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Mending a Soul	By : RogueMudblood Category: M through R > Rambo (all movies) > Rambo (all movies) Views: 1319 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Rambo, or any of the characters in it. I make no profit from this work of fiction.

Chapter List
- 1-Mending a Soul
- 1
A/N: My sincerest apologies to pittwitch. This story will hopefully sate her desire momentarily for this character so she does not lose her patience with me on the much longer tale I'm constructing.
I have taken the liberty of perhaps altering the identity of the woman Rambo meets at Delmar's house. I've done this in consideration of their ages – Rambo was thirty-five at the start of the film. As he and Barry served and trained together, I don't find it likely that he had a daughter as old as the young lady that comes to help the woman hanging wash. Special Forces candidates must be between the ages of twenty and thirty. Therefore, I have stated that the older woman is in fact Delmar's mother, not his wife. Her role in Delmar's life is never actually disclosed in the film.
Review replies are here: http://www2.adult-fanfiction.org/forum/index.php/topic/50532-review-replies-mending-a-soul/

A note on safe sex:

The characters don't use a condom in this. I feel obligated to remind you that this is fiction and as such, the consequences or lack thereof are at my discretion as the author. Please practice safe sex – use prophylactics.

I couldn't help but stare. He looked so out of place standing there in that faded army-green jacket. Had a bit of dirt on his face from the road, even, but his fingernails were clean underneath. Momma always said you could tell a lot about a person if they cleaned under their nails. Means they take care of what God gave 'em, she said, that they take the time to clean even there.
He was standing there showing momma a picture, so I walked out, hoping to get his attention, the basket under my arm only a pretense. He looked up for a moment, but he was still trying to show momma the photo. I glanced over to it, and tears sprang to my eyes. Standing tall and proud at the back of it was my brother Delmar.
I must have gasped – momma sent me back in the house with the dry clothes to fold and put away real quick. I overheard her tell him that Delmar died from the cancer he got over there in that war. I chanced another look out the window and he seemed so broken, hearing that. He thanked momma and started to walk away, but she must have seen it too. She asked him to stay for lunch.
He came inside after helping her hang up the rest of the wash. He looked at me and nodded, and I gave him a shaky smile back. I fixed two glasses of water and handed one to momma, taking the wash from her. When I handed the man his, our fingers touched around the glass. I lingered for a moment, not sure why I felt such an affinity for him. Maybe it was because he looked as broken as I felt when my brother had died.
“I appreciate you offering me lunch, ma'am.” Momma just waved him off like she does everyone. Truth was, food was hard to come by. It hadn't been easy, trying to keep a man medicated who had cancer. It eats at you. Not just the person that has it, but everyone watching it too. Especially when it's somebody close to you. Seeing someone you love in pain, and knowing you can't take that away is one of the worst things a body can suffer through.
But we had managed. Churches helped out, and the neighbors had brought over a lot of food when Delmar had passed. It was a good thing too, because neither momma nor I had felt like cooking. All that, of course, was long gone, and momma was fixing us sandwiches and warming up beans. I have to say if I ever do move away when I get married, I'm not going to ever eat beans again. Not if I can help it.
I finished putting away the wash just as she was calling me to the table, so when I entered our small dining room, I was surprised to see the man standing behind the chair, waiting on me. It had been a long time since anyone had done that. Delmar used to – said it was proper to treat ladies right, and he was going to until he couldn't any more. I looked over at momma and saw she was teary-eyed too, but I thanked him just the same and sat down.
We were pretty quiet while we ate, none of us really knowing what to say. Momma asked him how he got to us, and he told her that he'd hitchhiked. She was fairly disapproving about that. Not the part about taking strangers up on kindness, but the part about how he could've gotten hurt. I picked up my water glass when that brought a smile to my face, hiding it before momma could see it. He just told her there wasn't anyone that could hurt a member of Baker Team one on one, and he never got in a vehicle that had more than just him as a passenger. He always tried to pick flatbed trucks too, so he could ride behind the cab. Momma nodded then, and I could tell she'd decided he was smart.
After we'd cleaned up, he went outside and sat on the stoop, lighting up a cigarette. I finished putting the plates away and momma shooed me out the door too. Dusk was just coming on, and I suppose she didn't want any of the neighbors wondering if something had happened to us – or overreacting when they saw him sitting there – as they came home from work. I sat down next to him and he offered me one of his smokes. I shook my head as I smiled at him.
“You know those things can kill you.”
