Fic: Positively Domesticated, 2/3
Back to Positively Domesticated, 1/3
Humming contentedly, he puttered down to the engine room, collected Kaylee's tool box, then headed out to the cargo bay. The deck hatches had been operating less than smoothly lately, stalling and staggering, sometimes refusing to open or close completely. Kaylee'd checked the usual suspects, the motors and the hydraulics, and they seemed all right, and so she'd set some time aside today to check the electronics; the control panel, the connective cable, et cetera. All stuff Wash was competent to deal with, and which he was happy to take on, if it gave Kaylee a little deserved time off.
He'd been messing with it for about forty-five minutes, had the control panel open and its innards spread out on a cloth on the deck, and was running power through the wiring, trying to figure out if a connection or a series of connections had gone sour, when he caught a flash of red out of the corner of one eye. He looked up, and there was Zoe, heading aft, away from him, probably toward the ship's laundry in the passenger area. So, well, that's what his cerebral cortex told him. All the rest of his brain - hell, the whole rest of his anatomy - had locked onto fact his wife was nearly nude. Long, long, sleekly muscled legs, deep bronze, stretching up to... to... that crimson scarf he had bought her a couple months ago, to keep her hair tidy when riding on the mule, but now tied around her waist, barely covering that glorious area where her legs met her back. She turned slightly, to toss a look over her shoulder at him, her hair, loose and waving, sweeping across the top of her naked back, and he caught a glimpse of her bare hip just under the knot securing the scarf.
No, no, that wasn't a whimper squeaking through his nose, no indeed, and look, he had so much self-control that the tools were spilling from his hands very neatly into the tool box, rather than being flung across the deck, and it was simple husbandly consideration that had him trotting after her, not at all like a bull after a red flag, following her to the laundry room.
The laundry was in a nook right next to the shower, just big enough to fit the washer, with the dryer set above it, a small cupboard for soap and such like, and a person, loading or unloading the machines. The dryer was running, and Zoe had the top of the washer flipped up and was uncinching the tie on their laundry bag. And she still had next to nothing on, and he couldn't seem to drag his gaze up off that rounded, crimson-covered area. It really, honestly, wasn't his fault, because the lean lines of her thighs led up and the taut muscles along her spine led down, and he had no choice but to stare. He felt a little out of breath, and not because of how quick he'd taken off after her.
“Hey!” he said, perhaps a tad over-exuberantly. “Need help with any of that?”
She looked over her shoulder at him, a casual glance, and replied, “Sure. You can unhook me. Wanna wash this, too.”
“Unhook?” The little shrug, the directing of her gaze to the narrow white strap on her shoulder, clued him in. “Oh! Unhook...” His eager fingers flew to the fasteners of her bra - to be quite honest, he hadn't noticed what she'd had on above the waist until that moment, he'd just known there wasn't much of it - undoing them. Then his fingertips skimmed over her shoulder blades to her biceps, slipping the straps over her shoulders. She let the bra slide down her arms into the washing machine.
Meanwhile, Wash took a tiny step closer to her, bringing his hands down, gliding them over the silky skin of her back, then over her ribs and down her lean belly. Circling her navel with the greedy fingertips of his right hand, he set the other on her left hip, toying with the knot in the scarf.
“Wanna wash this too?”
“Not in this load, honey,” she replied, tone amused. “Unless you want to dye all your underwear pink.”
“Pink? No, not pink.” He took another tiny step closer, his hand coming away from the knot, fingertips sliding across her belly, just along the top edge of the scarf. “Clashes terribly with my hair.”
She chuckled, then bent forward, reaching toward the back of the washer for the temperature controls. This had the effect of pressing her buttocks firmly against Wash's groin. His breath hitched in his throat, and he froze against her, hands stilling. Thing about going commando, especially in his loose flannel pants, it left nothing to the imagination, as far as his state of arousal was concerned. Still angled downward, held that way by his trousers, nevertheless Zoe now had something long and stiffening tucked along the crease of her buttocks. Didn't seem to mind though, because she didn't straighten up. In fact, she pressed into him even more firmly for a moment, before she reached back, sliding her hand between them. She stroked downwards, palm skimming along the top side of his shaft, then back up. This got his own hands unfrozen again, and he grasped her hips, pulling her tighter against him. She looked back at him then, drawing her hand up further, to the tie of his pants.
“These could go in, though.” Lips curved in an impish smile, she fiddled with the knot in the drawstring.
“Oh, yeah, sure,” he replied, with a little skip of his heart at her suggestion he get naked. He released her, edging back a little so he could get to the bow. Luckily, it loosened easily, or he might have done damage. He shoved the pants over his hips, erection lifting to half mast as it was freed. As he kicked free of the worn cotton puddling around his ankles, his gaze was pulled down once again to the red scarf concealing Zoe's buttocks. Of their own accord, his hands reached out, each claiming one firm, rounded mound. His eyes closed as he absorbed the sensations from his palms and fingers, working in slow, savoring circles. His cock hardened even further, a sweet heat building as it twitched upward.
