Saturday, April 9, 2016

An Eomer Lemon -- Recompense

Character: Eomer

OC: Sylvanas, works as a guard, confident

Fandom: The Lord of the Rings

Inspiration: Technically this is the last xmas request that’s been stubbornly refusing to let me finish it.  Sorry for taking so long!  The ending feels a bit rushed to me, but I wanted to post it and get it out there.  Might go back to edit it later :)

Sylvanas isn’t sure what she minds more: that she has to guard the front of the palace while she gets snowed on and slowly turned into an icicle, or that she’s missing the festivities within said palace and everything that accompanies them. 
She’s shivering in her fur lined cloak that she’s clasped right below her neck, shivering in her thick leather boots – shivering even beneath the chainmail coat of her armor and the gloves that aren’t stopping the cold from sinking into her fingers.  And despite her position at the bottom of the stairs, she can still hear the loud twist of old Aldith’s fiddle careening through the air; hear the sound of drunken laughter and the clank of toasting cups.  She can easily imagine the swinging gait of bodies dancing to the caustic music.  The drop of the fiddle just…there, just before it picks up again – that’s when the men gather the women and lift them into the air in a delightful spin that makes the world seem like it falls away entirely…but for the sight of the man himself, the warm honey eyes, the dusty blonde hair, the broad shoulders –
Syl clears her throat and turns, making her way back up the stairs for little reason other than to preserve warmth.  Movement makes the cold bearable, and so does the thought of the hot bath she’s going to draw for herself after her shift is over.  She sighs at the thought, but her mind doesn’t wander very far from the honey-eyed man that spins her around to the sawing impatience of a fiddle.
He’d apologized profusely for putting her on the evening watch.  Unavoidable, he’d told her – I’ll make it up to you.  And then, pressed against the shadows and the stone, Eomer had buried her neck with kisses, leaving her with a firm idea of how, exactly, he meant to do so.  More than the thought of a bath and a heavy mug of ale, Syl wants the fortress of his body, the warmth he gives so easily.  If she’s being truthful with herself, it is those thoughts that stave the cold away.
With a wispy sigh, Syl tries to turn her mind away from such distracting thoughts.  She leans against a pillar by the entrance of Meduseld.  There is no use getting over eager about the many ways Eomer will make tonight up to her.  She’s quite sure that whatever feeble images she attempts to conjure will not do the real thing justice anyway.
An hour passes in much the same manner, with Syl struggling to keep her head clear of her constantly tempting thoughts as she slowly freezes into that icicle.  By the time a guard comes to replace her, Syl can actually only think of that bath and how nice it will feel.  She rushes through the still festive main hall and darts into a side hallway, casting one feverish glance over the swarm of people but not seeing Eomer in the crowd.  A quick visit to the armory, and she wrestles the chainmail and heavier articles of clothing from her body.  It’s warmer in the palace, and as she hurries back into the hallway and casts one more glance into the main hall, the cold feels less poignant. 
Eomer is still nowhere to be found.  Bath first, then.  Except she never gets the chance to call for one, because the moment she steps into her chambers, she catches sight of a hulking form taking up practically all of her bed.
Her first instinct is to gasp and draw away, even though she knows who it is.  Surprise and warm happiness shoots through her.  Eomer has never stolen into her room to wait for her before – it is rather a lovely sight.  Which is why her second instinct is to whisper-shout, “Eomer!” and hurry to the bed with a grin.
He lifts himself up with a chuckle and swings his legs over the edge of the bed, just in time for Syl to throw herself into his arms.  And then he’s rolling her over, pressing her into the mattress and darting his fingers over her stomach.  She gasps in chocked laughter as he tickles her breathless.
“You’re freezing!” he exclaims barely a moment later, withdrawing his fingers and replacing them with his whole body.  He tucks her against him, and she sighs with a giddy sort of happiness that comes from being so close to the man she loves.  He really is like a furnace – within seconds, she feels so much better.  But the chill has traveled into her bones, and it will take more than an embrace to rid herself of it.
“Standing in the snow for three hours straight doesn’t exactly make someone warm,” she mumbles against the skin of his chest.  He runs his fingers through her hair and lets out a rumbling sigh.  It sounds like he’s laughing at her just a little bit, and she glowers up at him petulantly.
“Have I not apologized enough for that?” he inquires.  There’s a mischievous light in his eye that makes her squirm.  Maybe it’s on purpose, who can tell?  He sighs against when he feels her move against him, and she hides her smile into the crevice of his shirt, which is perfectly tousled in a half-undone way.
“No,” she immediately responds, “you absolutely haven’t.  I believe I was promised at least a few heartfelt kisses for my suffering.”
His response is even more immediate.  The teasing lilt of her voice fades away when Eomer drops his head and presses his mouth against hers in a sudden kiss.  He’s very thorough.  He’s always thorough, no matter what he is doing, but the way it translates into passion is astoundingly beautiful, and Syl lets out a breathless little whine when he pulls away before she is ready.
“I promised much more than that,” he tells her lowly, sliding a hand over the curve of her back and lingering at her stomach.  His fingers idle on the stays of her leggings, just provocative enough to make her squirm again, but this time in anticipation and not teasing. 
They share a little smile that sends her heart racing against her chest, which suddenly feels constricted in the tunic and tight breast band she’d thrown on that morning.  Freedom will taste perfect tonight; she can already feel it ghosting through the air around her.
He sits up, hovering over Syl with a small smile and eyes that gleam with mischievous desire.  “…I always keep my promises,” he murmurs, voice dropping low into a tone she recognizes as surely as if it were her own.  It is filled with a passion that makes her smile even as her body erupts with subtle desperation.
“Glad to hear it,” she gasps as he slowly starts to undo the ties of her tunic.  The leather stays by her neck are pulled away one by one.  The anticipation lengths as Eomer reaches the last, resting just between her breasts.  He pauses only a moment before flipping the fabric to the side and sliding his palm beneath the tunic to where her breast heaves beneath.  It is still covered with that tight band, but she can clearly feel the heat of his skin sinking into her.  And, already cold from her shift outside, she is taut and hard beneath his hand, pebbling even more with the extra incentive.
