Warning: so unbelievably NSFW.
Chapter 9
Rook approached the Seed ranch in a low crouch, hiding in the thick bushes and the rampant swaths of yellow daisies that littered the property just like the first time—only this time she was ten times more anxious considering her intentions. Boomer followed in a trot that was even quieter than her own, his nose in the air in the hopes of sniffing out patrolling Peggies. From her knowledge of the ranch's layout, there was a skylight on the roof that she could grapple up to and then lower herself down into the main room, assuming there was nobody skulking around on that side of the property. But the more she scouted, the more she frowned, the hiss of her camera zooming in and out getting lost in the wind.
There was nobody here. The porchlights were on, but the PA systems were silent, the lights inside the ranch were off, and not a single Peggie guard could be found circling the ranch or pacing around on its balcony. Had John sent away his guards? Was he expecting her?
The thought almost made her turn back, her war-hardened mind immediately jumping to the possibility of this being a trap. She resisted the urge to flee, but remained cautious despite the deserted property, darting through the bushes and tall grass as though this were any other outpost. When she reached the side of the ranch, a quick peek around to the back revealed a wide open field with nobody there either. She allowed herself to let out a confused exhale, now wondering if John was even here. Surely Joseph at the very least would not have allowed his brother to send away all of his protection and remain alone in the house? It would be like inviting the Resistance to storm in and kill him…
Maybe that was the intention.
"Jesus Christ," Rook choked, surprising herself with how much that frightened her, and if the way she pulled out and set up her grappling hook was somewhat hasty Rook would never admit it. "Sit," she instructed Boomer, who obediently huddled himself into the cover of the grass, looking up at her with imploring eyes as though begging her to come back. It hurt to see, and she swore never to leave him behind again.
With practiced ease, she twirled the hook and tossed it up towards the general vicinity of the skylight. It landed on the roof with a thump and caught the edge of the wooden frame. Rook tested it with a few strong tugs before hauling herself up the rope. She winced every time her boots thudded against the wooden sides of the ranch, hoping she wasn't about to alert everyone (anyone?) in the house of her presence.
The ranch was quiet and dark inside as she lowered herself down. Rook let go of the rope and let it hang, pulling out her pistol and casing the place for hidden threats. The moonlight streaming in from outside lit the place in a silvery white glow, allowing Rook to find her way around. The floor was littered with dropped Peggie Bibles and torn papers, but Rook sidestepped them in search of Peggies hiding in the shadows. She found no one inside either, and she lowered her weapon with a frown. With a quick glance around for an alarm box, Rook cracked open the front door and whistled for Boomer, who zoomed over in a rustle of grass and padded paws, his tongue lolling out happily.
"Let me know if anyone tries to sneak up on us, all right buddy?" she whispered, giving his ears a quick scritch before turning back towards the empty hall.
She shucked off her bag and holsters and left her heavier guns in a pile beside the fireplace, but kept her pistol strapped to her hip just in case there was trouble. Quietly, she crept over the animal skin rugs towards the door she'd once fled out of, pushing it open. The hallway was pitch black from the lack of windows, so she clicked her flashlight on for a quick second and slowly made her way up the stairs. There was no Peggie to guard the door this time, and Rook carefully turned the handle in a mirror image of last time—still trying to be quiet, but this time trying to break in rather than out—and entered John's bedroom.
Her breath got stuck in her throat as she spotted him in the moonlight. John was here, but rather than waiting with a small army to surprise or trap her or any of her other theories, he was just… asleep.
His back was to her, his hair messy and wild against the pillows, and he was fully dressed, his normally pressed shirt crumpled like he'd just collapsed into bed. The way he was curled up with his knees drawn close to his chest broke her heart a little, his hands clenched around what looked like the blanket he'd lovingly draped her in after the Bliss, cradling it up to his chin. Was this how he looked as a child, huddled for comfort to try and ward off the pain and frustration from the sheer unfairness of his life? Her breath hitched at the thought, so she turned to look around the room instead.
Whatever turmoil had been going through John Seed's head this last week was reflected in the chaos of the previously tidy room. His sunglasses were cracked and lying in the corner of the room by the window, like he'd hurled them against the wall and left them where they fell. A vase of marigolds that Rook assumed had been on the windowsill had tipped over, the pretty flowers lying on their sides across the carpet. She frowned at the familiar folded lump of brown fleece laid across the end table, a feature that hadn't been there when she woke up. Wasn't that Dutch's jacket from all those months ago? Why had he kept it all this time? The implications made her blush in the dark, and she hastily turned away to continue scanning the room. Papers littered the desk and the floor around it, more tattoo sketches made with a much less steady hand… except Rook had to double-take when she spotted them this time.
Gone were the birds of paradise and the crying angels, in favor of Rook herself. The topmost image was a rapid sketch of her face, her hair a series of hasty lines drawn up into a vague outline of the bun she occasionally sported, with the most detail put into her face. It was almost photorealistic—he had captured the freckles that had sprouted across her cheeks after too long running around in the Hope County sun, the dimples in her cheeks made barely visible in her seriousness, the nick of a scar on her forehead from when she'd split it open on the monkey bars in second grade, the way her eyelids lowered and her brows drew together when she was focused on a task. He even captured the since-healed nick on her collarbone from weeks ago, when an Angel had snuck up on her and managed to sink a piece of broken glass into her with an imprecise, Bliss-drunk lunge. Did he draw this from a photo of her? She wasn't sure whether to be in awe at the attention to detail or disturbed at the (admittedly now obvious) possibility that Eden's Gate had enough cameras hidden around the county to snap photos of her. She had always wondered how they made those wanted posters.
