A Treatise on Being a Man Jealous of a Machine or, You Talk Too Much, Shut Up by Red aka The Right Brain Farscape and all related characters and elements belong to The Jim Henson Company and not to Red. *** Watching her is a kind of joy all its own. Particularly when I know she knows I'm watching her, and she's trying so hard to ignore me. It's just damn adorable the way she hunches over and pretends I'm not there. It's morning ... or ship morning, which is a lot like ship mid-afternoon, or ship night. Ship morning means breakfast, which unfortunately, because we are weekens between ports, means processed chunks of nutrients masquerading as food. Watching Aeryn is so much more interesting than breakfast. She's not interested in me or her tasty slab of playdough; she's got faded, crumbling diagrams of some damn thing that's taking up half a storage bay, holding her interest. We picked 'it' up at our last stop, where we did a little favor for a local high muckamuck. I have no idea what it is, Aeryn has no idea what it is, nobody has any idea what it is. It's old, it's got lots of rusty metal pieces and wires and crap, and if I squint hard enough, it looks like maybe it could fly. Maybe. Aeryn, surprisingly, was sold, and the rest of us just shrugged. Far be it for me to get between a girl and a gaudy bauble, and seeing as how it can be a long, boring time between catastrophes, it's always good to have something to keep the hands busy. Of course, there are other things that can keep the hands busy. Things that can keep all sorts of parts busy. Unfortunately, certain parts hadn't had much attention lately. Well, not from the right hands, at any rate. I sigh and prop my chin on my fist. She finally succeeds in totally ignoring me, however, and is completely engrossed in her grimy thingamabob's user manuel. She's got a food cube in one hand and she's nibbling at it distractedly, pushing around pages with the other hand, peering closer at the barely legible diagrams on the yellowing sheets. Aeryn letting her inner-tech loose is cuter than hell, and a rare sight when her prowler or imminent death aren't involved. I can't, and don't want to resist the need to touch her and I reach out to brush red crumbs off her lips. She knocks my hand away with her wrist, never even glancing up. A challenge. I like a challenge. I feel slightly reckless, completely restless, and definitely in the mood for a tussle. Naked, if at all possible, but if not, vicious and sweaty will do. She's still nibbling when I pluck the food cube out of her hand and pop it into my mouth. She glances up at that and shoots me a dark glare. Dark, sure, but no heat. I'm not in danger yet. She dismisses me again immediately, and goes back to her fading specs. I chew slowly and stare at her some more, feeling a slow burn start low in my gut. I've been in love before. Howlin' at the moon in love, even. It's a hell of a feeling. Like being drunk and falling and being smothered, all at the same time. And sometimes that's a really good feeling. And sometimes it feels out of control. And sometimes it hurts like hell. Then one day this alien chick kicked my ass across a space ship and howlin' at the moon just wasn't quite enough anymore. Aeryn Sun destroys me, and I can't imagine anything better. Sure, sometimes we don't much like each other, sometimes I get more than a little tired of that cold, hard-assed, ex-PK bitch, and sometimes I don't doubt she gets tired of the mouthy, arrogant human bastard. Actually, 'mouthy', 'arrogant', and 'bastard' are all relatively mild compared to what she can usually level at me. I'll be damned though, if at the end of the day, it isn't all worth it. I sigh again and shift on the bench. She glances up at me with a flat look I immediately recognize as a warning. I give her my biggest, toothiest grin. She rolls her eyes and looks back down at her pages. I really hate those pages. I'm feeling a little like I might just have to do something about those pages. I reach out and put my index finger on one, slowly pulling it towards me. She doesn't seem to notice and I take a moment to try and figure out just what's so fascinating. Not much, by my reckoning. Da Vinci doodlings are more coherent ... and he wrote backwards in Italian. I tap my finger on the fragile film of the document, and consider, for a moment, the fact that my own not-so-inner geek was uncharacteristically uninterested in the Mystery of the Rusty Hunk of Bolts. I am so much more interested in the hot chick playing the part of Nancy Drew. That's not uncharacteristic, but usually I can juggle both at once. What's hotter than working on a cool machine with a smokin' chick? Not a hell of a lot. But here we are, a mystery bit of tech I can't work myself up