dejah_thoris | [milliways] Lost for you, I'm so lost for you

She leads. He follows.

He follows eagerly, his free hand landing at her breast, his other hand unceasing, unyielding in its work. They are wearing way too many fucking clothes, and he's just cognizant enough of the distant, tinny sounds of the party to stop himself from wrenching her dress off entirely, throwing off this goddamn suit, making good on that promise to taste every one of the clan markings covering her bare skin.

Curtis rolls again, above her now, as his mouth finds its way back to hers and he kisses her hard.

The trust she puts in him returns twofold: he is safe with her. This won't bring him harm. He can relax, and rest, and actually fucking enjoy himself.

She tangles her legs with his, curls a hand around the back of his neck. She pulls him into the kiss, meeting it with an almost savage abandon. Her hips buck and grind, but his weight holds her down.

She can taste his raw desire in the lush sweetness of his mouth, in the urgency of his touch. She echoes it back to him, just as raw, just as hungry, but with a tenor of restraint. She wants what he wants, but they both know, it's not the right time or the right place.

But that doesn't mean they can't have this. She wants this, whatever he'll give her. She whimpers, the sound high-pitched, descending, soft cries telling him how close she is, showing him exactly what he's doing to her. The tremor in her body grows more pronounced, every muscle in her body quaking.

Her wordless moans light him up, sketch a single plea he answers without hesitation: Don't stop.

He doesn't want this to end. The pulse of her ecstasy, the heat of her body, his own quiet gasps mingling with hers as he works. Curtis bends close to bury his face against her neck, breathing her in; his metal hand doesn't really have any nails, but he rakes his fingers along her shoulder anyway, quick and stinging, as his teeth graze her pulse point.

"I love you," he breathes against her throat, "I love you -- "

She clings to him, white-knuckled, her head thrown back. Gold pins fall to the sand, and her dark hair spills free. She's drowning in him, in his touch at her shoulder, his teeth on her throat, his fingertips, his voice... His words cut through everything, strike like a lance deep into her chest. She's lost, so very lost to him and it feels right and good and true.

She mouths the words, over and over, her breath caught in her throat. My beloved. My beloved.

He's drawn her entire awareness down to a pinprick of light, a blinding moment of ecstasy waiting to explode. Her body arches hard beneath him, a bow drawn to the very breaking point, and then she goes rigid. He can feel the detonation unfold in slow pulsing waves. She has no choice but to surrender, crying out as it takes her.

His metal hand skids from her shoulder and plunges into the sand as his vision almost whites out. Curtis bites down on a cry of his own, caught in the backdraft, aftershocks making his fingers shake. It's not from him; it's all from her. She's swept him in and he can only ride along, breathless, experiencing every vicarious second stretched to an impossibly long peak, an impossibly long descent.

He leans his forehead against hers, struggling to catch his breath.

Okay, getting someone off while mildly telepathic is officially the best thing ever.

It takes her an eternity to come down, and in that age and a day, he is all she knows. The sensation releases its grip on her like an explosion in reverse, her muscles relaxing one by one, her spine melting back to the sand, her hands going soft against his back. He's breathing like he's just climbed the stairs, and he can feel a flicker of worry from her, surrounded as it is by a golden glow of bliss.

She shifts, just enough to bring her lips into contact with his, the barest breath of a kiss, profoundly tender and as deep as the desert is wide.

You okay?

Curtis Everett of Milliways.

Goddess...

I love you.

He starts to return the kiss -- and then pauses, eyes flying open.

She didn't speak. He's sure of that.

Holy shit. this is what she meant, i didn't know it'd happen so fast Dejah?

"I'm fine," he whispers aloud.

She looks into his face, looks into those amazing blue eyes, and exhales a tiny breath.

"It's all right."

Please Don't be afraid.

"It's not permanent."

I want to make love to you make this ours everlasting by the light of two moons I want you so much.

He nods, still dumbstruck.

don't be an ass This is weird. This is really fucking weird.
I love you. It's okay. I'm okay.

Gently, Curtis settles his forearm against the sand, over her loose hair; he curves his hand around her head and leans down to kiss her again, sweet and slow and lingering.

I want more I want this I want you

This is You're amazing.

She closes her eyes, sinks into kissing him, and he can hear and feel the chorus of affirmation, of agreement, of sounds and scents and sensations all echoing the last few minutes.

