Disclaimer: I do not own anything from the Gears of War universe besides this plot.
Main pairings: Sam/Baird, one-sided Dom/Sam
Rated 'M' for sexual situations and language. Heavy mentions of PTSD.
Prologue: Float up from dream
"Poets claim that we recapture for a moment the self that we were long ago when we enter some house or garden in which we used to live our youth. But these are most hazardous pilgrimages, which end as often in disappointment as in success. It is in ourselves that we should rather seek to find those fixed places, contemporaneous with different years."
"The unknown element in the lives of other people is like that of nature, with each fresh scientific discovery merely reduces but does not abolish."
—Marcel Proust, In Search of Lost Time
How in the bloody hell had she gotten there?
She spiraled into a tunnel and walked through it. It looked like one of those after death experiences where the victim could see blackness and then a blinking light at the end. She couldn't tell if her legs were moving or if the tunnel itself moved her toward it, but she ended up in a pasture, her boots touching ground. Gray colored cobbles that looked like they were placed there in a sufficient order. Before her, a gust of wind carrying a flail of icy rain and, oddly enough, she could smell the scent of smoke first, pungent and sweet. It pulled her along shivering, and it was plain to her that she would have to take this route.
There was mostly nothing, there were only things that she could smell and see, like the large stalks, which were dried out and gray, creepy. There was a cliff at the edge of this dream like state. She walked tentatively over the edge and saw dark water. A large river flowing mechanically southward and a noise behind her made her nearly step forward. A hand reached over to grab her around the waist, pulling her back.
She did what any reasonable person of her caliber would do, what training had taught her. Natural instinct. She elbowed the intruder and turned so that she could attack, but instead felt a wall of resistance. What she saw brought a choked gasp from her lips. There before her he stood tall; horribly disfigured, skin blotchy with scabs, with puss and sores, with heavy, horrible burns. He looked like a hotdog left on the burner too long, patches of flesh sticking out painfully from all the wounds. His hair was all gone, his lips were puckered, swollen, his nose… she couldn't see if he had a nose. His face was so dark, and the place was full of shadows. The whites of his eyes were bloodshot red and in between the singed skin were cracks of fresh meaty pink that bubbled and cracked, letting out a small trail of blood in its wake. There was nothing left of the person she had remembered, had come to admire—even love. The explosion had taken it all, his body baptized in the fire.
Poor Dom.
He spoke. The voice, masculine yet hopeful, was just as she remembered. "Miss me, Sam?"
She swallowed, stepped back, and he snaked out to grip her elbow, still keeping her from plummeting to the waters below. Again, she whimpered, feeling the charred skin against her own. It was rough, like sandpaper. And the smell…
He smiled. "I'm not sure if that's disgust or horror written all over your face. Have you gone soft already? You used to be the toughest girl I knew."
His tight skin cracked and some wounds reopened, more pus oozing, some blood trickling.
He let her go then, taking a step back and away from the shadows so that she could see him more clearly.
There was a gaping hole where his chest should've been; his ribs peaking out of its meaty cage and his insides dripping.
Her heart lurched in her chest and it was all she could do to just cry out. She had never wanted to see him like this. Her eyes filled with unshed tears, her lips trembled. Closing her eyes, she turned to look away. The warm tears slid down her cheeks and she tasted salt as one pooled and then slipped past the corner of her lip. She licked it without thinking, and it was in that moment she realized her lungs were burning.
How long had she been holding her breath?
"Dom, holy fuck… What… why did you do this?" She finally spit out, her voice breaking.
"I gave up my life so that you all could live." He replied. "It was worth the sacrifice."
She willed herself to open her eyes once more, but still, she kept her head turned. She could make him out from her peripheral view, however. Her heart continued to palpitate in an almost atrocious amount of pain and her face was contorted in horror. She wrapped her arms around herself like a child despite not feeling affected by the gusty winds anymore.
"Stop it. Am I really so hard on the eyes? I've never known you to be squeamish," He said, voice humorous. As if he weren't a scaled corpse that stood in front of her.
She could make out the sickening sound of something wet hitting the ground and she didn't have to look to know that it was another meaty slab of himself. Which part specifically, she didn't know—didn't want to.
Instead, she felt the acidic bile rise up in her throat. Even tasted it as she swallowed it down and chocked as it went down the wrong way, hunching over until her eyes once again watered.
Until she gagged.
After a few moments of hacking, she stood up once more. Forced herself to meet his angry eyes—Christ, all of the blood vessels must've popped—and kept her gaze there.
"Does it hurt?" She was glad that he didn't ask if she was okay.
He shook his head, smiling. "No, Sam. Not anymore."
