One word prompt: Lipstick

MacCready stared at his reflection in the chipped mirror, struggled to make sense of the lanky guy in the tux looking back at him with wide eyes. It was probably the last thing he'd ever expected to see - himself in a suit, fresh-faced and clean - but lots of things had changed since River walked into the Third Rail, and if a little thing like dressing up made her happy, he'd gladly do it.

The Minutemen had organized a little get-together for her, nothing fancy obviously - a raise in spirits couldn't undo an apocalypse - just a night of food and relaxation. River had agreed to hoard every bottle of beer, liquor and soda they came across, and they'd brought home enough to fill the ice box in the Sanctuary long house. Mama Murphy had commissioned free hands into preparing food and setting up, and the place was really coming together by the time he'd left to get ready.

River had disappeared over an hour ago, and only after shoving the suit into his hands and making him promise he'd wear it. He'd made a good show of digging his heels in, but truth be told, she could've gotten him to do anything when she begged like that. Now here he stood in the living room of the house he shared with Hancock, stretching his arms out experimentally and watching his reflection.

"Lookin' good, kid," the ghoul rasped from the hallway with a smirk. "Real smart."

"Well, you know what they say," MacCready said, shrugging nonchalantly.

"The clothes make the man, believe me, I'm well aware," Hancock assured him, tipping his tricorn back with a finger. His smirk turned wistful. "You're a good man to humor her."

"No idea what you're talkin' about."

"Please. You and I both know bullshit don't work on me. And you live in the same town as the best detective and the biggest snoop of Diamond City. The only ones who don't know are the ones who don't want to know."

MacCready shook his head, straightening what had to be the last intact tie in the entire wasteland, because of course River would manage to somehow find it. "Don't remind me. It's like living with a target on my back. You fall in love with the wrong woman, and suddenly half the Commonwealth wants you dead."

Hancock chuckled, inspecting the ruined remains of his nails. "Cry me a river. I know a few other guys and gals who'd happily take your place."

"Over my dead body," he shot back with a shit-eating grin. "Now let's go party."

It seemed like almost everyone had already filtered into the long house, and it was packed and bustling, loud with chatter as people gathered into groups. MacCready slipped through the crowd, scanning for a flash of white hair, but he still hadn't seen any sign of her.

"Where's the woman of the hour?"

MacCready looked up to see Nick, a beer outstretched in his good hand toward him - a Gwinnett pilsner, his favorite, and Hancock was right, he'd been dumb to think they could ever keep their relationship private from those all-seeing golden eyes. "She's being, uh . . . what'd she call it . . . fashionably late?"

The detective laughed, a grating but strangely comforting sound. "She's a trip down memory lane sometimes, that one. Smart girl, though, make 'em wait. The good ones always will."

"Aw, come on, not you, too," MacCready groaned, shifting uncomfortably as he twisted open his beer. "It's getting way too chummy around here."

"Trust me, kid, you were the last person I expected to find at the end of her starry-eyed gaze. But even a grizzled old cynic like myself can see you've been good for her."

MacCready was getting real tired of people reiterating how lucky he knew he was to have her, even from someone he respected as much as Valentine, and he was about to voice as much when the door swung open and white curls caught his eye.

River looked like the woman out of time that she really was. Her snow-white locks were delicately curled, and cascaded, like her namesake, down over her bare shoulders, stark against her suntanned skin. The dress was black, tight, and an absolute sin to behold on her curves. She stepped under the halo of an overhead light and he could see, even through the droves of people, her glowing face, lips curved up into a smile and he realized at the sound of Nick's dry chuckle that he'd been holding the edge of the table in a death-grip. A celebratory cheer ripped through the crowd, and her cheeks burned an appealing pink as she mouthed a thank you.

She spotted him easily, and made her way slowly through the crowd toward him, returning greetings politely to people as she passed them. She was a few feet away when he noticed it, the deep violet color of her lips, like a ripe, sour mutfruit, and his throat suddenly felt like sandpaper as he tried to swallow.

No way. She wouldn't do that to me.

