[oom] San Francisco Victorian/Milliways Rooms
[ after this ]
She still eats as if it is a privilege, a throwback to the many times when it was. Proteins first, to sustain the body, and yes, while battered poultry is a novelty, she still manages to enjoy it. Carbohydrates next, and fresh baked bread is fresh baked bread the world over. And finally, because it has a strange scent, and it looks to be rather messy to eat, finally she delves into the watermelon slices. Juice ran down her chin and she had a sense memory of eating apples fresh from the cider press, only this was more like pears, she thought. No, not at all like pears. Something completely new and different.
Not unlike the man seated next to her, his startlingly blue eyes glittering with mirth as she chased bite after bite with a swipe of her napkin.
"This should be served in a glass," she murmurs, taking another bite of the almost ethereal fruit. One could eat for days and never fill up. "What are you laughing at, hmm?"
She still eats as if it is a privilege, a throwback to the many times when it was. Proteins first, to sustain the body, and yes, while battered poultry is a novelty, she still manages to enjoy it. Carbohydrates next, and fresh baked bread is fresh baked bread the world over. And finally, because it has a strange scent, and it looks to be rather messy to eat, finally she delves into the watermelon slices. Juice ran down her chin and she had a sense memory of eating apples fresh from the cider press, only this was more like pears, she thought. No, not at all like pears. Something completely new and different.
Not unlike the man seated next to her, his startlingly blue eyes glittering with mirth as she chased bite after bite with a swipe of her napkin.
"This should be served in a glass," she murmurs, taking another bite of the almost ethereal fruit. One could eat for days and never fill up. "What are you laughing at, hmm?"
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It too is just as he remembers it - down to the chipping crown molding around the ceiling and largish bed he'd gotten in pure retaliation against his newly single status. The flame in the fireplace doesn't look any less pitiful than it did from the other side of the double-sided hearth, and he admits to himself that she may have a point about that device.
"Now then. Isn't this much more interesting than the closet?"
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Me.
Down."
Indignation is winning over playfulness at the moment.
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Not that he'd be particularly effective in fending off any serious attempts. Honestly, it's a miracle he survived enough military training to be considered in Star Fleet.
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She doesn't let go of his shirt, following him over until she's straddled his hips, pinning him down with a force disproportionate to her size. The sound of his shirt tearing is loud in the small room.
She bends to catch his mouth in a punishing kiss, her entire body vibrating with the rush of endorphins brought on by his attack.
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Note to self:
Do that. Often as possible. Oh hell.
He responds viscerally, his hands sliding up and under her shirt, deftly undoing the clasp of her bra and sliding under that as well, tweaking and teasing and the heat of her mouth is melting his brain in a somewhat catastrophic fashion.
Definitely do that as often as possible.
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"Do not start something you do not mean to finish, Lyonya. I have been known to carry a grudge," she murmurs, her grey eyes flashing green.
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"Who said anything about not finishing?" McCoy growls throatily, his hands resettling firmly over her breasts.
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"You carry me off to bed, like you're some great -- beast. And then you lay back, and let me stroke your belly?"
She looks down into his face, chewing on her lower lip. Her hips roll against his, the motion direct and unequivocal, and a tight little moan escapes her throat.
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Her moan is considerably louder this time, poorly soundproofed walls be damned. She wants him to know just how much she's enjoying this.
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And, of course, to study his handiwork for a moment. Simply gorgeous.
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Her smile turns decidedly wicked as he lingers a bit too long for an eye full, and she shimmies higher on the bed, making him reach for her.
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"So, darlin'," He rumbles in her ear, "You like it a bit rough, do you?" One hand is still teasing those lovely breasts, but the other...
The other has ventured somewhere else entirely, sliding firmly, inexorably into her slick heat.
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Her breath is ragged against his jaw. "Just like you, I like it when you tell me -- what you want."
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"Just you, darlin'." He assures her, as he sets up a firm, steady, driving rhythm, his thumb pushing against her clit. He is demanding, relentless - if she wants the beast, he will do his damnedest to comply.
He is also going to plunder her mouth again, groaning his encouragement of the tightness of her nimble, talented hands.
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"Be careful what you wish for," she growls, her voice thick with lust. Her power coils around her, unconscious as breathing, urging him to complete the circuit. She shifts beneath him, her hand guiding him to her cunt. Her breath shudders in a long groan as he slides along her slit, and her eyes roll back as he slides home with that same driving intensity.
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Less speed, but more power - she names the tune, and he plays it, the fingers of one slick hand still circling her clit, and doing the same to her breasts with tongue and teeth and fingers.
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But he is beyond thinking, God help him. This is basic, elemental, the fusion of two disparate wholes into something else entirely. There is only her beneath and around him goading and pushing him on. There is only a desperate, nearly blind need to be closer, deeper, to make those exultant noises louder in his ears. There is only the sting of his muscles as he shifts, bracing with his hands under her shoulders because she isn't quite close enough, never quite close enough, and the fire in his blood, his nerves, his brain burns hotter and fiercer and still, not quite enough.
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Just like that, she's soaring, lost in a storm of sensation, totally given over to his tender mercies.
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Gently, she draws the power back to herself, lingering along the still shimmering nerve endings, the touch of her power as soft as the brush of her hands along his back. Her eyes remain closed and her breath ragged, her hips still moving, twisting, instinct and her hunger unwilling to relinquish its hold just yet.
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Gently he pushes himself up and back, trailing reassuring kisses down her midline, over sternum and ribs and belly and down, questing fingers pushing into her to stroke and build that fire again. The smell, the taste of her is heady stuff, and he moans as he laps at her, firm and steady.
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