“Mm…” he breathes with a chuckle, “Looks like it might take me a while to warm you up.”  The words are as much a warning as they are an observation, but she disregards them and breezily says, “I’ve got all the time in the world.”
His lips twist up into a boyish smile.  “You’re right about that.  Since I’m in charge of your schedule, I’m giving you tomorrow off.”
Being a high ranking general and the nephew to the king definitely has its perks, it seems.
Syl giggles.  His hand moves to the bottom of her tunic.  As he pushes it up, she mumbles, “Hopefully you’ll give yourself the day off, too.”  Even just the morning would be nice, she amends.  Eomer rarely takes full days to himself.
She sits up so he can tug the tunic over her head and he raises an eyebrow, musing over her words as he works on the band around her chest.  “That will depend entirely on you, my Lady,” he murmurs after a beat of contemplative silence.  The breast band flutters away before she can respond, and when his hands cup her chest, Syl momentarily forgets why she wanted to speak in the first place.
She leans into him with a sigh, head tilted back.  His mouth converges on her neck in gentle kisses, which only makes her head spin all the more.  She could forget the entire world if he keeps this up.
“Is that a challenge?” she finally manages to say, humming pleasantly as his fingers spread warmth against her breasts.  She hears him chuckle into her ear, then his lips brush over her earlobe and she shivers brilliantly.  This time, it is not from the cold.
“It’s whatever you want it to be,” he tells her quietly, and suddenly her back in pressing into the mattress, having been pushed there gently by the man that is now hovering above her. 
She watches appreciatively when he pulls his shirt off.  His bare chest is a sight to behold, rippling with hard muscles.  She could worship his body and never want for anything in return, but Eomer won’t have it tonight.  He’s made it clear already that the next few hours are hers alone.
He reaches for her leggings, fingers flying over the ties and loosening them faster than he had her tunic.  Impatience now colors him, setting him alive with shades of passion that Syl could get lost in.  She lifts her hips for him, helping with the process of tugging her leggings down her thighs.  The determination she loves so much about him comes back in full force as Eomer wrests the fabric from her body and tosses it almost nonchalantly behind him.  The sight makes her laugh.
“You are very impatient tonight,” she says between the pauses of her laughter.  Eomer gives her a crooked smile and shrugs, bringing his fingers to his trousers and beginning to work them off his hips.  Syl stares at him as he reveals inches more of his skin, carved and sculpted from countless hours in training.  The sight of his bare upper body really doesn’t even hold a candle to the sight of him entirely bare.  Impressive doesn’t quite cover it.
“Shall I go slower for you?” he asks with a teasing lilt.  His pants join the pile of clothing on the floor.  Sitting before her, completely bare, she thinks that if he goes slow she might actually die.
She props herself up onto her elbows, “I never said it was a bad thing.”  She reaches out a hand for him, pressing her fingers to his wrist and pulling him forward.  He goes without complaint and fits himself against the curves of her body.
“Good,” he murmurs, sounding a little hoarse now that he can feel every inch of her pressed up against every inch of him.  It is a glorious feeling.  “Because I don’t think I could even if I tried.” 
She doesn’t have a chance to respond – which is good.  Talking is definitely not something she wants to participate in right now.  And don’t actions speak louder than words anyway? 
Kissing Eomer definitely feels better than talking to him.  At least in this moment, on this day – a day that had been spent with only the warmth of her thoughts to stave off the cold.  She needs this.  She needs him.  And every part of him feels a thousand times better than ever before.
She does not see the bigger picture, at first.  Syl is caught up between the intricacies of him, the push and pull of all his pieces fitting together with hers.  The details stick out to her the most – honeyed mead sweet on his tongue, rough fingertips surprisingly soft, every subtle shifting drag of his skin that would raise goosebumps over her flesh.  The gentle lilting brush of his mouth against hers, the way he kisses her so deeply yet so reverently, as if he is asking permission with each pass of his lips. 
“Eomer…” she breathes, a jilted sigh that escapes her before she can reign it in.  Has she ever felt this relaxed with other men?  Not that there had been many, but the thought still remains.  Eomer shows her that passion burns even brighter when it is not rushed.  It’s a little strange, considering how impatient Eomer can get.  Perhaps that’s why it feels so special.
She wants him to feel that too, so she whispers quietly, “I thought of you constantly today.”  The words are muffled against his lips, drowned in his kisses – which slow and pause when he hears her.  A boyish smile spreads over his face.  He raises a hand to push a strand of her hair away and she bites her lip.  “…You kept me warm out there.”
A chuckle leaves him, dragged over the dark contours of his voice, creased with that happy lowlight that often gravitates over the familiar pleasure of being with the one you love. 
“I’m glad to hear it,” he murmurs, turning his attention down to her neck and layering kisses over her skin.  “Those thoughts must have been very wicked, to keep you so warm.”  Ah.  He wants to hear them in full.  She is only too eager to share.
With a shift of her hips, a subtle grinding motion that moves over his erection, Syl breathes, “Very wicked.  More wicked than what you’re currently doing.”
Another chuckle, but this time it’s just as breathless and full of desire.  He continues the motion she’d started, grinding his hips slowly against hers.  She is so wet, and every pass of his body makes him crave more.  Always more.
“I think I can fix that,” he mumbles, and his mouth tumbles to her breast at the same time as his fingers find her core.
It’s such a sudden touch that she gasps brokenly and arches into him; a wild mess that lurches straight into pleasure without a backward glance.  She’s thankful for those rough calluses on his fingers.  The way they gently scrape over her – the tangible friction - it all makes her clench her hands around his shoulders and moan. 
He lets out a swift curse and against her breast, mutters, “You make me want to go insane.”  If insanity tastes as sweet, he’d gladly delve right into it.