“Wash. Honey.”
“Mmm?”
“The pants.”
“The pants,” he repeated mindlessly, hands busy.
“Yes, the pants on the floor. Which should go in the washer.”
The crispness of her tone, albeit laced with amusement, hauled him partway out of his testosterone drenched haze. “Oh, those pants.”
He bent to get the pants, reaching out with his left hand, but leaving his right where it was, and, stooping over, noticed his eyes had come level with the tantalizing red cloth. He found himself crouching, his left hand no longer reaching, but on the side of her leg, sliding up under the fabric, toward her hip, his thumb finding the crease where her thigh and buttock met. His mouth, chin and nose skimmed over the soft cotton, nuzzling lightly, while his right, still securely on her cheek, massaged the firm flesh gently.
“Husband, the pants,” she reminded, yet again, bringing him back on task, laughing quietly, but with a husky undertone that let him know that he wasn't the only one that was maybe just a tiny bit aroused.
He snagged the gorram pants and stood, reaching around her with both arms, circling her with his right, pulling them both together, his erection, now fully upright, snug between them. He dropped the pants into the washing machine, then wrapped that arm just under her breasts, hugging her to him. She placed her own cool, slender hands over his, and kept them there as he caressed her stomach with one, and cupped a breast with the other. He nuzzled into her hair, inhaling gently, before leaning a bit to set a light kiss on the top of a shoulder. She lifted her hand from his, the one set on her belly, reaching behind her to twist her hair into a thick rope, pulling it forward, off her shoulders and neck. He kissed her nape, and she shivered, pressing the hand he had on her breast tighter against her.
That shiver had Wash collecting himself, and he slowed his hands' avid wanderings, the fingertips of the lower one circling the tender hollow of her navel, while those of his upper hand trailed lightly along the underside of a breast. He set a line of tiny kisses along the top of her shoulders. Turning her head, she gave him a sultry, sideways look, lips curved in a little smile. He leaned in to set a kiss on the corner of her mouth before capturing her earlobe between his teeth.
She sighed, setting both her hands on the edge of the washing machine, bracing herself as he pressed against her. Biting gently, he flicked her earlobe with his tongue tip, both hands now cupping the round weight of her breasts, nipples crinkling, lifting against his palms. He stroked upward slowly, hands lifting as his fingertips trailed up to meet on her nipples. He pinched them gently, rhythmically, in time with the pressure he placed and released on the tender flesh between his teeth. He opened his lips to draw in a long breath, and she shivered again at the chill. She reached back to caress his bare hip, before insinuating her fingers between their bodies. He let go of her breast to grab her wrist, pulling her hand off him, placing it firmly again on the machine in front of her. Releasing her earlobe, he set his lips lightly on the nape of her neck. He whispered, “My turn to do the touching.”
She glanced back at him, with an upward quirk of her brow. He widened his eyes, meeting her regard directly, letting her know he meant it. With a tiny smile, she lowered her gaze, acceding control of the encounter to him. His chest tightened, just like it did anytime Zoe showed any kind of trust in him. She didn't trust easy.
Lips, tongue, and teeth playing over her neck and back, he put his hand on her solar plexus, making small, easy circles, the thumb of his other hand stroking over the nubbled flesh of a nipple. Slowly, slowly, he caressed her ribs and belly, dipping lower with each little spiral. He teased her breasts with his nails and fingertips, relishing their soft, tender skin, the dense, puckered flesh of the aureoles at their centers. He listened carefully to her quickening respiration, alert for the tiny hitches as he gently pinched and rolled her nipples.
His fingertips brushed across the top edge of the scarf, and he spread his hand, sliding his palm down over the fabric covering her hip bone until he found bare skin. Slipping his thumb under the hem, he began the slow, small circling up the inside of her thigh. She shifted under him, feet moving farther apart, spreading her legs for him. Pressed hard against her back, he could feel a fine tremor settling deep in all her muscles. The tips of his fingers brushed over the curls at her groin. She heaved a quick breath, rocking her hips forward to meet his hand, and he let it happen, let his fingers slip into her crease, finding the bud of her clitoris, drenched with her thick fluids.
“Ah!” she gasped, jerking under him, and he set his teeth against the side of her neck, a warning not to pull away from him, as he made tight little circles around her clit. She let him keep control, moving with him, quick twitches of her pelvis, the soft cotton barrier between them rubbing his cock, nestled between her buttocks. Almost overwhelmed by the sensation, a mix of relief and torment, he closed his eyes, focusing his desire, now flaring into a desperate hunger, into an intense awareness of his hands. Seeking, finding, touching all the places that best pleased her, waging a near instinctive onslaught on her nerve endings.
