Summary: You and Echo have known each other a long time, a cold night brings out confessions and ways to keep each other warm.
Content: Mentions of PTSD; kissing/making out, no explicit content ; SFW.
Notes: I have been wanting to write something for my sweet boy for a long time, glad I got the opportunity! This is completely self indulgent. Not proof read.
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You've been interested in one another for a long time, even before Skako Minor. It's almost like you've been married without having said anything. Like you skipped several steps along the way and now you're soulmates. You trust each other implicitly. Which is important to Echo, it makes him feel safe. That's all you want, for him to feel safe with you.
There's a night when you two get some alone time, huddle together around a dying hearth, while rain pours outside. The thunder keeps startling you, it won't let you rest, and he can sleep through pretty much anything but the cold. You're keeping each other company through the restless night.
A bolt breaks the sky and you jump, he instinctively puts his arm around you and pulls you close. He doesn't think anything of it, and normally you wouldn't either, but this time -- maybe it's the way your heart is beating, maybe it's the warm light on his pale and gaunt features, but this time you notice.
And you realise how lucky you are.
You tell him how much you care about him, how much it means you -- what it means to you -- to know that he always has your back, that he's always looking out for you, that he's always there for you. In a way, maybe without saying it, you tell him you love him.
He doesn't understand. Why would he? He's just a clone. Even though he loves you back -- desperately -- he knows he'll never be worthy of you.
At least, that's what he thinks.
You know he doesn't get it. You can see it. You can see the wall there. Almost like he doesn't want to get it.
You're gonna have to spell it out for him, aren't you?
You touch his jaw, bring his face to you, and look him in the eye -- for as long as he can handle.
'I love you,' you say. It's definitive, but shaky. You can feel your hand is shaking against his cheek, and you begin to flush.
His mouth parts and he can barely speak or breathe at the thought -- he can hardly think at all.
He does the one thing he's been wanting to do for years --
He swoops forward and kisses you.
When he pulls back, you're both a little stunned. Eyes wide, hearts racing.
But he puts his hand through your hair and you clamber closer to him, your mouths against one another as you find warmth in each other.
His lips are hot and gentle, you can feel his breath as it shakes against your face. His hand guides around your back, your neck, he's pawing for every part of you he can reach. His tongue is soft as it massages you -- he doesn't want to hurt you. He knows he's made of metal and fear, and the worst thing he can imagine is hurting you.
As you straddle across his lap, feeling the cold prosthetics of his knees and shins against your hips, you reassure him that he could never hurt you. It's not in his nature.
He's almost close to crying.
You busy his mind with another kiss instead, and your hands soothe his neck as his lips wander to yours.
It's like he knows -- every inch of what makes you tingle: his fingers trailing up your arm, his nose brushing your jaw, his lips dragging down your throat, speckling kisses at your collarbone. He feels you shiver beneath him and you can feel him smile against your skin.
He's enjoying this. He's enjoying you. And there's nothing that makes you happier than to feel him happy.
You rock your hips against him, you almost can't help it, your body is moving and responding to every little thing he's doing, every little peck and suckle -- and when his hand kneads into the plush of your hips, your grind deepens with a breath.
It's the most embarrassing moment of his life.
You feel him pull away and you put a hand on his chin to bring his face upward to you again. He's pink -- it's adorable. But all you do is smile and press a kiss to his nose. You don't tease him, you don't make him feel like he has to apologise. That's why he loves you. He can be himself -- even if he moans -- and so can you.
You wrap your mouth around his again, pressing deep into him with your tongue and hips, and when you pull away your face nestles against his. He's weathered and worn -- but he's yours.
But he doesn't stop kissing you. Now that he's had your taste in his mouth, he never wants it to leave. And he soaks up everything he can: sweat and salt and the sugar on your lips. He burns it into his memory as his mouth sucks on your shoulder.
The night edges on, and the two of you are on the floor in each other's arms -- warm and safe. Your leg is wrapped around his waist as his hand combs through your hair, and every time either one of you wants a kiss -- needs a kiss if the thunder gets a little too close, a little too loud, or the fire starts to die again and the chill is a little too much to handle -- all you have to do is lean and find warmth in the breath of each other.
