Chapter Text
"I'm pregnant," Anya whispered, her voice barely audible over the ship's warning klaxons.
Curly froze mid-stride, his sharp blue eyes widening in shock. "You're what?"
Anya's downturned eyes flickered up to meet Curly's gaze, a mix of fear and resignation etched into her tired features. "Pregnant," she repeated, louder this time.
"Who would you-" Curly began, his voice a low growl, before cutting himself off. He ran a hand through his curly blond hair, his biceps flexing with the motion. "Listen to me," he said, his tone softening slightly. "We can fix this. I've known him for a long time. I'll... talk to him."
Anya shook her head sadly.
Curly's jaw clenched, a muscle twitching in his cheek. "Does... does he know?"
Anya shrugged helplessly. "I haven't told him, but... I think he knows. Or at least suspects."
"Fuck," Curly muttered under his breath. He turned away from Anya, his broad back heaving with a heavy sigh. The weight of the situation settled on his shoulders like a leaden cloak.
Curly's fist connected with Jimmy's face again and again, each blow sending the lanky man reeling across the control panel. Sparks flew from the damaged equipment as Jimmy's limp body collided with the displays, setting off a cacophony of warning alarms.
"How could you?" Curly snarled, his voice raw with rage and anguish. "How could you do this to her? To us?"
Jimmy's bloodied face twisted into a sneer as he spat out a mouthful of blood. "She wanted it," he slurred, his words barely coherent. "Begged for it..."
With a roar of fury, Curly grabbed Jimmy by the throat and slammed him against the bulkhead, pinning him there with one hand. "Shut your fucking mouth!" he growled, his face inches from Jimmy's. "You don't get to talk about her like that, you piece of shit!"
Jimmy's eyes bulged, his hands scrabbling at Curly's iron grip. Curly could feel the other man's pulse racing beneath his fingers, the warm blood dripping down his arm. He wanted nothing more than to squeeze the life out of this pathetic excuse for a man, to make him pay for what he had done.
But even through the haze of rage, Curly knew that wouldn't solve anything. He released his grip, letting Jimmy slump to the floor in a bloody heap. The ship shuddered around them, the warning alarms growing more insistent.
Curly turned back to the controls, trying to regain control of the vessel. But it was too late. The ship lurched violently, throwing him against the far wall with enough force to knock the wind out of him.
He slid to the floor, gasping for breath, as the ship began to break apart around him. Flames erupted from the walls, the heat searing his skin. Through the smoke and the pain, he could see Jimmy stirring on the floor, the fire miraculously leaving him untouched.
Curly knew he had to get out. He had to find Anya, had to make sure she was safe. But Jimmy... he couldn't leave Jimmy like this. Not after what he had done.
With a growl of determination, Curly pushed himself to his feet and staggered towards the other man. "Get up," he panted, grabbing Jimmy by the collar and hauling him upright. "We're getting out of here."
Jimmy just laughed, a wet, gurgling sound that made Curly's skin crawl. "Too late," he rasped. "We're all... fucked..."
The ship shuddered again, and Curly felt the deck tilt beneath his feet. They were going down, and fast. He knew he had only one chance to save them both.
Mustering the last of his strength, Curly wrapped his arms around Jimmy and leapt towards the hatch, praying that he could make it in time. The world exploded into flames around them, the heat so intense that Curly thought his skin would melt away.
The explosion tore through the cockpit like a ravenous beast, consuming everything in its path. Curly felt the heat searing his flesh, the flames licking at his skin like liquid fury. He squeezed his eyes shut, bracing for the end, for the final, merciful release of death...
But it never came. Instead, he felt himself being hurled backwards, his body slamming against the reinforced metal of the hatch like a rag doll. The impact knocked the wind out of him, sending stars exploding across his vision.
For a moment, he lay there, gasping and dazed, his ears ringing with the aftershocks of the explosion. Through the haze of pain and shock, he became aware of a strange sensation - a faint tugging at his body, as if he were being pulled by some unseen force.
With a groan of effort, Curly forced his eyes open, blinking against the acrid smoke that filled the air. What he saw made his blood run cold.
The cockpit was gone, reduced to a twisted heap of charred metal and smoldering debris. And yet, impossibly, miraculously, he was still alive. But at what cost?
