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“There’s gotta be something here to disinfect a wound,” Fry says, looking desperately behind the bar counter. Leela watches him for a moment, holding onto her hand. It’s a very minor graze, but she can feel her glove damp with blood.
“The backroom might have something. Come on.”
The sound of her boots clicking against the hardwood floors echoes in the bar—empty, now, thanks to the shootout. Leela has a feeling they’ll be alone together here for a long, long time. The door to the backroom shuts with a loud click . It’s not a very sexy place, dusty and dark. Despite Delilah’s offers, Leela’s pretty sure this place didn’t see a lot of action.
Sure enough, under the bed is a kit with protection, disinfectant, lubricant (hopefully no one ever mixed those two up), and other miscellany Leela doesn’t really feel like investigating. She peels off her glove and hands Fry the bottle as he sits down on the bed to inspect it. It’s a pretty superficial wound, but he takes her hand with such gentleness it makes her cheeks flush. “I’m sorry you got hurt,” he says. “I didn’t mean to.”
“It’s okay. I know you didn’t.” She hisses when he dabs some disinfectant on it. Concern flits across his face, and she murmurs a soft “I promise it’s okay. Thank you, Fry.”
“Shouldn’t we put a band-aid over it, or something?” He asks, looking in the kit. “C’mon, they have five different flavors of condoms and no band-aids?”
Leela looks down at her outfit, and with a little sigh, she rips a strip of fabric off her skirt. “Hey, you didn’t have to do that!” Fry says.
“When am I gonna wear this again?” She asks. “It’s not exactly the style in New New York.” Before she can wrap the fabric around her wound as a makeshift bandage, Fry does it for her, with the same softness as before. The bleeding has stopped already. Fry rubs his fingers across the fabric so softly she can barely feel it. “Thank you.” She says again.
“Least I could do.” He keeps his hand on hers, bringing it to his mouth. He kisses at the skin not covered by the fabric, on the tips of her fingers, down her wrist. A newfound heat rises in her stomach, and her feet suddenly seem much less steady than before. “You look so pretty.” He says it almost shyly, like he’s not sure if he’s allowed to.
“You really think so?”
“Well, I think you look pretty in everything...or nothing.”
Leela laughs and leans down to kiss the self-satisfied smirk off his face. Fry’s arms find their way around her waist and soon enough she’s got her knees on either side of his lap and his face in her hands as they kiss, deep and slow. His fingers play with the strings on the back of her corset, then make their way down to the small of her back. It’s playful and light and questioning, but never insistent. She pulls away for some air to look at his face. His nose and cheeks are red with a sunburn, a handful of new freckles on his chin and forehead. He looks up at her through thick lashes and for a second, she feels like the most beautiful woman in the world. She’s seen this look of reverence on his face before, often in this exact position, but she’s not sure if she’ll ever be used to it. “Whaddya think?” He asks, not clarifying what he’s asking about, but she’s sure she knows.
She trails her hands down his face, along his jaw. “I think you look really nice, too. The cowboy look works for you. Very sexy.”
He grins. “Sexy?” He asks, disbelieving.
“Of course.” Leela rises to take off her boots—if they’re gonna take this any further, the last thing she needs is to accidentally stab him with a heel.
As she unlaces them, Fry asks, “Sexier than the Borax Kid?”
Her stomach sinks and her shoulders slump. “No, I—I don’t know what all that was about, to be honest. I guess I got wrapped up in it because he’s famous, or something. I’m sorry.” She feels pretty stupid about it now, getting wrapped up in the charms of another man. It wasn’t that she even wanted to do anything with him; it was just flattering to be shown such open affection. Looking at the man who she loves—the man who has always been affectionate towards her, and rather openly, she wants to hit herself for getting so lost in such a hacky loser. Even if she didn’t know he was a hacky loser at the time.
“It’s okay. I mean, I wasn’t that mad about it. I’d probably be excited if the Borax Kid treated me like that ,” Fry says, and ignores Leela’s eyebrow raise. “I can’t believe he lied like that, though. I thought he was really cool.”
Leela stands in front of Fry, still sitting, and puts her hands on his face again. “I don’t care about him anymore. I’ll forget all about him in a few days.”
