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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There's a grunt at the stopping, but then she's off him and he takes full advantage, sitting up and wrapping his arms around her from behind. He doesn't move his feet, letting her deal with the boots. Instead, he rests his hands on her stomach, nuzzles her hair aside to trail kisses across the back of her neck.

Her head drops forward a bit, her hands faltering at his boots, but she manages to pull them off.

She turns around in his arms, shrugging her shirt off, and slid her palms over his bar chest.

He pulls her into his lap, rests his forehead lightly against hers. His hands dance up her spine, and when they reach her bra strap, they--after a second or two's work--unsnap it.

"Good job." She murmurs. Since you know, he usually sucks at bra-removal.

She shrugs the bra off, throwing it somewhere behind her. She takes his hands, sliding them up her waist, ribs, making them cup her breasts, as she bites her lip, watching him.

His expression becomes less amused and more aroused mid-smile, eyes growing dark.

He squeezes gently, rubbing slowly with fingertips and palms, watching her in turn.

Her head falls back slightly, arching herself into his hands, her own hands bracing herself on his shoulders.

Hell but Winter's gorgeous like that, lips parted, face flushed, eyes half-shut.

Tycho's hands cup more firmly (but not enough to hurt, never enough to hurt), fingers rolling back and forth over her nipples, and he might have kissed her but he's too entranced by watching her to do it.

Her cheeks flush, and she moves against him softly, her lower lip trapped between her teeth.

No more laughing now. He's absolutely serious (and aching). He moves one hand to get an arm around her, and then he swings her onto her back on the bed, away from the edge. There's a moment's pause for him to yank off her boots--they make surprisingly loud thuds when hitting various pieces of furniture--and then he follows her, letting his weight bear down on her as he kisses her. This kiss has nothing of the slow, though it's certainly still thorough; it's hard and wanting.

She wraps her arms around him, and slides her sock-feet up his leg, kissing him back, arching up to ensure direct contact between bodies at all time.

And the silence is broken by a low groan, muffled by her mouth. Score two, Winter; so kriffing hot-- He settles in between her legs and, unable to help himself, grinds against her.

She moans softly, detaching her mouth from his, moving down to his neck, licking at his pulse.

Deep breath. Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in, breathe out. Self-control is good. His face--among other places--is kriffing flaming, but hey, control. He's got plenty of it.

He might be more impatient than Winter, for once.

Mmm. Torture?

She kisses her way down to his collarbone, nipping and licking, her hands going farther and farther down, playing with his belt.

Another quiet noise and he presses his hips down in a not-so-subtle yes, off sort of motion.

She rolls him over, sits on his legs. She undoes his belt, pulling it off, and slowly starts to slide his trousers off.

She likes doing that, using Intel training to push him around with no warning. Good thing he doesn't mind one bit.

He is absolutely still capable of speech, of doing something besides breathing harshly.

Just don't ask him to say or do anything coherent right now.

She slides the pants all the way off, leaving him in only his underwear, and she rolls away, pushing her hair out of her face, giving herself a moment to cool down.

And start on her own pants.

Problems with coherency apparently don't extend to pants, since he reaches out and tugs hers down her--perfect--legs with a bit of a grin at her.

She kicks them off, the grabs him and pulls him on top of her, rubbing herself against him, kissing him deeply.

A strangled sound is cut off by her lips, and he returns that kiss more than a little enthusiastically, but-- it's proving difficult to kiss that intensely and remove panties at the same time.

Guess which one suffers for it.

"Gahhh." She groans into his mouth and pulls away. "Dammit, don't do that."

Vaping-- Why is there pulling away?

He pauses with his hand on her inner thigh. "--Don't do what?"

She just growls, sitting up and going for his boxers, trying to do her panties at the same time.

Yeah. NOT WORKING. *eyeroll*

He really is innocent and slightly confused this time. But whatever's up, this is not the most efficient way to go about things, so he sits up, too, strips off the boxer briefs with military ease, and then pulls her underwear down, too.

His body is screaming at him, but he ignores it and touches the back of his hand to her face gently, kisses her. Easy.