Salutations dear readers. Don't worry this is just a one shot and yes I am working on The Nanny, I actually have two chapters done but I like working in three chapter increments. I was surprised that this type of story doesn't exist with Booker and his wife/lover/girlfriend/woman he reproduced with. I've seen maybe one but even then I'm surprised with so few numbers. So because once more I have to say it, Booker/Beth is weird I decided to take a jump into the Pre-Bioshock Infinite realm and this is what I got. So without further ado I give you the latest creation. MOVING ON…
Disclaimer: I do not own anything of the Bioshock Infinite variety. These are a product of their respective creators in Irrational Games. No money was earned from writing this. Just WHILE writing it (because I'm at work while writing… On my break).
It was warm for October, Booker was surprised as he walked home by himself after another day at the bar. He'd done pretty well with the cards that night, he was happy enough to be taking home one hundred dollars, it certainly beat losing it. He hoped Annabelle would stop giving him that look with her large blue doe eyes when he would tell her how much he lost. He loved his wife, probably more than anything else in the world, but that disappointed look on her face could shame the purest man. And tonight he was going to make sure it he didn't see it.
If he were the type of man to skip, he probably would have done so. But he wasn't so he took to power-walking most of the way home. If he were the type to cheer loudly he would have done so, but he wasn't so he kept a smirk on his face as he raced home. Finally he arrived at his humble abode, it wasn't much. It was the office he worked out of, but Annabelle didn't mind, it was a roof over their heads. Booker kept promising her a big house, out of New York where they could raise a large family together. Somewhere he could run away from his past since he couldn't wipe the slate clean.
But tonight wasn't about that. Tonight was going to be a happy one, one where he could start keeping his promises to Annabelle.
He opened the door to his room, greeted by the sound of his wife humming as she sewed at their kitchen table. He tried to peek over her shoulder to see what she was working on, another one of his shirts ripped at the riots he was made to shut down. She glanced up at him from her work and smiled, so far the night was going so well.
"You're home early," she observed. "Did you decide not to go to the bars tonight?"
"Better," he took a seat next to her. "I won a nice hand for us."
"How much?"
"One hundred dollars."
At first she didn't say anything. Booker braced himself for that look, then to go to bed with his tail between his legs as she scolded him. But she forced a smile, "that's good." Booker felt a little better that she wasn't totally disappointed in him. "I have news for you today as well. I told you I wasn't feeling very well this morning?"
"Yeah you said your stomach was bothering you," Booker recalled. "Did you see the doctor like I asked you to?"
"I did when I realized I couldn't hold down breakfast from this morning," nodded Annabelle. "Or from the last week."
"Week?!" Booker was shocked. She hadn't said anything to him until this morning and she was just now telling him it was that long. "Why didn't you say anything about it?"
"I did this morning," she offered sheepishly. "Now stop interrupting me." Annabelle looked away, her raven locks covered her face. Booker brushed it behind her ear with his fingertips so he could see her profile. "I saw the doctor as I was told and…"
"And?" Booker nudged. He had a feeling he knew what she was about to say. But he wanted to hear her say it.
"Booker I'm carrying your child," she finally blurted out. Booker had a feeling that was the case, but it was shocking nonetheless. She still didn't look at him, afraid he'd be angry at her, afraid he'd tell her he didn't want a child and force her to give it away. They could barely feed themselves let alone a child, Booker knew this, and so too did Annabelle.
But he wasn't angry. Annabelle finally looked over when she realized he wasn't going to say anything. He was smiling. Not beaming, that just wasn't Booker he always kept his expression as blank as possible. It gave his enemies too much power over him when they saw they had the best of him. And so he kept his excitement to a dull roar as often as possible.
Annabelle felt like a giant weight had fallen off her shoulders. Booker wasn't angry, he wasn't going to yell at her or demand they hand over the child. He seemed genuinely happy, the small smile on his face reminded her of the one he'd given her when he asked her to marry him and she said yes. It was content, relaxed, so unlike him on a usual day. She'd once remarked about the picture on his Pinkerton badge that he looked so angry, like he was scowling at the cameraman for insulting him or something.
