(no subject)

[notabricklayer]

The lights of their apartment come up in the way he is used to lights coming on the way he is used to lights coming on - smoothing increasing from dark to light with barely a hitch inbetween. The apartment is the same as before - a naturally quirky Victorian that's slightly stark thanks to the driven surgeon who had made this his home once upon a time.

He always meant to take time off, decorate the place a little more elaborately, set it up to be more of a home than a place to collapse after long shifts. Maybe now's time.

But right now he can do something about these damned boots. Some day he is going to both fund and write a paper outlining the evils of these boots, and he'll stuff it down the throats of every lazy ass on the Starfleet Surgeon General's board.

Comments

[olyabird.livejournal.com]

She curls into him, melting down to rest her head on his shoulder, her breath ragged and harsh against his skin. Her hands are hot against his chest and still she rides him.

He can feel the hard clench of her body tightening around him, pulsing in time with his thrusts. She shudders above him, crying out his name against his shoulder, quaking with the force of her climax.

[notabricklayer.livejournal.com]

He slides his arms around her, tight, gasping desperately in response to her grip. It drags him under, and he spends himself in blind, erratic motion, buried deep within her, holding her safe and warm and good in his arms.

When he stills, he is very nearly boneless, exhausted and elated in the hazy aftermath.

[olyabird.livejournal.com]

She takes a long while to gentle against him, the sensual ripples moving through her body gently fading away over a long few minutes. She rests against him, comfortable in his embrace, making no move to shift away.

"All right?"

[notabricklayer.livejournal.com]

This is good, this is very good, because he's not particularly inclined to let her go just now. In fact, he's particularly anti letting-her-go. He wouldn't be able to tell anyone why, other than concluding with her warmth and the fire and the comfort of the mat there's very little reason to move.

And, of course, that not-quite-wrong, not-entirely-right feeling of being off balance hasn't gone away, but it's minor, a footnote in tiny text no one ever reads anyway.

"I don't think,", He muses, drawling lazily, "I want to move for a week. At least."

[olyabird.livejournal.com]

That suggestion sounds absolutely perfect to her, save for one thing: she's not quite done with him. She hums a contented little murmur against his skin, and slowly pushes herself up, claiming his mouth with her own.

Slow as molasses in January, and much, much sweeter.

[notabricklayer.livejournal.com]

He moans, his hands sliding up into her hair, across her shoulders - this plan he can approve of as well, whole-heartedly.

"Darlin'?" He queries, breathing hard once she pulls away.

[olyabird.livejournal.com]

It seems a crime to speak and break the stillness of the moment, but if he insists.

"Mmm?"

Her head falls back into the brush of his fingertips against her scalp, pushing against his touch like a cat seeking more attention.

[notabricklayer.livejournal.com]

He smiles, shaking his head. The moment is unreal, but he isn't about to argue. Taking the hint, he massages her scalp, his fingers drawing tight circles over her skin.

She is insatiable. And this is not at all a bad thing.

[olyabird.livejournal.com]

She's not necessarily insatiable. She just didn't get to enjoy a slow buildup this time, and the kissing is very important, she feels. It's a shame to neglect such an enjoyable part of the dance.

And if he's not going to be asking questions with that mouth, then she has another use for it. She smiles against his skin, her nose brushing the apple of his cheek.

"What's wrong?"

[notabricklayer.livejournal.com]

"Nothing at all, darlin'." He assures her, content with her weight on top of him, her breath on his skin. "Just don't want to leave you unsatisfied."

[olyabird.livejournal.com]

She sits up a bit to look down into his face, a bit perplexed at this revelation.

"I am not unsatisfied. But... am I allowed only the once?"

The question is only half-serious.

[notabricklayer.livejournal.com]

He laughs, softly, his hands sliding down her back to trace idle meaningless patterns over her spine.

"Heavens no, darlin', but you'll have to give me a minute. Whatever that was knocked the starch right out of me." He admits, frankly, unashamed that she's pretty much taken him down.

[olyabird.livejournal.com]

Her lips twitch and she rests her chin on the heel of her hand, the fine lines around her eyes deepening with her smile.

"I would apologise, but -- you seemed to be enjoying yourself."

[notabricklayer.livejournal.com]

"I was. God help me, I was." He assures her, sincerely. "I don't think I'd ever be able to explain it, but that was amazing."

[olyabird.livejournal.com]

Her grin mirrors his in intensity, but she drops her eyes to his chest.

"Good," she murmurs, dropping her head to kiss his chest again.

"Next time, we'll do a little more, perhaps."

[notabricklayer.livejournal.com]

"I'd like that." One hand slides back up against her scalp, teasing gently. He might not be recovered, but there's time enough for that.

[olyabird.livejournal.com]

Her eyes fall closed, and she shivers. He can feel it all along her body, can feel it where they're still connected, a gentle shuddering of muscles.

Recovery isn't necessarily the first stop on this tour. There are many, many more places to explore along the way.

She tips her chin back, sighing as he teases her, every motion slow and deliberate.

[notabricklayer.livejournal.com]

He moans softly, bringing his other hand up to join the first. Never let it be said he can't take a hint, especially one so blatant as that. But he cannot resist the curve of her neck, oh-so-lightly running the fingers of one hand up the exposed skin.

[olyabird.livejournal.com]

Her lips part and she exhales, the tone almost subvocal, and thick with pleasure. She rises up a bit more, encouraging his hand to trail farther down. The shift is just enough to press her weight back, and her hips curl into his.

"Oh..."

[notabricklayer.livejournal.com]

His breath stutters, his hands freezing for just that half-second. With effort he continues, his hands tracing feather-light patterns over those tragically under-appreciated breasts. He does his best to make amends now, paying attention to everything he missed before.

[olyabird.livejournal.com]

She opens her eyes to look down into his face, shifting higher still, drawing up one knee and then the other, until her full weight is resting across his hips.

"Don't stop."

Her hands cover his, lightly, not directing him, just caressing. Following his lead.

[notabricklayer.livejournal.com]

He watches... staring, really, at his hands and her hands skating over her body, watching her react, watching the firelight play and cast shadows over her curves, noting how her skin flushes when aroused. He only lets his touch become firm enough to keep from tickling, but not any harder.

One should appreciate the gifts one is given.

[olyabird.livejournal.com]

He firms his touch and she rocks forward into it, watching the arousal on his face, mirroring it back to him ten fold. Her areolas ruck beneath his palms, drawing up into hard little points. Below, her hips move, subtle and slow, rocking against him.

"Yes..."

The word draws out in a long sigh.

[notabricklayer.livejournal.com]

His body slowly rouses, recognizing and openly welcoming her weight and warmth. The groan the friction of her movement elicits starts somewhere around his toes. Watching with even darker eyes, his grip becomes even more firm, almost possessive.

[olyabird.livejournal.com]

The look in her eyes becomes decidedly wicked as she moves and she licks her lips. She never breaks his gaze but slowly, oh so slowly, starts to bend backwards, taking certain parts of his anatomy with her as she lays back.