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 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.

She kisses him gently back, then pushes him down onto the bed. She needs this right now. Gone for a few days, and coming back on this day was too much without him.

She needs this. Needs him.

She climbs back onto of him, biting her lip before sheathing him inside of her.

Hells.

Tycho's head thuds back onto the bed, his hand white-knuckled in a fistful of the sheets. He releases a harsh pant of a breath.

He needs her. Always has, always will.

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.