twostandingby | (no subject)

Entry tags:

oom,
winter

(no subject)

Shove the stick to the left, throwing the X-wing into a sharp roll, and Tycho should feel the pull of the manuever even with the intertial compensator, but there's nothing. The simulators at Milliways are incredibly rudimentary; no simulated motion or even comm chatter. It's not flying. It's playing.

Still, it's as close as it comes to the real thing while Bound, and so Tycho is tucked behind the black curtain of one of the simulators in the recently (poorly) repainted room, determinedly vaping TIE Interceptors.

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He releases a slow breath, and warm fingers are sliding up just under the hem of her shirt, running across bare skin.

She shivers, wiggling a little, nibbling on his ear.

There is a hand on her side, abruptly tugging her entirely on top of him with little regard for boots and sharp elbows that seem to be drawn to his kidneys.

She makes sure her feet are strategically placed to avoid bootage, and kisses him hard again.

It's comfortingly familiar, this; stay with someone seven years and you know what's liked, what isn't. They're good together. So it's the familiar strong hands and the familiar taste and familiar soft lips, and you know what?

Familiarity still does it for Tycho.

Familiarity still does it for Winter too, because new things get old after a while.

She pulls away again, nuzzling at his neck, hands sliding up and down his sides.

He reaches down, and slowly (blindly) tucks shoulder-length hair back, letting his hand curl around her ear. It's a simple gesture, but there's an incredible amount of intimacy to it, and his hand remains in place a long moment. Eventually, he follows the line of her jaw with his fingers.

"I feel like this day should be more about remembering the good things, but I can never seem to do that." She murmurs in his ear, breath hot, and she carefully closes her eyes again, her hands fisted at the top of his shirt.

"Hmm." It's a quiet noise, almost hummed, and he shifts. "Finally being considered old enough to go to Aldera with my father on a business trip; I'll never forget the way the city looked, almost lost against the beauty around it." A faint, far-off smile--a little boy clutching the seat of a landspeeder, blue eyes wide--and then he kisses her and murmurs, "Your turn," against her lips.

"Wearing wigs and pretending to be Leia so she could sneak out with boys. Snow, when it was untouched, white and pure, Bail would send us out there and demand something worthy of the museums, and by the time he came out to check on us, it'd be snow families and villages and us, frostbitten and shivering from snow fights."

She smiles softly, remembering Leia as a little girl with huge brown eyes, and herself, with white hair that lay perfectly when Leia's was rumpled more often than most.

A flash of a smile at the stories. "See?" Hand moving in slow patterns on her back. "You can do it. Just takes a little bit of thought."

She curls closer. "I miss him."

The smile is gone just as fast as it appeared.

"I know." Quiet moment. "I miss them all, too."

She rolls away a bit, staring up at the ceiling. "Glad I've got you, though."

He makes it all better.

So he twists onto his side to look down at her, propping his head in his hand. "Damn glad I have you," he says quietly, resting his free hand on her arm.

She moves the arm his hand is on and takes it in her hands, moving his hand to her cheek, and kisses the inside of his wrist.

The return of a tiny, weak smile. He watches her a moment, then leans down and lets his forehead rest against her temple.

"It's okay." She murmurs. "I mean...it's not. But..."

She drifts off, sighing.

But she's trying. And the fact that she's even here is a blessing.

Several moments of stillness pass. Eventually, his nose and his cheek move in a slow slide against hers, and he lets his eyes fall closed as he places a kiss on pale skin.

She turns her head, drawing his lips to hers, pulling him close. He's here. She's here. They're here. They're alive. That counts for something, yeah?

It counts for everything.

More than amenable to being pulled close, he kisses her slowly, thoroughly, demonstrating every bit of warm thankfulness and gratitude and love that words never do justice to.

She kisses him back, just as slowly, just as thoroughly, her hands moving to wrap around him, clinging to him. He's her stability, and she loves it. She loves knowing he'll always be there for her.

Because he will. She has to always believe that.

He will. His hands promise their meandering way up her sides as he shifts over. He's not going anywhere. He tangles his legs in hers.

She presses herself against him more, breaking off the kiss and kissing her way down to his neck.

Quiet noise and--maybe it's silly but it's instinctive not to, and he would never for anyone he trusts less than Winter--he bares his throat to her.