Fic: Positively Domesticated, 3/3
Back to Positively Domesticated, 2/3
Golden afternoon sunlight flooded the bridge, making for a very pleasant, albeit a bit warm, work environment. Wash had shucked the top of his freshly laundered flightsuit, tying it around his waist by the arms, so he only had a tank on top, a little damp under his arms and in the center of his chest. His tools were ready to his hand in their carefully organized kit. He had the bottom screws to the comm panel undone, and was about to pop it open, when Zoe strode onto the bridge. He glanced over at her, smiling, as she set a tray down on the console. A late lunch apparently, a plate of sandwiches and a couple glasses of iced tea. She was rather overdressed to his mind, at least compared to earlier that day, in a calico blouse, trousers, and boots, but still. But still, she was gorgeous. The sunlight caught in her hair, the crisp waves lit in an iridescent haze. He realized he didn't see her in sunlight often. Ship's light, starlight, candlelight sometimes, when she put up with his being romantical. But sunlight, not so much. Brought out the golden undertones of her skin.
“Lunch,” she said, clearly intending to share a meal with him here on the bridge.
“Shiny,” he replied. “Let me take a look-see here, and I'll join you presently.” He jerked the panel open, and a spill of dust and dirt hit him in the face.
“Tzao gao,” he swore, ducking his head, blinking rapidly as his eyes watered with the sting.
“You okay?” she asked, her voice coming closer.
“Got something in my eye.” The right felt okay, but the left was definitely hating it. He carefully swung the panel closed, rather than letting it drop, vision fractured into a kaleidoscope of colors by his tears.
“Don't rub.”
“I know,” he replied, a bit snappish, although that's exactly what he wanted to do. Tears trickled down his cheek as he continued to blink like crazy. Felt like he had a chunk of gravel in there. Hoped it wasn't a metal shaving, 'cause that could slice his cornea all to hell.
“Here.” Zoe suddenly grabbed his chin, turning his head toward her. “Let me take a look.” She pulled his lower lid down with her thumb, and he opened his eyes as wide as he could, rolling them upward. Steadying himself, his hands went without thought to her hips.
“See it,” she stated. “Hold still.” Then something white came up and poked him in the eye.
“Ow,” he said, more startled than hurt, and she let go of his face. Blinking, he discovered the gravel gone. He looked at Zoe and she held up a napkin, clearly having used a corner to dab the irritant out. He grinned his gratitude, and finding his hands already on her, he drew her closer.
“My wife in shining armor,” he quipped, but meaning it, before kissing her. Her hands came up to rest on his shoulders, and she returned the kiss, lips soft and savoring on his. He pulled away a bit to gaze at her face, and she used the napkin to swipe the tears and dust from his cheeks. Then her free hand slid up to the back of his neck and he leaned forward to kiss her again. Her lips parted for him, and she set her other hand on a buttock, pulling him closer. He stroked the inside of her upper lip and the edges of her front teeth with his tongue tip, enjoying the contrasting sensations. Her own tongue met his, a lazy caress. He sighed deeply, a gentle wave of desire sweeping over him. Having climaxed twice in the past seven or eight hours, his arousal didn't have any great urgency to it. This could be just a very pleasant make-out session, going nowhere further. It could be the beginning of one of his favorite things, a long, slow wind-up, involving glances and subtle touches, lasting through the afternoon and evening, until, by bedtime, they'd both be absolutely crazy with lust. Or, she could want him right now, for a lengthy, languorous bout of love-making. Any of those options were just fine with him, although he had definite leanings toward the third.
Seemed she was partial to option three herself, as when she broke away from the kiss, deep brown eyes still on his, she slid her hand down his arm to intertwine her fingers with his. Smiling gently, she took a step toward the hatch, toward their bunk, tugging him along after her. He started to follow, then stopped, pulling her up short. Her brows lifted quizzically, as she queried, “No?”