River met his gaze, parted her lips ever so slightly, rich violet against the white of her teeth, and he coughed to suppress a pained noise.

Of course she would do that to me.

"How're my two favorite men in the Commonwealth?"

"Flattery doesn't work on me, doll, but nice try," Valentine responded smoothly, a far cry above MacCready's wordless gaping.

"I'll get you to blush one of these days, Nick," River teased, radiant like sunshine, and through the shock and the rush of his own heartbeat, MacCready could vaguely register the sensation of falling in love with her all over again.

"Looking like that is a damn good start. You're a real sight for sore eyes. I think you've broken our young friend here."

River's eyes turned to MacCready, and he could do nothing but stare back into the ocher of her irises, like the light that burns at the edge of a sunset. Then his eyes dropped of their own accord to her sweet mouth, curling up into a smirk. "He's a tough guy," River assured the detective as he watched her lips form every phoneme. A slim hand reached out to run down his tie, purple fingernails stroking his chest through the material, and how had she managed to find a lacquer that matched the lipstick? She smiled appreciatively, a wicked curve to it as his fixation did not go unnoticed, but she had to know what she was doing, wearing that around him. "He'll recover."

"Sure hope so," Nick chuckled dryly. "Let's give the man a moment to recalibrate. Can I get you a drink?" He extended his arm, bent at the elbow, and River slid her arm easily through it.

"Find me later," she whispered to him as she passed, wearing the smile she saved just for him, and he smiled back, watched her walk away. He sipped his beer and let out a shaky laugh, because only River could make him truly speechless.

MacCready was finishing his second beer by the time Nick and River had finished making their rounds. Codsworth whirred back and forth, serving food and pouring drinks, his many arms a blur of metal as he fulfilled a role he hadn't been able to for centuries. Sturges had been working on the speaker system all afternoon, and there was a collective cheer of triumph when Diamond City Radio started filtering throughout the room.

He downed the rest of his beer and stretched lazily to his feet.

"Sir."

The metallic, accented voice nearly made him jump out of his skin. He turned to see Codsworth offering him a new bottle and holding out a bin for his empty one.

"You trying to get me drunk, Codsworth?" he joked, more for himself than for the robot.

"Miss River instructed me to make sure no glasses go empty tonight, sir."

"Well, I wouldn't dream of going against the boss."

"Back to it!" Codsworth agreed cheerily, hovering away.

"That was . . . cute, Monsieur MacCready."

"Jesus, you guys need bells or something," he griped, cheeks burning red for a moment as Curie's innocent smile filled his vision.

"You humans are so incredibly distracting sometimes."

MacCready's eyes landed on River, laughing at something Hancock had said across the room. She looked so beautiful when she laughed, and he couldn't help a smile. "Yeah, I guess you're right."

Curie was suddenly right behind him, peering curiously over his shoulder to follow his line of vision. "Ah! I see. You have your own distractions, no?"

What am I, king of the robots? "Something like that," he grudgingly agreed.

Emotions passed openly and rapidly across her face, like an automatic weapon, and poor little Curie was helpless against the still unfamiliar feelings. She blushed, finally, and dropped her gaze. "Thank you, Monsieur MacCready."

Deacon came wading through the crowd toward them, and held a hand out to the blushing synth. "Hey, Curie. Ever dance before?"

"Me?" she squeaked, eyes the size of saucers, and he wondered if that was how he looked around River. "No, I'm afraid not, Monsieur Deacon."

"Just Deacon," he chuckled. "And tonight's the perfect night, don't you think?"

He watched him take her hand and lead her out to the mass of moving bodies on the other side of the room. They disappeared shortly among the rest of the dancers and he figured it was high time to reclaim River's company. For her, he could be patient, generous, and kind, but ultimately he was a selfish devil and he wanted her back by his side.

She was just wrapping up a story for Garvey and Piper, her voice high and excited. As he closed in, he could pick up the tail end of what she was saying.

". . . so we turn to leave this bunker and we hear footsteps. And MacCready says, 'I don't think we're alone, boss,' and sure enough, a group of synths came busting out of the door behind us. Sneaky bastards had followed us, the bunch of creeps."

