sputnik_shanu | laaaa la bomba

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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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His hesitation is born from concern for Sikozu's immediate well-being, yes, and from a lesser degree the revelation that she is far more than what she seems. But there is something else as well that he does not care to extract from behind the knot in his throat when she takes his face in her hand and gives herself to him in a way he is not entirely prepared for. Oh, had they become intimate in the early days of their association Scorpius would not have faltered--she would have proved a stimulating diversion both in body and mind in his solitary confinement on the Leviathan. However, in the arn preceding this moment, his association with the little Kalish has evolved beyond his desire to classify. And now here they stand, arns past a great victory, depleted and exultant all at once and fueled, perhaps, by momentum to devour one another for spiritual sustenance.

Though delicate and exploratory, her kiss does not speak of a creature who needs or expects to be handled with care. Her persistence draws him out, and for the instant their lips lose contact he can nearly see the flashing arc of energy stretching between them, urging them together, and then it is his turn to pursue, his teeth grazing her soft, shining lips and his tongue flickering over their edge to taste her.

There is nothing in her flavor to suggest she is in any way artificial, but nor does he expect there to be. She is an exquisite piece of craftsmanship.

A breath passes between them, both open-mouthed, as she leans just a fraction away as he pursues. She lets her hand fall away from his face since she doubts now that it will be needed to convince him that this action is long past overdue. But her retreat is only momentary, a gathering of momentum and a more figurative form of gravity to draw him in because as his teeth trace over her lips and his tongue admits itself within she is already tilting her head back up to him to accept the advance, to welcome it.

Her hands move to his waist, smooth black leather between her palms and his thin hips, and lets her light grip on him steady her as she stays up on her toes to reach his mouth, though her slight body doesn't push much weight on him even though she uses him for balance. Somewhere in her tumbling thoughts she wonders how to get more contact with him, how to expose more skin and if he is even able to bare larger parts of himself than just his face. He is the only creature of his kind and none of her books or reference materials could prepare her for the specifics of his physiological needs. She wants to know, to understand, to learn more about him almost more than she wants to touch him, though not quite enough to break the kiss she started nor stop her soft but pulse-racing intensity of this first real touch between them.

Perhaps sensing the effort it costs her to reach into the kiss, or perhaps, just as easily, inspired by the nearly stifling heat and texture of her mouth to probe deeper, he curves himself over her, mirroring her hands at his waist and instinctively tugging her hips into contact with the harsh angles of his just as he releases a barely-audible rumble past her lips.

He scarcely feels Sikozu's weight against him, but oh how he feels the sexual solidity of her presence there, fanning his baser impulses into a frenzy just under he surface of his fragile hybrid skin.

Without separating from her, Scorpius releases his grip and brings his gloved hands onto her torso, around the slopes of her hips and into the furrow of her spine, where he presses his queued fingertips momentarily.

Her back bends beneath his hands as he bears down over her and she lets him pull her hips in until she can feel the codpiece pressing hard and cool against the warm exposed skin of her belly. Her light body may be flexible and compliant in her odd state of warm exhaustion, but as he plumbs the depths of all her mouth may have to offer she pushes up into him too, with a slight graze of teeth and a slow-moving force that speaks of someone not only eager to be explored but to map her lover with hungry determination in turn.

Breaking her mouth from his for just a moment as his fingers press against her spine, the reaction of bare sensitive scales under his gloved fingers makes her gasp. Her temperature spikes but only dully in her body's slow recovery as her mouth tilts up from his for air and her hands, which had started to wander up his back and trace the deep seam lines in the leather perpendicular to his ribs, turn downward again, digging nails against his body as they rake back towards his hips and pull her tight against him until the upward curve of her body matches almost exactly the downward curve of his. She hasn't the first clue what his erogenous zones might be, other than the obvious, but she is not content to let him lead the game for long.

A body so peculiarly handicapped must learn to cut its own pathways to the physical pleasure others take for granted, and while thick body armor and robustly stitched leather keeps him from enjoying Sikozu’s attentions directly, the skin beneath tingles with the intention in her touch.

