Fic: Games Pilots Play
Title: Games Pilots Play
Summary: The man has an active, could even say fevered, imagination. Stands to reason he wouldn't keep it confined to a bunch of plastic dinosaurs on the bridge.
Rating: NC-17. Explicit het sex.
Characters: Zoe & Wash
Pairing: Wash/Zoe
Warning: Het sex.
Timeline: Pre-series
Word count: 4,000+
Disclaimer: You know and I know Joss Whedon owns these characters.
sarahetc, okay, this isn't the piece I promised you. But while writing that one, this one ruthlessly ganked my keyboard, so I figured I should get this total PWP piece out of the way so I could focus on that one. But, regardless, I'm hoping it will distract you at least a little bit.
Zoe triggered open the hatch to her bunk, following behind Wash by a half an hour, after having finished up a strategy session with Mal on their up-coming job. Currently on auto-pilot, they'd be hitting dirt in about 8 hours, and Wash could use a little sleep before setting them down. He'd been awake and on duty for 26 hours straight. First he'd threaded them through the shattered remains of a moon, memorial of a failed terraforming effort, to shake off possible trackers, competitors for their current job. Then he'd grabbed a couple boosts slinging them through planetary gravity wells to make up for the fuel lost dodging moon fragments. It had been, by no means, the longest or most stressful time he'd spent awake at the helm. Pilots kept strange, irregular hours, the vagaries of the Black not conducive to human scheduling.
It was possible he was asleep already, although she doubted it. He knew she intended to join him as soon as she and Mal were finished. And as it had been 3 days since she'd last had the pleasure of Wash in her bed, she'd kept her conversation with the captain short and to the point. So she anticipated finding Wash awake; wired and nervy with the effort of keeping himself alert and focused for so long, and hoping for his favorite way of getting unwound. Until she'd started sexing him up a few months ago, he'd had to handle all his excess energy on his own. She had to admit, she was only too happy to help him blow off steam, whenever she could. He always made it well worth her while.
As she'd expected, he was awake. She was, however, surprised to find him still dressed, sitting on the edge of the bed, rather than naked, under the covers. As she descended the ladder, he stood, putting his hands in the pockets of his flightsuit.
Hi,” he said, when she reached the bottom.
Looking him over, she took in his red-rimmed eyes, his rumpled hair, the slightly nervous grin. She knew his hands were in his pockets because otherwise they'd be wandering restlessly, fingers twisting together, running through his hair. Edgy. Edgier than she'd expected. Had something on his mind, though she had no idea what. She returned his smile easily, saying lightly, “Thought you'd be in bed already.”
He nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, about that. I was wondering, if we could, maybe-” His cheeks flushed pink, but he lifted his chin, meeting her eyes directly. “If maybe we could play a game.”
“A game?” She frowned slightly, puzzled. He wanted to play a game, rather than have sex? “Like what? Checkers? Tall card?”
His blush spread from his cheeks up to his hairline and down past the collar of his flightsuit. But he didn't drop his gaze. “No. No, more like a, um, a fantasy game.” He emphasized 'fantasy' with a significant lift of his brows.
Oh, lord. Should have seen this coming, weeks back. The man had an active, could even say fevered, imagination. Stood to reason he wouldn't keep it confined to a bunch of plastic dinosaurs on the bridge. But she really didn't want to go there. She and make believe had parted company almost two decades ago, and sexual role-playing had always seemed somewhat ludicrous to her. However, for some reason, she couldn't bring herself to tell him flat outright, “No.” So, instead, she hedged, delaying the moment a bit, asking, “This game have a name?”
“Name? Um, sure.” He smiled, relaxing a little when she didn't blow him off immediately. “Yeah, actually, it does. It's called 'Frisk the Pilot.'”
She narrowed her eyes at him, repeating, bemused, “'Frisk the Pilot?'”
“Uh-huh, it's real simple.” He pulled his hands out of his pockets and patted the shape of a body into the air in front of him. “You just... frisk me.”
“Frisk you. That's it? We're not naked or anything while this friskin' is goin' on?” She tried hard to keep wary skepticism out of her voice.
