Work Text:
Call Me Booker
Part I ‑ "Unconditional"
By: Jesse Racine AKA Samson
Original Date Written: April 20, 2018
“Elizabeth, wait!”
She didn’t say a thing over her shoulder. Booker, Mister DeWitt as she often liked to observe, chased after her in half a jog, half a trot. Every footfall on his left side sent reverbs of pain shooting through his shoulder, all the way down from his fingertips and back up the side of his neck clear to his ear. In all the excitement of the sprawling gunfight, he hadn’t had the time to take care of the bullet he’d caught through that “shield” his two disappearing and reappearing pals in the power suits had given him some time before, not before he and Elizabeth had discovered Fitzroy with a gun to a kid’s head. After a distraction from Booker, Elizabeth had stopped her, but...It was the first time she’d ever honestly had blood on her hands.
“I guess it runs in the family,” she’d breathed, right before turning around and running into the late First Lady’s airship. He’d tried to talk to her, to ease her down from that adrenaline and panic, but nothing he’d said had slowed her down. He knew that shock all too well, that mix of regret and exhilaration, of sadness and fear, of self-loathing and...Justification. No matter how many books she might’ve had with her up in that tower, the girl never would’ve ever been prepared for what it would’ve been like. Hell, as it was, simply witnessing him killing somebody, out of self-defence no less, had been traumatizing enough to have her turning on him, a little. Seeing those bloodied scissors in her own fist must’ve been terrifying, but...She had saved the boy. Cold comfort, true, but...It was always something, and something’s always better than nothing. He couldn’t say he’d ever had the same.
“Elizabeth! Please!”
She finished crossing the docking platform and, as soon as she’d entered the airship’s sole deck, rounded the corner to the right, heading for a palatial bedroom Booker knew to be the only actual chamber in the airship. Separated from the flight command by a sturdy pair of double doors, Booker had once wondered how much use it could’ve ever actually seen from the First Lady and that bastard Comstock, but now, when he heard those doors slam shut, he could only wonder how long it might take Elizabeth to unlock them again, if she’d ever come out, at all. Nearly inside the airship, now, he fell into a coughing fit, motions that nearly had him dropping his rifle and grabbing his shoulder.
He looked down at himself and winced. God...Look at him. This job had been a raw deal from the start, but he hadn’t thought it’d get this complicated, let alone take this much out of him. When he’d arrived, he’d looked about as dapper as he could manage, following years of pissing his money away on races and the bottle: half-shined dress shoes, pinstripe slacks, a nice vest and jacket combo over a dress shirt, a short red scarf knotted over his chest like a tie ...In the hours, nights, since he’d arrived, the fighting and insanity of Columbia had certainly taken a toll on his clothing. Shame that the same could have been said for the man, himself.
Jaw dark with five o’clock shadow, the handsome, stately man’s eyes were still, unfortunately, glassy from alcohol abuse, and his hair, slicked back with the help of cheap pomade and an equally shoddy comb, had started to lighten at the temples, the first signs of graying. Considering he’d spent who even knew how many years drinking in a neck-deep depression, he should count himself fortunate he’d aged as well as he had, really. The strap of his sniper rifle almost slipping from his left shoulder, the blood-spattered hand cannon barely lingering in his right, Booker slowed to a stop once he’d entered the airship, giving the interior a quick glancing left and right, checking his corners just in case Daisy had left some kind of “present” countermeasure in the event things didn’t go the way she’d planned.
Everything seemed fine and dandy, in fact, better than dandy; judging by all the medical tools and kits set up in a triage corner, Daisy’d used the place like a sort of field hospital. There should’ve been more than enough supplies to fix Booker back up, before the next step in their fight. The rest, meanwhile, was just the way he’d remembered it. The interior to the airship, all a regal splendour to match the rest of the Founders’ opulence, was full of polished mahogany furniture, royal blue rugs, American flags, and even an apparently-ceremonial statue of Comstock, himself, all dressed to the nines in his military blues. Booker had to wonder if the First Lady had ever actually had a chance to appreciate it for herself, or if it’d all been more for Comstock’s benefit as a symbol.
In the end, though, it didn’t matter. The man would die, sure as the sunrise. More importantly than that, though...Booker let the heavy, engraved six-shooter slip from his fingertips onto a nearby table, then shucked off his rifle, wincing as he set it standing against the table’s edge. Looking towards his right side, he walked over to the double doors Elizabeth had disappeared behind and, instead of going for the handles, simply knocked, calling “Elizabeth, w...Would you just open the door? Please, come out!”
