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A House by the Sea (and other Dreams Come True)

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Sinclair brought it up to Delta almost a month into their “new life,” as he had taken to calling it. In an attempt at being casual, he popped a cube of cantaloupe into his mouth and leaned against the kitchen counter. Delta crooned disapprovingly, but continued to slice up the fruit.

“Y’all don’t really need to eat anymore, right?” He drawled, carefree as anything.

The only response he got was a quizzical moan, which was both exactly what he’d expected and not a noise he would’ve bet on ever hearing just a year ago. Strange, what a person could get used to.

“Well, I was just wonderin’ if you still like eatin’, even if you don’t need to.” He toyed with another one of those neatly cut cubes, rolling it between his fingers, getting himself sticky.

Delta caught Sinclair’s wrist in one of his, huge fingers easily encasing most of Sinclair’s forearm. Startled, Sinclair only stared while Delta inclined his helmet. It kind of looked like he was going to kiss Sinclair, which of course was an impossibility, the glass encasing his ruin of a face would stop them even if he wanted to -

“Oh!” Sinclair jumped as his own fingers brushed his lips. “Oh, did you want me to stop playin’ with my food?”

An affirmative sound, and Sinclair easily took the fruit into his mouth. Just for good measure, he licked the sweet juice away; waste not, want not! After that, he noted, “You never answered my question.” Delta, however, didn’t respond. He was still holding Sinclair’s wrist, still had his head bent slightly. “Darlin’?”

Now, it seemed, it was Delta’s turn to startle. It was rare to see him like that, and someone less familiar with him wouldn’t notice. But Sinclair, for all the hours he’d spent carefully watching the Big Daddy, recognized the little, head-to-toe shake for what it was. Without needing to be told, Sinclair figured Delta had forgotten what he’d asked, and repeated, “Do you like eatin’ even though you don’t need it?”

His hand was released, Delta took a single step back, and shrugged his hulking shoulders. Sinclair smiled understandingly.

He didn’t let himself get too hopeful about what it might mean, though. Either the nod or Delta’s lapse in attention. Not yet, anyway.

“If’n you don’t mind, why don’t you whip up some’a your old favorites? Maybe not tonight, mind, but some time. Might do you good to smell somethin’ familiar, even if y’all don’t got mouths anymore.” On the last word he tapped Delta’s helmet with a single finger, smiling.

Was it just wishful thinking that Delta’s hiccuping croon sounded a bit like laughter?

A couple of weeks later, Sinclair was sitting on the porch of their little home, staring out at the sun setting over the water.  He liked living on the beach, though he’d half expected himself to be sick of the smell of salt and fish by now. The sound of the waves, though, that hadn’t been part of Rapture at all, and all that open space… well, perhaps it wasn’t so strange, after all.

Delta was by the water, and Sinclair was definitely not surreptitiously watching him. It was just coincidence that he’d chosen to sit in the wicker chair rather than in the sand beside him. Definitely just coincidence.

The back door creaked behind him, prompting Sinclair to tilt his head back and say, brightly, “Welcome home sweetheart.”

“Hello, Sinclair,” Eleanor replied. “How was your day?”

“Now Eleanor, I’ve asked you to call me your Pa - ”

“Has Father been so listless all day?”

Shrugging, Sinclair turned back around. “I only got home from work a few minutes ago, myself. I certainly hope not.”

“Hmm,” Eleanor sat down on the bottom step, burrowing her bare toes into the sandy soil. “You watch Father quite often.”

“Do I?” Sinclair found himself suddenly sweating, though the day should’ve begun cooling already, and cleared his throat while he undid the top button of his shirt. “Well, your Father and I are workin’ very hard to raise you, so I suppose it makes sense. Is it just me, or is it hotter ‘n a goat’s butt in a pepper patch?”

Eleanor opened her mouth to respond, paused, furrowed her brows, and then closed her mouth.

For a minute they sat there, in silence Sinclair couldn’t quite convince himself was comfortable, and then Eleanor continued with what she’d presumably meant to say before.

“He is very fond of you, you know. Father.”

“That so? I’m mighty glad, you know I’m fond of him myself - ”

Once again, the teenager cut him off. “He can eat.”

“I’m sorry?” There was no way she could’ve overheard when Sinclair had asked about that; she’d been out of the house, he was sure of it.

