something good can work | thomas keefer
description: in which the feelings you've been running from finally catch up to you one frigid morning
w/c: 7.7k
pairing: thomas keefer x f!reader
warnings: 18+ only, some angst, mentions of grief, unhealthy coping mechanisms (basically: sex as a coping mechanism), minor injuries, mentions of rough sex, unprotected p in v sex, creampie
notes: this is an idea that i used on my old fandom blog, so if you used to follow me there and this fic feels familiar, that is why, lol
🕷️ part of fictober 🕷️
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It was a glorious winter morning. The cool air bit into your skin the moment you stepped out onto the porch that was connected to the cozy cabin you'd been tucked into for the night. The sun had barely begun to rise, leaving the sky an odd pinkish hue.
Your breath came out before you in white plumes, curling into the air and disappearing thereafter. With a shiver, you leaned up against the sturdy wood railing, woolen blanket wrapped around your shoulders as you gazed upon the beautiful landscape.
It was like something out of a story book. Sparkling snow stretched as far as the eye could see, coating the branches of evergreen trees, creating a fairytale feel. To anyone else, a trip like this one was a fairytale. A romantic tale of two lovers, living a life safe and warm in their quaint little cottage.
But the truth was, this was no fairytale, and you were not in love.
At least, that's what you kept telling yourself.
You weren’t in love with the man currently asleep in the bed you’d spent the night in. In fact, you weren't together at all. You didn't like to dwell on it, for it only gave you a headache and left a bad taste in your mouth. You weren’t supposed to address your feelings, because feelings weren’t meant to be part of the equation.
Months ago, you’d met Lieutenant Thomas Keefer of the US Navy. At the time of your meeting, neither of you had been in a very good place. He was grieving the loss of his father. You were grieving the loss of a long-term relationship that you had been certain would result in marriage.
Two wounded souls found each other one night at a Navy bar. You never frequented such establishments, but your friends had coaxed you to go with them in an effort to lift your spirits. They hadn’t intended to set you up with anyone, so meeting Thomas was purely coincidental. Perhaps it was a cruel twist of fate.
He was at the bar when you came up to order another drink for yourself. A handsome man, sandy brown hair combed neatly to the side, features angular yet soft at the same time. Wide, observant eyes that followed your movements.
Anyone that knew him, knew him as sharp and overconfident. A man who was well aware of his own intelligence, and wasn’t afraid to gloat about it. Yet, now, as he sat hunched over the bar, he looked less than confident and sharp. In fact, he looked just plain sad.
You were drawn to him, against your better judgment. He was a flame, and you were a moth, drawn to the light. One thing led to another, and you were soon telling your friends that you would seek alternative transportation home.
The night ended in Lieutenant Keefer’s bed.
In an attempt to numb the ache, you'd fallen into the sheets together, bodies joined as one. He fucked you hard as fast, and made you forget your own misery, if only for a little while. It should have only been a one-night stand, and at first, it was.
But the day after your night together, you noticed something. He’d sneakily put his number into your phone. And that awakened something within you. All self-control went out the window when it came to him, and you found yourself going against all rational thought as you shot him a text.
You were tangled in his sheets again the following week. And the next. And the next. It wasn’t long before it became a regular thing. You found some sort of fucked up solace in one another. The sex wasn’t kind of gentle. It was rough, intense, the two of you taking out your pain on the other in a deliciously satisfying way.
An attachment had begun to form. Or maybe it was an addiction. For those few short hours spent together, you felt whole again.
Thomas lit you on fire, and the burn was so delicious, you couldn’t get enough. You craved it, lived for it. And so did he. The amount of passion and intensity he experienced with you was unlike anything he'd ever felt in his life. What started as an unbridled lust turned into so much more, and after nearly three months of sleeping together, he found himself developing feelings for you.
That realization was a jarring one, because, as a rule, Thomas didn’t catch feelings. Girls threw themselves at him, and he entertained their advances, spending a singular night with them before he sent them on their way.
For whatever reason, you were different. And you’d made him reconsider his playboy behavior. How could he turn you away like all the other ones? There was something about you that made an odd sort of protectiveness well in his chest.
He didn’t want to hurt you. And certainly not after you had been through so much.
Of course, there was also the comfort he found when he was with you. The sharp, violent ache of grief lessened. It was still there, of course. But it was more bearable. And, foolishly, he leaned into that, and allowed himself to develop a fondness for you.
But you'd told him in the beginning that feelings weren't meant to be caught, that you couldn't deal with another relationship, and if feelings began to form, you would immediately walk away so they couldn't go any further. So, for fear of losing you, Thomas kept his feelings to himself. You were the only thing that made him feel whole, how could he lose you?