“You think so?”
She nods. “But I’ll never forget this. I only want you, Fry.”
He smiles, and she feels a relief wash over her, a sense that everything is settled. He’s eyeing her with a new hunger. His hand rests on her thigh, right below where her garter holds up her stockings. “May I?”
“God, yes,” she breathes, filled with a sudden need to be touched and loved and desired—by him, only ever by him, and only in the way that he can. He fiddles with the clips and she lets him (she finds it endearing, and he always figures out a complicated bra hook or dress strap eventually), unconsciously spreading her legs as he rolls the first garter and stocking down her legs, then the next one. His hands creep upward to find silky shorts under her skirt.
“This was part of the uniform? Sheesh.” He asks.
“Optional, but yeah. I didn’t want anyone getting an eyeful,” Leela explains, and sighs as she feels the silk slip down her legs and pool at her feet with the other garments. She’s about to sit down in his lap again, but he stands up and turns her around to start working at the corset. “I can do that.”
“I want to.” He presses a soft kiss on her shoulder.
She’s happy to let him, if he can figure it out—it took her what felt like a million years to tie it up herself. But when he’s slowly working at it, leaving those same soft kisses on her back and at the base of her neck, she suddenly gets the sense that they have all the time in the world. The open air and his fingertips on her spine feel so good, each little touch building an ache that rests in between her legs. His fingers get sticky and he struggles with unlacing the last few. She reaches back to help him. Their fingers tangle as they work together. She feels him chuckle against her shoulder blade.
The top part of Leela’s dress finally joins her undergarments on the floor, and the skirt and bustle are much easier to get off. She turns around, pushing Fry lightly onto the bed. “Your turn,” she insists. She sheds his vest and works on his belt—the cold, metal buckle is digging into her skin. While she does that, he plucks the feathers out of her hair a bit hesitantly. “Just take them out; they’re uncomfortable, anyway.” She takes it a step further, undoing the clasp that keeps her hair tied half-up, letting the ringlets fall freely over her shoulders and shaking them out. Fry looks at her with his mouth slightly open. His pupils are much wider than they were before. This does tend to happen when her chest is in full view, and so close to his face, but she didn’t expect him to be so fascinated with her hair.
He doesn’t even try to unbuckle his pants by himself, letting her slide them down his legs like he did with her stockings. “Finally,” she sighs, “You were wearing so many clothes.” She situates herself, and the press of him through his underwear makes a little noise escape out of her mouth, even with the extra barrier of her own.
“You’re so--” the words fail him, so she kisses him again, nipping at his lower lip teasingly.
“So are you.”
They kiss greedily and sloppily, all teeth and tongue, breathing hard against each other’s mouths and letting their hands go wherever they please. Fry’s thumbs brush right against her nipples and it makes her hips surge forward. She hears her moaning reverberating against the walls and knows she’s being loud, all from a little kissing and touching, but she doesn’t care. It’s like she’s wanted this for days and only realized just how much it’s built up now.
He kisses every part of her with the same passion, her neck and collarbone and of course her chest. She can see the twinkle of self-satisfaction in his eyes when he lays his tongue flat against her nipple and laps at it. She presses her fingers at the front of her underwear, and like her propensity for loudness, she figures she should probably be embarrassed at how damp and wet they already are, but she doesn’t care. The pressure gives little relief as Fry lavishes attention on her, licking and sucking like he could just do this all day, and maybe, just maybe , she could get off on this alone, but she doesn’t want to. “Fry,” she groans.
His hand cups over hers, rubbing her through the fabric. She whines and pulls him by his shirt collar downward onto the bed, so he’s on top. He can tell what she wants; they’ve done this a time or two (or a hundred) before. He helps her shimmy her underwear down her legs, and finally she’s got nothing on below him, legs spreading unashamedly and needily. “Leela,” he gasps out. If he was going to finish his sentence, she’ll never know the end of it, because he’s making himself very busy between her legs.
