Bluebonnet
Masterlist
Characters: Deaf Smith x Virgin F!Reader
Summary: When you learn that Deaf and the rangers are supposed to be setting out on an important mission the next morning, you decide to tell him how you truly feel.
Word count: 7.5K
Warnings: NSFW - Age gap (reader in their early 20s, deaf late 40s), loss of virginity, fingering, oral (f recieving), vaginal sex, riding, praise kink, lots of fluff that'll make you shed a tear (and not just from your eyes)
A/N: Oh boy. As the story usually goes with me the start of this has been sitting in my notes since mid 2023, but I somehow managed to chip at it for these last few weeks with sheer horny willpower and the threats to my life from my beta reader who is also a Deaf lover (thank you @maxswifee). This is literally the longest thing I have ever written and I now have random niche knowledge of 19th century texas. Enjoy!
The Texas heat cruelly shrouds you as you head out from camp and make your way in the direction one of the rangers indicated Deaf had gone, small clouds of sand circling your shoes and clinging to the hem of your dress as you kick some up with every step. After a considerable amount of walking, you could spot him leaning his side up against a tree, the leaves decorating the branches casting enough shade to stop him from completely roasting, though it didn't do much.
“Deaf!” you called out to him as you approached, then muttered a curse under your breath when you realised he wouldn't hear a thing.
When you reached him, he was still staring out overhead, his hat clutched in his hand as he held it to his hip. You patted his shoulder gently to grab his attention and hoped you wouldn't startle him. He spun to face you, a little disconcerted at first, but when he saw you his eyes softened, his lips forming a gentle smile.
“Hey now, my lil' desert rose.”
You shook your head a little and laughed at the affectionate name for you that he so devotedly used. The perspiration he was usually brandished with coated his forehead, allowing strands of hair to cling to his skin, and the small spot of blood outlining the corner of his mouth that was drying in his beard made you tut.
“Oh, Deaf, you got blood 'round your mouth. Here, lemme get it.”
You reached into his pocket and retrieved the small square of linen he kept when he needed to cough, the material already littered with various old spots of blood from the many previous times it'd come flying out of his throat. You found a somewhat clear part and began wiping at the corner of his mouth, trying to get what had gotten caught in his beard out as best you could. He chuckled and closed his leather-gloved hand over the back of yours to stop you.
“It'll be back soon as I cough again, darlin'. Don’t you fuss,” he says, and you knew that he was right, but it didn't stop you from wanting to clean him up.
Hushing him, you continued in protest until it was gone, folding the linen and stuffing it back into his pocket.
“There now, that's better,” you assert.
He smiled easily and placed his hat back onto his head.
“Now, I'm sure you didn't walk all the way down here just to tend to me. What you need?”
Your apprehensive eyes met his, a nervous smile playing on your lips as you hesitated to ask him what you had been meaning to.
“Look, I know this ain't the sort of thing a lady's s'posed to be askin'.” You pause, swallowing hard. “But I was hopin' you could teach me how to shoot a rifle.”
His eyes watched your lips, reading them as you spoke before they lifted back to your gaze.
“For huntin'?” He pried.
You shook your head and sighed preemptively.
“No, I was hopin' I could help you and your boys out fightin'.”
Any other man would've laughed in your face before you'd even gotten the chance to finish your sentence, but Deaf actually thought it over, the eagerness in your eyes making him smile.
“So you wanna be a ranger?”
You nodded, idly smoothing your hands over the fabric of your skirt as you awaited his response.
“Alright, I'll teach ya. But it'll be a spell before I let you ride out with me an' the boys, ain't about to let you go get yourself killed.”
You were throwing your arms around him and repeating your muffled gratitude against his chest before you knew it, so caught up in your own excitement you hardly recognised the hand he'd placed on the small of your back to pull you in tighter, the other smoothing over your hair. When you finally leaned back to look at him, you noticed that he had his eyes closed, a look of peace on his face that you'd never seen before. A state of content he was rarely in, perhaps never. You used the arms you'd wrapped around his torso to pat his back gently.
“Deaf?”
He opened his eyes and looked down at you, his hand still drawing circles on your back. When he realised the hug had lingered a little longer than intended, he cleared his throat and lowered his hands back down to his sides.
“Right, shootin'.” He nodded to himself as he bent down to pick up his rifle from the floor and started walking, with you trailing behind him.
