Their first time is slow. It's soft and gentle and nothing like the clash of energy Deckard thought it would be. Where he expected Hobbs to be rough he's soft, where he was certain there would be bruises, nails digging into skin, harsh thrusts, there's nothing but gentleness; and there's something about it that sets his teeth on edge. He doesn't know if it's because the build up felt like they were leading to a fuck that would feel like a fight or because it's been years since someone's been gentle with him.
There's a warmth building in his chest that he's trying his best to ignore and really it'd be more annoying if he didn't feel so bloody good. Luke doesn't rise to any bait and Deckard makes sure to play dirty. Kisses like filth, rolls his hips, bites and scratches and tightens, but none of it makes Luke go any faster; it makes him groan loudly right in Deckard's ear, has him stuttering his thrusts and swearing under his breath but it stays slow, sweet. It's kind of devastating in a way he wasn't prepared for- a quick not-quite-but-still hate fuck, passion and anger- he was ready for that and he knew it was going to feel good, it still does, he just didn't know it was going to be this. Feel like this.
When it's all over and they're breathing harshly in the new silence of the room Deckard feels the overwhelming need to get out. He waits until Hobbs' breathing evens out, till he's sure he's dead to the world and then he runs. Dresses quick and silent, and disappears into the early morning. He's not proud of it, never been one not to face his problems straight on but he doubts this is something he can fight his way out of which makes it dangerous, makes it terrifying, and he hates Hobbs a little for not sticking to the script on this. They'd been on the same page right up until the crescendo. But it’s good, the hate, he tries to hold onto it.