Archive of Our Own ^beta

"We don't have to talk about it."

"Shut up."

Deacon puts his watch back on his wrist. He pauses, looking down at his hands. They're shaking. That's bizarre, isn't it? He's a member of LAPD SWAT. He runs into gunfire and explosions for a living. Cheating on his wife should be nothing, and yet—

Yet, his hands shake.

He casts a look behind him. Donovan lays on the motel bed, careless as careless can be. He traces his fingers through the come on his chest as if his body were a canvas upon which to smear it for posterity. The sheets sit low on his body, low enough that Deacon can see the cut of his hips, and the thin patch of hair leading toward his cock.

He's a beautiful temptation, and Deacon has eaten the poison fruit enough for one day.

He finishes lacing up his boots rises to his feet. "Don't come out immediately after me."

"Yeah, yeah, I know the drill."

He can hear the smirk in Donovan's voice and it's infuriating. He doesn't know if he wants to kiss him about it or punch his teeth down his throat. He settles for doing nothing at all and hates himself a little more.

"This can't happen again."

Donovan hums. "Tell me another one."

Deacon looks at him. For once, Donovan looks painfully serious. They're not in the business of lying to each other, can't be. Not in this job, not when they need to trust each other enough to walk into battle together. It's why all their coworkers know about this thing between them. No one talks about it, and when Annie shows up, they're all decent enough to pretend they don't know, but they know.

So when Donovan says that this thing will happen again, Deacon knows he's not lying. He really believes it. What's worse is that Deacon believes it too.

"I'll see you at work."

"David."

"No." His hand tightens around the door handle. "It's Deacon at work, and David at home, and last time I checked, we ain't home." He hears the venom in his own voice but he's too tired and too angry to retract it. He turns to look at Donovan but instead of looking wounded or angry, Donovan just looks annoyed.

"Fine. Deacon, then. You're forgetting something."

"I'm not going to fucking kiss you goodbye if that's what you're looking for."

Donovan scoffs and then something hard and solid is floating through the air. It hits him in the temple and then clatters to the ground. Deacon stares down at it, a knot in his stomach.

"It's your wedding ring, asshole."

Ah, there's the anger. Deacon welcomes it.

Donovan gets out of bed. His movements are sharp and jerky as he pulls his shirt over his head. "You know, I figured you didn't want to explain to the missus why you didn't have it on you, but that's my mistake. Maybe I shouldn't assume. God forbid I forget my place as just a convenient piece of ass, right?"

Deacon stoops to pick up his ring. He turns the band over between his fingers, surprised and angry by the hot rush of tears stinging his eyes. He made his decisions, he doesn't get to feel guilty about them now.

"Donovan—"

"No. It's Rocker at work, and Donovan at home, and last time I checked, we ain't home." He bullies Deacon out of the way and swings open the motel room door. "I'm leaving first. Don't follow me immediately."

He slams the door behind him, hard enough to rattle the generic paintings on the walls. Deacon stares at the door. He closes his eyes and leans forward until his forehead kisses the cool metal. He listens to the sound of Donovan's car roaring to life, listens to him peel out of the motel parking lot like the devil is on his heels. Only when it's quiet again does he open his eyes.

He looks down at his hands.

At least they've stopped shaking.