"He was so young!" Her desperate sob undoes him, he longs to turn around, take her in his arms, and console her. He does none of those things, only sits there and slumps a little further down in his seat, feeling beaten and defeated. She leaves, he watches her go but doesn’t move. He leaves minutes after she does, intending to visit his son - his living son, you got hers killed, you frakking moron, he berates himself - go to his quarters, get shitfaced, but when he steps out into the corridor he finds her slumped down against the bulkhead, arms wrapped around her midriff, holding herself together tightly, fiercely, while her guards look on helplessly.
“Laura?” Her name on his lips is a sigh; it almost hurts him as it moves through him.
She looks up at him, dry eyed, her green gaze dull, lifeless. He takes her by the arm and she moves with him willingly enough, she never lets go of her tight grip on herself though. Bill dismisses her guards as they reach his quarters and steers her through the hatch into his sanctuary. He pictures Billy there, hours earlier, talking a mile a minute, so passionate, so idealistic. He himself is going to miss the kid and he shudders to think of Laura without Billy’s gentle presence by her side, the closest thing she had to family, she told him - you got him killed, he thinks to himself, you killed her son and yours still lives and you don’t even know enough to be by his bedside.
“Laura?” He speaks her name again, and this time she reacts, whirls on him, starts to beat her fists against his chest. She’s surprisingly strong and after a minute he gently grabs hold of her wrists in one hand. They fit, both of her wrists in his one large paw, so fragile. He deserves this penance but his masochistic streak only runs so deep and she’s hurting him and in the process hurting herself. His other arm goes around her back and he holds her tight as her body begins to shudder. She doesn’t make a sound but he can feel her tears on the skin of his neck, and he knows the precise moment to let go of her wrists so her hands can grab onto the cloth of his uniform.
An electric shock goes through him when suddenly, instead of tears he feels her lips on his throat. She’s kissing her way up along his neck, over his jaw line, towards his mouth. He stands stock still as her lips slant over his, as her tongue seeks entrance, but only for a moment. Her tongue grazes against his teeth and his paralyses leaves him, he responds in kind, teases her tongue with his. The one hand still around her shoulders, explores north, tangles in her fiery hair, while the other goes south, settles on her hip, fingers splayed, drawing her towards him, drawing her up against his cock which has gone from flaccid to rock hard in 0,5 seconds flat.
Laura moans and the sound emboldens him. He slides his hand to the front, cups her trough her clothes and she arches against him. His hand ventures further south, finds the hem of her skirt, drags upwards again, his fingers trailing along the soft, smooth skin of her thigh until they hit the lower edge of her panties. He can smell her now, and knows instinctively how wet she already is for him. With his hand on the bare skin of her hip, their lips and tongues still meeting and retreating, he marches her backwards untill her backside meets up with the bulkhead. Her hands have been wandering his torso and now they slide down and around, cupping his ass, pressing herself closer against him. She crackles with desire, and the fine hairs along his arms stand at attention like nuggets before their flight instructor.
Still, he hesitates. He is harder than he's ever been in his life for this woman, his undying love - though she almost died not so long ago, and does so again, now, in a sense, losing bits and pieces of herself, with the loss of her son.
"Laura?" Breaking their kiss, he looks at her, breathes her name. It's a question and a plea. She looks at him, and humms her assent, her hands sliding in front, squeezing him through the fabric of his trousers, making him impossibly harder. There's no more holding back, no more hesitation, as their lips and their bodies and all that they are come together and just for a while the world is held in abeyance as they find solace in each other.
“Laura?” Her name on his lips is a sigh; it almost hurts him as it moves through him.
She looks up at him, dry eyed, her green gaze dull, lifeless. He takes her by the arm and she moves with him willingly enough, she never lets go of her tight grip on herself though. Bill dismisses her guards as they reach his quarters and steers her through the hatch into his sanctuary. He pictures Billy there, hours earlier, talking a mile a minute, so passionate, so idealistic. He himself is going to miss the kid and he shudders to think of Laura without Billy’s gentle presence by her side, the closest thing she had to family, she told him - you got him killed, he thinks to himself, you killed her son and yours still lives and you don’t even know enough to be by his bedside.
“Laura?” He speaks her name again, and this time she reacts, whirls on him, starts to beat her fists against his chest. She’s surprisingly strong and after a minute he gently grabs hold of her wrists in one hand. They fit, both of her wrists in his one large paw, so fragile. He deserves this penance but his masochistic streak only runs so deep and she’s hurting him and in the process hurting herself. His other arm goes around her back and he holds her tight as her body begins to shudder. She doesn’t make a sound but he can feel her tears on the skin of his neck, and he knows the precise moment to let go of her wrists so her hands can grab onto the cloth of his uniform.
An electric shock goes through him when suddenly, instead of tears he feels her lips on his throat. She’s kissing her way up along his neck, over his jaw line, towards his mouth. He stands stock still as her lips slant over his, as her tongue seeks entrance, but only for a moment. Her tongue grazes against his teeth and his paralyses leaves him, he responds in kind, teases her tongue with his. The one hand still around her shoulders, explores north, tangles in her fiery hair, while the other goes south, settles on her hip, fingers splayed, drawing her towards him, drawing her up against his cock which has gone from flaccid to rock hard in 0,5 seconds flat.
Laura moans and the sound emboldens him. He slides his hand to the front, cups her trough her clothes and she arches against him. His hand ventures further south, finds the hem of her skirt, drags upwards again, his fingers trailing along the soft, smooth skin of her thigh until they hit the lower edge of her panties. He can smell her now, and knows instinctively how wet she already is for him. With his hand on the bare skin of her hip, their lips and tongues still meeting and retreating, he marches her backwards untill her backside meets up with the bulkhead. Her hands have been wandering his torso and now they slide down and around, cupping his ass, pressing herself closer against him. She crackles with desire, and the fine hairs along his arms stand at attention like nuggets before their flight instructor.
Still, he hesitates. He is harder than he's ever been in his life for this woman, his undying love - though she almost died not so long ago, and does so again, now, in a sense, losing bits and pieces of herself, with the loss of her son.
"Laura?" Breaking their kiss, he looks at her, breathes her name. It's a question and a plea. She looks at him, and humms her assent, her hands sliding in front, squeezing him through the fabric of his trousers, making him impossibly harder. There's no more holding back, no more hesitation, as their lips and their bodies and all that they are come together and just for a while the world is held in abeyance as they find solace in each other.
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*IZ DED FROM THE AWESOME HOTNESS*
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AFSFSJSJ...KFDGAHSLSA,,, *FLAIL*
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