wow...i wrote sg-1 fic...who'da thunk?
Title: Just Move
Author: sarahjane
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Cam/Vala
Warnings: Sex. And a few bad words.
Word Count: 2700 words, give or take
Story Notes: Set just post Insiders. Spoilers, such as they are, through that episode.
Summary: He needs a little down time.
Author’s Notes: My thanks to Eva for the beta services rendered and a shout out to my drive-by reviewers Susan, and Kaz. You all are muchly appreciated. And as always, all remaining mistakes remain mine.
Disclaimer: Definitely not mine. They belong to a multitude of people and production companies bigger, better, and brighter than me. No copyright infringement intended.
There is definitely no money being made.
*************************
Just Move
He’s crawling in his skin, too tired and wired for this right now. It’s been a bitch of a day, a bitch of a year, and this time they hadn’t even had to go off-world or find a Supergate to get their asses handed to them.
Nope, just a good old-fashioned, stay-at-home ass kicking, the kind he remembers getting when no one brought their game on a given Saturday afternoon and coach had taken exception to front lines that looked like Swiss cheese, repeated failures to convert third and long, and special teams that didn’t look all that special.
When the visitors shut you down and shut you out, and home field advantage left you quicker than a cheap buzz. He’s getting really tired of the crash and burn, and the only thing he can take any comfort in is the fact that he’s not Landry, who was probably on the phone right now trying to explain to O’Neill how they’d let Ba’al get a foothold, get what he wanted, and then get away.
He’s pretty sure O’Neill would have just shot them all and been done with it. In retrospect, he thinks that probably would have been a pretty good plan. It would have made debriefing short and sweet.
He’s seen the reports, knows the history. And still he’d fucked it up. He might be herding cats here, but it’s still his watch, and he’s really getting tired of sitting at the table doing the play by play on yet another exercise in failure.
Protocols had been breached in the worst possible ways. A complete clusterfuck.
He was trying to count his blessings. At least he wasn’t security. He was pretty sure that debrief had been a reaming. There was plenty of shit to hit the fan, from not locking down the mountain to not locking out Sam’s access code, but courts-martial for the stupid probably wouldn’t be happening. At least he didn’t think so.
And whoever was going to be scrubbing toilets with a toothbrush, it wasn’t going to be him.
That didn’t mean that anybody had been happy to be at the table. Landry was livid, Sam still looked sick, and Teal’c…well, he’d just given up trying to figure out what was going on in the Jaffa’s head because none of it could possibly be any good.
And Vala, sitting right where she’d been earlier during the briefing. Once again close enough to touch, he didn’t need to see or hear her to know how bad this was. Straight backed and silent, sunk somewhere deep inside herself, hands folded on the table, eyes locked over Sam’s shoulder on some point on the far wall, he couldn’t feel her at all.
Knew that she was somewhere else.
Not like before. He’d sure as hell been able to feel her then. Just off to his side, he could see her out of the corner of his eyes, curled up in that big, black chair, arms crossed, long, lean leg pulled up and braced, that hair spilling from her high ponytail smelling so damn good he wanted to bury himself in it.
He’d been trying not to look at her, knew that if he did he’d be lost, looking for her in every corner, every ventilation shaft, every briefing room. He hadn’t needed to see her face to know her eyes were closed from boredom, not even the slightest bit interested, but he could still feel her there, a running bassline humming through his head and down his spine, just below Landry’s oh-so polite detailing of their failures to date.
And then he’d felt her move, just off to his side, while Landry was demanding answers he didn’t have. Felt her whole body come to attention, focusing on Landry even as he saw the general’s eyes shift beyond him. He’d felt the swish of air as she’d snapped around because Landry had her attention now.
Because he’d mentioned Jackson.
The spasm had rippled along his jaw line as his fingers had curled more tightly, wanting to snap something. He’d swung in slow motion, a glacial sweep, not quite a one-eighty to lock her in his line of sight. She’d seen it…something…in his eyes, he was sure as hell she had. Felt the tension running like a live wire through him.
He’d felt his teeth grind, his fingers lock against the urge to wrap that exquisite neck and pull that perfect face to his, inhaling her. He’d pushed that night time fantasy down deep as she’d leaned right over and into him and come up with a plan.
Now he cut his eyes to the left whenever he thought no one would notice, trying to catch something, anything from her.
