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In the Stars
By : Bebe
Category: 1 through F > Andromeda
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Chapter List
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In the Stars
Chapter Two: It’s Up to You, and It’s Up to Me

As he approached his quarters, Tyr slowed when he saw a figure sitting by his door. Beka: she had her back to the doorframe and her forearms resting on her knees, her head bowed so a froth of gold curls obscured her face. As he came closer she raised it to him, for a second seeming distant. That cleared quickly, and she stood when he drew level with her. “Beka.”
She tugged her shirt nervously. “Tyr.”
He was, momentarily, at a loss for words. Remembering what she looked like under the shirt, in that brief glimpse the night before, apparently had that effect, as this was not the first time he’d been distracted by that thought since leaving the Maru that morning. He recovered reasonably quickly, however, and pressed the control to open his door. Silently he gestured her in and then followed, appreciating the view afforded by her long strides ahead of him. After the door closed again, he asked, “Should I assume that you want to continue our discussion from last night?”
Beka had been studying his quarters— a place she’d never been. But then he’d never been in hers, either. Now she turned to him. “Yeah. Both parts, actually.”
He’d wondered. She smelled aroused even from this distance, encouraging his muscles to tighten involuntarily, but he had no doubt as that she was as confused as he was. “Ship.”
“Tyr.” Frosty tones, as usual.
“Privacy mode.”
There was a hesitation. “Beka?” He wasn’t surprised. Andromeda had been noticeably reluctant to enact privacy for Tyr since the incident with the Castalians, one of the drawbacks of a ship that could think for itself.
Beka made a face. “Rommie. It’s fine. If he brutally murders me you’ll know who did it.”
“That’s not funny. Privacy mode enabled.”
He waited a moment to ensure that she was gone, as much as anyone could aboard, before stepping close to Beka. He breathed. Soap, skin, the Maru’s grease, and under it all the smell of her, warm and layered with memories of the morning. Her pupils were dilated. “Which part,” he murmured, hearing her heart speed at the deliberately low timbre of his voice, “did you intend to continue first?”
“Which one do you think?” Her own voice was huskier than normal as she settled one hand against his jaw. He didn’t bother answering, letting her guide him down to kiss her. Soft lips, and she parted them immediately to press her tongue lightly against his. Already he was learning her taste, the tiny almost-moan in the back of her throat as they kissed. There was more that he wanted to know, though, more that he wanted to map and memorize. Reluctant though he may have been to analyze why, he was not slow to indulge the impulse. He dropped his hands to her hips, curled his fingers around the curve to keep her close, until her breasts brushed his chest and again she made that almost-moan as he delved into her mouth.
She let go of his jaw but didn’t break the kiss, not that he would have let that happen without just cause. Immediately he felt her hands at his waist, sliding under the chain mail shirt and tracing lines of heat up his stomach. It was a battle of wills briefly fought, between kissing her more and feeling her hands unencumbered against his skin, and he broke the kiss to pull the shirt off. As soon as he’d dropped it he reached for her again, but she leaned away. “While we’re at it…” She unzipped and shrugged off her vest, then her own shirt was over her head and next to his own. He was momentarily fascinated by her breasts brimming over her bra, pale skin stark against the black, as she unhooked it. It joined the rest of their clothes on the floor.
This time when he tried to hold her again she stepped close and obligingly tilted her face to his. She met his lips, winding her arms around his neck and another tiny moan escaping as he cupped her breasts in his hands. He would have smiled were he not otherwise occupied. The smell of her interest spiked when he rubbed his thumbs over her nipples, so he repeated the motion; her grip tightened, pulling them closer together and almost flesh to flesh.
They weren’t quite that close, his hands between them preventing that, and he wanted her naked against him. She ended the kiss when he eased away from her breasts, confused. “Tyr?”
“This,” he told her quietly. He slid his hands to her lower back, then below her waist.
She smirked. “Thought you were a fan.” Then she kissed him again, grazing her lip with his teeth.