Curly tried to push himself upright, only to cry out in agony as a fresh wave of pain coursed through his body. He looked down at himself with growing horror, taking in the shredded remains of his jumpsuit, the angry red burns that covered his exposed skin.
And his leg... dear God, his leg. It looked like a charred, twisted stump, the flesh blackened and bubbling. Curly felt bile rise in his throat, his vision blurring with tears of pain and shock.
Somewhere in the distance, he heard the wail of the ship's emergency alarms, a mournful keening that seemed to echo the despair that gripped his heart. He knew he should move, should try to find the others, but his body refused to cooperate.
Through the haze of pain and smoke, Curly's eyes fell upon a writhing, charred mass that vaguely resembled a human form. As he blinked away the tears and grit, he realized with a start that it was Jimmy.
Jimmy. Alive, somehow, impossibly. The man's skin was a sickening shade of gray, blistered and peeling away in sheets, revealing raw, weeping flesh beneath. His hair and eyebrows had been seared away, leaving him looking like some grotesque, hairless creature.
Curly felt a wave of revulsion wash over him, his stomach churning with nausea. But even through the horror of Jimmy's condition, a spark of determination ignited in his chest. He couldn't leave the man to suffer like this, no matter what he had done.
With a grunt of effort, Curly dragged himself across the scorched deck, using his good leg and his arms to propel himself forward. The metal scraped against his burned skin, sending fresh jolts of agony coursing through his body, but he gritted his teeth and kept going.
He reached Jimmy's side and pulled the writhing form into his arms, cradling him as best he could with his battered body. Jimmy was so light, so fragile, like a child in his embrace. The thought made Curly's throat tighten with emotion.
"Hang on," he whispered, his voice raw and hoarse. "Help's coming. Just hang on."
But even as he spoke the words, Curly knew it was a lie. They were alone out here, adrift in the vast emptiness of space. No one was coming to save them.
With a Herculean effort, Curly began to drag himself and Jimmy down the hallway, leaving a trail of blood and soot in their wake. The ship groaned and shuddered around them, the walls warping and buckling with the heat.
Curly didn't know where they were going, didn't know if there was anywhere on this burning wreck of a ship that could offer them shelter. But he had to try. He had to do something, anything, to get them out of this hell.
As he crawled, he could feel Jimmy's body growing colder in his arms, his breathing shallower and more labored with each passing moment. Curly knew the man was dying, that there was nothing he could do to save him.
But he kept moving, kept dragging them both forward, driven by a desperate, primal instinct to survive. Even if it was just for a few more minutes, a few more precious seconds of life in this godforsaken place.
As Curly and Jimmy finally made it to the end of the hallway, they emerged into a scene that made them both pause in surprise. The rest of the ship lay before them, seemingly untouched by the devastation that had consumed the cockpit.
The crew stood scattered about the open area, their faces etched with shock and disbelief. Anya clutched a flimsy blanket around her shoulders, her eyes wide and terrified as she took in the sight of the two burned men.
Swansea stood with his hands on his hips, his perpetual scowl deepening as he surveyed the damage. "What the fuck happened?" he demanded, his voice hard and sharp.
Curly didn't have an answer. He couldn't even begin to process the whirlwind of emotions that crashed over him as he beheld the relative safety of the rest of the ship. All he knew was that he had to get Jimmy to help, had to make sure the man didn't slip away before he could face the consequences of his actions.
"Med bay," he croaked, his voice barely above a whisper. "We need the med bay. Now."
Without waiting for a response, Curly began to stagger towards the infirmary, his arms still cradling Jimmy's limp form. He could feel the eyes of the crew boring into him, could sense their questions and accusations hanging heavy in the air.
But he pushed it all aside, focusing instead on the rhythmic heave of Jimmy's chest, the ragged sound of his breathing. He had to get him to help. He had to make sure Jimmy lived, even if it was just to face justice for what he had done.
As Curly stumbled into the med bay, Anya rushed to his side, her face pale and drawn with worry. "Curly, oh my god," she gasped, her eyes taking in the full extent of his injuries for the first time. "Your leg... it's..."
