notabricklayer | (no subject)

(no subject)

McCoy has fallen into a rhythm in the bar - waking up late (for him), coming down eventually to see if anything particularly interesting is going on, pick up something for lunch, trade in a stack of videos for a brand new stack of videos, and go back upstairs.

This morning, he is downstairs much earlier.

He is in uniform for the first time in a week.

And he doesn't detour at the Bar, striding straight to the door, no pauses, no stops, just a quick trip to the front door, which hisses open obligingly, dragging him back aboard his shipboard life.

If he were to stop, he'd never make it through that door.

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He can't imagine she really wants the answer to that, but he has always ever been honest with her. Even when she is slowly melting his brain.

"It is a damned good thing all of my female staff are on duty right now." He snorts back at her, pushing up off the bed with one elbow, curling his free hand around the back of her head so he can quiet further questions with a demanding kiss.

Edited 2011-01-01 08:07 (UTC)

She meets his demands with demands of her own, moaning softly against his mouth, her hips curling into him. This angle gives a whole new range of sensations and she shudders a gasp as he moves in her, twisting to get more, her nails raking across his shoulders, marking him as her very own.

His breath hisses at the sting, a sharp sound that drops into a low rumbling groan of lust. Steadily he kisses down along her jaw, down her neck to suckle and nip at the junction of neck and shoulder and collarbone, purposefully matching her pace.

And all the while silently praying (admittedly increasingly incoherently) to whatever gods listen to poor overworked ship's doctors that no one will need him for a very long time. It might just kill him to stop now.

She clings to him, and he feels the barest hint of cold fire burning in her skin. He draws her out of herself, drowns her in pleasure, and she forgets to hold the glamour so rigidly. He can feel the essence of her power, like the crackle of ozone in the air that means a storm is coming.

He makes love to her and she to him, and in that space, that glorious moment, she can just be herself with him.

His lips pull lines of sweet aching tension through her whole body and she trembles, burying her face in his throat, stifling her cries against his skin.

He shivers, though whether it is more from the ghost of the deep-space cold or the fire she's ignited in his veins. He's still not sure how or entirely why she is here, but he is deeply thankful as he drowns in her care.

Time slows as she loses herself in him, and soon, she's covered in a fine sheen of sweat, her muscles straining for him. He does something with his hands on her hips and she gasps against his throat, her knees gripping his hips. She grinds on him, chasing that white ribbon of fire now, striving for him.

He becomes focused, his hips pushing back into her, tracing patterns into her skin, trying to shove her up and over the edge before she kills him in return.

"Come... for me, darlin'. Let go." He gasps in her ear, teasing her skin with his teeth, his voice tight.

Her arms thread around his neck and she clings to him, her hips dancing on his cock now, a furious, punishing pace. His voice in her ear is the catalyst, pushing her up just that little bit more. She muffles her cries against his throat, and somehow her grip tightens, her entire small frame jolting as the pleasure explodes through her, instinct driving her to get him as deep as she can.

He groans, pulling her closer in turn as he stiffens, falling to incoherent pieces. Deaf for once to the deep thrum of the ship's engines, he can focus only on the sweet music of her voice calling out for him.

She rides it through to the very end, gradually relaxing, her white-knuckled grip turning to a gentle caress, still holding to him as her muscles go slack.

She turns her head to press a kiss to his jaw, and though he can't see her smile, he can feel it in that otherworldly radiance shimmering against his skin.

He hums his contentment, stroking along her spine, his body slowly relaxing in her embrace.

"Love you, darlin'." He murmurs, unwilling to move away from her just now. Or even for the foreseeable future.

"Lyonya, lyubimaya." She pulls back to look into his face, her smile subtle but genuine. Her hand comes up and touches his cheek, her thumb brushing his lips.

The real response ripples through his mind, her owl and human voices strangely mingled in an eerie overlay.

I love you.

It is eerie, the reptilian brain shivering in a 'you are so very much in over your head, boy' sort of way, but he knows those voices, and loves them both. Ignoring the warning chill, he nips at her fingers playfully, grinning back at her, almost boyish with his hair tousled.

"You know, I could get used to your proper greetings in a hurry."

Her smirk broadens, and she pushes him back down onto the bed, sliding into the crook of his arm, one knee draped over his thigh.

"Quilts, next time. This," she sneers at the blanket as she pulls it up over them, "is no good at all."

"Indeed. Next time we make Starbase I'll put in an order with the Quartermaster." He drawls, teasing. Just where is he supposed to get a quilt that he can explain the existence of, he asks?

But later, later. Right now he has her in his arms, which puts him at a tactical advantage when it comes to arguments.

She sighs nestling closer to him with a tiny shiver.

"It's being so far above the ground, I think. The chill, it isn't entirely from the room."

"Above the..." He blinks, eying her (or rather, the top of her head). "You can tell how far we are from Earth?"

She goes still for a moment, her awareness spreading out.

"We're moving away from it, but yes. It is at the center of wheel. The -- mm -- leylines, I think you might call them, the threads that weave the tapestry, spread out in all directions, but the Earth is at the center of them. At least, for me."

That makes sense, as much as any of her magic makes sense to him.

"We're only going further, darlin." He sighs, his hand warm oer her shoulders. "We aren't due to swing by Earth any time this year."

Meaning it never will get warmer for her, on board ship.

Her brow furrows, and a bit of a frown forms. She nestles closer to him, and imagines herself covered in the downy warmth of her feathers.

"It is easier when I am transformed."

While he would regret not being able to hold her like this, he doesn't want her to be uncomfortable here either. Regretfully, he brushes back her hair.

"You should switch over then, Olya." He doesn't, however, suggest that she leaves.

She pulls back to look into his face, her eyebrows telling him quite clearly that she thinks he's a bit of a moron sometimes.

"Later. You're warm, and you feel good."

Duh.

He raises his eyebrows right back at her - does she seriously believe that he'd ask her to be uncomfortable just so he can have her close? Honestly?

"I'm holding you to that." He warns her, before pulling her back down. He can't keep her warm if she's going to be all pulled away like that.

She snuffles a quiet laugh against his chest. "Yes, doctor," she singsongs, clearly teasing him.

"Later, you will show me around your ship?"

He rolls his eyes at her, but he knows some of that teasing was earned. No, he's still not going to try and switch it off. She knew what she was getting into.

"Sure thing - we're dropping off supplies at a penal colony soon, things should be pretty quiet then."