Tyr growled, dug his fingers in for emphasis, but irritated he wasn’t; rather he was pleased that she had noticed his interest and not seen fit to dissuade him, appreciative of the slight violence inherent in her gesture, the primal intertwining of the desire to create life and the fight to preserve it. He ignored her sound of displeasure when he left her mouth and returned the gesture with a nip to the base of her neck, whereupon it altered tenor to a better variant. At the change he sucked the spot and felt her tilt her head to allow him better access.
Her smell strengthened as he worked down her shoulder and she stretched to meet him; one hand was wrapped in the hair at the back of his neck, but the other was sliding down his chest, giving him room to explore. He did, hearing and feeling her sigh. When she went up on her toes, he could feel her breasts soft against his chest, firing his blood and encouraging him to bite down again, now at her shoulder.
She gasped when his teeth sank into her skin, but rather than react by pushing him away she dug her nails into the nape of his neck and slid one leg up the outside of his. When he caught it, keeping her knee close to his hip, she laughed low and in his ear. He was surprised by her next move, reaching to his neck again and blocking his mouth from her torso, but it made sense again when she pulled herself up his body. He caught her weight as she wrapped her legs around his waist and met his lips with fresh ardor.
Beka moaned as he kissed her again, unable to get enough of her mouth against his, and when he slipped his tongue to hers she actually rolled her pelvis against him, letting him feel her heat through their clothes. He groaned and pulled her against him so she repeated the move.
It was almost too much, his knees threatening to weaken at the imitation of what he wanted. He started to walk, slowly, but enough of a jolt for her to make a muffled cry against his lips and grab him tighter with her arms and legs, the renewed press at his groin sending a pulse through him. It was not enough of a jolt for her to relinquish his mouth, continuing to kiss him passionately as muscle memory let him walk to the bed.
He stopped when his knees bumped the edge. Beka pulled away at the halt, but grinned when she realized why. When she loosened her hold on him he tossed her gently onto the bed so she landed sprawled over the surface. She laughed, flushed pink and breasts bobbing as she did. “Well?”
It was his turn to smile, assured and confident at the half-naked woman on his bed. Rather than speak he reached out to catch her ankle. He evaded the kick, one made probably out of surprise, and started to unfasten her boot. As soon as she realized what he was doing she relaxed, leaning back on her hands and raising her foot to make it easier for him. He did the same with the other foot, the boots and socks landing on the floor, and then he leaned over her. Carefully, barely touching her skin, he peeled off the leather pants and her underwear and discarded them, as well. The scent of her as he did was temptation itself, especially when paired with the sight of her reclining artistically nude before him.
He managed to get his own boots off before she lost patience and sat up, reaching for his belt. She tugged it and the pants open, but when she reached to take him in hand he stopped her. He didn’t want a repeat of the night before. Instead he pressed her shoulders back and she took the hint, sliding back up the bed and leaning back on her elbows to watch happily as he finished disrobing.
She looked even happier when he was finally unclothed and joined her, crawling up the bed between her legs. He could feel the heat from her body as he moved, and nowhere more than at her core as he leaned over her to kiss her again. She relaxed fully onto the bed, lifting her hands to weave her fingers through his hair again and keep him there. She seemed to like doing that, and he didn’t mind in the least as he settled onto her. She arched when he moved down to her breast, tightening her grip. He wasn’t sure whether it was to urge him to continue or an unconscious reaction, but he stayed where he was, enjoying her heartbeat thundering next to his ears.
“Tyr,” she gasped finally, definitely pulling him back up this time. “Dammit, Tyr, stop— stop teasing!”
“Why?” He was amused at her frustration. He liked hearing her, feeling her need, so much that he didn’t to stop despite his own riding him. Nonetheless he let himself be tugged to kiss her again, intending to move his fingers between her legs to please her. She had moved, though, had lifted her hips, and was still curving up off the bed when he slid up. Before he had been above her, had been able to feel her near him but not against him, but now he was touching her the length of their bodies and realized too late what was going to happen.
He stopped with just the tip of his erection pressing into her folds, her eyes as wide as his own must be. She was panting underneath him, her hands in his hair, but she didn’t try to guide him in any way, to push him away— or not. This was not something he would have dared to intend, with the risks as they were, and there was some small measure of sense in the back of his mind commanding him not to go further. That sense was warring with the feel of her soft against him, the culmination of months of wanting, and while he resisted the urge to thrust into her immediately he couldn’t bring himself to move away, either.
