Chapter 1: Let Me Make You Feel Better

Author's note: First things first, this is most definitely AU. Booker and Elizabeth are not father and daughter in this, because then they would be adding to their growing list of illegal acts, and we don't want that, now do we? If you're into the incest thing, then just go with the idea that it's just part of the original storyline. However, even though I don't judge, I don't think I could write that genre because I would just be too uncomfortable.

I apologize if things seem wrong or out of place, but when I played Bioshock Infinite, I was playing quickly because I was so excited about it that I may have forgotten or didn't hear certain things. So, read on and enjoy!

Warning: This story contains adult content and is not meant for the younglings. Read with caution and do not hate on me, because I warned you.

-Sarai

Disclaimer: Bioshock is not mine, and never will be (super sad face).

"What do… What do they want from me?" she inquired with silent desperation.

The look in her bright blue eyes made Booker want to really take her to Paris. To put her somewhere safe and make sure nothing bad ever happened to the young woman. He wanted to protect her from Comstock and all the other things that threatened to harm her. He could feel sorrow and guilt overtake him as she looked away with sadness that had filled her so quickly; replacing the anger she felt towards him just moments ago.

"I don't know, but that's the last time anyone gets the drop on me," he said through gritted teeth. He silently hissed when he balled his hand into a firm fist and caused a surge of pain to go through his entire arm. He lifted his hand to inspect the clean stab wound that had gone straight through his palm.

Elizabeth looked to his bloody injured hand and sighed heavily, "Let me see your hand." She pulled a ribbon from her dress and wrapped the ribbon tightly around his palm, "What happened back there, that…that's not the last of it, is it?"

"I don't know." Another hiss escaped his clenched teeth.

"Sorry," she whispered softly as she tied the ends and made sure the makeshift bandage was secure. She continued to hold his hand in her much smaller ones and traced the callused lines that adorned his fingers and palm. Her face dawned a contemplative look as her eyelids shut slightly.

Booker studied her closely, trying to decipher her thoughts, "What is it?"

"I…I never thought this is what it'd be like," she said so softly that it was almost inaudible. She gazed up at him and sighed when he arched a dark brown brow in question. "All my life I've read books about the world and its beauty. And yes, I've seen quite the beautiful things, but I never knew the violence that corrupted it. I was such a fool to think that I could be safe out here."

Booker felt the sorrow and guilt wave through his body again as her eyes watered slightly. He lifted his good hand to her face and caressed her soft cheek. She shut her eyes and a lone tear slide down her pale face. She leaned her head in his hand and took a step closer, daring to make another physical contact with him. She softly held his bandaged hand to her chest, opened her young eyes that so often held a curious expression and stared into his green eyes.

"But maybe Paris will be different, right Mr. DeWitt?"

He did his best to hide the guilt in his eyes, but he knew some was showing, because her brows furrowed in concern. "Look, Elizabeth…"

"It's alright. You don't have to tell me," she insisted.

He looked to her surprised. Has she known this whole time? Does she know that I'm actually going to take her to New York instead? His silent questions were answered when she spoke again.

"I'm too much of a romanticist to want to accept that everywhere, everything, everyone has something bad or violent about it. But I'm smart enough to know the truth, as harsh as it is."

"It's alright to be a romanticist, just don't let it cloud your judgment. There are bad people out there that want to hurt others and gain the upper hand for their own selfish reasons. Even I can be that way," he stated with a soft voice.

"No," she replied with a sternness he had yet to hear from her, "You are not bad nor are you selfish. I can see in your eyes that you want what's right. I can also see pain, Mr. DeWitt. I can see that you are fighting something within yourself and it's tearing you apart."

Booker could feel that certain warmness in his bones as she spoke to him. He had only felt this way so few times in his life and he wasn't very comfortable with it. He dropped his hand from her cheek and took a step back. He couldn't feel this way for someone who he had just met and that he was trying to escape with. Especially since she was his ticket to a clean slate. But she was beautiful with those big clear blue eyes that searched for answers and revelations, her dark hair waiting to be let out of the ribbon and to blow in the wind without a care in the world. Her small figure was the type that was meant to be held and tightly. Meant to be laid down and caressed, kissed on every part of her skin and to pleasure every part of her body.

He shook his head abruptly as the thoughts started to invade his mind. He could feel himself lusting for her and he couldn't allow it. He pulled his injured hand away from the warmth of her clutch and took more steps back until his back hit the wall.

"Mr. DeWitt? Are you alright?" she asked in obvious bewilderment.

