One week came and went, with Killer’s condition steadily improving as the days wore on. At least, that’s what you’d taken from the fact that he hadn’t shown up in your infirmary since you’d patched him up. That, or the sheer awkwardness of your encounter while he was concussed kept him from visiting as he normally would for the sake of his own health.
You hadn’t forgotten what happened, and while concussions often left their sufferers with temporary confusion and disorientation, it typically didn’t cause memory loss, so you were certain that Killer also remembered what had been spoken between you. As if that made things any better.
It was a bit saddening, to have the image of him saying such words straight to your face, but knowing that it was done in a moment of cognitive instability. You had long since accepted that they held no value other than to serve as an embarrassing memory further down the line. That didn’t mean it hurt any less.
You didn’t hold it against him. Really, you didn’t. If anything, it was your fault that you couldn’t let go of the irrational desire to wish for something that wasn’t possible. Shame on your yearning heart.
You steeled your heart when you heard a knock on your infirmary door. Closing your eyes with a breath before calling for who you anticipated it to be to enter. And as expected, Killer opened the door and stepped inside.
“Killer.” You greet, careful to keep your tone neutral yet friendly as it always was. You even manage a half-decent smile. “How are the stitches?”
“There’s no pain anymore.”
“Good. Take a seat, and we’ll see about getting them removed.” You say, gesturing to the exam bed.
He closed the door behind him and took up residence in his usual spot. Despite feeling internally tense, you kept your outward expression calm and pleasant. If you could get through this first visit without making things incredibly awkward, it would be smooth sailing after that.
Without prompting, he removed his helmet and placed it beside him on the sheet. You were happy to see the fog and confusion absent from his eyes. Of course, it was difficult for you to look at them for long without catching glimpses of the awe they had held in them before, and so you quickly looked away, using the excuse of preparing your equipment for removing his stitches.
Things were quiet, as usual, as you began taking out the small threads one by one. Except now, the silence seemed heavy. Each breath, each shift of his arms, and every creak of the bed seemed amplified, especially as you leaned closer and shifted some of his blonde hair away to reach his healed wound. It was a miracle you weren’t shaking.
Your fingers were gentle, careful not to agitate the no doubt still-tender edges of the wound. You tried not to zero in on the softness of his hair as you moved it aside to clip the stitches you’d carefully applied over a week ago.
Having applied and removed perhaps hundreds of stitches in your time aboard the Victoria Punk, you were finished remarkably fast. With the remnants of the threads placed in a small dish at your side, you set down your tweezers and small surgical scissors to look over the wound overall.
“Anything hurting?” His eyes shifted down, thinking, before they returned to your face. His head shook minutely a negative response. “Then, you should be mostly healed up. Just give it another week or two for the wound to fully close.”
“I will.”
“I release you from my care, then.” You say, a smile sliding onto your features as you pick up your equipment and place it on your desk. You’ll clean them later, once he left the infirmary. Things were starting to feel much more comfortable, the awkwardness not so crippling as to ruin the atmosphere.
“Try not to be thrown through anymore buildings. I’m sure Kid won’t want to replace your helmet for a second time.”
“I don’t plan on it.” You hear him stand, though even after several seconds, there is no other noise. No footsteps towards the door. No sound of the handle being turned or the squeak of the hinge as it opened.
Frowning, you turn, only to gasp as Killer has placed himself much closer to your proximity than you expected. You step back, but he reaches up and grabs at your wrist, holding you close with his soft yet firm grip. Your question of what he’s doing dies in your throat when you lock eyes with that same, awed and adoring expression in his gaze.
Your treacherous thoughts betray you, and you feel the heat of your excitement paint your cheeks what could only be a bright red.
“Y/N…” He mutters, irises flicking back and forth over your face, as if searching for something in particular. And to top it all off, he reaches up to gently caress your cheek with one hand, his fingers splaying back to cradle your face. “My concussion’s gone, right?”
“Yeah…”
“Good.”
You open your mouth to respond, but Killer swoops in to close the distance between you first, capturing and claiming your lips with his in what you could only describe as a passionate kiss. Eyes wide, body tense, you stand there uncomprehending what was happening for all of two seconds, before instinct and desire kicked into gear.
You feel him growl with satisfaction as you fist the front of his shirt, dragging him closer with desperate intention. A low rumble audible only to your ears. His free hand snakes around your waist, pinning you flush against his muscled chest.