He grinned, shaking his head. “Not much point in naked frisking. It would all just be kinda hangin' out there to see, wouldn't it? No, just a regular old frisking.” His brows rose as he said earnestly, “But thorough. You know, a careful, thorough frisking.”
She studied him silently for a moment. For as open and unguarded as Wash's expressions were, there were times when she didn't have a clue what was going on behind those clear blue eyes. This was one of them. Except for maybe having her run her hands over him (which they didn't have to play any gorram game to get her to do), she couldn't imagine what would give him a charge out of being frisked. But, it wasn't a particularly onerous or embarrassing thing to ask her to do either. And, honestly, if it gave him pleasure...
Aware she was probably crossing a line she might regret crossing later, she consented, shrugging a little as she said, “Sure, okay.”
His eyes lit up as he gave her that delighted smile, the one that always made her heart do that weird little skip whenever he turned it on her. Determined now to get this over with and him into her bed where he belonged, she took a quick step toward him. Lifting one finger, she twirled it, saying, “Turn around.”
He raised his hand, blurting, “No, no, wait. Do it just like- just like the first time. Like when we first met.” He then extended the hand out to her, giving her a big, cheesy grin, and said, in far too chipper a tone, “Howdy! Name's Washburne. Most folks call me 'Wash.'” He looked at her expectantly, eyes wide, a little bloodshot.
She stared down at his hand, which, as she recalled, was exactly what she'd done when she'd met him, a slick looking chai neow with a creepifying mustache, wearing a ridiculous, eye-popping shirt. Then, she did the next thing she'd done, which was reach past his hand to grab his wrist, and with a fluid, powerful pull toward her, set him in motion, stepping past him, pivoting to put her other hand in the small of his back, pushing him face first toward the wall. And all the time, guiding him carefully, so he wouldn't stumble, preventing him from actually getting hurt.
And as he caught himself, his palms smacking against the hull, his breath hitched in, quick, excited, and that tiny sound did something hot and sweet way down low in her belly. Hand already there, she fisted the fabric between his shoulder blades, just like she had the first time, pushing to keep him up against the wall. Then, she did something she hadn't gone so far as to do back then, with Mal gaping at her like she'd just lost her mind. She stuck her foot between his, hooking his ankles, tugging his feet back and apart, so he had to rest some of his weight on his hands to support himself. He let out that funny little noise he made when something really got him going, something between a low grunt and a moan. She guessed she was on the right track with this fantasy thing. Strange, though; the game was getting kind of interesting to her as well.
“I'm not armed,” he said, which was what he'd said then. But, back then, he'd sounded surprised, and a little alarmed, a little affronted. Now, he just sounded aroused, voice deep, husky.
She too said what she'd said then, which was nothing, simply putting her free hand on his shoulder and squeezing, a warning he'd best submit to the search. She'd noted the dense, rounded muscles in his shoulder that first time, but her fingers hadn't lingered then, skimming over them with quick efficiency. This time, she indulged herself. Left hand still bunched in the material between his shoulder blades, she ran her right slowly down the top side of his arm to his forearm, fondling the tensed cords of muscle. Then she drew her fingers along the underside, to his armpit. Ticklish, he flinched a bit, but she ignored that, exploring that vulnerable hollow before sliding her hand sideways. She palmed his right pec, and then, shamelessly, groped him, massaging the firm flesh. He let out a long, shuddering breath. A pulse of pleasure twinged between her legs in response.
Running her hand down his side, she noted the rapid rise and fall of his ribs, then made small spirals over his belly, tensed as he supported himself against the wall. Her fingers trailed down over his hip, tracing the bone, then sliding along the crease where his torso joined his thigh. She felt his sudden intake of breath, and then realized he was holding it, his whole body rigid against her. Maybe he thought she was going for his crotch next, because that's what she'd done the first time, skimmed a quick palm across it. Some buhn dahn were feng le enough to pack a piece next to their genitals, convinced no one would be brash enough to grab them there in a search.
But she eased back from him, shifting her position, changing hands, the right now pressed against his back, the left coming up to rest on his left shoulder. She mirrored the search she done on his right side; slow, savoring the raw, sensitive reactions of his body to her touch, even through his heavy flightsuit. Her own arousal had kindled into a delicious liquid heat in her lower belly. She noted but refused to respond to the quick glances he was casting her out of the corner of his eye. She realized she had broken out of the story he had constructed in his mind, the one that reflected their first meeting. He'd just have to cope.
