Making Time
Rating: R
Fandom: Runaways
Characters: Dale and Stacey Yorkes
Warnings: Sex
Disclaimer: This is me owning nothing.
Summary: A nice, secluded cabin in the woods.
Some days Stacey wasn’t sure what they were doing was a good idea. Sure, it got them what, where, and when they wanted, but she’s just had this feelign that one day they’re going to get caught by Bloody-sodding-Mary, or someone, and die horrible, grisly, headless deaths.
Dale always had an answer to her fears. But still, she doubted. What if he was wrong?
He could see it in her eyes. The doubt, the fear the uncertainty.
He reached for her quietly and pressed a soft kiss to her lips. Perhaps it was time to make time. He twisted the dials and aligned the time and location.
"Hit the switch, dear."
The portico ground to life and they faded out of existence.
Stacey opened her eyes. "Darling, where are we?" she asked.
Wherever and whenever it was, it involved woods and seclusion. Some hunter’s cabin stood a few yards back.
"Come, my dear," he whispered, then stood up to lead her to it.
"Dale, this is not a good idea."
He pressed a finger to her lips. "Trust me."
She looked into his eyes for a long moment, then lowered her gaze to his wrist. He was waiting for an answer. She nodded. His fingers brushed her cheek and snaked into her hair, pulling it ot of the loose ponytail she had it in.
Stacey smiled up at him, a little half-heartedly, and followed him inside, wondering briefly when he’d picked the lock.
It was nicely furnished for something that consisted of only one room and was probably used once or twice a year. A large bed squatted in the corner, a partition denoted a bathroom, a kitchenette stretched across one wall and was well stocked, and the curtains were drawn. There was a table in the middle of the room.
A picture of two men sat on the nightstand. They looked very close. Obviously, she thought, this was not just a cabin for hunting. She said as much to Dale.
"Yes, it would appear that way," he replied, pulling a drawer open, blushing, and shutting it quickly. "I value your eyes. Don’t look in there."
Stacey giggled girlishly and sat down on one of the chairs to take off her boots.
"Darling, I’ve seen you naked," she teased. "How much worse can it get?"
Dale kicked his boots into some corner of the room unceremoniously and made his way to her, pausing to inspect a window. He leaned over her, hoping for a kiss. She turned her head away coyly and he wound up with a face full of hair.
She smelled like cinnamon and peaches, an odd combination, but a pleasant one.
His hands found the frog holding her cloak together and disengaged it, pulling it off of her shoulders, slowly, like he was unveiling his greatest masterpeice.
She snorted at him. "You are such an art student."
"Shush."
She smiled at that and let him press a kiss to her cheek, working the buttons of her jacket loose.
"Darling, shall we move to the bed?" Dale asked, dropping their goggles on the table.
She stood and shook herself down. He watched her with distinct interest.
"It’s been too long," she complained. He was grinning and unbuttoning his shirt, jacket long since gone. "Too long in the portico. Too long away from a real bed."
"It has," he agreed.
She flopped down on the bed, stretching out across it. It was a very comfortable bed.
Dale sat down on the edge of it, bare-chested now, and reached down to stroke her knee.
"C’mon. You’re so bad, let’s see a little," she teased, tweaking his nipple.
He straddled her hips. "Fine, then, but don’t expect me to be sweet about it."
He rolled his eyes and popped the buttons of her shirt open. One hit the wall. They’d never find it, he thought, but neither would the owners of this place.
"Hey!"
He grinned mischievously at her and slid down to remove her pants, leaving her in just her underwear. She blushed modestly and shifted uncomfortably.
"Close your eyes and get off the bed," she ordered. He gave her an odd look, more than a little taken aback. "Do it."
He complied, heard the rustle of cloth. When he opened his eyes, she was hiding under the covers.
"Stacey, you don’t have to be so modest around me," he said.
"Shut up. Yes I do."
"I don’t see why," he began.
"You talk too much."
She ducked down and pulled the covers up over her head.
"Are you going to let me join you, or should I climb in the hard way?" he asked after a moment.
She peeked back over the edge of the covers and gave him and indiscernable look.
"Fine. The hard way, it is."
He lifted the edge of the blanket. She scooted all the way over to the wall.
Dale, my lad, he thought. It’s going to be damned hard to get your pants off under those covers.
Stacey almost echoed his thoughts. "Um. It’s a pretty heavy blanket, dear. It’ll be hard to get your pants off. Um. If you wanted your pants off, that is."
She was blushing a delightful shade of red. He shrugged and crawled under the covers, not bothering.
"Dale!"
He reached for the clasp to her brassier and his hand met with skin.
"Oh."
He liked nice surprises.
She turned to face the wall, still blushing furiously, from her red hair to the top of her spine. Dale slipped up behind her, curling against her, and planted little kisses on her shoulders.