She was supposed to move, make noise; be all kinds of dangerous. He wondered if they’d found her Kyrptonite. It wasn’t natural, silence from her.
He didn’t like it.
He wondered how he’d never made the connection, not really, that she’d been one of them. A host. A Goa’uld. With a snake in her head and eyes that glowed.
Hell, he’d seen her there on P8X-412, in all her Goa’uld goddess glory, shimmering in gold, bright enough to blind him. He’d looked at her and couldn’t breathe.
And he’d seen that vision of her more times than was good for him in late night fantasies.
His fingers clenched reflexively. He’d seen the security tape. Ba’al had a few fantasies of his own.
The last time she’d seen Ba’al, she’d taken names and kicked his ass. This time he wondered if she thought maybe she was playing for the wrong team.
Blowing out a harsh exhale, he rolled his shoulders and cracked his neck, slid his eyes up to the security camera. He pushed back from his desk, jerked to his feet. Suddenly, he needed to get out of his office.
He thinks he’s put on enough of a show for today.
*************************
The corridors are empty and silent except for the slap of his boots as he hangs a sharp left at the intersection and heads down the hallway, making his rounds. He’s wrapped too tight for paperwork, wound up too tight to sleep.
He should be in the gym shooting hoops or running, or maybe on the range shooting something, but his feet have a mind of their own.
Just move. He thinks that might be his philosophy of life. If there’s one thing he’s all about, it’s going with the flow.
Rule number one with a bullet. Just move.
And he’s never even liked Nike.
Suddenly he’s there, standing in the empty corridor in front of her quarters. His hand comes up, the barest brush of knuckle against her door. He drags a deep breath of air down into his lungs and holds it there, just waiting. And then she’s standing in front of him before he can exhale, barefoot, in sleep shorts and a tee, so much smaller than he’s used to seeing her.
Without a word she stands aside, and he’s hyper aware of the tingle, of the connection that arcs between them as he enters her room. It’s palpable, a living, conscious thing, pulling at his gut and his groin.
He turns to face her. She tilts her head, hooded eyes searching his face. His hand comes up to wrap her neck, fingers feathering forward to ghost over the bruises shaped like finger prints. A shiver works its way through her as her hand covers his. She bites at her lower lip as her eyes go soft and distant.
He twines their fingers, tugs gently and brings her hand with his, pressing his lips to the inside of her wrist as they lock eyes. This time he shivers as she frees her fingers to trace his lips, along his jaw line, down his neck, across his collarbone. Her hand against his chest pushes him back up against the wall.
He sucks in just enough air to breathe as she drops to her knees, their eyes still locked. Flexible fingers work his boot laces loose. He pulls his feet out and she tosses the boots to the far corner, pulls his socks off after them. And then her hands are at his waist, undoing buckle, button, and zipper.
He’s already come undone.
Strong, slender fingers slide pants and boxers over his slim hips. He feels the warm flutter of her breath as those elegant, exquisite fingers wrap him at his base and his hand slaps the wall as her tongue slides slowly up his length. A high, tight whine escapes him as the curve of her lips covers his tip.
His head falls back against the wall as he buries a hand in her hair and arches, his hips jerking forward, looking for more. Her tongue swirls and his eyelids flutter fast and furious as he buries himself, as she takes his whole length down to his balls in a nice, slow slide.
One hand fists in her hair, his free one finding her silky cheek, his fingertips gliding over her jaw line. His body hitches as pleasure pools in his gut, floods his veins, shoots up his spine into his brain. He’s breathing quick and shallow as he pumps deep and hard and a moan, low and throaty rumbles through him as her fingertips feather over the soft skin of his balls.
It’s so good, it’s been too long, his legs are like jelly, his pulse is pounding in his ears, and he knows he’s not going to last.
His hand fists in her hair and he tugs. She’s already moving, grace and strength, fluid motion flowing up his body as he struggles to drag enough air into his lungs. And then it doesn’t matter.
He palms her skull and crushes her lips to his, his tongue driving deep as his arm snakes around her narrow waist to fuse her tight to him.
Her fingers slide into his hair as his hands span her waist and strong fingers ruck up her shirt and trail up the curve of her spine. She breaks the kiss and pushes back. He tries to follow, seeking the soft, wet, warmth of her mouth. She rests two fingers on his slightly parted lips and he takes his cue.
