Every time I close my eyes, I think,
I think about you inside.
And your mother, givin' up on askin' why -
Why you lie, and you cheat, and you try to make
A fool outta me...
-Short Change Hero, The Heavy
For the first time in her life, Connor wished she was a hell of a lot more drunk. If only to render herself completely unaware of Hickey sinking into the bed behind her. His heavy weight shifting the mattress, she huffed out a snarl as he roughly pulled the blankets up over them both.
"Don't ya go a kickin' me," he sniffed in terse warning.
Infuriated that he could feel her reeling back her leg, her snarl rose into a growl as she took an extra pillow and mercilessly shoved it between them. Back rigid, she snapped her eyes closed. She didn't know what she hated more; the fact that she had no legitimate reason to kick him out of bed, or that in spite of her pride, she could already feel her hands starting to trail downwards. Her fist gripping the edge of her chemise, she hissed in retort as her fingers began making lazy circles along her upper legs, seemingly of their own volition. Heading upwards, they ran closer and closer her smallclothes…
Stop this madness! her mind furiously railed against her. It wasn't as though she was alone, exploring herself in the dead of night within her quarters back at the Homestead. Or stuffed into a tiny room at a tavern in one of the cities. She certainly wasn't lying solitary in her tent next to the campfire, her hushed, shaking cries muffled by the crackling pop and crackle of the fire. His infernal proximity was of absolutely no help at all either. His scent of lemony soap, a tinge sweat and whiskey invaded her nostrils. The solid weight of his calf propped against hers only magnified the throbbing ache, deep and heated in her core. Not to mention, his breathing still hadn't evened out. So she knew he was just as wide awake as she was.
"What 'n the bloody hell-?"
"I would prefer to sleep in the other room," she spat, alternately ashamed and incensed as she attempted to jerk out of bed and yank the topmost blanket from it. However, the alcohol in her system prevented it, instead sending her crashing back into the bed in a heap of limbs.
Oh, how she loathed his arched brow of question as he swiftly sat up and leaned back on his hands. Or the way his hazel eyes flashed with brief pity while he held out a steady hand for the blanket. So she settled for hurling it at his face. Of course, he easily ducked it. Of. Fucking. Course he did.
Vainly attempting to save herself for further embarrassment, she flopped back down to the bed, rolled over and squeezed her eyes shut. Surely, all that whiskey would soon knock her out, right?
"Like I be sayin'," his words abruptly caressed her ear, "I ain't lookin' to be ya plastered lapse in judgment."
Her back was suddenly spooned against his chest as he moved against her. While she flinched, she was admittedly stunned at how she didn't summarily threaten to disembowel him at his action. She also despised how she shivered at the feel of his hot breath dancing along her skin as he leaned over her. Or how she didn't attempt to elbow him in his smirky little face. It had to be the liquor. That was the only explanation. It seemed to cruelly toy with her baser desires, shoving them through her well-honed filters of restraint to the front and center of her brain. Her mind was utterly afire, thoroughly unable to focus on anything else. Now, she was rapidly discovering the single-mindedness she utilized for everything else ostensibly applied to her carnal desires as well.
"I ain't a good sort 'o man, lass," his voice snapped her attention back to the present, "Not ev'en a 'lil bit." He lightly dragged his fingers along her wrist, feeling her heartbeat pounding beneath his touch. "And I ain't got no problems with that. Yet, ya do."
She definitely didn't slide her hand under her pillow and unsheathe her dirk. Or tumble over to her knees to straddle him as she pressed her blade to his jugular.
Well, actually, she absolutely did.
"I know you would not take advantage me," she shallowly exhaled, thumbing the edge of her blade, "For you did not do so back in Bridewell, which proved your best chance."
"Which be explainin' why ya got a blade pressed all up on me throat?" he slowly raised his hands in surrender on either side of his head, all in spite of his lecherous grin. "Ya social skills be needin' some work, mate."