"Darling, the canvas itches," she complained.
He sighed and relented, struggled for a few moments, and finally got his trousers off. He tossed them on the floor and pressed against her again.
"Is that better, my love?"
She tilted her head into the pillow. He trailed his lips down her neck. She sighed.
Dale slipped his hand around her, finding her right breast and massaging it gently. Her nipples were hard. He squeezed one. She moaned.
"Darling," she breathed.
He released her nipple and slipped his fingers down to run into the dark curls between her legs. She was wet and open and he had a perverted thought that she would die over if she knew.
"May I?"
She nodded. He slipped one finger into her, stroking her with his thumb. Shivers ran down her body. He very carefully pressed his manhood into her back, not wanting to scare her off, and not sure how she would react.
She was odd like that. Never did the same thing twice. Never took anything predictably. Sometimes she was insatiable. Sometimes she was shy.
Tonight, she was shy, shrinking into the bed and turning her face to the pillow.
He slid his other hand up and turned her face up, scooting up so that he could kiss her. She moved and he missed, catching the corner of her mouth, instead, but pushing his tongue through, anyway, determined to make the most of it.
"Dale," she whispered. He turned his attention lower. "Dale, please."
He missed a beat. It wasn’t often that she begged, and this was as close as she came to it.
He was tempted to string her out.
He decided against it.
She bit her lip when he slipped his fingers out of her. He coaxed her legs apart just enough and pushed himself into her.
She whimpered when he was as far in as he could get, and ran her tongue over her worried lip. He pulled her closer to his chest and rocked into her.
Her eyes slid shut. His fingers ran through her curls again and he slipped a finger in next to his length, worming it around. She squeezed him, moaning, arching her back, silently asking for more. He pulled her leg back and drove into her, hoping for a reaction.
He got one. She very nearly screamed.
It really has been a while, he thought.
They fell into each other’s rhythm, moving together; delicate moans and rough breathing filled the air around them.
Stacey was saying something over and over. It took him a moment to realize it was his name.
He turned her head, contorting both of them, covered her mouth with his, thrusting his tongue into her. He watched her eyes roll back into her head through half-lidded eyes.
It was only a moment later that they came together. Dale clutched her to his chest. She moaned desperately.
Silence pervaded the room. Slowly, ever so slowly, crickets and tree frogs made their presence known, and the two of them held each other in the dark.
Fandom: Runaways
Characters: Dale and Stacey Yorkes
Warnings: Sex
Disclaimer: This is me owning nothing.
Summary: A nice, secluded cabin in the woods.
Some days Stacey wasn’t sure what they were doing was a good idea. Sure, it got them what, where, and when they wanted, but she’s just had this feelign that one day they’re going to get caught by Bloody-sodding-Mary, or someone, and die horrible, grisly, headless deaths.
Dale always had an answer to her fears. But still, she doubted. What if he was wrong?
He could see it in her eyes. The doubt, the fear the uncertainty.
He reached for her quietly and pressed a soft kiss to her lips. Perhaps it was time to make time. He twisted the dials and aligned the time and location.
"Hit the switch, dear."
The portico ground to life and they faded out of existence.
Stacey opened her eyes. "Darling, where are we?" she asked.
Wherever and whenever it was, it involved woods and seclusion. Some hunter’s cabin stood a few yards back.
"Come, my dear," he whispered, then stood up to lead her to it.
"Dale, this is not a good idea."
He pressed a finger to her lips. "Trust me."
She looked into his eyes for a long moment, then lowered her gaze to his wrist. He was waiting for an answer. She nodded. His fingers brushed her cheek and snaked into her hair, pulling it ot of the loose ponytail she had it in.
Stacey smiled up at him, a little half-heartedly, and followed him inside, wondering briefly when he’d picked the lock.
It was nicely furnished for something that consisted of only one room and was probably used once or twice a year. A large bed squatted in the corner, a partition denoted a bathroom, a kitchenette stretched across one wall and was well stocked, and the curtains were drawn. There was a table in the middle of the room.
A picture of two men sat on the nightstand. They looked very close. Obviously, she thought, this was not just a cabin for hunting. She said as much to Dale.
"Yes, it would appear that way," he replied, pulling a drawer open, blushing, and shutting it quickly. "I value your eyes. Don’t look in there."
Stacey giggled girlishly and sat down on one of the chairs to take off her boots.
"Darling, I’ve seen you naked," she teased. "How much worse can it get?"
Dale kicked his boots into some corner of the room unceremoniously and made his way to her, pausing to inspect a window. He leaned over her, hoping for a kiss. She turned her head away coyly and he wound up with a face full of hair.
She smelled like cinnamon and peaches, an odd combination, but a pleasant one.