You continued on just like you always had. Seeking solace in one another. Nights spent in the warmth of his bed, memorizing one another’s bodies. This went on for quite some time. Months, even. And then, all at once, things came to a halt.
Thomas had to leave. A new deployment, he said. He would be gone for quite some time, which ultimately put your arrangement on hold. You told yourself you were fine with it. That you would be able to deal with it, no problem. He wasn’t your boyfriend, you had no reason to mourn his absence.
And yet, tears streamed down your cheeks as you stood on the docks and watched his ship sail away. Angrily, you wiped them away with the back of your hand. What the hell was wrong with you? Why on earth were you grieving him as if he was your actual partner?
Those months that he was away proved to be the hardest few months you had to go through. And that was certainly saying something, because you had been a mess after the loss of your previous relationship.
His absence made you realize something that terrified you: you were falling in love with him. And try as you might, you couldn’t shove those feelings away any longer. I should have told him. What if he dies out there and I never see him again?
That was your main fear while he was gone. How would you know if something happened to him? You weren’t listed as his emergency contact. You weren’t next of kin. You weren’t anything more than a fuck buddy.
In your heart of hearts, you knew that if he did return from this deployment, you couldn’t let yourself continue this way. Either you had to end things, or admit you were in love. The question was, would you have the courage to do either?
To your relief, he did return home a few months later. A little more weathered than you remembered him, but just as strong and handsome as ever. When he showed up on your doorstep one afternoon, you threw yourself into his arms and held him close.
What followed was the most intense sex you'd ever experienced in your life. It wasn’t rough or punishing, like it had been in the past. No, this time, it was gentle, passionate, beautiful. And you hardly knew how to process it. Clearly, Thomas’s time overseas had rattled him. It had reminded him of what was important to him.
And that night, while you lay in bed, covers draped over your figures as you basked in the afterglow, he felt the need to show you how important you were.
"Let's go somewhere," he spoke into the quietness of the room.
"What do you mean?" Came your inquiry.
"There's a cabin," he continued, "in Colorado. It belongs–belonged– to my dad. It’s pretty nice, he took good care of it. I was already planning to head there because I go on leave here in a couple weeks. Just thought I’d invite you to come."
You looked up at him from where your head rested on his naked chest. "I don't know..."
"It's not like we're moving in together," he continued, "it's just a little getaway. Something we both need."
He was right, after all. You hadn't slept well while he was away. And the thought of a little break from everyday life seemed rather appealing. So, after considering his offer, you decided to accept. "Sure, why not?"
His mouth curved into a pleased smile. “Alright. I’ll take care of plane tickets. You just worry about bringing your pretty little self.”
And so, it was settled.
Two weeks later, you were cozy and warm inside a rental car, the radio playing softly as Thomas drove the long, winding roads. It was late winter, and there was day-old snow covering the ground, sticking to the branches of the trees that lined either side of the road.
When you arrived at the cabin, it looked a lot like something out of a Currier and Ives painting. Entirely unexpected, because when you heard the word cabin, you’d pictured something more primitive. This was not primitive whatsoever.
Once the car was in park, Thomas turned to you, rifling through the keys on his keychain before presenting one to you. "Here," he stated, "you can unlock the house, I'll get our stuff out of the trunk."
You obliged, climbing out of the car and scurrying up the driveway, snow crunching beneath your shoes. Once you reached the porch, you stopped at the heavy wooden front door, sliding the key into the lock and turning it with a satisfying click.
You were met with a quaint, cozy looking interior. A large living room with comfortable furniture, a stone fireplace, an open kitchen off to the side with lots of counter space. You shuddered at the draft running through the house when you stepped in, tugging your coat closer to your body.
Already, you were imagining a warm, roaring fire in the fireplace, creating comforting warmth.
The heavy scrape of boots alerted you to Thomas coming up behind you, bags held in his hands. "Bedroom is this way," he told you, nodding his head in the direction of the large staircase that branched off from the living room.
You quietly followed after him, letting him lead you up the stairs. "We don't have to sleep in the same room," he said, though you both knew you'd end up in the same bed more often than not.
Nonetheless, you put your bags in a separate bedroom, meeting Thomas back in the hallway. His rosy lips curled into that of a smile, and he offered his arm to you. You took it with ease, allowing him to guide you towards the stairs.
"We're gonna have to do some cleaning," he mused, "the house hasn't been used in a while so it needs some TLC."