When he seemed to catch sight of something, he stopped in his tracks and pointed ahead.
“See that piece o' wood over there?”
After a moment of squinting, you identified the plank of wood he was referring to that was resting against a rock.
“Yeah?”
“That there's your target. Now it ain't movin' on a horse or tryin' to shoot you back, but it's a start.”
You nodded, and Deaf held the rifle out to pass it to you. You didn't realise how heavy it was until you were left to support its full weight, your arms already beginning to ache. He noticed the faint sign of struggle etched into your features and smiled softly.
“You'll get used to it, sweetheart.”
“I sure hope so,” you sighed.
You took a few steps forward and then held the gun up, attempting to aim it the way it looked like the men usually would, but it felt so awkward and foreign to you. He chuckled a little at the way you held it, not in a demeaning way by any means, but because of the way you stiffened with discomfort when you attempted to hold it correctly. You didn't have a clue.
“Alright, that ain't bad. But here.”
He started towards you, stopping just behind you and pressing his chest up against your back as his hands slid over the backs of yours, occasionally gliding down your wrist and forearms as he positioned you better. By the time he was done, the rifle was unsurprisingly better positioned, and you made a mental note of the mistakes you had made before. Deaf's hands dropped down to hold your waist when he was done, his raspy voice right next to your ear as he spoke.
“Just keep the butt of the rifle tight against your shoulder, alright? You'll need that for the kick when she fires, otherwise it's gonna hurt.”
You nodded and made sure to keep it where he'd shown you, your breath a little shaky from the feeling of his hands on your torso, whilst the front of his body remained pressed against your back.
“Relax. Don't tense up when you shoot, keep that breath nice and steady.”
You swallowed hard at the thought of him being able to hear what his being so close to you had done to your breathing, but tried to focus on the task at hand. You aimed the gun towards the plank as best you could, slid your finger over the trigger, then curled it tight and fired. The first thing you noticed was the kickback Deaf had mentioned, but you'd braced it against your shoulder correctly allowing it to absorb all the shock, though the force was unlike anything you had ever felt before. Then, the noise. It was loud, real loud. It rang out especially in the open plains, the sound of the shot carrying through the air and perhaps even to the point that it could be heard from all the way back at camp.
You'd heard plenty of gunshots before, heard the men practising their aim and messing around with their guns, but had never heard it so up close before. It was definitely something you had to get used to. After you'd composed yourself again, you lowered the gun and looked over the plank for any sort of hole or mark, but there was nothing. You'd missed completely. Your shoulders slumped a little, and Deaf could tell how disheartened you were.
“Hey now, that was a real good first shot. Shootin' takes time, and a damn near perfect aim only comes with practice. Go on, give it another try.”
Defeated as you were, you raised the gun again and positioned it as Deaf had shown you, then took a deep breath in and held it, hoping that it would allow you to be more accurate. When you thought you'd lined the shot up as best you could, you pulled the trigger. The sound pierced your ears once again, and a small cloud of gunpowder smoke burst from the barrel of the rifle, slightly obscuring your vision. When it finally cleared, your eyes roamed the plank again for a hole, and then you saw it. It wasn't centred or on point by any means, but you had managed to shoot it. You lowered the gun and could hardly contain your joy, beaming as you turned to face him and flashed him the wildest smile, his hands readjusting on your hips once you turned.
“I did it! I hit it!” you announced excitedly, so wrapped up in the moment that you'd practically forgotten that you were holding a gun.
It was only when Deaf reached out to grab the barrel and aim it towards the ground that you noticed you'd been waving it about and almost pointed the damn thing at him, a raspy chuckle leaving his lips.
“That you did, desert rose. But make sure that you keep your gun pointed towards the ground unless you're shootin' to kill, alright?”
You nodded a little sheepishly at your mistake, but you could tell that he didn't mind it. One of his hands left your waist to reach up and caress your cheek, the touch threatening to leave you more flustered than you already were.
“That was a hell of a shot for a lady that ain't ever fired a rifle before. Hell, I got men took longer'n you to shoot like that. You're a natural, I can tell,” he says, flattering you earnestly.