She lets out a breathless laugh that goes right to his groin and has his gritting his teeth.  With a sigh, he nuzzles against her.  The rough feel of his stubble makes her skin feel hyper sensitive and raw, like she’s exploding into so many pieces.  She can only hope that he will put her together again after he takes her apart.  Then again, Eomer has a particular penchant for doing just that.
“Then go insane,” she whispers, curling her legs around his waist.  His fingers feel good, but she is empty of him and needs to change that.  The feeling of him breaching her, filling her – that physical tie that connects them – that is what she needs.
He decides that he will.  Go insane that is.  With her.  He needs to be inside her just as desperately as she needs him.  A twist of his wrist and his fingers leave her core, only for Syl to drag them suddenly to her lips.  With heavy desire, Eomer watches her tongue curl around his digits, feels the silken way she sucks herself off of his skin.  And because he can’t possibly take that sight without doing something, anything, Eomer groans and leans down to kiss her properly. 
She’ll be the death of him, he thinks.  Rather than finding his end in a glorious battle, he’d rather find it in her arms strong around him. 
Lining himself up, he fills her.
“Mmmm…” Syl gasps, arching against him.  It’s a little rough, at first – the scrape of him against her inner walls.  She isn’t as ready as she could be, but Eomer is slow and gentle with her.  He watches her face carefully, pulls back from his insatiable desire to ensure that she is okay. 
His thumb brushes over her cheekbone and he bends down to kiss the corner of her eye.  A moment is spent shivering beneath him, but not in pain.  The feeling of connecting with someone on such a deep level is staggering, and because it’s Eomer, the feeling is even more so.  She pushes her hips up to take him deeper, and he groans against her neck at the way she so easily steals his breath.
The dulled pain changes, then, into something astoundingly beautiful.
Their hips begin to move at a steady pace.  Shallow breaths are exchanged, lips brushing over skin and some of Eomer’s long hair falls down over his shoulder and tickles her cheek.  She reaches up to thread her fingers into the blonde strands, tangling into them and pulling his head close to hers.  The kiss she bestows upon him is gentle, a little sloppy but adequate in its purpose, and he all but sinks into her (in so many ways) as he kisses her back.
Syl is no longer cold.  The chill that had followed her inside has long dispersed, morphing into a heat that can only come from another’s body pressed diligently against hers.  She wraps her legs around his waist and her hands flutter down from his hair to his shoulders.  She’s always loved his shoulders.  Broad, muscled, tanned from the sun.  She grips them now with almost possessive fingers, caught up in the intense desire to get closer.  Always closer.
“Syl,” he breathes, just a short little sound that barely registers.  But she hears it and the sound of her name threaded through with that raw passion makes her feel like she’s combusting beneath him.  Of course, that feeling cold also be the result of the way his hand shifts up her body, from hip to breast, and lingers there as he palms her.
The gentle thrusting of his lower body propels hers into subtle shifts, and with his hand cupping her breast, every movement seems to spur on the rough calloused feeling of his skin against hers.  She arches into him, pushing her chest against his hand and moaning softly as he rolls his fingers over her taut nipple.
He buries his head into the crook of her neck and sighs, a deep satisfying breath that is accelerated with every pass of his hips.  He fills her like no other, more than just physically, until she is gasping beneath him and pleading for him to go faster, take her harder.  His gentleness is endearing and lovely, but she craves the force of his passion even more.
He does not disappoint.  A jolt of skin and he all but pushes her hips into the mattress as his pace picks up.   She lets out a desperate moan and grips his upper arms tightly, moving one hand to travel across his back to grasp his rear.  Every thrust he gives is accompanied by the insistent pull of her as she drags him closer, deeper.
“Eomer – “ she mumbles, her voice pitched somewhere between desperation and satisfaction.  She is so close – just a little more and she’ll be there.  She’s got a feeling he is in a similar position, because the sound of his name has Eomer groaning and thrusting even faster, moving one hand down between her legs to spur her on even more.
The press of his thumb against her clit is enough to send her completely over the edge, and Syl lets out an immediate moan that holds the traces of his name.  Her body throws itself into an arch and suddenly she can’t control herself as she spins fast over the edge of her own desire and into the rough undercurrents of his.
“Oh!” she cries, the only indication of her finish.  But it is enough.  Eomer watches with passionate smoky eyes as she succumbs to the fire, shivering against him as her eyelids flutter and her body quakes.  And the feel of her squeezing him, every contraction of her inner walls, makes him shiver in a similar way as he falls forward to follow.
The heat of his release does not fill her though.  Eomer is nothing if not careful.  He pulls out of her at the last moment and spills himself against her abdomen with a groan.  The sight of him pumping himself to his finish is almost enough to make her want to start all over again, but the exhaustion of the night seems to have caught up with her, and all Syl can do is watch him with half lidded eyes.
He pushes a breath past his cheeks as he looks down at her, no doubt finding the sight of her covered in his finish satisfying in a way only a man could.  She feels satisfied as well, wearing it against her skin.  In some strange instinctual way, she rather thinks of it as a mark that she is his, and vice versa.  But still, Eomer looks a little guilty about it.  He always does.
“I’ll get a rag,” he murmurs, voice hoarse from the intensity of the night.  As he clamors off her, Syl sits up to admire the way the moonlight caresses every curve of muscle.  He is truly handsome, more so tonight.
After he cleans them up and joins her in bed, Eomer pulls the blankets up to their chins and they share amused laughter.  The cold has returned, but vanishes just as quickly once he has gathered her up against his chest and has tangled their legs together.
“Your verdict, my lady?” he wonders as he nuzzles her face into her hair.  She laughs softly.
“Hmmm…I don’t know,” she murmurs with a mischievous gleam in her eyes, “I think maybe you’ll need to make it up to me more.”
His eyebrows raise into dry surprise, but he doesn’t look displeased by any means.  A smile plays at the corner of his mouth.  “Well I’m sure we can do something about that.” 
As he leans down to kiss her, she sighs in contentment against him.  What had begun as a not so pleasant day has transformed into a dream.  And like a dream, the night gently crushed itself into a stillness that softly dragged them down into sleep.