Booker leaned forward quickly and caught her lips in his. It wasn't the usual bruising force kiss that he gave her before a night of passion. It was sweet, soft, and slow. He didn't want to hurt her, and more importantly, he didn't want to hurt their child as small as it was. His hands began roving over her stomach and up to her breast. He massaged slowly, making her moan in his mouth as he continued. He leaned in closer and pulled her onto his lap, never breaking his contact with her while he did so.
Annabelle began rocking her hips against his, frowning when she realized the layer of clothes between the two of them keeping her away from what she desired. She whimpered as her sweet center dragged over his contained erection. Booker still held back, not wanted to be too rough with her. Instead he stood up, wrapping his wife's legs around his waist as he led them into their bedroom. He laid her back on their lumpy mattress and allowed his hands to reach under her skirts until he found the sweet heat of her wet center. She lifted her hips with an approving hum as his fingers teased her from outside of her undergarments. "Booker," she whined no longer able to stand the heat as his fingers continued to tease and stroke. "Off," she nearly tore her dress to remove it. "I want this off Booker!"
He smirked and began to raise her dress higher and higher until finally it lifted over her head followed by her underskirts until she was completely revealed to Booker. He didn't waste any time with her. His lips found their way to her skin as he kissed, nibbled, and licked all the parts of her that elicited his favorite sounds from her. Her back arched as his tongue made circles around her breast and her fingers curled into their sheets as his fingers stroked the inside of her thighs.
She frowned at him as she realized she was the only one bare and he was still fully clothed. She began fussing with the buttons on his jacket before sliding it off his wide shoulders. His vest was second but she noticed he tensed as she began to remove his shirt. This was hardly the first time they made love but he always seemed to shy away when it came to undressing himself and he was worse when Annabelle tried to do it for him.
When Annabelle had finally forced him to admit what was wrong she had to hold back a laugh as he told her he didn't want her to see all his scars. He had numerous from his time in the army that ranged from small cuts to long and grotesque. Booker was not a man to care about his appearance but he also didn't want his wife to look at him like he was a monster either. Annabelle had seen his scars and she didn't think he was a monster. Annabelle had thought that he was a man who worked hard in the army, his shadowbox hanging on the wall with all his medals had said as much.
She had shown him more than once exactly what she thought of his scars, but Booker was still self-conscious. He felt like he could never measure up to the other men who had asked for her hand. Despite the fact that she had denied every one of them until Booker came along. Scars and all she loved him but she just wished Booker could see that. She had more than once told him she thought he was handsome and the scarring just made him look like a dashing rogue who was going to whisk her away on adventures.
But all he could say was that he wasn't a dashing rogue. He was a killer and those were the scars of the things he'd done. The things Booker wanted to forget would be forever branded into his skin.
"Booker," Annabelle cupped his cheek as he leaned into her so their foreheads pressed. "You're not going to scare me away." She traced the white lines across his upper lip. "You can think what you want but I know you're a good man. You're a loving husband. You're going to be a wonderful father. Those scars-."
"Are evidence that I'm not a good man," he finished darkly. "They're evidence that I did terrible things at Wounded Knee and I don't want you to see that."
"Then show me who you are when you're not at Wounded Knee," she whispered in his ear. Booker raised an eyebrow. How did that turn him on so much? He licked her lips begging for entrance but she stopped him. "You're not that man at Wounded Knee Booker. You're my husband, you're the father of our child, and you're not a killer." He wanted to correct her, to remind her that he was a Pinkerton and that was nearly as bad if not worse than the army. But the hands running their way up his shirt stopped him. He wanted her too much to care about any of that.
"I love you Booker DeWitt," she breathed as she unbuttoned his shirt and he allowed it to be removed.
"I love you too Annabelle DeWitt," Booker still felt a sense of pride when he heard her name accompanied by his family name. She made small work of his pants, until he was as naked as she was. Her finger grazed past his erection, making Booker groan and his grip on her tighten. Her long fingers wrapped around him and she jerked softly a few times before Booker removed her hand and kept it firmly clasped in his own by her head. His lips captured hers in one long slow moving kiss as he entered her.
"Booker," she cried as she arched into him. Booker's length felt perfect inside her, filling her to the brim with pleasure. He waited to move inside her, causing Annabelle to protest and wriggle her hips against his for some sort of friction. "Booker please!"
"Please what," he nipped the nape of her neck as he paused inside her. "Tell me what you want."
"Booker!" she nearly sobbed, knowing that for all her efforts, it wasn't nearly enough compared to what he could do if he would only just move. "I can't stand it Booker make love to me."