to giving half a damn about, and the most stunning babe in the galaxy who is ignoring me for the grimy bucket of gears. In my defense, I have to say that my priorities are not at all out of whack here. While I'm always drawn to cool mechanical geegaws, as is in my scientist nature, the law of brilliant scientist guy -- as passed down by innumerable b- movies -- says 'do the babe first, worry about the bolts later'. The trick is to get this particular babe's priorities to align with my own. She isn't cooperating though, and my current situation is interfering with my interest in the potential of the piece of junk in the storage bay. I narrow my eyes and stare at the top of her head, wondering if I think just hard enough at her, will she pick up on the "do the studly scientist" vibe? Half the time I'm glad Aeryn can't read my mind, since it's sure to result in battle; the other half of the time, I wish she could so we could just cut right to the chase. With so much weirdness in our lives, I'm surprised we haven't done the mind- reading thing at least once. The closest we got was the body swap, which was fun in its way, and I wouldn't have minded a little bit more time in her body. The fun was tempered, however, by knowing Rygel was in my body and discovering some disturbing weirdnesses upon getting my body back. Shuddering, I resolve not to revisit the body swap. There are other, less potentially disturbing ways to be in her body. Not that I'd had a chance to enjoy them lately, what with the newcomer onboard and all. Damn. I am in danger of becoming jealous of a piece of machinery. A joy it may be, but now I'm bored with watching her. If I'm going to watch her, I want to watch her doing much more interesting things than trying to sort out wiring diagrams. I want to watch her naked and sweaty and ... I must have made a noise, I don't think I made a noise, but I must have. I know I didn't move. She's looking at me now, though, and she looks like she's trying to decide if she wants to tell me to frell off, or if she's just going to get up and go someplace else with her files. I drop my eyes down to my plate and push the food cube crumbs around with my finger. I'm not ready for her to leave yet and if I have to follow her wherever she goes off to, that might, potentially, ruin my moment here. Silently I count to three, while pretending to be very interested in the engineering of a pyramid of crumbs. When I get to three I look up and see that she's gone back to her study. What do I want? Sex. Right. So I can sit and stare at her or I can make a move. I chew on my lower lip and consider just what that move might be. I've got some options. Glancing around the room, I make sure we're alone before selecting any of those options. Some people on this boat might not mind an audience, but I am not one of them. Now, as I said, I've been in love before, and I've also had the mind-blowing sex that goes along with being in love. Or even just in lust. I had good fun with a few girls when I was an undergrad. And when I joined IASA, well, man, Dad never told me about the astronaut groupies. They're damn near rabid. And, yeah, I partook of the goods once or twice. There was an ugly patch after Alex left. Well, ugly emotionally; sex-wise, though, it was pretty optimum. Like everything else in my life, though, getting kicked to the other side of the universe even changed sex for me. I mean, I haven't actually been Captain Kirking it for the past five cycles or anything, but I've had an alien babe or two. I don't want to think about some of it (feathered chicks and takin' it for the team), but other parts were pretty damn good. Wrist stilettos and all. Actually, the wrist stilettos may have added to it. Kinda like a spicy kick. It all comes back to her, though. If getting sucked through a wormhole changed everything I knew, Aeryn Sun changed me. I won't say it was love at first sight, but there was a spark. Oh hell, spark nothing, it was a damn 40 megaton explosion. It didn't have to go anywhere, though, and for a while, when culture shock set in for both of us, it didn't look like it ever would go anywhere. That woman can do angry like nobody's business. But then, like every part of life with her, there was another moment where my universe shifted and blurred and everything I am was focused entirely on that moment, on her. The first of many times she destroyed me. She's so strong, so fierce, but when that knife slid into her, my breath, my life, stopped. I bring a hand up and try and brush the memory from my eyes. That's a detour I didn't mean to take. If nothing else, though, it serves to motivate my ass. I stand up from the table, brushing the crumbs off my fingers and straightening my shoulders. She glances up at