Leela didn’t even ask him to do this—she didn’t need to. Fry is as eager and as willing to as he always is. There are nights when he gets off on this alone, lapping at her and stroking himself until they're both satisfied. Leela is certain she’s hit the absolute fucking jackpot on boyfriends, because she’s never had one that likes to do this as much as him, and has made such efforts to improve at it. “I’ve been thinking about this all day,” he murmurs against her thigh, his lips creeping higher and higher.
“When are you not thinking about it? Besides— oh.” Her hands go instinctively to his hair, tugging on it in an attempt to fight the urge to clamp her legs around his head. He needs to breathe, after all.
She knows she must look wanton as her hips pulse with the movements of his tongue and her back arches. She knows that even with the window and door shut, someone is bound to hear her voice as she cries out his name among a multitude of expletives. She doesn’t care one bit. She spent so long of her adult life holding back, never saying what she really wanted, or taking it when it was presented to her. Now the love of her life is between her legs, tongue alternating between teasing her entrance and swirling around her clit, and she would never fucking dream of laying there still as a board or pretending to enjoy herself (but not too much). She doesn’t have to pretend, and she wants him to know how good he makes her feel.
Leela doesn’t know if it’s the anticipation that’s made her so sensitive or if Fry is just really nailing it today, but she finds her climax building inside of her quickly. Fry looks up at her, always searching for her, always wanting to see her, never wanting her face or eye obscured. “You’re so good at this,” she breathes, even though she’s told him a thousand different times. “God, you are good—at—this--” her words become punchy and short and he sucks on her clit and she’s falling. She tries to keep her eye open to look at him, but the force of it is too strong and she has to clench it shut. Everything tenses and contracts and she’s calling out wordlessly, shamelessly, her whole body feverishly hot.
She’s not sure how long it takes for her to come back to earth. Slow awareness creeps in, and she can feel Fry’s sweaty, warm forehead pressed against her thigh, his back heaving up and down with labored breaths. She smooths out his hair and scratches comfortingly at his scalp. “Fry.”
“That was a good one, huh?” He asks, clearly proud of himself. The grin is indication enough.
“It’s always good. But you’re right, that was...something else. Come here.” She pulls him in closer, kisses him and doesn’t care where his mouth has been. It’s dirty, but something about tasting herself on his lips always reignites that ache. Fry kisses her with a newfound tenderness; it makes her want to wrap her arms around him and keep him close, keep him like this, pressed against her and kissing her like it’s the most important thing in the world. In this moment, it is.
Leela feels his hand wedging between them again, his fingers lightly running over her clit. She gasps. “Too much?” He asks.
She shakes her head. “No, no, not too much, that’s--” he starts to rub in earnest again, and all she can let out is an “oh, Fry”. She’s sensitive, but it’s just the right kind of sensitivity that blooms into pleasure. He takes it a step further and presses a finger inside, then another. “Jesus--fuck—that's so good, I can’t believe—kiss me, you have to kiss me, oh my God.” The kissing is barely that, because she can’t hold back her moans against his lips.
He nudges under her jaw to kiss at her neck and curls his fingers inside of her. “Fry, that’s--” It’s exactly what he was looking for. She throws an arm over her face and whimpers brokenly, “you’re going to make me... Christ , I’m going to, again...”
“Good.” He says simply, and that’s all Leela needs to be clenching around him and crying out to the ceiling for the second time in less than half an hour. She’s pretty sure her legs are nothing but liquid by the time he slips away from between them to lay at her side. And she hasn’t even touched him yet.
He doesn’t want to overwhelm her, so he rubs a hand up and down her arm, occasionally coming up to play with a ringlet. “Okay?” He asks.
“Okay?” She repeats. “More than okay, that was...” she huffs out a laugh. “You are so...”
He gives her a chaste, closed-mouth kiss. “So are you.”
She feels sorry for him all of a sudden as she gets a glimpse of his tented boxers. She strokes him through the fabric (with her good hand) like he did to her, enjoying the shudder it pulls out of him. “Let’s get these off.”
They do, and she finds herself right where this all started—in his lap. His hat lays on the bed next to them, having fallen off when he was in between her legs, and she considers it for a moment before picking it up and putting it on. “What do you think?” She asks.
Fry is so turned on it’s hard for him to form a sentence, but he manages to squeak out a “Wow.” She laughs, and gives him a few more strokes. “You want this?”