She avoided his groin after going over his left thigh as well. He let out a long sigh when she took a half-step back, and glanced over his shoulder at her, maybe wondering if she'd gone as far as she was willing to go. But she kept her grip on his suit, kept him leaning into the wall, as she ran her fingers along the inside of his collar, lightly caressing the nape of his neck as she did so. He shivered at the brief touch on his bare skin. She stroked down the long ridge of muscle beside his spine, then rubbed his buttock in a lazy, lingering spiral. He moaned softly through his nose, low, wanton. Grinning, she ran her thumbnail abruptly up his spine, and he jerked, gasping. She shifted hands again, now running her right down his back, to spend some time with his other buttock. Man did have a fine ass; the baggy clothing he always wore did it no justice. He sucked in a ragged breath when she reached between his spread legs from behind, drawing her fingers slowly up between his cheeks.
Then she closed in on him in one smooth motion, sliding her left leg between his, tucking herself tight up against him, clamping his right thigh between hers, deliberately wedging her groin hard up against him. Her breasts were compressed against his back as she leaned into him, making him take up some of her weight as well. She felt her nipples crinkle, almost painfully tight.
“Ai ya,” he breathed, a deep tremor passing through him. She put her hand on his hip, and started a slow centimeter by centimeter slide toward his crotch. A faint whisper ghosted from his lips, and she wasn't sure, but she thought she'd heard, “Oh, please.” A spasm of arousal twitched through her groin, flaring in her belly, and she cupped her hand over him. He let out a strangled moan as his cock surged up against her palm, straining to lift into it, but constricted by his clothing. Her own heart rate tripped up a notch, and she could feel the echo of her increased pulse in her crotch, pressed hard against his upper thigh. She took a long, slow breath, disciplining herself to act in an completely controlled manner. Lao tien ye, it was a real challenge, Wash desperate and vulnerable beneath her. She took another breath, finding her balance.
“Well, now,” she drawled, voice smooth and low. “Seems the pilot is armed after all.” She firmly stroked the rigid shaft through his suit, loving how it moved, twitching under her hand.
She heard the click as he swallowed hard, before husking out, “I- I have no idea how that got there.”
“Likely story.” She left off rubbing, dragging her palm up his belly and chest, to his throat, to the tab of the zip to his flightsuit. “Think I better check it out.”
She pulled the zipper down slowly, deliberately tormenting him, from his throat, over his chest and belly, over his crotch, sliding part way down his left thigh. Reaching the end of the zip's track, she lifted her hand, slipping it into the gap at his groin. He shuddered violently against her as her fingers gripped his cock, stroking it languorously through his briefs, the fabric stretched taut as his trapped erection struggled to rise.
“Hm,” she grunted speculatively. Then, falling fully into the game, making it hers too, she commented, “Quite a high caliber weapon y' got there. Bears closer inspection.” She hooked her thumb in the waistband of his briefs, pulling forward and down. He let out a long, open-mouth sigh of relief as his cock sprang free, jutting out of his gaping flightsuit. She worked his briefs lower, getting the waistband down to the tops of his thighs and under his buttocks. Then, ignoring his erection, she reached down to cup his balls in her palm. He gave a sharp gasp as she trailed her thumb down the sensitive center seam.
Hefting his warm, heavy testicles a little, she said appreciatively, “Nice high capacity magazine.”
Quiet laughter erupted from him, jiggling her, her wordplay and that she was clearly having fun delighting him. She grinned herself, carefully turning her head so he couldn't catch it in his peripheral vision. Wouldn't do for the suspicious, bad-ass warrior woman to be seen smiling on account of the fella she was supposed to be frisking. A sudden happiness filled her, that she'd consented to take part his game, that she'd discovered this long untapped playfulness in herself.