me, a question in her eyes, but when I step away from the table she goes back to her papers. I'm not going far, though. I walk around the table and straddle the bench next to her. I study her strong profile for a moment, considering her. God, she's beautiful. God, I love her. I'd die for her, I'd kill for her, and I'd sell my soul for her. There's nothing that compares to knowing, soul deep, just what I'd do for Aeryn Sun. Not only have I done all of the above, but I'd do them all again and so much more. And she's done the same for me. Right now, though, I'm not interested in deep thoughts on love or its travails. I don't want to think about anything other than just how much I want to frell this amazing woman, preferably until neither of us remembers our names. Then, I think maybe I'll frell her some more. Feeling this woman over me, under me, around me, beats 'mind-blowing' all to hell. I lean in, not quite touching her yet, she tenses and shifts away. I let her go for the moment, because I have every intention of taking my time in the seduction part of today's sex. I go back to my options, the options I was thinking of before the little detour. We're in the center chamber. That limits some of the options. Not that Aeryn's particularly shy about sex, but I don't always enjoy the thrill of possibly getting caught. I've frelled her up against a corridor wall once or twice, and I certainly can't complain about that time on my workbench, or that time ... I'm detouring again. Never mind. The point is that, much as I love a good sexual thrill, most times I'm more than happy with a nice, private room, with a nice, big bed. I'm a simple man and I can make my own thrills. Reaching up, I brush the hair away from her face and move in to catch a whiff of that very Aeryn scent. She smells like battle and sex and spice. I feel myself start to slip away. I am so lost, so destroyed, and I have no fear of it. "Crichton," she growls softly, another warning. She could move if she was serious, she could stand up and leave, but hasn't yet. She's also not looking at me, but I can tell by the tension in her body that she's not so interested in her papers anymore. I grin in triumph. No damn, dirty specs will defeat the will of a man on the hunt for some lovin'. I slide up the bench, closer to her, and one thigh nudges hers, while the other moves up behind her ass, trapping her, and I consider just what she might be in the mood for. It's hard to tell right now, she's not moving, her eyes are still fixed on the documents. She's still waiting to see what I'm going to do, I think. What *am* I going to do? Well, there's that illicit public sex, but that's not what I'm after. It's too quick, doesn't generally involved complete nakedness, there's the threat of interruption, all points that don't gibe with my intention of taking my time today. There's a hard, hot frell. What Aeryn herself, fondly calls a "fuck". She likes the human word for that particular brand of sex, she says it sounds more like it. I'm not in the mood for this one either, at least, not at first. Maybe later. There's the battle frell, which is similar to the fuck, only it tends to leave bruises. More on me than on her. It's like some sort of martial art, only naked, and at least one of us gets off. This is, without any doubt, a leftover from her PK days. I don't really like to think much about that. This one, however, usually starts with an ambush, not a slow, seduction, so it's right out. There's angry sex, which is a little bit like the battle frell, but neither of us are pissed at each other right now, though I suppose I could push her enough and it could turn into angry sex. I wouldn't have minded this one earlier, when I was cruising to get some sort of reaction out of her. Naked, sweaty tussles can be a good time and definitely satisfying in their own way. No, none of those are quite right. There's intense sex, and slow sex, and sex where she giggles and she never giggles, and wild sex, and tender sex, and sex where I want to melt into her body and where I can't tell which parts are mine and which are hers. I slip my hand between her legs and grab the edge of the bench, leaning against her now, touching my chest to her arm and shoulder. "John," she growls again, this time trying to get an elbow up to move me back. I'm too close, though, and she can't do more than give me a light shove with her shoulder. "Back off." "No," I say, lowering my chin to her shoulder. It's a dangerous position, I could lose a tooth at the very least, and at the most a good, quick move will leave me with a concussion. I don't think I'm in danger, though. Her breathing isn't quite so even and the slow, red flush creeping up her long, lovely neck tells me she's not far off