She kisses him, mirrors that tenderness back to him, and one hand gently shifts from around his neck. It caresses down his chest, over his belt, coming to cup the heat and hardness she can feel pressed against her hip.

You are so beautiful to me. Let me please you give back to you share with you please My beloved.

He breathes out a low, ragged laugh, millimeters from her lips. "Oh god yes. Please."

The heat surges up through their link, engulfing the last bits of shock and torching them to ash. He's back in the present, back outside his head, hips already arcing back to give Dejah more room. There's nothing so coherent as thought anymore; just a swell of please, yes, please and the acceleration of his heartbeat.

She urges him over onto his back, rising on one elbow to look down on him, her hand never breaking contact. She can feel the radiant heat of his body through the thin fabric, can feel the hard pulse of his heart, hammering like a drumbeat against his ribs. Against her palm.

She hooks her knee over his thigh, pins him just as he pinned her, and sets about learning just what holds him together. She gives him a wicked little grin, and he gets the sense she wants to take him apart and put him back together again. She has deft fingers, strong hands, and a meticulous sensibility in this as in all things.

"Sweet holy fuck," she breathes against his throat, brimming with light and laughter. Her head dips further and she snaps her teeth together right above his skin. Want to drink taste devour you.

Curtis's eyes fall shut, hands fisted into the sand, his head tipping back as he swallows down another moan. His hips push against her, greedy and desperate for every scrap of contact he can get. Every word, every touch hits the base of his spine like a depth charge; the heat coils higher as Dejah's hands work over him, learning him as thoroughly as he'd learned her.

"God, fuck, yes -- "

He wants everything she'll give him. Everything. Teeth and claws and all, everything, just as long as she doesn't stop.

She leans her full weight against him, her hand alternating between teasing and tormenting him, and giving him exactly what he wants. "Don't hold back," she growls. Her lips find the side of his neck, soft and wet and hungry. "I never want you to hold back."

She's just as lost here as she was when their positions were reversed. She's drowning in the waves of pleasure radiating from him and nothing else matters. Time slows and she moves against him, relentless and intent. He is beautiful, he is safe, he is loved and in this moment, he is hers.

He's thought about this so much. Dreamed about it. She can hear the lightning-quick flashes in his mind, electricity racing along every nerve like a bolt's strike before the burst of thunder.

And outwardly Curtis is still a barely audible collection of breaths and moans, the sound ebbing and flowing under her hands, her mouth, but (I want you to see) he can feel the barrier between their minds weakening, and if he just lets it crumble a little more, maybe, maybe --

He tries his best to let his thoughts fall open to Dejah. He's so much louder in his head, crying out for her, begging without shame, everything bright and wild and uncontained. Not much longer, he was already pretty fucking close to the edge when they started, but he doesn't stop shouting without words more, please, god yes, Dejah --

The heat coils tighter. He grinds against her without thinking, harder, unable to stop until everything unwinds at once and shudders him to a halt, seized up in a muffled, shaking gasp against her shoulder. The electric pulse spreads outward to every corner of his body; he shuts his eyes and lets it carry him away.

She thought she was ready for this. The first time, it had been like breathing. Effortless, without conscious thought or design. The first time she made love to a man, her mind opened and they connected. It was as if they were two halves reunited, they fit together so perfectly.

It's not fair, she thinks. She told him not to hold back and here she is, doing just that. She thought she was ready to try again. She feels him opening to her, feels the pull of the bond singing in her blood, feels him crying out to her, begging for her to-- (want you need you love you) Goddess, how she wants to give this to him. She radiates nothing but love back to him, and a certain awed reverence for the gift he is trying to give her. Her own thoughts are more distant, as if she's standing on the edge of a precipice over a great gaping chasm.

In the moment between breaths, between the rising waves, she listens and answers with her own dreams. Passionate and wild, equal to any he might have, yes, but also measured and serene, colored with the same hope she's been clinging to all along. In the moments of raw connection, he feels a great vault open and catches a glimpse of a vast sea of memory, the ages of her life stretched out before him. It whirls by in a blur of images: Helium, the Hall of Science, the Ninth Ray, the war, John Carter's crooked grin. He sees faces who must be her family and friends; blue blood drenching the edge of her sword; a heavy, white-furred cloak being lain across her shoulders; an impromptu funeral pyre, bodies stacked like cordwood; a bald man in grey robe with a twisted smile on his face as he melts into nothingness just beyond the tips of her fingers.