Even if he was somewhat exaggerating, the praise filled your stomach with butterflies and made you feel all giddy. You hadn't known whether he would be supportive or not, but the fact that he had taken the time to teach you the basics of shooting and even offered you a future place amongst the rangers meant so much to you. More than he could ever know. You set the gun down on the floor carefully and then threw your arms around him, the embrace so impassioned he had to steady on his feet a little so he didn't topple over before wrapping his arms around you again.
“Thank you, Deaf,” you whispered with your head resting on his shoulder, uttering the words next to his ear so that he could hear them.
He squeezed you tightly in his arms, making you giggle, before loosening his hold so the two of you could meet each other’s eyes again.
“So, you gonna be at the shindig tonight? I heard you and the boys might be ridin’ out in the morning. Thought you ought to have a little fun before you go,” you asked innocently, though your intent was anything but.
Deaf was a wonderful man, and to say that you weren't deeply attracted to him would be the biggest lie you'd ever tell. And though the thought pained you to even cross your mind, the possibility that he may not return after he sets off with the other rangers tomorrow morning was not lost on you.
“I'll be there, darlin'. The boys are sure they can get Sam to drink more'n he should, and I ain't never passin' up a chance to see Sam Houston three sheets to the damn wind,” he admitted with a laugh, a laugh you joined when the picture of Sam drunk as a skunk flashed through your mind. “Besides, what sorta man would I be to not accompany a pretty lady such as yourself?” he added, the comment catching you off guard, though it was far from unwelcome.
Just as you opened your mouth to reply with something equally as flirty, his hand dove into his pocket to retrieve his blood-splotched piece of linen, cupping it over his mouth as he coughed into it. The dryness of the cough and the thought of how sore his throat must be made you wince. He lowered the material and stuffed it back into his pocket only to be met with your troubled expression, but you quickly cleared your throat, not wanting him to think that you were pitying him. Bashfully, you rise on your tiptoes and peck the thin scar on his cheek, letting the kiss linger for a moment before pulling back.
“Well, I'll see you tonight then,” you say with a small smile, now too embarrassed to say any of what you had originally thought to.
“See you, sweetheart.” Deaf nodded, watching as you turned and headed back towards the camp.
Once night had fallen and the evening sky was filled with stars, the celebration began. You excitedly threw on your nicest dress, hoping to catch Deaf's eye, the fabric cinching your waist and adorning a low neckline that drew attention to your chest. You headed towards the centre of the camp only to be immediately greeted with the ambience of chatter, the occasional jovial roar of drunken men carrying through the air, and the upbeat music from a small band of men filtering amongst the noise. Scanning the crowd for any sign of Deaf, you see him emerge from Sam's tent a moment later, his searching eyes suggesting he'd had the same idea as you.
His eyes light up when they land on you, the admiration in them making the air feel thick and your head swim beneath his gaze. Gathering your courage, you beckon him over with a wave and a smile, which had him weaving through the drunkards until he reached you. He wasn't wearing his hat anymore, revealing his tousled dark hair. A loose-fitting linen shirt with rolled-up sleeves drew attention to the hair on his forearms, while a worn brown waistcoat hung unbuttoned over it, and his hands were free of gloves. Taking your hand, he guides it to his lips and leisurely presses a kiss to the back of it, his eyes never leaving yours. The dark hair surrounding his top lip, amongst the sea of grey in his beard, brushes against your skin as he does.
“Beautiful,” he mutters before letting go of your hand, though you could've sworn he’d prolonged that gesture for as long as he could.
You tried to hide how flustered that had left you, smiling sweetly and hoping to God that your cheeks weren't as flushed as they felt.
“What'd Sam have to say? Was it somethin' about tomorrow?” you ask, clearing your throat and trying not to show how much the sensation of his lips on your skin had affected you.
“He had a few things on his mind, wanted my say on 'em. We figured me and the boys'll ride out come mornin',” he replies, though the faint sadness in his eyes disputes the militant edge of his words. You decide you needn't pry.
“Well, let's make the most of it while we can. Now's the time for a little fun, I'd say.” You take his hand with a playful smile to lead him toward the small gathering of people who were dancing, allowing yourself to enjoy the moment and get swept up in the merry tunes.
You were doing a lot more dancing than Deaf was, but that didn't stop him from taking your hand and making you do a little spin, the skirt of your dress twirling as you followed his lead with a giggle. A genuine smile spread across his lips as he bathed in your joy, your faint, surprised laughter, sweeter to him than any music an instrument could produce. Though he would never pursue you or expect you to feel the same, there was no denying that Deaf was utterly enamoured with you.
