sputnik_shanu | laaaa la bomba

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Maybe it is because Sikozu is tired in a way she has never been tired before - a soft, dulling burn all through her body, exhausted from the extreme expenditure of energy it took to irradiate the Scarrans in the heart of Katratzi, tired and yet buzzing with energy - but she doesn't feel like dancing and feinting anymore. She stares at Scorpius as he asks his question - more to fill the air and excuse him from meeting her eyes, she guesses, than out of a real deep desire to know the duration of a bioloid's full recovery period - and she is done. It doesn't matter anymore. And she can feel the ripple of an impending sea change, through him, through everyone on Moya, originating from the impossible blow a ridiculous group of fugitive misfits dealt to the most powerful empire in known space. The destruction of the mother plant and the exposure of her most closely guarded secrets make her fed up with being static, make her long for action. So she takes it.

He is looking away but she can tell he knows she's coming as she rises and crosses the room to where he stands at the bars of the converted cell, watching the shadows in the deserted hall. She can feel his tension, too, because they both know that this is a long time coming but perhaps he does not feel as prepared for it as she does. He doesn't resist when she stands close and turns his chin, exposed skin warm in a way she never quite expects, though admittedly her experience with his skin is naturally limited. Her movements are slow but without hesitation and at least part of him is swept up in it too because he bends to meet her height as she leans up on her toes to press her lips to his. Chaste at first, just a touch of her soft skin to the odd texture of his. Slow but deliberate, she turns her head, touches again, delicate and as yet undemanding. That he does not react at first doesn't deter her. She can't tell what he is thinking - truly his mind is the first real challenge the universe has posed her and the bare fact that she doesn't know what he is thinking as she kisses him fascinates her almost unbearably - but through half-lidded eyes she can see the concern building on his face. The same concern she has seen on him in glances and shades since she flared up like a sun in a field of flowers. Given the way he presents himself, the tension and the power play between them, between him and everyone he encounters, it is almost a wonder that his face can form an expression like that, but somehow it does and it makes something warm and low in her flutter and it makes her want him all the more. His depth, his complexity, his intelligence and determination. Like an animal he shies and tries to pull away and like a hunter she pursues, pulls him back and presses deeper, takes a taste of him to bait the hook and waits to feel the shift in him that will let her know that he has given up whatever scared him and let go to how much she knows he wants her.

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Scorpius hisses into the bite when she takes his lip, flickers his tongue at the fronts of her teeth and peels his mouth back into a rapacious grin.

"As am I," he breathes, as though she requires any assurance of that truth after a cycle in his indomitable company. His fingers bite into her through the leggings, nails unapologetically snapping threads and then clamping under the pleasant swell of her posterior. "Please, take the hood. The seal will release as you lift it."

It would be kinder to do the work himself. He knows she is sensitive to his well-being--has had a taste of the peculiar wants and needs of his hybrid physiology--and she has not yet been presented a situation in which he would willingly remove any part of his protective shell. She can guess at the gravity of the request and in accepting take, if she'd like, responsibility for whatever harm might come to him as a consequence.

But he hungers for her body--its texture and its heat, and he expects he can trust her to trust him not to throw himself into mortal peril for the sake even of a much-needed release.

She hisses sharply around her teeth worrying his lip when she feels his nails tear little holes in her clothing. Long past caring about the state of any of her garments, the dig into her flesh only makes her blood pump faster, her muscles tighten and heat build beneath her skin.

The request doesn't surprise her exactly. She knows that the hood must be able to come off, as the rest of the suit must since he cannot have been born with it on, but what she does not know is just how resilient he is without it. But he is less a fool than any other male she has ever known so if he has asked her to do it, it cannot be putting him in the way of too much danger.

Leaning back, she waits a microt to release his lip, stretching the black skin until she lets it slip away from between her teeth as she draws her body almost perpendicular to his, her knees pressing hard against the wall on either side of him. Her expression intent with a mix of carefulness and fascination, she lets her fingers slide beneath the edge of the hood. And after a ginger pause, to give both of them a microt to prepare, she pulls up. Though she is gentle with it, she can feel it come away as the seal releases as he said and she guides it with care over the black caps on the sides of his head that allow access to the carriage inside his skull. More and more pale untouched skin is uncovered and she keeps pulling up until he is bare from the neck up and she feels the empty hood slide off her fingers and onto the floor somewhere near his feet. Her soft palms, as cool as she can make them considering the circumstances, move to caress his naked head almost of their own volition, sliding delicately over what must be very sensitive skin, her light fingers trailing lines over his scalp as she leans in to take from him another kiss, slow and sweet and even more insistent than the first.