His chuckles turned into a sudden hiss as her fingertips stroked lightly over his sac. Its soft skin crinkled as his balls drew up closer to his body. She trailed her fingers upward, up the underside of his cock, jerking at her touch, spiraling the taut foreskin over its swollen tip, before curling them around his shaft and giving it a gentle squeeze. His buttocks tensed as his hips spasmed forward just once, pushing himself into her hand. She shoved her pelvis even harder against him, stilling him, preventing him from thrusting again, if he had intended to. She sensed, though, that his movement had been sheer reflex. She slid her hand up and down his erection a few times, savoring the contrast between thin, tender skin stretched over bone hard rigidity. Then she declared, “Long straight barrel. Fine. Very fine.”
Circling him with the first two fingers and thumb, she tightened her hold just under the head's corona. Then, carefully, she pulled downward, his retracting foreskin gliding with her grip. He let out a constricted little whimper through his nose as she exposed his glans, stretching his delicate flesh taut. She drew her fingers up, covering him again, then repeated the process a couple more times, before commenting, a bit thickly, “Smooth, easy cocking action.”
Wash took in a quick gulping breath, then said, “Might- might wanna watch it there. It's got kinda a hair trigger.” Though his tone was strained, she could tell he was smiling.
“Good to know,” she murmured. “I'm thinkin', though, that it ain't seen enough maintenance lately. That it really could use a little polishin'.” She loosed her grip a bit and then began skimming her circled fingers up and down his shaft. He ducked his head, groaning, a shuddering wave passing through his entire body. Her swift hand soon had him panting open mouthed, tiny droplets of sweat beading on his temple and forehead. Strange, how her increasing pulse rate, the quickening rhythm of her heart slamming against her ribs, seemed to match his desperate gasps. As he wound up tighter and tighter against her, she could feel in the sleek, ever swelling hardness of his cock his impending tumble into his fall.
Suddenly, he inhaled sharply, and moaned, “Oh, God, Zoe, if you keep- If you- I'm gonna-”
Honestly, wasn't like she couldn't read the signals. “Think I don't know how to handle a weapon, pilot?” she demanded, and was astonished by how hoarse she sounded. But she did slow her hand, intent on drawing this out, to get him as worked up as she possibly could. She was doing a number on herself as well. Her pussy ached with wanting, and she knew her juices had seeped through her panties and maybe even her trousers. Certainly felt hot and wet enough.
His back lifted beneath her as he took in a long, deep breath. As his respiration smoothed and slowed, she realized that he was surfing just behind the edge of his fall, holding it off. That he'd heard the lust in her voice, could probably feel it in the tension of her body pressed against his. And that he wouldn't orgasm until she let him know what she wanted. The thought skittered through her mind that him finishing off deep inside her would be a very fine thing indeed. Her stronger impulse, though, was to just keep on. To keep the focus on him, on his pleasure.
She shifted her grip slightly, tightening it, moving even slower, as she encompassed the head of his cock. He'd shown her how much he liked her handling him this way early on, sliding his foreskin back and forth over the glans. His breathing became even deeper, smoother, and she wished she could see his face, wondering if it held that expression of focused, rising exaltation.
Putting her lips right next to his ear, she murmured, “Just let go, baby. Fall for me.”
He became still for a moment, not breathing. Then, though his muscles remained taut, something yielded in him. He let loose a long, groaning sigh, giving himself up. Then, inhaling raggedly, he froze again, utterly silent. His cock became even more rigid in her pumping hand, swelling to a steely hardness. Then it bucked, pulsing, and he let out a strangled grunt, his whole body jerking as he ejaculated. A gentle, pattering sound, liquid spattering against the hull and deck; warm wetness spilling over her fingers, making their movement on him slick, fluid; the fresh scent of his semen filling her nose. Eyes closed, breathing deeply, she focused completely on her hand, drawing every last spasm of pleasure from him she could.
Then she felt his legs start to give, and she shifted back, her left arm, wrapped around his chest, taking some of his weight. He shuffled forward a couple steps, leaning into the wall, bracing himself on one forearm, setting his forehead on his wrist. His other hand was groping for a hip pocket. She wondered what the hell he was doing for a moment, but then his hand was meeting hers, still wrapped around his slippery, softening cock, fumbling over her fingers with a clean handkerchief.
