He's not letting her down, and she's not entirely sure why he's apologizing. She's suddenly very aware of their proximity, and even more painfully aware of how much closer to him she wants to be.
He lets out a long breath, the fondness ebbing through even his nervousness, and he offers her a small smile, and reaches up to carefully brush a strand of her hair back behind her ear. If his fingers lingered as they brushed their skin--
"You having made it is already more than I could ask from you, Gunny. For a second there, I - I don't think even the flotilla blowin' up would have even reached me. You were all I could see."
She closes her eyes, savoring the contact, leaning forward without realizing she's doing it. Just being here alone with him, the rest of the ship quiet, is filling her with a contentment so strong she can't remember the last time she felt something like it.
He hadn't pulled back, fingertips still resting gently against her chin, the half limbo state where he knew he needed to pull away, and yet - yet he really couldn't.
Me thought about how he should reply for about two seconds, and then he was moving, before he could either speak or think too hard. He let his hand cup her jaw and then pull her a few inches closer, pressing his lips to her with a quiet longing need.
His lips meet hers, and the only coherent thought she can manage is finally. She drops the cards to the tray, tangling her now free hand in the fabric of his jumpsuit as she kisses him back, heart hammering. It feels so natural, so right, that it's easy not to think, and easier still to deepen the kiss.
He wasn't sure what he's been expecting. A laugh, maybe, a gentle shove and a raised eyebrow and a wry comment. Not this. Not an answering need to his, not the sudden spike in his own heart rate as returned the kiss with a quiet fierceness.
Relief spread through him instantly, the warring parts of him arguing about how he was too old, too boring, too much of a friend to be anything else suddenly disappearing. His heart slammed with yearning against his ribs, and the hand that had been resting on her jaw slid back into her hair, gripping the back of her head as he held her harder against him, the groan low in the back of his throat as he gave in, completely, to what he's been trying to deny he'd wanted this whole time.
The groan sends a shiver straight down her spine, and she presses closer, one hand sliding into his jumpsuit, fingers brushing against his collarbone. She'd been dismissing this out of hand for too long—because of distance, and because they had no idea when they'd see each other again. Snatched conversations on the way to the ring had been as good as they could get, so there was no reason to bring it up, especially not when things were such a mess with Talissa. Now none of that seems to matter. It all seems so silly compared to the affection overwhelming her, and the desperate need to get closer.
one day they'll have a first kiss that doesn't involved grave bodily harm
She's getting closer, alright, but that also means she's leaning out of the chair, and he can feel more of her weight shifting onto his chest. It takes a lot to get his brain to process the fact that he didn't exactly want her falling out of the chair and hurting herself again. He also really, really didn't want to stop kissing her. At all. Ever, if he was honest. So that only actually left him one option, and that was to stand up - pressing into her as he did so, pushing her back down onto the chair where she needed to be.
He did break the kiss, but only so that he could breathe, and in a low rumbled drawl murmur, "Careful, Gunny."
It takes too long for her to register what he's doing, and when he breaks the kiss, she lets out a soft noise of complaint. God, his voice does things to her, especially in that tone. Her mind struggles to comprehend what he's saying, but when she does, she grips the front of his jumpsuit again and tries to tug him down.
It really isn't a hard thing to persuade him to do - even if the angle of approach really isn't one that makes it particularly easy. He ends up leaning his hip on the edge of the medical chair, shifting up until he's almost sitting on it as he leans down, a hand sliding onto her opposite hip mostly to brace himself as he takes another kiss, far more certain than the first one had been.
She smiles as he leans down, slipping one hand up to cup the back of his head, fingers tangling through his hair. Her heart stutters when his hand grips her hip, and she shifts to give him more room, enough for him to straddle her, if he's brave enough.
She makes room and it's easy to see where he would fit, but he's hyper aware of the wound at her side - the blue glow pulsing as it healed. So he broke the kiss for a second, glancing down and calculating, trying to remind himself that maybe this wasn't the best time or place fo--
Oh, he was already sliding a leg over her thighs, careful to avoid the wound, planting his hand next to her head as he leaned in again, taking a hungry kiss.