She looked around, studying her surroundings. Besides the gloomy stalks and the black sea of water behind her, they were the only two people stuck in the middle of an inky canvas—surrounded by a never-ending vast darkness. The icy rain hit her skin, making her caramel skin prickle. The question that came next made her own hairs stand on end. She was almost afraid to hear the answer, but still she pushed on, "Am I dead?"
Now he laughed. "Of course not."
"Then… where are we?"
"The in-between, Sam."
"Fuckin' purgatory?" She asked in disbelief.
He nodded. Her stomach dropped. Still, despite his sacrifice there was no rest or peace, for that matter.
She bit down on her lip, shaking her head slowly. Remorse. She could feel it flowing through the blood in her veins. He, out of all of them, didn't deserve this.
"But why?" Her voice was barely a whisper. A change from its usually jolly, accented timbre.
For a moment, she thought she heard a howling in the wind.
"I'm unsure." He shrugged, halfway turning. "I wished I was with my kids, my wife… but it's the price I paid. All I know is that I have something to show you."
Her body involuntarily shook.
"I don't regret it, Sam. Truly. Not even for a second."
They stared at each other for a moment, letting the thought linger between them—once partners.
She wished he could see what his sacrifice had brought them; an end to the locusts and lambent. A new era for Sera. She never had the time to properly mourn him, none of them did—and now it was just coming back to her. At one point, despite his baggage and his constant disallowance of anything to truly form between them, she had loved him.
Still loved him.
She cleared her throat, bracing herself. "Well then, what do you have to show me?"
Her voice was back to its aggressive and confident tone.
"That's more like it." He smiled. "Follow me."
He turned his back to her, limping in a way that made her heart break all over again. It took everything for her not to keep her eyes focused on the hole in the back of his chest.
She followed slowly behind him.
The wind had picked up, blowing her hair around; it played with the raven-black strands.
The initial smell of smoke that had wafted her nostrils earlier before appeared once more, much stronger now. He had stepped at the other edge of another cliff that made her gasp over the gory scenery.
"Look." He demanded. She breathed next to him. The sky was just as dark, but there was a strong cloud of smoke. At this side of the cliff ran no water below but a peripheral view of countless amounts of bodies sprawled on top of each other. There must've been thousands, easy.
Burning.
Screaming.
With choked, deep sobs.
In a stomach churning sort of desperation and agony she had never heard before.
She shivered, tried to look away but he held on tightly to her shoulders and propelled her to look forward.
"Stop it! Let me go!" She screamed, tried to struggle against him but he was stronger.
"You see that?" He whispered from behind her, charred lips against her ears.
And she realized two things:
He had never stood so close to him and she thought that underneath that smell of burning flesh, she could almost make out that masculine scent that used to follow him. The one that announced his arrival in whatever room they happened to share without her having to actually see him.
The other was the feeling of his blood dripping down her neck. Eerily enough, the liquid felt like ice and, for the first time, she allowed her own strangled sob to escape her lips.
Her shoulders sagging.
Up.
Then down.
Wracked with stupid fucking tears.
How weak.
"Shh. Just watch." He whispered, running his hands up and down her arms in a soothing manner. But they scratched at her skin instead.
Through the spilling of tears and the crying, she did as she was told. There was no other choice.
And as if on cue, a pool of black appeared like a inky sludge and the bodies began to sink slowly, like quicksand. She covered her hand with her mouth, gasping. Her heart was beating so erratically she thought she was going to collapse. She was going to turn to ask him why, when she felt the palm of his hand on her back.
"You ready?" He asked.
But before she could question what he meant, he pushed her forward.
She had never screamed so desperately in her life.
She sat upright up from her bed, gasping for air.
Body trembling, she jumped out of the bed on shaky legs, nearly falling as she made her way to the bathroom. A moment later, she had her face buried in the porcelain while on her hands and knees, riding herself of the contents of her stomach. Still all that came out was pure acidic bile.
Dizzy for a moment, she swallowed and leaned her head on the cold seat; the tightness around her throat felt like twisting rope around her. She stared straight into the toilet, immobilized for what seemed a long time.
She could barely make out the sound of his muffled footsteps at first but somehow she knew he was behind her, studying. "Jesus Christ, Sam. What the hell?"
She just couldn't find anything to say.
She just lay there, limp; the ceiling lights above flashed brightly—dizzying her vision; her long toned arms were spread out, the sweat clung cold and hot on her skin. She croaked out a silent cry, and the tears, god, they fucking came down her cheeks.