Booker smirked and did as he was asked. Unlike any other night, where he'd pound into her to the point of painful pleasure, he took his time with her. She could feel inch after inch slide inside her wet center in rhythmic timing. His hand unhooked from her as it trailed down her body while the other kept him balanced on top of her. It stopped where they joined together and his fingers made circles around the enlarged bud, Annabelle's hips shot upward as she cried out. Her legs wrapped around Booker's hips, trying to force him further inside as his thrusts became harder and harder.
Booker could feel her body tense up, he knew she was right on the edge and he wanted nothing more than to send her right over. He unhooked her legs from around him and lifted him high so he could get a better angle. Annabelle was nearly weeping as she began to thrash her hands wrapped around his back and Booker could feel the tiny bites of her fingernails ripping into his skin.
"Booker," Annabelle cried as she came. Her body tensed and her sweet center tightened around Booker. He bit the inside of his lip, trying to preserve himself as long as possible until it was too much. With a low grunt Booker came inside her. Annabelle panted as she stroked her husband's hair, now damp with sweat as he tried to keep himself balanced a little longer so as not to crush her. He pushed himself to the side breathing heavily, but contents as Annabelle snuggled next to him.
"Not nearly as vicious as you pretend to be," she mumbled as she rested her head on his chest. Booker stared at the ceiling, he really didn't want to continue this conversation after such a glorious night. He sighed heavily and let his arm rest around Annabelle's shoulder. "Don't give me that Booker. I know what that means!"
"What?"
"That 'oh here we go' sigh," She picked up her head to glare at him. Booker raised a questioning eyebrow at her and her frown deepened into a scowl. "Just so you know, you're not nearly as subtle as you think you are!"
Booker snorted and planted a kiss on the top of her head. "Why do we have to talk about it tonight? Can't we just leave it for now? We'll talk about it more in the morning."
"You say that every night and every morning you're gone before I wake up," Annabelle folded her arms in a pout. Booker had to suppress the urge to chuckle at the image. So close to being a woman, yet she acted like a little girl sometimes. "What can I talk to you about tonight then?"
"Our baby," he said with a tilted smile. The thought was still surreal to him, he was going to be a father. Annabelle was going to be a mother, the mother of his child. They made this tiny thing inside her.
"Well it's too early to say anything about it yet."
"About her," Booker's halfcocked smile never left his face. "It's a girl I just know it."
"Is that wishful thinking?"
"What," he asked innocently.
"I don't care if it's a three headed cat," Annabelle sighed contently. "I just want it to be healthy and happy."
"I want the same for the both of you," Booker tightened his grip on her.
"We have a long way to go," she looked Booker in the eyes. "All of us." He knew exactly what she meant and he tried to break eye contact with her. But her deep blue orbs were what had knocked him out in the first place. He could deny her nothing when he caught sight of them. "Booker I know you don't want to talk about it but if we're going to support ourselves and a baby," her voice softened. "Something needs to change." She didn't want to hurt him but this issue had to be addressed and it had to be addressed soon.
Booker said nothing for a long time. Annabelle felt terrible for bringing it up after such a lovely night. She began to turn around but Booker caught her. "You're right," he finally said. "I can't support our family at the bars." Annabelle smiled a small one as he spoke. "I don't need it. As long as you're with me, I don't need it." She knew it was going to be much harder than Booker just saying he was done. But for him to accept the fact that he needed to change was a start.
Annabelle and Booker laid together silently until the steady sound of her breathing told Booker she had fallen asleep. He tightened his grip on her as he stared straight at the ceiling. He kept thinking about the promise he'd made. As long as she was with him, he didn't need the bars. When he really thought about it, it was true. He preferred Annabelle's company over the drunken crowds. She was much sweeter, much prettier to look at, and he could spend the night making love to her until she was completely satisfied.
As long as he had Annabelle, he didn't need the bars.
As long as he had Annabelle.
(A/N: So that's the weird note I decided to end on. Anyways I'm almost sure this is obvious this is my first actual M rated fic. If it's terrible, please feel free to be harsh about it. And I know Booker is slightly OOC and the best explanation I can offer is that this is when he was younger. So anywho, that's all I'm going to say about my fic so you all know the drill. Read, review, and remember: I love you!)