His own hesitation must have prompted her to take action. While he stayed, unwilling and unable to commit to a course, she sighed and stretched to kiss him again. He cooperated, knowing that it was not the wisest course in his conflict but wanting her mouth regardless. The moment of his greatest pull was a heartbeat later, when she pushed her hips up and took him in just a little bit more, letting him sink deeper into temptation. He groaned at the feel of her stretching around him and for just a second he nearly succumbed. It took so much will, more than he thought he had right then, to move out and away from her, and it was her turn to groan as he did, hers in disappointment.
He still wanted, though, still needed, and she must have felt the same judging by that groan. He took her lips again, trying to appease her, and shifted his body. This time the sound she made was closer to the satisfaction he wanted to hear from her as his shaft rubbed over her clit. He focused on her making that noise again, on making her orgasm from the pressure there, rather than think of how she’d felt surrounding him. It wouldn’t take long, he was sure, not with the way she was kissing him back and clutching at him, the breathy little sounds she was making underneath him. Either she forgave him his withdrawal or she didn’t care as long as he did something for her, the latter possibility the stronger one to judge by her response.
She started a rhythm complementing his, making his own goal easier and harder. With each of her pushes up to him, he slid along her wetness, his strokes longer and rubbing the sensitive head against skin and hair and dangerously welcoming cunt, and forcing him higher faster than he wanted. He broke the kiss for a gasp of air, trying to center his attention on waiting. The intensity was far beyond this morning, almost what he had experienced with Freya or Medea, and all of him was tense with the need to bring this to an end.
But while Beka was close, she wasn’t yet there, fingers digging into his scalp as she rocked against him. He leaned to kiss her again, trying not to focus on the sounds spilling from her throat or on the feel of her hot on him, but he couldn’t hold out much longer, and then. She shuddered underneath him, her lips leaving his as she gasped. She ground against him harder, the added pressure making him shake with urgency, and then he couldn’t even try to control it anymore. The warmth swept over him, urged on by the sting of her nails and the intensity of her smell, and it pulled him under, his muscles clenching uncontrollably as he came. She held him through it even though she was still shaking underneath him herself.
At last he opened his eyes, not sure when he’d closed them, and she was watching him intently, her face flushed. Her lips parted like she was about to say something.
Tyr forestalled her with another kiss. She accepted it, but after a moment she moved her hands to his shoulder and pressed, gently but with unmistakable firmness. That he was not inclined to argue with, his arms reaching the point of weakness as it was, and so he disentangled them and eased down to the mattress beside her. Once he had, he waited for her to say whatever it was that he had forestalled a moment before.

The pressure of the conversations they hadn’t had yet made themselves felt, now that they weren’t— well. Doing what they did now, she guessed. Not exactly sex, after the way he’d pulled back. Yet another thing to add to the rapidly growing list of topics. Rather than dive into it immediately, Beka rolled to the edge of the bed. “Mind if I use your bathroom?” That was, judging by the smallest twitch of his carefully neutral expression, not what he’d expected her to say. Still, he waved toward the door of it.
Once inside, the door closed, she cleaned up quickly. There were a few red marks on her neck and shoulder where he’d bitten her, but fortunately they seemed to be fading. Not that they weren’t worth it, but she didn’t want to field any questions on this until after she knew what “this” was. A deep breath, and then she turned to the door again, borrowing the bathrobe hanging by it in a sudden moment of nerves. It swamped her.
Tyr’s lips twitched again when she came back out, in apparent amusement. Rather than comment directly, he said, “By all means, make yourself comfortable.”
“Thanks?”