"Help him," Curly grunted, nodding towards Jimmy's still form. "He's worse off than me. Please, Anya, help him."
Anya hesitated for a moment, her eyes darting between the two men. But she knew Curly was right. Jimmy's burns were far more extensive, his skin charred and bubbled in places. She nodded, her lips set in a tight line of determination.
"Lay him on the exam table," she said, moving to clear a space. "I'll do what I can."
Curly nodded, carefully lowering Jimmy onto the cold metal surface. The man let out a low moan of pain, his eyes fluttering open for a brief moment before drifting closed once more.
Anya began to work quickly, her hands moving with practiced efficiency as she cleaned and dressed Jimmy's wounds. Curly watched her work, a mix of admiration and guilt churning in his gut. He knew he should be the one helping her, should be the one taking care of the people he cared about. But his body refused to cooperate, the pain in his leg growing worse with each passing moment.
"Your turn," Anya said quietly, after what felt like hours. "Let me take a look at that leg."
Curly shook his head, wincing at the movement. "It can wait," he said, his voice tight. "I'm fine. Just... help him, Anya. Please."
Anya's eyes softened, and she reached out to take his hand. "You're not fine, Curly," she said, her voice gentle but firm.
Curly closed his eyes, leaning into her touch. He knew she was right, knew that he needed to let her help him. But the thought of putting his own needs before Jimmy's, before the rest of the crew, felt like a betrayal.
"I'm sorry," he whispered, the words choked with emotion. "I'm so sorry, Anya. I should have stopped him. I should have..."
Anya's grip on Curly's hand tightened, her eyes filled with understanding and compassion. "Hey," she said softly, bringing his gaze to meet hers. "You did what you could. You brought him here, made sure he didn't die out there. That's more than most people would've done."
Curly swallowed hard, nodding slowly. "I know," he said, his voice rough with emotion. "But it doesn't feel like enough. Not after what he did to you, to the crew. I should have... I don't know. Something."
Anya sighed, releasing his hand to begin gently cleaning the burns on his leg. "You're a good man, Curly," she said, her voice low and earnest. "The best I've ever known. Don't let this... this thing with Jimmy taint that."
Curly winced as Anya began to clean his leg, the sting of the antiseptic mingling with the throb of guilt in his chest. He couldn't shake the feeling that he should be the one comforting her, that she was the one who needed his support right now.
"It should be me taking care of you," he muttered, his eyes fixed on the ceiling. "After everything that bastard put you through..."
Anya paused in her ministrations, her brow furrowing. "Curly, look at me," she said softly. "Please."
Reluctantly, Curly met her gaze, his heart aching at the tender expression in her eyes. "You've been through something unimaginable," he said, his voice cracking. "And I... I feel like I failed you. Like I should have done more to protect you, to stop him..."
Anya sighed, setting aside the cloth she'd been using to clean his wounds. "Curly, you're one of the most selfless people I've ever met," she said, her voice warm and sincere. "It's one of the things I admire most about you. But sometimes, that strength can be a burden. You carry the weight of everyone's problems on your shoulders, and it's... it's not healthy."
Curly opened his mouth to protest, but Anya held up a hand, silencing him. "I know you want to fix everything," she continued, her voice gentle but firm. "But you can't. Sometimes, all you can do is be there, offer support, and trust that the people you care about are strong enough to heal on their own."
As if on cue, a sudden groan of pain echoed through the med bay, causing both Curly and Anya to start. They turned to see Jimmy writhing on the exam table, his breath coming in shallow gasps as he thrashed against the restraints holding him down.
"I've got to go to him," Anya said, immediately moving towards the table. "Stay here, I'll be right back."
Curly nodded, watching as Anya hurried to Jimmy's side, her brow furrowed in concentration. He felt a pang of jealousy, a longing to be the one she was focused on, the one she was trying to help.
But he pushed the feeling aside, reminding himself that this was for the best. Jimmy needed her, and Curly had to trust that Anya was strong enough to handle whatever came next.
As Anya worked to sedate Jimmy, Curly was left alone with his thoughts, his gaze fixed on the ceiling as he tried to process the whirlwind of emotions inside him.