And so the day commenced. The two of you setting about cleaning the house from top to bottom, keeping one another company. Thomas had dug out a record player that had been stowed away in the closet, placing a vinyl of Talking Heads under the needle.
You were comfortable with around one another, as if you were merely two friends having a good time. But Thomas couldn't help but steal glances at you when you weren't looking. He silently marveled at how beautiful you were. How at ease you looked.
God, he was falling in love with you.
The way you sang along softly to the words of each song, swaying your hips slightly in rhythm with the music. You were busy dusting the fireplace mantle, standing on your tiptoes, your shirt riding up to expose a sliver of your tummy.
Thomas's chest ached as his mind played a sudden image of you bustling around the home you owned together, happy and content. Here he was, already thinking of spending the rest of his life with you. He was in over his head.
In the beginning of this all, he never could have imagined how far this would go, how you would change his life. He'd been the worst version of himself at that time. Plagued with grief, a shell of the man he once was. Inviting you into his bed had been a coping mechanism. An unhealthy one, at that.
For a while, sleeping with you was something to ease the pain, like a drug he’d been prescribed. He kept coming back for more, spending most of his nights wrapped around your body. You made him feel whole, you quelled the emptiness in his bones.
How could he not fall for you?
And now here he was, staring at you with eyes so full of adoration. He had to look away, pushing those thoughts out of his head. What good were they if he couldn't express them to you?
Instead, he forced himself to be in the moment, enjoying your company instead.
Later that afternoon, he took you to the nearest town, where you bought groceries together. A domestic task that made things feel too real. As if he could pretend you were really in a relationship.
Upon arriving back at the cottage, a simple dinner of pasta was made, paired with glassfuls of wine and a roaring fire burning in the fireplace. Warm and half-drunk, you fucked on the floor atop fur rugs, slow and deep, Thomas covering you with his entire body, safe and protected from the outside world.
By the time you were finished, sated and warm, you barely made it up to the bedroom–Thomas’s bedroom, not the bedroom you’d placed your things in–before falling into a deep, dreamless sleep. And that's what brought you to the present moment, basking in the dawn of the next day, blanket wrapped around your shoulders as you breathed in the frigid mountain air.
Thomas was still sound asleep last time you checked, passed out in bed with the blankets strewn across his bare body. You'd snagged his shirt from the floor, pulling it on along with your own pants and snow boots, draping a heavy blanket over yourself before stepping outside.
You relished in the alone time, clearing your head and gaining your bearings. Yesterday had been quite the day. You'd spent more time around Thomas than you were used to, and you were overwhelmed.
It wasn't that he made you uncomfortable. Oh no, far from it. In fact, he made you feel safe. He made you feel wonderful. And that was what scared you. You had not felt this way for a long time.
You had sworn to yourself that you wouldn’t get involved in another relationship after the way your last one ended. You needed to spend time on your own. But Thomas was causing you to reconsider that, and you didn't know how to feel about it.
You still had that nagging fear that if you let him in, you would end up hurt and alone again. And you weren't sure you could endure that again.
As you warred within yourself, your deep thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the front door opening. You turned, finding Thomas standing in the doorway, two cups of coffee in hand. He'd slipped into clean clothes, sweatpants and a waffle knit shirt. He stood there with a broad smile on his face, holding a mug of coffee out to you.
Returning the smile, you stepped towards him, taking the cup from him. "Come inside," he said, "it's freezing out here."
"It's not so bad," you replied with a shrug, though your body betrayed you with a shiver.
"Just get in here," he continued. "I'll make French toast."
“The illustrious Lieutenant Keefer can cook?” You asked in disbelief. In all the mornings you’d spent together, you’d always been the one who made breakfast. “You’ve been holding out on me.”
He grinned. “There are a lot of things I can do. Now, are you gonna come inside or not?”
You shrugged. "I can't say no to French toast." At that, you returned into the warmth of the house, realizing he’d started another fire in the fireplace, which cast an inviting warmth through the cabin.
You took a seat at the island while Thomas sauntered into the kitchen. He set his coffee down before he began rifling through cupboards, in search of ingredients.
“Let's see...where'd you put the cinnamon we bought?” He questioned.
“The spice drawer next to the sink.”
He turned, pulling open the drawer to find that it was indeed there. “Thanks,” he murmured.
A comfortable silence fell over the room as you watched him move about, throwing together ingredients with ease. He looked so beautiful and carefree, in his own element. And in your sleepy state, your mind began to drift, thinking of how he'd be if you were really in a relationship.
“Where's your pretty head at?” Thomas asked when he found you staring off into space.