"I thought you'd be used to being followed by now," Piper teased. "I mean, take a look at this room, Blue. These people aren't here for the drinks."

"Well, some of us are," MacCready interjected, inadvertently drawing all attention to himself. River elbowed him softly, but her eyes glinted with amusement.

"Are you even old enough to drink?"

He took a long, pointed swig of his beer, swallowed with a grin in the reporter's direction. "You wound me, Piper."

"I wish," she grumbled as River laughed and Garvey's brows dipped down in disapproval.

MacCready leaned his head in close to River's and lowered his voice, just loud enough to her to hear above the music. "I'd hate myself if I wasn't the first to steal you for a dance."

"Thought you'd never ask." She set her glass down on the table, turned back to him with a pink flush to her cheeks. He put a hand to the small of her back and followed her toward the edge of the room. The music swelled as they passed a large speaker, Sturges shooting River a wink when he saw them.

When River found a spot she was happy with, she turned on the spot, still graceful somehow in the impossibly high heels he'd watched her stash from an old Fallon's. Her slender arms wrapped around his neck and they started to sway, easily, slowly, not quite in pace with the music and not really caring about it at all.

"Found your voice again, huh?" There was amusement and desire in the smoke of her voice.

"Pretty neat trick, shutting me up," he babbled distractedly. His eyes drifted again to her lips, her perfect smile, and he shook his head as arousal twisted like a coil deep in the pit of his stomach. "I never should've told you."

"About the lipstick?" She laughed, her mouth calling to him like a siren song, begging to be kissed, and all he could think about was how fucking sexy she'd look with it smeared and mussed once he could get her alone. "I wouldn't have gotten to see that look on your face."

He couldn't wait any longer to taste her, and in the middle of the entire population of Sanctuary Hills he kissed her, lips firm with longing. Then he pulled away with a low groan, knew she could feel the evidence of his arousal between their tightly pressed bodies.

"You're gonna start a scandal," she scolded him, too breathy and far too pleased to be convincing. "I can see Piper's headlines now."

"Maybe someone'll actually read them then," he muttered dismissively between more kisses down her jaw line, preserving her make-up as well as he could while still getting his fill of her. His hands slid down from her back to her hips, tugging her even closer.

She let out his name on a shaky breath, throat vibrating with the sound of it under his lips.

Some part of him knew there was still far too much party left to be getting so bold, and someone would definitely notice if the woman of the hour were to disappear with her lovestruck mercenary for too long. "I'll be good," he promised as he straightened away from her, voice husky with desire. "Even if you make it incredibly difficult for me."

"One of us needs to be." She sounded reluctant, admiring him from under heavy lids. "You look good enough to eat."

"What, this old thing? I just threw on the first thing I found."

"Fucker."

He laughed loudly and he was suddenly aware of several pairs of eyes on them. He cleared his throat, scanning the room and challenging a few stares back until they turned away. "I think I've been hogging you," he admitted unwillingly, trying to gauge how many songs had passed since they started dancing.

"Let 'em look." River tugged him down by the collar into another kiss, almost pointed in its insistence, and his pulse was racing as she molded her body closer to his.

"River," he groaned, sliding his hands down to her elbows to put some distance between them. He tried to meet her gaze so she'd know he was serious, but his eyes kept drifting back to her lipstick, now a little smudged, and he drew in a deep breath. "I wasn't kidding when I said it turned me on. I should go clear my head if I'm gonna keep my hands off you. Smoke a cigarette or something."

She smiled sheepishly. "I'm sorry, love. I don't mean to be a tease, I just can't help myself."

"Believe me, I get it. Maybe you should mingle some more, go dance a bit."

"You won't mind?"

MacCready pressed a hand to her cheek, wiped clean the edge of her lipstick where he'd smudged it. "Not as long as you find your way back."

She took a little part of him with her when they parted, like every time they were apart. He shook a cigarette from the pack in his pocket and wove through people toward the door. It was sweltering in the large room from all the breath and motion. Voices grew louder as people were on their third or fourth drinks, more in some cases, if the swell of Cait's laughter was any indication.