Silence. He didn’t think he could even hear her moving about, on the other side.
He waited a few moments, then tried knocking again, softer this time. Voice following suit, he more gently offered “Look...I’ve been there. I know, okay?”
Still more silence. Seconds passed before he made out the sounds of her feet, coming a little closer to the door.
Booker waited for her to answer or even to just open the doors, but after a few more moments, he looked back over his shoulder, checking on the flight controls to the airship. Damn things might as well have been plated with gold, he thought. If Elizabeth wouldn’t come out, he might as well get this show on the road and start sending the airship for a destination, but...Instead, he made a choice. He grit his teeth for a moment, then looked back at the doors. No, this was more important. Elizabeth needed him, now.
Daisy’s Vox Populi forces had already slaughtered basically everything Fink could’ve used to protect himself with, and Booker, then, had all but massacred all the Vox. What else could threaten them or their escape? They had time...Enough to talk, a little. Enough for him to try and stop her from feeling that same guilt and shame he’d always felt, time enough for him to try and say the things he might’ve benefited from hearing, himself. He didn’t try knocking, again. Instead, he stepped a little closer to the door, himself, resting his branded hand against it, facing the crack where both the doors met together.
“I know what you’re feeling, right now,” he offered, quietly. “I know it’s not easy...It never gets any easier, and...You shouldn’t want it to. But, you’ve got to know that if it wasn’t for what you did, Daisy would’ve killed that boy and never even had a second thought about it. If she ever did, it would’ve been far too late to do a damn thing about it, I...”
Booker paused, weary face falling all the wearier. Where was he going, with this?...What point was he trying to make? He’d started out thinking he knew, but now he was faltering.
“...I just want you to know that...Daisy made her choice. Nobody forced her to hold that gun to that boy’s head, and you did the only thing you could’ve done to stop her. You made the choice to save a life. I know that...That doesn’t really make it any easier, but...I want you to know that I don’t blame you, and I don’t think any sane man or woman ever would. You’re not like Comstock, and you never will be.”
“...I stabbed her in the back with the first thing I could find, Booker,” Elizabeth finally answered, voice weak, twisting with the tears he could imagine in her eyes.
“You did what you had to,” Booker placated, softer still. “It was either that, or we watch her kill the kid and then fly off in our only ticket out of here. You stopped a lunatic from going any further over the edge than she already had.” Teeth gritting a little, a sting hitting his eyes, he added “That’s better than I can say...You’re not your father, Elizabeth. Don’t ever forget that.”
Elizabeth didn’t answer, for a few moments. Just as Booker was beginning to wonder if he’d said all he could and should just leave her to herself, he heard the doors unlock. Slowly, he let his hand slide back down from the wood. A couple seconds later, it was timidly easing open, revealing the woman he’d come to Columbia to smuggle back out: the Lamb, beautiful but for the tears in her blue eyes, sporting an all-new look.
After wiping off the scissors she’d used to end Daisy’s rampage, she’d cut the ponytail in her black hair, shortening it to a jaw-length bob. The clothing she’d been wearing ever since their escape from Monument Island, torn and tattered like his had been becoming, had been completely swapped out in favour of something she must’ve found in the bedroom dressers: a long, beautiful navy blue dress, cinched overtop with the white corset she’d kept from the old ensemble. Her features were soft, her eyes big and honest, cute button nose going with pouty lips...And, she always wore her feelings on her sleeve.
Really, she was...Gorgeous. Beautiful and a little frightening, truly. She looked so little like the paintings of her mother, but in that dress...
Although she’d opened the door, Elizabeth couldn’t meet his eyes. Eyes down near the floor, she mumbled “Booker, how do we...How do we move on from the things we’ve done?...How do we forget?”
Booker watched her eyes climb back up to his as soon as he started speaking. “You don’t...You just learn to live with it. You don’t have a choice but to keep it from destroying you.”
Something about what he’d said must’ve resonated with her, because those tears she’d been trying to hold back finally brimmed and started down her cheeks. Lip quivering, she slipped through the doorway and grabbed at him, pushing her forehead to his chest as she wept. Booker tried to take her into his arms, but moving the injured one was an exercise in agony, and he couldn’t help wincing and hissing. Hearing the noise almost seemed to pull Elizabeth right back out of it all. Quicker than she’d come, she pulled back so fast she nearly jumped away from him, eyes wide and wet as she focused in on his gunshot wound.