Glancing at John, heart in her throat, Rook sidled over to the desk and leaned over eagerly to get a better look at the others. There were what had to be months of sketches that changed from depicting her as a bloody conqueror on horseback or perched atop a throne of skulls like a warrior queen, into scenes of her wandering through nature, cradling a Bliss flower in her gloved hands, binding her own mouth with a gag that shouted 'WRATH' across its creases. Each drawing was meticulous, an ode to her essence as he saw it.
She blushed as she thumbed through the evolving scenes. She could see the way his mind's image of her turned from Hell come to raze his world into something softer, something to covet. The ones closest to the bottom were stone-faced versions of herself, in the midst of battle or with her gun propped and ready, ever prepared for war, hastily done like he had no idea why he was bothering to do them at all; the sweeter ones were more numerous, like his opinion of her had long changed since she'd first caught his attention. One series seemed to place her in the domains of his siblings, excluding himself—in Jacob's mountains she was skeletal and screaming from inside an iron cage, the lines hasty like the thought of her suffering made him jittery; in Faith's, she was chained with ephemeral cuffs to a blossoming tree, looking lost with a parted mouth and a crown of flowers; in Joseph's church, she was straight-backed and determined, gloved hands clutching the handcuffs in preparation for his arrest, looking almost like a court hearing sketch. The level of detail and thought John had put into his drawings was astonishing and slightly eerie, the more she thought about it. Just how long did the Baptist spend dreaming of her, putting every detail he could scrounge to paper?
At the base of the desk was a ruined sketch Rook had to crouch and pick up to see. She blinked at the exquisitely detailed scene of herself lying sideways in the grass and flowers, her eyes wide and her hand outstretched towards the viewer in an imploring, almost seductive request. Her hair was blown back into errant curls dotted with petals, a single braid woven with flowers falling over her face. It would have been so beautiful if John had not destroyed it with angry scribbles of 'NO' all across the paper, so hard in some places he'd torn through it. Rook's breath flew out of her mouth so quickly she had to whirl around to check if she had woken John—he had drawn their time in the Bliss, crafted her likeness with a lover's hand only to ruin it with his mark, her rejection.
She never stood a chance of avoiding him, she realized. He was obsessed with her from the start, whether she knew it or not.
Rook's lip trembled and she set the drawing down with the others, turning back to stare at her sleeping soulmate. She had intended to storm his ranch and demand answers, ask him what his true intentions were for freeing Joey, for pulling his men from the region… but now she could think of nothing else than to slip in under the blanket with him and hold him, and for once she was going to be selfish and act on the impulse. She unclipped her gun holster and set it down gently on her Bliss confession drawing before creeping over to the bed. She paused at the open Bible on his bedside table, frowning at the passage he had scribbled furious red circles around.
'You say, "I am rich; I have acquired wealth and do not need a thing." But you do not realize that you are wretched, pitiful, poor, blind and naked.'
She sighed and shut the book with a quiet snap, reminding herself to steal it and get Sharky to burn it—John had enough of Eden's Gate's pseudo-Christian rhetoric they had warped into dark prophecies and signs of the end times for the rest of his life, in her opinion.
Carefully, Rook lifted the edge of the blanket and sidled in with her weight propped on her elbow, resisting the urge to press herself to his back just yet. She could see his face from this angle, frowning with a downturned mouth and brows drawn into an upward arch like his dreams were unpleasant, dark circles settled like deep chasms under his eyes. A purple bruise had blossomed over his nose and spilled onto his cheek, and Rook winced at the sight. At least Joey hadn't broken his nose like she'd thought, from what Rook could tell. His shirt was also unbuttoned, revealing a lean chest dotted with so many tattoos and scars he easily rivalled Joseph, though his only sins seemed to be 'SLOTH' and what looked like the edges of a barely-healed 'GREED' curving around his hip onto his lower back. Was this one because of her?
Grimacing at the thought, she pulled off her gloves and dropped them with a muted thump over the side of the bed, scooting closer so she could rub soft circles over his clothed back in an effort to get him to relax. It seemed to work, somewhat—his hands unclenched, at least, and Rook let her own hands drift over his arms, the wrinkled silk tickling her palms. She was displeased when he did little more than shift slightly, so she gave into her urges and wriggled so close she could feel the heat of him through both their clothes, drawing him back with one hand on his shoulder, the other reaching up to sweep through his unusually messy hair. Rook trembled at the pleasant feeling that followed the light touch, but John seemed to melt like butter in her arms like it was the greatest thing he'd ever felt, letting out a strangled half-sigh half-moan in his sleep and uncurling himself to push back against her touch, expression softening into bliss (the regular kind).