You were thrust into the revolution when your father was killed defending the Alamo, leaving you the last member of your family. After the fort fell, the Mexican army let you and a few of the other surviving women and children flee to spread word of how ruthlessly they had secured their victory. Frightened and alone, you wandered the plains until Deaf and his rangers stumbled across you. It was Deaf who had gently lifted you onto his horse, told you to hold on tight and took you back to the encampment where he and the rest of Sam's Texian forces were stationed.
After arriving, you dedicated yourself to trying to learn how to take care of the wounded and helping out wherever you could, something that Deaf deeply admired about you. Despite everything that you’d endured and all the horrors you had witnessed, you still tried to contribute to the Revolution, even to the extent that you were now willing to fight for it. He would check in on you often whenever he wasn't out scouting, and in return, you would offer him clean linens, knowing whatever one he was keeping in his pocket was likely too bloodied for him to bother coughing into it. You hated that there wasn't something more that you could do for his sickness, especially after how he had saved your life by bringing you here.
When you turn back to face him again, your little dance together is interrupted by one of his typical nasty coughs, with him hurriedly retrieving his linen from his pocket and coughing into it. When he lowers it, you see there's still some bloody residue caught in his beard again, leading you to take it from his hand and start wiping it away despite the habitual look in his eye that tells you your efforts are futile.
“I'm sorry, I didn't mean to push ya too hard, Deaf. I weren't thinkin' clearly,” you mumble, abashed and feeling responsible for stirring up his cough.
“Now don't go blamin' yourself, sweetheart. It ain't on you, you hear?” Deaf assures you with furrowed brows, though you weren't sure you entirely believed him.
As you were cleaning him up, you find yourself getting lost in the details of his face. Details that you loved, like the thick, untamed white beard that became a darker charcoal colour around his top lip, and the dimples hidden beneath it. His warm hazel eyes bore into yours whilst your own eyes wandered to his lips, reminding you of how often you had imagined how they would feel. Your train of thought is disrupted by the feeling of his hand enveloping the back of yours, the motion allowing you to realise that you've been studying him for a beat too long. With a hint of embarrassment, you watch as he takes the linen back from you and stuffs it into his pocket. Although you took it as a silent rejection of how you were looking at him, the truth was that if Deaf hadn't interrupted you, he wasn't sure that he'd be able to stop himself from kissing you.
You consider continuing the night as if nothing had happened, as if your breathing hadn't gotten shallow just from the closeness alone, as if every touch or brief moment of contact didn't leave you dying and reeling for something more. But you couldn't shake the thought that you may not see Deaf again after he leaves in the morning, and how much it would haunt you were something horrible to happen to him and for you to never have told him how you truly felt. After all, you knew the weight of that all too well; your eyes opened to the cruel fragility of life after losing your father. Wordlessly, you take his hand and start leading him away from the celebrations, his fingers interlocking with yours despite his confusion.
"Where we goin'?" he asks as he lets you guide him.
Eventually, you reach your wedge tent situated towards the outskirts of the camp, pushing the material that hung at the front aside and holding it open for him, too, then letting it fall back into place once he is inside. When you're sure that you're safe from the eyes of passersby, you let go of his hand so that you can hold his face in your hands, your faces so close that your noses brush and that he could feel your shaky breath fanning against his lips. It was your way of testing the waters, but much to your surprise, you feel him gingerly lay his hand on the small of your back, the other cradling the back of your neck.
You lean forward, not enough to close the gap but enough that your lips almost brush, the closeness agonising. Your lips part slightly as you release a breath you didn't realise you had been holding, and then you pressed them against his. It was as slow and tender as you had thought it would be, as though Deaf was savouring the feel of you. You had never kissed a man before, never done anything with a man, for that matter, but it was better than anything you could have ever imagined. You break the kiss slowly, letting your foreheads rest against one another's for a moment until you lean back and place the palm of your hand on his chest.
“Listen.” You pause, drawing a slow breath to steady yourself. “Most gals my age already got children of their own, but I ain't never even lain with a man. And there's no finer man I can think of than you. I know it ain't right of me to ask, not when you're riding out come mornin', but I couldn't let you go without tellin' you the truth. I want it to be you, Deaf.” Your desire bleeds into your words, punctuating them with a hunger that you hadn't fully grasped the weight of.