Scorpius just barely brings himself to excuse her when she pulls away, chasing her lips down, forcing her to exchange her breath for his once or twice before dropping his mouth abruptly and catching her chin in his teeth as she utters her appreciation for his fingers’ interest in the more heavily textured flesh along her back. He has no experience with the Kalish, his exploration guided by surefooted guesses. They are fortuitous ones, evidently.

And while she breathes, he slips his hands away once again, reaching around her to flick open the binding inside his elbow that releases the straps hugging his forearm. Grasping the glove by its fingertips, he then breaks the suit’s seal and works the leather off his hand, tug by tug until his hand is bare and his skin subjected to a mild, prickling discomfort.

He brings his hand to her cheek, pausing just short of contact when the aura of her body heat meets his palm. It is a fleeting hesitation, however, and then his flesh is on her flesh and his own breath shudders into his lungs.

A soft sound, more an inhalation than exclamation, answers the press of his teeth to her chin and she is already lightheaded, though whether it is from him, his tough, the thinness of her breath or the residual effects of burning like a solar flare she does not bother even to attempt to distinguish. It is all one now, anyway, a flowing of feeling and impulse, an animal drive to stop stalking and finally claim him. Her claws are sunk into the slick, shiny material tight against his body and she holds herself as near to him as she is able so that even when his grip on her is gone, his attention turned to removing that glove, she barely leans away from him.

The microt of hesitation he takes between his intent to touch her with a bare hand and his actually carrying it out is the first moment of hesitation in her, too. His skin is foreign to her and, unlike when she kissed him, now there is a twinge of worry that she may have pushed him into something dangerous and for one microt she shares his concern. But it passes for her as quickly as it does for him and she leans into the soft, strange skin against hers.

Intellectually it is fascinating the effect the warmth and feel of her skin has on him even just against his hand, such a simple, basic touch for most creatures. But he spends his life encased in the suit that regulates the temperature between his opposing sides and therefore every bare-skinned touch he experiences must feel exponentially more intense than it would for someone like herself, with so much skin bared to air and texture and warmth all the time. But intellectual wanders are for another time, perhaps, and her mouth chases his now that he is preoccupied with the first intense sensations of her skin and she drags her teeth gently across the point of his cheekbone before pressing her lips again to his.

Before even the highly sensitive nerve endings in his hand can decipher for Scorpius the texture of Sikozu's cheek, the heat of her sizzles painfully in the topmost layer of his soft, pale palm, but the sensation is far from unfamiliar and it is one he can push through with only a modicum of effort.

He has only an instant to see his hand stark white against her lively orange flesh before her mouth has once again accosted his and the image becomes a pleasant memory on the back of his retinas as he shutters his eyelids and proceeds to taste the little Kalish the way her body has begged him to taste her: gently at first, all lips and a graze of tongue and no teeth, trading breaths until his lungs burn.

Those unfettered fingers stay with her jaw for a moment, exploring its edge with its heavy nails and then trickling down her neck, into and over the hollow of her throat.

She hadn't ever thought she would find the touch of Scarran nails against her skin at all pleasant, but the tingle that prickles through her thick, sensitive skin as his fingers move across her jaw and neck and over vulnerable flesh is not only pleasing but also exciting, teasing, intriguing. Combined with the lightheaded thinness of breath from sharing his air it would have been difficult to deny her demanding body even if she wanted to, and she does not.

He is all thin and leather and angles under her hands, nails dragging upward over the parts of his suit that feel the thinnest. They are sharp, maybe sharp enough to tear the material if she were to try and if he was someone else she might very well do that but he is not. Acutely aware as she is of how much she does and does not know about his body, she does not want to endanger him by attempting to puncture any part of his life preserver. Another tack is neccesary to vent her desire, so as her hands come up, one hooking around the back of his neck to keep him bent down towards her as her mouth meets his in gentled but escalating exploration and the other anchoring her to him by his shoulder, she pushes back on him with a combination of subtle gravity and her own strength, trying to put his back up against the wall.

Though aware enough of the force pushing him back to resist, Scorpius has no desire to do so, and his feet follow her direction until his back meets Moya's hull.

