The premise of the meme is simple. Two characters, lovers, have been separated for a time. How long is up to you, as is the reason for the separation. Was it unwilling - an imprisonment, a required journey - or because of a choice one of the characters made? The reason may, of course, color the reunion, and somebody may be pretty miffed, with good reason. Still, the theme is the same: intimacy after being apart.
This meme is mostly geared towards being a smut meme, but nobody will judge you for just doing so heavy fluff.
[Kind of an understatement. It's hard to tell whether or not he means that as a joke, but there's some self-depreciation in it. 76 has spent a lot of time completely on his own in recent years, to the point where he's not sure how good he is at dealing with people anymore--to say nothing of actual intimacy.
He has to remind himself that she's not going to care if he's rusty. She's just happy (happy?) enough that he's here and alive and not running out the door and off to god knows where. With that thought in mind, it's easier to meet her. Tentatively, at first, and maybe a little unpracticed from lack of use, but he seems to remember what to do after she tells him to make it count. That much he's good at.
His hand slides from her shoulder to the small of her back as he starts to kiss her in return, an ache in his chest all at once becoming overwhelming as he realizes how much he missed this.]
let me know if I should change anything here, I just sorta ran with it.
[Definitely happy, if the way she smiles against his mouth before he finds his bearings is any indication. It seems like it's been forever and god he feels good right now, rusty or not; just the sheer physical presence of him that soothes the old wound made all those years ago. She's willing to stumble through this together with him if it means he stays- if she can kiss and hold him- remind the both of them of how it had felt to move together as one and not worry about anything else beyond what their bodies wanted.
He presses his hand against her back and she leans up into him with a short little sound in the back of her throat, fingers abandoning his chin to card back through his hair. It doesn't matter that they're both out of practice, she doesn't need some grand, earth-shattering clash of mouths, just his lips pressed to hers to know that he's willing to try.
When she does finally pull back, it's reluctantly, and she peppers little kisses down his chin and jaw, delighting in the rough feeling of his stubble. She wants more, but she's still locked in her suit, a necessity in the middle of a battlefield, but far less convenient for much else.]
No complaints so far.
[She nips at his chin before sliding from his lap, her hands pressed to his chest to keep him where he is. She's never been very good at this, even when they were together, but with any luck he's forgotten about that and she'll be off the hook. On the other hand, what she has gotten good at is dealing with the intricacies of the suit on her own.
The harness holding the wings unclips from her shoulders along with the high collar and she can't help the small sigh of relief when it comes free and she can set it aside. Having it gone means the entire top part of the suit can come apart down the center and she honestly does her best to make something of it, fingers hooking into the top collar and sliding down slowly through the seam, between her breasts--her back arching subtly to give them a little lift--and over her stomach, exposing the black bodysuit underneath. She's actually quite proud of herself, looking down at him with hooded eyes, her lower lip held between her teeth.
She has every intent of finishing up and letting the whole thing fall away (it's all quite the sensual display in her head) which means that she manages to completely forget about the last two hidden buckles at the very bottom. Her fingers catch, the suit doesn't move, and the whole show comes to a brilliant halt. Typical. It leaves her fumbling, yanking at the clasps and cursing under her breath. By the time she manages it, she's so frustrated with herself and the suit that she just unceremoniously pulls it off her shoulders and tosses it aside.]
...I imagined that going a little differently.
no it's so good i was totally thinking about how he would not be able to get her out of that
[It's so easy to all but melt into her, almost disturbing in how effortless it is. All the barriers he'd put in place seem to mean absolutely nothing now, and it's abundantly clear in a singular instant that it doesn't matter how deep he buried Jack Morrison. Years of effort suddenly seem entirely futile and he parts his lips for her, deepening the kiss into something more desperate, hot and open-mouthed as she tangles fingers in his hair.
76 feels like he's only just started when she pulls away and slips off his lap, leaving him hanging almost comically as he keeps his arms open with nothing in them. He lowers them after a moment but his eyebrows are pinched together, wondering if this was maybe something he did, until he realizes that she's just getting rid of her gear.
He's still a little bewildered about how this went from tearful reunion to suggestive dis-armoring, but once he figures out what she's doing, he can't take his eyes off her. 76 might be a little out of practice when it comes to actual interaction with other people, but it's hard not to pick up on the subtle way she curves her body as she unfastens the wings and the chest piece.
Or tries to. Confusion gives way to the realization that she's forgotten some buckles, and he makes the noise that might be a laugh again. It sounds a little better this time--more genuine, like he's remembering how to do it.]
I wouldn't have been able to get you outta that.
[So it's a good thing she's taking care of it, even if it's not as graceful as she perhaps intended. He can't even bring himself to care because that's not what matters, and maybe this is his attempt at a joke, albeit said very dryly. 76 stands, closing the distance between them with one stride and slides his hands down her sides before settling them on her hips.]
[Coping with the mental trauma of severe grief through avoidant behavior is a perfectly legitimate psychological condition. One she is desperately clinging to right now because, in the end, she'd much rather have him laughing at her than trying to dry her tears. She could cry on her own, when all this was over and she's back in a lonely cot the next morning trying to decide if this was all a dream or not. The least she can do is make a good dream out of it.]
I barely got myself out of it.
[She can't help but laugh with him, her cheeks flushing in embarrassment. All these years and there's still some girlish little part of her that wants to be perfect for him, even if she knows it's never mattered. It probably matters even less now. He steps up and she presses herself against him, ignoring the quick twinge of pain from the bruise his hand passes over, unprotected now that her suit is gone. It's a small sacrifice to make and easily overshadowed by the far keener surge of longing that comes with the weight of his hands around her with almost nothing in the way now, just thin fabric. To say that she wants this--wants him--feels like it would be a understatement.
Her hands frame his face as she rises up on her toes to reconnect their mouths, eagerly picking up where she'd cut him off before and kissing him with a hungry urgency.]
