sputnik_shanu | laaaa la bomba

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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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.

laaaa la bomba

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