He broke out into the cool air with a relieved sigh. He eased down onto a bench and stretched his legs out as he lit his cigarette. The smoke was thin, stale, but it was a decent distraction from his hammering pulse. He exhaled slowly, watched it curl and then disappear into the darkening sky. It wasn't long before the door opened again, and Hancock drifted his way, Dogmeat on his heels.

MacCready offered him a cigarette. He took it wordlessly. The three sat together in amicable silence, listening to the muffled music that filtered out of the long house.

"I liked the PDA," Hancock finally said around a cracked smile. "Thought Danse was gonna shoot you until she started grabbin' you back."

MacCready's laughter came out in a sudden burst. "Oops," he said. He didn't mean it.

Eventually they made their way back into the building. Some people had already left, and the room was opening up a bit. He found River easily enough in the dissipating crowds, dancing with Deacon, her laughter ringing out as he spun her. MacCready admired her graceful figure from the bar, taking the first sip of another cold beer.

"You've got lipstick on you."

He swiped a hand down his neck, where Hancock was pointing, and it came away purple. "Not my fault. She bites."

"I know, kid." A dark chuckle, a plume of smoke. "Half the time you're more hickey than neck."

"What, you didn't fall for my mirelurk bite story?"

"How many times we gotta go over the bullshit thing?" Hancock eyed River across the room with a jet-glossy stare. She was retreating now from the dance floor toward Garvey and Sturges. From her gesturing, surprisingly steady after the drinks she'd consumed, it seemed she was thanking them for the party. "Looks like she's wrapping up."

"'Bout time," MacCready said with relish, smashing his half-smoked cigarette into a nearby ashtray. He stepped off the barstool and stretched his stiff arms out. Dogmeat lifted his head in curiosity and got to his feet to follow as MacCready headed across the room.

River looked up at their approach, met his gaze and shivered ever so slightly beneath it, as if she could sense the hunger deep in his bones. He felt feral, primitive, muscles tensed and twitching to line up with hers. She pressed her bottle to her lips and he watched with rapt attention as she took a long drink, followed the movement in her throat when she swallowed. If she was aiming to work him up again, mission accomplished. Didn't take much from her, not with the lipstick and the hair and how fucking delicious she looked in that dress. He wanted to weave the silk of her hair around his fist, unwrap her like a birthday gift, taste every inch of her soft, soft skin.

MacCready was brought abruptly back to the present by Dogmeat's tongue licking sloppily at his hand. From the look on Sturges's face when he looked up in surprise, he was waiting for the answer to a question he definitely hadn't registered.

"Everyone loved it," River covered for him swiftly, her smile deceptively easy, though he could see the wicked pleasure that danced in her eyes. "You guys throw a damn good party."

"It's the least we could do, General," Garvey answered at once. "We're just glad you had a good time."

Her 'good time' starts five minutes from now, when I get her all to myself. MacCready drank quickly from his beer to hide his smirk, and to squash the quiet fear growing louder that he was turning into his adoptive father. He'd seen Charon make a grown man piss himself for looking at Leah the wrong way, had heard her obnoxious, wild screaming minutes after when he drove his point home, to put it lightly. But looking at River now, he kind of understood it, that possessive, arrogant drive, and he'd need some time to himself later to figure out how he felt about it. She didn't seem to mind any, the way she kept sliding him sidelong glances, toying with the edge of the thin, gold chain around her neck.

"Thank you again." Aaand that's my cue. She took his hand when he offered it, his fingers wrapping easily around hers as he helped her to her feet. He shrugged out of his jacket and draped it around her bare shoulders. Her laughter was louder than normal, almost wild, and it must have been the alcohol that made her so carefree as she leaned against him. "I'll be here to help clean up tomorrow when I'm sober."

MacCready threw his arm over her shoulder, steadying her uneasy stride. "You need me to carry you, boss?"

River smoothed her dress down, corrected her steps with impressive skill, and he wondered just how many drunken nights she'd walked off in her previous life. When she spoke her voice was low, just for him, almost inaudible over the din of people making their way out. "You know just what I need from you, RJ MacCready."