He smiled, and everything seemed to change in that moment. It wasn't a harsh smile, or a condescending smile. It wasn't rough or sad. It was a real smile. And it had been so long since I'd seen one of those, I wanted to kiss him, just for the sake that he'd proven a genuine smile still existed.
“Possibly. Some day. But I've been smoking 'em since they kept including 'em in our C-rats, and I figure if they haven't done the job by now, they might not. 'Course, I could be wrong.”
I nodded and looked down to the ground. “Yeah. And I'll tell you the truth. Cancer's not a fun way to die.” He looked at me then, and I could tell he was studying me. He touched my chin gently, turning my face back to him. His motions after that were deliberate. He stubbed out the cigarette – only half gone – and crumpled up the rest of the pack. I gave him a small smile. “Thanks.”
“Sure.”
And we sat there, next to each other, in silence for a while. I was remembering all the times my brother had gone on about his team. It was a few minutes before he said anything.
“I wrote him. I kept thinking I'd come up here some day and visit, and he'd introduce me to his little sister he kept talking about.” I smiled at him then. “He always said you were a little spitfire. That you wouldn't take anything from anyone without giving it back at least as good as you got it, but usually a good bit more.” I chuckled.
“Well, he didn't lie about that.” He smiled at me and we lapsed into silence for another few moments. “He'd read your letters to us. Up until the end. We read them to him then. He always smiled when he heard he had a letter from you.”
“I'd always smile when I got a letter from him too. But he never mentioned he was sick.”
“Said he didn't want you to worry about him. Said you were the type of man that would leave a job and cross a country to look after a friend in need. Which is the best kind of man in my book.” I shivered slightly as the wind carried a chill from the lake to us. He scooted closer and put his arm around me, his jacket covering my back.
“He's right. I would have worried. But I'd have been here sooner.”
“He didn't want you to see him like that.” I couldn't help the tears, and for some reason, when they started this time, I couldn't make them stop. He shushed me, whispered to me it was alright to cry, okay to hurt and feel lost. He wiped away my tears with the pad of his thumb. He laid his head on mine as he rocked me until finally the tears stopped and I was cried out.
And when he lifted his head away, I didn't think. I just wanted to feel. I wanted to feel alive again. I did kiss him then as I'd wanted to when he smiled. He was surprised, but he kissed me back. I think he just wanted to feel too. As I kissed him, I knew it was going to go farther if I let it, and frankly, I didn't mind. He was a good looking man, he was a kind man, and he was a smart man.
He had moved his hand to cup my cheek as his tongue probed at my lips. Of course I didn't mind in the least him deepening the kiss, and opened my mouth to him. I scooted closer, one hand bunching the cloth of his shirt, the other wrapping around his back. He groaned slightly as I traced my fingers lightly over the muscles moving under their tips, and both of his hands went to my hips.
Lifting me from the stoop caused me to gasp and the kiss to break, but when he set me in his lap, I didn't care. He pulled my hips down into his lap, pushing himself up into my center. He needed this as much as I did. In those moments, we were both just feeling – just realizing that the world is still going on, and that life is continuing, even if sometimes it felt as though it had all stopped when my brother died.
He started kissing along my neck, and as I ground down into him he nipped lightly at my collarbone. I began moving my hips in rhythm and he buried his face in my shoulder, grunting once before his hands landed around my waist, holding me still against him.
“Is there somewhere private we can go?”
His voice was rough, sending tingles up my spine as I stood and took his hand. He grasped it firmly and followed me without question. I shivered at the amount of trust this man was putting in me – at the amount I was putting in him. Still I didn't think twice about taking him to my room at the back of the house. Once I had the door locked, I turned to look at him again. He was running a hand through his hair and I smiled as I walked forward.
My hands started around his waist as I leaned up on my tiptoes to kiss him. I tugged his shirt from his jeans and moved my hands upwards to his shoulders. I eased his jacket off, then his shirt, breaking the kiss then and grinning at his plain white undershirt.
“Well, you certainly do dress for the weather.”
He smirked, taking the undershirt off as well before drawing me back to him for another kiss. His hand moved to my waist, and I laid mine on top, guiding his fingers under my top, up to palm my breast. He moaned and I gasped as he squeezed gently. I could feel my nipples harden, reacting to his touch. His mouth was leaving a trail of kisses on my neck once more as I ran my fingers through his hair, holding his head to me. My hips ground into him as I sought to bring us both some comfort. His lips worked their way back up to mine, drawing a whimper from me as he captured them once more.