It was such a sweet reaction that Rook let out a surprised murmur of, "Oh," and allowed herself to trail the hand not in his hair over his bare shoulder, which peeked out through his gaping shirt. A tattoo of a snake coiling around an apple made up most of the ink on his shoulder, and she followed the path of the snake's tail until she reached the visible sliver of his bare back. She choked when she found a series of old scars disappearing down into the blue silk, like thick bushels of pink grass were growing across his skin, most of them concentrated around the mangled black scribble of the word 'no' right underneath his shoulder blade. Her breath caught again as her fingers reached down to caress it, and the pain of the truth overwhelmed the pleasure of their bond.
"They beat me harder, for things I could not control. For God-given things, for the actions of others…"
His parents had demanded the word 'yes' from him, and beat him harder because the opposite was branded into skin. She had already broken him before she'd even met him.
But John breathed out another sigh, tilting his head back into her hand as though begging for her to continue, and who was Rook to deny him that? She shook away the melancholy and scooted closer, tucking his head under her chin and cradling his back with her thighs. She closed her eyes and sighed alongside him as she did her best to make him feel only good things, gentle trails drawn over bare skin, taking simple enjoyment out of holding her soulmate. John must have been exhausted beyond measure because he did not stir, just relaxed bonelessly in her hold and breathed evenly. She questioned whether she should bother waking him—he looked so, so tired—but she had gathered all her courage to come and face him in the first place, and Rook feared that it would be gone by morning if she lingered in the quiet too long.
So, with a deep breath to brace herself, Rook pulled her hand out of his shirt and gripped his arm, shaking it gently.
"John," she murmured, trying not to startle him with too loud a sound. He just sighed and scrunched up his nose in reply, and it was adorable, so Rook took a moment to stare and fight a smile before giving him another shake and a second utterance of, "John…"
"Hmm," tumbled from his mouth, sounding so grumpy that Rook couldn't bite back a giggle, and this was what made his eyes slowly open.
She met his stare with the steely determination of a woman who had spent the last however many months staring death in the face at every hour, as John blinked away the bleariness of sleep and turned on his side to look up at her, taking in the sight of her with confusion that quickly cracked into awe.
"Hi," she whispered, for lack of anything better to say.
"Am I…?" he left unfinished, reaching up to touch her face but remembering himself halfway and pulling it back. "You're here?"
Rook nodded, and when he started to look more and more bewildered she took the hand that was now hovering uncertainly near his scarred chest and dragged it up to her cheek, silently giving him permission for what she'd twice before denied him. He gasped quietly at the gesture, or maybe at the thrum of pleasure that came from her bare fingers clasping his. Like an addict with his greatest vice being dangled before his eyes, John barely hesitated before desperately reaching up to cradle her jaw, his other hand joining the other until he was holding her face like a fragile, priceless treasure.
"I do not deserve you," he breathed, but his thumbs wandered anyway, tracing the swell of her cheek and skirting longingly over her bottom lip.
"You could," she sighed, having to force herself to keep her eyes open under the ecstasy of their soul bond, duller than before but still slightly overwhelming.
He pulled his hands away but kept them close by like he had to fight the urge to return them to their rightful places on her cheeks, frowning up at her and looking impossibly lost. She tutted at the sad expression and slipped a hand back into his hair, pressing comforting circles with her fingertips into the base of his neck and feeling a flare of heat at the way his mouth parted and his eyelids drooped in pleasure.
"How?" he asked.
"You let Joey go," Rook reminded him, rewarding him with a sweep of her thumb over the spot on his neck just underneath his ear, reveling in his muffled groan. "You let all of them go. You didn't hurt them."
"I hurt Hudson at first," John said with a shake of his head, dislodging her caresses. "I wanted her to confess. But I couldn't… to them. Not anymore. You would have hated me. You should hate me."
"I can't," was Rook's own personal confession, because God knew she'd fucking tried.
"I hurt you," he bemoaned, looking like the very thought was an anguish so heavy it was crushing him from the inside.
"You stopped." She didn't just mean at the river. "You stopped everything."
"What if I hurt you again?"
"John," Rook said impatiently, but regretted it when he shrank back into himself. "There's more to life than just pain. Stop letting your past control everything you do now and just—"
"Open up my heart and see that there is love all around me?" John exclaimed, and the reply was so bemusedly specific that Rook's eyebrows raised all the way up into her hair.
"Um, that… sounds right, I guess? Yeah, that's… good."
The grief that had settled over his face like a seemingly permanent mask was immediately replaced with a delighted smile, and Rook couldn't help but gape at it, her pulse quickening at how lovely the sight was.
"Joseph told me the same," he commented, and then outright laughed when Rook wrinkled her nose and muttered a disillusioned, "Oh."
His laugh was as joyful and boyish as his grin, and it caught Rook's attention again. She gave into an urge she'd had in the Bliss and reached up to trace the lines of his mouth, her throat closing in on itself when the gesture made him smile up at her with such sheer adoration that if Rook wasn't already a goner, she would have been right then and there. He reached up to steal back her hand, turning his head without breaking eye contact and placing a soft kiss on the inside of her palm with such reverence it was like he was kissing an angel. She remembered the feeling of his mouth fitting itself to hers and the explosion of pleasure it brought with her, even with her dulled senses from the Bliss, and her core clenched with the desire to relive the experience.
"Maybe I won't poison you with my sin," John's thoughtful musing distracted her from her lustful thoughts. "Maybe you have already started healing me."
