(no subject)

[notabricklayer]

McCoy is awake, standing at the bay window, watching the sun rise over the mountains, a steaming mug of coffee in his hands.

It's been a week.

He has to go back. If he doesn't go back, there will never be a day where he'll up and decide to go back. It will be put off and put off until he's forgotten there ever was a Starship Enterprise.

Knowing he should doesn't make it any easier.

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[olyabird.livejournal.com]

It is a leap, and she knows it, she can taste it with senses he'll never understand.

And it astounds her, the trust he shows her. Simply and utterly astounds her.




He reminds her what it feels like to be of the Light.

And to honour that above all else, she does as he asks. She takes his hands between her palms and pulls him down again, kissing his mouth, soft and slow. The whisper begins at the outside edge of his senses, burnished gold struck through with lines of heat, a sensation of air rushing passed, and something cold and clear, bright as the dawn.

Lyonya.

She whispers his name once and the power of it thrums in his veins.

[notabricklayer.livejournal.com]

He shivers, seeing and hearing and feeling the impossible, and accepting it as true. He is clumsy on this field - he is not naturally gifted in any special mental abilities other than to withstand rigorous medical training. He knows that this is a weak spot for him.

He devotes himself to this kiss, warm and tender, all the while trying to relax, letting her in as far as she likes. He tries to answer her, but... Well. He's not terribly good at it. Maybe there is the impression of him calling her name, somewhere in there, but give the boy some credit for trying.

[olyabird.livejournal.com]

There's something delicious and decadent about being allowed into him, something that makes her press deeper, slowly filling his mind with her essence. He calls to her and his voice rings through her like a bell, sending a shiver of delight resonating through her.

Here. Touch me here.

In the physical plane, she draws him down to her, the increased contact making it easier for her to direct his limited senses to where she needs him the most. Tangling with him, sweet and slow, she crawls along his long bones, breathes along his nerves, drowns herself in his essence, fearless, boundless, ageless.

[notabricklayer.livejournal.com]

He is as fumbling and clumsy as a teenaged boy, uncertain, but at least willing to take direction. He cannot even begin to define what she wants, what she's doing to him, but... as he curls around her, holding her close, he can feel her surrounding him, somehow knowing she is where he can barely recognize himself.