He shook his head again and ignored her question. However, he decided that it was probably better if he did answer, because she walked to him and started to inspect his appearance and body, looking for any kind of injury or wound. After announcing he looked completely healthy, apart from his right hand, he should be fine. But he continued to press his back into the wall as if trying to gain more space between the two, but the wall would not have it.

Elizabeth placed her hands on his chest, trying to calm his sudden anxious attitude. She brought her hand to his jawline and ran her fingertips along his structured features. "You're acting most peculiar, Mr. DeWitt. Do you feel ill?"

He inwardly sighed from the feeling of her soft touch, but managed to shake his head, "I feel fine."

She brought the back of her hand to his forehead and stayed still for a second, "You're really hot. Burning, actually," she muttered as she snaked a hand into his vest to feel his skin through the fabric of his dress shirt. He could see on her face that she had no clue what kind of impact she was having on him, she simply was feeling his temperature.

Booker grabbed her hands and pulled them away slightly, "I'm alright Elizabeth. Just need a moment."

Her eyes flickered to discovery and she quickly put her hands on his shoulders, "You should sit down then, Mr. DeWitt, rest. I'd get a chair for you, but it seems there is none near. Take a moment to gather your strength."

Without putting much thought into her order, he slid to the floor and plopped down in a huff of exhaustion. He mentally praised himself for getting out of the rather heated situation that was arising between him and Elizabeth. But, to his dismay, she sat down in front of him, pulling off the scarf around her neck and bringing it to his forehead to cool down the heat from his skin. She leaned in a little closer to dab the scarf on him with less strain on her arm. Booker could feel his heart beat faster when he could smell a hint of the ocean on her skin as she leaned in. He could also detect a slight scent of flowers, and he knew that it suited her. He looked away in a hurry when he caught a small glimpse of cleavage, and now he could feel that familiar bubbly feeling growing in the pit of his stomach that only occurred when he had taken a woman to his quarters, or when one would pleasure him in ways that was meant for the bedroom and the privacy of blankets or closed doors.

"Is something the matter, Mr. DeWitt?" the woman in question inquired, oblivious to the torture she was putting him through.

Even though the feeling of ecstasy mixed with discomfort overwhelmed him, he managed to roll his eyes, "Will stop calling me that? Call me Booker."

"Sorry," she murmured with a small smile, "How do you feel?"

He kept his face turned away, afraid she might see the growing redness on his face, "I'm fine, alright? Stop worrying."

It was Elizabeth's turn to roll her eyes at his masculine response. She may have been kept in captivity all her life, but she could tell when that this man was trying to blow her off. She brought her delicate hand to his face and brought him to look at her. It proved to be a more difficult task than she assumed, for he fought her gesture and tried to keep his face turned away. He finally turned to her and gave her an irritated expression. She felt slightly hurt, but knew something was bothering him, "What is it, Booker?"

"Will you stop asking?" he responded with an acidic voice.

She flinched slightly at his tone, but she felt the need to comfort him and she brought her scarf back to his forehead to relieve the fever he radiated a little more. But once again, she flinched when he gripped the scarf from her hand and threw it to the side, "Stop, Elizabeth. I just need some air."

Her eyebrows turned into a sad angle and she did her best to hide the upset frown. She leaned over his lap to retrieve the scarf, but he moved faster and he pushed the scarf further away from her grasp. The sudden blocking of his arm caused her to stumble and she fell into his lap. Her expression turned into a confused one when she felt something pushing into her stomach.

Booker held back a moan when she rubbed against his most sensitive part and he tried quickly to get her off his lap, but she didn't move for a while. Shame quickly washed over him when she lifted herself slightly and looked at what was pressing into her abdomen. She gasped slightly when she saw a bulge in his trousers. He urgently tried to get her off of him to try to recover from the sudden embarrassment, but she just pushed his hands away and stayed bent over him.

Elizabeth had studied anatomy in her books, and she most certainly knew what made a man different from a woman. She knew that what she was looking at was part of him that she had never seen on anyone before. Granted, the only body she had every known was her own, but she knew what a man looked like from illustrations in her books. She never knew why those books were in her library, but she would remember studying the pictures with curiosity for hours and wondered why men were shaped in such a way.

She looked into his eyes with surprise and slight embarrassment, "Is something the matter, Booker?" she asked quietly as her eyes gestured towards his manhood.

Blush quickly rose to his cheeks by her forward question, "I think you should get off me Elizabeth."

He tried moving, but she placed her hands on his thighs to keep him still, "Are you hurt?"