“Wash, please.” Her whisper was barely a breath.
“Yeah, Zoe?”
“I want...” She flexed her hips, grinding her buttocks into his groin, letting him know exactly what she wanted.
But he liked to hear her say it, ai ya, did he ever, so, despite his powerful urge to simply do it, he demanded quietly, “Tell me, baby.”
She pushed hard back against him. “Please, Wash,” she sighed. “Want you inside. Please.”
Straightening, he tugged the scarf up off her ass, looking down. His breath caught at the sight of his cock snugged up between the high, firm globes of her buttocks, his engorged glans stretching his foreskin tight, exposing the head's tip, a deep, angry red, the slit oozing pre-cum.
He backed up a half-step, pressing his erection down with one hand as she angled her hips upward, and he found her slick center and shoved forward again. Tightness gripped him, and his own movement into her peeled his foreskin back off his glans with a 'pop.' He heaved a quick little breath at the sudden, exquisite sensation of gliding into her, stripped and exposed, swallowed by her grasping heat.
The sound of her yielding groan as he filled her had his heart lurching. It always amazed him, how profoundly she allowed him to affect her. He gripped her hip hard with his left hand, bracing himself, reaching around with the other, tucking it back between her legs. Fingers working her clit, he began stroking in and out of her with long, slow thrusts. She sighed, ducking her head, locking her elbows to take the impact of each inward plunge. Leaning in, he licked up her spine, tasting the salt of her. The knot of pleasure at the root of his cock began to both tighten and expand as he gradually increased the pace and force of his driving hips. Zoe moaned softly and shifted her pelvis, finding the angle that gave him the deepest penetration.
“Ai ya,” he groaned, feeling himself swallowed to the hilt, gaze dropping to the sight of Zoe's perfect ass, to watch himself plunge over and over into her.
“More,” she ground out, bucking back to meet him. Sucking his breath in between his teeth, he set his forehead against the nape of her neck, tightened his grip on her hip, and slammed into her, hard and fast. She became rigid underneath him, absorbing his forceful thrusts, as his fingers continued their work on her slick, swollen clitoris. The dull slaps of flesh smacking against flesh mingled with the sound of their breathing, his every exhalation a low grunt. He could feel her coiling beneath him, every muscle growing taut.
“Wash,” she said suddenly, voice lifting in astonishment, and she spasmed, clenching powerfully around him. Gasping, he shoved deep into her, hanging on with fingers he knew must be bruising her, so he could maintain his hips' driving strokes. Her grip on his cock, as tight as a fist, drew hot pulses of pleasure surging up his shaft, dragging him to teeter perilously on the edge of his own fall.
“Ah, God, Wash, fall with me,” she pleaded, tone sweet and lilting, almost a song. Then she convulsed again, and his own orgasm shocked through him, surging up from deep behind his scrotum, again and again, as he spilled himself into her. Breath coming in rasping gasps, gradually slowing the thrust of his hips, he wrapped one arm around her, hugging her to him. Reaching out to set a hand on the washer, he took some of his weight off her back. His knees quivered, seriously considering giving out on him.
They breathed together for a long minute, ripples of ebbing pleasure twitching through them. Then, feeling himself getting soft, he straightened, first setting a trail of kisses across her shoulders. He pulled from her, their combined fluids trickling down his thighs, their mingled scent filling his nostrils. She turned, still in his arms, to face him, bracing her butt against the machine. Drawing him to her, she gazed at him, giving him a small, satisfied smile before placing her mouth on his for a long, luxuriating kiss. He closed his eyes, falling into it, tongue languidly playing with hers, his fingers running up and down her spine, her skin damp with sweat.
He pulled back to murmur, “Gotcha all sweaty. Sticky.”
“Like it when you make me sticky,” she replied, her hands sliding down to make slow circles on his ass. “'Sides, there's a shower just next door.”
“Mmm, shower. Long, long hot shower. With my wife. I could scrub your back.” He kissed her nose. “And your front. And any other little thing you want scrubbed.”
She patted his rear. “Fine. Let's get the laundry goin' first though.” They peeled away from another, and Wash, knees still a little wobbly, managed to be moderately helpful getting the washer loaded. Although, given the tight space, a lot of hip bumping and neck nibbling and buttock fondling took place.
Washing up this time was even more fun than the washing up after breakfast. His hands, slick with soap, slithered over Zoe's skin, and he found himself conjuring up all kinds of interesting slippery scenarios the two of them could indulge in. He promised himself that next time they had the ship all to themselves, he'd work his wiles to get them both in the shower first thing.
On to Positively Domesticated, 3/3
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