“My pretty head is thinking about how hungry I am.”
He smirked at that. “Get some plates out of the cupboard, then.”
Happily, you stood, flouncing over to the cupboard that contained all the dishes. Quickly, you retrieved two plates, which you placed on the island. Forks and knives followed, set neatly beside each plate.
“Step aside, ma’am” he spoke up, a pan of French toast in hand. You moved out of his way, letting him plate breakfast up as you took a seat back in one of the barstools. Moments later, the two of you sat with plates full of syrup-soaked toast, powdered sugar dusted on top.
“I was thinking,” Thomas stated after swallowing a sip of his coffee, “we could go on a hike after we eat. I used to hike these woods with my brother when I was little. I think I remember some of the paths we used to take, though I'm betting a lot of it is overgrown by now.”
"I'm up for an adventure," was your reply. It beat sitting in this cabin, being forced to think about your feelings.
At that, he grinned. “Good. Make sure you layer up so you don't freeze.”
You returned the smile. “You bet I will.”
As the morning carried on, and the sun rose further into the sky, you finished breakfast, taking time to clean up the kitchen together before you went your separate ways to change. You bundled yourself up from head to toe, looking rather like a marshmallow than a human.
When you made your way to the front entryway, Thomas paused to laugh, at which you pouted. “You told me to layer up!” You protested, almost falling over yourself as you attempted to put on your boots.
“Hey, I didn't say a word,” he replied, holding his hands up in defense.
“But you were thinking it.” You jabbed a finger in his direction, squinting at him in mock suspicion.
He shook his head. “Come on, let's go, little marshmallow.”
You playfully slapped his arm before you followed him out the door.
Off you went, trekking through the snow. Quite a few inches had fallen the night before, and everything was pristine and bright, fluffy snow mounds just begging to be jumped in. You followed Thomas like an eager child, taking in your surroundings with wide eyes as you ventured into the woods.
From then on out, he recalled stories from his childhood, shenanigans that he and his brother would get up to as they hiked these trails. He grew animated as he told the stories, eyes wide with laughter and nostalgia. He had you laughing along with him, putting you right at ease.
For a few hours, you forgot about your problems. You let yourself relax, enjoying the company of the man beside you. You went on for several miles, across snow and ice, having the time of your life.
“Look,” Thomas suddenly said, stopping you in your tracks and causing you to slam right into him. You looked up at him in annoyance, but he was pointing in front of you. So, you turned your head, catching sight of a beautiful river that sliced through the land.
There were trees dotting its shore, and right between them was a family of deer. A mama and her two fawns. Your lips curled into a smile as you gazed upon the sight. As you shared that quiet moment, Thomas gazed upon you, taking in the way your eyes sparkled in wonder.
You were so beautiful, even now, bundled up to your ears in your winter gear.
And there it was again, that overwhelming ache in his chest. He was falling in love with you. No, not falling. He was in love with you, plain and simple. And he couldn’t deny it any longer.
The words came from his mouth before he could stop them. “I'm so in love with you.” Raw and vulnerable. Now it was out in the open.
But you said nothing.
You’d heard him. Loud and clear, in fact. But instead of replying, you stood there in silence, tensing beneath all the layers of clothing. The quiet was growing deafening, and soon, Thomas sucked in a breath, slowly turning towards you. “I know you heard me.”
You looked down at the ground then, suddenly finding your shoes very interesting. “Yeah, I heard you.”
“Then say something.”
“What am I supposed to say?”
“I don't know. Maybe say it back? Or tell me how you actually feel?”
“You know how I feel, Tom.”
“Actually, no. I don't. Why don't you enlighten me.” His voice had taken a sudden sharp tone, and you winced, slowly turning to face him.
“In the beginning, I told you I didn’t want feelings getting between us. This isn’t a relationship.”
“But we're as good as in one right now. Taking a vacation together, doing things that couples do like making dinner together and going grocery shopping.”
“It still isn’t a relationship. We're friends with benefits, and nothing more. And don't tell me you love me, because you don't.”
Thomas's eyes widened then, and his mouth came open, irritation darkening his features. “You...you're telling me how to feel?! I'm sorry, I wasn't aware that you could just decide my feelings for me.”
“The last person who told me that ended up leaving in the end. Who's to say you won't be any different?”
“I'd never–”
You held a hand up. “What? 'I'd never hurt you'?. Bullshit. My fiancé said the same thing, and look how that turned out.”
Thomas waved his hands in exasperation. “I’m not him.”