"I always ere on the side of caution," she swallowed.
"But like ya said, I didn't lay a finger on ya back in the clink," he rejoined with a churlish pout. "Well," he winced, "Save when ya went 'n jumped me in that crazed attempt to go breakin' me neck-"
"Why?"
"Why didn't I go violatin' ya?" he shrugged. Seeing her nod in agreement, he breezily drawled, "Probably 'cause maybe, just maybe, I ain't a completely evil piece 'o shit?"
Leaning back on her haunches, she slit her eyes at him, muttering, "Still, I find you rather loathsome-"
"In spite 'o your efforts to go sleepin' with me?" he let out a low chuckle as he was met by her indignant expression. "It be a funny sort 'o thing, being in sexual congress with someone ya supposedly so despise, sweetheart," he clucked, "Bein' six sheets to the wind be tendin' to only enhance those sorts 'o impulses." She sneered in reply. It only caused him to harshly laugh even more. "Ain't no shame in satisfyin' natural urges due to proximity," he knowingly snickered. Cocking his head to side, he gave a lazy wink and purred, "Frankly, I'm surprised a lovely 'lil chit like ya self ain't done it before."
"I-"
"I ain't mockin' ya neither," he interrupted, voice dropping and gaze locking with hers.
While her blade didn't falter, she didn't force it any harder to him. If anything, judging by the feel of her shifting, she leaned back even more. "No," she carefully retorted, "I do not believe you are."
They sat in silence for a moment, the air thick between them before Hickey slowly murmured, "Connor?"
"…yes?"
Gradually letting his hands drop to mere centimeters from where her knees were braced on either side of him, he airily declared, "I'd rather ya not go slittin' me throat, I'm just sayin'. We can at least go agreein' on that, yeah?"
She stared at him for a long while before nodding in ascent. Slowly moving the blade away, she leaned over him and carefully set it on the table next to his side of the bed. Biting his lip, his closed his eyes for a moment at the feel of her brushing against his chest as she retreated. Still, he never took anything of that sort without solid confirmation.
"Connor?" he repeated.
"Hmm?"
"If ya don't get off me, I can't be sleepin' up here in this bed with ya. Not without givin' in to ya," he muttered. "So it be best if I go make me self comfortable in front of the stove-"
"I release you from it," she insistently cut him off.
"Wait," he raised a bemused brow, "Wot's this 'en?"
"We will share the bed tonight," she steadily added.
"Oh, we gonna be doin' much more than sharin', darlin'" he lewdly winked, "If ya catch me drift, aye?"
"I do," she inhaled, worrying her lower lip with her teeth. "I…I believe that I do."
He smirked, letting his hands slowly move upwards to rest just above her knees. Tentatively running her hands under his tunic, she pressed a fiery palm to the solid muscle of his torso. He relaxed beneath her touch, letting her continue her cautious exploration. At the same time, he began drawing random patterns along her lower thighs with his fingertips. Straightaway taking note that she didn't withdraw, he lifted his hips and lightly jerked them up into hers. While she blushed, she didn't flee.
"So," he hummed, "I take it you be saying yes to all 'o this?" he languidly waved around a hand.
Shaking her head in agreement, she closed her eyes. His hand at the small of her back guiding her to tumble forward onto him, before she could doubt it, his mouth was upon hers. But he lightly pressed his lips to her. In spite of his other hand moving up her thigh inch by inch, he didn't venture under her chemise. If anything, she sensed him holding back. In turn, she took it as encouragement to shyly nip at seam of his mouth.
He promptly realized how her fervor made up for her inexperienced movements. Likely, all that whiskey up in her as well. No matter, she was likely a fast learner, judging by her youth and other skills. Drawing his arm across her lower back to clutch her closer, his other hand tangled in her hair. She leaned into his touch, though she let out a startled exhale as his hand palmed her behind. Taking the opportunity, his mouth slanted against hers. Possessive, hot and deep, he nearly stole her breath away. She retreated, sucking in air, only to claim him again. At the same time, she scratched down the hard planes of his chest. Not roughly enough to cause harm, but impulsively impatient.