Instinct was taking precedence over thought, apparently.
The thought did catch up, however, and - without breaking the kiss - he muttered breathlessly into her lips: "You do remember you've just been shot, right?"
She hums approvingly, her hand sliding down to his thigh to help position him, gripping his leg as he settles. She kisses him back readily, letting out a frustrated breath when he pulls away again.
"Guess you're just going to have to be gentle then, huh?"
He's barely even leaning his weight on her. She can definitely handle it.
There's something about those words that make his heart thump painfully in his chest: an unspoken promise, maybe, that there would be something to be gentle with. His brain quickly supplied an array of things that would require gentleness to accomplish, and he felt the heat rise around his collar again, but this time it came with a grin that he couldn't quite stop.
This was real, and was actually happening, and wasn't just an idle fantasy that played in his head while he was lying in his bunk and turning over their last video conversation, snatched between duties and planets. She was here, she wanted to be here, she was staying here, and she was kissing him.
He let out a breathy chuckle as he leaned down again, pressing a warm kiss to her lips, his own parted as he deepened it, drinking her in. The reality was far better than any idle fantasy he'd ever had - in those she always ended up laughing and shoving him off. Even if he'd tried to imagine them together, in a deeper form of passion, it always ended up like a game of chicken that she had to laugh and remind him wasn't real.
But damn, she tasted like nothing else he'd ever known, and he was pretty sure he'd be dreaming about it for a long time, even if she never kissed him again.
He broke the kiss again, but only so he could tilt his head, pressing a heated kiss to her jaw, then another to her ear, his heart rate starting to gallop.
"Just how gentle do you want me to be, Gunny?" He asked, and his voice was far huskier than it had been even a minute ago.
Bobbie is already planning on doing this again at the first possible opportunity and as often as possible. She hasn't allowed herself to fantasize about it because she didn't think this would actually happen, and there was no point in torturing herself. Now, though, she can't imagine how she thought she'd be able to ignore her feelings indefinitely. His beard brushes against her skin, his lips at her ear, and her eyes flutter closed as arousal curls low in her gut.
"How gentle do you think you can manage?" The question comes out teasing, but her voice is already little rough.
Christ, but he felt like he was jumping right into the deep end, and he couldn't even bring himself to mind. A week ago, maybe. He would have hemmed and hawed and made himself nervous about it, but now? Every few seconds he felt Bobbie's blood well under his hands.
Maybe it was because he didn't want to waste time and maybe it was because he just wanted to feel alive and maybe it was because he was half afraid that she'd change her mind - but god damn did her words have an effect on him.
He swallowed, shifting his hips back a little so that he could put a little weight on her thighs, pressing a kiss to her throat as his free hand came up and cupped the other side of her face.
"Flyin' takes a very delicate touch," he murmured against her skin, trying to ignore the way his heart was slamming almost erratically against his ribs. And Christ, but he wanted to touch her. "I think I can manage, long as you tell me if I ain't--"
Suddenly, Bobbie is finding it harder to breathe, and her grip on his thigh tightens, her fingers digging into him. He shifts and she shifts with him, her hips tilting up. She might actually die, with the way his lips are moving against her skin and the way he's muttering against her throat, but at this point, she thinks she'd be perfectly fine with it. Her head turns, just enough for her lips to brush against his ear, her breathing unsteady.
"You're not going to hurt me," she manages. "Give me a crash course, sailor."
"Aye aye, sir," He murmurs, a smile catching at his lips.
He's careful not to actually angle his hips down against hers, as much as he wants to - he's pretty sure any weight there will definitely not help the wound.
In fact he's pretty sure none of this will help the wound but he also can't quite bring himself to stop. It's a terrible plan, but it's hard not to notice the way that her breath catches, or the way her body shifts with his, and any idea he had that this might not be fully reciprocated is evaporating.