He thought about Jimmy, about the man's betrayal and the darkness he'd brought into their lives. He thought about Anya, about the strength and resilience she showed in the face of unimaginable trauma. And he thought about himself, about the guilt and uncertainty that gnawed at his insides.
Was he really the hero Anya seemed to think he was? Or was he just a fool, carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders while those he cared about suffered?
He closed his eyes, letting out a shuddering breath as he tried to quiet the doubts in his mind. He didn't have the answers, didn't know what the future held.
But he did know one thing: no matter what happened, he would be there for Anya, for the crew, for anyone who needed him. He would carry their burdens if he had to, even if it meant shouldering the weight of the world.
Because that was who he was. That was the man Anya believed in, the man he needed to be.
Even if it destroyed him in the end.
Curly limped out of his quarters, his leg still healing but no longer the searing agony it had been in the aftermath of the explosion. He found Anya seated in front of the nighttime window screen, her silhouette illuminated by the soft glow of stars beyond.
"Can't sleep again?" he asked, his voice low and gravelly from disuse.
Anya turned at the sound of his voice, a small smile playing at the corners of her mouth. "Per usual," she replied, patting the spot beside her. "Join me?"
Curly hobbled over, lowering himself onto the bench with a soft groan. The night air was cool against his skin, a welcome respite from the heat of the ship's interior.
"How are you holding up?" he asked, his gaze fixed on the stars above. "I know the past few weeks have been... difficult."
Anya was quiet for a moment, her fingers tracing idle patterns on the armrest. "I'm okay," she said finally, her voice soft. "It's not easy, you know? Waking up every day and remembering what happened. But... I'm alive. We're all alive. And that's something, isn't it?"
Curly nodded, his heart aching for the strength she showed in the face of such trauma. "You're amazing," he murmured, the words slipping out before he could stop them.
Anya blushed at Curly's compliment, a soft pink tinting her cheeks in the dim light of the window screen. "You're pretty amazing yourself," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
But before the moment could linger too long, she quickly shifted the conversation to a safer topic. "How much longer until help arrives?" she asked, her brow furrowing with worry.
Curly sighed, running a hand through his hair. "About a month, give or take," he replied, his voice tinged with exhaustion. "We're moving as fast as we can, but it's not easy with the ship in the shape it's in."
Anya nodded, her eyes drifting back to the stars. "And Jimmy?" she asked, her voice tight with tension. "How much longer until he starts... making noise?"
Curly's jaw clenched at the mention of the man's name. "An hour or so," he said gruffly. "Then we'll have to give him his painkillers."
A heavy silence fell between them, broken only by the soft hum of the ship's engines. Curly knew that Anya was thinking about Jimmy, about the man's fate and the guilt that shadowed her every move.
Curly chuckled, a wry smile tugging at his lips. "Well, we're still getting paid for the delivery," he said, his voice light despite the heaviness of the moment. "And I hear there's gonna be a pretty penny from the impending lawsuit too."
Anya's eyebrows rose in surprise. "Lawsuit?" she asked, her voice tinged with curiosity.
Anya was quiet for a moment, digesting this information. "What will you do with the money?" she asked, her voice soft.
Curly shrugged, a wry grin spreading across his face. "Guess I'll have to invest in a caretaker for this leg of mine," he joked, gesturing to his still-healing injury. "Or find a woman who'll put up with me. Either way, it's gonna be a challenge."
To his surprise, Anya spoke up before he could deflect with another joke. "I could be your caretaker," she offered, her voice tentative but sincere. "For free, even."
Curly's heart skipped a beat at her words, the sincerity in her voice washing over him like a warm blanket. He knew he should play it off, make another joke to lighten the mood. But he couldn't bring himself to do it.
"I... thank you," he said softly, his gaze fixed on the stars above. "That means a lot, Anya. More than you know."
After a moment, he turned to face her, his expression serious. "What about you?" he asked, his voice gentle. "What are you going to do about... the baby?"
Anya's hand drifted to her stomach, a mix of emotions playing across her face. "I don't know," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. "I can't... I can't think about it right now. Not with everything else going on."
Curly nodded, his heart aching for her. "Whenever you're ready to talk," he said, his voice soft.
