Sunset

Summary: Marcus finally gets some deserved downtime and has to face a lot of closed off emotions he'd never had time to deal with before. Spoilers for Jacinto's Remnant takes place a month afterward, Anya/Dom friendship/hurt/comfort Marcus/Anya SMUT

Rating: ADULT

A/N: There are going to be direct quotes from Jacinto's Remnant and Aspho Fields in this fiction. Also, for arguments sake, I say that there are 4 moons orbiting the planet Sera since B. Carmine made a comment in Gears 2 about Locusts coming from 'Risea' or one of the moons. So Triameed, Nitrovar, and CX8359 are moons of my own creation and are not cannon in the Gears universe since no other moons are named except for Risea (Although this may not be extremely important information, I am listing it anyway so people don't get confused).

A/N # 2: No one knows what happened to Marcus in prison, but it had to be something really bad, the memory recreation is all my own speculation. (Again, although this may not be extremely important information, I am listing it anyway so people don't get confused).

A/N # 3: I'd like to thank gnarled for looking this over for me and giving me constructive critique so that I could edit and change what did/didn't fit. Thanks so much!

XXXXXXXXXxxxxxxxx

Sunset; he hadn't been able to really just stand and look at one for longer than he could remember. All his focus had been trained to keeping everyone else alive around him and then himself. So much lost and so little gained, war was something he'd had so much experience in. Sighing softly to himself he looked out at the shoreline, watching the sun set beyond the horizon of ocean; the colors of orange, indigo, and red blending with the clouds and refracting off the water. Even out of all the destruction, there was still something beautiful.

Vectes had something to offer them, a place to call home, a place that could be home given time. However, the task at hand now had to be to make sure the remaining Locust never found them and keeping the stranded and the citizens from fighting each other. Peace would come, it would just take time. Slowly, bit by bit, this place would be the New Jacinto and life would go on for years to come.

Inhaling a deep breath, he took in the fresh air; void of smoke, void of chemicals, and void of the stench of rotting bodies. His lungs expanded, taking in the clean luxury and slowly he exhaled as he lowered himself to the grass underneath his feet. He sat, only a foot or two away from the edge of a small cliff and continued to look out as the waves crashed against the shoreline, the echoing slosh of water a welcome sound to his tired ears. His worn frame easing back on his elbows as he sighed softly once more in an effort to clear his thoughts.

It was one of the reasons he liked to stay busy, his thoughts kept a sprinting pace inside his head, each thought worse than the last, continuously gnawing on his self restraint. His gloveless fingertips gripped a few small tuffs of grass underneath his palms and slowly pulled up on them, the small string-like plants breaking underneath the strain as he grumbled to himself.

Marcus didn't want to think about them, didn't care to think about them; but he was sick and tired of avoiding the issues. The death of Carlos, the very first time he'd ever cried, his brother. They may not have been bound by blood, but they had been bound by something much stronger. He and his brother had shown him the meaning of true friendship and love; things that he'd tried and continued to try so hard to return. He promised to always look after Dom and he always would.

His father's death and his prison sentence tortured him at times. All because Hoffman had a score to settle was part one, the other part had to be his conscience constantly creeping up on him, flushing it out as he being his father and no matter what he had done he had to save him. However, the soldier in his mind constantly berated him telling him about honor, and duty. For this, he'd accepted the fate he'd been handed, stripped of his rank and left to rot.

Worrying about Dom because of the death of Maria would take a lot of time and patience to work through. He'd seen what those bastards had done to her; taken her life with no regard…she was practically a walking corpse; only animated by what ever leftover energy she had. It sickened him; sickened him beyond belief and he'd often look over at his younger brother and want to punch the wall at the injustice of it all.

Finally he'd have to deal with his own emotions running wild in his minds eye of a woman he'd been fond of since the time he'd served with the Twenty-Sixth Royal Tyran Infantry. The daughter of the late Major Helena Stroud, a woman who thought she walked in her mothers shadow but had a light all of her own. It was her voice in his ear that made him feel better, made him at ease. Her smile that lightened his mood considerably and he'd always look for her in a crowded room. Although he'd never tell anyone, somehow they always knew.

