olyabird: (contemplating)
Olga ([personal profile] olyabird) wrote2010-10-15 11:40 am
Entry tags:

[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?"

[identity profile] notabricklayer.livejournal.com 2010-10-16 02:02 am (UTC)(link)
"Such language." He tuts as he carries his prize, snickering at some of the more anatomically impossible curses, and perhaps cataloging a few away for future use. Instead of showing her the closet, as interesting as it might be, he heads for the bedroom instead.

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?"

[identity profile] olyabird.livejournal.com 2010-10-16 03:05 am (UTC)(link)



Indignation is winning over playfulness at the moment.

[identity profile] notabricklayer.livejournal.com 2010-10-16 03:12 am (UTC)(link)
He promptly complies, carefully dropping her onto the bed before flopping onto it himself, knowingly leaving himself open to retaliation.

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.

[identity profile] olyabird.livejournal.com 2010-10-16 03:25 am (UTC)(link)
Retaliation is swift and decisive.

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.

[identity profile] notabricklayer.livejournal.com 2010-10-16 03:39 am (UTC)(link)

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.

[identity profile] olyabird.livejournal.com 2010-10-16 03:51 am (UTC)(link)
When she breaks the kiss, she's breathing hard and grinning like a mad woman. She sits back and tosses her shirt and bra aside with a vicious motion. The rest of his shirt is dispatched with a similar ferocity, her hands skimming over his chest, blunt nails grazing over his skin.

"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.

[identity profile] notabricklayer.livejournal.com 2010-10-16 04:06 am (UTC)(link)
He arches into her touch, his delight in her obvious, the blue of his eyes darkening with pure lust. She is magnificent like this.

"Who said anything about not finishing?" McCoy growls throatily, his hands resettling firmly over her breasts.

[identity profile] olyabird.livejournal.com 2010-10-16 04:14 am (UTC)(link)
She leans into his touch, her hands rising to her head. Her eyes fall close as she undoes the few pins, dragging her hands through her mouse brown hair as she shakes it loose.

"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.

[identity profile] notabricklayer.livejournal.com 2010-10-16 04:25 am (UTC)(link)
He makes a mental note of that - never let it be said that the boy can't learn. Pushing himself up, he slides his hands around her shoulders to suckle and nip urgently at her breasts. Her challenge is not going unanswered.

[identity profile] olyabird.livejournal.com 2010-10-16 04:34 am (UTC)(link)
She smiles, her arms melting around his neck, her fingers dragging through his hair, looking down into those impossible blue eyes. She licks her lips and bares her teeth at him, urging him on, hunger radiating in every line of her body now. There's an urgency in her touch this time, and he has no one to blame for it but himself.

[identity profile] notabricklayer.livejournal.com 2010-10-16 04:46 am (UTC)(link)
Oh, he will happily take the blame for this. And possibly every other time he provokes this sort of response as well. One hand stays firmly between her shoulder blades, but the second slides down over the curve of her ass. He bucks up to unsettle her, then twists, pressing her back down against the bed. Positions reversed, he mimics her fierce and brutal kiss, taking no prisoners.

[identity profile] olyabird.livejournal.com 2010-10-16 04:54 am (UTC)(link)
Oh yes. This is one of those fantastic moments where she discovers that he knows exactly what she wants before she knows it herself. She yields without yielding, flexing beneath him, her fingers gripping in his hair, her heels dug into the backs of his thighs.

Her moan is considerably louder this time, poorly soundproofed walls be damned. She wants him to know just how much she's enjoying this.

[identity profile] notabricklayer.livejournal.com 2010-10-16 05:03 am (UTC)(link)
He's already gotten her trousers off once today, and has learned the trick of the clasps. Dexterous fingers undo all of those tricksy closings, and he pushes back just enough that he can strip the unnecessary clothing off of her.

And, of course, to study his handiwork for a moment. Simply gorgeous.

[identity profile] olyabird.livejournal.com 2010-10-16 05:11 am (UTC)(link)
She follows him up this time, her own hands a bit frantic as they make quick work of his own trousers. She has to fall back when he tugs hers off, a chuckle melting into a groan as he looks down at her.