Curly was quiet for a moment, his mind racing with possibilities. "You know," he said slowly, turning to face Anya fully. "If you were my caretaker, we could put more money towards your education. Maybe you could go back to med school, without having to worry about housing or expenses."
Anya's eyes widened at the suggestion, a mix of surprise and excitement flashing across her face. "You'd do that for me?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
Curly shrugged, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "It's a win-win, really," he said, his tone light but sincere. "I get a dedicated caretaker, and you get to pursue your dreams. Plus, we’re friends so it wouldn’t be super awkward."
Anya nodded, a soft laugh escaping her lips. "Friends," she agreed, her eyes shining with gratitude. "Thank you, Curly. That means more to me than you know."
Notes:
Next chapter will be about Anya and Curly when they land home.
Chapter 2: Home Sweet Home
Summary:
Domestic fluff and smut in this chapter 😛
Also Anya obviously got rid of the baby but I didn’t feel like writing about that.
Chapter Text
As the months passed, life slowly began to return to some semblance of normalcy for Curly and Anya. With the lawsuit settled and the money from the delivery, they found themselves in a place of relative comfort, able to focus on healing and moving forward.
Anya had thrown herself into her medical studies, her passion for the field reignited by the trauma she had endured. And as promised, she had taken on the role of Curly's caretaker, dividing her time between her coursework and ensuring his well-being.
Curly, meanwhile, had begun the long and arduous process of adjusting to life with a prosthetic leg. The physical therapy was grueling, leaving him sore and exhausted at the end of each day. But he was determined to regain as much mobility as he could, to prove to himself and to Anya that he could still be the strong, capable man she believed him to be.
One evening, as Anya helped him out of the bath - the burns on his abdomen and back still requiring careful attention - Curly found himself lost in thought. He had come so far, had weathered so much, but he couldn't help but feel a sense of uncertainty about the future.
"What will you do when you graduate?" he asked, his voice soft as Anya gently patted his skin dry. "Will you... will you still want to be here? With me?"
Anya paused in her ministrations, her hand stilling on his chest. "Curly," she said, her voice gentle but firm. "This isn't a burden to me. You're not a burden to me."
She moved around to face him, her eyes shining with emotion. "I want to be here, with you," she continued, her voice soft but steady. "I know things are different now, that life has changed in ways we never could have imagined. But you're my friend, Curly. My best friend. And I'm not going anywhere."
Curly's heart swelled at her words, a lump forming in his throat. He reached out, taking her hand in his own, and gave it a gentle squeeze. "Thank you," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "For everything."
Anya bit her lip as she helped Curly out of the bath, her cheeks flushing at the sight of his naked body. Even after months of assisting him with his baths, she still couldn't quite shake the nervousness that crept up whenever she saw him in such a vulnerable state.
As she draped a towel around his waist, her eyes lingered on his torso, taking in the way his once-gaunt frame had begun to fill out again. The lack of food towards the end of their journey on the ship had left him dangerously thin, but thanks to regular meals and her care, he was slowly regaining the weight and muscle he had lost.
She couldn't help but be glad to see the change, to know that he was healing, both inside and out. But as her gaze drifted lower, she felt a familiar tightness in her chest, a reminder of all that they had been through, of the trauma that still lingered in the shadows of her mind.
Everything about Curly's body, the scars and the skin, brought back memories of Jimmy, of the way he had used her, abused her. It had been hard at first, to touch Curly in the way she needed to, to be so intimate with him in the act of caring for him.
But Curly had always been so respectful, so gentle. He had never once made her feel uncomfortable or unsafe, even in the most vulnerable of moments. And slowly, day by day, the fear had begun to fade, replaced by a growing sense of trust and affection.
"I'm sorry," she murmured, her voice soft as she finished toweling him off. "I know this must be frustrating for you, having to rely on me so much."
Curly shook his head, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "Don't apologize," he said. "You've been amazing, Anya. I don't know what I would have done without you."
As Anya helped Curly into his prosthetic, a new tension hung in the air between them. The close quarters of the bathroom, the intimacy of the moment, it all seemed to charge the atmosphere with a new energy.
Curly's hand brushed against hers as he steadied himself on the counter, his fingers lingering for just a moment too long. Anya's breath caught in her throat, her heart pounding in her chest as she met his gaze in the mirror.