[76 takes note of her subtle flinch has he passes over her apparent injury, and he tries to memorize the location for later. He still doesn't know how badly she was hurt--how much she's trying to hide it for the sake of whatever this is. It feels wrong to laugh (what's passing for a laugh on his part, anyway), but he comes to the conclusion that it's better than the alternative.
He finally gets to brush that bang behind her ear. That simple, familiar motion is something he's missed more than anything, he thinks, and as she lifts herself up to reach him, he meets her in the middle.
This time there's no hesitation. He picks up right where they left off. The height difference isn't insubstantial, so he pulls her close with a hand around the small of her back, taking care to be gentle, skirting around where he thinks she's injured. The other trails down her neck, tilting her chin up to his.]
I missed you.
[He barely breathes it out between kisses. It's a dangerous thing to say, of course, but it escapes him anyway, like he's just realizing it himself.]
Three simple words, spoken like a secret he didn't realize he was letting go of, and she feels her heart so effortlessly shatter into a million pieces. It breaks for him, for what they had and lost and for all the small moments in between; but most of all it breaks for the simple fact that he's missed her at all, that she hadn't been forgotten or left behind when everything had been falling apart. He hadn't managed to completely kill Jack Morrison, even all that was left were a few old habits and the fond memory of someone who had loved him once.]
You have me now.
[For as long as it lasts. She drops one hand to his chest, the other curling fingers around his wrist, and when she pulls away from his mouth, it's only after several failed attempts, each time gravitating back to his lips and tongue before she can get more than a breath or two away. When she can finally break away, she doesn't go far, turning her head to nuzzle against his hand, an open mouthed kiss pressed into the cup of his palm. She can practically taste the leather of his glove on his skin as she kisses her way down to the inside of his wrist where she sucks gently, her tongue pressed to his pulse.]
[For as long as it lasts. 76 is acutely aware of how fleeting this is--how their meeting here in the first place was more impossible happenstance than anything, and how they likely won't cross paths again. How he'll have to put away any remaining selfish desires (to see her, to conveniently end up in the same place as her, to keep an eye on her military detail) and get back to his mission.
Maybe, if or when he gets to the bottom of who and what brought down Overwatch, he can come back to her. But he wasn't any good at them the first time around, and it seems silly to think he'd be any better now. He knows where his current path leads, and it doesn't end well for him.
So there is no them, but what could be so bad about pretending there is? Lots of things, he reminds himself.]
I know.
[It's hard to take his eyes off her as she starts mouthing at his hand. Under the glove, his palms are about as rough and calloused as one might expect, but she handles him with all the gentleness he remembers.
76 stoops a little to press his mouth to the side of her neck in turn, dragging his lips up her clavicle and settling on the underside of her jaw. While she has one hand captive, the other worries at the lines of her bodysuit, looking for a button or zipper or similar entrance point--anything to give him more bare skin to touch.]
[She's always adored his hands, the strength in them and the way they fit against her body, how she felt both empowered and fragile when he held her. She could map out the callouses from a lifetime of gun grips and triggers pulled, all the bruised knuckles and fractured metacarpals. A soldier's hands, beautiful in their imperfections.
Her attentions are interrupted by the heat of his mouth against her neck and she gasps, a sound which very quickly tumbles into a burst of giggles that she has to stifle against the heel of his palm, eyes squeezing shut and the hand at his chest jumping up to paw at the back of his head.]
Tickles- [It's nearly a squeak for how hard she's trying not to laugh. Oh god, it's been so long and she'd forgotten-- it's a bright little spark that burns back the encroaching despair of their situation, one for which she is endlessly grateful for. Around her efforts to maintain some semblance of composure, she can feel him pulling at bits of her suit, obviously trying to find a way in, and when she pulls away, it's with every intention of helping him out.
Except they're still in the kitchen (somehow) and there's nothing but cold tile and hard walls, never mind the table- and they're not doing this here. She kisses him, something hot and passionate to tide him over as she takes his hand and pulls him along, out of the kitchen and back down the hall. There's a couch a room down and that's good enough she thinks.
This time she doesn't bother trying to put on a show that would've been sure to fail a second time, instead hitting the release locks on her boots and yanking them off with well practiced efficiency. The bodysuit is unzipped from the top down her back, enough falling away to bare her shoulders and the straps of the sports bra she had on underneath, but she doesn't go any further than that.
She holds her arms out for him in offering, blue eyes catching his.]
Help me out of this thing?
I think i am finally out of the 4th of july weekend hole, sorry for the wait
[He mumbles a sorry into her, but it's lost in a kind of laugh of his own, straight to her collarbone (which he's sure does little for the whole ticklish thing). It still seems like he has some work to do on it, but it's sounding more and more like a real laugh the more he tries. It's all he can do when faced with the sheer reality of the situation as he continues to convince himself that it's okay to have this, if only momentarily. And it is funny, sort of. They're in someone's house in a desolate village, he has at least a dozen sutures, and she's ticklish.
She kisses him again but then leaves him hanging, and he's confused for a split second before he realizes that they're relocating. He's more than willing to let her pull him down the hall, and he picks up on the fact that she's taking them to the couch, stopping once they bump against it, finding it difficult not to close the distance between them as she takes off her boots.
There's the ghost of a smile on his face when she holds her arms out, a sort of forgotten fondness that he's remembered all at once. He steps to her, running hands up her arm and pulling the sleeves of the bodysuit down one at a time, being purposefully slow about it, pressing lips to her knuckles when her hand is free.
Once the sleeves are off, he slides an arm around her back to get at the zipper, pulling it down and stooping as he goes, until he's all but on his knees in front of her. He stops when he sees the bruise that peeks out from under the elastic of her sports bra.]