Wednesday, March 30, 2016

Update in which I ramble

What do you guys think of the color change?  Good, bad?  Should I go back to how it was?  Change scares meh

But seriously.  Let me know if you hate it and I will change it back.  I thought I'd try something new.

Anyway update!  Planning on taking some new requests soon for Spring.  Check in for that in a few weeks.  I'm putting a theme on it called Smutty Little Moments.  Basically each smut will be super short (for me), around 5 pages, and they'll probably mainly just be foreplay stuff.  So when you're sitting in a boring class and need something to do, think about what awesome prompt you're going to request when I post the request sheet.

I want to do 400 follower requests too, but I need about 50 more followers.  They will be awesome if I'm ever able to do them.  Just to let you know.  So if you read my stuff but don't follow me, change that.  Because I will totally celebrate by taking a shit ton of requests.  Maybe oneshot requests too?  It's all speculation right now, of course ;)

That's it. My life is boring.  Btw, NM I haven't forgotten about you.  Your request will be finished within the week.  Sorry for taking so freaking long, my only excuse is laziness and occasional writer's block.

And did I tell you guys that I've added Dragon Age: Inquisition to my accepted fandoms list?  Just saying.

Let me know about the color change!  That was pretty much the whole reason for this update.

Thanks so much for supporting me/commenting/emailing/being awesome!  And just to let you guys know, I don't have a Wattpad account.  I only post my smut here.  If you see any of my things on Wattpad, report it.  Or don't, I don't really care.