It was Baird who reached up and touched them, with the back of his hand, slowly wiping them away, "Oh, fuck me. I knew this would be a fucking bad idea." The blonde muttered with a frown. He looked her straight in her eyes, searching, and then pulled her up. She didn't have to see the twitching of his jaw to know that he wanted to hightail it out of there. "What's wrong?"
Suddenly, she felt highly embarrassed. "Nothing. Just leave me alone."
She pushed him back with more force than she wanted. Caught off guard, he stumbled back briefly and his blue eyes burned, jaw set as he watched her walk out of the bathroom and back into the bedroom. But she didn't dare look at him again. Instead, wiping her tears with the back of her hand, she mentally badgered herself for showing such weakness and in front of him of all people.
She threw herself back on the bed, looking up at the ceiling.
Sam's eyes tried to focus: she thought at first it was just the light of the moon that dappled the carpeted floor through the open balcony doors, that she could feel the gentle caress of sheets being shifted from the breeze, she reached with a shaky hand to feel them, crumpled, smelled the sweat and sex.
Baird walked out a moment later, grumbling under his breath as he searched for his clothes and she found herself unable to give a shit.
"You're such a nasty little bitch," He said with more bite than usual as he pulled on his cargos sans underwear.
Sam's muscle along her jaw ticked, clenching her teeth and wishing to end this as soon as humanly possible. She sat up in bed, just as naked as he was a moment before and stood in front of him. Rage should have replaced the slight shock now coursing through her body; yet, the pain of dreaming brought a fresh kind of torture, eating her alive.
He stood his ground despite her invading his space. The smug look that marred his features, though, was enough for her to spiral out of whatever comatose spell her brain had been under and she punched him square in the face.
This time it sent him tumbling backwards until he hit the wall, and he held onto his face groaning briefly in pain. All remained quiet for a moment even as he stood straight and wiped the blood from his nose with a kind of calamity that would've usually made her nervous, his eyes trained on her all the while.
"Don't you ever speak to me like that again," She hissed.
"I must say, Byrne, you still hit like a bitch," the smirk came right after looking down his nose at her; those alarming eyes were now focused primarily on her chest, and she remembered how earlier that night in their drunken celebratory haze he had bitten on the pert nipple sending her over the edge, before his gaze moved on to her narrowed waist and strong thighs, only to pause there—between her legs.
Sam was almost sickened by the lust that flared in those blue eyes; she recognized it, and that hit her square in the gut.
Made her core unbelievably moist.
"I hate wasting time, Sam, so let's put aside all these unnecessary insults that we would normally throw at each other."
It was quick. Too quick, that Sam was left momentarily unprepared as he lunged towards her, effectively pinning her on the corner of the bed. As Baird's hand slid down, reaching below her waist, she stopped him.
"What the hell are you doing?" Sam bellowed in that accented voice, her horrified expression was enough to make her offender chuckle.
"What do you think I'm doing?" The blonde grinned; it was smug; stretched out, revealing white straight teeth. Sam attempted to knee him in response, but Baird easily dodged and in the next moment pushed up against her, holding her hands above her head in an unbreakable grasp. Sam tried to break free, averting her eyes as much as possible, could feel his hot breath close to her cheek, and her body responded against her will.
Baird's body didn't feel any colder, but Sam was starting to feel the chill creep from the outside of her open balcony doors inside her room.
A heady breath, hissing gentle against a cool cheek, "If I don't fuck you for hitting me, I may have to kill you instead." Baird told the young woman; his voice soft, lowering to a whisper. And his eyes were staring into the other—seductive, convincing.
"Do your worst, asshole." Sam challenged, trying to seem as if she still was in control, but she knew better—didn't want to be. Baird was pushing her body backward, shoving her harder into the plush mattress, his growing length pressing against her through the fabric of his pants. Her chest was brushed against his—the cold sweat revealed toned muscles, over planes and curved skin.
Baird's pupils narrowed, changing shape and color as he looked down at her. "Trust me." The blonde tried again, a hand reached up to touch Sam's diamond-shaped jaw. "It's better this way, Byrne,"
And for the moment, the young woman felt a shiver of anticipation—not only because she wanted him to touch her—but because the heat coming from him felt fucking unbelievably good.
As his calloused hands glided between her crotch, Baird touched her with jealous caresses, lingering slightly.
In a matter of moments, Sam shivered, feeling the heat permeate her entire body; she was hardly aware of the lightness she felt; hardly aware of being fully plucked onto the bed.
Sam's senses were hardwired to feel everything in multiple degrees: the vague touches; the faint sucking kisses; the roughness of skin against her, of the intense rise of temperature; and, the unrelenting touch of heavy petting. She was slowly aware of how the blood rushed—the wetness between her legs and a hot hand cupping it, two fingers inside and pacing in and out at fast speeds.