“Oh, G-God, I completely forgot-”
“Elizab-”
“No, it’s okay, everything we need is r...Look, it’s all right here! I can do it,” she insisted, putting on a big, shaky smile as she took his hand. Leading him by his uninjured arm, she wasted no time, guiding him to the field hospital Daisy’d set up. Pulling a chair over, she pushed Booker to sit, but naturally, he kept protesting.
“Elizabeth, really, you don’t-”
She fixed him with a look of muted desperation, as if denying her help would have her cracking all over again. In a small voice, she pleaded “Let me. Please.” Raising her eyebrows, she insisted “I know how. Let me help you.”
Seeing that look in her eyes, hearing that sound in her voice, had him relenting in an instant. After a moment, he gave her hand a gentle squeeze, then slowly let go. “...Okay,” he agreed, something that immediately put a big, relieved smile on Elizabeth’s face. Lips giving a quiver, she huffed out her jitters in half a sob, the tension in her posture assuaged almost immediately. She knelt in front of him and, as carefully as she could, helped ease his suit jacket off of his shoulders, pulling down the sleeve of his injured side just enough to better expose his wound.
Of course, even that motion had him wincing and going pale with pain, so after unbuttoning and opening his vest, she reached for a fresh pair of surgical scissors to simply cut open his undershirt, to slice away the bloodied section by his collar bone until she could expose his injury. Once she’d exposed the reddish, discoloured, fist-sized bruise in his shoulder, once she could lay eyes on the hole that carbine round had torn through him, Elizabeth was looking a hint pale, herself. Still, she smiled as serenely as she could. Reaching for a medical kit, she gently reassured “Okay, this won’t take long...I studied medicine for years, in that tower. I’ve never really had a chance to apply it, before, but...!”
Booker smiled. By that point, he’d trust her implicitly.
“...There,” she breathed, finishing up the last of the stitches. Booker gave the closed wound an inspection once her hands were away, looking over her surprisingly neat needlework. Thanks to the pain-numbing antiseptics she’d applied, not so much as a wince lingered on his face, in fact, a smile even crept in and stole the spot. It’d be a little tough using his rifle, but he could still manage with his cannon and Tonics, at least. Should’ve been more than enough to handle whatever they might’ve had to deal with, going forward...Short of Songbird, anyway, at least. How in God’s name did he plan on handling that thing? Would a rocket even bust that thing’s armour?
He looked back over as she stood up in front of him, noticing the expectant look on Elizabeth’s face, the anticipation masking the anxiety over his reaction, the fear that he’d disapprove and had seen better. Instead, Booker smiled at her, dryly joking “You did good. You sure you’ve never had a chance to work on anything, in that tower?”
Elizabeth broke out into a grin and suppressed a relieved chuckle, eyes briefly drifting away from his at the praise. Pressing her lips a little tightly together for a moment, she met his eyes, again, as she sheepishly cooed “No, I...I guess I’m just good at memorizing what I read, then...Heh, applying it.”
Booker found his smile growing from ear to ear, something that only seemed to have Elizabeth looking all the more shy. The warmth in his chest at first going unperceived, unnoticed, Booker gave the stitching another quick glance, a subtly amused undercurrent to his voice as he observed “I’m serious, I saw worse work from the registered docs in the Infantry. You...” He trailed off for a second, finally noticing the way she met his eyes in a gaze, the way her smile was widening. “You did good, Elizabeth. This is great work, I barely feel it, anymore.” With a more sincere chuckle, he remarked “I’ll just try not to let anything get past my shield, from now on.”
Elizabeth forced a little frown in a transparent bid to resist a grin. Half playfully, half a warning, she remarked “You know I’ll hold you to that, mister DeWitt.”
He felt like commenting one last time that she could just call him Booker, but instead simply let it go. Making a show of looking over his shoulder at the flight controls, he commented “...Well, we might as well get a move on. I’ll roll some bandages on, in a minute. We can go anywhere, with this thing.” He had been about to reach for his guns, again, when he noticed Elizabeth’s hands subtly flexing, just barely squeezing before relaxing. A moment later, she suddenly knelt down in front of him, putting her hands over his knees for support. He met her eyes in a hint of surprise, taken aback not just by the worried look that had sprung up on her, but undeniably the top-down view of her corset, dominating his peripheral vision. God, that dress...Left little to the imagination. She was, ahem, certainly beau-
“Booker,” she said, a fine firmness to her tone, halfway between demanding his attention and pleading for it. Arching her eyebrows a little, she more softly asserted “I just want you to know that, no matter what happens, I don’t...I don’t regret a thing.” A smile breaking out across her face, she added “You got me out of my tower. I can’t help feeling like I’ve been more alive over these last few days than all the years I spent locked up in that...Gilded cage. And, it’s all thanks to you. I just wanted you to know that, before I...Lost the nerve to say so.”