He knows she must be showing some restraint, sensitive to his handicap as she is, but she proves far bolder than most others have been in her position, knowing at once how deadly and how vulnerable their half-breed lover is. But Sikozu's initiative inspires him to ache for more--he wants to experience her nails breaking the flesh between his ribs and taste his very own blood on her lips.

His thumbnail follows the straight arrow of her collarbone to the point of her shoulder, where it pivots, and he tucks his fingers under the strap crossing her back and drives them to the clasp, which he dispatches with not even a moment's exploration of the closure.

A wicked little amused sound trickles up her throat as she feels both the solidity of the wall he has allowed her to push him up against and the electric chill as his nail passes over her skin and his hand slides beneath the clasp on her back, immediately followed by the loosening of the scant top she's wearing. It slips down her shoulders only slightly as she moves, falling away from her chest incrementally, enough to suggest without fully revealing the skin beneath.

With her hands still anchored against him, nails willing but withdrawn enough to do no real damage, she shifts her gravity to the wall behind him. She leans more heavily against him for a moment, bodies flush, until she draws up one knee and then the other to straddle him, kneeling on the wall and resting the fullness of her affected weight against his abdomen, his ornamented codpiece just behind her and covered by the drape of her skirt which still conforms to Moya's generated gravity. Now free to release their hold on him, her hands move to glide over his hood, delicate and attentive to every line and seam though she isn't above the hard graze of a nail here or there where she thinks it might be safe. And her mouth she brings back, though now at a steeper angle, her curious tongue pressing to his chin, tasting skin and warm, shared breaths between them.

Oh, this is not the first time it has occurred to Scorpius that this talent peculiar to the Kalish must make physical relations between them a fascinating affair. Of course, this will be his first opportunity to test its application personally.

Her simulated weight maintains an illusion of contact they lack presently, with his suit a barrier, but she is near enough that he imagines he can sense the heat of her over his abdomen; his breath comes more quickly against her temple as she tests his skin between the chin strap, his lips part and he touches his tongue to the black flesh before lashing it along the side of her nose and uttering, "I am pleased to see your strength returning." The syllables are bookended by a sound that lies somewhere between a growl and a gravelly chuckle.

With her garment un-anchored, he leaves its destination to the ship's gravity and the work of their shifting bodies and brings his hands to her thighs, hooking behind her knees and dragging smooth-tipped leather and short claws with budding tips under the cover of her skirt.

Though half-lidded, her eyes are no less relentlessly observant now than they would be at any other time and she watches the path of his tongue with deep interest as it touches his dark lips and wonders if it is as dextrous as it appears. The warm swipe of it along the line of her nose makes her tilt her head and flick her eyes back to his coyly as her lips close and press for a moment over the tortured looking flesh of his chin. And while the heat of their bodies cannot transfer through the protective suit between them, the low rumble and implication of the sound he makes most certainly does.

"I am very resilient." It is as much boast as it is promise. Weakness does still makes her limbs feel a bit heavy, but only so much as to be just noticeable to her as she bends her back to draw closer to him. Not like it was before, when she had to be carried from the crystherium chamber and supported as the drilling elevator dug its way to the surface. It is dull now, a quiet burn and nothing someone as determined as she couldn't ignore for the sake of more important things. And with the added benefit of causing just enough tiredness of the mind to make her bolder than normal and give her the initiative to start those more important things, she was hardly about to stop now because of a mild and very ignorable discomfort.

As his hands move over the fabric of her leggings beneath the fall of her skirt, her hips tilt and lean into him a measure harder as she pulls down on her directional gravity. Through the same thin fabric she feels his fingers - hard nails and thick leather - she can also feel the lines and seams in the body of the suit encasing his body. She hasn't the first clue how to get through it or get him out of it, so she is forced to trust him that he will provide those answers in due time. Until then, she rocks her hips, pushing the roundness of her thighs against his hands and rolls forwards against him, pinning him to the wall, and leans in to catch his lip between sharp, shining teeth.

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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laaaa la bomba

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