He had been sitting at the edge of the bed and now stood. “It would be best if you stayed. If you want to… continue our discussion.” He gestured to the small kitchenette. “If you’d like something…”
She nodded and he edged past her to the bathroom. A quick investigation yielded tea, and she was surprised at the variety and amount of foodstuffs. He’d mentioned he could cook, a conversation that seemed like forever ago despite only being a few months, but she hadn’t figured him to be any kind of gourmand, and now she was curious as to what else he had hidden in his quarters. Not a good idea to be snooping when he came out, though, and so when he did she was sitting on the small sofa with a steaming cup, tilting her head to read the titles of his book collection. Interestingly, he chose another pair of the soft pants he’d come to the Maru in the night before; she wondered what he’d have picked if she’d gotten her own clothes on instead of stealing his robe. She wasn’t going to argue with the more revealing option, though. Inventorying what she could see in the better light of his quarters distracted her enough that she missed the question he asked. “Wait. What?”
And this time it was more than a twitch of amusement. He had to have realized why she hadn’t been paying attention, damn him. “Have you eaten?”
“Breakfast, yes, lunch, no. Why?”
It was almost a shrug, a one-sided jerk of his shoulder. “I’ve been on Command for several hours and need to have something. As you’re staying for a… discussion… it would be reasonable for me to make something for us both.”
“Oh. Um, sure, yeah.” Bemused, she watched as he started pulling out containers, some of which she’d noticed while getting her tea. Within a few minutes he was heating a pan and adding food— ingredients— from the containers, a new wave of sizzling at regular intervals bringing interesting and appetizing smells. By the time he brought over the bowls and gave her one, her mouth was watering, and she didn’t give it anywhere near enough time to cool before trying a bite.
Neither of them spoke for several minutes. She’d wondered if it would live up to the smell and it did, so much that it took a third of the generous bowlful before she took a break. It probably didn’t help that she was still recovering from the Imprisonment of the Bland, either. “This is really good,” she said, when she finally paused.
“I did tell you once I could cook.” He’d barely stopped eating his own portion long enough to answer, but then he’d had Command duty plus some physical exertion.
Curious, she asked, “So how does a mercenary know how to cook like this?”
“You’d be surprised how few beings anticipate being poisoned,” he answered, so deadpan that her anxious look at her bowl was only half-feigned. His solemn mien broke into an actual smile, and he continued, “But yours is safe. If nothing else I would be reluctant to leave myself as the only suspect.”
“Reassuring,” she muttered, but took another bite. It was really good. “Have you actually poisoned anyone?”
This smile was more a feral baring of teeth. “Apparently strychnine interferes with one’s enjoyment of tiramisu only in terms of length of enjoyment.”
“Right.” She swallowed with difficulty. “I don’t think I’ll accept dessert, then.” He laughed. “I wouldn’t think assassination would be that entertaining as a career path.”
“It has moments.” She thought he might let it go there, but then, “There was once…” and suddenly they were having an actual conversation. They had a mutual acquaintance on Wichita drift, apparently, and the incident with the crate of glitter was entertaining even to a Nietzschean. Two laughs in one day: unheard of. By the time they’d finished their bowls, it had stayed surface-level, anecdotes rather than actual history beyond past jobs, but it was still more than she’d ever heard from him at once.
It died away as they scraped the last bits of food up. Finally Beka set her bowl down on the low table in front of the sofa and retrieved her cup, cooling but not yet cold. She felt the need to have something in her hands. “So,” she said quietly, but couldn’t come up with the next words.
“So.” He waited, sitting so close on the small sofa that she could feel his warmth against her thigh.
She took another sip, wondering if inspiration would strike if they sat there long enough. It didn’t seem likely to before they were missed, though. So she spoke with what she had. “Do you have any idea what we’re doing?”
“I had wondered if you knew.” He was watching her carefully.
The vagueness was infuriating. “Is that because you don’t either or because there’s been some masterful hints I should have picked up on?”
“The former.”
Beka blinked. “I thought you always had some kind of master plan. Can’t save yourself if you don’t have options, right?”
“Ordinarily, yes. But this was… not planned. Unless you set out to put us in this situation, in which case I wonder about your plan.”
“Oh.” She hesitated. She’d been really hoping he had some reason for all this that would explain it. “I didn’t think about any of this. Well, plan it, I mean, I’ve thought about— Um. I didn’t plan it.” She took a hasty gulp of tea, glad it gave her something to do after that admission and hoping it blocked the way her cheeks were definitely going pink.
“You’ve thought about it.”
“Haven’t you?”