Her cheeks started to bloom with a hint of rosy pink, but more than that, her eyes started going a little dewy, again. Now, Booker started waking up to the feeling in his chest, the increasing tempo of his heartbeat, the way everything that wasn’t her began drifting out of his thoughts. This time, it wasn’t her who placed her hand over his, but rather the other way around. He didn’t feel particularly confused, but after so much time since Annabelle’s passing in childbirth, he supposed he’d come to assume he could never feel that way, again...That he didn’t deserve it. Why would a man such as he, who’d done the things he’d done, deserve to have that feeling, to find himself coming to care about someone so much that he’d go through Hell to keep her safe, that he’d turn on his debtors just to get her the better life she deserved?
“I don’t regret a thing about Columbia, either...Well, I regret any of this madness ever happened, to begin with,” he joked, something that had her breaking out into a huff of a chuckle, the dew in her eyes escalating, “but...I don’t regret trying to stop a man like Comstock, and I don’t regret helping someone like you get away from him. You deserve better, I...”
Elizabeth’s lip and chin started trembling. She waited a moment for him to finish, but when the first teardrops began rolling down her cheeks, she just breathed “I love you, too.”
Booker’s eyes widened a little, his vision beginning to blur as the sting came back. She pulled open his knees and fell between them, wrapping her arms around his waist in a tight hug, burying her face into his chest. He tried not to notice the feeling of her bosom pressing into his lap, but...God, she was...She was just so beautiful, and she’d never been so close, before-
He put his arms around her shoulders, one hand coming up to the back of her head as he embraced her back, feeling the shaky way her shoulders rose and fell, quick and erratic as she tried not to weep. He tried again and again to say the words, tension knotting tighter and tighter in his mind until, at last, there was a still, an internal calm. The words came out almost without his assistance, let alone recognition: “I...I do love you...”
Slowly, he felt her tilt her head back, lifting her chin until she could look up at him. Cheeks streaked with twin shines, she eased up the hold she kept around his waist, watching his eyes. He brought a hand over and held her chin with his finger and thumb, gazing back into her’s as he quietly insisted “...And I will not let that man have you, for any reason. You can trust I’ll see this through. Nothing’s going to stop us from getting out of here...You deserve better.”
Elizabeth’s lips barely parted, but whatever she might’ve been trying to find the spirit to say, she couldn’t get out. Her eyes flicked down from his, rose back up, dropped, rose...When Booker tilted her head back a little, her eyes looked all the more open, expectant, vulnerable. When he left his hand on her shoulder and started leaning over, he could see her eyelashes flutter, almost feel the way she was holding her breath. He let his eyes close along the way, and when his lips met her’s, the shared pounding in their chest had them both taking a breath to steady themselves, the euphoric reward to all the anticipation putting a shudder down their spines...Yet, leaving behind even more, in turn.
Her answer was timid, at first. He kissed her again, however, and the second time around she was more eager, more explorative. Her hands lingered over his lap, fingers slowly tightening so he wouldn’t go, so he’d stay right there with her. His hand slid from her shoulder to the side of her neck, thumb by her ear as he kissed her a third time, then a fourth. The fire already burning inside, stoking itself higher and higher with the unspoken freedom to touch each other, had the both of them breathing harder by the second. Booker could feel himself on the verge of shaking with adrenaline, with excitement, of the raw need for another tempered by caution. God, even after everything they’d been through, she smelled like an angel. He didn’t even care to try and understand how or why, too busy was he grappling with the inferno it surged.
When their lips parted, Elizabeth took the opportunity to pant “Booker, I don’t know what I’m doing...”
He misinterpreted her meaning, quietly confiding “Neither do I, but I don’t care, anymore.”
He kissed her again, but then she clarified, trying not to mumble around her heavy breaths. “No, I...I-I’ve never read about this, before...I’m going off pure instinct, y-you-”
Ahh...Of course. He caught her meaning, now. He tilted her a little closer to himself, bringing his arms around her until his hands could find the laces cinching up her corset. Tugging at the strings, slowly loosening it up, he murmured by her ear “It’s okay, I’ll show you...”