He cursed under his breath and hurried her out of the door. "Home, now."

Hancock whistled to catch Dogmeat's attention as he made to follow after them. "Wanna crash at my place tonight, mutt?"

The dog cocked his head to the side, tongue lolling out in approval.

"Good. You tell MacCready he owes me one, though."

They burst through the front door with enough force to slam it into the wall. He pressed her up against the bookshelf, kicking the door closed as they knocked books and ammo from the shelves. He hadn't stopped kissing her since they left the long house, his lips a constant, searing pressure that stole her breath. His hands were everywhere, first cradling her face then her shoulders, her hips, her ass. She'd set something loose in him, something wild and frenzied and devastatingly arousing. When he sank his teeth into the curve of her neck, she gasped, wrapped her legs around his waist and then he was grinding the rigid heat of his erection against her through their clothes.

"Where?" he demanded gruffly, winding a hand into her hair.

"Here's fine," she panted, followed by a strangled whine as he rolled his hips harder against her.

"Not for what I want." His voice was a threat and a promise all rolled up into one, and before she could even process his meaning, he was dragging her down the hall, into the utility room of all places.

"What are you - ?"

MacCready lifted her up onto the washing machine, invading the space between her legs until they lined up perfectly, his cock a hard ridge against her heated core as his mouth claimed hers once more. She wound her arms around his neck, fingernails digging into the taut line of his shoulders. He let out a sharp hiss, then a dusky laugh.

River whimpered a noise between her teeth and bottom lip, admiring the blossoms of violet lipstick over his face and neck.

He allowed her little time to breathe, just long enough to unzip the back of her dress and peel it open around her like the petals of a flower. Then his hands and mouth were on her again, fingers sliding up her smooth thighs as his mouth found the hardened peak of a nipple. He groaned in wordless approval when his knuckles brushed her slick folds. He realized that she had no underwear on, that she was agonizingly wet, and these were his two new favorite things about River. He gripped her by the knees and tugged her until she was perched on the edge of the washing machine, fingers curling around the metal for support.

He dropped to his knees, parted her trembling thighs, made a wounded noise at the sight of her glistening sex. He draped her legs over his shoulders, and then he was trailing a series of bites and kisses up her thighs, lips soothing the scrape of teeth, dragging her back and forth over the line between pleasure and pain.

She gasped his name, breathless and shaken, and he knew from the sound it wouldn't take long at all to push her over the edge, wondered if he would have the patience to make her come twice before fucking her. When his mouth closed over her aching folds, she cried out, hips jerking involuntarily beneath the sensation as suddenly want was need and right fucking now. Her hands gripped his hair by the roots, needing to hold onto something. His tongue parted her searchingly, unrelentingly, his probing touch shooting sparks of heat through her nerves.

I've never done this before, he'd admitted to her the first time he'd tried this, right before learning each and every one of her sensitive body's secrets. The memory crossed her mind every time that clever, sarcastic mouth was on her, when he felt like reminding her how easily he could make her come.

MacCready seemed to sense her distraction, and the feeling of two thick fingers sliding into her tight heat was enough to recapture her attention.

"RJ, please," she begged, not entirely sure what she was even asking him for. Her legs shifted with each flex of her hips, chasing the bolts of pleasure that sang over her raw nerves. Every pass of his tongue was a lash of heat eroding at her self-control, reducing her thoughts to white static as he wound her like clockwork toward release. She stuffed two knuckles between her teeth, clamping down to muffle her scream when she came. The orgasm tore mercilessly through her, rolled tight over every nerve in her body, left her shattered and nearly weeping in its wake. He rose to his feet, admiring the disarray he'd made of her perfect appearance. Her lipstick was faded, probably more now on him than her, and he liked the thought of her marking him up, even if the color didn't suit him half as well.

MacCready slid her heels off while she struggled to recover her breath, kneaded the sole of one slender foot and then the other with his knuckles, eliciting a soft moan.