[It figures that now he'd remember how to be a gentleman. She feels the giddy smile from earlier soften into something tender as she watches him, letting him take his time to cherish the almost reverent way he touches her. Goosebumps skitter down her arms with each inch of bared skin, her breath feeling heavy in her lungs. She's missed this more than she could possibly find words for.
Her hands cradle his head as he drops down, fingers combing back through his hair encouragingly, every inch of the zipper as it slides against her spine twisting the knot of anticipation and desire in her stomach tighter and tighter. Ironically, he's doing a far better job of undressing her than she's done herself.
At least until he stops and she'd unexpectedly hit with the reminder that she'd been dodging his prodding about her own injuries. Dammit. Her brows knit as she looks down at him, a silent plea in her eyes.]
[He's frowning at it, but tries to soften his expression when he looks back up at her. 76 doesn't move from his spot, settling one hand on her hip and brushing over the bruise with the other. He doesn't apply enough pressure for it to hurt (he hopes), but he knows the very act of touching it might be unpleasant.
Hearing that edge in her voice, however, he doesn't withdraw entirely, resting his cheek against her bare stomach in a sort of embrace, fingers ghosting over the elastic band of her bra.]
How bad?
[Not that it's going to stop him, of course, but if she's broken ribs, too, he's going to want to be mindful of that.]
[The small sound she makes isn't pained, more so a wordless protest that he's fretting about the spot at all. Here he was kneeling at her feet with his stitches and his broken bones and he's worried about the bump she's taken by comparison. It's terribly sweet of him, of course, and the way he leans in against her stomach sends butterflies shooting through her nerves, but he doesn't need to worry about it. She hopes she sounds convincing enough.]
Just the bruising, nothing serious. I promise to tell you if it hurts.
[It's only half of a little white lie. She can handle the discomfort that comes naturally just by moving and breathing, the growing warmth of arousal curling through her veins is already enough to dull most of it, but she doesn't want him to worry too much either. If there's real pain, she'll tell him; he just needs to trust in that.
Fingertips press against the back of his head and down his neck, massaging into muscles that feel like they've been tense for too long, doing her best to put him at ease.]
[The answer seems to outwardly satisfy him, even if he doesn't quite buy it. 76 will keep silent about it for now, trusting that she'll make good on this promise and let him know if he does something that actually hurts. He's trying to fight down the pain in his own broken rib, but in combination with the numbing patch she applied, it becomes easier and easier to ignore the more he focuses on her, instead.]
Holding you to that.
[He's tall enough that being on his knees isn't uncomfortable, and it puts him just at the right level to part his lips against her stomach (was she ticklish there, too? He guesses he'll find out), hands sliding around her hips to where he'd left off with the bodysuit.
With the zipper undone, all that's left is to pull it around the curve of her backside and help her step out of it one leg at a time, doing it with the same careful reverence as before.]
[She'd much rather he hold her to other things, which is an incredibly tacky retort that thankfully never makes it out. The open mouthed kiss he presses to her stomach effectively silences anything she might have said, replacing words with a quick gasp and an audible exhale, lean muscles tightening under his lips. She's not ticklish there, no, but oh she feels it, a burst of heat that radiates out from the wet spot he leaves on her skin.
He returns to the rest of the suit and she watches him from under her lashes, distinctly aware of the jump in her pulse that comes with the brush of strong hands over her backside and down her legs, her breath sticking in her throat more than once. She balances herself against his shoulders with each leg of the suit he peels off, more goosebumps following in his wake, until she finds herself stripped before him in only her underwear. There's a moment of disappointment that she's not wearing something more alluring, but considering that she hadn't exactly planned on this when she'd left for the day, she figures that she should just be grateful they match, utilitarian as they are.
She lifts her arms to pull her bra off, struggling out of the constricting fabric and tossing it aside with no small amount of relief. Her ribs protest the movement and the weight of her unbound breasts, but it's an ache that's easily ignored for a more pleasant one. Her hands return to him, combing back through his hair restlessly, a flush across her face starting to creep down over her chest. It's been too long since she last bared herself for him and she'd nearly forgotten how it made her feel, everything narrowing down to just the two of them and the small space they occupied.]
[It occurs to him that perhaps this is a bit unfair, stripping her down while all of his clothes are still on. Untying the laces of his boots and pulling them off loses them some momentum, but to his credit, he tries to be quick about it, not staying away from her too long. He manages his shirt quickly after, though it's not without a wince that he tries to hide.
When he stands up again, her bra is off and the heat between their bare skin is almost overwhelming. He exhales audibly at the touch, wanting to take all the air out from in between them. She might be worrying about the practical nature of her undergarments, but he thinks he missed seeing her like this--being this close to her with so little between them, literally and figuratively--more than anything.
It twists that thing in his chest again, to remember how he never quite got it right the first time, to think about how he willingly gave up his chance for it when he made the decision to stay dead, and now to realize that through sheer happenstance, he might be able to try again, even if it's the last time. All the more reason to make it count.
Arm returning to small of her back, he guides her towards the couch until he sees the backs of her calves bump up against it. Unless she resists, he'll start to ease her down, lips searching for hers.]
[He's never been able to hide those little ticks from her before and it would take far more years yet for her to miss them now. So she's quite aware of that wince, although she bites down on the instinctive reaction to chide him on being too hasty, opting simply to purse her lips in admonishment. Jack Morrison, don't you dare pull your stitches. If she has to stop this and do them all over again...
But she doesn't and any thoughts other than how close he suddenly is and how warm he feels are immediately tossed aside as he stands up and she remembers what it's like to be so surrounded in just the sheer presence of him; how easily it takes her breath away. His arm goes around her and she moves as he directs her without question, mouth parting to his. Her hands are greedier, dragging down the back of his neck and across his shoulders, pressing her fingertips into firm muscle, feeling the faint ridges of scars old and new under her palms.