“I caught him making empanadas the other night while he was thinking about you.” Standing, she dusted her skirt of some of the sand which had inevitably found its way onto her clothes. “Father can still eat, though I don’t think he tastes the way he used to. He’s more human than you might think, even after all this time.”

As she went to leave, however, Sinclair caught her with a gentle tug at her shirt. She paused, clear surprise in her bright, blue eyes, and he made sure their gazes were matched when he said, “I know he is. Delta. There’s more man in him than in most of the snakes in the grass we’ve had the misfortune to meet. ‘Specially back in Rapture.”

Consideration clear on her face, she nodded, and Sinclair let her go. Though she didn’t say anything else to him until they all sat down at their little wooden table with its little yellow tablecloth for dinner, he had the vague sense that she approved of what he’d said. Like he’d passed some kind of hidden test.

“Father,” Eleanor said, when she and Sinclair had both cleaned their plates (Delta had chosen not to eat, for reasons Sinclair now knew were his own). “I received an invitation to go to Linda’s house after school, tomorrow. May I go?”

A downward turning of Delta’s moan seemed to indicate disapproval. “She’s a very nice girl,” Eleanor soothed, and then Delta looked to Sinclair.

Unsure if he was meant to be backing up Delta or not, Sinclair said, “Well, if you’re comfortable going over, I see no reason why not! We can always pick you up late in the night, if’n y’all don’t have enough beds.”

Eleanor looked between Sinclair and Delta, as if to say, see? Delta huffed, then waved one huge hand, ending the gesture in a pat on Eleanor’s head that made her lips split into a wide, sincere smile. It was her prettiest expression, in Sinclair’s opinion, and only Delta seemed consistently able to draw it out of her. Sinclair was working on it, though.

Tomorrow night wouldn’t be a night for bonding with Eleanor, he reflected. His bedside lamp clicked off with a sense of finality that had his heartbeat picking up. Eleanor had bought him and Delta alone time, even if that hadn’t been her primary intention. And alone time with Delta, knowing that his interest might be returned, well.

Sinclair was running out of excuses.

---------------

Standing at the edge of the sitting room, Sinclair took a moment to center himself.

Beside him, the radio was sitting on a side table, playing a murder mystery drama of some kind. The lamp next to it cast Delta in warm light despite the curtains pulled over the cloudy sky outside. Sinclair glanced at their little, red clock, even though he knew the time would be the same as when last he’d looked: two minutes past noon.

Incongruous as it might seem, to have a Big Daddy sitting on a navy blue couch in a room with floral wallpaper, this was what had become Sinclair’s home. More of a home than he’d had in a long, long time, to be perfectly honest. And changing something fundamental about it made him rather nervous. Understandably, he would think.

Change, however, was inevitable. And when it opened the door to something that could make him so, so happy - something he’d contemplated for so long, quite literally seen in his dreams - then it was worth the risk.

A

So he took a deep breath, and changed the channel on the radio.

Surprised, Delta made a slightly squeaky sound, which cut off abruptly as the room filled with the sound of jazz, and Sinclair came into view. He was wearing a normal shirt, white and buttoned up all proper, complete with a grey tie. But his pants were nowhere to be seen, leaving his socks and their garters on full display, and his underwear. Lacy, black panties. Rather revealing, to the point where Sinclair could almost hear his Ma’s voice admonishing, I can see your religion, boy!

Warbles came from beneath Delta’s helmet, a bit strangled sounding. Sinclair pushed aside thoughts of his mother (Lord help him) and sauntered forward with a confidence it was hard to feel. “Mind if I join you?” He asked, a bit of a purr in his voice.

“Mmmnnnnnm!” Delta replied, which was enough of a yes for him. Sinclair straddled one of Delta’s thighs, bracing his hands on the Big Daddy’s shoulder and the back of the couch. He would’ve liked to sit in Delta’s lap proper, but his legs were straining around how wide even just one of those thighs was.

“Figured it was about time we stop dancin’ around each other like a pair of nervous hawks and just go for it,” Sinclair said. His breath fogged up the glass of Delta’s helmet. “Anythin’ make you uncomfortable and you can stop me right away, got it? Don’t be afraid to push me off your lap. I’m soft, it’ll be an easy landin’.”

In response Sinclair got one of those strange, bubbling chuckles from Delta, and a pair of hesitant hands grabbing his hips. Really, it was more like he was grabbed around the entire torso. Not many men could make Sinclair feel small. It was more than welcome.