"Ohh, yes," River sighed, gazing down at him from under heavy lids. Then her head fell back and she let out another tantalizing noise. "Oh, my god, RJ, you might make me come again just from that."

He laughed, letting her feet rest on his knee so he could reach for his tie. One of her hands wrapped around his wrist, tugging him to his feet.

"Please," she whispered, eyes shining up at him through the darkness. "Let me."

"All yours," he promised her, resting his hands on either side of her legs and leaning into the space between them. She loosened his tie, inhaled sharply when his hips bucked suddenly against her. Her fingers worked a little faster - a little shakier - on the buttons of his shirt. The second she had shoved the sleeves back over his shoulders, she sank her teeth into the curve of his throat. He grunted at the sudden sensation, trying not to jostle her as he pulled his arms free from the rest of the sleeves.

River nipped her way down his neck to his collarbone, caught her breath between kisses there as her fingers trailed like water down the ridges of his abdominal muscles. She let out a breathy laugh, drawing his curious, heated gaze. "You are sex on two legs." Her orgasm had taken the frenzy out of her lust, reduced it to a slow burn between her thighs, a deep ache she knew he would alleviate spectacularly.

RJ chuckled, the sound rough with need. He didn't say anything. Maybe he didn't trust himself to speak.

River pulled him down for a kiss, one hand spread against his stomach, the other working his belt free from his pants. His tongue pushed into her mouth, seeking hers. Maybe it was the alcohol, but every sensation felt magnified, and the freezing had left her oversensitive as it was. He filled his hands with the curve of her ass and it was like every inch of his skin on hers was a furnace, burning through to her core, stoking that slow burn back into a ravenous hunger.

When her hand closed around the thick base of his arousal, he gasped against her mouth. The breath melted into a strangled groan as she drew her curled fist up his length. "You want it, baby?"

He let out a tense laugh, his shoulder hard as stone beneath her other hand. "You don't know how bad I need you."

"Mmn, I think I can feel." Her fingers drifted like silk up and down his cock. She scooted forward to the edge of the washer again. She caught his gaze, saw the heat in the blue of his eyes as she guided him where she needed him. He exhaled hard through his nose, sliding slowly into her, inch by painstaking inch. When her eyes fluttered closed, he cupped her face, urged her in a tight voice to open them again so he could watch her face as he bottomed out.

"Fuck," he puffed out and she could only moan desperately in response. She never felt so full as when he was inside of her like this. She hissed when he started to move, easing his hips back and pushing back in, harder each time, and the apex of each thrust forced louder and louder noises from her throat. She clawed at his shoulders, might've even drawn blood, but she needed to hold onto something and he didn't seem to even feel it. He pressed his mouth to her collarbone, nipped erratically at her skin in between thrusts. His arms were tense with corded muscle as he braced himself against the washer.

River tried to be quiet, bit down on her knuckles until it hurt, but her hoarse scream still shattered the night stillness around them, and she'd have to remember to apologize to their neighbors in the morning, but RJ was so fucking good inside her, on top of her. He was the darkness behind her eyelids, the air inside her lungs, the heat that crawled like a sunburn over each inch of her skin.

He ducked his head against her shoulder, breathing hard as he thrust into her again. She was tight, getting tighter, gripping at him every time he slid out and putting up a delicious, addictive resistance every time he pushed back in. He could still taste her on the back of his tongue, the warm tang of her orgasm, and he set the pace of his hips to her frenzied cries that crested and fell like ocean waves.

River brushed her fingers up the line of his jaw. He opened his eyes to her, gifted her a lazy smile, and a brief moment of clarity swept over her in its wake.

I love this man so entirely, so absolutely. When she kissed him, her mouth was soft, calming if only for a moment the raging tempest of his desire.

He closed a hand gently around her throat, not hard enough to constrict her breathing, just a soft, secure pressure as he slowed his hips to an even, rolling rhythm. She keened eagerly beneath his hold and he tightened it experimentally, watched the ecstasy pass over her features in response.