His eyes remain shut long enough for the cool leather to part completely with his flesh, and he breathes in Sikozu's hot breath in the same microt the ambient temperature sets fire to his nerves. The always-exposed portions of his face are naturally the part of his anatomy most resistant to warm air, or the heat of another body. But his scalp is far more susceptible to them, and the pain, when it comes, is not insubstantial.

However, that very same sensitivity makes her touch...exquisite. The muscles tense through his abdomen as she kisses him, and his hips lift into her on reflex while her soft, attentive mouth serves as just the distraction he needs to adjust to the change and reclaim a bit of his usual composure.

When Scorpius turns his naked hand around her leg and then his thumb down her inner thigh, sidling it into the junction of her leg and her body, he can feel her arousal like a lick of flame along the back of his knuckles.

Leaning into his mouth less gently than how her hands travel over his skin, she can only guess at how this feels for him. She imagines a stinging, a burning where her skin touches his. She can glow much hotter that a spent cooling rod and even though she is making a conscious effort to regulate her temperature she can only do so much. But as she feels his hand between her legs and her hips roll into it like a languid wave, she supposes it can't be too painful. Either that, or pain for him is as much a hybrid as his own body, an inextricable knot with pleasure. As perfect as how a chill can burn or light can blind. As brutally perfect as he is, with outstripping intelligence cruelly balanced against the handicaps of his body.

But the hand is a reminder, too. Though her clothing is less complicated than his, some of it at least must find it's way off of her if they are to continue and she has no intention of stopping now. With her own apparel though she does at least know how the fastenings work. Her fingers drag against his chin the moment before she pulls her mouth away and leans back, the axis of her gravity holding manufactured weight against his abdomen as she sits up as if the wall behind him is the floor. As she moves, she finally allows her upper garment to fall away and it joins his hood somewhere on the floor while she turns herself, pale scaled skin shining in the dim light of the converted cell, and drags down the zipper of one boot and pulls it off her foot with unusual care, sidelong lidded eyes and crooked smile only just visible with the turn of her head and the fall of her hair against her neck and cheek.

Of course, Sikozu’s preferred mode of dress leaves little work to the imagination; the difference when she finally shows him an uninterrupted track of flesh is minor and at the same time so vast it commands a powerful force of will not to consume her with every sense at once. He does not rush her as she undresses--he instead lock eyes with hers, his awareness sipping at the slopes of her naked torso at the limits of his vision.

All the while, he screws his thumb's bony knuckle down where it meets resistance above the damp crease between her parted thighs, angling himself forward subtly to scoop the tip of his tongue beneath her chin.

She is exquisitely crafted, in every detail. The scent of needy female hangs heady in his nostrils, and the question does cross his mind whether the physiological symptoms of her excitement are completely involuntary or whether they are an artfully executed ruse. The possibility of the latter does nothing to diminish the mood, however. If anything, her remaining mysteries inflame his desire to explore her.

She doesn't fail to catch the focus in his gaze as it holds hers, even at angles, with a sharpness of presence that would not allow her to break away even if she had wanted to. Though she has yet to see him command troops, compel squadrons of xenophobic Peacekeepers to follow his orders, she doubts that many of them try to oppose him. Her lips part at the touch of his tongue and the pressure of his hand between her legs, their corners curling upwards in a simplistic expression of much more complicated feelings. Particularly considering recent revelations, she knows he must be trying to put pieces together, constructing answers to questions he must have from the information he has and educated guesses. He does at least seem to agree with her that there will be another time to address those questions. And for her part, she is willing to answer them, truthfully even, because not only does he fascinate her personally but if anyone anywhere could help her achieve the goals she was built for, it is him.