She was moaning loudly, aching to push and pull, to feel the warmth of skin and opulent touch. Despite his initial aggression, Baird was darkly elegant; deadly and copious. He worked her body as if she were a machine that needed some fixing. There was no sense in fighting this—when it was all over—Sam raged in silent submission—that she'd take action. Use whatever it took to have him believe that he was holding all the cards.
When a hot mouth suckled against her neck, a ragged moan escaped Sam's lips; her head fell forward, her mouth parted to take in short quick breaths; and it was Baird who pulled her up with one powerful hand, bringing her head up enough so that his tongue snaked in. Sam's moan muffled against her suppressor; and her arms were lifted up to lay upon rock-hard shoulders—touching naked skin; her fingers were spread out, until they curled in, moved along the span of shoulders to push—pull, until they reached up, folding against the feather-soft texture of his blonde hair.
She kissed back; barely aware of who she was kissing and why. It didn't matter—what mattered was the feeling—the awareness of her sex: an instinctual drive that demanded to climax. By nature, all she wanted to do was to push her partner down, wrap her legs around his waist—but instead, found her legs being pulled up; her back against silky sheets. There were sounds in the background, breathy—the soft chuckle at her ear. "I didn't think this would be so easy."
By slow degrees, Sam's athletic body responded with violence; but Baird's supreme strength held her down. There was a persistent push violating between her legs. She heard his rough voice saying things that made her feel disgusted: about how firm her ass was; how she was going to get fucked so hard; and it was how she felt from those words—the heated flush—the color of shame spreading through Sam's body, because of who said those words.
A pitiful moan escaped as she felt him enter her: rough, slick with a wet heat; her fingers started to dig deep into the other; burrowing short nails into shoulder, so that it left trails of red marks.
She wasn't aware of anything else but pleasure, the continuous pounding: she tightened her womanhood voluntarily—heard the sound of a pathetic whimper; felt the hot breath along her jaw, kissing downward to her soft breasts.
Baird rolled his body sideways, a nasty chuckle against her ear, "That's right, Sam, enjoy it, I know you want this," and the invasion of roughened fingers squeezing her ass, diving inside with her body's hot lubricant made her twitch, and was barely aware that it soon thereafter, it was his tongue hot and persistent that licked and teased, "Like that? Yes you like that, Sam?"
"Please," She begged, "Don't stop. Please…" she pathetically moaned and it only made Baird delighted.
She hadn't, not for sometime, realized that her legs had been lifted, raised high enough so that they were wrapped around strong shoulders, followed by a violent thrust, and more thrusts. Baird's girth had been too much at first but the heat and her natural wetness helped her adjust, stretched her sex to fit the thick violation and soon a tempo started. A moan escaped her lips and they both chorused; their bodies jerked into each other, moving in an aggressive heat, bunching up tense muscles. Sam was barely finding her way back, her breath coming in quick, easy short successions.
It seemed an eternity, the way the pain just came in with the flow of something she was familiar with: pleasure. It was a pained expression that marred Sam's pouty features, and her own body reacted to such violation, the intrusion, the violence.
Baird's hand rubbed at her clitoris, where the pain was unbearable and the steady slow pumping somehow relieved her torture; it was slickened with something hot, and she could feel the pace increase as the blonde began his push and pull. Sam released a shaken cry as the sensation blossomed, allowing her muscles to contract involuntarily, cumming in a senseless joy around his cock.
"Fuck, I'm going to come inside you, Sam." She heard his roughened voice. She was barely aware that she was riding out the storm, feeling wave after wave consume her; all coherent thought was gone.
She cried out, tears leaking out, "Oh, god. Oh, fuck." She curled her hands into fists, felt her limp body bunch up like a ball. Afterward, there was only bliss; an uninterrupted state of perpetual orgasm and then, nothing more.
Note:
And that's all she wrote folks!
I've been meaning to write a GoW fic focused on Baird and Sam for a while now, though I took my time. This is, in a lot of ways, a lot darker than I see most Gears stories between the two being—but it was just what I was aiming for.
I definitely wanted to add more of Dom into the twist, considering that her feelings for him are usually never touched upon, so that's that.
I actually really enjoyed writing this. Probably a little too much. And I knew I just sort of threw you in there, but a lot will be explained especially concerning how Baird and Sam jumped into bed with each other in the first place. This is set right after GoW3. There is no love, no crushing on each other, I suppose, at this time—just a strong attraction, but things will eventually blossom (it'll be one hell of a ride though).
Regardless, I hope you enjoyed and drop a review if you did. :]