“Yes. Oh, yes. But.” He stepped backward, drawing her closer to the helm. “Let's do it here.”
She released his hand, casting a dubious glance out the bridge's wide expanse of windows, the sweep of bright blue sky and the brilliant sunshine creating a sense of openness, exposure. She turned back to Wash, who was dropping into his seat behind the helm, swiveling to face her.
“Here?”
“Yeah,” he replied, stretching out his legs. “Let's do it here.” He used his elbows to flip back the arms of the chair, then reached down, finding the lever that controlled the angle of the back. He reclined it a few degrees, not way back, just so he could lounge comfortably.
“Seems kinda... out in the open.”
“We're almost twenty meters above the ground, sweetie,” he answered reasonably. “Private as two birds in their own cozy nest.” He slid his hand down the front of his tied off flightsuit, under the waistband of his briefs, adjusting his half-hard cock into an upright position. Once comfy, he began to fondle himself idly, a little tugging, a little squeezing, nothing intense. Her eyes trailed down to his crotch, to follow the movement of his fingers concealed beneath his flightsuit. She looked back up into his face, and he smiled complacently at her, completely without shame.
She shook her head ruefully. “I've created a monster.”
“Not yet.” Grinning lazily, he reached back with his free hand, tucking it behind his head as he spread his legs wider. “But it's getting there.”
She snorted a little laugh, although she continued to look skeptical. Interested as well, but still skeptical. It came to him that relative dimness of the galley pre-dawn, and the small cubby of a laundry room had created in her mind the sense of a private place. A relatively private place, 'cause he was still getting off on the transgression of having sex in - and on - shared crew space. Maybe a need for privacy was even stronger for someone who'd spent years on open battlefields and in crowded barracks than it was for most.
The bridge, though, was his space. Although he kindly allowed the captain the illusion it belonged to him. So here, for Wash, making love to his wife would be no more naughty than if they were in their own bed. There was no special frisson about the idea of loving her here, except for the light. The clear, bright light touching her skin, warming it. Tasting it. The sunlight and his hands and his mouth on her at the same time. This was starting to get a bit more important to him.
“Kaylee-” she started.
“Won't be back for hours,” he interrupted, pulling his hand out of his pants, sitting forward to gaze at her appealingly. “And we're all buttoned up. We'll hear the bay doors open if she comes back early, and we can head for our bunk.” He glanced out the windows at the wide expanse of sky, then returned his eyes to hers. “It's the light, Zoe,” he said softly. “I want to see you in the light.”
She studied him a moment, expression unreadable. Then, the planes of her face set in still, smooth lines, she lifted her hands, undoing the top button of her blouse. He leaned back, lips parting, hands coming to rest in his lap, fingers in a relaxed curl. Unhurriedly, she dealt with each button, tugging her shirttails out of her trousers to get to the bottom two. Shrugging artlessly, she allowed the shirt to slide down her arms, catching it and folding it once before draping it across the back of the co-pilot's chair. The white of her simple bra, stark against the burnished bronze of her skin, drew his eyes to her small, perfect breasts. He sighed softly, caught by gently swelling curves.
One hand on the chair, she bent, lifting first one foot, then the other, to grasp her boots at the heel and pull them off. He watched the muscles of her slender arms bunch and slide as she tugged, enjoying this reminder of her supple strength. After standing her boots neatly next to one another, she straightened, meeting his gaze. Her expression remained cool, but her eyes locked on his with an intensity that sent his pulse rate surging into hard burn. Shifting in his seat, he swallowed, trying to ease the sudden tightness in his throat. Didn't do anything to help ease the growing tightness of his pants.