One of his brows lifted into his trademark smirk, and it was even more appealing while he was struggling to maintain his composure. "That's interesting," he rumbled with amusement. His voice had never sounded so deep before, like she could feel it rattling in her bones. "You like that?"

River squeaked out a noise, strained and incomprehensible, but the way her walls pulsed like a vice around his cock was confirmation enough. He kissed her again, teeth catching her bottom lip as he released the hold on her throat. "Another time," he promised against her lips. "Can't trust myself not to hurt you right now."

She dragged in a deep breath to refill her lungs. The blood pounded in her temples, brain threatening to short out from all the stimulation, but something about the burn for oxygen had sent a dark thrill through her. He eased her legs over his shoulders, angling her hips upward, the sexual equivalent of rolling up his sleeves; she braced herself against the washer and closed her eyes, expecting to be fucked in earnest.

His hands caught her hips, pulled her flush against him - so deep inside her they were practically the same person - forced the breath out of her in a throaty whimper. He started a mercifully slow rhythm at first, a languid, burning push-and-pull that throbbed like a heartbeat deep in the pit of her stomach. A sharp pain in her leg sliced like a blade through the haze of rolling pleasure, and she opened her eyes to see his mouth on her thigh, just above the knee. The intensity of his bite waxed and waned with the swing of each thrust, but it was the perfect anchor to ground her as the room threatened to start spinning around her.

River moved one of her hands to the flat of his stomach, felt the muscles moving taut beneath her palm and she had barely enough air left to voice an admiring laugh. "Yes," she approved feverishly when he sank in faster, harder, each of his rough, masculine sounds amplified in the small space of the utility room.

"Shit, shit," she gasped, her legs tensing up to chase the release she could feel threatening to overcome her. Her hands reached for any part of him she could grab, gripped his wrists with white knuckles as she came apart beneath him.

MacCready slapped a hand over her mouth just before the scream broke free, muffling it safely against his palm. Her throat was probably gonna be shredded tomorrow, something she'd be pissed about later, but right now her tight, tight heat was clenching with devastating force around him and all he could think about was the pressure building at the base of his spine.

Eventually River's seizing body eased into stillness again, chest heaving as she caught her breath. She shifted his hand, caught his thumb between her lips and pulled it into the warm cavern of her mouth. He could feel suction and her tongue working the pad of his thumb with a dexterity that made him groan, filled his mind with memories of all the times she'd done the same to his cock. She watched his face, even as his eyes drifted shut in the beginning swell of climax.

"River - fu-u-uck." He jerked into her erratically, voice shattering around her name and fingers digging into her hips hard enough to bruise. She savored the ecstasy in every line of his expression as he came deep inside of her.

For a moment they slumped together, catching their breath, and slowly the feeling returned to all of her fingers and toes.

Once he could trust his legs to hold him, he helped her down from the washer. She was an absolute mess, puffy-eyed and shaky, her hair a tangle of white curls that flowed down her back, and the fact that he was the reason why made her look all the more delicious. She clung to him for support as they stumbled down the hallway, leaving her dress behind on the floor.

"Shaun's room," she directed him, her voice hoarse and raspy. There was a mattress on the floor next to the crib and he lowered her gingerly down onto it.

"You all right? Did I hurt you?"

She opened tired, blood-shot eyes, smiled dreamily up at him. "Only as much as I wanted you to." Her whole body shuddered through the yawn that overcame her. "Blankets in the bedroom closet."

He reappeared moments later with a tattered blanket thrown over his shoulder. The mattress sank beneath his weight as he flopped down onto it, then tucked the edges of the blanket in around her. She groped for him through the darkness and shoved herself into the circle of his arms, winning herself an exhausted chuckle. He winced immediately after, clutching at his stomach as the muscles there burned in protest.

"Ow."

"Yeah. I'm feeling a little of that, too." Her fingers drifted over his torso, traced old scars and wounds. She wished she could erase them and all the ones she couldn't see, the ones that had tried and failed over and over to crush his resolve, no matter how deeply they cut. He'd had to be so strong so young and he deserved a little peace. She sat up on her elbows, and now that her eyes had adjusted she could see him smiling up at her through the darkness. Dark purple, vaguely mouth-shaped stains littered his neck, jaw, and shoulders and she couldn't resist a tired giggle at the sight. "You weren't kidding about the lipstick, huh?"