She raises long, slender arms, stretching like a cat, and he pulls her shirt up and off, dropping it to the floor. One hand rests easy on the lush curve of her hip while the other floats to her face.
The other slides into her hair, clever fingers releasing the spill over her shoulders. She shakes it out as his fingertips trace the delicate shell of her ear, along her jaw line, over her full, red lips.
Her tongue flicks out and she nips his finger, sucking softly as his eyes glaze.
Pulling free he traces a trail down her neck, between her breasts, down the flat plain of her abdomen, looking at her like she’s a gift. She bites at her lower lip as a soft smile curves the corners of her mouth.
His fingertips work their way beneath the waistband of her shorts, sliding them over the flare of her hips, his fingers digging in to the sleek contour of her ass to press her tight against him, the hard, heavy weight of his erection trapped between their bodies.
Fused lips to hips, he walks her back toward the bed.
Her knees hit the mattress and he topples them over, twisting to take her weight as they fall. He flips her, taking his weight in his arms as he breaks the kiss and pushes up. He traces a trail down the length of her neck with his tongue, nips at the join of her neck and shoulder.
She moans soft and low, deep in her throat as he slides down her body, licking and nipping along her collarbone, over the swell of her satin breast. His tongue finds her nipple, swirls around it as she arches beneath him. He clamps down hard with his mouth, sucking wetly as her fingers slide into his hair, pushing gently.
Skimming his way further down her body, fingers, lips and tongue tracing her centerline, he nudges her thigh to make room for himself as he settles between her legs. He takes a couple of seconds to appreciate the view, hungry for the sight, feel, taste of her, then slides one finger into her.
Her hips jerk and he slides both hands under her ass as he lays her open slit to clit with the a long, slow sweep of his tongue. A strangled little cry escapes slightly parted lips as she opens beneath him. Her hand slaps the bed and he smiles to himself as he slides first one, then another finger back in to play inside her as he works her with lips and tongue.
Her body thrums under his hands as her hips come off the bed, rising, making little jerking motions under the rhythm of his tongue as his fingers plunge deep, in and out.
There’s a rush of wind in her ears, a bassline humming just under her skin. She snaps her hips up as his tongue dives and flicks and stars explode behind her eyes.
He settles her gently on the mattress, pulls his knees up under him; walks them forward to press against her ass.
Breathless, flushed, he thinks she’s fucking glowing spread out like an offering beneath him, heavy-lidded eyes claiming his. Fingers that still itch to touch her skim a trail down the outside of her thighs, under her knees, slide those long, lean legs up over his shoulders.
A wicked grin pulls at her lips as wicked thoughts play in his head. He's still hungry for her, aching with want, coiled tight as a trip wire. Locking eyes, he reaches down to wrap his cock, slide his tip along her slit. Hard and heavy, it’s got a life of its own, burrowing toward her welcome, wet, warmth.
She gasps and arches, taut as a bow string, coming up to meet him as he plunges in deep, one long, smooth stroke that buries him balls deep inside her. His world stops as he tries to suck in enough air to breathe, out of ways to hold himself apart, away, together.
He feels the energy thrumming between them, arcing like current through a circuit, swirling through his dick, running up his spine, surging into his brain.
He drops a hand on either side of her head, dips his head in close to lick up the elegant line of her neck. Her hand wraps his nape, her fingers run through his hair, and they breathe the same air as his lips claim hers.
She’s moving beneath him, sweat slicked skin sliding in flawless friction, humming, purring like well-lubed engine, making small mewing noises deep in her throat. Pushing up, he looms above her, a low, jagged groan rumbling deep in his chest as he pumps short and quick, hips jerking erratically as he feels his balls tighten.
The fuse is lit. He detonates deep inside her, eyelids fluttering as he goes off like a Roman candle, exploding in an incandescent globe of white light as the fireworks hit behind his eyes.
He falls forward, boneless and blissed, settling carefully as she takes his greater mass and weight. She stills beneath him as their breathing evens out, fingertips ghosting over the trail of his spine.
He slides off to the side, still touching as they arrange themselves, arms and legs as intertwined as their breathing as he nuzzles at the join of her neck and shoulder. When he can, he reaches for the cover, pulls it up and lets the feel of her heart beating beneath him and the flutter of her warm breath on him draw him down into sleep.