“I want...” His teeth clamp down on his lower lip.
She readjusts herself, so she’s hovering just above him. All she needs to do is move a little further down. She looks expectantly at him. He nods desperately. She sinks down, slower than is needed; she’s so slick thanks to him and he’s more than ready, but she likes to watch his face change as she moves further and further until he’s inside of her fully. He warbles out a moan and she smiles, bursting with fondness for him. “Leela,” he breathes out, and repeats it over and over as she starts to move her hips, a simple back and forth motion. “Leela, Leela, Leela. Oh my God.”
She lets herself get lost in the feeling, too. They find a familiar and comfortable rhythm, Leela alternating between the back and forth and lifting her hips and scooping them deeper. That always gets a nice reaction out of him. He’s babbling to the high heavens about everything and nothing; she’d never been with a guy like that before him. She finds Fry's stream of consciousness much more endearing and even sexier than any sort of forced dirty talk. “You’re so beautiful,” he gasps. “You’re the most—Leela, oh my God I love you so much, I love you more than anything, you feel so good, every time, Leela...”
“You feel good, too,” she says. She touches herself experimentally, wondering if it will be too much but somehow, it’s not. The slow circles around her clit make her hips buck more erratically, taking more of him in, and he’s found the right spot, and there is no way in hell she’s about to get there for the third time in an hour, it’s ridiculous...
Fry is trembling below her, gripping onto her hips, trying to get some stability. “Leela,” he says for the millionth time. “Leela, please.”
She can’t answer him, because her fingers are pressing hard on her clit and she’s gone , just lost completely. She can barely even make noise this time, her mouth opening and nothing coming out but a small pathetic squeak, fireworks behind her eye.
She crumples on top of him and breathes hard, like she just ran five miles. Somewhere between her ascending to heaven and falling back down, he found his climax—she can feel it between her legs. She only moves away when the heat and wetness starts to feel oppressive. Then she buries her face in the pillow and laughs. “Huh?” Fry asks weakly, and she keeps laughing, like she’s on something, like she’s drunk, and she can’t stop. “What is it?” He asks. “What’s so funny?”
“I don’t know!” Leela says, and falls into giggles again. She feels his body vibrate with laugher against her, feels his smile press against her back. “God, Fry,” she sighs when she finds her voice again. She turns to look at him; his face is still red—he's wrecked, absolutely wrecked and exhausted and adorable. She thinks about how he’s all hers and how she can’t imagine anyone else doing this to her, and kisses him. “I love you,” she says. He beams.
The bed is barely a twin; they’re squished when they lay side by side, but Leela doesn’t mind the closeness. She feels his hat press against her body and picks it up again, realizing she wore it the entire time she was on top of him. It’s a little silly in hindsight, but she’s too wrapped up in the afterglow to care. “That was really hot, by the way.” Fry says. “You wearing that.”
“Really?”
He shrugs, sheepish. “It’s like I said before, you’re always hot. And you thought it looked sexy on me, too, so...”
She drapes the hat over her brow jokingly, like a cowboy would put it over their eyes before they fall asleep in the sun. “Hmm, I didn’t realize it worked for you. I’ll have to keep that in mind.”
“What, you wanna do some cowboy roleplay?” Fry asks with a teasing nudge.
She laughs and throws the hat off the bed. “I only ever want you as you are.” She nuzzles into his side, ignoring how sweaty they both are. They can shower later.
“Me, too.” Fry buries his face in her hair. Being utterly surrounded by her makes him smile. “Doesn’t matter how you’re dressed.”
“Good, ‘cause I don’t think I’m ever gonna wear that thing again.” Leela’s eye, suddenly very heavy, closes. She drifts in the place between awake and asleep. Fry keeps her warm.
“You think the others are wondering where we are?” His raspy voice breaks through the silence.
“I think they know. And if they don’t know, they’ll figure it out.”
He pulls her in closer. “Then they won’t mind if we take a nap.”
“I don’t think anyone cares at all.” There’s a gentle kiss on her shoulder, and a final one on her wrapped up hand. “I love you,” she murmurs.
Fry is already asleep, but it’s okay. He knows.