It all races by in less than a heartbeat, and fixes on a few hard points: Dejah on her knees in the cold mud, her hands extended to the stranger with one arm; Dejah holding him in the infirmary as he cried; Dejah sitting on the floor with him, drinking tea; Dejah, waiting breathless as he put his prosthesis on for the first time; Dejah on the cold ground again, surrounded in fog, holding him as he wept and wept. And now, this.

The cool sand beneath her, the heat of this intimacy filling her every breath, the sweet glorious roar of his pleasure drowning all her senses. She opens to him and lets him see all of it. She wants this, so much so, there are no words adequate to describe how much. But he's not ready. And neither is she.

She presses her brow to his, clings to him, and keeps going until he can't take anymore. She holds him so close when it hits, and her eyes sheen as she feels it wash over her. She brings him down the other side, until she can't bear it any longer. Her lips find his, soft as a whisper, and she breathes his breath, her own heart still pounding in her chest.

It's more than a window. Wider than the moment those train babies and almost-babies clustered around the glass, looking over an expanse that went further than they'd ever seen in their life. The vastness he glimpses -- it's like stepping outside the whole goddamn train and standing on open ground, and Curtis has never felt so small, so in awe, as bits of her unfathomably long life race past him, tangled with bursts of the very immediate present.

And even as his limbs loosen, and the warm, contented afterglow settles over him, he feels her recede. His fingertips have brushed her memories, but she'll allow no more.

Dejah...

Curtis leans into the kiss, too worn out to make it more than the gentle touch she offers.

holy shit
that (what) was that
I love you, I love you

You all right?
(are we good?)

i don't want to fuck this up

Her hair falls around their faces, wild and dark, shutting out the rest of the world. She kisses him, gentle and sure, not willing to break the connection entirely just yet.

I am wonderful (We are better. We are together.) You won't. You haven't. I love you so much. Just keep believing in this. I can't lose you, too. I love you, I love you

Curtis manages to lift one hand, caresses her cheek, lets the kiss linger.

Not going anywhere. I'm here. I'm here, I love you. I'm so glad we're here. Thank you.

He sighs a long breath when the kiss finally breaks. Then, the edges of his mouth turn up in a tiny, dreamy smile.

"Damn."

She answers with a quiet chuckle. "Tried to warn you," she says, her voice low and thick with the lingering remnants of pleasure still bleeding into her bones.

Her fingers stroke his beard. My beloved.

The word rings in his ears even though she never spoke it aloud. This is beautiful, this is wondrous, this is amazing. It's also hard for her, and there's just the barest shadow of an old sorrow still clinging to her.

"Yeah," agrees Curtis with a lazy chuckle. He settles an arm around her waist. "You did."

HIs smile grows as the word blossoms in his head. That little bit of sorrow feels like a tiny burr caught on his clothes; he wants to smooth it away, keep reassuring her that everything's all right. But he gets it. Same way he got why she started pulling back when his mind reached for hers.

She had forty years with John. Spent a century with no one at all after. It's...a lot, and not just because some psychic bond's going to cement itself eventually. No fucking wonder she wanted to take it slow.

The quiet sympathy, and the deeper understanding, wrap around Dejah like a second embrace. The love he feels still glows brightest of all, coloring every other thought and emotion whispering between them.

She sinks into him again, rests her head against his shoulder. She needs a moment to bask in this, the two of them, tangled up together, close in ways they've never been before.

Goddess, she's needed this for so long. She lets out a long, bone deep sigh.

And another low chuckle. "We should probably," she drawls, "get back inside. We can order those strawberries and chocolate from room service."

Curtis snickers. He turns his head just enough to kiss her hair.

With wry amusement, "Yeah, let's not go back to the party looking like this." A beat, as another memory takes its sweet time surfacing. "You still wanna go in the water, or save that for another day?"

So much emotion brimmed around Dejah when she talked about wading in the ocean. It's a big deal. Maybe the kind of big deal that shouldn't follow something like this.

"I do," she whispered, and yes, he could hear the reverence in her voice. "But yes, we should save that for another day. Maybe make a day of it?"

She lifts her head to look into his face, and in the half-light, her eyes glow blue. Literally. It's not a trick of the light. The blue fire matches the same blue glow that trickles out between the plates of his arm.

It's so alien, and fascinating, and utterly beautiful. Curtis can't help but stretch upward to give her another soft kiss.

"It's a date," he whispers, smiling.

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