His mind went back to the conversations they'd had earlier in the relocation and his eyes closed as he pictured everything.

"I wrote." He heard her say as he shut his eyes, he remembered half the letters that the prison had seen fit to give him. He remembered staring at the small but legible handwriting on the page. Her words making him feel alive yet overwhelmed. "I got your message not to visit. But I wrote. Twice a week for four years. I'd have written daily if I hadn't thought you'd get pissed off with me." (1)

He remembered the rest of the conversation as he tried to keep his eyes forward and look professional. Hoffman standing by one of the vehicles and actually looking as if to flee…but all he did was turn his head as if to give privacy for the moment.

"But you can guess what was in them." He heard her say.

If one letter he had read had the context of them all then he could certainly guess. "Yeah."

"Well…that hasn't changed." The impact of her words stunned him. How could she still feel something for him? "It never has, and it never will."

A strangled sound escaped his throat; he tried to think of something to say but was struck empty. So he did the only thing he could, he nodded and turned back to face the vehicle and climbed aboard.

The sun was nearly set now, a gentle breeze passed over him as Risea and Triameed started to come into view. Right now it was spring going into summer, they wouldn't see Nitrovar and CX8359 until early autumn and up until mid winter. At times he wondered what they would've been able to name CX8359 if E-day hadn't have come to pass. It had been the last moon discovered before 1 A.E.

Shaking his head, he looked up at the orange and pale blue moons, Risea clearly outshining Triameed lighting up the sky and the pale stars were still as the sky started to fade to black. Unusually perceptive, he felt eyes on the back of his neck and turned to face the person who'd been watching him. Expecting to see Dom, he was surprised to see Anya in her off-duty clothing looking at him and then at the sky above them.

XXXXXXXXxxxxxxxxxxx

He'd walked out of the barracks just after his shift, she'd thought she'd find him in the bar in town, but it turned out that he'd taken off in a different direction. Anya knew that he'd barely ever get time to himself since he was always taking care of others. It was a trait she'd admired about him but often worried as well that he was stressing himself too much. She felt that she'd given him enough space since the last raid over two months ago and the following events of trying to help Dom, talk with Bernie, and take care of his own problems at the same time.

They continued their dance, one day he was okay even though his smile didn't quite reach his eyes, and the next he was barking orders and being the command officer that she'd come to notice more and more as time went by. This war had changed them all, some for the better and others for the worse. Everyone had lost something, but among the ones she knew, not had lost more than both Marcus and Dom.

She'd spotted Dom in a corner, nursing a beer, his face downcast, pictures spread across the table. It was a bad day for him, she could tell because as she'd approached the table he didn't even look up at her until she'd placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Bad day?"

His eyes connected with hers, tears in their depths but not falling, the surface clouded and still. "Yeah."

Anya sat next to him and her arm trailed down to rest on his forearm. "You haven't been able to properly grieve."

"It's hard." He replied softly, his voice strangled. "I have responsibilities to everyone else, but in order to do that I need to be level. There are days when I just see what I had to do."

Her hand clasped his and squeezed. "I know. But no one here thinks any less of you. You granted her peace Dom."

"Doesn't mean that I still don't feel guilty." He shook his head, wondering why the words wouldn't stop coming. "I keep telling myself that there was nothing more I could do, but I feel as if there was more."

All Anya could do was nod and look at her broken friend. She had talked to Bernie, Cole, and Marcus about it and they said the same thing. He was showing progress, but it would take a very long time. She knew it would take time, she just hoped that it wouldn't completely break him.

"I know you're looking for him. He popped in here to check on me and then he left. He's got a couple places he likes to think, the closest one is the small park in the center of town, and the other is the cliff overlooking the ocean about a twenty minute walk from the bar." Dom stated as he took a sip of his beer and picked up the portrait of himself, his brother Carlos, and Marcus. "He doesn't speak much anymore."

"I know. Marcus alone with his thoughts is a dangerous thing."

"He doesn't have to be alone."

"What do you…"

Dom held up his hand. "You know what I mean. You two have been dancing around each other for close to twenty years now. He knows it, you know it, hell I know it. You can't fault him for his past."