She turns, placing her hand with casual calculation just at the collar of his suit with the tips of her fingers brushing against the bared scaly skin at the back of his neck as she bends to take off the other boot. Not the most enthralling of articles to remove, though given that so much of her is bare on any given day attempting a striptease does seem a bit ridiculous, but with the heat receptors on her feet bared she is better able to control the amount of heat in her hands. So when she leans back into him and caresses his head as her teeth and tongue make a pass over the forced contours at the end of his chin, she can be still more sure of herself when she leans in to resume the kiss she had broken.

Every scrap of clothing she removes, as testament to her commitment to proceed, is more electrifying than the colorful skin she bares in the process. Though susceptible to visual stimulation as any male, Scorpius appreciates the eroticism of intent.

He accepts the kiss like a gulp of heady liquor,drawing out her tongue with a caress and sucking down the taste of her until it feels at home inside of him. He wishes to sample her every distinct vintage--her sweat, her sex, her blood. But despite the animal urgency knotting his guts, he feels no particular need to rush, and to have them all at once, even on the heels of an adventure that has doubtlessly reminded them both of their inconvenient mortality.

There will be time later to have her in other ways--perhaps not time enough to have her in all the ways he can imagine, but that may demand the luxury of more than one lifetime.

Recalling his damp fingers from between Sikozu’s thighs, he deftly unlatches his belt from under the edge of his codpiece, which could have been so minute a motion so as not to have existed at all, but Scorpius intends for her to notice, shifting his hips until her simulated weight causes the loose side to rock under her.

The withdrawal of his fingers from the warmest part of her body doesn't go unnoticed on it's own, her answer a low hum into his mouth and a harder press against him. Drawing up as much of her height as she currently has at her disposal, she lets her bared chest just touch against the textured armor of his as she attacks his mouth with a measure more of haste but no less depth of fascination or desire than what he meets her with.

Perhaps in part because she did not see him do it, the moment the motion of his hips beneath hers lets her know that the hard piece against her body is no longer as secure as it was, her hand moves to find his, fingers grazing blindly over smooth black leather to find his or to seek out the mechanism by which this was achieved. Insatiable curiosity is a factor in her searching hand, but backed with the less pure intent of learning how the piece is undone with a view on effecting it herself in future. His intelligence, his taste, his body and all its lithe steel muscles beneath her have become a bright focal point in her mind which the passage of nearly a cycle of tension and denial of pleasure fed into a white heat, she is certain she could hardly be convinced to be satisfied with only one encounter and arrogance and some understanding lead her to believe that he feels the same.

Her fingers encounter his, still residually cool from his glove but perceptibly dewy with evidence of her readiness, and Scorpius threads them together, his palm to the back of her hand as he guides her fingers against the catch under the edge at the codpiece. At the same time, his Scarran blood gives a throb of pained longing at the hot aura her hand brings with it through the broken seal. His emerging cock twitches with his heartbeat and curves heavily into the back of the displaced leather cup.

When he flicks his tongue off the knife edge of her incisor, Scorpius breaks from Sikozu's lips, mouth open, panting ever-so-slightly as he meets her eye to eye. He draws his palm back along her wrist delicately, tracing the webbing of flesh between her knuckles.

Words threaten, right at the tip of his tongue, but the moment has no use for language--only an animal understanding that passes back and forth between them with each breath.

The humidity of exhalation between them is heavier than the unspoken words, the tacit communication of two extremely intelligent beings letting their bodies and gaze say everything that needs to be said. Her lips stay parted too after his are pulled away, breath passing between and over her bared teeth as he holds her eyes and lets his hand move up her wrist like a tingling electric charge against her skin. Her fingers immediately understand the mechanism his showed them, but they linger in the narrow gap, tracing the edge of the broken seal.

Mimicking the movement of his tongue, hers presses into the point of a fang as she tilts her head, coy and bright and burning still brighter orange than he will have ever seen her before. Her blood is hot, though not as hot as it would be if she wasn't controlling her temperature for his benefit. She slides her other hand down his body until it is a mirror image of it's mate, fingertips drifting over the edge of the codpiece pressed between her thighs. With the release for this side just a twitch away, she looks to him again, expression wicked with desire but prudent still, careful to be sure that he is ready to handle the next step now. Biting her lip teasingly, she waits for his allowance or his change of tack and prepared not to be disappointed with either.

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