His hands found the frog holding her cloak together and disengaged it, pulling it off of her shoulders, slowly, like he was unveiling his greatest masterpeice.
She snorted at him. "You are such an art student."
"Shush."
She smiled at that and let him press a kiss to her cheek, working the buttons of her jacket loose.
"Darling, shall we move to the bed?" Dale asked, dropping their goggles on the table.
She stood and shook herself down. He watched her with distinct interest.
"It’s been too long," she complained. He was grinning and unbuttoning his shirt, jacket long since gone. "Too long in the portico. Too long away from a real bed."
"It has," he agreed.
She flopped down on the bed, stretching out across it. It was a very comfortable bed.
Dale sat down on the edge of it, bare-chested now, and reached down to stroke her knee.
"C’mon. You’re so bad, let’s see a little," she teased, tweaking his nipple.
He straddled her hips. "Fine, then, but don’t expect me to be sweet about it."
He rolled his eyes and popped the buttons of her shirt open. One hit the wall. They’d never find it, he thought, but neither would the owners of this place.
"Hey!"
He grinned mischievously at her and slid down to remove her pants, leaving her in just her underwear. She blushed modestly and shifted uncomfortably.
"Close your eyes and get off the bed," she ordered. He gave her an odd look, more than a little taken aback. "Do it."
He complied, heard the rustle of cloth. When he opened his eyes, she was hiding under the covers.
"Stacey, you don’t have to be so modest around me," he said.
"Shut up. Yes I do."
"I don’t see why," he began.
"You talk too much."
She ducked down and pulled the covers up over her head.
"Are you going to let me join you, or should I climb in the hard way?" he asked after a moment.
She peeked back over the edge of the covers and gave him and indiscernable look.
"Fine. The hard way, it is."
He lifted the edge of the blanket. She scooted all the way over to the wall.
Dale, my lad, he thought. It’s going to be damned hard to get your pants off under those covers.
Stacey almost echoed his thoughts. "Um. It’s a pretty heavy blanket, dear. It’ll be hard to get your pants off. Um. If you wanted your pants off, that is."
She was blushing a delightful shade of red. He shrugged and crawled under the covers, not bothering.
"Dale!"
He reached for the clasp to her brassier and his hand met with skin.
"Oh."
He liked nice surprises.
She turned to face the wall, still blushing furiously, from her red hair to the top of her spine. Dale slipped up behind her, curling against her, and planted little kisses on her shoulders.
"Darling, the canvas itches," she complained.
He sighed and relented, struggled for a few moments, and finally got his trousers off. He tossed them on the floor and pressed against her again.
"Is that better, my love?"
She tilted her head into the pillow. He trailed his lips down her neck. She sighed.
Dale slipped his hand around her, finding her right breast and massaging it gently. Her nipples were hard. He squeezed one. She moaned.
"Darling," she breathed.
He released her nipple and slipped his fingers down to run into the dark curls between her legs. She was wet and open and he had a perverted thought that she would die over if she knew.
"May I?"
She nodded. He slipped one finger into her, stroking her with his thumb. Shivers ran down her body. He very carefully pressed his manhood into her back, not wanting to scare her off, and not sure how she would react.
She was odd like that. Never did the same thing twice. Never took anything predictably. Sometimes she was insatiable. Sometimes she was shy.
Tonight, she was shy, shrinking into the bed and turning her face to the pillow.
He slid his other hand up and turned her face up, scooting up so that he could kiss her. She moved and he missed, catching the corner of her mouth, instead, but pushing his tongue through, anyway, determined to make the most of it.
"Dale," she whispered. He turned his attention lower. "Dale, please."
He missed a beat. It wasn’t often that she begged, and this was as close as she came to it.
He was tempted to string her out.
He decided against it.
She bit her lip when he slipped his fingers out of her. He coaxed her legs apart just enough and pushed himself into her.
She whimpered when he was as far in as he could get, and ran her tongue over her worried lip. He pulled her closer to his chest and rocked into her.
Her eyes slid shut. His fingers ran through her curls again and he slipped a finger in next to his length, worming it around. She squeezed him, moaning, arching her back, silently asking for more. He pulled her leg back and drove into her, hoping for a reaction.
He got one. She very nearly screamed.
It really has been a while, he thought.
They fell into each other’s rhythm, moving together; delicate moans and rough breathing filled the air around them.
Stacey was saying something over and over. It took him a moment to realize it was his name.
He turned her head, contorting both of them, covered her mouth with his, thrusting his tongue into her. He watched her eyes roll back into her head through half-lidded eyes.
It was only a moment later that they came together. Dale clutched her to his chest. She moaned desperately.
Silence pervaded the room. Slowly, ever so slowly, crickets and tree frogs made their presence known, and the two of them held each other in the dark.