There was a moment, a split second, where she thought he might lean in, where he might close the distance between them and press his lips to hers. She found herself leaning towards him, her body drawn to his like a magnet, the remnants of her fear and trauma suddenly feeling very far away.
But then, as if remembering himself, Curly stepped back, clearing his throat awkwardly. "Thanks," he said, his voice gruff. "I can take it from here."
Anya nodded, her cheeks flushing with a mixture of embarrassment and disappointment. "Of course," she murmured, stepping back to give him space. "I'll... I'll be in the living room if you need anything."
Just as she turned to leave, Curly called out to her, his voice soft. "Anya?"
She paused, glancing back at him over her shoulder. He was standing there, his hand on the doorframe, a look of uncertainty on his face.
"I just... I want you to know," he started, his voice hesitant. "I'm here for you. Whatever you need, whenever you need it. No pressure, no expectations. Just... support."
Anya felt tears prick at the corners of her eyes, a lump forming in her throat. "Thank you," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. “I, uh… have some work to finish."
With that, she turned and left the bathroom, closing the door softly behind her. As she made her way to the living room, she could hear the sound of Curly moving around in the bathroom, getting dressed.
A week had passed since the almost-kiss in the bathroom, and while the tension between them had eased somewhat, it was still there, simmering just beneath the surface. Curly found himself increasingly aware of Anya's presence, of the way she moved, the sound of her voice, the scent of her hair.
"I can't believe how long my hair is getting," he grumbled one evening as they sat on the couch, watching a movie. "I look like a goddamn hippie."
Anya glanced over at him, a mischievous glint in her eye. "I could cut it for you," she offered, her tone playful. "I've cut hair before."
Curly raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Is that so?" he teased. "And here I thought you were just a doctor in training."
Anya laughed, nudging him with her elbow. "Hey, a girl's gotta have some hidden talents," she said, her voice light. "Besides, it's not like you have much to lose at this point."
Curly chuckled, running a hand through his unruly locks. "Alright, alright," he conceded. "If you're offering, I'm not gonna say no."
As Anya gathered her supplies and led him to the bathroom, Curly couldn't help but feel a flutter of excitement in his chest. The thought of her hands in his hair, so close to his face, it was enough to make his heart race.
But as she began to snip and trim, her fingers brushing against his scalp, Curly quickly realized that he might have been a bit too optimistic. Because as her touch lingered, as her breath whispered across his skin, he felt a stirring in his pants, a sudden and very unwelcome tightness in his groin.
He shifted uncomfortably, trying to will away the sensation, reminding himself that Anya was just being kind, that she didn't mean anything by it. He couldn't let his own desires cloud the situation, couldn't risk ruining the fragile trust they had built.
So he forced a laugh, made a joke about his "new look", and thanked her profusely when she was done. And as he watched her clean up the fallen hair, his eyes roamed over her curves, her soft skin, her full lips, he knew he would have to be careful.
Because as much as he wanted her, as much as his body craved her touch, he knew that Anya was not ready for anything more. And he would never, ever push her into something she wasn't comfortable with.
No matter how much it hurt to hold back.
As Curly hobbled into the kitchen, still groggy from a restless night's sleep, he was surprised to find Anya there, hunched over her laptop in her robe.
"Whatcha doing?" he asked, his voice still rough with sleep.
Anya glanced up at him, her cheeks flushing slightly at the sight of him in just his pajama pants. "Exam results are out," she admitted, her fingers trembling slightly as she hovered over the keyboard. "But I can't bear myself to look."
Curly's heart swelled with affection for her, the way she always put so much pressure on herself, always striving to be the best. He moved closer, leaning down to peek at the screen.
"I could look for you," he offered, his voice soft. "Then you wouldn't have to see if... if things didn't go well."
Anya hesitated for a moment, biting her lip as she considered the offer. Then, with a sigh of resignation, she stepped back, gesturing for him to take her place.
"Okay," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "You can look."
As Curly settled into the chair and began to scroll through the results, Anya moved to stand behind him, her hands resting lightly on his shoulders. He could feel the heat of her body, the softness of her robe against his bare skin.