Breaking the kiss to get my top off, I maneuvered him back to the bed. He sat down and I climbed into his lap, resuming our kiss. I didn't want to stop to think about what I was doing, I only wanted to feel. I think he felt the same way as he didn't hesitate to push his hips upward when I ground mine down. Our kisses became slightly more frantic as we rocked together. In moments he had managed to turn our positions so I was laying on my back on the bed and he was cradled between my thighs.
My hands traveled between us down to the front of his denims and I could feel one of his on the zip of my skirt as I worked to undo his fastenings. I could hear both zippers descend and it only served to heighten my need for him. Using my legs as best I could, I managed to get his jeans down past his hips and gasped as he pushed his erection against me again. He moved back, sliding my skirt and panties down my hips as he went and allowing his own pants to fall to the floor. As he lowered his briefs he looked into my eyes, questioning one last time. I answered him by sitting up and stroking him firmly.
The fire returned to his gaze, the need we both had to simply feel overwhelming us so completely that reason had no place with us. He moved forward causing me to lie back again. Continuing his advance, he pressed kisses against my calves, then my thighs, my belly as he traveled upward. He stopped at my breasts to suckle, causing me to gasp and arch off the bed. The fingers of my left hand traced scars on his back as my right grasped the back of his head and held him at my breast.
“Yes, please!”
I wasn't above begging for what I needed at this point. And he didn't hesitate to give it to me. He didn't play games and try to tease, he just continued suckling on one breast until I was squirming so much under him that he had to use his hands to hold my hips still. Then he moved his attentions to the other breast, and I whimpered. Every bit of suction he applied caused my arousal to course through me, heightening my awareness. By the time he fastened his lips on mine once more, I had explored his back with both of my hands. Scars crossed him at odd angles, covering his skin in a map of pain. Tears came to my eyes and he shushed me again, kissing my eyelids when I closed them.
Wrapping my legs around him, I fastened my heels at the small of his back and urged him forward. He slipped a hand between us, unerringly flicking his fingers rapidly over my clit. It only took a few moments before I fell apart beneath him, my legs tightening their grip on his sides as my body tensed in the moment before I fell over the precipice of pleasure he had guided me to.
He slid into me before the tremors ceased, causing smaller ripples of pleasure to course through me. He stayed still for the moments it took me to come back to myself. I rocked against him then and he began a steady rhythm. I reached my arms around his neck, bringing his mouth down to mine as I met his thrusts. Back and forth we went, with no words between us. Only our breathing and the creaking of the bedsprings as we found solace in those moments. The steady push and pull of our bodies against each other as we felt the life pulse through us.
In those moments I had a complete awareness that I was not alone, and it only took a moment of letting my own tears flow freely before I realized that the wetness against my neck wasn't from my own grief. He shuddered against me, never faltering in his rhythm, but gasping for air as sobs racked his body. I shushed him then, murmuring to him and letting him know he wasn't alone. He kissed me and our tears mingled at the touch of our lips. I tasted the salt and swallowed it down. For the first time in the last month, it didn't taste bitter.
We continued thrusting against one another, our bodies moving together to purge our souls. He buried his face in my neck again, licking up the tears he'd left there and leaving kisses in the wake of his tongue. My lips traced the scars on his shoulder that they could reach, lightly kissing them as he gasped with each gentle touch there.
Neither of us were in any rush to end this, though we were both gasping for air – from our exertions and from the sobs that contracted our muscles. Still,it did eventually have to end. As he was nearing his peak, he reached between us again, finding my clit once more and flicking it gently. Within moments, my body tensed again before my muscles gave in to the welcome release, and I felt him do the same, pulsing within me even as I still convulsed around him.
I held him to me, carding my fingers through his hair.
“'M I crushing you?”
“No.” My voice was a whisper. So much tension had left him, and I could tell he was emotionally exhausted. I gave him no indication to move, and he fell asleep there, laying in my arms. I followed him soon after.
The next morning, he seemed shocked to find that he had slept through the whole night. I could only offer him a sad smile. Delmar had had night terrors too, and I knew how bad they could get. He kissed me again before rising and getting dressed. I knew I would be stiff today – he had not moved all night long, and my muscles were not accustomed to bearing such a weight.
As he left, headed to the nearest town, I waved him off in the dawn light. He had given me one last kiss, and I had known I likely wouldn't see him again. And that was perfectly fine, because for the first time in a long time, my heart felt like it could be whole again one day. It still ached, but it was nothing like it had been. My torn soul had begun to heal, and I could tell from the way that he carried himself that John Rambo's had begun to sew itself back together as well.
Delmar would have been happy to know that.
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Mending a Soul