He'll stay as long as she lets him.
Author: sarahjane
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Cam/Vala
Warnings: Sex. And a few bad words.
Word Count: 2700 words, give or take
Story Notes: Set just post Insiders. Spoilers, such as they are, through that episode.
Summary: He needs a little down time.
Author’s Notes: My thanks to Eva for the beta services rendered and a shout out to my drive-by reviewers Susan, and Kaz. You all are muchly appreciated. And as always, all remaining mistakes remain mine.
Disclaimer: Definitely not mine. They belong to a multitude of people and production companies bigger, better, and brighter than me. No copyright infringement intended.
There is definitely no money being made.
*************************
Just Move
He’s crawling in his skin, too tired and wired for this right now. It’s been a bitch of a day, a bitch of a year, and this time they hadn’t even had to go off-world or find a Supergate to get their asses handed to them.
Nope, just a good old-fashioned, stay-at-home ass kicking, the kind he remembers getting when no one brought their game on a given Saturday afternoon and coach had taken exception to front lines that looked like Swiss cheese, repeated failures to convert third and long, and special teams that didn’t look all that special.
When the visitors shut you down and shut you out, and home field advantage left you quicker than a cheap buzz. He’s getting really tired of the crash and burn, and the only thing he can take any comfort in is the fact that he’s not Landry, who was probably on the phone right now trying to explain to O’Neill how they’d let Ba’al get a foothold, get what he wanted, and then get away.
He’s pretty sure O’Neill would have just shot them all and been done with it. In retrospect, he thinks that probably would have been a pretty good plan. It would have made debriefing short and sweet.
He’s seen the reports, knows the history. And still he’d fucked it up. He might be herding cats here, but it’s still his watch, and he’s really getting tired of sitting at the table doing the play by play on yet another exercise in failure.
Protocols had been breached in the worst possible ways. A complete clusterfuck.
He was trying to count his blessings. At least he wasn’t security. He was pretty sure that debrief had been a reaming. There was plenty of shit to hit the fan, from not locking down the mountain to not locking out Sam’s access code, but courts-martial for the stupid probably wouldn’t be happening. At least he didn’t think so.
And whoever was going to be scrubbing toilets with a toothbrush, it wasn’t going to be him.
That didn’t mean that anybody had been happy to be at the table. Landry was livid, Sam still looked sick, and Teal’c…well, he’d just given up trying to figure out what was going on in the Jaffa’s head because none of it could possibly be any good.
And Vala, sitting right where she’d been earlier during the briefing. Once again close enough to touch, he didn’t need to see or hear her to know how bad this was. Straight backed and silent, sunk somewhere deep inside herself, hands folded on the table, eyes locked over Sam’s shoulder on some point on the far wall, he couldn’t feel her at all.
Knew that she was somewhere else.
Not like before. He’d sure as hell been able to feel her then. Just off to his side, he could see her out of the corner of his eyes, curled up in that big, black chair, arms crossed, long, lean leg pulled up and braced, that hair spilling from her high ponytail smelling so damn good he wanted to bury himself in it.
He’d been trying not to look at her, knew that if he did he’d be lost, looking for her in every corner, every ventilation shaft, every briefing room. He hadn’t needed to see her face to know her eyes were closed from boredom, not even the slightest bit interested, but he could still feel her there, a running bassline humming through his head and down his spine, just below Landry’s oh-so polite detailing of their failures to date.
And then he’d felt her move, just off to his side, while Landry was demanding answers he didn’t have. Felt her whole body come to attention, focusing on Landry even as he saw the general’s eyes shift beyond him. He’d felt the swish of air as she’d snapped around because Landry had her attention now.
Because he’d mentioned Jackson.
The spasm had rippled along his jaw line as his fingers had curled more tightly, wanting to snap something. He’d swung in slow motion, a glacial sweep, not quite a one-eighty to lock her in his line of sight. She’d seen it…something…in his eyes, he was sure as hell she had. Felt the tension running like a live wire through him.
He’d felt his teeth grind, his fingers lock against the urge to wrap that exquisite neck and pull that perfect face to his, inhaling her. He’d pushed that night time fantasy down deep as she’d leaned right over and into him and come up with a plan.
Now he cut his eyes to the left whenever he thought no one would notice, trying to catch something, anything from her.