Without hesitation, he braced his hands against her upper arms and swiftly rocked her over to her back, reversing their positions.
His burly form surrounded her with little warning. All solid, blistering heat and heady awareness as he friskily licked and nibbled a path of kisses across her jaw. She moaned in bemusement when he reached her neck. The junction of her shoulder, the turn of her clavicle, the swell of her chest; he committed each part of her to memory with his tongue. His mouth reaching dipping ever lower, he sucked at her skin through the homespun fabric of her chemise. It created a tantalizing friction that seemed to shoot straight to the depths of her belly. Her toes curling along his calf, her throaty surprise as she arched up into him earned her his licentious chuckle. His hand palming her other breast, he stroked her in time with his attentions.
But then his knee delved between her thighs, firmly moving them apart. Settling in between her legs, at the same time, he grasped her other wrist and brought it above her head. Interlocking his fingers with hers, he lightly pinned it to the bed. His lips moving to her other breast, she was met with a ravenous flurry of teeth and tongue.
Overwhelming, it became too much. This sort of contact, all so new, so foreign. Her heartbeat thudding in her ears, a strangled tingling of warning zipped through her.
Trapped.
Her free hand flailed, snatching at his short hair. Only her own discipline stopped her from reflexively driving her knee into his crotch and flipping him off and to the floor.
"Hickey?!" she stammered, vexed and uncomfortably stiff beneath him.
Combined with that, her anxious tone immediately caused him to pause. "Yeah?" he looked up at her, dark lashes framing heated, hazel eyes. Nevertheless, taking in her peaked countenance, ruddy cheeks and sharp frown, he at once released her hand and propped himself up on his forearms above her.
"This is…extraordinarily fast," she swallowed, chest heaving.
"Dammit," he purposefully exclaimed, "See 'ere now, I don't be meanin' to scare ya half to death, I swear to it."
Pursing her lips for a moment, she lifted her chin in understanding, "I do not assume that you do,"
Letting out a deep sigh and running a hand over his face, he firmly continued, "Look, if you don't wanna, well, ya know," he ruffled a hand through his hair, "I'll go headin' to sleep in front 'o the stove in the other room, yeah?" After all, he could attend to his own needs. Anything to avoid her knife in his back for taking things too far.
"It is not you-"
"Even if it be that, ya got all the right in the world to go stoppin' me," he deliberately replied.
Worrying her bottom lip, Connor took a deep gulp as her mind scrambled to reflect on her current situation.
She did not contain any true fear of what they were undertaking. Thankfully, Prudence back at the homestead insisted on becoming her source for such embarrassing inquiries. And frankly, it wasn't until now that Connor wholly appreciated the other woman's candor in explaining everything. Of course, Achilles attended to all other forms of her education. But he never touched on the more physical aspects of the fact that when she first arrived for her training, she was obviously a girl growing into a woman. Not that she blamed him. Prudence also discreetly supplied her with Queen Anne's Lace. Ensuring she would not become with child until she wished it, Connor ingested the herbs to her clear instructions. So she held no qualms about that aspect of it. Still, her mind reeled with the implications of continuing. Thoughts drifting away in abrupt analysis, she fell silent.
The sudden but steady feel of Hickey's thumb painting brief circles of comfort along her forearm didn't cause her to lash out and slap him away. In fact, his touch settled her. Much like an experienced rider soothing a frightened colt.
Be without fear in the face of the unknown.
"Connor?" he finally snorted, "How ya fairin'? 'Cause whenever ya be goin' all quiet 'n whatnot, things don't go…endin' up for the best."
Eyes snapping open, she looked down to find him resting his chin on her belly. Even more striking in the firelight, he appeared golden and warm.
Never one to dally, she took his other hand and placed it on her breast. His fingers at her arm stilled while he quietly questioned, "Ya sure?"