The smile turned cocky. "Well, I like to think my performance spoke for itself."

"Mmn. It did. In volumes. Worth revisiting in the future, too, I think."

His grin betrayed his pleasure at her affirmation. "What can I say? You're my muse." He brushed a stray, sweat-heavy lock of hair from her temple. "You . . . inspire good work."

"That sounds a lot nicer than 'I sure love fucking you.'"

He laughed, and there was surprise in the sound. She leaned into his touch when he pressed his hand to the side of her face. "Gotta say, it's kinda hot when you swear."

River suddenly flushed pink, teeth biting sheepishly down on her bottom lip at the reminder. "I'm sorry I made you break your promise." He blinked in confusion, so she clarified, "To Duncan."

"Oh, yeah." He shook his head, chuckling under his breath. "Don't worry about it. I'll level with him someday, man-to-man. Once he's old enough, I, uh . . . I think he'll understand." He held his arms open and she settled back into his embrace. "Besides, it's nothing to some of the things I said when I was a kid. You should've heard some of 'em." A short, indulgent laugh. "Actually I'm glad you didn't. You'd never look at me the same."

"Now you've got me curious."

He grimaced dramatically. "When you meet Leah someday, I'm sure she'd love the chance to embarrass me. But my lips are sealed."

"I get to meet the parents, do I?" she teased. "Think they'll like me?"

"Are you kidding? They're gonna take one look at you and crap themselves. You're way out of my league." She laughed, one of his hands cradling her face, tracing the line of her cheekbone with his thumb, languid and tender. "Plus, you saved Duncan's life, and I love you like crazy. They'll practically worship you." It was his turn to yawn, fingers tangling in her hair as she snuggled closer to him.

"I love you, too, RJ," she mumbled, pressing her lips to the edge of his jaw.

"'Course you do." But then he kissed her, and there was no arrogance in the action, just raw need, and wonder, and passion, and all the other insane things that happen to a heart when it falls in love. River listened to the sound of his steady breathing, slowing as he drifted into slumber. She wanted to meet the people who made him so strong, who kept his child safe while he helped her find hers, thank them personally for the man who put all her pieces back together.

It was late the next morning when River and MacCready finally met up again. They'd crawled out of bed like corpses from a crypt and parted to spare each other the very unromantic process of becoming presentable again after a night of alcohol and sex.

She looked amazing, of course, and he strongly suspected the word 'hangover' didn't even exist in her vocabulary. Long white hair coiled into that seamless bun, skin shiny and clean and how the fuck did she even manage to look so put together after last night?

Most notable, though, was her complete lack of lipstick.

"How the hell did you get it off?" he demanded, turning her around by the shoulders to check the back of her neck and arms.

She had a smirk on that would rival his when she turned back around. "Ancient pre-war secret. You have a little trouble?"

"Gee, I dunno," he retorted, tilting his head back so she could see the faint purple lip-shaped stains over his throat, skin pink and raw from his attempts to rub it off. "You tell me, is it noticeable?"

She laughed so hard she had to wipe the tears from her eyes. "Oh, come on, it's cute!"

"I look like I got mauled by rabid mutfruits."

"I kinda like it." Her eyes flashed with something other than amusement this time. "Leave it on for me?"

He lifted an eyebrow at her, mouth slowly curling into a smile. Then he laughed, low and husky. "You got it, angel." He pecked her on the mouth and then strode into the long house, with an easy swagger despite - or maybe now because of - the evidence of their drunken lovemaking all over his neck. She tried not to giggle at Preston's double-take, or the way Curie stared curiously at him, trying to figure out what kind of strange skin condition he'd developed. He didn't let it phase him as he helped clean up, even met Hancock's eye over the table they were carrying and they shared a knowing laugh.

She curled her fist around the tiny silver tube of lipstick in her pocket with a satisfied smile. Thing had cost her a small fortune, but it was worth every cap.