"I'm not—" She interrupted herself with a gasp as he mouthed at the inside of her wrist. "I'm not the answer, John. I can't just… fix you. You need help—real help."
"I need you," he murmured in that shockingly honest, shameless way of his, and the breath that caught in Rook's throat turned into a frustrated, half-strangled noise that made his own breath hitch.
"I'm serious," Rook scolded, but her voice shook to the beat of her rapid pulse. "This-this war has to end, so that we can all just… rest. Heal."
"Will you be there with me?" John asked, the depths of his hope screaming through the quiet words.
She blushed, but offered him a tentative smile. "Don't think I can stay away anymore."
Her words seemed to both fill his empty soul and shock him to his core, because the radiant smile he gave her was tinged with tears of disbelief that shone in his eyes, and she couldn't help but lean down and kiss him to be rid of the sadness, even if it had the unfortunate consequence of also doing away with his smile. He moaned like the firm press of her mouth was a pleasure reserved only for heaven, their hands parting to start groping at each other. The blanket got in the way, and they both drew away for a moment to impatiently shove it off and onto the floor, and Rook would have laughed at their shared brain moment if John hadn't stolen back her lips like he needed them to live. His other hand travelled up to her hair, fumbling with the tie on her braid like he'd dreamed of nothing else but to comb through her freed locks, and she impatiently shoved his hand away to yank the offending tie out of her hair. He made a pleased sound when her braid unraveled with minimal effort, lips leaving hers so he could lean over to breathe her in, cradling her curls between his fingers like the angels themselves had woven them.
"You smell like a garden," he sighed, which Rook highly doubted since she'd spent all day running between various emergencies, but he made a convincing argument when his tongue reconnected with her throat, fingers sweeping her loose hair back into a twist.
"Did you think of this when you ripped open my shirt in the bunker?" she murmured in his ear, pushing her breasts into his chest for emphasis.
"Yes," was his growled confession, his greedy fingers flexing over the v of her button-down shirt's neckline. "I wanted…"
He didn't elaborate, but considering he'd shown her the depths of his 'want' over the last couple of months she didn't need him to. She wanted it anyway, and so she purred as he tasted her neck, "I could tell, John. Show me what you wanted."
He whimpered at the request and seized the lapels of her shirt, yanking them apart so violently the fabric ripped and the buttons disappeared somewhere into the carpet. He made a desperate, hungry noise at the sight of her round breasts cradled by the torn bra. She blushed at not having something nicer to wear, but John seemed more preoccupied with pulling the cups down, making an awed sound as her breasts spilled out into his eager hands. She trembled and sighed at the feeling of him cupping the soft flesh, weighing them in his palms and tracing ticklish circles over the undersides. Her noises turned to ones of disapproval when he stopped, but when she looked down at him questioningly she found him gazing in awe at his mark scrawled under the swell of the left one, his hand loosening to thumb over the words.
"You are wonderful," he said in a kind of apology, before leaning over to kiss the mark. "I am a fool…"
"Hnnh," was her response when his tongue darted out to taste it.
He smirked at the noise like the smug asshole he was, but the promise of playing with her tits regained his attention soon enough. He undid the clasp in record time and let it drop as he mouthed his way up to her nipple, catching it between his teeth and tugging gently. He teased and worshipped the little bud like he'd spent hours thinking of doing exactly that, his eyes closed as he listened to the heavenly choir of her moans and sighs. It quickly grew to be not enough and soon she was impatiently yanking at his silky blue lapels (they matched his eyes, she noticed—she'd always noticed) to return the favor. She would play with his nipples and leave bite marks all over his chest, and he could tattoo them on later, if he wanted.
"John," Rook growled out when he left her struggles unnoticed, and he lifted his head dreamily, lower lip glistening. "Take this off. Now."
She could swear his pupils dilated like her demands were a hit of the purest drug.
"Yes," he breathed, and Rook almost frowned at the use of the loaded word if not for the way he seemed to sway at the thought of obeying her.
Hastily, John sat up and pulled his own shirt, already courteously undone, off his arms. She waited until he had thrown it somewhere into the dark before she pounced, shoving herself up so she could pinch and bite and lap at his nipples like a savage thing. He let out the sweetest cry as though the pleasure she wrought was incomparable, and she ached to prove such an assumption wrong.
But she had a theory to test, first.
"Beg," she commanded, her breath wisping over his nipple.
His hips jerked towards her uncontrollably at her sharp words, eyes squeezing shut like he couldn't believe this was really happening.
"Please," he whispered without shame, opening his eyes to stare longingly at her tits. "I want… please."
"What do you want, John?" Rook teased, tongue darting out to flick over his nipple again, hands graciously provided a suggestion by trailing down his chest into the wiry hairs painting a trail into his jeans. "Tell me."
"Please, I want to see all of you," he hissed, reaching out hungrily to tug at the shirt still clinging to her arms while his eyes seemed to try to will her jeans off.
"Is that all?" Rook cooed, having an absurd amount of fun with the way he whined like a wretched thing because she already knew the answer. "You had much more to say over the radio, John, about what you wanted from me."
"I—huh?" was his eloquent response, before he was distracted by Rook shrugging off her ruined shirt, leaving her bare from the waist up.