She'd been putting it off, perhaps unconsciously knowing that it would be easier for her, that once they got this far it wouldn't be so easy to keep ignoring the gravity of what they were getting themselves into. It is unfair that she'd passed that burden off onto him until now. She lets him start to lower her down, but only so she can keep kissing him for as long as she can, her hands eventually dropping to his chest to offer just enough resistance that he doesn't keep going. She drags her lips away from his to his collar, tongue curling into the hollow between the bones, continuing down the center line of his body as she sits back on the couch.
Her hands are already working at the fly of his pants when she finds a spot low on his abdomen to graze her teeth over, just above his hip. She nuzzles against his stomach and glances up, eyes dark and eager, tugging down the zipper and easily slipping her hand inside to palm him through the thin fabric of his briefs.]
Edited (typo. also mercy was a guy there for a minute whoops.) 2016-07-09 05:28 (UTC)
[He reminds himself to be careful--because yes, the last thing he wants is to accidentally re-open his stitches and bring this to a halt, so he tries not to move too quickly. Taking it slow will be good for both of them, he thinks, even if everything else about this is not healthy in the least.
It's been so long since he's been this close to another human being that he can't help but sigh a little at all of her touches, fingers kneading his neck and shoulders, mouth and tongue at his collarbone. She'll find him significantly more scarred than she perhaps remembers. Though he's always had his fair share of them, the explosion at HQ had added to his collection, burns and various other lacerations creating raised patterns across his shoulders, down his arms. He barely thinks of them on the day-to-day, but having her run hands all over has him aware of them again, another testament to how much things have changed.
But it's easy to push that aside in favor of joining her on the couch, easing himself above her as she lays back. He tries to keep his mouth on her, hands wandering to cup her breasts, but she's moving under him too quickly and soon enough she's pressed her palms up to his chest to stop him from going further.
It's almost painful, the way she keeps him from reciprocating, until she gets inside his pants. He's already hard just from being this close to her after so long, and the thin fabric separating him from her exploring hand is instantly unbearable, his breath hitching audibly.]
[She never got a chance to tend to the painful litany written across his skin, the time for that stolen when he'd dragged himself off and disappeared. There's no getting it back, then or now, and she can't help but feel guilty that she won't have the chance to make up for it. She'd cover each line in all the affection she was never able to give if she could, but there's not enough time. There was never enough time for what they had.
Slender fingers hook into the top of his briefs and tug down, catching his pants in the same movement to work him free of the confinement. He's hot and thick in her hand and she can feel the heat between her own legs coiling tightly at the memory of how he'd felt inside her, the breathless nights they'd carved out for themselves between missions and obligations. She's missed that- the singular need he had been so adept at stoking within her, and she seizes upon it now, a quick, open mouthed kiss pressed back against his stomach, then another, lower, her hand around him stroking up his shaft to make way for her lips.
She kisses the base of his cock, muffling her needy little moan against his skin before she moves up, switching places with her hand again so she can take the head of him into her mouth. It's been far too long to think she can manage anything proper, but she wants to try. Whether he'll let her is another matter, but for now she allows herself a slow, shallow bob of her head, one hand gently pumping what she can't reach; the other drifts between her own legs, the ache too insistent to ignore completely without some sort of answer, even if it's just fingertips dragged against the barrier of her panties.]
[He tries to adjust his position, make things easier, and ends up with one knee up on the couch, effectively hovering over her like he doesn't know where else to place himself. He wants to stop her, pull her back up and ask what they're even trying to do. How this is supposed to help anything.
It's not supposed to help anything, he reminds himself. It's two desperate people who maybe loved each other once trying to find that again in the worst possible circumstance. He's trying to allow himself this, at the very least.
But the only thing he can think as she moves down his abdomen is that he doesn't deserve her at all. There's still a part of him that wants her to be angry--wants her to really let him have it, and it seems so unfair that she's doing this for him when he should be the one taking care of her (even if sex-as-apology is probably the worst thing he could do). Despite all of that, she's moving lower and lower until her hand is on his cock, mouth joining it not long after.
Perhaps a testament to how long it's been since he's allowed himself this close to another person, he can't stifle the sharp inhale as she closes her lips around him, sudden warmth and wetness almost overwhelming.]
Angela.
[He lets her continue, and though it's possible he might be implying a stop with the way he speaks her name, it lacks a certain degree of conviction, like he knows that anything he could say won't be enough.]
just when things start to get sexy, they gotta make it horrible again ;-;
[She tries, she really does; she squeezes her eyes shut and tries with everything she has in her to convince herself that if she just keeps going, the illusion of something long gone might not be so bad. But she can hear the reality in the way he says her name and the absence of his hands on her. She wants to beg him not to do this to her, but she knows she's being unfair again.
And still she struggles her way along, refusing to let go of what are, by this point, nothing more than delusions. Silly, stubborn little girl.
She takes as much of him as she can into her mouth, her tongue lapping at the underside of his shaft with each forward slide of her lips. She wants to say that she remembers the taste of him from before, but she can't. Her free hand rises to clench tight around the loosened fabric of his pants, as if holding on could somehow make it better, but it doesn't.
It's really only a few moments of a barely held together illusion before she's pulling back and not sinking back down again, her lips dragged off his cock and she's pressing her forehead against his bare hip.]
I'm sorry.
[Her voice sounds little better than a hiccup and she's not even sure if she's trying to apologize for everything or just herself. At least there's no tears, just a gnawing mix of grief and desire in the pit of her stomach.]
[He can't bring himself to stop her, but apparently the meaning behind the way he says her name is enough. She's off him not long after, and the sight of her looking so apologetic is enough to twist him up inside all over again.
76 wants this. He knows he does. He just has to get past himself, first.]
It's not--
[Which is easier said than done. He's all caught up in the things he's done to focus on what's important right now. This might be unfair, but he knows he can't ignore this chance with her right now. That's important to him, too.]
This isn't your fault.