Anya digested the words carefully and the harsh reality was; it was true. Marcus' life wasn't easy, his emotions were always tightly held if never seen, and his parents weren't around for him to show him the possibilities. She remembered the awkward dinner conversation after they had returned from Aspho, the stiff way Adam asked about putting their medals in the museum. The way his emotions were hard to read. He was a man of science and duty first before he cared for his only son. It wasn't a wonder why Marcus clung so tightly to the Santiago's and it certainly wasn't a wonder why he'd joined the COG and became a soldier instead of a scientist. He wanted to live a life; he wanted to get his hands dirty.

Her eyes connected with the man across from her again, his eyes still pooled with tears that would not fall as he held a picture of his children. She nodded her thanks and squeezed his hand one last time before leaving him to his memories, Bernie passing her by with a nod and directly going to the seat she had just recently vacated.

Outside, the air was crisp; the summer moons were hanging over Sera, Risea being the brightest as always. She decided to skip the park since it was full at sunset and if he wanted solitude then the cliff would be the place he'd go. The orange glow helped her navigate the rough terrain until she came upon his hunched figure on the ground. He was leaning back on his elbows, his vision cast out to the ocean in front of him. Triameed was just in front of him, the blue reflection cast over the ocean.

In that instant she was back in the dining room in the Fenix estate, his father hovering over them in the lavish dining room, dinner long forgotten as he brought up the regimental museum.

"Are you going to loan Carlos's medal to the regimental museum?" (2)His voice seemed strained yet stiff.

"No sir." She heard Dom reply, his body completely close to his wife, comfort being given and taken equally. "I gave it to Mom and Dad. It's rightfully theirs now."

She then felt his gaze turn to her, his voice formal. "Anya?"

"No sir. It's all I have left of her and I won't late strangers stare at it. I've had enough public bereavement." Was her stiff reply as the professor backed down and apologized for his intrusion. She looked at Marcus then, the soft look in his light eyes giving her pause, but she wouldn't press the issue. This was and wasn't his world at the same time. He fit but he didn't.

She was brought back to the present when she felt his eyes on her. The pale neon depths trained on her figure, his expression hard to read, enhanced by the light of Risea behind her. He was wearing a dark colored t-shirt and a pair of off-duty COG issue fatigues, his legs were crossed at the ankles, right over left, the heavy boots still on his feet.

Her mind clouded, trying to think of what to say, but she kept drawing a blank. She knew she needed to fill the silence, but she was cautious, trying to pick her words carefully. All he did was turn back to face the ocean and she took it as a sign to join him. Anya knew not to sit too close, but just close enough to establish a conversation.

"Beautiful night."

"Yeah." He answered roughly, easing up on his hands and continuing to look out at the sky as far as the horizon.

"I talked to Dom." She began slowly. "He's doing better."

"It's gonna take time, but he's doin'." He remarked softly, his gaze met hers briefly before returning to the horizon. It had been the most he'd talked since ever, the only time she'd seen him engage in conversation was over plans with Colonel Hoffman and Chairman Prescott.

"How are you?" She finally asked. "We really haven't had much time to talk."

His jaw twitched briefly before he rubbed one of his hands behind his neck. "I don't know."

It was simple, honest, and more than she expected out of him. Her thoughts turned back to the ones that she was having when they visited the navel base a while after they first arrived in Port Farrall, her eyes again met his scars; her fingers seeming to have a mind of their own as she felt the indented skin underneath her fingertips.

The scar was smooth from the top side of his face towards the bottom of his jaw. She saw and felt him stiffen under her touch, his face turning towards hers and his eyes trained on her, but he never said anything. Not one word and she worried that she had over stepped her bounds until he did something she'd never thought he'd do. His hand flattened hers to his face, the deep part of the scar against her palm.

XXXXXXXXXxxxxxxx

He honestly didn't know how he felt. It had been the closest thing he could say and it was the truth. Everything seemed so surreal, so detached from reality and he continued to wait, his nerves on edge, for the other shoe to drop. It had been close to three months since they'd relocated from Port Farrall to Vectes, he still felt like a stranger.