where I want her to be. "I'm trying to read these," she protests again, but I laugh and let go of the bench long enough to push the fading pages away from her. "No you're not," I breathe into her ear. I brush my nose against her shoulder, and slip my free hand down her far shoulder, rubbing her upper arm lightly. I'm not particularly fond of this shirt she's got on now. I miss the vest. Or that long-sleeved, green shirt that zipped up the front. I really liked that shirt. She found a dren load of t-shirts with three-quarter length sleeves on some damn planet, and the vest and the green shirt disappeared. The shirts fit well, snug and all, but they don't show near enough skin, in my opinion. She's got the sleeves pushed up above her very shapely elbows, and maybe if it was a hundred and fifty years ago that might be more of a turn on; as it is right now, though, I'm resolved to gather all those shirts and shove them out the airlock next chance I get. Turning her head she brushes her cheek against my forehead. "John," she mutters, "I'm working." I raise my head and press my lips to the devastatingly delicious hinge of her jaw. "Don't mind me." Letting out a small sigh, she shifts on the bench, rubbing her thighs against my wrist and forearm. I let out a little sigh of my own and move my other hand to trail down her spine to her belt. Brushing my fingers along the edge of her belt, I slip my index finger between the thin fabric of her shirt, and the thick leather of her trousers. I am, unfortunately, not able to find any skin. I really, really hate these shirts. They must go. I sit up slightly and grab a handful of the shirt, tugging it up and out of her pants. She straightens her back and rolls her hips forward, the rough leather rubbing so very pleasingly against the heel of the hand I've still got braced against the bench. It's the only thing keeping me anchored, because I'm about two heartbeats from snapping and giving in to the siren call of immediate and illicit public sex. Damn, but it's been too long. The bench may not survive. Finally, my fingers touch warm skin and I lean down over her again, angling my head for clear access to her neck and jaw, while my hand slips up under her shirt. Feeling the smooth expanse of her back against my palm takes some of the edge off the racing need, and I give in and savor the decadent feel of having all the time in the universe to enjoy her. "You're very distracting." She moves her head and lets me at that sweet spot right below her ear. I take a taste of the soft skin and move closer, sliding my hand around her waist, just teasing the edge of her rib cage. "Thank you." I slide my hand up, but I'm stopped short of my goal by the edge of yet another piece of clothing. Growling, I bite at her neck, and run my frustrated fingers along the barrier presented by the damn Peacekeeper brand sports bra. "You wear too damn many clothes," I snarl and nip again. She laughs and raises a hand, sliding her fingers along the back of my head. Pushing the edge of the bra up, I stroke the soft underside of her breast. "I think you should go naked from now on," I suggest reasonably. Laughing again, she drags her short fingernails across my scalp, sending a divine shiver down my spine. "You'd like that?" "I would," I agree. "It would take the fun out of undressing me," she counters as her other hand leaves the table and moves down to stroke the arm I still have between her legs. She has a point. However, "I can make the sacrifice." With an amused hum, she pushes her hips forward again, her crotch rubbing tantalizingly against my wrist, and her hand slides down to cover mine. "I'll make you a deal," she tells me huskily. "I'll go naked if you will." I snort and tease my fingers up and down her side. "Nobody wants to see me naked." "I wouldn't object. Neither would Chiana, come to think of it." "No, no, no," I protest and move my hand up to caress her unfortunately fabric covered breast, hoping the seductive grope would end a conversation going exactly the wrong direction. "Nobody else in this room, now. Nobody." She inhales sharply as my thumb brushes her nipple. "You brought it up." "Fine. No going naked. But, you're still wearing too many clothes." "And what, exactly, is taking you so frelling long to do something about that?" She asks and turns her head, her mouth searching out mine. I meet her eagerly. She is the finest wine and I am a thirsty man, losing himself in the heady drunkenness of her kiss. When I eventually pause to draw a breath, I realize I have both hands under her shirt, one over her breast and the other low on her abdomen and heading south. Her hands haven't been still either and she's turned slightly towards me, one hand holding my head and the other