Bobbie is about to shoot something back, something about how he doesn't have any faith in her, when his hand moves and suddenly it doesn't matter anymore. She turns her head to kiss him properly, and this time there's something needy in the way her lips meet his and her fingers tangle in his hair.
The way she kisses him makes the arousal hit him hard, like a punch to the gut, and she's snug enough on his lap that she can likely feel the way he stiffens, instantly, as her fingers grip into his hair again. He teases for a few seconds more, but he's just as needy as she is, so finally he pulls his hand up, tugging at the waist band of her shorts before he slides his hand beneath fabric.
He groaned, lowly, against her mouth, as his fingers slid into place, still teasing, the friction disappearing as his fingers met with slick heat. All he wanted was to sink into that, to thrust himself up into her body and meet that heat with his own - but all he did was roll his hips a little uselessly as he pressed his palm down against her and let his middle finger tease at sliding deeper.
His touch coaxes a moan out of her, her grip on his hair tightening as her hips roll forward to meet him. He's teasing her and she knows it, and his palm pressing against her makes her shudder, desperate for more contact. All she can think about is pushing him back on the bunk and riding him, but she promised she'd be good, and whether he believes her or not, she's going to try. Still, she can't resist the temptation to unzip his jumpsuit, pushing it down over his shoulders.
"Get this off." It's more of a command than a request, so maybe she's breaking that promise after all. Oops.
It was very hard to keep thinking straight, with Bobbie making a noise like that and then starting to strip him. Very hard. So instead of reasoning that this really wasn't helping with the 'don't move too much', or pointing out that it certainly wasn't in the realm of 'I'll do whatever you want', Alex just followed the order. And he was happy to follow the order, even though it meant slipping his hand out of her shorts again, so he could pull his arms through his sleeves.
Half free, the only way he was going to be able to get the rest off was if she took her weight off him, which had the added benefit of him being able to get a chance to get those shorts off, too. So when he peeled out of his top he reached out again, gently trying to guide her up onto her knees before he pulled at the waist band of her shorts.
Bobbie pushes herself off of him, wiggles out of her shorts, then tugs her tank top over her head and tosses it aside. Her bandage is still fixed securely to her skin, and she's moving carefully, just as he wanted her to. She tugs on the waistband of his underwear, shooting him a little grin.
"Take this off and I won't tell you to do anything else."
He wanted to say something witty. Wanted something charming and easy. But honestly, he was a little distracted. He'd seen Bobbie in very little clothing a few times, but never in a sexual context. And right now, even with the bandage fastened securely to her side, it was impossible not to be slightly overwhelmed by her.
Christ, she was gorgeous.
"Yeah--" he managed to get out, lamely, several seconds too slow as his heart restarted. He shuffled in a completely ungainly way, to strip the last of his clothing off, tossing it off to the side, not even registering its flight path. He was too captivated by Bobbie.
He reached out, sliding his hands onto her hips to guide her back down onto his lap, wetting his lips.
His reaction is so obvious that she grins, a sudden rush of affection overwhelming her. Bobbie leans forward, running her hands down his chest and stomach as she kisses him again, slower this time. It takes a hell of a lot of willpower, but she's determined to prove him wrong.
"I've got every faith in your ability to take down anything you set your mind to," He replied, his voice husky and low as she dragged her hands down his chest. His arousal was impossible to hide, now, let alone the way it throbbed right through him as her lips found his. He managed to keep her hips high enough on his that he wasn't just shoving a rod straight into her thigh, but his pulse made it twitch with need under her, probably just enough to be felt without being super annoying.
Well. Annoying for her, anyway. It was blissful agony, for him.
"But I think you'd happily take as many bullets as you could, to get what you want. So I don't have a lot of faith in you takin' care of yourself, no." He may have said this, but he was also pressing slow, leisurely kisses down her clavicle, trying to resist rolling his hips up to grind against her.
Trying and failing, but Bobbie would honestly be a little insulted if he managed it. She just laughs weakly in response, struggling to come up with a witty response to shoot back. It's impossible to think straight with his lips on her collarbone and his bare skin against hers, so she just gives up. She shifts back an inch or so, enough to slip down the rest of the way and wrap her hand around him.
He groans with the contact, having not quite realised how very desperately he needed it until he had it, his hips immediately rolling to try to thrust a little into her hand. Calm the hell down, Kamal, he tried to tell himself, as he pressed another kiss to her sternum, a little lower.
As his hand slipped back down between her thighs, as his fingers sought that perfect heat they'd had such a small taste of. As he couldn't resist sliding one into her, feeling the grip of tight muscle as he let out a shuddering, needy breath.
