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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She moves against him, then up, and back down, clenching, unclenching, sighing and making tiny noises as her chin drops to her chest.

Kriff

He has such a weakness for those tiny noises.

He follows her lead--I'm your wing--like he always does when she asks, like she always does when he asks; brings up his knees and plants his feet hard against the mattress and moves with her, against her; even he isn't entirely sure which he's doing. Whatever it is, it's instinctive and it's good.

Oh yeah it's good. The noises are a little louder and a little faster and she's moving faster, her hair swaying, and oh gods.

There's a low moan through clenched teeth and one hand holds her hip tight, rising and falling with her, steadying her. His head is still thrown back and he's breathing hard but he's watching her; can't not.

Her head has completely dropped, her eyes shuttered and her breath laboured. Faster, faster, faster, coming closer and closer to the brink.

Just a little more, a little longer.

It's just become a question of holding on; of gasping for breath and hand slipping on slick skin and grunting with every thrust up of his and push down of hers, face flushed brilliant red.

And suddenly, she stops. 'Cause she's evil like that.

She leans foward, kissing him, then rolls them over so he's on top, and she's wrapping her legs around his waist pulling him deeper and urging him to move.

He returns the kiss hard, doesn't need any urging at all. He stretches out fast and moves almost before her back has hit the bed, in and out, panting against her neck.

The noises are coming faster and louder and oh gods, her head falls back and arches up to meet him with every thrust, faster faster.

Choked noise that might 'Winter--, might be 'Sithspit--' (is probably both), and shavit they're so accustomed to each other, to this, move so right; feels like they're one person and his back muscles are impossibly tight under her hands--

--and suddenly she stills and her hands spaz and her toes curl and she's crashing over the edge, her chest heaving, her head thrown to the side, and gods it feels so damned good.

Good it is so good but not good enough and so there is a nose buried in her neck and a pilot still moving, now with more than a little desperation.

She's gone sort of...limp, but still wraps her legs around his waist, tighter, urging him on, trying to help out as much as she can, though it's hard.

With limbs like jelly.

He's holding on to her fiercely, almost shaking with every thrust, and it's just so-- kriffkrifffuckvaping close--

She's biting her lip and moaning loudly again, squeezing him with her muscles, trying to make this go faster, 'cause he's killing her again.

A sharp cry and several equally sharp thrusts, back arched and her name on his lips, and then he collapses atop her.

Her legs untangle from his waist and slide down to lay flat on the bed.

Mmmph. She can't move anymore. Too hard.

His heart hammers its way through a still, quiet moment before he finally returns to coherency and decides that his limbs are too heavy to bother attempting to lift. He kisses her neck softly.

"Mrrf." She sighs, chest heaving still, and her eyes shut. Sleepy time!

It's like chronowork. They have sex? Winter falls asleep. A fond whuff of breath and Tycho rolls to one side, leaving an arm splayed protectively across her ribs and his forehead pressed against her jaw.

Still, it's a while before he closes his own eyes.

Never forget.

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