running through the light fur on my belly. We're too revved, too hard and fast again, and I pull back to slow us down. She doesn't take that well and grumbles in protest, tightening her hold on my hair and running her hand down below my belt. "No fair, baby," I groan. "No fair?" She pushes harder and my lungs seize. "Who started this?" I grab her hand, pulling it away from me. "And I'm just getting started." I kiss her again, hard and hot. "I'm going to frell you blind, but we're going to do it my way." Standing up, I step away from the bench and catch a look in her eye I can only describe as predatory. I lean back over her, cupping her face in one hand and slipping the other through her hair. This time I take it all so slowly again, brushing small kisses over her forehead and across her cheeks. When I straighten, I slip a hand down her arm, urging her up. She rises smoothly and gives me a confident, nearly devious, absolutely sexy as hell smile. Why, I think this woman is planning to eat me alive. Guess I'll just have to beat her to it, and eat her first. It's the only sensible course a man can take to save himself. Pulling her up against me, I slide my hands down and cup her ass through the smooth leather. She throws an arm around my neck, and we slide together so perfectly. Biting her lower lip, she stares at my mouth with that hungry smile still teasing her lips. "Are you going to frell me, or stare at me, Crichton?" She she asks me with a throaty growl. I love leather, it's great for protecting various body parts from injury. When I first landed on Moya, I wore my old IASA cloth pants and I ended up with the widest and ugliest array of bruises and scrapes imaginable. When those finally wore out (they were great cutoffs), I found a pair of black cloth pants, but those didn't protect my lower limbs any better. When I slipped on that PK Captain's uniform, I knew I'd found just the thing. I could move, my ass was protected, they were warm when it was cold, and truly miserable when it was hot, but, well, you can't have everything. The really unfortunate thing about leather, though, is that while you might have a pair that fit just right, and move well in situations that require quick response, they just have no damn give. I feel more than a little constrained and it isn't particularly comfortable. Though, if she keeps moving her hips against mine like she is, and working that lower lip, the problem is going solve itself in a few, short microts. "Aeryn, honey, you are pushing your luck." I tighten my hold on her buttocks, jerking her up against me, which, while it stops her squirming, really just makes my situation worse. But, god have mercy, it feels so good. "Good." She lets go of her lower lip and moves to take mine in her teeth. A quick tug and she looks up into my eyes. "What the frell took you so long?" "What?" I ask, dazed and still struggling with the feel of her so close up on me. Laughing she slips a hand down to grab my ass. "I had no intention of letting you leave this room." "Is that right?" I ask, amused. "Mmhm. If you hadn't made a move, I would have. Though, it took you so long, I almost gave up on you. You think too much," she chastises lightly. I laugh and lower my head to get at her neck again. I love her neck. "I was thinkin' 'bout you, baby." "Right," she sighs and tilts her head, shaking her gorgeous hair back and giving me a clear shot at her neck. I really, really love her neck. If she doesn't have a hickey by the time we make it to our quarters, I'm going to be ashamed to call myself a man. "No, really," I mumble against her damp skin. Damp, delicate, smooth, delicious skin. "Thinkin' 'bout all the ways I could frell you. Been too long." She moans a little bit as my teeth scrape along a tendon. "Think less, act more. It's been too long." "Damn machine's fault." I mutter, barely even aware that words are coming out of my mouth in between breaths. I latch my lips onto her neck again and I don't give it another thought, even as she snorts in laughter. Within a few microts, her hand becomes a little more insistent on my ass, and her arm tightens around my neck. She tilts her head further and I feel a slight pinch on my shoulder as she takes my shirt in her teeth and pulls. We're running hot again and I tear myself from her neck long enough to realize that if we don't make a move towards the bed soon, we're never going to make it. "Bed," I growl and her only response is to attack my mouth with hers. Groaning under the onslaught of her tongue, I feel lust start to take control of the situation from semi-rational thought. "Not here," I try again, moving my hands up from her ass to her waist and pushing her back slightly. "Bed, baby. I want you very, very naked." "I can be naked