defenderofdesmoines | Elliot's Apartment, Dallas, 1963

Was it a good thing that Annie now had so much experience cauterizing wounds that it hadn't taken her much time at all to get the skin on Diego's abdomen fused back together? For right now, it felt like good thing, at least. To her surprise and concern, he hadn't woken up in the process -- he'd stayed completely out (though breathing), all throughout the removal of his clothes (and when she was less worried, those institution-issued tighty whities were getting some commentary), and cleaning and dressing and briefly burning the wound.

Eventually, Annie had fallen into a restless doze at his side, though the slightest movement had her waking up and reaching to check on Diego every few minutes. And good thing, too, since this most recent time when Annie woke with a start as Diego shifted on the mattress, she noticed immediately that his wound had reopened.

"Shit." She should have gone back over that once she'd established he wasn't badly hurt anywhere else, really. Guess she'd have to do it now.

She moved to press a hand into Diego's chest, prepared to hold him steady in case this time he actually did wake up when she burned him, and moved her other hand low to his abdomen. The lamp in the room gave a soft hum, and Annie's hand illuminated, white-hot enough to re-seal that wound for good this time.

Sorry, Diego. Hopefully he stayed out for a little bit longer.

[for the stabbed guy who is, unfortunately for him, not staying out a little bit longer.]

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For once, she actually did need the encouragement, just because she was still a little wary of hurting him in their mutual enthusiasm. But once his hand found her waist, Annie increased her speed just a little more, her breath starting to come in much shakier than it had been.

For as quiet and slow as they were being, this was still pretty intense. Maybe more intense, really, thanks to the slowness.

"I love you, I love you, I love you," she chanted softly, marking her thrusts with the words until the last you wasn't anything more than a gasp. "Close."

"Me too," he panted, thrusting his hips up a little harder, not caring about his wound anymore. He could worry about it after. "I love you so much."

Annie didn't really care about his wound right now, either. (She would absolutely care after.) Her hand found its way back to his hair, immediately tightening there just as a -- you know what? Anchor. That was a great term to apply to this hair thing, yes, exactly.

She was about to say something else -- maybe a warning, maybe further declarations of love? It didn't much mater, since her orgasm hit her like a ton of bricks with one last thrust against him, and Annie was pressing her face against his shoulder almost as soon as her eyes illuminated.

Good instincts on muffling the cry she couldn't help, sure, but what about that poor, poor 1960s wiring? The lamp buzzed in the room with them, and God only knew what kind of looks they were going to get from Elliot, because Annie had almost certainly done a number on some of that radio and electrical equipment just now.

Diego was on the verge of orgasm and he could still tell that she jacked up the electronics in here from that.

Oh well, could worry about that after. Right now he was following her almost immediately after--even if he hadn't already been close the hair tugging would have just about done it.

It was one of those toe-curling, lightheaded, spots in front of your eyes ones, partially due to how long it had been and partially because it was the sappy, close kind of sex Diego lived for. He knew he was going to pay for it later with his stomach but it was so worth it.

Annie was doing her very best not to just collapse into Diego -- she didn't weigh much, no, but he still probably didn't need a hundred-odd pounds pressing down on his stomach right now. But she was trembling and a little sweaty with exertion and, frankly, how hard she just came.

She slowly dropped her hand from Diego's hair in favor of draping both arms around his shoulders as she tried to catch her breath. Just because they'd finished didn't mean she was going to stop clinging.

She'd remember to check his wound in a second.

Diego wrapped his arms loosely around Annie. He didn't exactly want to put pressure on his stomach either, but he did want the clinging to keep happening for a couple more minutes.

"...that was kinda quiet, right?"

"That was practically silent for us," Annie murmured, huffing out a little laugh against his shoulder. "I hope I didn't...."

She lifted her head, staying close, and glanced towards the lamp and then towards the door.

"I didn't even think about that."

Diego grinned. "This place is kind of run down, maybe crappy lighting is the norm?"

"Thank you for trying to make me feel better," Annie replied with an amused snort, leaning in to kiss his grin before glancing down between them. "How you doing?"

She wasn't going to move just yet unless he was actively bleeding, and she also figured he didn't want her going much of anywhere yet. (So much growth since that donut shop shootout!)

"So much better," he admitted. "Like this is actually real."

And not a figment of some heavy sedation.

Annie's smile softened, and she leaned in to kiss him again. "It's very real, I promise," she promised quietly, reaching up to smooth her hand over his hair. "And I'm not going anywhere."

Like, Elliot was going to have to get used to sleeping on his couch, apparently. (Which was apparently something he was already used to, since this was, indeed, a fold-out.)

"Good," he said, smiling again. "Now we just need to stop the apocalypse and everything will be perfect."

"Pff. Piece of cake." Annie was way too high on endorphins at the moment to think very hard about the apocalypse she'd seen, just now. She leaned in to give him one more kiss before finally pulling away out of his lap and moving so she could take a look at his wound. "Do you hurt? It doesn't mean we won't do it again if you say yes."

It just meant she'd make sure to be even more gentle during any possible second round.

"I'm good," he assured her. "Twinged a couple of times but it didn't last. And totally worth that small amount of pain, by the way."

"I knew you'd say that," Annie teased, deciding that between his word and a visual inspection, she didn't need to fret too much about his stomach. Instead, Annie was going to just give in to the bonelessness she'd been staving off, and stretch out long on the bed. "When you're better, I have so many ideas involving your hair."

And here she was, fumbling a slightly-drowsy hand over to play with it again already. She was going to be kind of obsessed for awhile.

"I'm looking forward to hearing about them," he said, closing his eyes and enjoying the feeling of her hand in his hair. He could definitely get used to that. "Namely involving my beard against your inner thighs."

Just in case she wanted an idea of what she had to look forward to in the future.

God, just go ahead and make all her wishes come true, Diego, because Annie had already spent some time imagining that very thing. Especially after feeling his beard on her neck and her nipples and -- look, she had a very active imagination.

The blush that lit her face was probably even more indicative of how much she liked that idea than her shy smile was -- but Annie also wasn't so shy that she didn't continue that train of thought.

"And I liked using your hair to kinda steer you earlier," she added, raising her brows suggestively.

"I don't know if it was obvious, but I liked that too." No, it was super obvious. "At least have to keep my hair long enough for us to get through our list of ideas."

"It might be a long list," Annie replied, leaning over to kiss him again before tucking herself carefully into his side as she lightly scratched her nails along his scalp. "I never seem to run out of ideas when it comes to you."

More like neither of them could keep their hands off each other, period.

Elliot's Apartment, Dallas, 1963 | Early, early morning

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