by Sangga

They lie like spoons.

It's such a comfortable place to be, which he appreciates more and more. He wants to go to bed early. He wants to go to bed at noon. In the middle of the day, he'll be working on something, the reactor core or something, and a lassitude will creep over him, and he'll long to be in bed, half-asleep, just like this, with the back of her thigh easing into place against his leg, the swell of her butt against his groin.

Her bare back is like a sandy plain, soft and smooth and glowing gold.

He reaches up lazily to move some of her hair out of the way. He doesn't know what he likes more -- the way the red cords entangle and spread over her shoulders, so picturesque, or the way he now has access to the back of her neck. He pushes his face in and breathes in deeply, and lets his head sink into the pillow.

This is peace.

You really like that, don't you.

Yeah, babe, I really do. You know it.

I can feel you smiling into my shoulder when you do that, that hair thing.

You can feel me smiling? Who knew. Can you feel this?

You're incorrigible.

You mean insatiable. Do you like that?

You know I do.


...wait. There. Oh.

Keep going.

I can't concentrate...

Here, let me.

He remembers the first time, when he was so nervous and unpractised that he came too early, and the fact that it didn't matter. He remembers that sinking into her the first time was like slipping into a pool of warm water, and he almost passed out from the feeling of bliss and coming home.

He'd gotten so used to having a body that just felt the mundane things. Weariness. Hunger. Temperature. The aches of illness, the burn of injury.

This was an altogether different burning.

"Are you okay?"

He could only nod, and breathe in her breath. Her eyes, up so close, were constantly changing hue, deep hazel brilliance and chocolate sparkles. Her panting made him shiver, convulsively. Fighting for control. He never knew that nerve endings could be so sensitive, that it was possible to feel someone else's entire body, every movement, through one small part of your own.

He'd been missing out.

This isn't what it's like, he'd thought. He knows what it's like - not completely inexperienced - but this isn't what it's like. The idea that he'd only had a rudimentary understanding of what real sex could be occurred to him then. That was a shock.

Shocking. High colour.

On his cheeks, everywhere. He'd been gypped before, obviously, but it didn't matter. Now he knew. Know he could feel it.

She watched him swallow and struggle for a moment, then lifted a hand off the bed to touch his face.

"Do you understand?"

Yes. God, yes. One hit and he's addicted. Mysteries of the universe unfolded, and he stopped holding his breath and began to move.

Don't stop.

What, don't stop this, or don't stop...

You know what I mean.

Only if you explain it to me.

Tell them about the time you... you know. And don't stop.

...and you think I'm insatiable.

The best place to be is under the covers. It's stiflingly warm but he likes that, the feeling of being enveloped, and it's dark, so he can't see her in one sense, but his other four are alive and busy. Busy bees. He buzzes around her waist for a moment, enjoying the softness on his lips, then sniffs lower.


"Seamus, what are you doing?"

He can hear her voice, muffled through the blankets. He grins into her navel.

"I'm doing a very nice good morning thing."

"What?" She sounds lethargic and gently rousing. She smells wonderful.

"You'll see."

He is like a truffling pig, seeking out treasures. Truffles smell like musk -- diners used to say that eating fresh truffles was akin to an orgasmic experience. He scoots himself around a little and settles between her legs, and inhales deeply, and starts slow. Starts by feathering little kisses and nips from her knee down her inner thigh. Then tasting the bend, the delicious corner where thigh meets groin meets buttock edge, altogether one of his favourite places. But then, his Favourite Places list is getting ridiculously long now. He thinks it might encompass her entire body.

Her movements have stilled, and he can feel the rhythm of her breath beginning to hike up. Her voice comes again, quieter, thicker.

"Seamus --"

His mouth is occupied with more enjoyable activities, so he settles one splayed hand on her stomach, to reassure, then nudges her pubic hair with his nose. She gasps. He breathes into the springy hairs. She stiffens. He kisses gently, smooth lips to damp, fairy kisses, blowing little puffs of air into moist corners. She groans uncontrollably, and he knows he has her, juust so.

He licks, and she spasms hard, more licking that can't begin to sate his need for her taste, and more, and deeper, and more, and more --

She comes twice under his tongue, before he can't stand it any longer, pushing up the covers to thrust so deeply home that they both gasp in pleasure and terror, his face slick with her, and her eyes bright and amazed, and kisses with rich long movement, grinding and prolonged, like tides, like the sea.

God, I love it when you do that.

Babe, you love everything I do. Minx.

That's true.

So you don't have a ‘best bits' selection? Nothing specific?

Nope. Just everything.

Not very discriminating, are you?