For a moment too long, his expression is indiscernible, and searching his eyes for an answer only leaves you coming up empty. Just when you think you might have humiliated yourself for no good reason for a second time, his mouth is on yours again, kissing you in the way that you'd longed for since the very moment you laid eyes on him. You feel the hand that was cradling your neck move to stroke your hair as he pulls back and whispers against your lips, voice like velvet.
“It'd be an honour, my desert rose.”
Taking your hand, he guides you to your bedroll and coaxes you to lower down onto it, then joins you by sinking to his knees at your feet. Grabbing the hem of his shirt, he pulls it over his head and tosses it aside, revealing a sight that you had only been privy to when he'd strip down to the waist to give himself a sponge bath and catch you staring a little longer than you should. But you'd never seen him like this up close before. He was thin, but not too dissimilar from many of the other men on the frontier, with a coating of hair on his chest that trailed down to his stomach. Prominent v-lines sit prettily on his lower abdomen, stretching down beneath his waistband in a way that feels enticing.
Eagerly, you part your legs, inviting him to move into the space between them, breath hitching when his fingers diligently glide over the hooks running down the front of your bodice. Deaf's eyes lift to meet yours in a lascivious gaze, a silent request that you meet with a small nod. His fingers deftly undo the hook closures, the dress loosening at your shoulders and prompting you to lean up to assist him in pulling it over your head, revealing the petticoat you'd been wearing underneath. Rather than removing it and leaving you completely bare, he starts peppering your bare chest with kisses whilst his hand smooths up your leg and beneath your petticoat, his rough callused skin caressing your thigh and hiking the material in its wake.
“Ain't never laid eyes on nothin' as pretty as you,” he mumbles softly into your skin between kisses, the declaration leaving you flustered.
You're far too consumed with the feel of his lips to be nervous about how dangerously close his hand was to your crotch, especially when he started paying unique attention to your breasts, your hands flying into his hair as his tongue draws teasing circles over your nipple. Deaf stops pampering your breast to remove his hand from your thigh and spit on his fingers, setting one hand on your waist while the other disappears back under your bunched-up petticoat.
You let out an involuntary gasp when you feel his digit briefly prod at your entrance before slowly pushing inside you, his eyes burning with lust as he drinks in the surprised moan that tumbles from your lips, grasping at his shoulder in your surprise. It was a foreign intrusion but hardly an unwelcome one, as though the sensation quelled some of the fire inside you but made room for other unchaste desires. The hand he'd placed on your waist moves to cradle your neck, gaze never leaving yours as he begins to pump his finger in slow, deep preparatory motions.
“That feel alright, darlin'?” he softly asks, urging you to talk to him and hovering over you with a hint of concern lacing the famished look in his eyes.
It's hard to get your words out, your head swimming with bliss as you try to form a thought outside of the feeling that his finger was moving inside you.
“Feels real good,” you gasp out in a clipped fashion then bite down on your lip, the strained lilt in your voice driving him mad.
Not feeling as much resistance as he did at first, he tenderly adds another. The slight stretch as you tried to accommodate both digits was uncomfortable until he started moving them again. Filthy, squelching sounds emanate from every knuckle deep thrust of his fingers as he uses the hand on the back of your neck to coax your lips against his, a wanton moan spilling into the kiss when he curls his digits and hits a spot inside you that makes you shudder.
Bunching the material at your hips, he drops a few wet, sloppy kisses from the valley between your breasts all the way down to your navel, stopping just above the waistband of your petticoat and lowering down onto his stomach. Another surprised gasp is pulled from you when he buries his face between your legs and drags his tongue over the length of your sex, licking long, wet stripes over your folds and collecting the taste of you with an approving hum. He hooks his arm around one of your legs to bring you closer, splaying his hand on your lower abdomen as he turns his attention to your clit.
The licks are slow at first, teasingly dragging his tongue over you to see what made your hips jump and your breath hitch. His mouth felt amazing, the way he lapped at your cunt with his unrelenting tongue as though he were dying of a thirst that only you could quench. You try to rock your hips in time with his mouth, his tongue sweeping over your clit just right and leaving you practically fucking yourself on his mouth and fingers in your desperation to soothe the throbbing ache within you. Frantically, you gather some of the blanket you were lying on in your fist, your other hand wandering down to comb your fingers through his hair and lightly grip it, the tension on his scalp drawing a groan from him.