He could hear her swallow to steady herself, but her hands never left his lap. She bowed her head a little closer towards his chest, signalling he could keep going with her corset. He didn’t need a second sign to show her how much he cared about her, how much he needed to have her know.
“...Here...Just follow my lead, okay?...”
“Okay...I trust you.”
Once the corset had come off, Elizabeth couldn’t stop blushing; it’d been the first time a man had ever seen her bare from the waist up, and it didn’t look like it’d be stopping there, either. The excitement rocking her core told her she didn’t want it to, but still, the fear of fumbling was potent. All the same, when he stood up from the chair, her hands couldn’t help but wander southward across him, dipping below his belt until she’d brushed across the firm shape stressing out his crotch. Seemingly taken aback by the size of it, or perhaps just the determination of it, so to speak, her hands froze for a moment out of surprise, but then she was gently squeezing, palpating, exploring with a rising giddiness, a mounting lack of control. Whatever all this was, she didn’t want it to end.
“Here...Sit on the table.”
Booker cleared away some of the clutter getting in the way with a careless brushing of his arm, then reached around Elizabeth with both, planted his hands over her round, tight rear and, with a gasp of surprise from the young lady, lifted her up against himself. She nearly lifted her legs around him out of instinct, but it didn’t take much more than a moment for him to turn her over onto the edge of the table, better lining the two of them up to satisfy their bubbling need. He kissed her again, hoping it’d ease whatever anxiety she might’ve been feeling, but in the end, he realized it’d been needless.
Before he’d even raised her knees or lifted her long skirt, she’d been reaching back down between them, rubbing at his loins, again, with an overpowering fascination, searching for his belt, his button, his zipper. She caught on quick; certainly, it was no unsolvable puzzle, but all the same he loved how much she listened to instinct and feeling. She wanted her freedom, all of it.
He let her explore a little, her glazing eyes locking on her hands as she watched herself pull open his belt, then pop his button. He took over then, sliding his pants down without standing on ceremony, tugging his boxers down until his mostly-hard lust could spring out. Elizabeth’s eyes widened, lips parting in a silent gasp as she drank in every detail. She stared, utterly transfixed for a few seconds, soaking in how it looked, how the colour darkened as he finished stiffening up, how coming out into the air sped it along into wrapping up the surprising growth spurt. “W-Wow...”
Booker gave a bit of a breathless smile, eyes half-closed, confident and laidback all at once. “Here, let’s get you up...There we go...”
He guided her legs, lifting her knees until he’d opened her up like an “M,” putting her heels to the edge of the table. Lifting up her skirt until he could push most of the fabric past her knees and into her lap, he watched her face ignite to a new shade of crimson at the breeziness high between her thighs, but in a moment, he’d closed the gap with his body. Guiding her to hold onto his shoulders and lean back, a pose all the better to line up her pelvis with himself, he brought one hand down between them and pressed it up against her panties, feeling the damp heat her dress had caught, the supple mound underneath the silky material, the dark ridge exposed through the fabric thanks to the inferno inside her. At his touch, her chest barely jumped with a petite gasp, but if anything, her eyes went all the more doe-like.
They’d already been breathing heavy, but things only escalated when he slipped her panties aside and gave her lips a little petting, feeling the way her blushing womanhood shifted under his touch, how her peach oozed all the more needily at the stimulation, this very first time a man had ever lain hands on her. Elizabeth couldn’t hide the way he made her feel, couldn’t resist closing her eyes and relishing it, soaking it all in until he’d brought his thumb to her button and given it a waving, darting his print back and forth across her pearl until she’d hissed a gasp between her teeth. He stopped, then, watching with a giant smile the way she only slowly opened her eyes, looking up at him with an invigorated want, a surge of enthusiasm.
“Booker...!”
“I know,” he murmured. At that, she mirrored his beaming smile.
He eased his hand away, came over her a little more, and put a hand down to the table by her side, using the other to line up his hot lust with her waiting honeypot. He closed a little more of the distance, letting the rounded end to his manhood nuzzle up against her plump lips, the both of them unable to help the sight transfixing them. He rolled his hips a little, letting his swollen helmet slide across her cleft until he’d rubbed across her button, and as soon as her soft pelt of pubic hair tickled his end, he withdrew, lining up another gentle, frotting rub across her nether lips. The both of them breathing a bit deep, her through her nose and he through the crack his lips were parted into, they endured the teasing, the almost-indulgence. God, they were so close, now...