[It's his, but voicing that will probably just make them both feel worse. 76 sinks down on to the couch, trying to pull her up to meet him, brushing that bang out of her face again and taking her in.]
[She shakes her head against him when he tries to take the blame, but she can't bring herself to actually argue with him about it. She should have known better; neither of them are blameless for how it had turned out- for the wounds making it difficult for them now. But she had expected too much perhaps.
There's no resistance this time when he pulls her close again, her hand cupping his when it brushes past her face. It's not going to solve anything, is what she wants to tell him, and she can feel it on the tip of her tongue. Maybe it shows in the sad way she looks back at him, but she's not sure.]
You don't have to.
[It's an out, if he wants it, offered quietly. There's a part of her that hopes he doesn't take it, the same part that drinks in the warmth of his skin and rests fingertips against his chest, worrying unconsciously at an old bullet wound half covered under newer scars. He's never been beholden to her and never will be, regardless of her desires... but if he's willing, she's not saying no.]
[He says that definitively, with conviction. Maybe he just has to go slower than he thought he did. 76 rests his forehead on her shoulder, hand slipping from her cheek down her collarbone, around the curve of her breasts and down to her him. He shifts in a clear bid to try and get closer.]
I don't know when I'll see you again.
[Or if he'll see her again at all. Admitting that out loud lifts some kind of weight off him, even though it's difficult to say. Better than dodging the subject, he thinks. Maybe outright voicing it, finally, that will let him do this. All it takes is the slightest shift of his head to press his open mouth to the side of her neck.]
[It breaks her heart to hear him say it, but he isn't wrong and it's what had driven her to start this in the first place, even if she hadn't had the courage to actually put it into words. Stay, she'd asked him. And he had.
She lifts a hand and cards her fingers through the hair, her legs parting around his waist when he presses closer, a wordless little noise dying in the back of her throat. He leaves a trail of goosebumps down her side behind his hand and she can't help the subtle arch of her back into the feeling, drawn as ever to his touch. She doesn't think she'll ever stop gravitating towards him in one way or another; even in death she hadn't been able to break free.
Then the warmth of his mouth is on her neck and she draws in a breath, her fingers twitching against the back of his head. It still tickles, but this time she's not trying to pull away, rather, tipping her head back to give him room and letting the little sparks that skitter over her nerves find their way down to the core of her.]
Jack- [His name slips out on an exhale. Whatever he needs, whatever she can give him, for the here and now, she's willing to offer.]
[His hand splays on the small of her back and he pulls her in, mouth traveling up her neck to her jawline, and then to capture her lips again. She's ticklish there, he remembers now, echoes of so many different encounters coming back to him all at once. They can't recapture them, but maybe they shouldn't be trying to. This can be something different, and perhaps that's how he can make this work.
It's still sort of uncomfortable--hearing that name after trying so hard (and increasingly unsuccessfully) to bury it, but he thinks that coming from her it's okay. What else is she supposed to call him? Certainly not the numbers on the back of his jacket, even if that's how he mostly thinks of himself.
But he's getting carried away in his own thoughts again, when someone much more important is right here in front of him. This time, he tries to be a little slower, both for his sake and hers. His hands are exploratory but he seems to grow comfortable quickly, touch firmer as he raises palms to her breasts, running thumbs over her nipples. His mouth finds hers again, and this time he's insistent.]
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bakerstreet2016-06-16 03:59 pm
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[Kind of an understatement. It's hard to tell whether or not he means that as a joke, but there's some self-depreciation in it. 76 has spent a lot of time completely on his own in recent years, to the point where he's not sure how good he is at dealing with people anymore--to say nothing of actual intimacy.
He has to remind himself that she's not going to care if he's rusty. She's just happy (happy?) enough that he's here and alive and not running out the door and off to god knows where. With that thought in mind, it's easier to meet her. Tentatively, at first, and maybe a little unpracticed from lack of use, but he seems to remember what to do after she tells him to make it count. That much he's good at.
His hand slides from her shoulder to the small of her back as he starts to kiss her in return, an ache in his chest all at once becoming overwhelming as he realizes how much he missed this.]
let me know if I should change anything here, I just sorta ran with it.
He presses his hand against her back and she leans up into him with a short little sound in the back of her throat, fingers abandoning his chin to card back through his hair. It doesn't matter that they're both out of practice, she doesn't need some grand, earth-shattering clash of mouths, just his lips pressed to hers to know that he's willing to try.
When she does finally pull back, it's reluctantly, and she peppers little kisses down his chin and jaw, delighting in the rough feeling of his stubble. She wants more, but she's still locked in her suit, a necessity in the middle of a battlefield, but far less convenient for much else.]
No complaints so far.
[She nips at his chin before sliding from his lap, her hands pressed to his chest to keep him where he is. She's never been very good at this, even when they were together, but with any luck he's forgotten about that and she'll be off the hook. On the other hand, what she has gotten good at is dealing with the intricacies of the suit on her own.
The harness holding the wings unclips from her shoulders along with the high collar and she can't help the small sigh of relief when it comes free and she can set it aside. Having it gone means the entire top part of the suit can come apart down the center and she honestly does her best to make something of it, fingers hooking into the top collar and sliding down slowly through the seam, between her breasts--her back arching subtly to give them a little lift--and over her stomach, exposing the black bodysuit underneath. She's actually quite proud of herself, looking down at him with hooded eyes, her lower lip held between her teeth.
She has every intent of finishing up and letting the whole thing fall away (it's all quite the sensual display in her head) which means that she manages to completely forget about the last two hidden buckles at the very bottom. Her fingers catch, the suit doesn't move, and the whole show comes to a brilliant halt. Typical. It leaves her fumbling, yanking at the clasps and cursing under her breath. By the time she manages it, she's so frustrated with herself and the suit that she just unceremoniously pulls it off her shoulders and tosses it aside.]