“I have.” When she looked over, able to meet his eyes again, he was instead studying her body. His gaze seemed to have snagged on her exposed thigh. “However much I thought it unlikely to be acted upon.”
She snorted. “I’ll point out you acted on it first.”
“I could remind you whose quarters you’re in.”
She opened her mouth to argue, but restrained herself. She’d come for answers, after all, and arguing wouldn’t make any progress. “Okay. So… now what?”
“Now? You may want to warm that.” He gestured to her cup.
She rolled her eyes at his being deliberately obtuse. “No, I mean with you and me. Are we just part of the same crew still, is this a one-time… thing,” she waved her hand around at his quarters, “are we a thing, what?”
“I…” He looked away. For a long, quiet moment she bit her lip, restraining the urge to blow him off before he did it to her. She was glad she had— maybe— when he continued. “I don’t know. In Nietzschean culture sexual activity is reserved for mates, although some degenerate prides will visit slaves or prostitutes.”
Oh. “But you’ve been around Humans. You haven’t…?” She hesitated. “No Humans?”
“No.”
“Huh.” So maybe he really had been thinking about it a lot, with how well he’d played with her body. “But I’m not your mate?” She hadn’t quite intended to turn it into a question.
“No, you’re not. And so we shouldn’t…” He trailed off.
“Shouldn’t what?” She hesitated. “Is that why you didn’t…?” She squirmed a little at the memory. She’d been so close to having him only to be denied.
“Yes.” He was staring at his own hands now. She wasn’t sure if it was embarrassment or shame or what. “What we’ve done is… not forbidden, depending on the pride, but frowned on outside of mated pairs. There’s a certain amount of… flexibility, especially between those who are intending to mate, but actual penetration is usually the line.”
“Ah. Okay. Uh.” This was definitely in the top three most awkward morning-after conversations she’d ever had. “So we haven’t technically broken the rules, besides maybe the not-mating thing because we’re not going to, though that part’s not written in stone, but we still can’t— We can’t actually have sex.”
“Yes.” He finally faced her again. “I’m aware Human cultures are more varied.”
“Oooh yeah. My personal line’s drawn where I say no.” She watched a ripple go across the surface of the tea when she sighed. “So there’s no rule in Human culture saying we can’t. Nietzschean culture says we definitely can’t and shouldn’t really even be doing what we’ve done. I’m inclined to go with Human culture. You?”
“No.” About the only thing keeping her from getting up and walking out at that was that he sounded about as happy as she did at that conclusion. She was still considering a more graceful exit when he spoke again. “But… Nietzsche also teaches us to create our own values, ones consistent with our most instinctual drives.”
Her mouth felt very dry all of a sudden. “Oh? Like what?” She took another sip of the tea without tasting it.
The sudden sweep of dark eyes over her body made her skin prickle. When she leaned to set down the cup he moved, and it was barely on the table when he caught her, pulling her to him. She didn’t protest, sliding her leg over his until she was straddling him. Both hands were at her waist now, holding her though she had no inclination to leave. His gaze alone kept her captive, the deep, resonant tones of his voice mesmerizing her further. “Like survival. Like reproduction.” His thumbs stroked over the fabric covering her skin, and she flushed hot at the idea of him bent on reproduction. He was intent enough at what they’d been doing for pleasure, what would it be like to have him determined to make a baby with her?
He must have noticed what that thought did to her. Or was he thinking of it himself, his mind giving him the same images as hers? Either way he moved to take her mouth, the sudden aggression thrilling and unnerving at once, and she twisted her fingers into his braids as he pressed her lips open with his, kept control of the kiss as she succumbed. Her blood heated as quickly as before, sensation racing through her body at just a kiss, anticipating so much more after the last day.
By the time he pulled away she was breathing unevenly and it was hard to focus on speech rather than the slow movement of his fingers, again moving teasingly over the robe. “But we’re not reproducing,” she managed. “Even if we… I have an implant. I won’t.”
He had been watching her lips as she spoke. Now he met her eyes. “I had assumed.” The words were slow, as if he were having the same problem focusing. Or was it simply finding the words for his next sentence? “I’m still reluctant to stress the flexibility of Nietzschean culture that far.”