Her fingers went to the fastenings of her trousers, undoing them as methodically as she'd dealt with the buttons on her shirt. She stepped out of them, stripping off her socks as she did so, and then turned from him as she shook out her trousers before laying them on top of her shirt. He knew she knew what she was doing, letting the sunlight spill over her back. It played over her skin, gilding the angles of her shoulder blades, highlighting the long muscles framing her spine. The long, lean lines of her thighs and calves were limned in a deep, rich gold. Stretched over her tight, round buttocks, the white cloth of her panties both concealed and revealed, tantalizing. He clenched his fists, fiercely curbing the impulse to lunge from his chair, to go to her, to put his hands on her.
She reached behind her to unhook her bra, slipping out of it and dropping it in the co-pilot's seat before turning to face him again. The dark buds of her nipples crinkled, exposed to the open air, the hot caress of the sun, and his avid gaze.
“Ah, Zoe,” he breathed, then broke off, unable to find the words to describe what she was doing to him. For him. Her eyes darkened as her pupils grew wide, and her fingers went to the waistband of her panties. His gaze flicked down, to the join of her legs, veiled only by light, close-fitting fabric, the pulse in his throat and in his groin pounding hard and heavy. She could have teased, lingering over stripping out of this last little bit of clothing. But she simply bent, pushing her panties down over her thighs and down her calves. Stepping out of them, she flipped them into her hand with one foot. She dropped them into the co-pilot's seat, but Wash wasn't really paying attention to where clothing was going at that point.
She turned to face him fully, resting her weight on one leg, setting her hand on her hip, her body falling into a graceful, sinuous curve. Wash let his eyes rove, lingering a moment on the compelling dark triangle of her mons, licking dry lips. He soaked her in, the sleekness of her skin, the high, almost arrogant lift of her breasts, the womanly jut of her hips under her narrow waist. His fingertips ached to ghost over the long, pale lines of the scars on her ribs and her thigh, to honor the courage and commitment that had put them there. He ached to be the sun. Touching, tasting her all over. He wanted to have her, to hold her, all over, like that all encompassing light.
“Now you.”
Her voice jolted him out of his sun struck haze.
“Wha-?” He looked up, meeting her eyes, searching their enigmatic depths. “Oh. Oh, yeah. Me.”
He leaned forward, reaching behind him to grab the back of his undershirt and skim it over his head. He tossed it onto the console, and glancing down, had the sudden thought that actually, maybe, this wasn't the best idea he'd ever had. He hadn't considered that Zoe'd be getting a really good gander at him as well. The pallid skin of his belly practically shone in the bright light, the glinting of the fair hair hazing over his torso somehow emphasizing the pastiness of his flesh. He shot a quick glance up at Zoe, but her expression hadn't changed, still quiet, indecipherable.
He huffed a little breath, dropping his gaze to his feet as they toed off his shoes. Leaning back in his chair, he untied the sleeves wrapped around his waist. Sliding his hands down his flanks, he lifted his hips, pushing both his suit and his briefs down his thighs toward his knees. Bending forward, he stripped off his pants, catching his socks at the same time. He scooped the clothing up, tossing it up on the console after his tank. And yep, his legs were just as dead a white as his torso. Kinda skinny, too. Easing back, his eyes went to his crotch, to his naked erection, maybe flagging a bit, rising from the tangled thatch of fuzz that covered his groin. He felt his cheeks flush, probably glowing the same dark pink as his cock. Lao tian ye, why did male genitalia, including his own, look so goofy? His hands came up, covering himself.
“Don't, Wash,” Zoe said abruptly.
He flicked his eyes back up to her face, a sheepish grin starting to bend his mouth. It faded fast, however, as she took a lithe pace forward, kneeling in front of him. She set her hands on his knees, pushing them apart so she could tuck herself between them. He blinked down at her, startled.
“Don't,” she repeated softly, taking hold of his hands and pulling them away from his groin. Looking into his eyes, she lifted them to her lips, kissing the knuckles on one then the other, before lowering them to either side of his legs. Gaze still locked on his, she caressed his thighs, hands cool on his sun-heated skin, before setting her fingertips lightly on the underside of his cock. He sipped in a tiny breath through his nose as she stroked him gently, as he roused, swelling to greater rigidity at her soft touch.