...I imagined that going a little differently.
no it's so good i was totally thinking about how he would not be able to get her out of that
76 feels like he's only just started when she pulls away and slips off his lap, leaving him hanging almost comically as he keeps his arms open with nothing in them. He lowers them after a moment but his eyebrows are pinched together, wondering if this was maybe something he did, until he realizes that she's just getting rid of her gear.
He's still a little bewildered about how this went from tearful reunion to suggestive dis-armoring, but once he figures out what she's doing, he can't take his eyes off her. 76 might be a little out of practice when it comes to actual interaction with other people, but it's hard not to pick up on the subtle way she curves her body as she unfastens the wings and the chest piece.
Or tries to. Confusion gives way to the realization that she's forgotten some buckles, and he makes the noise that might be a laugh again. It sounds a little better this time--more genuine, like he's remembering how to do it.]
I wouldn't have been able to get you outta that.
[So it's a good thing she's taking care of it, even if it's not as graceful as she perhaps intended. He can't even bring himself to care because that's not what matters, and maybe this is his attempt at a joke, albeit said very dryly. 76 stands, closing the distance between them with one stride and slides his hands down her sides before settling them on her hips.]
Just as well.
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I barely got myself out of it.
[She can't help but laugh with him, her cheeks flushing in embarrassment. All these years and there's still some girlish little part of her that wants to be perfect for him, even if she knows it's never mattered. It probably matters even less now. He steps up and she presses herself against him, ignoring the quick twinge of pain from the bruise his hand passes over, unprotected now that her suit is gone. It's a small sacrifice to make and easily overshadowed by the far keener surge of longing that comes with the weight of his hands around her with almost nothing in the way now, just thin fabric. To say that she wants this--wants him--feels like it would be a understatement.
Her hands frame his face as she rises up on her toes to reconnect their mouths, eagerly picking up where she'd cut him off before and kissing him with a hungry urgency.]
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He finally gets to brush that bang behind her ear. That simple, familiar motion is something he's missed more than anything, he thinks, and as she lifts herself up to reach him, he meets her in the middle.
This time there's no hesitation. He picks up right where they left off. The height difference isn't insubstantial, so he pulls her close with a hand around the small of her back, taking care to be gentle, skirting around where he thinks she's injured. The other trails down her neck, tilting her chin up to his.]
I missed you.
[He barely breathes it out between kisses. It's a dangerous thing to say, of course, but it escapes him anyway, like he's just realizing it himself.]
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Three simple words, spoken like a secret he didn't realize he was letting go of, and she feels her heart so effortlessly shatter into a million pieces. It breaks for him, for what they had and lost and for all the small moments in between; but most of all it breaks for the simple fact that he's missed her at all, that she hadn't been forgotten or left behind when everything had been falling apart. He hadn't managed to completely kill Jack Morrison, even all that was left were a few old habits and the fond memory of someone who had loved him once.]
You have me now.
[For as long as it lasts. She drops one hand to his chest, the other curling fingers around his wrist, and when she pulls away from his mouth, it's only after several failed attempts, each time gravitating back to his lips and tongue before she can get more than a breath or two away. When she can finally break away, she doesn't go far, turning her head to nuzzle against his hand, an open mouthed kiss pressed into the cup of his palm. She can practically taste the leather of his glove on his skin as she kisses her way down to the inside of his wrist where she sucks gently, her tongue pressed to his pulse.]
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Maybe, if or when he gets to the bottom of who and what brought down Overwatch, he can come back to her. But he wasn't any good at them the first time around, and it seems silly to think he'd be any better now. He knows where his current path leads, and it doesn't end well for him.
So there is no them, but what could be so bad about pretending there is? Lots of things, he reminds himself.]
I know.
[It's hard to take his eyes off her as she starts mouthing at his hand. Under the glove, his palms are about as rough and calloused as one might expect, but she handles him with all the gentleness he remembers.
76 stoops a little to press his mouth to the side of her neck in turn, dragging his lips up her clavicle and settling on the underside of her jaw. While she has one hand captive, the other worries at the lines of her bodysuit, looking for a button or zipper or similar entrance point--anything to give him more bare skin to touch.]
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Her attentions are interrupted by the heat of his mouth against her neck and she gasps, a sound which very quickly tumbles into a burst of giggles that she has to stifle against the heel of his palm, eyes squeezing shut and the hand at his chest jumping up to paw at the back of his head.]
Tickles- [It's nearly a squeak for how hard she's trying not to laugh. Oh god, it's been so long and she'd forgotten-- it's a bright little spark that burns back the encroaching despair of their situation, one for which she is endlessly grateful for. Around her efforts to maintain some semblance of composure, she can feel him pulling at bits of her suit, obviously trying to find a way in, and when she pulls away, it's with every intention of helping him out.
Except they're still in the kitchen (somehow) and there's nothing but cold tile and hard walls, never mind the table- and they're not doing this here. She kisses him, something hot and passionate to tide him over as she takes his hand and pulls him along, out of the kitchen and back down the hall. There's a couch a room down and that's good enough she thinks.
This time she doesn't bother trying to put on a show that would've been sure to fail a second time, instead hitting the release locks on her boots and yanking them off with well practiced efficiency. The bodysuit is unzipped from the top down her back, enough falling away to bare her shoulders and the straps of the sports bra she had on underneath, but she doesn't go any further than that.
She holds her arms out for him in offering, blue eyes catching his.]
Help me out of this thing?
I think i am finally out of the 4th of july weekend hole, sorry for the wait
She kisses him again but then leaves him hanging, and he's confused for a split second before he realizes that they're relocating. He's more than willing to let her pull him down the hall, and he picks up on the fact that she's taking them to the couch, stopping once they bump against it, finding it difficult not to close the distance between them as she takes off her boots.