His eyelids were heavy with lust, every drag of his tongue and the light sucking on your clit leaving you fighting the urge to arch your back and cry out, the scruff of his beard scraping against your inner thighs as he lapped at you. You knew that you would hardly be heard over the music and chatter from the celebrations, but you still weren't willing to risk someone overhearing you if they were to pass your tent.
“Please, I need you.” The words tore from you in a desperate, hushed plea, every syllable dripping with need.
As though that was all he needed to hear, he gave one final, slow lick from your hole to your clit, planting a kiss on your inner thigh and removing his fingers. The sudden emptiness makes you whine from the way you’re left clenching around nothing. Deaf straightens his back and starts unbuttoning the fly of his trousers, drawing your attention to the considerable bulge straining against the fabric. The sight makes you swallow hard as you watch his fingers delve into the waistband and push it down his hips, his cock springing free from the confines of his trousers. A sharp breath catches in your throat at his impressive size, something that Deaf takes notice of. He tips your chin up to meet his eye again with a small smile, though there was that usual warmth swelling in his gaze, an unyielding adoration in them as there was every time he laid eyes on you.
“Am I still the one you're wantin'?” he asks prudently, trying to make sure that you were clear on what you wanted beyond the haze of pleasure.
You reach up and wipe away your juices that were still caught in the scruff of his thick, mostly white beard with a knowing smile and then rest your hand on the side of his face. His eyes close briefly as he leans into your touch, though he soon opens them again to look to you for an answer.
“From the moment I met you, you been one o' few men that has shown me kindness. You saved my life that day, and there ain't no way I can ever pay that back. But I wanna give myself to you, Deaf. I want you to know what you mean to me,” you profess, the words somehow leaving you feeling far more vulnerable than the stripping of your clothes ever could.
Deaf lays his hand over the back of the one you were cupping his cheek with and gives it a squeeze, an artless smile playing on his lips in return.
“You've been looking after me so good, always fussin' over me when I ain't well. Now you just lie back yourself, my sweet girl, and let me tend to you awhile,” he rasps before capturing your lips again, the taste of you lingering on them and a certain hunger punctuating his drawl amidst his admittance of how struck he was by you.
Hooking his fingers in the waistband of your petticoat, he pushes it down your hips and your legs, setting the fabric aside with the rest of your garments. Then he leans down to hover over you, grasping his shaft and lining himself up with your hole. You couldn't help but unconsciously brace yourself, something that he noticed as he stopped and ran his fingers through your hair.
“Easy now. Don’t go tightenin’ up. It’s gonna smart some, but it won’t last long. I got ya,” he cooed, his honest words paired with his affections just the thing you needed to calm your nerves.
You try to relax the best you can, the tip nudging against your opening for a moment until you feel him pushing inside you with a groan. Try as you might you curse and let out an uncomfortable whine, the way you were stretching around him leading you scrambling to wrap your arms around his neck, tears threatening to well in your eyes. Deaf stops to allow you to adjust to the feel of him, then presses his lips against yours while he cards his fingers through your hair, his other hand caressing your hip.
“You're all right, I got ya,” he mutters, pressing gentle kisses between the words and softly hushing you through the discomfort.
When you manage to relax, though there is still some residual discomfort, he moves again. The sharp stinging sensation makes your breath catch in your throat, but his mouth is on yours again before you can fully focus on the extent of it, muffling the shaky whimpers that follow. With some resistance, he sinks all the way into you, kissing you through it inch by inch and then stilling inside you to allow you to get used to the fullness. Deaf breaks the kiss to scan your face. The hand that had been stroking your hair moves to wipe away the tear that was slipping down the side of your face with his thumb, you hardly having noticed that it had fallen to begin with, because you were so wrapped up in how enamoured he was with you.
His palm cradles the side of your face as he starts slowly rocking his hips, the two of you unashamedly moaning in unison as he bottoms out inside you. It was fervent but gentle, filling your cunt and then pulling back just enough so that he could do it all over again. Your mouth falls open as another whine tumbles out, though it was not derived from pain this time. The unpleasant, sharp sensation had tapered off and been replaced with something else entirely. Deaf reaches for one of your arms that was draped across his shoulder and guides it to lie flat beside your hair, then takes your hand and intertwines his fingers with yours.