That's when he felt it, light feathery touches across the side of his face. Fingertips tracing the scars he'd acquired behind prison walls, thoughts he no longer wanted to harbor, memories he had tried to make peace with. He'd seen things worse than the war inside that shit hole and he tried to block it out each and every day. Four years of screams, four years of torture, four years of beatings, fights, and illegal activities.

The worst, he recalled, was underground street fights. Their had been a cage in the basement of the penitentiary, eight feet high and it had covered half of the room, nothing lined the floor except for concrete. He'd been brought in, dragged by chains, cuffs digging into his wrists and ankles. The man that was his opponent had done something much worse than he had.

Inside the ring stood a bulging man of about six-five, almost three-hundred pounds. His head was shaved down, completely bald, a thick scar over his right eye followed by one going down his neck and over his chest down his left pectoral. Spectators started filling the room as he entered the ring, the chairs were cheap and one of the night guards had started collecting bets as he was shoved into the cage roughly and his cuffs were disposed of along with his shirt.

His eyes met the cold ones of one Luke Tilliangino, tried and convicted of murdering his wife, two children, and raping four young women. Tilliangino's eyes were so dark grey they were almost black, the pupils heavily dilated, more than they should've been, and he sized him up, making sure to note anything that would be in his favor. That wasn't going to be much.

The bell sounded in the side of the room and he took his stance, years of military training kicking in as Tilliangino rushed forward, his arms extended, his fists clenched as he tried to go for a full-frontal assault. He dodged easily, his feet swiftly moving as he used his momentum to slam him into the side of the cage, the impact rattling the ever-unsteady foundation to its limits. Without a second thought, he twisted his arm behind him, pressing him further into the metal surface and continued to twist his wrist.

The next move had him blindsided for only but a moment. Tilliangino stepped on his foot, a cheap move, and shoved him backwards to regain his own footing. Marcus ignored the crowd around him, they often booed him, it didn't matter what his opponent had done, in their eyes he was a traitor. He'd gained his footing a lot quicker than the bulk of a man in front of him, his right fist landed squarely, the uppercut jamming his jaws together sending him to the floor, blood spilling from his mouth as well as saliva. The mixture hit the floor below him as he spit out a few teeth. His stance closed in as he made his way to his feet once again. Marcus managed to dodge a few more punches before being nailed in the stomach, hard.

He resisted the urge to fall to his knees; he wouldn't give Luke the satisfaction. Huffing a few steady breaths, he again tightened his stance and watched as Luke started to act like the boxer he once was. He was fast, but he had six more years on him than Marcus did, which made him not fast enough to counter the sweeping kick that put him flat on his back.

His stance dropped to his left foot, bracing on his hands as he swept his right leg from left to right, the heel crashing into his leg from behind. Muscles strained in the low dingy lighting, sweat glistened across his skin as he quickly stood tall again, looking down at the man on the ground. Suddenly he saw a shimmer of metal, they never patted either fighter down so they were liable to bring in weapons with them, but this was something new. Something far more dangerous.

Luke had tried to gain the upper hand and had only managed small steps while he gained his footing once again, he had brought a razor with him, straight edged, obviously given to him by someone wanting to see blood. Marcus knew this straight away; he was usually always the one to bleed. He'd had enough scars lining his torso and back to prove it.

Before he knew what was happening, the razor had dug into his face, catching him off guard, but his system was coursing with adrenaline and he didn't feel pain, not yet. Banking directly into survival mode, he felt the edge slice into his face again as he backed up and then set a punch directly into the mans sternum, hard enough to stop his heart. The cracking of bone underneath his fist told him that he'd done his job as the man fell back, the bloody implement falling from his grasp.

The bell was a distant sound as the guards started collecting their winnings and passing out the money to the other winners in the group. It was then he felt the fire in the right side of his face and the corner of his upper lip, the blood slowly dripping to the side of his neck and down his chest. He remembered the doctor in the infirmary as he roughly patched him up, the deeper scar that lined his cheekbone sewn wrong and ended up the way it had.

Finally, he had managed to come back to the present and pressed Anya's hand flat against his face, the warm and cool surface of her hand causing him to shut his eyes. Words were not needed, and he hoped she wouldn't speak. He knew that he couldn't speak. All he wanted was to feel and it would finally happen, tonight in this very moment, because fucking hell Dom was right.