No, he wasn’t. “Tom...I just can't handle another relationship. Not after all I've been through. I...I don't have any more pieces of my heart left to give.”
A look of hurt washed over his face, and you felt a little guilty. “Please.” His voice was soft, uncertain. You weren’t used to seeing him like this. "I never thought I'd be able to feel again. But then you came along, and you changed everything. I want to be with you, to try and make this work. If you give me your heart, I promise I’ll help you put it back together.”
You shook your head at him. “No. I'm sorry, but I can't do that. I'm not ready, and I don't think I'll ever be.” You turned away, readying yourself to begin the trek back to the cabin.
“That's it? You aren't even gonna give me a chance?”
“I said I was sorry.”
Sighing in exasperation, Thomas rushed after you, boots crunching against snow. "But-"
“I want to go home,” was what you finally said, quickening your pace. "This trip was a bad idea. I can't stay here anymore.”
Thomas paused for a split second before dashing to catch up. "Wait!" He exclaimed.
You ignored him, marching away, even as he continued to call after you. So wrapped up in your own emotions, you didn’t realize you were on uneven ground. Before you even realized what was happening, your foot slipped out from under you, and you were free-falling.
A yelp of surprise ripped from your throat as you continued to fall, sliding right down the hill that led into the river. Ice hid beneath the snow, preventing you from stopping your fall, and you had no choice but to let it happen.
The shock that washed over you was immediate and harsh, ice shattering to give way to freezing water beneath. Plunged into the river, your system barely had a chance to register what was happening, bewilderment clouding your brain as you fought to push yourself back to the surface.
The sound of shouting reached your ears, and suddenly, a pair of hands were gripping your arms, yanking you out of the icy depths. “I’ve got you!” Thomas. He’d immediately come to your aid, half stumbling, half sliding down the hill, desperate to get to you.
Moments later, you were sprawled against the frozen riverbank, breathing hard, staring up at the cloudy sky as your lungs fought to suck in oxygen. Thomas’s face appeared in your line of sight, eyes wide, expression frantic.
“Jesus, is anything broken?!” He asked.
Barely able to feel your cold extremities, you replied, “I-I don’t think so.:
“We need to get you home.” There was a frightened edge to his tone. Soaked to the bone, you were in grave danger of developing hypothermia.
He managed to pull you to your feet, and the two of you somehow managed to trudge back up the snowy hill. The cold had already begun to set in, cruel and vicious. Your teeth chattered.
“C’mon, I’ve got you. Just hold onto me, alright?” The raw fear in his voice unsettled you.
The cabin was two miles away, which wasn’t a long trek under normal circumstances, but right now, you were racing against time. He had to get you there.
It was an arduous hike, and with each whimper of pain you let out, Thomas felt his heart breaking. This was all his fault. If he hadn’t opened his big mouth, you wouldn’t have stormed off and ended up plunged into a frozen river.
“C’mon, baby. You can do it, we’ll be there soon,” he urged you, allowing you to rest your weight entirely on him.
“I-I’m so co-cold,” you barely managed yo gasp out. You couldn’t think of anything else but the bitter chill wracking your body, your shivers so violent that they physically hurt. It was unbearable.
“I know. But you gotta keep going.”
By some miracle, you made it back to the cabin, and Thomas practically had to drag you through the door. The moment he had you inside the warmth of the house, he scrambled to get your wet clothing off you.
Yanking his gloves off with his teeth, he set to work, yanking the zipper of your coat down, tossing the offending fabric aside. Then came your gloves, boots, multiple layers of pants, shirt, and, finally, your underwear.
“I’m here,” he promised, “I’ve got you.”
You barely registered him stepping back to grab a blanket off the couch, but seconds later, the warm wool was wrapped around you. Thomas then ushered you toward the living room, guiding you to sit on the couch. Your shivering continued as he hurried to stoke the embers in the fireplace, replenishing them with several logs until the flames grew high once again.
“You’re okay. You’re okay,” he kept murmuring, quick to yank off his own outer layers, leaving him in his wool sweater and sweatpants. He reached for your face, hands pressed to your cold skin.
“Look at me.”
When you did, he searched your face. “Just stay right here, alright? I’m gonna make you some tea.”
For good measure, he draped another blanket around your shoulders before he rushed into the kitchen to prepare the tea. As he worked, he kept an eye on you from a distance, making sure your condition didn’t worsen. The nearest hospital was thirty minutes away. If he couldn’t get your body temperature regulated, he was going to have to risk the trip into town, and he worried you wouldn’t fare well.
He couldn’t let himself spiral into what-ifs. What if you got worse? What if the damage was already irreparable? What if, what if, what if?