“Look at you, takin' me so fine. That feel right, darlin'?” he notes in a hoarse, breathy drawl, the praise making your head spin.
You can hardly muster anything beyond a nod and a squeeze of his hand, your legs wrapping around him and coaxing him deeper as he repeatedly buries his cock inside you with every rock of his hips. Strands of dark hair clung to his forehead, a sheen of perspiration on his skin from the heat of your bodies smushed against one another and the humidity that persisted even into the darkest of hours. He furrows his brows and screws his eyes shut as another raspy groan rumbles from his throat when your cunt hugs him just right.
Deaf was so attentive, you couldn't get enough of him. The way he watched for what angle of his hips would elicit that blissed out look in your eyes, that would allow him to fuck into that particular spot inside you and make those needy cries that were the sweetest sounds he’d ever heard pour from you. It was clear that he wasn't just chasing his release, but rather wanted nothing more than to give you yours. He drops his lips to your breast again, sucking and kissing your flesh in a way that can only be described as worship, as you run your hand through his hair. Just then, a thought crosses your mind that piques your filthy curiosity and leaves you flustered as you try to find the courage to give voice to it.
“Mind if I get on top of ya?” you murmur tentatively, feeling a little embarrassed when he slows his thrusts and lifts his head to meet your eye, his captivating hazel ones staring back at you.
Briefly sweeping a piece of hair out of your face and behind your ear, he smashes his lips against yours, all of your reservations melting away.
“Course you can,” he rasps with a small smile, then slides out of you with a grunt.
You sit up and move aside, allowing him to lie down in your place, then crawl over him to straddle him. His hands smooth up your thighs toward your hips whilst yours run down his chest, the hair trailing down it brushing against your palms as you get wrapped up in admiring him for a moment. You had never thought you would be in this position with him. As much as you had always wanted to be, a part of you scolded yourself for entertaining the thought that he could ever see you the same way you saw him, though it had been obvious in hindsight.
You'd convinced yourself your mind was playing tricks on you with how you were the first person he'd check in with after reporting to Sam, how he'd wait until you were in the makeshift medical station if he had an injury that needed tending to, and how he had plucked a bluebonnet for you a few days after your father's death and delicately tucked it behind your ear to cheer you up. The feeling of his thumb gently tracing your cheekbone pulls you from your thoughts, his hand cupping the side of your face as he gazes up at you.
“You been teachin' me to shoot for the rangers, guess it's time I practice my ridin', too,” you tease with a coy smile before dropping a kiss to his lips, which proves to be too brief for him as he cradles your neck when your lips part and brings them together again with a satisfied hum.
Eagerly, you reach down between you and lead him to your entrance. His cock slips inside you with ease, leaving you slowly sinking onto him with a relieved moan that was muffled by his lips. You break the kiss just barely, your lips still brushing as you take a moment to adjust to the new angle. The warmth of your walls clings around him, eliciting a grunt from him as his heavy breath fanned against your lips. The fullness from every inch nestled impossibly deep inside you left you feeling both excited and out of your depth, and you start to wonder if you've bitten off more than you can chew by taking the reins.
Picking up on your hesitation, Deaf holds your hips and softly rocks them, the guided movement catching you by surprise and making you let out a whimper that you quickly bite your lip to stifle. Lifting your hips slightly, you find yourself enjoying the feeling of moving off of him just enough so that you could take him to the hilt again, getting to know your body and what feels best for you. And judging by the sounds that Deaf was making, you knew he was relishing it too. You try your best to follow his lead, eventually finding your confidence and setting a rhythm that has him groaning beneath you as the sound of skin slapping against skin fills the tent, your hands firmly planted on his chest to support yourself.
“I'd say you'll do just fine in the saddle, sweetheart,” he praises a little breathless, the comment only spurring you on further.
