a vice, and he’s starting to lose his rhythm. He knows that now is not the time to lose their momentum, so he pushes away his own pleasure in order to get back on track. He’s gotta stay in charge here. Smurf needs him.

He’s rewarded for his efforts with more moans, more praise.

“That’s it, baby.”

“Keep going, Andrew.”

“I love you, baby.”

He can’t remember the last time she told him that she loves him. It’s been a while.

“Smurf, I—”

“Fuck,” she spits.

No, now wasn’t the time to profess his love for her. She doesn’t want to hear that right now. He wonders if she even realized she let such a sentence slip. Better to keep that phrase locked inside his heart with all the other scraps of comfort he’s collected over the years.

It’s not long before Smurf comes apart around and against him. It hits her hard, and he gets the pleasure of riding it out with her. This time when his hips lose their rhythm, he lets them. He wants to feel good, too. He knows he’s earned it.

“Gonna come,” he groans.

A wave of want hit him in the gut, and he loses his balance a bit, pressing him down on Smurf in a way that feels too damn good.

“Pull out,” Smurf says.

All the pleasure in her voice has dried up. His eyes widen at the sudden change.

“What?”

“I said ‘pull out,’ Andrew.”

“Ah, fuck. Smurf, you don’t mean it.”

“If you come inside me, I’ll cut your fucking dick off. Is that clear, baby? Pull. Out.”

Against every fiber of his being, he obeys. He jerks himself to a unsatisfying end, coming into his palm so as not to get anything on Smurf or her bed.

“Here,” Smurf says, reaching over the side of the bed and handing him his own shirt.

He wipes off his hands and his dick with it for lack of any other choice. Smurf sits up and pulls the sheet up over her naked body. He watches her root around her bedside drawer for a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. She takes two out of the pack and lights them both in her mouth.

“C’mere, baby,” she says, holding one out to him.

He goes to her with an empty feeling in the pit of his stomach. The nicotine would help calm him down though, so he goes to her. Smurf lets him melt against her side when he takes the cig and settles beside her.

“You hungry?” she asks after a long, quiet moment.

“No. Not really.”

“Thirsty?”

He shrugs.

“Beer?” she asks.

“Whiskey,” he says.

“You got it, baby. Coming right up.”

Smurf leans over and presses a kiss to his curls. Andrew watches her stamp out her cig in the ashtray on her nightstand before getting up. She dons a robe and heads to the living room like the world is unchanged by what they’ve done.

“Hey, J,” he hears from the kitchen. “Where you been, sweetie?”

“Out.”

“Deran and Craig with you?”

“No. I saw them at the bar though. They said they’d be here for dinner.”

“Good. I’m getting a drink for me and Pope, and then I’ll pop that lasagna in the oven for us. It’s got that sauce you like.”

J mumbles something back, but Andrew doesn’t catch it. That high pitch whining is back again. He doesn’t know what causes it. He wishes it would go away.