Instead, he threw his focus into making the tea, and a few minutes later, he was at your side again, this time with a hot cup of peppermint tea. He handed it to you, guiding your hands around its warmth.
“There you go. Drink it slowly,” he coaxed as he settled into the couch, directly next to you.
Your body temperature was already slowly beginning to rise, though the bone deep chill you felt was still very present. The tea was a welcome warmth on your tongue, soothing your throat, warming your chest.
When you felt Thomas slide a protective arm around your tense, blanket covered shoulders, you didn’t pull away. In fact, you leaned into him.
He felt absolutely terrible that this had happened, and only wanted to make it better. Holding you was part of that. For several minutes, the living room was silent, save for the sound of the fire crackling and the noise that came from the chattering of your teeth.
Once you’d finished the tea, you leaned back against the couch, haggard and miserable, still shivering.
“I’m going to go look for a hot water bottle, alright? Just sit tight.” When he moved to kiss your temple, you let him.
His search for a hot water bottle was futile. Either there wasn’t one in the house, or it was shoved into a box somewhere in the cellar. He knew the doors would be hopelessly frozen shut, so he didn’t even bother to go outside and check.
Without a hot water bottle to help warm you up, he had to get creative. There was another heat source that would help. Body heat.
Without a word, he rounded the couch once again, resuming his seat beside you. “Couldn’t find a water bottle. Are you alright with some skin to skin? I think it’ll help warm you up.”
Your nod was immediate. At that point, you would do anything to be warm again.
Thomas wasted no time in stripping down to his bare skin, and the second his clothes were discarded, he was pulling you into his lap, parting the blankets so he could wrap them around you both. He gasped softly at the chill of your skin, but remained steady as he tucked you into the warmth of his own body.
“There you go, I’ve got you,” he soothed.
Seeking comfort, you buried your face against the side of his neck, and let him hold you. The whole ordeal had left you shaken and disoriented. The steadiness of his body beneath you was what grounded you.
You stayed like that for a long while, sharing body heat. The rhythmic sound of his heartbeat brought you back to yourself, providing immense comfort..
Lovingly, he rocked you back and forth. And after nearly ten minutes had passed, your shivering had stopped almost completely. By that time, you were simply enjoying the feeling of your bare skin against his.
Silence had lingered between you since he’d wrapped you in his body heat, but now, as you regained your composure, and reflected on the events that had led up to this moment, you felt the need to apologize.
“Tom...I'm sorry,” you whispered hoarsely.
He hesitated a moment before gazing down at you, eyes so full of emotion. “No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have sprung that bomb on you. If I’d just kept my mouth shut, we wouldn’t be in this situation.”
“No, I overreacted. You were being honest with me, and I should have been respectful of that instead of just walking away.”
Thomas sighed softly. “I overreacted too.”
“Guess we both did, huh?”
“Yeah.”
He fell silent, your bare body still pressed against his, warmth blossoming between you, chasing away the cold. When he spoke again, his voice was wavering and full of emotion. “I meant it when I said I’m in love with you. I know we said we wouldn’t catch feelings when we started all this, but I did. And maybe that means I’m going to lose you, but I needed you to know how I feel.”
A beat passed before you leaned back to look at him fully. “You’re not going to lose me.”
“I’m not?” Hope softened his features.
“No. Because I’m in love you, too.”
In the time that you’d known Thomas Keefer, you had never seen him cry. Yet here he was, eyes welling with unshed tears, disbelief in his expression. “Really?” He breathed, mouth parting slightly.
“Yes. I’ve been in love with you. And I realized it the day you left for deployment. I should’ve said something sooner, but I was scared, I guess. Scared to let myself love again.”
“I get it,” he murmured. “You went through a lot. But I mean it when I say I want to make something out of this. I want to be in a serious relationship with you, if you’ll have me. But we don’t have to rush into it, we can start slow. No pressure, y’know?”
At that, you let out a soft breath, partly in relief, partly in exhaustion. “What if…what if we’re not a good match? We both have awful coping mechanisms, and used each other to get through our own forms of grief. What if that–”
“Don’t start spiraling on me, okay? I’ll say this: I’ve never met anyone like you before. You changed me. I used to be so careless when it came to relationships, I could never commit to anything. But for the first time in my life, I want to commit to something. To you. I think something good can work here. All I ask is for your trust, and I’ll prove to you that I’m in it for the long haul.”
For a moment, you were silent, allowing his words to settle in. There was something so safe about this moment. Here, wrapped in his warmth, with the fire crackling in the fireplace, you were suddenly struck with a moment of clarity.