There's the ghost of a smile on his face when she holds her arms out, a sort of forgotten fondness that he's remembered all at once. He steps to her, running hands up her arm and pulling the sleeves of the bodysuit down one at a time, being purposefully slow about it, pressing lips to her knuckles when her hand is free.
Once the sleeves are off, he slides an arm around her back to get at the zipper, pulling it down and stooping as he goes, until he's all but on his knees in front of her. He stops when he sees the bruise that peeks out from under the elastic of her sports bra.]
I knew you were hurt.
s'all good. 'MURICA!
Her hands cradle his head as he drops down, fingers combing back through his hair encouragingly, every inch of the zipper as it slides against her spine twisting the knot of anticipation and desire in her stomach tighter and tighter. Ironically, he's doing a far better job of undressing her than she's done herself.
At least until he stops and she'd unexpectedly hit with the reminder that she'd been dodging his prodding about her own injuries. Dammit. Her brows knit as she looks down at him, a silent plea in her eyes.]
Jack, don't. It's fine.
[Please just keep going.]
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Hearing that edge in her voice, however, he doesn't withdraw entirely, resting his cheek against her bare stomach in a sort of embrace, fingers ghosting over the elastic band of her bra.]
How bad?
[Not that it's going to stop him, of course, but if she's broken ribs, too, he's going to want to be mindful of that.]
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Just the bruising, nothing serious. I promise to tell you if it hurts.
[It's only half of a little white lie. She can handle the discomfort that comes naturally just by moving and breathing, the growing warmth of arousal curling through her veins is already enough to dull most of it, but she doesn't want him to worry too much either. If there's real pain, she'll tell him; he just needs to trust in that.
Fingertips press against the back of his head and down his neck, massaging into muscles that feel like they've been tense for too long, doing her best to put him at ease.]
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Holding you to that.
[He's tall enough that being on his knees isn't uncomfortable, and it puts him just at the right level to part his lips against her stomach (was she ticklish there, too? He guesses he'll find out), hands sliding around her hips to where he'd left off with the bodysuit.
With the zipper undone, all that's left is to pull it around the curve of her backside and help her step out of it one leg at a time, doing it with the same careful reverence as before.]
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He returns to the rest of the suit and she watches him from under her lashes, distinctly aware of the jump in her pulse that comes with the brush of strong hands over her backside and down her legs, her breath sticking in her throat more than once. She balances herself against his shoulders with each leg of the suit he peels off, more goosebumps following in his wake, until she finds herself stripped before him in only her underwear. There's a moment of disappointment that she's not wearing something more alluring, but considering that she hadn't exactly planned on this when she'd left for the day, she figures that she should just be grateful they match, utilitarian as they are.
She lifts her arms to pull her bra off, struggling out of the constricting fabric and tossing it aside with no small amount of relief. Her ribs protest the movement and the weight of her unbound breasts, but it's an ache that's easily ignored for a more pleasant one. Her hands return to him, combing back through his hair restlessly, a flush across her face starting to creep down over her chest. It's been too long since she last bared herself for him and she'd nearly forgotten how it made her feel, everything narrowing down to just the two of them and the small space they occupied.]
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When he stands up again, her bra is off and the heat between their bare skin is almost overwhelming. He exhales audibly at the touch, wanting to take all the air out from in between them. She might be worrying about the practical nature of her undergarments, but he thinks he missed seeing her like this--being this close to her with so little between them, literally and figuratively--more than anything.
It twists that thing in his chest again, to remember how he never quite got it right the first time, to think about how he willingly gave up his chance for it when he made the decision to stay dead, and now to realize that through sheer happenstance, he might be able to try again, even if it's the last time. All the more reason to make it count.
Arm returning to small of her back, he guides her towards the couch until he sees the backs of her calves bump up against it. Unless she resists, he'll start to ease her down, lips searching for hers.]
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But she doesn't and any thoughts other than how close he suddenly is and how warm he feels are immediately tossed aside as he stands up and she remembers what it's like to be so surrounded in just the sheer presence of him; how easily it takes her breath away. His arm goes around her and she moves as he directs her without question, mouth parting to his. Her hands are greedier, dragging down the back of his neck and across his shoulders, pressing her fingertips into firm muscle, feeling the faint ridges of scars old and new under her palms.
She'd been putting it off, perhaps unconsciously knowing that it would be easier for her, that once they got this far it wouldn't be so easy to keep ignoring the gravity of what they were getting themselves into. It is unfair that she'd passed that burden off onto him until now. She lets him start to lower her down, but only so she can keep kissing him for as long as she can, her hands eventually dropping to his chest to offer just enough resistance that he doesn't keep going. She drags her lips away from his to his collar, tongue curling into the hollow between the bones, continuing down the center line of his body as she sits back on the couch.
Her hands are already working at the fly of his pants when she finds a spot low on his abdomen to graze her teeth over, just above his hip. She nuzzles against his stomach and glances up, eyes dark and eager, tugging down the zipper and easily slipping her hand inside to palm him through the thin fabric of his briefs.]
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It's been so long since he's been this close to another human being that he can't help but sigh a little at all of her touches, fingers kneading his neck and shoulders, mouth and tongue at his collarbone. She'll find him significantly more scarred than she perhaps remembers. Though he's always had his fair share of them, the explosion at HQ had added to his collection, burns and various other lacerations creating raised patterns across his shoulders, down his arms. He barely thinks of them on the day-to-day, but having her run hands all over has him aware of them again, another testament to how much things have changed.
But it's easy to push that aside in favor of joining her on the couch, easing himself above her as she lays back. He tries to keep his mouth on her, hands wandering to cup her breasts, but she's moving under him too quickly and soon enough she's pressed her palms up to his chest to stop him from going further.
It's almost painful, the way she keeps him from reciprocating, until she gets inside his pants. He's already hard just from being this close to her after so long, and the thin fabric separating him from her exploring hand is instantly unbearable, his breath hitching audibly.]