"I swear I'll never stick my nose in your private life again. But shit or get off the pot okay? I saw your face when you thought she was dead. And I know what too late feels like." (3)

He opened his eyes to connect with hers, the light from Risea his only guide as he leaned in and took her lips with his. They were chapped, a bit wind burned, but hell they were soft and moist. Everything and nothing he'd imagined at the same time as he cupped her cheek and then eased his fingers into her hair to pull it out of the tight bun she'd kept it in. The blonde strands fanned around his fingers as he put his other hand around her back and pulled her forward into his body.

A muffled moan was her only response as he felt her completely come undone and start to respond to him in earnest. Her fingers tangled in his hair, pulling off the bandana he wore, and fisting the raven strands, pressing closer to him. In an instant, he released her lips and trailed kisses down her neck, his teeth and tongue nipping at the taut skin, her body arching against his as he twisted and raised up on his knees; helping her follow suit.

Her hands released his hair and her nails trailed down the back of his neck towards the corded muscles in his shoulders. He moaned at the feeling, the scratching sensation, and eased her to the ground; his body on top of hers.

XXXXXXXXxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Anya found herself silenced at his actions simply because something about his gestures commanded it. Especially the look in his eyes, there was a heat to them that she'd never seen before. Sure, she'd probably seen lighter variations of it, but not this intense, this focused. Her body started to react instantly as he turned to face her and his lips pressed against hers. His kiss was gentle and rough at the same time. Years of pent up emotions coming forth and taking her by surprise as his hands automatically went for the tie that held her hair up and tugging it free. She felt his fingers run through the strands as his firm, but soft, lips teased her with a grace and friction she didn't know him capable of.

She tried to focus, desperately tried to focus, but it was in vain. The lips she'd always wanted to kiss were on hers, the man she'd always longed to be with was finally giving in and she was powerless to fight it, powerless to try and talk about it, just completely powerless to anything and everything around her except for the heat of his embrace as he shifted to his knees and pulled her close to him.

The heat and intensity remained as he tested the waters, his lips leaving hers to trail down her chin and to her neck, his teeth joining the mix as he nipped and kissed his way down the corded tautness. She was tight like a string as she removed his bandana and felt the soft hair bunch between her fingertips. His hair was softer than it looked, freshly washed by the feel, and she fisted it desperately as he switched sides, her fingers finally releasing it as she dragged her nails down the back of his neck and sunk them into his heavily muscled shoulders through the cotton of his shirt.

His lips met hers again and this time his tongue joined the mix, she opened her mouth willingly, her tongue meeting his and tracing along the scar that adorned his upper lip on the right side. She felt, more than heard, his groan as he lowered them both to the ground, his body a pleasurable weight atop hers. The grass was slightly moist, it had rained during the day and there were still a few lingering rain clouds over head as she looked towards the sky before closing her eyes.

Anya sighed softly as she felt the breeze wash over her skin, her shirt long ago undone, his lips caressing each scar that she'd acquired in the recent years. The stubble on his face an interesting contrast and she was sure she'd have a bit of burn to hide as he trailed his jaw from the corner where her neck and shoulder met down to her chest. She felt his hands enclose around her breasts, testing their weight and feel, squeezing at different pressures before leaning down and taking a hardened nipple into his mouth.

The heat and feel of his mouth over that soft flesh, his teeth nipping, his tongue tracing; had her arching into him for more contact. She wanted to feel him, feel his body underneath her palms. He continued to take great care in pleasuring her, his thumb and forefinger paying attention to her other breast as he continued to lick and suckle the left one. Her hands trailed down his back, her fingers tightly grasping his shirt and pulling it upwards. His skin was hot, firm, and so very taut; the muscles rippling as he flexed overtop her, automatically lifting and removing his shirt and tossing it aside to the pile of clothes that had been started.

Her eyes suddenly had a view of his torso lined with scars. Some deeper than others, others more faded. She traced them with her fingertips as he pressed their bodies together, sucking in a breath at the contact. His muscled frame enveloped her in warmth, his mouth again connecting with hers; the evidence of his arousal pressed against her core as she cradled his lower body between her thighs.