You needed to give him a chance, but more importantly, you needed to allow yourself a chance to love and be loved again.
You looked into his big, round eyes. So deeply blue, you could drown in them. They were filled with hope and tenderness, and something else. Something precious. Love. That's when you leaned forward, pressing your lips to his, sealing your fates together in a delicate kiss.
This was right, this was good. Thomas was offering himself to you, promising to love and cherish you. And somehow, you knew that he was going to keep that promise.
When the kiss was broken, you rested your forehead against his, breathing deeply. Your body trembled all over, but not from the cold this time.
That's when you uttered the word that would change everything. "Okay.”
His face melted into a relieved smile. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. I want to try a relationship with you, and see where things go from here.”
With a low hum, he leaned forward, nose brushing against yours. “I want that too, more than anything.” This time, your kiss held far more passion than the first one. A display of love and desire, warm and intense in all the right ways.
You were suddenly very aware of just how naked you were against him. The intimacy of skin to skin was a beautiful thing, and before this moment, it had not been sexual in nature. But now, something had changed. There was a flame that had been ignited between you.
Now that your feelings were out in the open, your souls bared to one another, there was nothing to hold you back.
Breathlessly, you gasped into his mouth, "make love to me, Thomas."
His hands, big and warm, yet gentle as could be, came to rest upon your hips. “Are you sure?” He didn’t want to overwhelm you after all you had been through that morning.
“Yes. Take me right here, on this couch.”
The desperation in your voice broke what little self-control he had remaining. When he brought you closer, chest pressed against chest, his arms wrapped around your torso, enveloping you entirely. He handled you with a tenderness that hadn’t been there before.
Something had changed between you. This was no longer about chasing a release, or needing a distraction. This was real and raw and vulnerable.
The rhythm of your breath was rushed, chest rising and falling against his as you breathed his name against his mouth. It took great restraint to keep himself composed, forehead pressed against yours. He’d never taken the time to pause and drink you in. Nights spent fucking you in the dark of his bedroom were never like this. Now, you were illuminated by the morning light pouring in through the large living room window, and he swore you looked like an angel.
The look in his eyes was something you’d never forget. Pure, unadulterated reverence, as if he was beholding something holy. You were here, pressed against him, emotion pooling in your eyes.
He kissed you again, slower now, tongue delving into your mouth to taste you. His hand wandered down, fingertips light against the softness of your abdomen. When those same fingers pressed carefully into you, already slick for him, he took pause, searching your face for any sign of hesitance. When he found none, he continued, middle and ring fingers stretching you slightly as they entered in.
The stretch made you gasp, sharp and broken. His body drew taut as he froze, eyes wide and full of concern. Such a contrast to how rough he’d been with you in the past. How rough you’d begged him to be.
“Keep going,” you urged, reassuring him that you were okay, that you wanted this.
His fingers slotted deeper still, curling slightly, until they brushed against that deliciously pleasurable spot inside you that sent you shivering in his arms. Head thrown back, you gasped, and as his fingers moved within you, your hips began to rock against him, eager for more.
Your beauty was breathtaking as you writhed above him, unashamed of your pleasure. He knew he couldn’t draw it out much longer. He needed to be inside you.
When he slid his fingers out of you, you whined lowly at the loss, but he kissed your protest away. “Hold on, baby. I’m gonna give it all to you.”
And he did.
Carefully, he maneuvered you both so that you were on your back, still cocooned in blankets. Hovering over you, his eyes glimmered, mouth curving into a fond smile as he leaned down to nuzzle his nose against yours.
Then his hand was snaking down between your bodies, hand wrapping around his hardness, aligning himself with you.
When he pushed inside, your mouth fell open, lashes fluttering at the feeling. Unlike the stretch his fingers had caused, this was different. More breathtaking. The slight pinch of your anatomy accommodating him was a welcome sort of pain.
He shuddered, breathing ragged as he inched into you little by little, until he was fully seated inside you. The intimate closeness, the press of skin against skin, stole the breath from your very lungs.
Time passed by, slow as molasses, but he didn’t move. Not yet. He merely held you to him, his forehead pressed to shoulder, breathing in deeply as he gave you time to adjust around him. When you finally shifted beneath him, urging him to move, he groaned open-mouthed against your skin and finally, finally, began to move.
It wasn’t frantic. It was slow, even, careful. The steady push and pull took your breath away as his hips rolled into yours. Pathetically, you moaned into his mouth, tongue tasting him as your legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him even closer.