Her eyebrows went up. “So what are you suggesting?”
“We don’t… cross the line… but continue what we’ve started otherwise. If you’re willing.”
She pressed her lips together, considering it, trying to ignore the flex of his thighs beneath hers as he waited. If anything she’d say he was nervous, or at least uneasy. Or was he pretending vulnerability? “Would this be just physical?” She wasn’t sure what he was looking for, but she didn’t think she was willing to deal with anything beyond that right now, occasional small hopes with some relationships aside, and with the limits he wanted...
“I don’t have any expectations beyond that.”
Well. That was vague and noncommittal. But reassuringly prompt. She turned it over in her mind. It could hurt, quite badly, to try, but she wanted to anyway, wanted more of this, as long as she knew what to expect. Deliberately, making sure he was watching her hands, she untied the sash of the robe and let it fall open. The fabric slid easily to her sides, held at her hips only by Tyr. “I think,” she said slowly, not sure how much he was hearing over his own interest in her body, “I’d be willing. Are you?”
In reply, he moved away from her hips, letting the robe leave her bare, and under the edge to her waist. He pulled her toward him, meeting her lips when she leaned to kiss him again. She sank into it, loving the way his mouth moved over hers. As absorbing as the kiss was, she still noticed his fingers tracing spidery lines up her sides to her breasts. Even thinking she knew what he was going to do, the thumbs rubbing over her nipples made her shudder, her attention narrowing immediately. She broke the kiss with a gasp when he pinched them, gently, but enough to send a pulse through her. Again, and once more, and she was twisting at the touch, wanting more but it was too much already. Then his hands were dropping away and suddenly at her lower back, urging her forward and up.
She’d barely registered that before his mouth was at her breast, tongue strumming every nerve there. She heard herself moan and didn’t care; when he tried to move away she caught his hair in her fingers again and held him there. He obliged, sending more thrills through her. Too soon he pulled away again and she shivered at the sudden cold, nipple hardening at the chill. It was a relief that he only moved to the other breast, sending a different kind of shiver through her.
With her focus on what Tyr was doing with his lips and tongue— and her almost achingly strong arousal mounting from it— she missed his hands moving again until it was too late. She actually cried out at the contact with her clit, not anticipating the pressure until that second, when she realized how much she needed it. He was holding her in place with his other hand, fingers spread over her hip, so when she jerked at the touch she didn’t go far. She shuddered at the next slide, may have said his name but she wasn’t sure in the overwhelming rush of sensation, not quite an orgasm but so near. Her world shrank to what she could feel: his hot mouth at her breast, his legs between hers, and above it all the peak so painfully near and him bringing it closer by the second. She couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, and then she was falling to pieces as it ripped through her body.
Slowly, slowly she came back to herself. A last few aftershocks, and then he pulled his hand away, letting her relax. When she bent her head to kiss him, wanting some connection still, he bit at her lower lip, making her hiss in response to the throb. He met her eyes, his own unreadable.
“You really like biting, don’t you?” she asked, trying for playful accusation. She brushed her fingertips over the spot on her neck he’d gotten earlier. The heat that sparked in his gaze when she did was not playful. “Maybe,” she continued, “I should be biting you.”
He growled, something that she’d only heard him do once before today. That once in Command had been unsettling; today’s were in a whole different way, doing something to her reactions, especially when he followed it by saying, low and intent, “Perhaps you should.”
God help her, she wanted to. She’d thought he’d dominate sex between them and loved the thought, but the idea of being the one to make him writhe, with all that muscled body at her mercy? And if it didn’t do that, but push him to his limit… She shivered. He was still watching her, anticipatory. Slowly, precisely, she leaned to his shoulder, feeling him track her every move like she was prey after all. She nipped at the skin, hearing the catch in his breath. It couldn’t have hurt enough for it to be from pain. Emboldened, she did it again, harder, glad that she’d chosen a spot that would be covered by the chain mail. This time he didn’t react outside of tensing, but licking the bite mark rewarded her with a groan.
