Page 147 of Falcon’s Forever

We don't stay for tacos.

Falcon's quiet on the ride, which isn't unusual for him after something that costs him this much to feel, my arms are around his waist, my cheek against the back of his cut, its new leather smell hits me. I've missed more than I let myself admit.

The compound's near-empty when we get back, most of the club still arguing about Harrier's tacos. Falcon cuts the engine outside his door and neither of us moves right away.

"Six weeks," he says, finally, into the quiet.

"Six weeks." I repeat.

"You waited."

"I wasn't waiting," I say, and he turns to look at me properly. "I was choosing, every single day. That's different, and I need you to understand why, because I'm going to keep choosing it, on the good days and the ones where you scare the hell out of me, and I don't ever want you to think it was passive."

Something shifts in his face, dark and certain. "Cara."

"Take me inside."

He doesn't need telling twice.

His room hasn't changed in six weeks, it’s the same bed, and the same dresser, and this time when he shrugs the cut off his shoulders and hangs it over the back of the chair, it's with care. I add my jacket on top of it without thinking, the two of them tangled together the same way they were the last time, except everything about tonight is different, it’s slower, surer, and built on six weeks of him proving exactly what kind of man he actually is instead of the desperate, fear-driven collision we had the night before the raid.

"I keep thinking about how careful I should be with you," he says, low, his hands settling at my waist, his thumbs are tracing slow circles through the fabric of my shirt. "Given everything, and given what you survived before any of this."

I put my hand flat against his chest, right over where the scar sits now, pink and new under his shirt. "I know you do. I love you for it. But I need you to hear me say this plainly, so there's no confusion later."

"Okay."

"I am not made of glass."

His jaw works.

"I survived things that would've broken most people completely," I say, holding his eyes. "I know exactly what my own limits are, better than you do, better than anyone does, because I've spent years learning them the hard way. When I need slow, I'll tell you. When I need you to stop, I'll tell you, and you'll stop, and that's not in question. But tonight isn't one of those nights. Tonight I don't want careful. I want you. All of you, the way you actually are, not the version you edit down because you're scared of hurting something that already survived worse than you could ever do to me."

"Cara…"

"Say you understand," I say, quietly.

He looks at me a long moment, something fierce and unguarded moving behind his eyes. "I understand."

"Good." I pull his shirt free from his waistband, slow, and deliberate. "Then stop asking permission with your hands and start using them."

That's the last full sentence either of us manages for a while.

He kisses me like he's making up for six weeks of not being allowed to, one hand sliding into my hair, the other pulling me flush against him, and I feel the difference immediately, there’s no more careful distance, no more testing the water an inch at a time. My shirt comes off between one kiss and the next, his following it to the floor, and the sight of him bare in the lamplight. I look at the new scar low on his side next to years of older ones, he does something to my chest that isn't just want, it's pride, fierce and possessive, that this man, scarred and imperfect and finally, fully honest, is choosing to stand in front of me and be seen.

"You're staring," he murmurs against my throat.

"You say that like it's new information."

"Good," he says, and I feel the word land somewhere low and warm.

He backs me toward the bed slowly, his hands mapping every inch of me like he's relearning something he refuses to take for granted twice, and when my knees hit the mattress edge he pauses, his forehead is against mine, and he’s breathing hard already.

"Last chance to tell me to slow down."

"Falcon."

"Yeah."