notabricklayer | (no subject)

Just begins? Now, McCoy won't argue that being human is a fine thing, but he'd certainly hope for better! He'd also tease her about it for months to come, so it's perhaps best he doesn't know.

Best of all, with no need for the challenge of making things 'better', he can focus instead on exploring the column of her neck and whispering fond encouragements and appreciations against her skin,

Her eyes fall closed and he can feel her respond, can feel the shivering lines of tension moving through her body. She draws long and slow shuddering breaths, trying to focus on the feel of his mouth or his hands or the delicious rolling press of his hips as he moves above her.

His teeth graze along the juncture of her shoulder and neck, and she moans, contracting around him. Her hands smooth down his back to his ass, pulling him deeper. If there's better than this, she can't imagine what it could possibly be.

He is always nagging at the command crew to use positive reinforcement to get the best performance out of the crew.

He gets the impression, distinctly, that she will never ever near to hear a lecture like that.

He bows his head, arching, to suckle at her breasts - slowly, thoughtfully, thoroughly as he would do any surgery.

Every brush of his tongue, of his teeth, draws her closer around him, hands and other places, warm and wet and tight. He can feel her muscles fluttering around him as the heat builds.

He shifts just so and she exhales in a sharp, sweet breath, her head tipping back hard. So quickly, he has brought her right to the razor's edge and she doesn't want to fall yet, not yet, not yet. She holds her breath, denying the inevitable for as long as she can.

"Shhh, let go." It's soft, and more than a little rough, but he can feel her tighten impossibly. Frankly, he can't stand it much longer without exploding. He tried to keep up the languid pace, but inexorably the drive to push harder, faster to lose himself in her takes over what's left functioning of his brain.

Her blunt nails bite into the skin of his shoulders, barely deep enough to leave a mark, but enough to telegraph her rising need. Tighter and tighter, she twists, feeling his pace quicken, feeling the sweet tension draw her out to a single point of sensation.

Grey eyes search out his bright blue gaze, her lips parted, her breath hitching with each hard stroke. A hard shudder takes her and she keens under her breath, rocking up to meet him with all her strength, never breaking his gaze.

He breaks, groaning, his arms sliding under her shoulders to pull her closer, taking the open invitation of those beautiful lips.

If every bad day can end like this, he will never complain about a bad day ever again.

At least, not loudly.

She melts against his delicious mouth, shivering and shaking through to the very end, rippling beneath him as the nerve endings keep firing. All the while, her hips continue to rock, wringing every last bit of pleasure from him.

The kiss lasts far longer than the aftershocks.

Far longer.

He has no complaints about that, though he feels he may have to spend more time in the gym working on arm strength - he can feel his muscles shaking as he pulls back for air.

She rolls with him as he falls to the side, a soft, disappointed sound in the back of her throat as the kiss breaks.

She moulds herself along his side, her head tucked under his chin, her lips painting his shoulder with tiny, soft kisses, her thigh draped over his.

"Lyonya."

The word is quiet, and still, rich with emotion.

"Darlin'" His fingers tease through her hair, gently untangling the loose strands. He is severely disinclined to move from here, in the languid warmth of this barn loft, in the arms of this gorgeous woman.

Eventually, she does sit up to look down into his face, that Mona Lisa smile back in place. Her hand comes up to touch his face, that small intimacy feeling like an impossible luxury. Maybe he can see that touch of awe around her eyes.

"I need a cigarette. Possibly something to eat."

"Definitely something to eat." He corrects, the doctor flashing to the fore for a moment. He manages to soften the edges of the order with a crooked, sunny smile. "Doctor's orders, after all." He knows it is a problem, this inability to switch off, but if he hasn't figured out how by now, he doesn't suppose he ever will. He does manage to not comment on the cigarette, which is enough of an accomplishment for him.

Her eyes slit at him, but the smile lingers. Her head tilts just a bit to one side, and she purses her lips.

"Have you worked up an appetite, hmm? Or do you need to keep your strength up?"

There's an unmistakable tease in her voice.

"To keep up with you?" He takes the chiding without rancor - it's more fair than what he used to get from his ex. "I'm already malnourished for that feat."

There's a low chuckle in the back of her throat, and when she smiles, years disappear from her face. She sits up and reaches for her clothes, pausing a moment to brush a kiss across his chest. Her nails graze over his skin just for a moment and then she's moving.

"Come on then. Get dressed. I would not see you waste away to nothing."

She gets dressed quickly, watching him the whole time with eyes that devour just as surely as her hands do.

The idea flits through his mind of him, and her, and a picnic lunch, and this loft for a very long afternoon... but for another time. For now, he follows her example, stuffing his feet into the hated boots last of all, lacing them up with the speed of long (and usually half-asleep) practice.

"You keep that up, wasting is going to be the least of my problems."

Funny that. Her plans include a meal to go and a room for the rest of the day. Great minds, indeed.

"How do you mean?"

She's done zipping her boots up and is combing her long hair back from her face, trying to bring some semblance of order to it.

He raises an eyebrow imperiously, then (after knotting up his laces into a half-hitch that will do for now) steps into her space. His hands are gentle against the curve of her jaw, his normally sunny blue eyes have gone stormy, and the kiss he gives in answer is anything but sedate.

Yes. He noticed her watching. It's somewhat derailing his plans for a meal.

Her smile melts into a quiet growl, and she meets him, hunger for hunger, their first reunion seeming to have cracked her reserve. This is no longer anonymous, not the comfort of a stranger's touch. This is something more, something different.

She doesn't have the words for it, but that's all right. Right now, kissing him like this, she doesn't need them.

Later... to be honest, he's not entirely sure how much later, but seeing as he won't be on duty until he goes back through the front door, that most wonderfully doesn't matter... he pulls back, giving her a wry grin.

"That's how I mean." Point proven!

Her eyes close and she takes a deep breath, trying to collect herself. She's Nightwatch, not some giddy schoolgirl, for heaven's sake. She wipes a thumb over her lips, and yes, the grin is still there.

"Point taken," she says.

"Food first."

There's a certain air of promise in her voice that sets the air between them to shimmering.

There's a growl from him. He, however, looks mildly discomforted by this.

Look, there wasn't time to grab lunch today, what with the captain being literally in two places at once. At least part of him agrees with this 'food first' plan wholeheartedly.

Or whole-stomachedly. Whichever comes first.

She stalks around him, never leaving his personal space, and reaches to grab her jacket, tugging it on.

"I know what you're thinking, Lyonya. You are very tempting, believe me. But I find you," her rich alto voice singsongs a bit, "interesting. And we haven't talked much at all, have we?"

Most men would find this behavior threatening, to say the least. Seeing as he is firmly in the category of 'men' and usually managing to end up in 'most', she is being a bit unnerving.

He rather likes it.

"Somehow it always seems like we've found other things to do." He points out, hoping his traitorous stomach keeps its two cents to itself for the rest of the conversation.