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.

[identity profile] notabricklayer.livejournal.com 2010-10-16 05:36 am (UTC)(link)
His clothes drop to the floor, and he follows her, intent and driven and appreciating. Definitely appreciating.
"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.

[identity profile] olyabird.livejournal.com 2010-10-16 05:44 am (UTC)(link)
Her hands are hot on his skin and she gasps as he penetrates her, turning her head to muffle a sharp, decadent cry against his shoulder. Her hips rise off the bed and one questing hand curls around his cock in an equally assertive grip.

Her breath is ragged against his jaw. "Just like you, I like it when you tell me -- what you want."

[identity profile] notabricklayer.livejournal.com 2010-10-16 06:38 am (UTC)(link)
He truly cannot stop the thrust against her hand, his breath coming out in a fierce, fervent, gasping curse.

"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.

[identity profile] olyabird.livejournal.com 2010-10-16 07:59 pm (UTC)(link)
It's too much, too much and not enough, all in the same breath. Her legs tangle with his as they try to find this new, savage rhythm. It's too much, and not enough, and she only knows one way to proceed. Her kiss slows, not losing any of the strength or passion, only moderating the tempo, guided by her hand and her hips.

"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.

[identity profile] notabricklayer.livejournal.com 2010-10-17 03:12 am (UTC)(link)
The tight heat of her, the power, it has just as much detrimental effect to his logical thinking ability as before, as it probably will every time. But beyond that, above that - touching her, burying himself within her keep, it suddenly becomes nearly imperative. The effect is electrifying, maddening... it would be frightening, perhaps, if he were not willingly given over to it.
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.

[identity profile] olyabird.livejournal.com 2010-10-18 06:17 am (UTC)(link)
She curls around him, her chin tipped back, gloriously discordant waves of pleasure coiling through her body. Her palms smooth over his shoulders, urging him back for another kiss, deep and demanding. Each breath brings a shimmering cry up from her throat, each surging pulse, a whipstrike of white hot bliss. Her strong legs hold him close, and her hips meet his, stroke for stroke.

[identity profile] notabricklayer.livejournal.com 2010-10-18 06:31 am (UTC)(link)
There'll be damage to show for this, he'd realize, if he were thinking. He might even be amused by it. Even a little smirkily self-satisfied.

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.

[identity profile] olyabird.livejournal.com 2010-10-18 06:43 am (UTC)(link)
His body covers her, as does his spirit, heat and light branding the part of her that never really finds a home in the flesh. She can't keep herself distant from such a need, burning so brightly. He asks and she answers, taking the moments between heartbeats to paint his longbones with the siren song of her name. Tendon and bone, muscle and nerve ache with the sweetness of it, and her body shivers up and over the brink.

Just like that, she's soaring, lost in a storm of sensation, totally given over to his tender mercies.

[identity profile] notabricklayer.livejournal.com 2010-10-18 07:05 am (UTC)(link)
There's a gasp from him that isn't pain, isn't pleasure, but is a mixture of both that wracks him to his core. Somehow, impossibly, everything is more and she is finally close enough. Close enough that he cannot tell the difference between them, that he doesn't so much snap as shatter, his breath one near-stunned groan of release.

[identity profile] olyabird.livejournal.com 2010-10-20 05:55 am (UTC)(link)
Blended yes, she is gloriously tangled in the strands of his awareness, feeling his pleasure as deeply as her own, feeding the sweet pulse of bliss back to him with every breath. But she is always aware of her discreteness, aware of where he ends and she begins. It is this that allows her to drown in this passion, this wonder of flesh and bone and blood, without drinking a single drop.

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.

[identity profile] notabricklayer.livejournal.com 2010-10-20 03:23 pm (UTC)(link)
He smiles against her neck, whispering her name against her skin. Her movement is doing nothing to help allow his thoughts re-arrange themselves back into some sort of order, but he can be clear on one thing. If she is still wanting, he can joyfully still meet that need, one way or another.

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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