[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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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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"Lyonya..."
The sweet tension coils up her spine and out of her mouth in a decadent, low cry.
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He'll have to make sure of that. Right after he finishes his current self-appointed task, demanding that she surrender that iron-clad self control once again, his pace as steady and inexorable as the tide.
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It's a longer ascension this time, and more intense for it. He's not giving her any choice but to focus on the touch of his hands and his hungry mouth. She unravels slowly, her muscles growing taut until she's vibrating in his embrace, barely breathing at all. And then her thighs clamp tight around his ears, and she's quaking and bucking beneath him. Her climax rips through her small frame as she bites back another long keening moan.
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The dip between collarbone and neck is enticing, so he kisses it.
"So beautiful, Olga."
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"Olya," she corrects gently, fondly. "Olga is -- more proper. Call me Olya."
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"I like it. Beautiful Olya."
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He has a way of savouring it that makes her smile broaden. Her eyelids droop, and she shifts just enough to catch his mouth in a gentle kiss.
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And every once in a while, like someone walking over his grave, he gets that same prickly back-of-the-neck feeling he does when he has to turn his back to the giant bay doors in shuttlebay. That same eerie sense that what's in front of him is just a very tiny part of something echoing and vast.
He finds that kissing her? Is an excellent distraction from that. It's an excellent distraction from most things.