Delta likes having Sinclair in his arms.

Leaning forwards, he kissed the warm glass, and then shivered lightly when Delta rumbled. He supposed he could just… get on with it? There’d been enough buildup, already.

“I don’t mean to embarrass you,” Sinclair muttered. “But I’ve got no idea how y’all work, so you’re gonna have to lead me here a little bit.”

Just to illustrate his point Sinclair pressed one hand down over Delta’s crotch, and oh wasn’t that something. He could definitely feel a hardness in there, something longer than his hand at the least, and it had his mouth watering.

His beau positively whined at the attention, so at least Sinclair knew he wasn’t too far off the mark. Delta grabbed Sinclair’s wrist, an echo of all that time ago in the kitchen, and led his fingertips just a bit lower. To a hidden catch in the suit.

Excitement took over the nerves, and Sinclair easily nudged aside the leather strap over Delta’s crotch, then snapped the dark blue fabric open.

Out fell Delta’s cock, and like Sinclair had suspected, it was big. Bigger than big.

“Ah,” Sinclair said. “I might not’ve done enough preparation.”

“Mmm-mmmmm?” Delta hummed, too innocent for someone packing… that.

It had no foreskin, the head thick and blunt and glistening at the tip with pre. His skin was mottled purples and reds, textured thickly with a strange sort of warping. Part of Sinclair felt that old, familiar guilt at Delta’s stolen humanity, but it took a backseat to the pure want pouring through him. What would it feel like inside him, stretching him open? It was thicker than his wrist, longer than his forearm. God, he needed.

To answer Delta’s implied question, Sinclair took a turn directing Delta’s hands for once. One of those huge, glove-covered fingertips brushed Sinclair’s hole, the pressure light and almost shy. “Yes,” Sinclair sighed. “Oh, if y’all wouldn’t mind givin’ me a hand, please?”

Rumbles went through Delta’s whole body. Sinclair rocked down into his thigh without even thinking about it, happy little tingles going up his spine. The first proper press of Delta’s finger inwards was fine, his hole properly slicked up already, but Sinclair still pressed a palm to Delta’s chest and breathed, “Got anythin’ we can use to make me nice and wet darlin’?”

Hesitating slightly, Delta leaned to the side, releasing one half of Sinclair’s body as he did. From within the side table’s drawer, he pulled out a tub of vaseline, comically small in his oversized hand. Sinclair raised an eyebrow at this, which caused Delta to bashfully nudge his helmet against Sinclair’s shoulder.

“There, there,” Sinclair soothed. “I ain’t about to judge you. Here, I’ll prove it.”

Sinclair climbed off Delta’s lap, lounging horizontally on the couch instead. He propped himself up on his elbows, leaned against Delta’s leg, and licked a long, luxurious line up the side of Delta’s cock.

He was almost too distracted by the extremely salty, slightly chemical taste to notice Delta’s answering moan. Almost. But since he did, he grinned widely, and did it again.

“Might wanna get on with it honey bee, else I’ll be suckin’ you dry before you can - oh!”

Apparently Delta was sick of Sinclair’s cocky talk. He’d slipped a wet glove against Sinclair’s (if he said so himself) rather lovely ass. For a second, he simply kneaded, working the silky lace against Sinclair’s skin and enjoying the give. The attention was lovely, and not so distracting that it kept Sinclair from trying to continue the blowjob.

Eventually, however, Delta’s finger slipped between Sinclair’s cheeks to press against his hole, and Sinclair had to stop suckling at his head to take a deep breath. Everything about him was just so big! One of his fingers was easily as thick as two of Sinclair’s, maybe even three. It was useful, because he would definitely be able to stretch Sinclair enough to fit his dick. But it made the job of sucking him even more difficult.

Determination and stubbornness spurred Sinclair on. Delta was making him feel so good, reaching so deep - two fingers now, too fast and too eager but delicious each time they thrust in and out. Sinclair was experienced, he could give as good as he got. Even though his jaw ached just going over the head. Even though he gagged with hardly any of Delta’s dick in his mouth.

Concerned croons came from above him, and Sinclair changed up his approach; he didn’t want Delta focusing on his worries, not now. So he leaned lower, sucked the side of Delta’s dick, and pumped his hand up and down the majority of it. He mourned the lack of visible balls to tease, even as he marveled at how his fingers couldn’t even close around the base. Lord, Delta was gonna split him open, he couldn’t wait.