“Like chamois cloth,” she murmured, savoring. Then she slowly curled her fingers around him and squeezed gently. “Over warm steel.”
He blushed hotly again, this time with pleasure and surprise. He knew, from the way she habitually handled him, that his body pleased her. But she wasn't much for saying what pleased her about it. Performance, she praised, whether in bed or at the helm. Because, essentially, that's what mattered to her more, what a man did, rather than how he looked. But, a guy liked to believe his wife found him physically attractive, at least in certain regards. Especially when he himself devoutly believed she qualified as “goddess,” even by the most exacting standards.
Fingers still wrapped around his cock, she rose, bending over him, setting her free hand on his shoulder. He lifted his face to hers, reaching up grip her slender waist, just above the flare of her hips. Her eyes, dark, pupils wide, caught his, as she shifted her feet, bringing them to the outside of the chair. He brought his thighs closer together as she lowered herself toward his lap. Desire naked on her face, she guided him into her as she settled herself over his hips.
“Oh,” he said softly, as she slowly enveloped him. Eye to eye, she lifted her hands to cradle his face, allowing him to see her joy and pleasure as he filled her.
“Love you, Wash,” she murmured, before leaning in to claim his mouth with hers. He closed his eyes, falling into the kiss, cherishing her lips with his. He pulled her hips more snugly against him, pushing himself deeper inside her. She began rocking gently in response, warm and tight around him. Lightly, he ran his hands up and down her back, scoring delicately with his fingernails. He hit a couple nerve clusters at the base of her spine, and she twitched, gasping and pulling her mouth from his. He ducked his head to set his lips over her heart, while she arched her back, tangling her fingers in his hair. She kept rocking as he kissed first one nipple, then the other, taking his time to appreciate each one. Cupping a buttock in one hand, enjoying the rhythmic flex of muscle under satiny skin, he slipped the other hand between her legs, to where they were joined. His thumb found her clit, then dipped a bit lower, running its pad over the base of his cock, circled by her labia. Slick with her fluids now, it swept back up to the tender bud, working it gently.
She hummed, low down in her throat, her nails playing along the nape of his neck, and he sucked a nipple between his lips, tongue stroking it in a slow, lazy spiral. Her fingers began to roam, over his throat, trailing across his collarbone and shoulders, down his chest. His nipples hardened under her thumbs' languid caresses, little bursts of sweet energy flaring in his groin. He turned to her other breast, teasing it with lips and tongue, as she continued to move on him, pleasing herself, pleasing him.
Her breathing grew heavier, and he glanced up at her face. Eyes closed, parted lips slightly curved, she fell, gently, with a sigh, supple body rippling upon him. He paused, fingers between her legs quiet, lightly kissing her breasts. After a moment, she cupped his cheek, lifting his face to hers, lips finding his mouth, and their tongues played for a while. Then her hips began to move again, as she set a line of kisses along his jaw, catching his earlobe between her teeth, biting gently. She straightened, releasing him, as he stroked his thumb lightly over her clit, the fingers of his other hand caressing the sun-heated skin of her back. He nuzzled back into her breasts, his tongue, lips, and teeth worshiping.
He lost himself, in the feel, the scent, the taste of her. In the soft sounds of her pleasure, and of their mingled breathing. Drenched in gold, back-lit by the sun, she seemed to glow, and he felt they were suspended, caught in a timeless amber haze. She fell again. Then once more. And then he stopped keeping track. He simply paused during the ebb time of each climax that washed over them both, like a wave tumbling against the shore. Then, together, they would bring her back up to that point of cresting pleasure.
The slow, steady rhythm of her hips on him, the gentle, relentless stroking, drew ever strengthening electric rushes up his cock. The sweet energy built, higher and brighter, flowing through him, suffusing his entire body. Zoe held him, balanced in bliss, for an eternal luminescent moment. Then, she fell once more, squeezing hard around him, pushing him right up to the peak, trembling on the verge.