"Don't you remember?" she breathed right in his ear, relishing his shiver. "You said… you wanted to touch me, lick the sin off my skin, drink me down…"
"Oh," John groaned as her fingers dipped just past the hem of his jeans before retreating, but his face tinted a peachy pink with the cutest blush she'd ever seen. "I-I thought you didn't hear…"
"I heard plenty," Rook growled, and rewarded him with a button popped open and a flick of her fingertip against his zipper, bulging outward from the hardness inside that was probably aching to be released. "Wanna hear a confession, John?" His answer was just another moan with an audible question mark at the end of it. "When you came, begging for me… I came too."
"Please lemme touch you," burst out of his mouth unbidden, his hips surging forward so hard they collided a bit painfully with hers. "Please-please-please-please, I want… so much, I just wanna see it, wanna make it happen—"
"Take off your jeans," Rook ordered in response, but her commanding tone wavered from the soul-wrecking bolt of heat his sexy begging shot down between her legs. "I wanna see how you touched yourself. Wanna know what you were thinking about that got you so hot."
"Yes-yes-yes," he chanted, attacking the zipper and yanking his pants down so hastily he exhaled a hiss at how the denim roughly passed over his length before it sprang free, because of course he'd go commando all the time, and why hadn't she guessed that already?
Rook filed away what she now dubbed the sexiest sight ever known to man into her most important memories as she watched John Seed fist his own cock, thumb passing over the head with every stroke. His mouth dropped open like it was the best thing he'd ever felt, but his pace was slow and his grip light as though he was afraid to shoot off too quick. Rook tutted in dissatisfaction, almost regretting it when his eyes jumped to hers like he was terrified of her disapproval.
"You weren't going this slowly, John," she scolded, incentivizing him by popping open the first button on her own jeans and dipping her fingers downward. "And you were not this quiet."
"I… please, I'm already so—"
"We have all night, baby," she murmured in reassurance, and he swallowed the words like they were the life-giving sustenance he needed before his pace quickened.
She watched in heated fascination as his hips joined in with the rapid jerking of his hand over his cock, thighs trembling, and John took a moment to struggle for breath before he obliged her other command.
"I was… I was thinking about you in my bunker, when I tore open your shirt…" he admitted, letting out a whine when she rewarded him with another button undone. "I couldn't stop, after seeing you… thought I was slipping back into sin…"
"What were we doing?" she asked patiently, eyes glued to the way he twisted at the end of every upstroke so his fingertips skirted over the underside with every pass, filing away the knowledge for later.
"I didn't stop," John gasped. "I pulled out your breasts, and then I pushed my cock between them. You would feel so good, wrapped around me, so soft…"
The thought had never occurred to her, but now it was the hottest thing she'd ever heard of and she showed her wholehearted approval with a feverish moan and an impatient yank of her jeans down far enough that she could push her hand into her panties. He answered the moan when she passed her trembling fingers clumsily over her clit, back arching at how good it felt.
"Please, I'm not gonna… Let me touch you first, I want—"
"C'mere," she slurred, and he all but sobbed with relief when he released his dick and pushed himself closer to her. "Take mine off, take them—"
"Yes," John hissed again, reaching desperately to tug at her jeans, hand already batting hers away to replace it before they were even properly off. "Let me—"
"Yes, John, yes," Rook said, her patience gone in her frenzy.
Whatever he was begging for, she had not expected it to be what he did next. Pushing aside her jeans and underwear until they fell in a pile off the bed, John slowly laid her down onto the pillows with a gentle hand on the back of her neck before sidling down and burying his face between her thighs with a contented moan, his beard scraping at her skin in an extra jolt of pleasure. She shrieked in surprise when his first action was to draw her clit between his lips and suck on it, her hips uncontrollably shunting towards his face at the sharp jolt of heat he wrought. He calmed her with a sweep of his tattooed fingers over the pale expanse of her belly, before he reached the same hand down to tease at her opening. Her cunt burned with the desire to feel him stretch her open, moaning out half-coherent commands for him to, "do it, do it, do it," and then clenched around his fingers as he obeyed, lapping at her clit while two of his fingers slid inside her wetness and crooked around to find her spot.
Rook squeezed her eyes shut as another shock of pleasure electrified her every nerve ending, her hips already rocking up to meet his tongue, but they flew back open when he started moaning against her, the vibrations humming right through her clit. She whimpered when she spotted the source of his pleasured noises—he had busied himself with slowly sliding his pulsing dick back and forth over the rumpled sheets, teasing himself with the silky glide while he worked her. She gasped for breath at the sinfully hot sight, and then again when she found she needed the air just from the raspy pass of his tongue over her swollen clit.
"John—" Rook began, intending to command him to wrap the sheets around himself and jerk off with the silk around his cock, but the combination of the thought, John's fucking unholy tongue and the way his fingers were scraping over her spot made her orgasm unexpectedly slam down on her like a weight dropped from the sky, knocking the breath out of her in the form of a half-scream half-cry as she seized from the sheer strength of it. His moan of approval made her thrash against his face, but he kept her pinned down with the hand that had been propping up her thigh before she could escape, keeping her in the throes of the too-strong pleasure with endless, rapid licks until she almost passed out from it all.
"Oh God, stop, I can't breathe," she cried weakly, shoving him away and pretending not to notice his dreamy smile at the admission.