The more red he grew, the stiffer he grew, the hotter he felt against her, the more he pulsed with anticipation; all helped glaze Elizabeth’s eyes nearly to the point of crossing. She started looking up at him, biting her lip as she watched his face, loving the way he stared, loving the way she could make him feel. She’d never seen him like this, before: face flushed with colour, an open, honest wanting in his eyes, a measured neediness for comfort and succour. For the first time since they’d met, she couldn’t read any tension or apprehension in him...And, for once, she...She didn’t think she could feel any, herself. The realization dawning on her hit her so thoroughly, it felt dismantling, enough to nearly have her giving a little sob. They’d both needed this so badly, and probably hadn’t even realized it until that very moment.
Booker looked up, noticing the cherry red in her face, the dewy, glassy gaze she was casting up at him. She stopped biting her lip, her jaw barely slack, lips barely parted like an invitation. Keeping his weight on his uninjured arm, he leaned over her a little, their eyes closing as they shared a few gentle kisses, the rolling in his hips never stopping, the burn of his lust to her’s only growing all the hotter the longer it went on for. This time, the kisses were deeper, a little faster, a bit more insistent and enthusiastic on both ends of the equation. When he pulled back, her voice was small, almost meek: “That feels so good...I want m-more...Let me pleasure you, too!...”
“You already are,” he reassured, the brief grin on his face exposing the teasing.
She broke out into a giant smile, a quiet laugh going unsuppressed. “You know what I mean, Booker...Don’t make me say it, it’s embarrassing!...”
He tried not to laugh, himself, stifling the reaction with another passionate kiss to her lips. Okay then, no more teasing...She felt ready enough as it was, anyway. She proved him damn right when, as he leaned back and primed himself to press on into her moist pink, she brought a hand down, herself, palm over her black nether hair with two fingers framing her cleft. With a neat spreading of her digits, she’d exposed her oozing love tunnel, face burning crimson in spite of the quivery smile she maintained. There...How much more of an invitation could you hope for, mister DeWitt?
He looked down, nostrils briefly flaring, a reaction that had her giving a lighthearted giggle. He rubbed his moistened tip across her bare pink, lining himself up with his lover’s canal before pressing in a little, making sure he’d started slipping in before unhanding his tool. Still not wanting to put much weight on his injured side, he set his other hand down by her waist like the first, simply making sure he kept a good footing and left most of his weight on the other side. Before he could keep going, however, she’d brought a hand over, finding the one from his injured side. Draping her fingers across his, giving his hand a telling squeeze, he naturally lifted his hand from the table, letting her close her fingers around him...And, his around her’s, in turn.
He started easing his hips in, sliding himself a little closer against her. In seconds, he’d reached a point that put tension on her face, a squeezing in her fingers, but the earnest look in her eyes told him she didn’t want him to stop. He slid a little closer to her, provoking a subtle hiss of a gasp, a flicker in her eyelids before they’d dropped, a lift in her chin as her hand squeezed harder at his. A couple seconds passed in a still. Her chin briefly quivered, but she bit her lip to fight it. A teardrop rolled from an eye, but she opened them again, looking up at him with a dreamy, widening smile. “Deeper,” she urged, voice a warbling whisper.
Booker’s smile went from ear to ear, for a moment. What a little trooper, she was. “Okay...Just let me know if you want me to stop. Nothing’s stopping us from trying again later-”
“I can handle it,” she murmured, the dreamy look spreading from her smile to her eyes, now. “Let’s finish what we’ve started, Booker...”
He nodded, smiling serenely right back at her, stroking his thumb across the back of her hand. He started pushing a bit deeper, feeding more of his inches into his snug, silken love tunnel, pretty quickly provoking a tilt back in her head, a shuddering breath or two. He let go of her hand and brought his arm under her’s, holding her back in a bid to keep her close. She answered in kind, holding his arm with her free hand, hooking one of her legs around him on instinct, locking together their union. Closer together now, one step removed from him lifting her up and carrying her against his body as he had his way with her, Booker didn’t try going as deep as he could’ve before starting up a steady rocking motion. Slow at first, careful but steady and rhythmic, he gave her all the time she might need to adjust.
With him supporting her now, she brought her other arm up towards his shoulder, sinking her fingers into his hair until she had her hand over the back of his head. While he was looking down, watching the way his red, glistening battering ram split her blushing peach, sliding back and forth into her slick glove, she was watching his face, mindlessly soaking in every detail, every shift from the sensation, every moment that he was hypnotized by her body. Clinging to the sight, she burned it into her memory, hoping beyond hope she’d never forget this potentially solitary moment they’d both let go.