“Zoe,” he breathed. Rocking, still rocking on him, gripped hard inside her, she again cradled his face in her hands, the dark, soft mystery of her eyes swallowing him. Ecstasy exploded, deep at the root of him, hot, piercing, surging up through his cock. Rolling up his spine and through his limbs, a sweet, ferocious heat, it crashed into his brain, drowning him in pleasure, dissolving all thought.
She was leaving him, lifting herself off his lap, and he focused, mumbling “No,” in protest, arms tightening around her.
“Getting stiff, Wash. Just shifting 'round a bit.”
He grunted and loosened his hold, his mind roused into the here and now, his body doing what it could to help her get comfortable, cuddled across his thighs, her head nestled into the crook of his neck. She tilted her face up to his, and their mouths met and he lost himself again in her. The yielding weight of her against his chest, her fingers languidly caressing his collarbone, throat and face, the sweet play of their lips and tongues. He could have rested here forever.
Then his stomach growled, rudely insistent.
Zoe rubbed his rambunctious belly, smiling, lips curved against his, brushing them as she murmured, “Made you lunch.”
“Appreciate that.”
“So... let's eat.”
Sharing sandwiches and lukewarm iced-tea, they sprawled in the seats behind the consoles, sunlight spilling over their naked bodies.
~ * ~
This planet's sunsets tended toward magenta and orange, and Wash was enjoying the light show, musing on the possibilities of finding a shirt in those colors, as he ran through his pre-flight check-list. The sprightly clatter of boots on the stairs to the bridge alerted him to Kaylee's arrival.
“Hey, Wash!” she enthused, flinging her arms around his neck from behind his seat, and setting a kiss on the top of his head. “Thanks for fixing the hatch! Works smooth as smooth!”
Grinning, eyes and hands still on the helm, he replied, “No problem. Did ya have fun?”
She giggled, swinging around to look him in the face. He noted her sunburnt nose and the merry sparkle to her eyes.
“Hell, yeah! How 'bout you an' Zoe? With the ship all to yourselves an' all?”
“Oh, sure.” He nodded, attention focused on his gauges. “Got lots of stuff done. Laundry. Mending. The repair stuff. Oh!” He looked up at her, eyes widening. “Zoe thinks she can get Mal to cough up the coin for the grav regulator!”
“Ooh, shiny!” Her expression became even brighter. Then she cocked her head to one side. “But, didn't ya guys have any fun? Do anything special?”
“Special? Um.” He peered up at her, squinting slightly. “Well, I made pancakes for breakfast.”
“Oh. Pancakes. That's nice.” She shrugged, looking, maybe, a little disappointed. “ But nothin', y' know, with all the-” She did the quotey finger thing they'd all picked up from Jayne. “-'alone time?' Nothin' romantic?”
“Romantic?” he replied absently. His fingers flowed deftly through Serenity's start-up sequence, the pods firing up with a deep, smooth hum. “Oh, y' mean with the 'We'll be in our bunk' kinda stuff.” He shook his head, chuckling ruefully. “Well, actually, we never did make it into our bunk.” He turned to waggle his eyebrows at her. “But, the night is yet young. And Zoe has a thing about clean sheets. And I myself spent so much time in the shower today, that I squeak when I walk.” Kaylee giggled, acknowledging Wash's fetish for gallons and gallons of hot water. Grinning, he turned back to the helm. “So, I'm thinking, if I play my cards right, I could get Zoe to mess up the sheets and me at the same time.”
“I guess... stuff can get a little less excitin' once folks been married a while.”
“Just part of the domestication process, I suppose,” Wash murmured, Serenity responding eagerly beneath him, his hands on the yoke, controlled, coaxing, lifting her into the sky.
~ * ~