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Slender fingers hook into the top of his briefs and tug down, catching his pants in the same movement to work him free of the confinement. He's hot and thick in her hand and she can feel the heat between her own legs coiling tightly at the memory of how he'd felt inside her, the breathless nights they'd carved out for themselves between missions and obligations. She's missed that- the singular need he had been so adept at stoking within her, and she seizes upon it now, a quick, open mouthed kiss pressed back against his stomach, then another, lower, her hand around him stroking up his shaft to make way for her lips.
She kisses the base of his cock, muffling her needy little moan against his skin before she moves up, switching places with her hand again so she can take the head of him into her mouth. It's been far too long to think she can manage anything proper, but she wants to try. Whether he'll let her is another matter, but for now she allows herself a slow, shallow bob of her head, one hand gently pumping what she can't reach; the other drifts between her own legs, the ache too insistent to ignore completely without some sort of answer, even if it's just fingertips dragged against the barrier of her panties.]
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It's not supposed to help anything, he reminds himself. It's two desperate people who maybe loved each other once trying to find that again in the worst possible circumstance. He's trying to allow himself this, at the very least.
But the only thing he can think as she moves down his abdomen is that he doesn't deserve her at all. There's still a part of him that wants her to be angry--wants her to really let him have it, and it seems so unfair that she's doing this for him when he should be the one taking care of her (even if sex-as-apology is probably the worst thing he could do). Despite all of that, she's moving lower and lower until her hand is on his cock, mouth joining it not long after.
Perhaps a testament to how long it's been since he's allowed himself this close to another person, he can't stifle the sharp inhale as she closes her lips around him, sudden warmth and wetness almost overwhelming.]
Angela.
[He lets her continue, and though it's possible he might be implying a stop with the way he speaks her name, it lacks a certain degree of conviction, like he knows that anything he could say won't be enough.]
just when things start to get sexy, they gotta make it horrible again ;-;
And still she struggles her way along, refusing to let go of what are, by this point, nothing more than delusions. Silly, stubborn little girl.
She takes as much of him as she can into her mouth, her tongue lapping at the underside of his shaft with each forward slide of her lips. She wants to say that she remembers the taste of him from before, but she can't. Her free hand rises to clench tight around the loosened fabric of his pants, as if holding on could somehow make it better, but it doesn't.
It's really only a few moments of a barely held together illusion before she's pulling back and not sinking back down again, her lips dragged off his cock and she's pressing her forehead against his bare hip.]
I'm sorry.
[Her voice sounds little better than a hiccup and she's not even sure if she's trying to apologize for everything or just herself. At least there's no tears, just a gnawing mix of grief and desire in the pit of her stomach.]
they are trying very hard
76 wants this. He knows he does. He just has to get past himself, first.]
It's not--
[Which is easier said than done. He's all caught up in the things he's done to focus on what's important right now. This might be unfair, but he knows he can't ignore this chance with her right now. That's important to him, too.]
This isn't your fault.
[It's his, but voicing that will probably just make them both feel worse. 76 sinks down on to the couch, trying to pull her up to meet him, brushing that bang out of her face again and taking her in.]
Let me try.
:'(
There's no resistance this time when he pulls her close again, her hand cupping his when it brushes past her face. It's not going to solve anything, is what she wants to tell him, and she can feel it on the tip of her tongue. Maybe it shows in the sad way she looks back at him, but she's not sure.]
You don't have to.
[It's an out, if he wants it, offered quietly. There's a part of her that hopes he doesn't take it, the same part that drinks in the warmth of his skin and rests fingertips against his chest, worrying unconsciously at an old bullet wound half covered under newer scars. He's never been beholden to her and never will be, regardless of her desires... but if he's willing, she's not saying no.]
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[He says that definitively, with conviction. Maybe he just has to go slower than he thought he did. 76 rests his forehead on her shoulder, hand slipping from her cheek down her collarbone, around the curve of her breasts and down to her him. He shifts in a clear bid to try and get closer.]
I don't know when I'll see you again.
[Or if he'll see her again at all. Admitting that out loud lifts some kind of weight off him, even though it's difficult to say. Better than dodging the subject, he thinks. Maybe outright voicing it, finally, that will let him do this. All it takes is the slightest shift of his head to press his open mouth to the side of her neck.]
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She lifts a hand and cards her fingers through the hair, her legs parting around his waist when he presses closer, a wordless little noise dying in the back of her throat. He leaves a trail of goosebumps down her side behind his hand and she can't help the subtle arch of her back into the feeling, drawn as ever to his touch. She doesn't think she'll ever stop gravitating towards him in one way or another; even in death she hadn't been able to break free.
Then the warmth of his mouth is on her neck and she draws in a breath, her fingers twitching against the back of his head. It still tickles, but this time she's not trying to pull away, rather, tipping her head back to give him room and letting the little sparks that skitter over her nerves find their way down to the core of her.]
Jack- [His name slips out on an exhale. Whatever he needs, whatever she can give him, for the here and now, she's willing to offer.]
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It's still sort of uncomfortable--hearing that name after trying so hard (and increasingly unsuccessfully) to bury it, but he thinks that coming from her it's okay. What else is she supposed to call him? Certainly not the numbers on the back of his jacket, even if that's how he mostly thinks of himself.
But he's getting carried away in his own thoughts again, when someone much more important is right here in front of him. This time, he tries to be a little slower, both for his sake and hers. His hands are exploratory but he seems to grow comfortable quickly, touch firmer as he raises palms to her breasts, running thumbs over her nipples. His mouth finds hers again, and this time he's insistent.]
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one day...work will let up...
I feel ya ;-; *offers condolences*
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sorry, had a long couple of days. I'm still here!
no worries!
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sorry for the tiny tag
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aaaand I'm back!
me too, apparently. welcome back and sorry for the wait!
OK LITERALLY LIKE A *YEAR* LATER
opens arms
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