When he looked up to her face, they unwittingly switched places: while he gazed at her beautiful face, watching the way she bit her lip, the way the blush spread to her ears, the way those perfect breasts of her’s, capped off with stiff nipples, rose and fell with each deep breath...Her’s were down between them, transfixed on where they’d joined, the way his rigid cock slid in and out of her, the way his hips steadily pumped back and forth against her, the way her red, supple lips stretched wide around him, the way her love button stood firm like a buzzer just below her soft pubic hair. The mounting sensation of his raw heat running across her walls had her eyes sleepily falling shut, a strained groan of “Oh, Goood” catching in her throat. Booker, the dampness of sweat already collecting across his back, gave a big smile and a hummed chuckle.
They went quiet but for the occasional groan or mumbled exaltation. Elizabeth alternated between leaving her eyes closed and watching the action, giving him one of her silent gazes to keep him going, to let him see in her eyes how much she was enjoying it. Booker kept his eyes open, of course, trying to memorize every contour of her body, every nook and cranny he could finally see. Just when he thought Elizabeth might want to lie back, relax, and let him work for them both, she started looping both arms up around his neck, then hooked the other leg around him, too. Sitting up a little more at the edge of the table, she gave a flustered grin and a huff of a giggle, bringing her forehead near his chin as she breathed “That f...Feels so good!...I’ve never been on f-fire like this, before!”
“I can tell, you’re gushing inside,” he commented, giving a slightly deeper than usual thrust to hammer the point home.
Her eyelashes fluttered at the sensation, but then she puckered her lips and lightly blew against his face, a quick giggle catching in her throat as she gave him a mischievous smirk. He grinned a little, but he relaxed as her fingers stroked through his hair, rubbing across the back of his neck. She bit her lip a little, dipped her eyes from his for a moment, then gave him a bright smile from ear to ear. “Do I feel good, for you?...I’ve never f-felt like this, before, it...It’s jolting up my body-!”
He flexed his meat inside her, getting it to give a great hop against the texture of her walls. “You feel amazing,” he confessed, reassuring her in an instant, another huff coming from her as dew filled the corners of her eyes. “I’m just trying to keep my cool so I don’t go overboard!”
Elizabeth drew in a shuddery breath as he started speeding up, ramping up the depth of his pumping. “W-Well, men and women were designed to drive each other wild, r-right? Now I know what that means - mmm...”
She cut herself off by guiding his head down a little closer towards her, her chin lifting and eyes closing until they’d shared one, two, then three passionate kisses. Booker slowed down for a few moments, partly to keep from interrupting the affectionate display, partly to give himself a few moments to calm down before he crept too close to the edge. An idea coming to him, he started grinning. With a steamy exhale through his nose, he started hilting her, something that provoked a guttural moan in his lover, a tense sound of satisfaction she couldn’t help but vibrate against his mouth. Once their lips had parted, he started grinning, a little.
“Do you want a chance on top?...”
“I...Yes, please,” she cooed, voice small.
“Okay...I’ve gotta warn you, though: I’m not far off...”
Now, she started grinning, a surge of excitement making her pull him in for one last kiss. “Let me take you there,” she breathed. How could he possibly deny her?
He slid his hands under her again, lifting her up against his body by her cushiony little buns, relishing the opportunity to fondle her derriere. He backed up a little, found the chair he’d been sitting in while she’d tended to his wound, and eased her legs from around him as he sat back down. With her sitting over his thighs, the two of them still sealed together lap-to-lap, Elizabeth let her dress fall down and cover them up as she got her feet positioned, trapping the heat of their lovemaking inside her own dress. Holding onto his good shoulder with one hand, the other finding one of his, she gave him a big, innocent smile, gently guiding him to lean back and relax while she took care of the rest.
Booker couldn’t stop a shiver from going down his spine. Her hot, moist embrace started slipping back and forth across his twitching need without his input, Elizabeth rocking her hips up and down until she had the thought to include gyrations, gently rolling her hips forwards and backwards at the same time. The grinding motions had the both of them shutting their eyes in sensitivity, their breaths sharpening, escalating.
“Bookerrr,” she panted, little more than a whisper of ecstasy.
“Don’t stop, Beth,” he encouraged, holding her thigh, her tush.