Well, maybe...your eyes, when you look like that.

Like what?

Like you want to... Mm.

Like that?

Yes. And the kissing. And the way your hands shake.

Now you're makin' me feel shy.

You're never shy.

She remembers every time, the first time being a kind of desperate dizzy need for satiation, combined with giggles and long moments of out-of-body experiences, and the second time (soon after) with a warm sense of relaxed langour, and intense happiness.

And she remembers the third time, when she'd been wearing her ‘work' clothes, and the look of absolute ecstasy on his face when he realised that he was going to be the one to get her out of them.

"Do you have any idea..." he'd said slowly, as he undid the first string on her bodice, "...just how long..." the string slid neatly through the second hole, "...I've been dreaming about doing this?"

She'd grinned, her lips at his temple.

"Tell me."

His fingers worked the laces carefully, each pop of exit through the holes a neat punctuation.

"A long...long...long...long...time."

She'd watched his fingers move -- so precise with the nanowelder, compact and slightly calloused at the tips. Trembling now.

"You're shaking."

His voice too, as he looked into her face.

"I know."

And with an expression of disbelief and awe, pushing her bodice open and back, so it slid off her shoulders, to leave her standing, topless in leather chaps and killer boots, the golden expanse of her flesh as her nipples hardened in the air.

Man, oh man -- I love your work clothes. Tell them how much I love your work clothes.

Fetishist. We already covered that part.

How about this part?

...not yet. Mm -

Or this part?

...no, not that part either... Really, I can't...


I really can't...can't think when you --

Darlin', I have a deep appreciation of all your parts.

And I, yours.

She finds it endlessly entertaining, his embarrassment at the attention she lavishes on his body, the way she calls him beautiful.

"No, no, no...see, women's bodies are beautiful. But guy's bodies are just... I dunno -- guy's bodies."

"You don't think that men's bodies are beautiful?"

He reconsiders.

"Well...maybe Tyr. Tyr's body would be considered beautiful. But it's like, all capitals -- the Body Beautiful. Like a sculpture, or something."

She grins.

"Your body is beautiful, Seamus."

He frowns.

"Nah, no it's not."

"Yes," she insists, "it is. This part..."

She runs one flattened palm over the spread of his collarbone, and he shivers.

"And this..."

Sliding fingers down his flank.

"Hey, that tickles -"

"And here..."

The curve where abdominal muscles and pelvic bones meet.

"And here..."

Smooth skin over his bicep, the length of his work-toned arm. He makes a grab for her hand.

"You're crazy."

"You're gorgeous."

"No way. I've been described as cute, but never gorgeous. I think the two terms may be mutually exclusive."

"Not to me."

He leans closer, and teases her mouth, and grins.

"Prove it."

She sighs and smiles. They've had this conversation plenty of times before, and it always ends the same way.

Hey, you weren't supposed to tell them that.

It's okay, it doesn't matter. They like that stuff.

This was only supposed to be about the sex.

They want more, they want to get inside heads.

Well the hell with that, they can't have more. Some things are private.

What, and relating how you go down on me isn't?

That's different. That's...art.

She has become a slave to his tongue.

Her sense of humour was always a slave to the wit his tongue produced, but this is different.

Oh, and how.

He wasn't totally assured to begin with, but he had a wealth of natural talent, and early success made him confident. She tells him, from one novice to another, that he makes her feel like a goddess. He tells her that he adores her.

The knowledge of what he can do to her can keep him grinning all day.

He made her come in the Maru's galley, laid back over the benchtop, knees spread wide, her heels hooked over one edge and her dreadlocks cascading over the other, swaying like red seaweed with every jolt of her body. One of her hands holding on tight, and one hand tugging on his blonde hair, his head dipping as he sucked and worked, until the soles of her feet caught fire, and her back arched, taut as a bowstring.

Then he pulled her down and they fucked furiously, standing up, making the cutlery rattle in the drawers, her spine bumping against the bench, his hands squeezing underneath her, her leg wrapped fast around his hips. And quelling their noises with exotic, erotic kisses -- until they lost balance and fell over sideways in a flurry of limbs and clothes, and laughing like idiots before a sound from outside in the hangar had them scrambling for zips and buttons and fasteners, trying to stop grinning, failing, settling for kissing instead...

With his tongue, he is a genius.

Yup, you said it. I'm a genius.

In so many ways.

That's right. Can I give you a quick illustration?

A long one, later.

Not now?

Then you won't be able to talk.

Do I look like I care? I can mumble -- you'll like it, it'll tickle.

Not yet. But maybe this --

Hey...whoah, whoah, whoah, that's --


...oh, no fair...