here," she offers in that sexy rasp of hers, and I start to slip again. "And D'Argo could walk in," I fight back, struggling for coherent thought. She pulls out of my arms with a frustrated growl and I make the nearly disastrous mistake of staring at her red, wet mouth. My mind starts to sidetrack to all the things she can do with that mouth. All the places she can put it. She licks her lips and my legs almost give way under me. That would be so undignified. She shakes me from the spell of her amazing mouth by grabbing my hand and pulling me from the center chamber. "You're thinking again," she says as we walk quickly (almost a jog, really) down the corridor. "It's not my brain doing the thinking this time," I reply honestly. She laughs huskily and I give into impulse and force her against the wall. Pulling her arms above her head, I push my hips against her, pinning her. Grinning devilishly she bites my chin. "I thought you wanted the bed." "Just taking a break. This is a big ship. It's a long walk," I pant against her. "We'll never get there at this rate." Her breathing is coming faster, too, and I'm ridiculously pleased that I seem to effect her as much as she does me. "I'd offer to race you, but I don't think you're in any condition to run." She thrusts up against me and I can't stop the low howl that breaks from my throat. "Witch," I hiss into her ear. I don't know how she does it, but one microt she's the pinned and the next, she's got me up against the wall. I'll have to have her show me that move later, as it is though, I'm not thinking too much about the move, my immediate focus is more on the fact that one of her hands is copping an insistent sort of feel. I groan and drop my head back against the wall. When she pulls away suddenly, it's all I can do not to slide to the floor. "Witch," I moan again. "Bed," she tells me with a hungry smile. "Bed," I agree and push myself away from the wall with an agonized grunt. The rest of the walk is a blur of watching Aeryn's shapely ass move in form fitting leather as she strides down the corridor in front of me. Once we get to the room and the grate closes and the privacy curtain falls into place, I'm on her like white on rice. "Too many clothes," I repeat my earlier refrain. "You, too," she tells me and tugs my shirt out of my pants and I help her get it over my head. She sighs, pleased, and goes to work on one of my nipples with that un-fucking-believable mouth. Christ this woman is going to kill me some day. I'm going to die so happy. Her shirt is the next to go, and she unlatches from my chest barely long enough to let me take it off of her. Her hands are around my back now, her short nails scraping down my spine. At least she's giving my boys a rest, though her evilly enchanted fingers are somehow sending lightning bolts straight down to them. When she bites my left nipple, I finally lose all rational thought and I've got her up on the table before either of us realize it's happened. I push my way between her legs and her leather clad thighs open up to wrap around my leather clad hips, and my earlier avowed fondness for leather dissolves into frustration. I take my frustration out on that damn bra, letting my impatient hands claw at it, greedy to get at the goods underneath. They're such good goods, though, what hand wouldn't be eager to get at 'em? I push the fabric up over one breast and then take my turn at a nipple while she struggles to get the rest of the item off. When her upper body is finally free of any annoying bits of cloth, I lean heavily into her, bracing myself with one hand flat on the table, and the other supporting her back. Placing one hand on the back of my neck, fingers and nails digging in almost painfully, she holds herself against me as I feast on her decidedly fantastic breasts. Her other hand is on my elbow and when I lean in even closer, she moans softly and slides the hand down to brace against the table next to mine, our fingers brushing lightly. Our upper bodies are skin on skin, I've got one magnificent breast in my mouth, she's making all manner of deliciously sexy noises, this is nothing short of a cornucopia of glorious sensation, but the second her pinky brushes my thumb, a shock goes through me and I ignite with a gasp. I raise my head, body still stunned and buzzing from that shock, and look down at her gorgeously disheveled form. Another kind of shock goes through me and my breath catches as a sudden, almost overwhelming surge of devotion and tenderness settle on my heart. I move to kiss her parted lips, shuddering when I feel her chest rise and fall erratically against mine, and I can't repress the grateful sigh when our mouths meet. I can feel she's surprised by the sudden change in mood, she doesn't