I'll go now.  ^o^

-- Strangely Overcast

Thursday, March 10, 2016

A Pavel Chekov Lemon -- Crimson Speaks

Character: Pavel Chekov

Fandom: Star Trek

OC: [Reader], a little reckless, mischievous

Inspiration: This is one of the older requests that took me longer than I thought to write out.  Hope the original requester doesn’t hate me for taking so long.  TT.TT

Once again, it’s Christmas.  This means several things for the crew of the Enterprise.  The first is that they usually get extended shore leave.  Except it’s a little hard to get shore leave when they’re stuck in space several billion light years away from any form of civilization.  Which means, of course, that Captain Kirk has to throw the biggest party in the history of parties (AKA a bigger party than his last).
Pavel prefers smaller affairs, but everyone has to make an appearance.  Kirk has this strange ability to know when someone doesn’t show up at his parties – and doesn’t let it go for weeks.  Pavel knows very well how annoying that is.  He’s only skipped one of them in the past, and days of endless chastising from the Captain isn’t worth it.  
He lingers by the punch bowl and slips vodka into his drink every now and again, even though it’s already spiked.  No matter.  He can hold his liquor, and besides, he really needs it.  Being the youngest member of the crew has its downsides, including all of the underage jokes imaginable.  But the years spent on the Enterprise has hardened him from the naïve seventeen year old he’d been when he first began this five year mission.  He takes another sip of very strong punch as if to prove it to himself…and blanches, because that’s when he notices Captain Kirk heading straight for him with gleaming, mischievous eyes.
“Pavel, I’m so glad you made it this year,” Kirk says, and Pavel bites down on his tongue to stop himself from retorting.  It’s Christmas and everyone is drinking, but Kirk is still the Captain.  An arm is quickly thrown around the engineer and Pavel is dragged away from the punch bowl.  “Come on, I think I saw [Name] over here somewhere…”
Red blossoms in Pavel’s cheeks.  “Keptin – “ he starts, searching desperately for an excuse to get away.  He’s had a huge crush on [Name] for ages now – something that Kirk, of course, noticed almost immediately.  The Captain tries to get the two of them together as often as he can, which usually results in dramatic and laughable circumstances that make Pavel so embarrassed he could die.  The last time it happened, Kirk herded them into the elevator, which then proceeded to “stall” due to some technological issue in engineering.  (Bullshit.)  They’d been stuck together for almost an hour and it had been the most awkward situation in his life because he couldn’t stop stuttering and blushing and – “I…I just remembered I have something to – “
“[Name]!” Kirk shouts over the music.  Pavel freezes as he catches sight of her.  She looks glorious – something from a dream.  Knee length dress skirting over legs wrapped up in transparent red stockings.  Her face brightens when she sees him, and her red mouth twists into a smile that puts angels to shame.  Or it could be the alcohol talking.  Probably is.
“Captain, Pavel,” she greets, and for some reason the way she says his name sounds different than before.  Like she’s charming it into a thousand different colors – reds, to match her lips, to match his blush.
“[Name],” Kirk drawls, and Pavel knows that he’s about to be embarrassed once again.  That tone of voice is a red flag all on its own.  He’s not disappointed (or rather he is).  Kirk smirks and breezily says, “Pavel’s been looking for you.  He wants to ask you to dance.”  And just like that, the youngest crew member is once again tossed under the metaphorical bus.
His blush spikes exponentially as [Name] looks over at him, brows raised and eyes gleaming.  Dear God.  He should’ve known the Captain would pull something like this.  He never should’ve left his room.  He should be holed up in there right now, getting that much needed sleep that’s been evading him for days.  Anything other than having to be rejected by the woman of his dreams –
“Oh.  Okay then.  Let’s go, Pav,” she says, and he cringes because he doesn’t quite hear her and he’s still completely convinced that she just refused him.  But when she slides her arm around his and starts pulling him over to the dance floor, her words start to sink in and he stares at her in confusion.  He can hear the subtle giggles from her friends as they disappear into the crowd, swallowed up with the rest of the drunken dancers.  By the time they reach the outskirts of the mayhem, Pavel’s got several things to say about this whole…mess.  Except it’s not really a mess, it’s more like a dream come true that he’s expecting he’ll wake up from any second now.
She beats him to it.  “That should get Kirk off our backs!” she says loudly.  But the harried music drowns her words out and Pavel frowns in confusion.  He feels like an idiot when he shouts, “What?”  But [Name] only gives him a jaunty smirk and leans in.  Really close.  So close that her body is pressing up against his and he can feel her breath against his neck.
“I said: that should get Kirk off our backs,” she says, softer this time as her words slide over his skin.  He hears her now.  And he swallows, and shivers a little too, because the low tone of her voice makes him feel slightly insane.
[Name] leans back to smile at him.  It’s an utterly wicked sort of smile, the kind that makes a person wonder what sort of sinful things she’s thinking about.  The kind that spurs on images of those sinful things, and makes him fall completely under the spell.  He smiles back, hesitant and bashful and boyish, and wishes for a split second that he could be like the Captain.  With that confidence, he’d have swept her off her feet months ago – he’d do it right here, right in front of everyone.  Bend her low to the ground and just kiss her.  Her smirk widens, as if she can see his thoughts plain as day, and he clears his throat.