Bobbie gasps, her hips rolling forward instinctively as she reaches up with her free hand to grip his bicep. She's doing her best to stay under control, to not push it like she promised, but it's starting to feel impossible. The sensation is intoxicating and yet not quite enough at the same time, and she bites her lip, resisting the urge to take the lead again. She focuses on him instead, shifting her grip and sliding her hand slowly up his length.
Any sort of restraint or careful, considered thought fled him instantly, his entire universe narrowing down to Bobbie alone, on the way her lips part when she gasps, on the roll of her body as he sinks his finger deep, his thumb shifting to slowly rub at the hooded bud above.
He let out a low, muffled curse as her hand started to move, his eyes fluttering closed and his lips parted against her chest, working down until they could find her breast once more, pulling the nipple into his mouth as he slid a second finger in along the first. It wasn't hard to tell just how much she wanted this, despite the wound, despite everything - as there was nearly no friction at all.
He's making it so, so hard to stay in control, and when his head dips down, she shudders, her back arcing slightly. "God, Alex," she manages, half moan and half plea. It's taking nearly all of her very minimal focus to force herself to stay relaxed, lest she disturb her wound and screw this whole thing up again. Bobbie just squeezes her eyes closed, keeping up a slow, steady rhythm with her hand as she loses herself in the feel of his fingers inside her.
It wasn't that he had a massively huge libido, most of the time. He was used to going months between port visits, and even during those it was fairly rare for him to indulge (if not completely unheard of). So it wasn't like he was a hot shot teenager who needed to desperately stick his dick in everything that moved.
Right now, though? Christ, he felt like one.
He started to move his fingers inside her with a clear purpose, each movement a mimicked thrust, each a little faster than the one before. It wasn't enough - it wasn't anywhere near enough - and it was hard to remember why it was a bad idea to keep going. He couldn't help himself, groaning as he pulled her a little closer, grasping himself over her hand and angling himself up. He gently teased the head of his cock against her clit before sliding it further, bumping his own knuckles as the fingers of his other hand kept moving inside of her.
That's about as far as Bobbie's willpower can stretch, and the sensation coaxes a needy, almost frustrated moan from her. She knows he's not doing it intentionally, but he's teasing her, and she can't handle it anymore, so she doesn't bother trying. She shifts, lifting herself up and away from his fingers, even though just that loss of touch feels suddenly unthinkable. Bobbie uses her hand, still trapped under his, to guide him that last sliver of distance toward her entrance, though she doesn't ease herself down just yet.
He lifts his head to meet her eyes, his own dark with need, and it's clear he's holding himself back, even now, even when he's finding it nearly impossible.
"Yeah," he says, breathlessly, his hands moving to her hips instead, to try to coax her down. "I got you, Gunny."
Silly or not, that statement sends a warm rush of affection through her, and she smiles as she leans in to kiss him. She lets him guide her down, her hands going to his shoulders to steady herself as she does. It's a miracle that she manages to do it so slowly--as soon as he slips inside of her, the urge to roll her hips against him is dizzying, but she manages to keep still, need translating to a useless little shudder instead. Screw the gunshot wound--this is going to be the thing that kills her, she's sure of it.
He lets out a shakey breath against her lips, returning the kiss with something that could only really be called gratitude. He was actually incredibly careful, though part of the slowness also had to do with the fact that he didn't want to overwhelm himself, which would be all too easy. He slid into her like he was made for her, and he moaned, deep and low, as he slowly rolled his hips up until he was fully buried inside of her.
Thinking was impossible, every time he tried it short circuited his brain, but he kept his hands on her hips. He wanted to say something, could feel the urge to tell her just how gorgeous she was right there on the end of his tongue, but the words wouldn't form. He gave up, kissing her again instead, hoping that would be enough to convey just how much the moment meant to him as he slowly began to roll his hips in an achingly slow rythym.
Bobbie doesn't generally consider herself a very sappy person or even much of a romantic, but when he kisses her, she finds herself wanting to tell him something, too. How much she missed him, maybe, or how she never, ever wants to leave, not after this, but she can't manage it. She's too lost in him, in the slow, tantalizing movement of him inside of her, so she just shifts enough to wrap her legs around him, pressing forward to eliminate that last sliver of space between them. Impressively, she's keeping her promise and just letting him set the pace. She doesn't really trust herself enough to do anything else.
He puts a hand back, bracing his weight so that he could raise his hips a little higher, so that every slow rolling thrust had a little more leverage, letting him press deeper. He still keeps the pace slow, half for her and half for himself, for trying to draw out this moment as long as he possibly could. If he'd expected this, if he'd planned it, there would have been dinner before this and she wouldn't have a gun wound and --
-- And it didn't matter. She was perfect, and nothing else mattered.