She was supposed to move, make noise; be all kinds of dangerous. He wondered if they’d found her Kyrptonite. It wasn’t natural, silence from her.
He didn’t like it.
He wondered how he’d never made the connection, not really, that she’d been one of them. A host. A Goa’uld. With a snake in her head and eyes that glowed.
Hell, he’d seen her there on P8X-412, in all her Goa’uld goddess glory, shimmering in gold, bright enough to blind him. He’d looked at her and couldn’t breathe.
And he’d seen that vision of her more times than was good for him in late night fantasies.
His fingers clenched reflexively. He’d seen the security tape. Ba’al had a few fantasies of his own.
The last time she’d seen Ba’al, she’d taken names and kicked his ass. This time he wondered if she thought maybe she was playing for the wrong team.
Blowing out a harsh exhale, he rolled his shoulders and cracked his neck, slid his eyes up to the security camera. He pushed back from his desk, jerked to his feet. Suddenly, he needed to get out of his office.
He thinks he’s put on enough of a show for today.
*************************
The corridors are empty and silent except for the slap of his boots as he hangs a sharp left at the intersection and heads down the hallway, making his rounds. He’s wrapped too tight for paperwork, wound up too tight to sleep.
He should be in the gym shooting hoops or running, or maybe on the range shooting something, but his feet have a mind of their own.
Just move. He thinks that might be his philosophy of life. If there’s one thing he’s all about, it’s going with the flow.
Rule number one with a bullet. Just move.
And he’s never even liked Nike.
Suddenly he’s there, standing in the empty corridor in front of her quarters. His hand comes up, the barest brush of knuckle against her door. He drags a deep breath of air down into his lungs and holds it there, just waiting. And then she’s standing in front of him before he can exhale, barefoot, in sleep shorts and a tee, so much smaller than he’s used to seeing her.
Without a word she stands aside, and he’s hyper aware of the tingle, of the connection that arcs between them as he enters her room. It’s palpable, a living, conscious thing, pulling at his gut and his groin.
He turns to face her. She tilts her head, hooded eyes searching his face. His hand comes up to wrap her neck, fingers feathering forward to ghost over the bruises shaped like finger prints. A shiver works its way through her as her hand covers his. She bites at her lower lip as her eyes go soft and distant.
He twines their fingers, tugs gently and brings her hand with his, pressing his lips to the inside of her wrist as they lock eyes. This time he shivers as she frees her fingers to trace his lips, along his jaw line, down his neck, across his collarbone. Her hand against his chest pushes him back up against the wall.
He sucks in just enough air to breathe as she drops to her knees, their eyes still locked. Flexible fingers work his boot laces loose. He pulls his feet out and she tosses the boots to the far corner, pulls his socks off after them. And then her hands are at his waist, undoing buckle, button, and zipper.
He’s already come undone.
Strong, slender fingers slide pants and boxers over his slim hips. He feels the warm flutter of her breath as those elegant, exquisite fingers wrap him at his base and his hand slaps the wall as her tongue slides slowly up his length. A high, tight whine escapes him as the curve of her lips covers his tip.
His head falls back against the wall as he buries a hand in her hair and arches, his hips jerking forward, looking for more. Her tongue swirls and his eyelids flutter fast and furious as he buries himself, as she takes his whole length down to his balls in a nice, slow slide.
One hand fists in her hair, his free one finding her silky cheek, his fingertips gliding over her jaw line. His body hitches as pleasure pools in his gut, floods his veins, shoots up his spine into his brain. He’s breathing quick and shallow as he pumps deep and hard and a moan, low and throaty rumbles through him as her fingertips feather over the soft skin of his balls.
It’s so good, it’s been too long, his legs are like jelly, his pulse is pounding in his ears, and he knows he’s not going to last.
His hand fists in her hair and he tugs. She’s already moving, grace and strength, fluid motion flowing up his body as he struggles to drag enough air into his lungs. And then it doesn’t matter.
He palms her skull and crushes her lips to his, his tongue driving deep as his arm snakes around her narrow waist to fuse her tight to him.
Her fingers slide into his hair as his hands span her waist and strong fingers ruck up her shirt and trail up the curve of her spine. She breaks the kiss and pushes back. He tries to follow, seeking the soft, wet, warmth of her mouth. She rests two fingers on his slightly parted lips and he takes his cue.