Even though it’s a Christmas party, the dance floor feels more like a rave than anything else.  The music is loud and shattering, upbeat and pounding.  There are no gentle Christmas songs about snow falling – it’s all aggressive and fierce.  Not the sort of music Pavel is used to dancing to, but [Name] doesn’t seem to care.  She takes his hands and pulls them around her waist, splaying them over her hips and dragging herself closer.  She either knows that Pavel is out of his element in this hurtling storm of sound, or just wants to follow a beat of their own.  They end up swaying together, completely disregarding the harsh music and just making up their own soundtrack instead. 
After a few minutes of trying to work up the courage to speak, Pavel finally inquires, “Has the Keptin been bothering you, too?”  Because her previous statement had made it seem like he isn’t the only one getting hounded by Matchmaker Jim Kirk. 
She turns her head to look at him and raises an eyebrow.  “Yes.  He seems to think we’d make a good couple.”  She watches in amusement as he blushes and stutters, and laughs, “I happen to agree, but I’d rather it didn’t happen just because he forced it.”  He stops stuttering and instead freezes.
She is so blunt!  And sure of herself, and everything he’s not.  And he thinks that maybe he’s misheard her, because it sounded like she just told him that she wants him to make a move on her.  Or – or maybe the language barrier between them has once again altered her words, warping them, changing them.  Or maybe he’s just looking for a reason why she wouldn’t like him, because if he’s being honest with himself, relationships scare the hell out of him.
[Name] sighs and lifts a hand up to cup his face, turning it toward her.  He has the expression of a man who’s just experienced being the butt of a joke, though she can’t imagine why.  His eyes look almost horrified.  It confuses her, a little, but then Pavel has always been a more sensitive guy than most, and she’s never known him to make a point of hanging around women.  In fact, it seems like he avoids the female sex as often as possible.  She’s never been very attracted to shy, introverted types, but Pavel definitely overturns everything she thought she knew about herself.
“Pavel,” she murmurs, fingers shifting over his cheek.  He looks down at her cautiously, but there is a hungry spark in his eyes that makes her smile.  She tilts her head and says, “Do you know how long I’ve been waiting for you to kiss me?”
He jolts, like her words are electricity that burns him.  The look she sends him is full of expectation and he stares.  Her eyes drift down to his mouth and then back up.  The movement is full of meaning and he’d be an absolute idiot not to take advantage of it.
She stares, mouth twisted up as she waits for his reaction.  A blush blossoms over his pale cheeks.  She traces it, fingers dragging over his skin to his lips, and then across them.  They part beneath her touch.  She leans in.
“So?” she asks, voice barely coherent over the music.  “Do I have to wait another year or are you gonna kiss me, Pavel?”  He shudders and laughs, and she purses her lips to hide her own smile.
“…Yeah…kiss you…” he mumbles, lowering his face down to hers.  The inches disappear like fading stars, and the closer he gets to her, the louder his heart beats through him.  Impatient as ever, [Name] closes the rest of the distance and presses her mouth against his, and he freezes again but this time it isn’t in fear.
His lips move over hers.  He’s incredulous, and a little hesitant – but his heart is soaring grandly and he’s light as air.  Suddenly there’s no gravity and he’s flying and every single boundary between them has burned away. 
“Mmm…” she breathily moans, a whisper of sound that makes him shiver and crowd closer.  His lips converge.  He cannot get enough.  But she draws away a little too quickly for his liking, mouth bruised and eyes gleaming with dilated pleasure.  “Pavel…” she starts, but doesn’t get any farther.  He really can’t get enough.  Now that he’s had a taste of her he can’t help himself.  He lunges back in and captures her lips, and [Name] lets out another beautiful breathy moan that makes him shiver all over again.
What’s that phrase?  ‘Watch out for the quiet ones’?  Apparently it’s true, because Pavel is definitely not acting like the shy, clumsy man she’d thought he was.  In fact, she is completely blown away at the things he is making her feel.  His hands burn into her dress, fisting the fabric of her lower back with grasping fingers.  His mouth is a whirlwind that drags her far from the sway of music and into a much smaller world, there only him and her exist.  She finds herself desperately wanting to explore more of the terrain of this beautiful unknown galaxy.
His tongue drifts against her lips and she’s so surprised by his straightforwardness that she parts her mouth without a second thought.  And then he’s pulling her closer, heaving her body against his and devouring her right there on the dance floor.  And all [Name] can think about are what other ways Pavel might take her off her guard – because if he’s this good with his mouth, she can only dream about those hands of his…
Across the room, Kirk casually glances around to check on his two lovebirds, wondering what awkward situation Pavel has gotten into (never fails to amuse).  But he just ends up choking on his drink as he catches sight of a very steamy make-out session being performed between the bodies around them.  “Holy fuck,” he mutters, tilting his head as he watches them.  McCoy, who’s been forced to attend yet another of these ridiculous parties, follows his gaze and instantly turns green with disgust.