You were one. One body, one soul, tethered together.
Brokenly, he sighed your name into your mouth. His control, his poise, was gone. He trembled above you, nearly losing himself. When his hand sought yours, you let him hold onto it, bringing it to pin above your head. Not harshly. His grip was light, you could pull away from it if you wanted to. But you didn’t.
“Oh, oh Thomas, you…you feel so good,” came your whispered confession.
His response was a deeper, more deliberate thrust that sent you crying out into the heady warmth of the room.
Your chest heaved against his, breath coming out in short bursts, heart racing within your chest. Instinctively, your body arched into his, molding against him like a missing piece to a puzzle. Your hips bucked, and you tightened around him.
His body trembled with the effort of keeping himself under control.
Crescents were pressed into his skin as your free hand found purchase against his shoulder, and you saw stars as he thrust deeper. “Please stop! Don’t ever stop!” You wailed, entirely gone, pleasure clouding your brain, stealing away all coherent thought.
Thomas groaned openly, eyes nearly rolling back in his head. “I won’t. Oh, god, I won't,” he rasped.
The kiss was filthy, salacious. Tongue and teeth, wet and hot, smearing across each other’s mouths. You drank each other in, swallowing moans and gasps, committing each other to memory.
When his free hand came down between your thighs, it was to press his fingers against your swollen little bundle. You whimpered, a pitiful sound that he adored.
“I can feel you. You’re so tight, baby. You gonna come for me?” He coaxed, though his voice trembled.
Dumbly, you nodded. “Uh-huh.”
“That’s it. Give it to me. Wanna feel you come all over me.”
Perhaps it was his command that did it. Or maybe it was everything, all of him, all at once. Either way, the release hit you so hard and fast you hardly realized it was happening until it was upon you.
It vibrated through you, searing, all-consuming, robbing you of your breath as you clawed at his back. Mouth open, head thrown back, you convulsed in his arms. It was too much and not enough, all at once.
Thomas gasped, mouth falling open at the feeling of you clenching around him, so tightly he could barely move. But he didn’t let that stop him. Determined, he shunted his hips against you, harder, faster, deeper, even as you cried out beneath him, still trembling from the aftershocks of your own release.
“Hold on, I-I’m almost there,” he soothed, kissing you deeply.
And then he was done for. The sound that ripped itself from his throat was raw and broken, his rhythm stuttering as he pressed into you as deeply as he could go. The warmth of him seeped inside you, release flowing freely. So much so that it soon began to spill out around the edges of his cock, surely creating a mess.
Twitching weakly, his body soon settled against yours, his chest heaving, mouth hot and open against the hollow of your neck.
For quite a while, neither of you moved. He remained within you, softening slowly, your shared releases dripping slick and viscous. As you both came down, settling into the afterglow, your hand moved to his hair, fingers threaded through honeyed strands, nails gently scratching at his scalp.
A strange, but welcome, sense of peace washed over you both, even as the realization of what had just happen settled between you.
When he lifted his head, his face hovered above yours, eyes shining with unspoken emotion. You met him halfway, lips capturing his in a sweet, loving kiss that took his breath away.
When he eased himself out of you, he soothed your quiet whimper, soon settling beside you, pulling you toward his chest. He was increasingly grateful that the living room couch was so spacious. It gave him ample room to cradle you close.
The winter chill had long since been chased out of the room, replaced by a delightful warmth that bore the faint scent of sex. Blankets surrounding you both, you found yourself curling into him, sated and at peace.
“I’m sorry we didn’t resolve things sooner,” he finally spoke, breaking the silence. “Could’ve saved ourselves a lot of heartache.”
But you only shook your head, leaning in to brush your nose against his. “We weren’t ready yet.” But you were now. Ready to let him in, ready to love and be loved.
With a quiet hum, Thomas reached out, knuckles brushing over your warm cheek. There was something in his eyes. Soft and open, unguarded. “When you fell into the river…it scared me more than I want to admit. It made me realize that I don’t want to go another day without loving you. Life’s way too short not to be honest with the person you care about.”
Your head came to rest within the slope of his neck. “Well here I am, all yours to love.”
His lips pressed against your temple, warm and soft. “All mine. I like the sound of that.”
A soft yawn passed over you as you nuzzled further into his warmth. “Yeah. Me too.”
In the late morning light, exhausted from the ordeal you had endured, you began to drift to sleep. Thomas held you fast, steady and secure, your bodies wound together, until sleep claimed you both.
You were his. He was yours. And you were finally ready to take that step of faith and let yourself experience love again.
But first, you would rest.
-
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