Your heart was soaring, sprouting wings and rising as a lump in your throat, beating uncontrollably fast as you kiss him back with everything you have. It wasn’t at all what you imagined in your occasional self-indulgent dreams, but you didn’t mind. This was even better.
Driven by your sudden and rough reciprocation, Killer shuffles you backwards until your ass hits your desk. You let out a noise of surprise, and he suddenly pulls away from yours lips. You instinctively lean forward, seeking his once again, before opening your eyes as you feel his hot breath against your lips.
“Do you believe me now?” His question is breathless, the look in his eyes telling you that he’s far from done if you answer as he hopes, pupils blown wide and consuming nearly all of his irises.
“Yes…” You mutter, letting go of his shirt to snake your arms around his neck and bring your faces that little bit closer. “I think I love you, too.”
His lips crush into yours with renewed vigor, and his strong hands slide down your hips to hook under your legs, hoisting you onto your desk. Stepping into the space between your legs, you’re suddenly cognizant of his hardened member pressed against your pants.
Your teeth accidentally click together, the desperation making your kiss sloppy and uncoordinated. There’s a sense of urgency in the way you pull at each other’s clothing. You can’t imagine another moment without feeling his toned skin beneath your fingers.
Your shirt is literally ripped from your body, the remains of which Killer tosses to the floor without care. Your bra is next to follow, though thankfully he doesn’t destroy that piece of clothing. Lacking the strength to tear at his in return, you simply lift it over his head and free his hair from the collar, returning your lips to his with passion.
Your fumbling fingers work on the button on his jeans, shaking and eager to feel his warm flesh. You hum as his calloused fingers squeeze and knead your now-exposed breasts, making you arch into his touch. Somewhat distracted from the pleasant tingling his attention sends to your lower heat, you manage to unzip his pants and shove them down lower on his hips.
The moment you grasp his hardened member in your hands, he pulls back and rests his forehead on yours, letting out the most erotic-sounding moan. The fact that it had come from Killer, of all people, made it that much more of a turn on.
And as you begin rubbing him gently, fingers wrapped lovingly around him, he pants with a look of total concentration on his face. Eyes squeezed shut and brow furrowed.
“Y/N…” He groans out, letting his hips jerk forward to seek more of your touch. Mouths open and inches apart, you feel every strangle breath as you pleasure him. The intense feeling of desire overwhelms you, and you kiss him with a ferocity that he matches.
You have a sudden thought that any of the crew could wander in here looking for medical assistance and come across the erotic scene you’re both enacting. But in the cloud of lust swimming through your veins, you can’t be bothered to care.
Maybe you both realize the same thing, because there’s a shift in pace. Killer frantically zeroes in on your own pants, shoving them off of you with some of your assistance and a little bit of shimmying on the desk. You’re practically hyperventilating in anticipation, eyes glued to his thick cock, wondering how it would feel to be filled completely.
There’s no question of preparation, you’re plenty wet from the build-up alone, and after only one slide through your soaked folds, he’s entering in one hard thrust.
“Oh, fuck…” You mutter in a whine, arms and legs wrapping around him tightly as he bottoms out in your dripping cunt. “Killer, you’re so-”
He cuts off anything you were trying to say, too overwhelmed to hold himself back any longer, and begins thrusting into you without care. He groans at the way you squeeze him, your pleasured moans right in his ear.
It’s even better than all the wet dreams he’s had about you all this time, the way your thighs lock around his hips and pull him in as deep as he can go, the slick of your core, so hot and wet, and your breasts rubbing against his heaving chest. He’s lost in you. Kid could walk right in and he wouldn’t give a damn, too far gone now to stop chasing that high.
Cries and moans loud enough that the whole ship could probably hear, you beg for more. A mantra of curses and his name pass your lips, sounding more desperate and needy the closer you came to falling over that edge.
Your nails sink half-moons into his back, and with a stuttering groan and a particularly sharp thrust of his hips, he’s spilling himself inside of you. The thought alone sends you over the edge, and you tense your walls around him, milking him for every last drop.
The infirmary is plunged into a thick silence, broken only by your panting, breathless sucks of air. Your bodies shake against one another, the sweat lining your skin drying and becoming rather uncomfortable after the fact. Though neither of you are willing to pull away.
Foreheads resting against one another, you look into each other’s eyes. And for once you welcome the adoration and awe that fill his expression without looking away. You’re sure your own gaze is reflecting back that deep emotion. And where you saw confusion before, there was only perfect clarity.
You’d never been more sure of what he–or you–felt.
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