Her hips thrust against his involuntarily, a primal part of her psych calling out to him. She heard him groan against her lips as he answered her, his hips heaving in a heavy rolling thrust, the ridge of his erection bumping her clit.

"Anya…" He whispered hoarsely, his breath choppy against her neck as he nipped at the corded and tense area. Her nails dug into his back as he suckled and licked the skin, his teeth grazing along the surface.

XXXXXXXXXXxxxxxx

She was beautiful against the moon light, so utterly beautiful. All smooth soft skin, all pale and nearly perfect. He had removed her shirt moments ago and needed to feel her bare skin. He felt like an intruder, he felt unworthy. He eased into her, his lips connecting with hers, her hands cradling the back of his head. He felt his bandanna give way and her fingers slowly tangle in his hair.

He slowly sucked in a breath as he felt her tongue trace the scar on his upper lip, the gentle wet pressure dipping into the small groove causing him to stiffen up. Releasing her lips, he trailed down the side of her neck and towards her chest, feeling her arch against him.

Hard, to the point of pain, he then felt her hands start pulling his shirt up as he was slowly tending to her puckered pink tips. Giving each one in turn equal attention as her nails scratched up his back. Finally relenting to her silent request, he pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it to the pile before centering his body over hers and resting his hips in the cradle of her thighs.

His erection coming into direct contact with her heated core and he felt as she thrust into him. He couldn't help but answer her with a thrust of his own, the action stemming from his knees and rolling into her before he was finally able to settle himself. His lips immediately settled upon hers, flesh against flesh caused him to groan into her mouth before he trailed down her chin and then her neck.

Her scent intoxicated him, not the basic soaps that they used, but the underlying scent that was her. Refreshing, uncovered by dirt and debris, uncovered by perfume. He couldn't place the scent except that it was completely and utterly hers. Again he ground his length into her, trying to ease the pressure as he felt her lips connect to the side of his neck, teeth sinking into the skin, hands tangling into his hair.

"Anya…" He groaned softly, unable to control his reaction as he felt her fingers slide over his engorged flesh, taunting, teasing, pulling the zipper down and moving her hand inside the fabric to grip him tightly. Marcus couldn't help the fact that his eyes literally went crossed at the feel of her hand on his length. He jerked in her grip, his hands pressed into the ground on either side of her head as he connected his gaze with hers unable to form words.

Her grip was mercy and agony at the same time, he throbbed painfully and felt pleasure all at once. Finally, in an effort for self control, he removed her hand from his length and started to undress them both. He needed her just as she needed him and he was done with the denial, done with the selfishness, completely finished with the awkwardness.

Flesh against flesh against the cool grass, the light of Risea above, her beauty stunned him. For the first time in his life, his mind went completely blank, utterly silenced by the view before him. He was undeserving, unremarkable, and had more stains on his soul that she deserved to carry. Though here she was, laying before him, ready to receive him.

He kissed down the length of her body, again paying attention to her breasts, lathering each stiff peak with his tongue, worrying it gently with his teeth. She arched against him as he continued his journey, dipping his tongue in her navel and then trailing down to the spot between her thighs. His fingers parted her gently, his thumb tracing the soft nub of erectile tissue, spreading her essence, causing her to arch into him as he took a tentative taste. His eyes closed as it hit his tongue, heady and elemental. Earthy and fully natural, truly hers in every way and nothing had ever tasted sweeter. Her fingers tangled in his hair as he continued to pleasure her. Fingers further parting her folds; lips, teeth, and tongue teasing her to the brink. Long strokes followed by gentle suckling, then by a few hard nips here and there. She came apart, and he drank her down as if it'd be the only thing he'd ever have for the rest of his life.

His eyes again connected with hers as he licked his lips, her body still arched as she started to come back from her orgasm. His length still throbbed hotly between his thighs as he eased back up her body. Again he pressed his body to hers, his length settling between her folds, slick and hot, he groaned as he kissed her.