“Got it, thanks,” she said, chuckling at his preparedness, taking the cloth. He let her tend to him, spreading his hand on the hull, twitching a bit as the soft cotton stroked over hypersensitive nerve endings. She tucked him back inside his briefs, pulling them back up over his hips. She stepped away, working the hankie individually over every sticky finger. He turned, not leaving the support of the hull, shoulder blades against the cool metal. He grinned at her, a bit lopsidedly, and raised one hand on a loose-jointed wrist to waggle a finger at her.
“Tha's- that's dangerous. Discharging a weapon. On a space craft. Think you almost killed me.”
He was making an effort to keep it light, nothing more than a meaningless game. But it wasn't enough of a cover for the gratitude and astonishment she could see lurking in his eyes. Made her uncomfortable. And she grew even more so when he straightened, reaching out to take her by the waist and draw her to him. Wrapping his arms loosely around her, he set a soft, reverent kiss on her lips.
She didn't like the gratitude. Not a bit. He didn't owe her a damn thing. She'd had as much fun as him. Maybe more. And, personally, she wasn't much in the mood for soft or reverent either. She leaned into him fiercely, pressing him against the hull, sliding her tongue into his mouth. His breath escaped him in a small grunt, and his kiss became avid, one hand gripping her ass, squeezing, the other cupping a breast. She supposed, really, she should be making him crawl into bed to grab some shut-eye. But his clever fingers were on the buttons of her shirt, ghosting over her breasts, she was shoving his flightsuit off his shoulders and, in an astonishingly short span of time they were both naked, twined skin to skin. She knew she wasn't going to get any kind of a rise out of him in the next half hour or so, but that didn't seem to have any impact on the deftness of his touch, the eagerness of his lips and tongue. And she simply couldn't bring herself to do the responsible thing, to make her ship's pilot lie down and go to sleep.
Maybe, just maybe, given the upward curl to the corners of Wash's lips, he understood she found herself in this awkward position, balanced between desire and duty. He eased up a bit, slowing his hands, setting a few, final, gentle kisses along her collarbone, before saying in a light, wrapping-up-the-encounter sort of way, “Thanks, Zoe. That was- You were incredible.”
“That what you had in mind?” She responded almost automatically, giving herself a moment to see if shifting into words, the polite thank-yous-you're-welcomes, would slacken the lust hammering through her veins with every beat of her heart.
He huffed out a small, silent laugh. “God, way, way more than I had in mind. Really, I was just hoping for some groping, to get us going.”
Nope. Words not cooling her a bit. Though an interesting notion did cross her mind. “Got anymore... games like that?”
He dropped his eyes, shuttering his gaze from hers, as a small smile curved his mouth. “Oh, yeah. Sure. Lots and lots.” His tone was light, indifferent.
“Like what?” Her tone was completely the opposite of light and indifferent.
He looked back up, meeting her eyes, a wicked mischief shining in his own. “Well, here's one,” he replied, voice silky, deep. Sliding his hands down her arms, he curled his fingers around her wrists, hard, with a strength that stopped precisely short of pain. Then he stepped closer, pushing her back until her calves bumped the edge of the bed. He kept pushing, until she plopped down, sitting, then he shoved her down onto her back. She let it happen, knowing the instant she objected, he'd stop. But his aggressiveness had ignited the smoldering heat in her groin, waves of sweet arousal flaring up into her belly, lao tien ye, all the way up her spine into her brain. And he was kneeling on the bed, straddling her, dragging her arms up over her head, pressing her wrists into the mattress. Arched over her, staring down into her eyes, his own wide, with a feral glint, he said, “This one's called 'Mutiny in the Deep Black.'”
~ * ~
Chinese translations
chai neow - oddball
buhn dahn - idiot
feng le - crazy
Lao tien ye - God
A.N. - This is sort of an experiment for me, writing about sexual arousal from a woman's POV. I am very open to concrit, so if anyone has any suggestions or corrections for me, I will gratefully receive them. That way I might do better next time.
A.N.2. - The root of this fic comes from "Our Mrs. Reynolds," from when Wash tells Saffron, concerning Zoe, "The first time we met, she frisked-" Blam! Saffron kicks Wash into the hull. Clearly the frisking meant more than frisking for him, if he's bringing it up at that late a date.