The fire within the pit of your abdomen grows with every roll of your hips, your moans becoming harder to suppress. The sight of him below you was almost enough alone to send you over the edge. The way his lips were parted as guttural groans tumbled out every time you came down on him, his eyes screwing shut and brows furrowing as he slightly threw his head back, his breathing growing heavier. You lean down to smash your lips against his, the angle allowing him to thrust his hips in time with how you were rocking against him, only adding to the unbridled pleasure. The slight quivering of your legs has you breaking the kiss to release a shaky, involuntary moan, your hands moving to clutch his shoulders as you cling to him. He peppers wet, feverish kisses all the way along your jaw to your neck, the way you were clenching around him leaving him punctuating the kisses with the occasional hoarse groan.
“Damn, I can't hardly breathe watchin' you. C'mon, show me how I'm making you feel,” Deaf coos into your ear and gently kisses below it, the praise only adding to the heat swelling in your core.
You shudder as your orgasm crashes over you, your breath hitching in your throat as your eyes slam shut, and it feels as though you're seeing stars. Your release is only further heightened by how he continued his thrusts to chase his own release, bucking a few more times until he quickly encourages you to lift your hips so that he can slide out of you. He wraps his hand around his shaft and gives a few strokes, then spills all over his hand and lower abdomen, hips stuttering as he does.
Not being able to hold yourself up for much longer, you collapse onto him, his chest rapidly rising and falling beneath you as he tries to steady his laboured breathing. You bury your face in the crook of his neck as you try to catch yours, and his arm wraps around you in a warm embrace, his other hand smoothing over your hair. A comfortable silence falls as you lie like that for a moment, basking in the sticky heat from each other's bodies and the smell of sex that hung in the air.
“You alright?” he murmurs, piercing the stillness as he draws circles on your lower back whilst his chin rests atop your head.
You were more than alright. You were utterly spent, and your body would likely ache in ways it never had before come morning, but Deaf had been everything you had imagined and a whole lot more.
“Feel like the luckiest gal in the world,” you whisper, voice barely above a breath as you press a soft kiss to his neck and thread your fingers through his hair.
A pleased hum rumbles from his throat as you do, a beat passing until you speak again.
“Did you know that I was sweet on you?” you ask, the question drawing a small snort of laughter from him.
“Sorta. I took it you was lookin' up to me, is all, and I didn't wanna make a move if that's how it was.”
There was something terribly sweet about how he had picked up on how flustered you often got around him and still decided to hold back in case he had read you wrong, so as not to spoil the bond you had. The beat of his heart thrummed steadily against your ear as you lie on top of him, the distant tunes from a fiddle and someone striking spoons against their thigh creating a lively rhythm that carried through the evening air.
“Be sure to wake me when you get up so that I can see you and the rangers off, alright?” you murmur, a heavy sigh escaping as your hand runs lazily up and down his chest.
“Course I will,” he mutters, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.
The feeling of his fingers tracing slow circles on your skin, and the steady sound of his breathing, lull you to sleep.
Just before the break of dawn, Deaf woke you, with him having gotten up a little earlier than when the rangers were due to set out so that he could hold you some more. There was a lot of kissing and touching, feverishly pawing at one another as your lips moved in tandem. Not even from a place of lust, but from a yearning to spend every waking moment as close to each other as you could be. To not waste a single damned moment more with unspoken words and hands strenuously shackled to your sides.
Reluctantly, your bodies parted when the first rays of sunlight breached the opening of your tent, both throwing on your discarded clothes and making your way to where the rangers had gathered with their horses. Deaf greets his horse with an affectionate sweep of his hand over the thick, coarse hair on its mane, and then turns back to you. He takes your hand, your breath catching in your throat as he presses a soft kiss to your knuckles, his eyes never leaving yours. The man was totally besotted with you, and it gave you butterflies all over again.
“Don't you worry none while I'm gone. When I come back, we can hone your shootin' and kiss 'til our lips are blue as them bluebonnets. You got my heart, my desert rose, that's the truth of it,” he professes, his thumb sweeping over your knuckles as he does.
You can hardly contain yourself as your lips collide with his, throwing your arms around his neck while he cradles the side of yours, his thumb skimming along your jaw. You knew that you were being stared at, that the whole camp would likely know of your proclivities, but you paid it no mind. Breaking the kiss was almost painful, Deaf's body parting from where it was pressed up against yours so that he could mount his horse. He gives you one last look, your eyes alone saying everything that needed to be said before he rides off with the rest of the rangers. His horse gallops through the wildflowers, and the morning sun casts over him as he gradually disappears into the golden embers of the horizon.