Booker couldn't stop the abrupt laugh that escaped his lungs, "Quite the opposite."

Her face turned into one of deep thought as her gaze went back to his lower half. He felt the need to push her off, but she was truly ignorant to what his body was doing. The knowledge of her inexperience and curiosity shamefully excited him that much more.

Before he could contemplate how to get out of this situation, a throaty moan escaped his lips when she gently rubbed her hand on the center of his trousers. Her eyes shot up at his face when she heard his pleasured noise, but she took it as something else, "I'm not hurting you, am I?"

He shook his head in a sporadic motion, but she understood his movement. She moved her sight to her hand on him and started to rub against him a little harder. Another moan came from his mouth and she used this as a guide on what to do with her hand. She gently dragged her short nails against the clothed length of him, and this caused him to intake a quick breath of pleasure and grip onto her hand.

"E-Elizabeth," he breathed, "We shouldn't…we shouldn't do this."

Her eyes showed concern, "Do what?"

He looked into those blue orbs and saw that she was truly unaware of what erotic act she was playing with him. But he could see the eagerness and hope to go on in her gaze, and oh God, he wanted her to go on. "Elizabeth, what you're doing is…wrong. You should only do this with the man you love and are married to. We cannot do this."

Those eyes he was looking into flickered a quick flash of hurt, but they instantly went back to the look of curiosity, "Does this feel good, Booker?" she questioned when she cupped the bulge in his pants with her hand.

His head flew back and leaned against the caramel colored wooden wall. The way she was toying with him was cruel, he thought. How could he refuse her when she teased him so well? He licked his lips and shut his eyes, "Very good."

Elizabeth leaned towards his ear and whispered so softly, "Then let me make you feel good, Booker."

That was it. His walls were demolished and he couldn't fight this battle any longer. He let go of her hand and let her go to work on him. He slumped against the wall and did his best relax, but it was quite difficult when you had a beautiful woman pleasuring you. His breath became erratic and turned into pants when she started to rub him hard and grasp him in her small hand.

Elizabeth watched his expression contour into one of immense pleasure and she felt a pride she never felt before. She knew that what she was doing to him was quite taboo, but she wanted him to feel good and let him know that she didn't believe him to be a bad man. She wanted to please him and give him what she felt could help restore his confidence in himself.

After a while of rubbing, she grew curious of what he would feel like in her hand. But truly in her hand. Not through the thick material of his trousers, but what his skin and the part of him she had never seen in real life would feel like in her grasp. She looked up to his face and smiled at his elated expression. His eyes were closed and he was murmuring something between groans and quick intakes of breath.

Very sneakily, she unbuttoned the top silver button of his trousers, then the second and third. Soon all the buttons were undone and she snaked her hand inside. She gasped aloud when she felt how large and stiff he was.

Booker quickly opened his eyes and looked into hers. Her eyes were wide and her mouth in a small 'o' shape. He could feel all his blood in his groins at the skin to skin contact with her hand and his member, and he quickly grew anxious at her sudden halted movements. He was on cloud nine, but he was nervous that she was offended by the contact and that she might want to stop.

"Elizabeth, you don't have to you," he spoke in a hushed voice, secretly hoping that she wouldn't want to stop because the sensation she was making him feel was something to be treasured and he wanted more of her touch.

"No, it's not that," she said as her surprised expression turned into one of modesty, "I just didn't expect you to be so big."

Booker had the sudden urge to laugh at her comment, but he knew that she had never done anything like this before, so she didn't know at all what to expect. "You know, that's actually a compliment to men."

Her eyebrows raised in interest, "Really? Why is that?"

He wanted to beg her to start up with the movements, but he didn't want to scare her, so he took deep breaths and answered her question, "It's believed that the bigger a man is, the greater you can pleasure a woman. Therefore, the more you are desired and envied by other men."

Elizabeth bit her bottom lip and wrapped her fingers around his length, "You must be envied by every man that walks the land, Booker."

This time, he couldn't hold back the laughter, but it quickly stopped when she started to stroke him. Louder moans and heavier pants started, his eyes squeezed shut and his head pressed into the wall behind him. He started moving his hips in rhythm with her hand, and the more he groaned, the faster and tighter she went.

The look on his face only pleased Elizabeth that much more and she felt like the most accomplished woman that there ever was. She leaned to him and kissed the tight cord of his neck. She wasn't sure what she was doing, but her instincts told her to press her lips to his skin, and from the sweet moan he gave, her instincts were right. She laid soft kisses on his neck and led them up to his jaw. She licked his skin slightly and rubbed her cheek against the stubble on his chin and jaw. She moved her lips to his ear and kissed his earlobe.