She raises long, slender arms, stretching like a cat, and he pulls her shirt up and off, dropping it to the floor. One hand rests easy on the lush curve of her hip while the other floats to her face.
The other slides into her hair, clever fingers releasing the spill over her shoulders. She shakes it out as his fingertips trace the delicate shell of her ear, along her jaw line, over her full, red lips.
Her tongue flicks out and she nips his finger, sucking softly as his eyes glaze.
Pulling free he traces a trail down her neck, between her breasts, down the flat plain of her abdomen, looking at her like she’s a gift. She bites at her lower lip as a soft smile curves the corners of her mouth.
His fingertips work their way beneath the waistband of her shorts, sliding them over the flare of her hips, his fingers digging in to the sleek contour of her ass to press her tight against him, the hard, heavy weight of his erection trapped between their bodies.
Fused lips to hips, he walks her back toward the bed.
Her knees hit the mattress and he topples them over, twisting to take her weight as they fall. He flips her, taking his weight in his arms as he breaks the kiss and pushes up. He traces a trail down the length of her neck with his tongue, nips at the join of her neck and shoulder.
She moans soft and low, deep in her throat as he slides down her body, licking and nipping along her collarbone, over the swell of her satin breast. His tongue finds her nipple, swirls around it as she arches beneath him. He clamps down hard with his mouth, sucking wetly as her fingers slide into his hair, pushing gently.
Skimming his way further down her body, fingers, lips and tongue tracing her centerline, he nudges her thigh to make room for himself as he settles between her legs. He takes a couple of seconds to appreciate the view, hungry for the sight, feel, taste of her, then slides one finger into her.
Her hips jerk and he slides both hands under her ass as he lays her open slit to clit with the a long, slow sweep of his tongue. A strangled little cry escapes slightly parted lips as she opens beneath him. Her hand slaps the bed and he smiles to himself as he slides first one, then another finger back in to play inside her as he works her with lips and tongue.
Her body thrums under his hands as her hips come off the bed, rising, making little jerking motions under the rhythm of his tongue as his fingers plunge deep, in and out.
There’s a rush of wind in her ears, a bassline humming just under her skin. She snaps her hips up as his tongue dives and flicks and stars explode behind her eyes.
He settles her gently on the mattress, pulls his knees up under him; walks them forward to press against her ass.
Breathless, flushed, he thinks she’s fucking glowing spread out like an offering beneath him, heavy-lidded eyes claiming his. Fingers that still itch to touch her skim a trail down the outside of her thighs, under her knees, slide those long, lean legs up over his shoulders.
A wicked grin pulls at her lips as wicked thoughts play in his head. He's still hungry for her, aching with want, coiled tight as a trip wire. Locking eyes, he reaches down to wrap his cock, slide his tip along her slit. Hard and heavy, it’s got a life of its own, burrowing toward her welcome, wet, warmth.
She gasps and arches, taut as a bow string, coming up to meet him as he plunges in deep, one long, smooth stroke that buries him balls deep inside her. His world stops as he tries to suck in enough air to breathe, out of ways to hold himself apart, away, together.
He feels the energy thrumming between them, arcing like current through a circuit, swirling through his dick, running up his spine, surging into his brain.
He drops a hand on either side of her head, dips his head in close to lick up the elegant line of her neck. Her hand wraps his nape, her fingers run through his hair, and they breathe the same air as his lips claim hers.
She’s moving beneath him, sweat slicked skin sliding in flawless friction, humming, purring like well-lubed engine, making small mewing noises deep in her throat. Pushing up, he looms above her, a low, jagged groan rumbling deep in his chest as he pumps short and quick, hips jerking erratically as he feels his balls tighten.
The fuse is lit. He detonates deep inside her, eyelids fluttering as he goes off like a Roman candle, exploding in an incandescent globe of white light as the fireworks hit behind his eyes.
He falls forward, boneless and blissed, settling carefully as she takes his greater mass and weight. She stills beneath him as their breathing evens out, fingertips ghosting over the trail of his spine.
He slides off to the side, still touching as they arrange themselves, arms and legs as intertwined as their breathing as he nuzzles at the join of her neck and shoulder. When he can, he reaches for the cover, pulls it up and lets the feel of her heart beating beneath him and the flutter of her warm breath on him draw him down into sleep.
He'll stay as long as she lets him.