"I wanted to make you come again," he breathed, sounding a bit put out that she'd denied him the honor.
Rook wasn't sure she'd have been able to make it to another orgasm before blacking out, but she kept that little truth to herself as she panted, "Another time. It's your turn now."
"I want you to come with me," John mumbled as his hand wandered back to his cock. "Just like the radio—just like, when you said—"
"Hands off then," she ordered, but her commands had a different effect and she watched his dick jump when he released it, his teeth sinking into his lip. She felt her thighs tremble at the sight, but the heat was muted from her previous orgasm and she knew it would take a bit of time to recover, so she went back to the burning questions she'd had brewing ever since she'd gotten off to the sounds of him drunkenly crying her name. "When was the first time you thought about me?"
"After the river," John confessed obediently, but his head ducked in shame—likely at the memory of pushing her under the cold water out of sheer rage. "You looked at me, after… When I spoke to you, you stared like you'd never seen anything like me before. I thought it was the Bliss, but it was beautiful. I dreamed of you."
Her cheeks heated at the compliment, but she kept up her air of confidence as she gently guided him onto his back on top of the sheets. "What did you dream about?"
"You whispered your confessions in my ear," he said on a rapid exhale, when Rook casually tossed her leg over him to straddle both of his hips, leaning strategically away from where he wanted her to touch him most. "Your sin was lust, and it was for me… I woke up burning from the shock of it… and I jerked myself off and came," he rushed out, hands twitching like he wanted to cover his face but resisted in case it displeased her. "It had been so long."
"Mm," Rook hummed in approval, reaching one hand up to play with the breast that only just concealed his mark while the other one trailed back down between her legs, all while hovering above him. "How long?"
"I don't… years? I-I wanted to be good, for Joseph, but then you came to us and I didn't know what you were, and I thought—"
"Shh," Rook hushed, the hand playing with her nipple reaching down to caress his sweaty forehead when his tone began to grow frustrated (and because she really did not need a mention of Joseph Seed in the bedroom). "It must have been so hard for you, baby. Completely stopping something that had been such a big part of your life for so long."
He nodded, eyes wide and hopeful like he was amazed she understood him. A hand reached out to caress her thigh, but he hesitated and begged for permission with his gaze, and she nodded her approval and sighed at his soft touch sliding from her thigh around to grip her ass.
"Did you stop the drugs that way too? Just like that?" Another nod, mouth parted as he alternated between gazing lovingly into her eyes and staring wantonly at the hand playing with herself. "Oh, you're so strong, aren't you John?"
"No," John crowed, shying away from her praise like the sad, wretched man he was. "Every day, I wanted…"
"And every day you beat it," Rook cooed, leaning down with her fingers still circling herself to kiss at the tattoo of a bow and arrow right above the sharp jut of his hipbone.
"Please, I can't…" he begged, and the thrill of his pleading made Rook's fingers jump on the next pass over her clit, the coiling need back with a vengeance.
"One day I'll get you to accept it," she promised darkly, pulling her fingers away.
He eyed them with unconcealed envy, and Rook didn't hesitate before she held them out to his mouth, watching with hooded eyes and clenched thighs as his mouth closed around the digits eagerly, tongue flicking at the pads of her fingers in a mimicry of what he'd done to her clit. He let out a muffled groan around them when she reached down with the other hand and lightly grasped the base of his dick, not pumping, just holding it upright against her glistening thigh.
"Tell me what you want me to do with this, John," Rook purred, and his head slammed back against the pillows.
"Use it, use me," he whined, canting his hips up so his cock dragged over her skin. "Use me to get yourself off, I wanna watch…"
"Mm, yes," she crooned, lining herself up and sinking down with a shudder so violent he matched it with one of his own, and they leaned against each other for a moment as little more than two beings wracked by the pleasure of each other.
"All I thought of for months," John mumbled, watching with almost comically wide eyes as she lifted herself up and dropped herself back down on his length in the beginnings of a quick rhythm, as though trying not to miss a second of it. "Never thought I'd ever have it…"
She shut him up with a gentle twist of his nipple between her fingers, grunting when the gesture made him thrust himself up into her, the angle just right to glide over her spot. She rocked her hips around trying to find it again, smirking down at him when she caught him staring at the gentle bounce of her tits.
"Later you're gonna show me all the ways you got yourself off to the thought of me," Rook declared, whining when he took the liberty of fondling at where they were joined, the heel of his hand rubbing against her clit.
Apparently all anyone ever needed to do to get the Inquisitor himself to spill his entire soul was to get him into bed, because he locked eyes with her and told her with a pleasured agony, "I fucked myself with a vibrator that's in the drawer beside us."
"Oh holy fuck, John, John, that's—" Rook choked out at the shockingly hot thought, her eyes immediately burning a hole in the bedside table like it had personally wronged her, because why the fuck didn't she choose to snoop around in his things last time? She would have found that, and this could have been done much, much sooner, and the thought of him rocking on his bed while a vibrator was shoved up inside him, pulsing against his prostate as he writhed and shouted for her, shot her straight towards orgasm with no more warning than the first time. "I'm—"
She couldn't even finish her sentence before a particularly well-angled grind had her flying for a second time, every muscle in her body seizing up with the unbearable pleasure. She was shocked when she opened her eyes and found John still struggling to hold on, his hips still moving in stuttering thrusts to feel her clenching around him. How much tolerance did this man have?