It took everything he had not to lean back into her touch, to turn his head and capture her lips with his own. But he resisted, focused on the task at hand, on being there for her in the way she needed him to be.
When he finally found her name, his heart leapt with joy. "Anya," he breathed, turning to face her. "You did it. You passed with flying colors."
Tears sprang to Anya's eyes, a bright smile breaking across her face. "Really?" she gasped, her hands flying to her mouth. "Oh, Curly, that's... that's amazing."
Before he could respond, she had thrown her arms around him, hugging him tightly, her face pressed against his chest. Curly wrapped his own arms around her, holding her close, savoring the feeling of her in his arms.
And then, before he could stop himself, he was tilting her chin up, leaning down to capture her lips with his own. Anya made a soft sound of surprise, but then she was kissing him back, her lips moving against his with a fervor that took his breath away.
As Curly kissed Anya back, his heart raced in his chest, his body responding to her touch with a heat that he had never known before. But even as he lost himself in the feeling of her lips on his, a part of him remained acutely aware of her past, of the trauma she had endured.
He pulled back slightly, his hands gentle on her shoulders as he searched her face. "Anya," he breathed, his voice low and rough with desire. "Are you sure about this? I don't want to push you into anything you're not ready for. I know the whole thing with Jimmy might make—“
Anya's eyes flashed with frustration, her hands fisting in his shirt. "Curly, shut the hell up about Jimmy," she snapped, her voice sharp. "I'm tired of him holding me back, tired of being afraid. I want this. I want you."
Curly's breath caught in his throat, his heart pounding in his chest at her words. Slowly, hesitantly, he reached up to cup her face, his thumb brushing over her cheekbone.
"You're so beautiful," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. "And so strong. I've never met anyone like you, Anya. I... I love you."
Anya's eyes widened at his confession, a shiver running through her body. "I love you too," she whispered, her voice trembling. "Now shut up and fuck me."
With that, she was tugging him towards his bedroom, her robe falling open as she walked, revealing the soft curves of her body. Curly's pulse raced at the sight of her, his body aching with a desire that he could no longer deny.
As they tumbled onto the bed, a tangle of limbs and heated kisses, Curly made sure to check in with her, to make sure she was still comfortable, still sure about what they were doing. And every time she looked up at him with those dark, desire-filled eyes and told him to shut up and keep going, his heart swelled with love and pride.
Because this was his Anya, his strong, brave, beautiful Anya, finally taking what she wanted.
"You're so beautiful," Curly murmured, his voice thick with desire. "So fucking perfect."
Anya smiled up at him, her fingers teasing at the waistband of his pajama pants. "I could say the same for you," she purred, her eyes dark with want.
Curly groaned at her words, his hips bucking forward involuntarily. He reached down to help her remove his pants, his erection springing free, hard and throbbing.
"Fuck, Anya," he gasped, his cock twitching as she wrapped her hand around it, stroking him slowly. "You're driving me crazy."
But as much as he wanted to bury himself inside her right then and there, he knew he needed to take his time, to make sure she was ready, that she was enjoying every moment.
So he pushed her back onto the bed, his hands trailing up her thighs, pushing her robe further out of the way. She was already slick and ready for him, her arousal coating her inner thighs.
Curly lowered his head between her legs, his tongue flicking out to taste her. Anya moaned, her hips lifting off the bed as he licked and sucked at her sensitive flesh.
"Oh god, Curly," she gasped, her fingers threading through his hair. "Yes, just like that. Don't stop."
He could feel her guiding him with her hips, her body telling him exactly what she wanted. He obliged, his tongue delving deeper, circling her clit, dipping inside her tight heat.
Anya's moans grew louder, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps. "Fuck, Curly, I'm gonna... I'm gonna..."
Her words dissolved into a cry of pleasure as she came, her body shaking, her thighs clenching around his head. Curly licked her through it, prolonging her pleasure, savoring the taste of her on his tongue.
When she finally collapsed back onto the bed, spent and satisfied, Curly reached for a condom and some lube from his nightstand. Anya took them from him, helping him roll the condom on, slicking his cock with the lube.
"I need you inside me," she whispered, positioning him at her entrance. "Please, Curly, I want to feel you."