respond to my kiss for a heartbeat or two, and when she does, her response is hard and hungry. I bring my hands up to hold her face, to slow her down. It's been a long time since I lacked opportunities or the ability to make love to this woman, these days I can enjoy her in as many ways as I can spend a lifetime dreaming up, and right now, I remember that I'm in no hurry, that she's in my arms and unless I suddenly say something remarkably stupid, she'll stay there. No rush. Though my cock might disagree, I'm a grown man, more than capable of holding off on gratification for a bit. Particularly when I've got the chance to make Aeryn Sun cry my name. I dine on her lips for a long few microts, until she starts to respond in kind and I dissolve into the gentle tangle of tongues. We're both breathless when we break apart and I hold her close against me, nuzzling her neck and reveling in this tenderness. It's almost agony to pull away from her, but she still has her pants on and that's just not right. I move away from her, enjoying the dazed look on her face, and drop down to the edge of the bed (finally), bending over to pull off my boots. "Still too many clothes," I tell her with a nod towards her feet. She licks her lips and sits up, brushing her hair back alluringly. "You're trying to kill me," she complains breathlessly, slipping off the table to stand on unsteady legs. I grin and drop a boot to the floor. She gives me a dark look but crosses the room to sit next to me on the bed. I almost ask her to walk across the room again. Aeryn striding around topless in leather pants is an alluring sight, but that would unnecessarily delay nakedness. Maybe later. I've got my boots and socks off, while she's still working on the fastenings of the first boot. Why does this woman have to wear so much and such complicated clothing? This is freaking ridiculous. I slip off the bed to kneel in front of her and I work on the other boot. Eventually, we get them off her feet and she tugs her socks off. The microt the second sock hits the floor, I'm on her again, pushing her back onto the bed. "Hi," I say as I drape myself across her. "Hi," she replies with a laugh. Brushing a fingertip teasingly along the side of her breast and down her ribs, I savor the sight of her. "Are you sure you won't go naked?" "Only if you do, as well." "Damn," I say lightly and move my hand to her belt. "Guess I'll just have to settle for nakedness here." As I maneuver her belt she seems to be taken by her own wave of affection, and she gently touches her fingertips to my lips, then moves them on to fondly stroke my jaw and chin before returning to my lips again. I smile against her fingers and tease the tip of one with my tongue. "You have a nice face," she tells me, continuing to caress my lips. "Thank you. I like yours, too." I raise my hand from her belt and grab hold of her stroking hand and press a kiss to her palm. "You're not going to distract me from the fact that you're still wearing clothes, though." She laughs loudly, a free and joyful sound. "You could have had me naked a quarter arn ago, John." Flipping me off of her and onto my back, she straddles my thighs and finishes undoing her belt and unbuttoning her trousers. "Sure, in the center chamber," I tell her absently, my attention riveted on her fingers as she parts the leather. When she starts to slip a hand down the front of her pants, I sit up abruptly and push her back down. Snickering breathlessly, she lifts her hips, helping me push her pants down her lovely, strong, and now mercifully bare thighs. "You're the one who suggested I go around naked. Why would it have been a problem in center chamber?" She asks, her question ending on a gasp as she kicks off her pants and I work a hand into her underwear. "Context?" I suggest, but I'm not sure either of us are really following the conversation too attentively. My god, she feels good, and if the ragged sound of her breathing is any indication, she likes what my hands are doing, too. "What?" She groans when a wandering finger wanders further. "It's one thing if you're walking around naked in daily life, you know?" My trousers have gone beyond restrictive into medieval torture device, and it just gets worse as a red blush creeps up her chest and tiny little whimpers and sighs start to fall from her lips. When her hips buck up and she pushes her pelvis against my hand, my mind goes completely blank. "And ... what was I saying?" "I don't know," she grunts. "You talk too much. Shut up." I grin and follow her orders. Sitting back slightly, I pull her underwear off and start to push her thighs apart, but she sits up suddenly. "I told you the deal. I'll go naked if you will." Her hands work quickly and my belt is undone and my