"Yes," she resolutely replied.
"If I be doin' anything ya don't be likin', don't ya ever be afraid to go stoppin' me. Understand, darlin'?" he all but ordered.
"As though I have ever feared such with you," she defiantly retorted.
"Well 'en," he burst out with a cackle of bawdy laughter, the sound washing away the tension as he resumed their little diversion, "Challenge accepted!"
Thomas generally preferred his women softer. All luscious curve and rounded hips. Ready for his plunder and pleasure, which he of course always gave in return.
Obviously, there was no doubt Connor was of the fairer sex. Especially with her rich brown locks free of her usual hooded coat. For once, they weren't plaited back into a braid and tucked into her layers of clothes at her back. Or tamed into a twisted knot at the nape of her neck. Now, her hair fell thick and soft to her mid-back. Her full lips, sharp, freckled cheekbones and the darkening depths of her eyes betrayed so much more as well.
She did not prove petite and demure. Nor flirtatiously enigmatic and full of the usual female seductions most women found at their disposal. She did not contain that delicate, fragile quality that brought most men to their knees in a fiery desire to protect her from the world's evils. Her physical strength was evident, honed muscle beneath subtle curve. Her calloused fingertips tracing along his arm as he ghosted his hand along her side, there were not soft and yielding. Rough from her constantly wielding weapons, they exhibited the obvious marks of her trade. Yet Connor was beyond so simple a description as "pretty." In fact, if he were to bet on it, she'd likely consider being called such an epithet of sorts.
Strikingly arresting, though? Aye, her beauty proved remarkable.
As she apprehensively pulled her chemise over her head, Thomas' hands wandered upwards above her smallclothes. Like him, she too bore a litany of physical scars. Regardless, she didn't react as he expected. While she blushed under his hungry, wandering gaze, she made no rush to conceal herself with a flurry of ashamed hands. Nor to direct his attention elsewhere with an anxious surge of her mouth to his. Instead, she tensed before closing her eyes and gracing him with a light tremble when he ran a delicate fingertip along the largest of them. An old, vertical stitch a few inches long, it cut along the upper left side of her rib cage.
"Ya be a right lovely sight," he found himself declaring aloud before grazing his lips across her ear. Experimentally sucking it between his teeth, he hummed with lecherous satisfaction at her accompanying hum. Not to mention how she unflinchingly bowed up into his hand lightly brushing along her midsection.
Eyes snapping open and narrowing in reproach, she shakily countered, "I assure you that there is no need for flattery."
"I don't be lyin', Connor," he huskily answered, dropping a quick peck to her hollow of her throat. "Wot this be then?" he asked of her scar, voice remarkably free of any sort of sarcasm.
Fixing him with a stare of utter disbelief, she slowly began, "One of my first injuries. I did not realize the bayonet sliced me until a half hour later or so. The fog of battle, one must assume," she fitfully shrugged. "The barkeep at a tavern in Boston I returned to after a scuffle with the night watch was rather horrified at the blood apparently seeping through to my overcoat. The doctor he sent me to?" she steadily continued, "Perhaps even more scandalized."
"Hmph," he cocked his head to side, "I doubt he be used to seein' a woman with them sorts 'o injuries that be signalin' fisticuffs."
Furrowing her brows, she replied, "Nevertheless, you do not appear to find it odd-"
"It ain't a bad sort 'o thing," he swiftly cut her off with a hint of a grin. "Different?" he carefully rubbed the pad of his thumb along the middle of the scar, "Fuck yeah. But that don't be makin' it necessarily terrible. See?" he leaned down and licked a stripe along the mark. Planting a sloppy kiss at the bottom of the stitch, he smiled at her ticklish, startled snort even as she heaved up towards his mouth for more, "Ain't nothin' wrong with a few scratches 'n wot not."
"I…thank you?" she quizzically replied.
"Nah," he shot her lopsided grin, "Thank you-"
"For?"