“Oh that’s lovely,” he rolls his eyes.  “Now I’m gonna have to give the kid a box of condoms.  He was the only one I didn’t need to worry about too.”  Kirk just laughs.
“As if!  Pavel wouldn’t sex her up this quickly,” the captain says with a shake of his head.  This is Pavel after all.  He definitely wouldn’t –
McCoy snorted, “Oh yeah?  Look again.  They’re leaving.  Together.”  He knocks back his drink with a scowl and goes to find another, leaving Kirk staring wide-eyed at the departing figures of his younger crewmates.  Huh.  Well he can’t say he isn’t proud.
Pavel’s pretty proud himself.  And pretty scared too.  He’s pretty sure that [Name] has done this many times before, but he’s never actually…well, it makes him unsure, to say the least.  But for some reason he doesn’t feel that hesitant as he clasps his hand with hers and lets her lead him into the hallway.  For some reason, he feels like he’s actually floating on air.  It’s nice.  He becomes grounded again a few halls down, when [Name] pushes him into the wall and kisses him with smoky, heated passion.
“You sure you want to do this?” she whispers against his lips, mouth shifting and devouring and making his head spin.  He clenches at her dress, dragging her closer, feeling bolder as he presses the length of her body into his.  The feel of his arousal makes [Name] heave a shattered gasp against his mouth, and he wonders at how someone could want him so very much.
He brings a hand up to her face and brushes his thumb below her eye.  “I should be asking you that,” he mumbles between kisses.  She smirks, pushes her fingers beneath his shirt to trace the skin of his hip.  The touch makes him come alive, in a way, and Pavel brings her closer and kisses her harder.
“So…I suppose that’s a yes,” she chuckles, then nips at his lower lip with a happy sigh.  Her fingers tangle into his curly hair and she drags his head back, lips diving in to leave a trail of kisses over his neck.  He shivers against her and she absorbs it like a shockwave, dragging her tongue up his skin and suddenly wishing that she could lick and kiss a different part of him.  The part that is very adamantly pressing into her thigh.
In a shaky voice, Pavel trembles, “That’s a…yes.  Бог да.  [1] And the sound of his native tongue makes her pause, eyes slicing through the air until they rest on his stark blue ones.  He pauses too, wondering why she’s stopped, why she’s just staring at him – but then she moans very suddenly, and he stares now for a different reason.  That sound…he wants to make her moan like that a thousand times over.
“God, Pavel,” she mumbles with a shaky laugh.  He raises an eyebrow, thinking back on his words, and clarity hits him.  Amusement makes him smirk.
“You like it when I speak Russian?” he whispers, edging closer to her.  His hands tug her head back, exposing her neck to his mouth.  He nuzzles his nose beneath her jaw, dragging his lips over her skin as he murmurs, “Want me to keep using it?  Tell you dirty things you can’t understand?” 
When he glances up at her, [Name]’s eyes are wide and he thinks he understands why.  But just because he’s the youngest crew member doesn’t mean he doesn’t feel passion, or desire, especially when it comes to her.  He gives her a slight smile that makes his eyes explode with wicked abandon, and [Name] knows she’s done for.  Definitely done for.
“Pavel, get me to a bedroom.  Any bedroom,” she orders, breathing fast.  The thought of him talking dirty to her in his native tongue makes her feel like she’s unraveling.  She doesn’t care where he brings her.  She doesn’t care if they end up in the fucking captain’s quarters – she just needs a private place where they won’t be interrupted and can further explore this new development.  Jesus.  Her body is already burning right through her dress and his hands are not making it any easier.
Somehow they stumble into an unlocked room.  It’s thankfully empty.  Everyone is either still at the party or has enough patience to actually return to their bedrooms.  But patience is such a fleeting thing, and between the two of them, there is no room to cultivate it.  It flies from their fingertips and is replaced only by the fire of their need, which rises starkly around them and turns the tiny room into something out of a dream; a backdrop of their passion.
They make it to the couch that is sitting in the center, conveniently placed as if it is merely waiting for them to fall upon it.  Clothes are loosened by eager fingers.  Soon [Name] dress joins the pile, and Pavel bites back a groan at the sight of all that skin.  Some of it leaks out though – a ragged little sound that has her edging forward to straddle him.  She bucks her hips against the erection tenting his trousers and he groans again, another beautiful noise to wash away any lingering hesitance.  If there had been any to begin with.
His hands make circles on her skin, dragging over her ass and up to the back of her neck.  He clenches his grasp into her hair and tilts her head to the side, lips tumbling forward to capture hers.  It’s a bit sloppy, wrought with a desire too possessive to clamp down, and accompanied by the hungry way [Name] rips at his shirt and skims her hands over his bared chest.
Time presses against them.  Pavel moves his hands back down to her rear, clenching her into his grasp and dragging her fitfully against him.  He needs her Just as surely as he needs air to breathe, though he doesn’t get much of that as her lips devour his in turn.  It’s a beautiful push and pull, like a storm tumbling back and forth between lightning and thunder.  And the clash of their emotions meets firmly in the middle, tempered with enough strength to bolster the urgency that has overcome them.