Another rumble went through his bones. “Was I speakin’ aloud? Rude of me,” Sinclair said, all faux apology.

More vaseline was smeared over his skin in retaliation. It was a bit cold, and he shivered, then actually squeaked as a generous scoop of it was pushed into his body. “What’re you - ” He started, only to bite his own tongue. Delta had somehow managed to get three of those fingers into him.

His hips were going to be sore tomorrow, he could already tell, and they hadn’t even started fucking yet. The ache spread deep into his belly, more arousal than anything else. His hips kept bucking against the couch, then pressing back into Delta’s generous palm.

All it took was one press of Delta’s thumb against Sinclair’s perineum and he was gone. “Stop, stop, if you do anymore then I’ll be the one comin’,” he babbled.

Delta froze with a soft, “Mrrr?” But he lifted his hands easily enough, allowing Sinclair to climb back into his lap, and then supported him with a grip on his hips once again. This time, however, Sinclair rested one knee each on Delta’s thighs, and held his cock in place with one hand behind his back.

“Sorry if this is a bit uncomfortable,” Sinclair mumbled. He was a bit distracted trying to line everything up. “It’ll just be a moment.”

Sinking down onto Delta’s dick pretty effectively cut off any response he might’ve given. Sinclair only managed a little less than half the length before he had to pause, hands on Delta’s shoulders, to try to adjust.

Under him, Delta was practically vibrating with tension. Sinclair wanted to give him more, let him feel how soft and velvety and welcoming Sinclair had made himself, just for him. But he felt like his legs were about to give out under him, so. So.

On a whim Sinclair leaned forwards and whispered into Delta’s helmet, “Mind givin’ me a hand sweet pea?”

Really, he should’ve known better than to try to sweet talk Delta like that. Sinclair made a rather unattractive squawking sound when Delta abruptly stood up, taking Sinclair with him. The weight didn’t seem to bother him in the slightest, and he supported Sinclair easily with just two hands. And a dick, of course, a solid inch or two deeper into Sinclair now. The poor man was left clinging to Delta with legs around his waist and arms around his neck, while Delta began to walk up the stairs, casual as you please.

Each step was a thrust fucking into Sinclair. It took almost no movement on Delta’s part for him to feel like this was one of the hardest dickings he’d had in his life, and Delta just kept. Getting. Deeper. His desperate gasps were soothed by a gentle song from Delta, exactly like the noises he’d heard whales make, but it only drove him more crazy.

“P-p-please, Delta! Ah, f-fuck me, gh - n-no, that wasn’t a - an order, Lord!”

Taking the Lord’s name in vain wasn’t normally something that bothered Sinclair, but given the circumstances he felt a tiny bit guilty while Delta laid him down in his bed. Only a tiny bit, mind. He could practically feel Delta’s dick in his throat, and it wasn’t even all the way in yet.

Very quickly, Sinclair realized he had a bigger problem. His cock was sticking out from his panties (which were thoroughly ruined - if Delta hadn’t torn them when he’d pushed them aside, then he’d definitely stretched them out irreparably since) and leaking quite a bit, but he wasn’t exactly on the edge of coming. And now that Delta had him horizontal, he was being, well…

Gentle. So, so gentle, and loving too. It wasn’t that Sinclair hadn’t thought he was capable of that, just.

As people went, Sinclair was more fond of pain than most. Getting Delta fully inside him was going to hurt, and he was looking forward to it.

And Delta wasn’t giving it to him.

While he was busy considering his options, Sinclair felt a rush of wet warmth inside him. Delta rumbled deep enough that it was almost a vibration, forcing Sinclair’s spine to arch. Did he just come? Sinclair wondered, but the answer was blown from his mind when Delta slipped a hand between their bodies, flat to Sinclair’s belly, and pressed.

Come leaked out around Delta’s cock, making the space between Sinclair’s legs even more sticky and slippery. It felt good, and Sinclair was even more full than before, and, best of all, Delta wasn’t getting any softer. Sinclair had no idea why Big Daddies would need to come an ungodly amount; he didn’t care. He was just happy to reap the benefits, to feel Delta still filling him up. To see Delta feel himself inside of Sinclair, press his palm down even harder into Sinclair’s soft stomach, and groan.