"Oh, you'll be seein'," he simpered, eyes darkening with debauched promise.
Without further ado, his mouth traveled downwards yet again. Gentler this time, he knew he had to take it slowly. It'd been a long while since he bedded a green sort. And judging by their willful dance back and forth, he would have to be deliberate and clear. So he left a flurry of kisses along her skin while his fingers wandered. Alternately pecking lighter and harder, he increased his contact depending on her pleased breaths.
His hand grazing a round indentation along the top of her abdomen, he casually asked, "Musket ball, eh?"
She shook her head in agreement and muttered, "The worst of them, so far. A fortnight to recover from it after Achil…the doctor removed it. It was not too deep."
"You be a lucky lass," he moved a bit, lips sweeping that scar as well. His let out a hitched breath of pleasure at the moan she sent up at his action, as well as how her stomach quivered beneath his mouth. "Quite a few men be tendin' to die of infection."
"Evidently," she distractedly inhaled. Her hands dropping to the top of his shoulders, she dug her fingers into his skin while he continued his journey of discovery.
"Don't go bein' nervous," he drawled when she flexed her upper leg against him dropping a large hand along her thigh.
"I am not," she lied, voice going high.
"Whatever ya wanna tell yourself," he rolled his eyes before changing directions and crawling back up her.
She sniffed at that, retorting, "Do you think me craven, Hickey-?"
Interrupting her insult and covering her body with his, he rewarded her with a hard kiss to her mouth. She accepted the unspoken dare, returning it in equal measure. Her hands sliding along his sculpted back in eager purchase, she shoved his tunic upwards. In reply, he hastily stripped himself of it and hurled it to the floor. Only her hand abruptly tracing along his left pectoral and over his heart stopped him from diving back in.
Her fingers outlining the strange script reading, "Fe Mhoid Bheith Saor" above the large, green, four-leafed clover tattooed there, she murmured, "What does it mean?"
"Ya be seriously wonderin' at that?" he countered, "Right now? Of all times?" he attempted to claim her mouth again. However, her resistant push against him kept him at bay.
"Yes," she rejoined, "I would like to know of what it says."
Mouth curling with genuine astonishment at her insistence, he brushed her hand away before quietly answering, "'Sworn to be free-'"
"In what language is it written?" she probed.
"Fe Mhoid Bheith Saor," he repeated, "It be Gaelic…the mother tongue of me people."
"And the word 'Dempsey?'" she lifted an inquisitive brow, splaying out her hand along the ink, "Below it?"
Biting his lower lip, he briefly glanced away before softly replying, "It be me family's Irish name. 'Afore we crossed the sea to England and be changin' ourselves to 'Hickey' to go fittin' in."
"To ensure you may never forget your birthplace," she whispered, "For the blood of a man always runs from his homeland."
"Somethin' like that," he distantly recalled as he leaned down and captured her mouth. Admittedly, she found herself far too distracted to inquire about the significance of the list of names inked along his right ribs. Nor the tattoos along his arms.
He was pleased at her growled annoyance when he withdrew after a few moments. Bracing himself over her on one elbow, he resisted her clambering attempts to pull him to her again. No matter how potent her hot, increasingly frantic touches felt. "To go answerin' as to whether 'o not I think ya craven?" he breezily replied, breath dancing along the tops of her breasts, "Oh ya be a lot 'o nutty things, fer sure. But cowardly ain't one 'o 'em, me lovely."
"I do not know whether or not to be insulted," she questioned, face twisting with charming confusion.
"So don't go worryin' 'bout it," he swore against her ear before returning to her mouth again. Grunting in indulgence, he dropped a hand to bring her knee up his side. His weight settled between her thighs as she tentatively nipped at his lips. She wasn't nearly as skittish this time. So he opened to her, deepening the kiss and lazily sliding his tongue against hers. Thankfully, she certainly didn't seem to mind how he began slowly pushing his hips against hers. Not judging by how she arched up against him in return. Curling a leg around his, she panted with increasing need as he purposefully rolled his hips into hers.