Totally fair. This is give and take, remember?

...ah god...yeah. I remember.

They scurry along the corridors from Hydroponics, holding hands, but every now and then he lists into her shoulder. The concussion he sustained from the Ogami attacks. This will not do -- when they pass by a medbay room she tugs on his fingers, speaking gently to his frown.

"It'll only take a minute. I promise."

She leads in, and leaves him at the examination table to fetch equipment from the bench. The momentary absence from her feels like a cold pain, but he's grateful for the table edge at his back. Still woozy. Damnit.

When she returns there's an injector in her hand. He lets her roll up his sleeve.

"For your head. Plus, a little painkiller." He opens his mouth but she preempts, administering the shot, talking at the same time. "You need it. It won't make you drowsy."

This last makes him look up into her face. She's flushed, and her eyes are very big. The enormity of the situation starts bubbling up inside him.

This is real. This is really happening.

He gets a sudden attack of the shakes at his core. Then a kind of heavy warmth fills every nerve -- could be the drugs, but he thinks it's her proximity. He can see each auburn eyelash. Her lips are open, and when a little sigh trembles out of her he trembles in unison.

She puts the injector on a tray carefully.

"All right?"

He swallows and nods.

Close. Closer. Closest.

His whole body is a magnet, and particles of her are already easing, dipping towards him. They are not yet touching, but he knows that one of her feet is between his two, and her knee is next to his, and their bodies are aligned, and at any moment there could be contact. Anticipation of the moment swells inside him, spirals greedily.

One of his hands is gripping the table edge, but he can't feel it.

She breathes out again, and the humidity touches his face. He is sharing her breath. They are both slightly panting. They both close their eyes.

The first contact is through the lips.

Soft, delicate. The corner of her mouth. The fullness at the front. The side of her cheek. The edge of her nose. His breath on her jawline.

Return to the centre. Lips are supple, a little damp now.

No movement as their lips pray, beseech. Not kissing, not yet. Just...touching. Testing the waters.

God. He feels like he's slipping out of his skin. A contained explosion behind his eyelids, ricocheting to every part, to the four winds. He hears a quiet moan, and realises he made the noise himself.

Her hand slides up his shoulder, and her lips mutter beneath his.

"We can't..."

His eyes flutter open. He watches her whisper with her own eyes still closed.

"This isn't...private."

They both take a deep breath, beholding the other. He nods hurriedly, voice hoarse.

"Right. This isn't...no privacy mode. Right."

"Right." Her chest is still heaving.

"Do you wanna go to your --"

"Your quarters are closer."


She nods and takes his hand. Then she smiles at him, in a dazed way, and he grins, and his knees are watery but firming now with every step as he leads the way.

The corridors seem suddenly endless. Then -


His words tumble over themselves, and they both tumble into his quarters. Her mouth finds his immediately, and his arms go around her, and straightaway the door closes they are pressed up against it.

She spares a thought for her own strength, not wanting to injure him inadvertently -- then the pleasurable surprise of his own wiry muscle, as his knee thrusts between her legs and she's slammed backwards. And their hands galloping ahead, divesting them of shirts and robes, and they're left in shift and pants respectively, and the feel of her nails on his back making his brain short-circuit as he slides a hand up her flank to the round smoothness of her buttock, her leg bending up like magic, and kissing her mouth replaced by devouring her neck, down the plain where her shift strap has fallen away, nuzzling her skin as she gasps, head thrown back --

- before something like sense reasserts itself, and they both stand panting, staring at each other. He takes a shaky breath and his hands stop squeezing and start caressing, something like an epiphany in his face.

"God, is it always like this?"

Her voice shuddering, like her fingers touching his cheek.

"Just with you, Seamus. Just with you."

There's a seismic detonation, like fireworks in his chest. He doesn't think he can bear it. Then she kisses his lips softly, the world begins turning again, and there's plenty of time, time is endless, and they have the whole long night ahead.

You know I lo-

Sh -- don't say it. Bad luck to say it.

No it's not. I love you.

If I say it back it's Snap, which cancels out the bad, right? Say it again.

You just want to feel yourself adored all day...

I know I'm adored. Say it again.

Alright. I love you.

I love you.

I know.

Not just Snap. Really. I really do.

I know, sweetheart.

This was just supposed to be about the sex.

It's never just about the sex.

Doesn't that make it a bit...I dunno, sugary or something? Maybe they'll think it's --

I don't care. Come closer.

Closer? Like this?

Just like this.

God, you smell fantastic.

Now kiss me all over.

Thought you'd never ask.


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