"Booker," she whispered so softly into his ear, not once stopping the fast movements of her hand.

Booker's eyes shot open at her silky voice. The way she said his name made him want to cry. Not because he was sad, but because her voice offered so much love and affection. No one had ever said his name so sincerely to him before. He hooked his finger under her chin and turned her face to his. He stared into her eyes with quiet intensity. The feeling coming from his boiling groins was clouding his senses, but before he went over the edge, he needed to taste her. Taste her mouth, lips, tongue. Her.

He leaned in and pressed his lips to hers firmly but gently. She gasped a little but quickly responded back to his kiss and did her best to translate adoration and tenderness through the kiss. She could sense that he was kissing her with a devotion she had never felt before, and a passion that she was sure she would never feel from anyone else.

She tasted like strawberries. Like the ones that grew on the sides of dirt roads that automobiles now traveled on in California. He devoured her mouth like it was the last offered glass of water on this earth and he was the last man to receive it. He asked for entrance with his tongue, and after a moment of hesitation, she opened her mouth to him and consumed her. He licked at every part of her mouth and danced tongues with her. She was tentative at first, but she quickly got the hang of it and kissed him back with as much passion as she was receiving.

Booker could feel the tightness in his stomach ready to explode, but he was quickly nervous to finish. She wasn't aware of the result this would end in. He was afraid she would be disgusted by his evidence of pleasure and orgasm, but the way she stroked him… He couldn't hold on any longer. He pulled away from the kiss and hissed through his clenched teeth as he ejaculated into her hand.

To his surprise, she continued to pump him with her hand and she swallowed up his pleasured cries with an inviting kiss. As he rode his orgasm in her hand, he could feel his body slowly coming back to the ground. He kissed her back and sighed into her kiss.

Elizabeth pulled back and smiled at him with a sensual countenance she wasn't aware she could have. She kissed the tip of his nose and slowly pulled her hand out of his trousers. She looked at the milky substance on her fingers and palm with inquisitive eyes.

Booker grabbed for her discarded scarf and started to wipe her hand clean, "Uh, sorry."

She bit her lip again, "You don't need to apologize. I'm guessing that means it felt good?"

He chuckled softly as he finished cleaning her small hand, "Good doesn't even begin to describe what it felt like. You know that feeling you have when you take a hot bath and your body just relaxes, your bones unwind, and the muscles in your shoulders unknot?"

She nodded as she buttoned his trousers for him, "Yes. It's one of the best feelings."

"Well," he started with a heavy sigh, "It's kind of like that but a hundred times better. But that's the best it ever felt."

"Really?" she asked with gleaming eyes and a wide smile.

He nodded lazily in response, "Really."

He stood up, even though his knees felt weak, and he pulled her up too. Before he could say a word, Elizabeth jumped up a little and wrapped her arms around his neck, brought him down to her level and she kissed him tenderly. After he gained his balance, he hugged her to him and graciously returned the affection in the kiss. She broke the kiss and nuzzled her face in the nook of his neck. Right then, Booker knew he couldn't take her to New York and he no longer could use her as a payment to rid his debt. He needed to protect her and make sure no one could ever get to her. He loved this girl in his arms and he wanted to make her his. He loved Elizabeth and he knew she felt the same way for him.

She pulled back and gazed into his eyes, penetrating them with blue. She searched for any sort of hesitancy or discomfort, but found none. "Mr. DeWitt?"

His eyes narrowed at the formal name, "Elizabeth…" he warned her silently.

She giggled softly and tapped the tip of her forefinger on his nose, "Booker, I love you."

He cursed himself for having the sudden urge to cry again. He was grown man for goodness sake! He ran his fingers through her loose ponytail and rested his forehead on hers, "I love you too, Elizabeth."

She let out an elated sigh and a beaming smile, "To Paris with love?" she asked sweetly.

Booker knew that it wasn't going to be an easy journey to the romantic destination, but for her, he would fight and protect her as much as he could. And he would die protecting this woman. "To Paris."

Author's note: Alright, so I know that he didn't change his mind until later, but it just fit well with the moment. I hope you all enjoyed! Please review, comment, favorite, all the jazzy stuff!

Someday (when? I do not know.) I'd like to write an actual story with chapters for Booker and Elizabeth, but I don't know when that'll happen or how it'll turn out. So I can't promise anything. Thanks for reading!

-Sarai