Once again the sound sent a physical shockwave through Sinclair’s body. More precome spurted out of him, to the point where his balls were actually aching with the desire to just orgasm already. This had been a long time coming.

So, on a whim, Sinclair said, “You can keep goin’, can’t you D-Delta? Gotta m-make sure to, hnn, fuck me harder, nice and d-deep. Until I c-can’t take any more, please.”

Delta pet Sinclair’s stomach more, rumbling a bit, and began to rock his hips. But it still wasn’t the hard snap Sinclair was hoping for, so he continued, “Is it c-cause you’re such a good protector, hmm? Don’t want to - ah, fuck - hurt me? But I ain’t no little one, I - I, damn!”

On those last words Delta had made a bubbling sound not unlike a growl. It reminded Sinclair of volcanic eruptions deep underwater, of danger lurking just beneath the surface, and Delta’s hips had bucked a bit more wildly than they were before.

“Is that it? You want… more little ones? To protect?” Delta wrapped Sinclair up in his arms, hugging him tightly enough to constrict his breathing a bit, and growled again.

“You want me to have your kids, darlin’?”

Like he’d found Delta’s weakness, Sinclair was suddenly faced with exactly what he’d wanted.

Clinging to Delta, it was all he could do to hold on while he was fucked over and over, dick going so far on each thrust that he was literally gagging for it. Sinclair’s whole body was rocked each time, breath coughing out of his lungs, and if his eyes hadn’t been squeezed shut he was certain they would’ve been rolling back and tearing up too much to see anyway.

He loved it.

Somehow, he found the breath necessary to babble more. “Thank you, oh, more, yes! God, fuck yes - ” His speech cut off, and it took him a second to realize why.

Without pausing or even hesitating, Delta had stuffed his mouth full of three fingers. It hurt, forced him open and accepting on both ends so deep. If Sinclair could’ve still spoken, he would’ve been singing Delta’s praises.

Of course, he couldn’t, so he settled for fellating Delta’s fingers as best he could. That growl became a sort of purr, vibrating through Sinclair from the fingers in his mouth to the cock spearing him open. Faster, harder, more. Delta delivered on every single request Sinclair could’ve given him, and within moments he felt himself approaching that threshold.

Whiteness took over Sinclair’s vision for a long minute. Pleasure rocked through him, his legs kicking as best they could, and dimly he reflected it was good Delta had spread them so wide. His stomach very nearly felt like it was cramping in the best way possible. When it was over, all he could do was lay still, panting around Delta’s wet fingers.

After pleasure like that, each slow rock of Delta’s hips sent electric shocks up Sinclair’s spine. The little, zinging sensations weren’t pleasant, and he kept finding himself twitching and whining as Delta approached his second orgasm. Ironically, Delta was making similar noises, which were so endearing Sinclair knew he’d be replaying them next time he had a late, lonely night. Hopefully that wouldn’t be for a while, however.

Lazily, Sinclair dragged his fingertips through the come currently staining his sweaty, rucked up shirt, and rode out Delta’s last few thrusts. His Big Daddy crooned beautifully as he came, impossibly gentle hands cradling his cheeks for a nuzzle that should not have been as innocent as it was, with a second load of come warming Sinclair’s insides.

“We’ve made a right mess of me, haven’t we honey bee?” said Sinclair, when Delta had pulled out and laid down on his side, pulling Sinclair close to him.

Bubbling laughter, the likes of which Sinclair had never heard, even after all his time in Rapture.

“Eleanor won’t be home until tomorrow morning,” he said. “Now I ain’t no young man anymore, but I think if you get me outta these clothes and cleaned up a bit, I might be tempted into goin’ at it again.”

Delta petted down Sinclair’s side, until he sighed and kissed Delta’s porthole. “I love you, you big bucket of bolts, you know that?”

To his surprise Delta froze, then brought both hands up to his chest and sort of - wiggled, a bit? Horizontal it was harder to place the movement than it would’ve been upright, but Sinclair realized after a moment. He was embarrassed. Laughter overcame Sinclair, big belly guffaws that made a bit of come leak out of him, and then he was laughing harder because that was hot and because this was absurd, and Delta was laughing with him.

He loved Delta, and though Delta couldn’t say it, he was sure the sentiment was returned. In fact, even if Eleanor still refused to call him Pa, Sinclair had a sneaking suspicion he’d finally gotten his hands on the family he’d wanted to have for a long, long time.