Definitely something she would have to test in the future.
"You're gonna tell me every secret you have," Rook panted in an eerie parallel to their meeting at the river, but before the idea could linger and make things uncomfortable she added on a growl, "and I'm gonna use them all to make you come so fucking hard you die from it, John."
"Yes, please, yes!" he shouted, grasping at her hips and shoving her down on his cock so viciously she was sure to be bruised later. "Oh, oh—"
She was pleased this time to watch him make the sounds he'd cried out over the radio, this orgasm apparently no less forgiving than the one from last time. He jerked in short, abortive thrusts as she felt him spill inside her, head thrown back like it was the greatest thing he'd ever felt in his life (or maybe Rook was being gratuitous with her own perceived skills) as he cried out loud enough to echo through the empty ranch, and thank God for him sending away all the Peggies because she could have never brought herself to muffle that. While he whimpered through his high, she leaned over with his dick still twitching inside her and pressed soft, tiny kisses along the scruff of his jaw, feeling his moans vibrate against her lips as she trailed her mouth down to his throat.
"Fucking gorgeous," Rook hissed in praise when he stilled, melting into a boneless pile of satisfied man over the sheets as she lifted herself off of him.
"Come here," he demanded on a mumble, arm flopping around searchingly for her when he couldn't find the strength to open his eyes. "Wanna hold you."
"Me first," she said with a smirk, scooting herself back up to wrap her whole self around his lean figure, drawing his head back under her chin.
He sighed out a happy, "Okay," and turned himself into her embrace, curling his arms around her naked back and pressing whiskery kisses to her collarbone until she squirmed and tugged gently at his hair to stop him. He grumbled incoherently into the swell of her breasts, but his eyes were still closed and she tutted, remembering how exhausted he'd looked when she first snuck in here.
"Go back to sleep," she ordered softly, but this only seemed to jolt him back awake.
"You'll still be here?" he half-begged, and she soothed his worries with a scrape of her nails over his scalp in a pleasant massage.
"Yes, promise," Rook whispered, to make up for the promise she didn't agree to keep the last time. "Lemme just…"
She extricated herself from his grip and ignored his sleepy protests as she reached over to tug the blanket back up, shivering pleasantly at the soft fabric gliding over her bare skin before wrangling the two of them into a fluffy cocoon. John was asleep in less than a minute, so quickly Rook wondered if she should be proud of her prowess or concerned about how far he'd pushed himself before her arrival. With his head pillowed on her chest, Rook drifted off with him soon after, a quiet hope lulling her into dreaming.
She scrunched up her nose as she woke to two annoyances: the searing white-yellow light of sunlight streaming through the open windows, and the sound of something making short, repeated scratching sounds. Rook chose to deal with the former problem first, throwing an arm over her eyes. She arched her back into a stretch, the undersides of her bare breasts skimming the fluffy edges of the blanket, which happened to solve the second problem as the scratching abruptly stopped.
She smirked without opening her eyes as her brain caught up with reality. "Like what you see?"
"Stay just like that," John said instead of answering, and the scratching restarted.
Frowning, Rook cracked an eye open and found him bent over at the foot of the bed, beautifully nude save for a sketchpad propped up in his lap as he scribbled, his tongue peeking out adorably at the corner of his mouth. She glanced down at herself to see what had apparently caught his attention enough to capture on paper, her skin growing hot when she found herself naked and displayed for him like a cliché of sensuality. In her sleep, Rook had tangled herself (or John had arranged her?) with the blanket winding around her bare legs and just barely covering her modesty, her tits exposed to his intense gaze.
"Oh fuck no," she said shortly, tossing her arm back over her eyes to hide her blush. "You are not allowed to jerk off to naked drawings of me like some pretentious Ivy League twat."
The sketchpad dropped onto the bed as John doubled over, his uproarious laughter pulling at the corners of Rook's mouth involuntarily as the unusual sound lifted up her soul. But something else occurred to her.
"Wait a minute, did you make dirty drawings of me before?" Rook exclaimed, eagerly opening her eyes to await his blush.
The tips of his ears did turn slightly red, but his voice was airy as he replied, "That would have been disrespectful and sinful, my dear."
"But you thought about it," Rook said, trying not to look too disappointed.
Triumph. The blush spread to his cheeks as he mumbled, "Yes…"
John sent her a mock look of exasperation when Rook settled back into the sheets, smirking at him, pleased as punch and not at all trying to hide it.
"Lemme see," she ordered, gesturing at the sketchbook.
As he handed it to her, he straightened up to watch her look it over, eyes wide like an eager puppy. He was good—and had been at it for a while, if the level of detail on her skin was anything to go by. Every scar and freckle was lovingly put to paper, her body splayed out like Venus in the waves of the sheets winding between her legs and over her hip. Her hair fanned out in an artful tumble of curls across the pillow, lips parted in a way that looked far more lovely and inviting than she'd probably actually looked in her sleep. The most detail was on her breasts, round and perky like they were arching up for his gaze, begging for his touch. She wasn't this pretty, and wanted to tell him so, but thought better of it in case he argued otherwise like a shitty romcom.
"You're really good," Rook said lamely instead, holding it out for him and smiling at the uncontained beam he sent her.
