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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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.

She lightly scrapes her teeth on his neck, kissing, licking, until finally latching onto his pulse and sucking the skin, lightly.

"Mmmph." He shifts the rest of the way on top of her, resting most of his weight on his forearms.

"Oof." it's said softly, and in good humour and she pulls his earlobe into her mouth again.

He lets her, but then he really just wants to pull away and kiss her again.

So he does, leaning down with a little more force.

She meets him eagerly, pressing herself against him as they kiss, her fingers digging into his shoulders.

A few lingering kisses and then he finally releases her bottom lip last, mouthing his slow, wet way down her throat with lips and tongue and a hint of teeth. Still sliding down ever-so-patiently, he unfastens the top button of her tunic.

Too patiently kthnx.

She lets her head fall back, her hands falling from his shoulders to tangle in his hair, the bedsheet, anything.

Ministrations reaching the recently uncovered skin and, oh, look at this-- another button seems to have slipped. And another, and another, and very shortly, her shirt is hanging open.

Nosing her collarbone, he slips down farther and plants a series of kisses and nips right along the edge of her bra.

She arches up a tad, both hands in the bedsheet now.

He slips hands where his mouth can't go -- under her bra. Fingers teasing, he licks down her sternum.

She arches up more, moving against him slightly.

Tycho slides down even more, and this means that he can't quite reach anymore, so his hands move to her sides for the moment. He kisses her smooth stomach.

She growls at him, pressing her hips up, moving her leg so her (booted) foot is digging into his lower back.

Gyah!

He pauses, looks up at her with a bemused eyebrow raised.

"I may smack you." She glares down at him. "Hard."

The more she talks, the less is happening.

He settles in more comfortably, sitting on her legs. "Why's that?"

He is not amused. That is her imagination.

She struggles to sit up. She gets...sort of up and reaches foward and SMACKS HIM!

On the arm.

Not the face. Don't want to damage the pretty.

"Ow! What was that for?"

Somehow..she's wiggled a leg free, and uses it to flip him over. So now, she's crawling towards him, and sits on him, pressing his arms into the mattress above his head. "Because."

A bit of a startled yelp as he finds himself thudding onto his back and being summarily pinned. Score one, Winter.

And now he's just looking up at her, with part anticipation and part (smart) wariness.

Very smart.

She lets his arms go, so she can sit on him properly, and pushes his shirt up, just a bit. Her hands trace patterns up and down his sides, pushing his shirt up a little at a time.

Yes, okay, this is rather less funny when he's the victim.

He keeps his mouth shut. He does, however, let a hand wander toward her knee.

Hand is slapped away, as she pushes the shirt up more and up over his FACE.

Then she starts a kissy-trail of torture! Or so she hopes.

He yanks the shirt the rest of the way off over his head--because flying blind is something to be avoided if possible--and lets it drop onto the floor.

His chest rises and falls with less steadiness as she moves lower, but there's no audible reaction. He just watches quietly.