With a groan of pleasure, Curly pushed forward, slowly sinking into her tight heat. Anya's walls clenched around him, her body stretching to accommodate his size.
"Oh fuck, you feel amazing," Curly gasped, his hips pressing forward until he was buried to the hilt inside her. "So fucking tight."
They moved together, their bodies finding a rhythm, Curly's hips pumping, Anya's legs wrapping around his waist. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, mingling with their moans and gasps of pleasure.
"Harder," Anya demanded, her nails digging into his back. "Fuck me harder, Curly. I want to feel it."
Curly obliged, his thrusts growing faster, stronger, the bed creaking beneath them. Anya's moans grew louder, higher pitched, her body tensing, her walls fluttering around him.
Anya's body tensed, her nails digging into Curly's back as she teetered on the edge of another orgasm. "I'm close," she gasped, her hips grinding against his. "Oh god, Curly, I'm gonna... I'm gonna..."
Her words dissolved into a cry of pleasure as she came, her walls clenching around him, her body shaking with the force of her release. Curly groaned, his hips still moving, thrusting into her, prolonging her pleasure.
But as her orgasm subsided, he realized that he was still hard, still aching for his own release. Anya seemed to notice too, her eyes darkening with desire as she felt him twitch inside her.
"You didn't come," she murmured, her voice low and husky. "You're still so hard."
With a sudden burst of strength, she pushed him onto his back, straddling him, her hips never leaving his. Curly groaned at the new angle, the way she was taking him so deep, her walls gripping him like a vice.
"Fuck, Anya," he gasped, his hands gripping her hips, guiding her movements. "You feel so fucking good."
Anya began to ride him, her hips rolling, her body undulating above him. The sight of her, lost in pleasure, her breasts bouncing, her head thrown back, it was almost too much for Curly to handle.
"You're so deep inside me," Anya moaned, her hands fisting in the sheets. "I can feel you in my throat."
Curly laughs at her comment before thrusting up into her, matching her rhythm, his hips snapping forward, his cock hitting that sweet spot inside her with every stroke. Anya's moans grew louder, higher pitched, her body tensing, her walls fluttering around him.
"I'm gonna come again," she gasped, her movements becoming erratic. "Oh god, Curly, I'm gonna... I'm gonna..."
She came with a cry, her body shaking, her walls clenching around him, milking him, urging him to let go. But Curly held back, determined to prolong this moment, to make it last as long as possible.
But Anya seemed to have other plans. As she came down from her high, she leaned forward, her breasts pressing against his chest, her lips brushing his ear.
"What's the matter, baby?" she whispered, her teeth nipping at his earlobe. "You have like superhuman stamina."
Curly groaned at her words, his hips bucking up into her, his cock throbbing, aching for release. "Fuck, Anya," he gasped, his hands gripping her hips, holding her in place. "You're gonna be the death of me."
As Anya's hips continued to roll, her internal muscles gripping him like a velvet fist, Curly felt his climax building, his body tensing, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps.
"Fuck, Anya," he gasped, his hands gripping her hips, guiding her movements. "I'm gonna come. I'm gonna... I'm gonna..."
His words dissolved into a groan of pleasure as his orgasm hit him, his cock pulsing, throbbing inside her. Anya moaned, her own pleasure building again, her walls clenching around him, milking him for every last drop.
They rode out their orgasms together, their bodies shaking, their sweat-slicked skin sliding against each other. Curly's hands roamed over Anya's body, caressing her breasts, her stomach, her thighs, savoring the feel of her.
As the last waves of pleasure subsided, they collapsed together, Anya's head resting on Curly's chest, his arms wrapped around her, holding her close. They lay like that for a long moment, their breaths slowly returning to normal, their hearts beating in sync.
"That was... incredible," Anya murmured, her voice soft and content.
Curly chuckled, his hand stroking her back, her hair. "You're incredible," he murmured back. "I love you, Anya. I love you so much."
Anya lifted her head to look at him, her eyes shining with emotion. "I love you too, Curly," she whispered. "More than anything."
They kissed then, a slow, deep, passionate kiss, pouring all their love and desire into it. And as they did, Curly knew that this was just the beginning, that he and Anya had a lifetime of love and passion ahead of them.
And he couldn't wait to experience every moment of it with her.