When he leaned over to take it back, his side was momentarily on display for her and she once more spotted the healing 'GREED' scratched into his hip and curving around to his lower back. She frowned at it and sat up, ignoring his questioning look to splay her hand over his belly and crane her neck around for a better look. It looked careful, like someone had feared causing him too much pain when they did it—one of his Peggie subordinates, or maybe even his family?
"I am a sinner," John reminded her quietly, when Rook scowled up at him in blatant disapproval. He ducked his head away from her ire but continued, "and I was too blinded by greed to think of you as anything but my newest addiction, thinking I could take out anyone and anything in my way to get to you, wanting you at any cost…"
"John," Rook snapped, before he could go off on another one of his Christianized slam poetry tangents. "You can't just carve open your skin every time you fuck up."
"Joseph—"
"—is the fucking king of inappropriate knife use," she interrupted dryly, "and also started this entire war. Not exactly the best example, John."
Before he could keep arguing, Rook took back the sketchbook from him and set it aside so she could wriggle her way into his lap, thrilled when the tension leaked out of him and he wrapped himself around her, his sigh disappearing into her hair. She let him cradle her like a treasure for a few silent minutes, their bond thrumming pleasantly from the contact, while she covered the 'GREED' carving with her hand as though her touch could heal it into disappearing.
"He's been thinking of ending it," John admitted on a murmur, after a while.
"What, the war?" Rook asked, lifting her head off his shoulder to look at him. "Seriously?"
John nodded. "Joseph says God has sent you to me for more than just my own salvation. He says the fact that God has tied you to our family is a sign that we must be on the wrong path, and must bridge the divide."
Rook ignored the absurdity of that explanation and frowned contemplatively into his skin. "Is that why Jacob's men were practically useless the last few days?"
"Jacob has no more wish to harm his sist—my soulmate than Joseph does," John said, correcting himself halfway with a blush. Rook rolled her eyes, because Jacob would gladly starve, beat and brainwash her half-dead if not for the hindrance of her being his brother's soulmate.
Ignoring John's disapproving frown, Rook mulled it over silently. Her first instinct was to think this was a trap—what better way to lure the one and only Deputy into Joseph's captivity than by letting her own soulmate shepherd her there?—but he looked so earnest and hopeful that Rook wondered if John was even capable of lying to her anymore.
After a moment of thought, she conceded, "If it ends this war, I'll risk meeting with Joseph." He beamed like she'd just fulfilled his every wish, his grip tightening on her in a joyful squeeze, and Rook shook her head fondly at his stupid grin before sliding her hand up to caress his whiskery jaw. "But first, I'm getting breakfast. And coffee. And then I'm gonna bend you over the table and fuck your ass with the vibrator," she added with a not-so-innocent wiggle in his lap for emphasis, grinning at the way his breath caught and his eyes darkened. "Maybe even keep it in there while we go to meet Joseph. Hopefully you can keep quiet…"
"Rook," John stuttered, the simple utterance of her real name simultaneously sounding like a plea for mercy, a cry of desire, and a shocked exclamation at her audacity.
"Shh," she hushed him, coquettishly sliding out of his lap and off the bed, flouncing naked towards the stairs like a shameless harlot. "Don't keep me waiting."
She snickered to herself as she heard the telltale thump of John maybe (probably) falling off the bed, and then the clattering of a wooden drawer being yanked open and rummaged through. Sweeping her hair over her shoulder, Rook padded down the stairs and into the dining room, greeting Boomer with an apologetic ruffle of his ears when he trotted in from the main hall. Her good mood soured at the thought of meeting with Joseph, even for the purposes of ending the war. John would never hurt her, she knew that now—other people were a different story; John still had a long way to go—but there was always the possibility Joseph would go behind his brother's back and try to capture or kill her anyway. As loath as she was to cause John any more pain, she would not hesitate to put down his shitty family if they so much as twitched the wrong way. She'd need a backup plan, maybe have her friends standing by to lay waste to the fucker if he even dared to think about breaking his brother's heart by betraying his trust and snatching her away, but if it meant peace…
She shrieked with laughter when John's arms seized her from behind and spun her around with joy, his grinning mouth connecting with hers and his erection pressing insistently into her thigh. Her soulmate hauled her up and plopped her onto the table, and she buried her fingers into his hair and pressed herself closer, choosing for this moment to hide from the pain and violence and wrath and just sink into the sweet, simple joy of her soulmate. As they parted to stare at each other, his gaze a bottomless well of love tinged with arousal and anticipation, Rook silently swore no one, herself and himself included, would ever hurt this man again.
'They called to the mountains and the rocks, "Fall on us and hide us from the face of him who sits on the throne and from the wrath of the Lamb! For the great day of their wrath has come, and who can withstand it?"' ~ Revelation 6:16-17.
A/N: And this concludes the shit storm that is John Seed 3 I hope you enjoyed the drama, angst and sheer inappropriateness (y'all had to know John Seed is totally a bottom, I mean, right?) Jacob's will be next, but since he's a repressed, emotionless ball of who even knows what, he's gonna take a while. Thank you to everyone who stuck with me!
Bible quote is Revelation 3:17, new intl. version. The reference to Joseph is from the voicemail you find on the phone after you take the ranch as an outpost.