She whimpered in aggravation when he inexplicably rolled off the bed. The air empty above her, she looked around in bewilderment as he maneuvered himself and took her by the ankles. Without warning, he dropped to his knees on the floor. At the same time, he heaved her to the edge of the bed. She snorted in surprise, her feet hitting the warm hardwood on either side of where he suddenly knelt in between her legs. Freezing, her movements rippled under where his hands dropped to her waist. Stopping, he rested his cheek against her outer knee.
"I, erhm…well, I assume that you…?" she faltered, hesitantly gesturing at the bed. Sitting up on her elbows and looking down at him, she took in his easy, lackadaisical expression.
"Patience, 'lil wolf," he purred, voice low and ebbing in her ears.
Bewildered by his casual reply and about to comment, she instead let out a flabbergasted moan as he kissed the inside of her knee. Her skin sensitive and not anticipating his action, she shivered as the swirl of his tongue along its crease. His other hand gripping her other leg, he stayed her instinctive flex of her foot. Had she moved more, she would've nailed him in the chest. Thankfully, that was avoided as he nibbled at her. Smiling against her as she gasped, his gradually moved his hand upwards. His fleeting touches left modest spots of pink along her bronzed skin as he pressed into her flesh. Soon, made his way to her undergarment.
"Hickey?" she stammered, placing her hand firmly over his some inches above her knee, "What…what are you-?"
"Ya think I'm a gonna go hurtin' ya, Connor?" he questioned, bright gaze locking with hers as he withdrew from her leg. As he awaited her answer, he determinedly hooked both his hands along the hem of her undergarments. However, he didn't move to strip her of them. Not quite yet.
"No," she directly replied, without second-guessing herself.
Pleased at her unblinking answer, he smirked. His head dipping to drop a quick kiss to the hollow of her upper thigh, his words were liquid fire against her as he replied, "Then trust I ain't gonna make ya regret nothin', yeah?"
"I regret little in general, truth be told," she throatily replied, still distracted by the feel of him upon her. He hadn't shaved in a couple of days, so his stubbled cheek created a pleasing sort of contrast against her. Her stomach fluttering in the dim firelight, warmth whipped through her with building frenzy as she said, "But I-"
"Or do nothin'…unseemly," he added, almost as an afterthought. However, his voice was muffled, his lips briefly against her again. "No matter what prudish idjits be a sayin' of how they expect a man and 'his woman to go lyin' together," he continued, "They don't know shit, understand?"
"Y-yes," she trembled as his mouth meandered along her inner hip. This time, he gave her a quick, strangely affectionate nip of his teeth, causing her to words to hitch, "Please?"
"Please do ya want me to go doin' what?" he wickedly replied, pulling away again, even as he maintained a firm hold on her. Quick as a cat, he maneuvered her legs so that her knees were now braced over his shoulders, her heels dangling above his shoulder blades.
Though she could move easily enough, it occurred to her that she was now thoroughly at his mercy. She also found she had no qualms about being such a position. And so she nearly begged. "P-please," she implored, mouth parted and pink, "Continue…?"
"Ya don't be soundin' quite so sure, love," he cocked his head to the side in supposed confusion in spite of the roguish glint in his eye. "I'll get to stoppin' right now, if ya wish-"
"No!" she speedily declared, hands trembling to her sides in protest. "No," she repeated, steeling herself to sound calmer, even as she snatched at his hand. "Go on," she whispered, giving him a squeeze of permission.
He chortled at her becoming unwound. That much was obvious, judging by the flush running along her. All because of him. Something primal and possessive flared up within, knowing that he could bring her to such a state with a few strokes and caresses. He was rather startled that it caused a strange sort of pride to well up within his chest. He chuckled aloud again, for they hadn't even gotten to the diverting part. "If ya wanna stop, me lady-"
"If you dare do so," she nearly hissed, "I swear on high that I shall -"
"Are ya sure?"