XXXXXXxxxxxxxx

She'd remember this, she'd always remember this. His blue eyes filled with fire, his body taut with tension as his muscles flexed and released while he crawled back up her body. Her breath still fell from her lungs in harsh pants from the pleasure he'd called from her body. Then he'd pressed against her, the full thick engorgement pulsating against her wet folds, the soft slick sound it made had her mind spinning.

Anya thought it was a dream, he couldn't be here with her, he just couldn't. It felt too good to be true, meant too much, and if it was a dream she feared waking up from it. His lips connected with hers again as he traced his erection through her heat, sliding smoothly and stimulating her, preparing her for what was next to come. He tasted of her and her mind reeled with the knowledge, it was unmistakable. It was too sharp for it to be a dream.

She couldn't remember ever feeling this alive, feeling this ache. Her fingers trailed down his torso, feeling the muscles tighten and release, feeling the soft puckered scars that lined a few places. Too hot to be a dream, too much to be a dream. Then she found his length again, gripped it in her palm, traced her thumb around the head as he bucked into her once more. His eyes on hers, his breath wheezing harshly out his mouth before he arched back and thrust forward. The cords in his neck tightened, sweat glistened on his brow as he fought for control, his bangs sticking to his forehead, eyes shut tightly, expression hardened.

In that moment, that single moment, she knew she'd never find anyone with as much passion as he had. Automatically her hand grasped behind his neck and pulled him forward, their lips connecting once again as he continued to thrust into her grip. Balance and speed, force and power, electricity crackled around them as he finally pulled her hand away and eased himself into her. As with everything he did, he overwhelmed her, filled her to the brim, bumping against her and bottoming out inside her. She grasped his shoulders and wrapped her legs tight around him as he collapsed atop her, his muscles barely able to hold him up as he eased his hips forward and back on instinct.

XXXXXXXXXxxxxxxxx

She was slick, tight, and hot. Her muscles milked him as he collapsed atop her, barely able to hold himself up at the sensation. She was a furnace, her heat penetrating him as he thrust forward again and again involuntarily. The last inches of his control had been pulled from him as he began the motions as old as time itself. She was a vision, pleasure and power, beauty in her flushed appearance.

Easing down, he again captured a taut peak between his lips and sucked hard before laving it with his tongue, paying attention to both as he continued the thrusts of his hips. She continued to arch against him, meeting him thrust for thrust, coming undone once again, but he wasn't quite ready to follow her, not yet. Not enough. As she came down again, he rolled them so that she was on top, still lodged within her; he felt her circle her hips and his eyes again went crossed.

XXXXXXxxxxxxxxxxx

His weight was heavy, yet pleasurable, his rhythm frayed yet steady. She couldn't help herself, she was falling close to the edge once again, her body tightening with pleasure, delightful friction causing her to come and she arched into him as he continued to move within her. Her body started to come down once again and she noticed him still hard inside her as he flipped them over, her body atop his, both of them slicked with sweat.

She rolled her hips against his, still pleasurable, still heated, the moons overhead casting them both in the perfect light. His hands eased on her hips, their grip firm but loose at the same time as she eased up and started to rock above him, she knew she didn't have it in her to come a third time, but she wanted to feel him, wanted him to come undone.

XXXXXXXXXxxxxxxxxxx

Her rhythm was slow, tired, paced, methodical…he knew in his mind she wouldn't be able to reach climax again but he could come from just the way she was squeezing around him, the rhythmic way her muscles squeezed and released as she circled her hips. He spread his stance underneath her, easing her back against his bent knees as he helped her ride him, helped her keep a rhythm that would make him see stars.

"Marcus…" She panted as she fell against him, he was almost there and he continued to thrust a few times more, a heavy groan escaping his lips against his will. Both of them panting, breathing deeply, looked out at the ocean beneath the low cliff. Her head against his chest as he stroked a hand through her hair. This, just this, peace would be a welcome thing between them for many years to come.

-END

1) Italicized quotes are from Page 102 of Jacinto's Remnant.

2) Italicized quotes are from page 354 of Aspho Fields.

3) Italicized quotes are from page 396 of Jacinto's Remnant.

All novels listed are a part of the Gears of War series by Karen Traviss.