“Lift your hips a bit,” he mutters, drawing his hands to the button of his trousers.  The fabric does very little to hide away his erection, which has only gotten harder and more insistent with every bucking pass of her hips.  She does as he asks, immediately lending her fingers to assist him.  The trousers are pushed off his hips, wrangled away just enough to free his cock before they abandon the effort in favor of more pleasure.
She wraps her fingers around him with a sigh, relieved that there is one less barrier between them.  The touch makes him writhe, hips surging upward and unsettling her from his hips.  Her thighs tighten around him to make up for him and they share a brief little chuckle at the eagerness of his desire.  Moments later, she shows him just how eager she is too, when she reaches back to unhook her bra and shuffle out of her panties.
He tries to help, but the moment her breasts are freed, Pavel can’t bring himself to focus on anything except them.  His lips dip down to suckle at a nipple, wrapping his mouth around it and flattening his tongue against the taut peak.  [Name] moans and sits up, cursing herself at her lack of forethought.  She should have just decided against wearing panties.  It would’ve made things so much easier.
A moment spent wrangling them away, then Pavel is slipping his hands back around her hips and pushing her against him once more.  He cups a breast with one hand as soon as she is settled, and the combines feel of the hardness of him and the pleasure he gives her makes her heart leap in her chest.
“Pavel,” she moans, voice half a whisper, half a prayer.  He devours it with all the desire that fuels him, tilting his head to kiss her with none of the delicacy that arches through his wild heart.  And she finds herself leaning in and returning his exuberance with all the trappings of her own insistence.
A swift roll of her hips shatters the beating heartbeats.  The kiss drops away, replaced by the immediacy of two souls careening into one another; two souls that cannot linger any longer beneath the tepid quality of desire.  [Name] wraps her fingers around him again, but this time there is no teasing touch guiding her hand.  This time, there is only the rising maelstrom of passion, inebriating in its force.  They are helpless in the face of it.
Her thrusts take on a wild passion, subdued only slightly by the pull of his hands and the crinkling way his eyes meet hers.  It is almost as if they are looking past each other – past all the physical barriers that separate them and into something greater than just themselves.  She presses her forehead against his and immerses herself in the feel of his body and hers.
His hands grip her waist, fingers sliding over her rear and guiding her thrusts.  The hardness of him fills her so spectacularly that her breath comes out in swallowed gasps that intertwine with his.  She grasps at the collar of the wrinkled button up they’d never managed to get entirely off and kisses his jaw.  His skin is smooth; he’d shaved for the party, but there is a slight texture that suggests the hint of stubble growing back in.  Her lips drag against his skin just as ardently as he drags her against the rest of him, until they are no more than two deconstructed dalliances of ungrounded fire.
Russian is whispered into her ear.  She pulls him in deeper, moving her body over his with fluid, smooth movements.  She wonders what he is saying to her, what dirty things he winds against her neck – or if it is beauty, perhaps, that draws this spoken but unheard passion from his lips.  She doesn’t ask, just drowns in it and allows him to sweep her away into every drawling syllable, until that voice rises and she knows he is close.
He murmurs her name with a sigh and moans, “I don’t think I – “ only to cut himself off with a louder moan when [Name] circles him with a grinding flourish that only makes it all that much worse.
“Me too,” she whispers, pressing her head to the leather couch by his shoulder.  Her breath patters over his skin like rain.  His nerves are a storm of equal measure, building up within him until Pavel cannot hold back any longer, and he cries out with a muffled curse.
His head drops back on the couch, body shivering as his orgasm tears through him.  The heat of his finish fills her, and she rushes to press her fingers against her clit to hurry her own end.  The moment his head has cleared enough for him to notice, Pavel bats her hand away and replaces her fingers with his own.  And with quick, firm movements, he brings her to the finish she so craves.
“Pavel!” she gasps, collapsing into him.  He catches her, one arm slung around her waist while the other is caught between them.  His fingers don’t stop until she is nothing but a puddle that melts against him, her hips falling silent and her breath coming out in a heaving sigh of happy relief.
They sit for a while like that, breathing each other in, until Pavel at last murmurs, “Do you think we should go back to the party?”  It’s an offhanded suggestion that he doesn’t really mean, or want.  To be honest, all Pavel can think about now is dragging himself back to his bed with her in tow and getting some much needed sleep. 
Apparently she’s of the same mind, because she chuckles and pulls away to say, “What I want right now is you in my bed.”  Her eyes shine in the dim light, and it takes his breath away.
“Yeah?” he manages half a heartbeat later, because he can’t think of anything else to say and because some part of him wants a confirmation to be sure he’s not dreaming.
She laughs and, still full of him, leans in to tip his head back.  She kisses him slowly like she’s serenading the very air around him, and whispers, “…Yeah.” 
He can’t breathe again, but this time it’s not because he’s too aroused or too shy to remember how to do so.  This time, it’s because [Name] is kissing him so solidly that breathing is unimportant, and his heart is rising up within him and wanting more, more, more.


[1] Бог да … God yes