Beka smirked and moved down to his chest. Another bite, sucking at the skin this time. She didn’t know if he’d bruise from it, but if he did? She was glad, wanting that reminder for him until it faded. She slid her hands under his, the tension in his body having manifested in the tightness of his grip, and worked them loose. He seemed confused at first, less so when she slid down off his legs to her knees between them. She leaned forward again, stretching to reach his chest, then working down his stomach muscles. By the time she reached the waistband of the pants, he knew where she was going and lifted his hips so she could slide them down and off entirely. A bite to his inner thigh, to the sensitive skin there, and he tensed again as she did; she wasn’t sure if it was nerves or arousal or both. Whichever it was, his interest was not dampened by it, and he didn’t push her away. A last bite, even higher up his thigh, and he groaned again as she sucked at the spot, wanting this one to bruise even more, to stake some kind of claim.
When she checked him again, he was watching her. Seeing that he had all of his attention was a powerful charge. She didn’t look away from him as she wrapped her hand around his cock.
He was so hard it had to have been painful, especially with the way his breath came short, but he did nothing except that, holding himself utterly still otherwise. What she wanted was to find out just how well he could exercise that control if he were inside her, selfishly curious as to how it would feel with him filling her. What she did was lean just a little closer and lick the head of him. His eyes widened and she could feel his leg flexing under her other hand, probably fighting the urge to thrust up to her. It may not have been quite what she wanted, but the reaction pleased her anyway. Giving into temptation, she slid her mouth over him and appreciated the strangled noise he made at the motion. Since he wasn’t pushing her away or telling her to stop, she kept going, flicking her tongue against the tip of him a few times.
Trying to keep him off-balance, she pulled away then, moving her hand instead. It still made his breathing stutter when she did. He was still watching her, and she deliberately kept eye contact this time as she leaned to take him in her mouth again. He was the one to break it now, closing his eyes and groaning when she sucked. Having mercy on him, she didn’t pull away again, moving her hand and mouth to urge him on. She wanted him under her power completely.
And he was. The muscles of his leg were jumping under her hand with every motion. She didn’t think he was aware of it and appreciated it, using it as her gauge for how she was affecting him. Soon he wasn’t relaxing at all, and that and the shudder that ran through him and shook her where she knelt was her only warning.
He arched up to her as he erupted, and she was glad of having her hands to restrain him even that small amount, knowing how much strength was coiled in his muscles. She wanted to repay his success earlier, kept it going until his whole body relaxed under her, his breathing still ragged after that. Feeling smug, she eased away.
She sat back down at the other end of the sofa, leaning against the arm so she could see him easily, and waited, taking a few sips of the tea that remained. It was stone-cold, unfortunately, but she didn’t worry about that. After a long minute, Tyr opened his eyes. “All right?” she asked.
“Yes.” He didn’t say anything else, instead moving surprisingly smoothly to lean over her. She still held the cup in one hand, but reached up with the other to press against the back of his neck as he kissed her again. This one was less urgent than the others and she wondered if she’d managed to wear out the Nietzschean.
She enjoyed it anyway.
“You know,” she said, when it ended, “I’m supposed to be resting.”
“And yet, here you are.”
“Here I am.” She grinned at him, but still gently pushed him back with the hand that had been around his neck. He didn’t argue, moving so she could set down the cup and get up. She hated to leave, but it was almost worth it seeing the way he watched her as she collected her clothes. His attention didn’t waver after she dropped his robe on the bed, either, after she was dressed. He stood to meet her once she’d fastened the boots; even after the last day it took her a second to tear her own attention away from his body. In fact, the last day probably made it more difficult, regardless of the preceding sensory deprivation. And he apparently knew or guessed that, looking entertained when she jerked her eyes back up over his shoulders. “I’m only really supposed to be resting today, though tomorrow I’m on light duty still. So if you feel like… discussing… anything else, you can probably find me pretty easily.”
“I have no doubt that I can bring any other points that arise to you.” And he was so deadpan she couldn’t even be sure if the double entendre was intentional or not.
She didn’t even try to prevent the glance down. “Sounds like fun.” Leaving it at that, she pressed a quick kiss to his lips before making her getaway on shaky knees.
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In the Stars	By : Bebe Category: 1 through F > Andromeda Views: 302 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
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In the Stars