Despite all of her desperation before, each roll of his hips is just driving home how much she needed this. It's slow and sweet and almost comforting. They have all the time in the world, which means she can spend it savoring every little touch and sensation, and memorizing the way her body fits against his. It's turning into a steady, inevitable build. Bobbie lets out a quiet sound, lips still pressed against his, then takes his free hand in hers and tugs his arm around her waist.
Every tiny quiet sound sends a jolt right down to his cock, almost timed perfectly with a thrust and nearly making him dizzy with pure pleasure. His arm tightens around her waist, careful to give plenty of clearance to the bandage an the wound, but securing her in place against him as he continues to slowly thrust up into her.
He has to break the kiss, mostly to breathe, and presses his face into her throat, instead, placing kiss after kiss along her skin as he moved. He murmured her name so low that it was hard to tell if he said 'Bobbie' or 'Gunny', the cadence being so close. It didn't really matter. It was only her, that he was thinking of.
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He groaned, lowly, against her mouth, as his fingers slid into place, still teasing, the friction disappearing as his fingers met with slick heat. All he wanted was to sink into that, to thrust himself up into her body and meet that heat with his own - but all he did was roll his hips a little uselessly as he pressed his palm down against her and let his middle finger tease at sliding deeper.
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"Get this off." It's more of a command than a request, so maybe she's breaking that promise after all. Oops.
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Half free, the only way he was going to be able to get the rest off was if she took her weight off him, which had the added benefit of him being able to get a chance to get those shorts off, too. So when he peeled out of his top he reached out again, gently trying to guide her up onto her knees before he pulled at the waist band of her shorts.
"These, too."
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"Take this off and I won't tell you to do anything else."
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Christ, she was gorgeous.
"Yeah--" he managed to get out, lamely, several seconds too slow as his heart restarted. He shuffled in a completely ungainly way, to strip the last of his clothing off, tossing it off to the side, not even registering its flight path. He was too captivated by Bobbie.
He reached out, sliding his hands onto her hips to guide her back down onto his lap, wetting his lips.
Right something witty. He could do that.
"... I'll believe it when I see it."
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"No faith in me, huh?"
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Well. Annoying for her, anyway. It was blissful agony, for him.
"But I think you'd happily take as many bullets as you could, to get what you want. So I don't have a lot of faith in you takin' care of yourself, no." He may have said this, but he was also pressing slow, leisurely kisses down her clavicle, trying to resist rolling his hips up to grind against her.
Trying being the operative word, of course.
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As his hand slipped back down between her thighs, as his fingers sought that perfect heat they'd had such a small taste of. As he couldn't resist sliding one into her, feeling the grip of tight muscle as he let out a shuddering, needy breath.
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He let out a low, muffled curse as her hand started to move, his eyes fluttering closed and his lips parted against her chest, working down until they could find her breast once more, pulling the nipple into his mouth as he slid a second finger in along the first. It wasn't hard to tell just how much she wanted this, despite the wound, despite everything - as there was nearly no friction at all.
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It wasn't that he had a massively huge libido, most of the time. He was used to going months between port visits, and even during those it was fairly rare for him to indulge (if not completely unheard of). So it wasn't like he was a hot shot teenager who needed to desperately stick his dick in everything that moved.
Right now, though? Christ, he felt like one.
He started to move his fingers inside her with a clear purpose, each movement a mimicked thrust, each a little faster than the one before. It wasn't enough - it wasn't anywhere near enough - and it was hard to remember why it was a bad idea to keep going. He couldn't help himself, groaning as he pulled her a little closer, grasping himself over her hand and angling himself up. He gently teased the head of his cock against her clit before sliding it further, bumping his own knuckles as the fingers of his other hand kept moving inside of her.
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"Gentle, remember?"
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"Yeah," he says, breathlessly, his hands moving to her hips instead, to try to coax her down. "I got you, Gunny."
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Thinking was impossible, every time he tried it short circuited his brain, but he kept his hands on her hips. He wanted to say something, could feel the urge to tell her just how gorgeous she was right there on the end of his tongue, but the words wouldn't form. He gave up, kissing her again instead, hoping that would be enough to convey just how much the moment meant to him as he slowly began to roll his hips in an achingly slow rythym.
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-- And it didn't matter. She was perfect, and nothing else mattered.
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He has to break the kiss, mostly to breathe, and presses his face into her throat, instead, placing kiss after kiss along her skin as he moved. He murmured her name so low that it was hard to tell if he said 'Bobbie' or 'Gunny', the cadence being so close. It didn't really matter. It was only her, that he was thinking of.