Ficlet: Blame It on the Meds
“Laura.”
She loved how he moaned her name when they made love. How he drew out the ‘a’ in a long, heated sigh that always filled her with an impossible longing for him. A longing that was unquenchable, even though he filled her, surrounded her, and completed her as he called out to her. She figured she would spend the rest of her life in need of him. There were worse fates.
Like getting caught frakking like teenagers right here in the middle of the Life Station. Sure, this was a hell of a lot better than a book. She could not for a moment deny that, as he thrust again gently into her from behind, trying with the arm snaked around her middle and the leg thrown over her knees to pull her closer, find his way deeper into her. But this was reckless. It didn’t matter that they were in the farthest corner of the sickbay, or that the curtain was drawn tight, they could still get caught.
But oh Gods it felt so frakking good. She gasped as he thrust again, matching the movement of his hips this time with a swirl of his tongue around her earlobe.
“So frakking good,” he whispered into her ear.
On top of all his other amazing skills, he was apparently a mind reader too. She laced her fingers into his and guided their joined hands lower. She had decided not to care anymore about the noise. She just wanted to lose herself in the moment, to feel that high that only he could bring her to.
“Bill.”
Her invocation was not a languid, longing moan, like his, but instead a sharp pant of unbound pleasure. She felt so aware, so alive, as their hands worked her core in concert, while his own thrusts grew more urgent. She was now convinced that they needed to frak on the sly in public more often if it was going to feel this godsdamned good. Her moans and gasps began to come more quickly as she writhed against him and approached the brink.
“You are doing it wrong, young lady.”
“Huh?” Terror and disbelief gripped her at once, as she opened her eyes suddenly and looked at him. She was busted and she knew it. She felt the beads of sweat pricking all along her body, burning in accusation.
“I asked if something was wrong, young lady?”
“Oh no,” she answered trying to control the furious blush burning her cheeks. “I’m doing fine, except for, you know, the poison,” she finished, motioning to the IV. Perhaps she was not busted after all, as he stood there looking at her and saying nothing. Or maybe he’d just decided, for once, to forego obnoxious comment. Either way, she just wanted him to leave.
“Looks like it,” was all he said, as he flashed an enigmatic smile, taking a drag then of his cigarette and walking away.
Chamalla dreams. They could be so damn good, and yet so damn inconvenient.
* waves bye bye * :-)