Hearing a nickname had her giving in, inside and out. She sped up a little more, her hip motions turning erratic like their breathing, speeding up in an animal-like disregard, a wanton need for the climax to all the build-up he’d created inside her. Booker listened to the way her breaths grew louder, heedless to the way his own was all the more ragged. He’d needed this so badly, and hadn’t even been paying attention. The burn in his loins scorching throughout his entire body, tensing every muscle, pulsing with every slip of her flexing walls down his tip and across his shaft, she kept riding him until she’d brought him to the very brink, then...
Sitting down hard over his lap, she threw her head back, chin trembling as she grit her teeth. Expression shifting in the delightful agony of ecstasy, voice tense and squeaking, she whimpered her way into her finish, her clamping walls squeezing all the more eagerly as her body burned. Her legs shifted uncontrollably, thighs clamping against his as she tried shutting her legs, the electric tingle popping stars behind her eyes. Booker’d almost been at the end, himself, teetering right at the brink when she’d stopped...However, the flexing and gripping of her love tunnel was all the push he needed to finally have his ardour spilling over.
“Beth, pull-”
He tried warning her, but something told him she’d known precisely what she was doing from the very start. The heat between them blooming twofold, he tried to bite back a moan, breaths escalating to panting as his ambrosia poured. Elizabeth took a sharp gasp at the way he jumped around inside her, twitching like mad as his load came shooting with enough volume to paint her walls ivory, his thick need coming free with enough force she could feel the spurts collide against herself, deep inside. At first, she looked stunned, eyes opening in shock before fluttering back shut, a giant smile crossing her as a deep, shivering sigh of contentment drifted out of her. Yes...Give her all of it.
She kept sitting over him until it was over. At first, she couldn’t decide if she wanted to put her arms around him and hold onto him, to hug him as long as she could like the anchor he had become, or to take his hands into her’s and just kiss him, to tell him again how she loved him, needed him, couldn’t do without him, anymore. In the end, he helped her settle on a compromise. Bringing his arms around her waist, holding her close by the small of her back, she held his arms near his shoulders as she rested against him, the two of them nuzzling the side of each other’s necks in a cuddle.
“I love you,” she breathed. “No matter what happens...”
“I love you, too,” he asserted, giving the side of her neck a light kiss before putting his chin over her shoulder. “And I’m not gonna give you up for anything in the world...”
...At long last, the Siphon was destroyed, removing the leeching collar Elizabeth had long been shackled with at Comstock’s command. Infinite doors opened, each with infinite possibilities for every possible variance in every possible timeline. As her powers were fully unveiled, her hair briefly went stark white, and as Songbird came charging in one last time...Booker sensed her hesitation, the sudden realization locking her up. All the same, she opened a Tear at will, let her inhuman warden charge through it to his watery doom, then pulled open a separate one for herself and Booker...
“Elizabeth, where are...?”
“That...Isn’t my birth name...Booker...”
The world slid back into focus. Booker and Elizabeth stood side-by-side, holding hands back in a place he’d revisited in his subconscious multiple times since arriving at Columbia: his private investigator office, ramshackle and threadbare, facing a doorway he’d never opened, one leading up to...A crib. A crib.
Booker swallowed. No, that wasn’t...This wasn’t right, that wasn’t how he remembered it-
Elizabeth stood even more stock-still. The tension and anxiety he’d sensed earlier on had come back, twofold. Mouth gaping a little, eyes a little wide, she quietly uttered “I was...I was named after my mother. My real mother...Annabelle. My name...M-My name’s Anna.”
Booker blinked. He lifted his right hand, looking at the A.D. he’d long ago branded into his own flesh. Now, his mouth started gaping, too. All at once, everything made so much more sense...And, hindsight was...Embarrassing. Oh, God, they’d...They’d actually...But...!
He and Elizabeth both looked over at each other, their faces flushing to a sweltering red. In a flash, they’d let go of each other’s hand. Booker couldn’t remember ever feeling quite so tense or uncertain in his entire life, and for Elizabeth, the humiliation and awkwardness was enough to put dew in her eyes. Good God, the things they’d said, the feelings they’d shared...They’d been so real at the time, and now...
After few long, silent moments, Booker quietly started to laugh, and eventually, Elizabeth joined in. Slowly, they fell into a hug, together.
“You didn’t know,” she tried to reassure.
“Neither did you,” he murmured, rubbing her over the back. “It’s okay. Neither did you...”
~~End of Piece~~