"Whatever do you mean by that, you imbecile?!"
The insult bubbled up from her mouth, the edges of it laced with the barest of drunken amusement. Just a bit higher, her brain seemed to order him, of its own accord. She had no idea why. She'd never done this sort of thing before. Well, not with another person at least. Yet she positively ached for him to get on with it. Her hands falling to his, she tried to shove them closer to fully divest her of her undergarments.
"Patience, ya naughty 'lil git," he smirked in reply, "I'm a gonna go doin' this in me own time. After all," he paused to give a ticklish lick at the top of her hip. Closing his eyes and reveling in how a panting groan escaped her parted mouth, he grinned, "I always be rewarding them that 'as me back. Ya could've let me go a freezin' to death out there."
"One would hope you would do the same for me," she huffed, voice tense with anticipation.
"Aye," he darkly chuckled, "For ya skills with those blades 'o yours, of course."
Slapping his hand away from her behind, she retorted with breathless indignation, "You are a thorough miscreant,"
"Oh, yeah?" he guffawed, withdrawing slightly, "Well 'en, ya be seein' why I be mildly surprised ya let me continue to go livin'. 'Specially when ya could've easily gotten rid of me bein' such a fuckin' albatross 'round ya neck." he drawled. "So don't ya go worryin' that pretty 'lil head 'o yours, 'cause you'll be gettin' ya just rewards 'n whatnot. Of that," he snorted as he finally divested her of her smallclothes and carelessly tossed them to the floor, "There ain't no doubt."
And with that, Thomas made good on his earlier promise to show her something decidedly new as they continued in their carnal games.
Silence fell between them after they hit their peaks, save their labored panting. Shifting, she rested her head in the crook of his shoulder, lips moving against his skin as she murmured.
"I hope that wasn't no threat against me life," he half-joked in exhaustion, pulling away a touch to settle his gaze on her.
Her eyes widened slightly before she resolutely replied, "No...it is not."
"Good 'en," he proclaimed, dropping a kiss to her lips for a long moment. "Good," he reiterated, twining his fingers through her hair.
Silently attempting to move from beneath him and to her side of the bed, she started at the feel of him dragging her towards him. "Iah tewake'nikonhraién:ta's?" she tiredly questioned.
"Yeah, I didn't quite catch that last bit of what ya be sayin'," he smirked.
"Explain this," she waved at his touch.
"You be fuckin' delicious, love, that's wot," he groggily slurred, spooning against her back, "But sleep…now." She stiffened at the feel of his arms draping around her. One hand grazing her breasts, the other fell to her waist. "'N calm the fuck down, yeah? I ain't gonna murder ya," he hummed at her stillness, "Too much blood 'n whatnot to go cleanin' up."
"A likely tale, Hickey," she drowsily retorted, even as she relaxed into him. Tentatively moving a hand to where his arm ensconced her waist, she ignored his little huff of contentment. As well as how he almost protectively shoved a leg over hers. "You would not bother to scrub the sheets and floor of the mess," she added, "Due to your own, sheer indolence."
"Shut-up, 'lil wolf," he woozily chortled, his lips at her cheek taking the sting out of the order, "I'm a trying to get some shut-eye."
Her hasty, acerbic sounding reply in her language was unintelligible. Then again, it fell on relatively deaf ears as he slipped into unconsciousness. Besides, there was always tomorrow to deal with the repercussions of whatever in the hell they'd just gotten themselves into.
Author's Notes:
Queen Anne's Lace – Daucus carota. A type of wild carrot plant whose seeds women have historically used as birth control for centuries. They can be taken daily, or around ovulation to prevent implantation of the fertilized egg into the uterus.
"Iah tewake'nikonhraién:ta's" – "I don't understand" in Mohawk.
-Since M is the highest you can go here, for the unedited version of chapter, check out the fic over at Archive of Our Own under the same title.