fly open before I process much of what she's doing. When her long, cool fingers touch skin, I'm almost ready to give in and let her devour me alive. "No," I gasp and reluctantly, oh god so reluctantly, push her away from me. "I told you before, we're doing this my way. No cheating," I chastise her, but yield to the call of being naked with the naked, hot chick, and quickly shuck my pants and skivvies. "You're too slow," she complains lightly, and leans back with a smug smile when I cover her body with my own again. "I'm taking my time," I clarify. "There are benefits." She snorts and slaps my ass. "Such as?" "Do you want to abuse me or do you want me to show you?" Rolling her eyes, she rubs the sting out of my right cheek. "Will it shut you up?" "My mouth will definitely be too busy to talk," I confirm with what I hope is a wicked leer. She makes a happy little hum and leans up to take a quick peck at the aforementioned mouth. "Show me, please." Sighing contentedly, I work my way slowly down her, finally, very naked body. Her breasts always demand my attention, so I give them some. Then down towards her smooth belly, pausing only briefly to tickle her ribs and elicit a gratifying giggle for my efforts. When I make it to her belly I let a hand wander down between her legs as I nip and taste the warm, delicate skin of her abdomen. I run my tongue along the scars there and delight in just how very alive she is in my arms. I linger on her stomach for a while, content to feast on her and listen to her hitching, sighing breath, while my fingers work her. It seems I linger a microt too long and her grasping hands move from the bedclothes to my hair, pushing me down. I readily move between her legs, spreading apart her thighs and moving my fingers into her and my mouth onto her. The groan this elicits is deep and heartfelt and her hands drop down to fist in the sheets again. I love having her like this. Open to me completely. She's so strong, so guarded, and it it's both humbling and empowering to know that in my arms she trusts me with her while she's so vulnerable. Vulnerable to sensation, to feelings, to love, to something beyond lust and an itch needing a scratch or fluid levels needing to be drained. Even my cock agrees that this is something worth taking the time to do properly, because when we finally join with her, she'll be ours completely and that's a feeling no quick and dirty frell against a table can ever hope to match. Not that there's anything wrong with a quick and dirty frell, but while she destroys me daily, sometimes I need to destroy her, too. It's definitely a good kind of destruction. The soft whimpers and sighs turn into gasps and strangled cries and I have complete control over her. I'm greedy for more of those cries, but if I slow down again and drag this out too much, she might just hurt me when she comes to her senses. Or maybe even before. I laugh against her wet flesh, my breath puffing seductively, and she cries out again. Her hands make it into my hair again, but this time they aren't demanding, they're grasping desperately for an anchor, and I grin and work her harder. She's not far off and now I want that final cry, that shout of ecstasy and that shudder through her body that tells me she's wholly mine. When she finally shatters it's with my name on her lips, an almost mindless chant. My fingers continue their delightful work, but I move my mouth and shift up her body to kiss those parted, sinfully sexy lips. Our mouths meet hungrily and she shifts her legs, bringing one thigh up across my back. "So ... what do you think?" I ask. "Would that be a benefit?" She growls and I laugh. She gets revenge by moving her legs and pushing her hips up against me, and it's my turn to groan. I move my hand out of the way and settle myself between her thighs. God. She feels like fucking heaven and I'm not even in her yet. I don't care how impatient she is, I prop myself on my elbows above her and look down at her. She is a goddess. She is sex. She is life. She is love and lust and every damn good thing in this universe. I grin and lean down to reverently kiss her breasts again. She's mine. Her hands are still in my hair but their grip has loosened and she's massaging my scalp gently. As much as she's mine, I am hers, too. Unreservedly, unabashedly, forever. Even when she's a cold-assed bitch. And even when I'm an arrogant asshole. And even though she wears the most difficult outfit ever. "I love you," I whisper against her chest. "I love you, too," she whispers back and strokes a finger down my ear, making me shiver delightfully. "Frell me, John. I need you." She takes me in hand and I slip one arm under her shoulders and then we make the most natural move in the universe and ... oh!