He groaned, his head ducking further, lips trailing down her throat, parting as he moved down, tracing the line of her tank top down from her shoulder. He should stop. He should stop? He should definitely stop. And yet, instead, his free hand is gently tugging at the edge of her shirt - the opposite side from the wound - and carefully, oh so carefully so that the fabric doesn't pull at the bandage - he starts sliding it up her stomach, fingers trailing on her skin as he did.
She knows this is an absolutely terrible idea. She's just gotten out of surgery, and even if the autodocs feel near magical, they don't actually perform miracles. Any doctor or medic would be horrified that they're even entertaining this idea, but Bobbie couldn't care less if she tried. She missed him, more than she'd even realized, and then she came terrifyingly close to losing him in the slow zone. Bobbie can deal with a little pain, but right now, she can't imagine dealing with him pulling away.
She's already trembling with anticipation as he works his way down, and by the time his hand slips under her shirt, she's struggling to catch her breath, his touch coaxing a quiet moan from her. Usually, she'd be more involved than this, but she knows that if she moves much, this whole terrible plan is going to disintegrate instantly, so she just tangles her fingers in his hair and forces herself to stay where she is.
It's strangely quiet - he didn't even realise he was holding his breath until he heard that moan slip from her lips and he suddenly recognized his need for air. The sound had sent a pulse of arousal through him, and even without pressing his hips down against her, it was becoming impossible to miss the way his body was reacting, the fabric of his jumpsuit drawing tight across his groin.
He continues to slowly push the fabric of her shirt up, keeping one eye on he wound and the other on the quiver in her lips, the flutter of her chest. He groans when her fingers tighten in his hair, and he resists putting a hand down between his legs. Instead he just let his fingers trace each of her ribs as they were exposed.
He moved, finally, shifting up to press a kiss to her lips just as the shirt slipped up high enough to bare a sliver of a curve - the underside of a bare breast - and it made Alex's heart stutter. "I missed you," he admitted in a husky whisper, "if I'd lost you--" he cut off, his hand making a point completely different from the one his lips was making as the backs of two fingers trailed down the underside of her breast. Christ, it was soft. Way too soft for something attached to a Martian marine, and yet.:.
God, she doesn't know if she can manage this. It feels impossible to stay still, not when she wants to press flush against him, not when she can feel how hard he's getting even though she can barely do anything about it. She bites her lip, shuddering as his fingers move up, her breathing stuttering as he touches her breast. She'd asked for gentle, and this is nearly torturous in a way she never wants to stop.
Bobbie shifts just enough to get a leg in between his, so she can press her thigh up against his groin, trying to offer some sort of friction even though she can't rock her hips against his like she desperately wants to. "I missed you, too," she murmurs back, her voice shaky with need and the struggle to control herself. "I missed you every god damn day we were apart."
Her thigh presses up against him and the gasping groan that it pulls from his lips shudders through him, his head Fucking, forehead pressing against her collarbone as his brain stutters and tries to reset. He can't help it, can't help the way his hips roll slightly to rub himself against her thigh, and he is hard. For something he really shouldn't be doing, he's incredibly hard, and maybe the two aren't exactly unrelated. He tries not to rut against her, doesn't want to jar her and cause pain, but that just ends up meaning that he's dragging himself torturously slow against her.
The words have almost as much of an effect as the motion does, and a warm pleased flush spreads through him, pressing a kiss to her chest as he rocked against her. "God, Gunny, watchin' you go was the worst thing that-- I would have rather been beat up by a bunch of kids, again, a hundred more times --"
He cuts off because he finally regained his capacity to think, and his first thought is that he needs to kiss her, badly, and so he does, taking her lips with a deep longing, as if making up for lost time. His hand remembers what it was doing, too, and his fingers slide up under fabric, tracing along the curve of her breast, his thumb brushing against incredibly soft skin with a feather-light touch, just barely brushing her nipple on the first pass.
His reaction makes her head swim, and it takes every ounce of willpower she has not to pull him down against her. Her side is beginning to ache, but she ignores it, focuses on the way his words make her heart pound instead. She's about to tell him that he won't have to watch her go this time when he kisses her, and her mind goes blissfully blank for a moment as she returns it hungrily. His hand brushes against her and she arches up into his touch, her hands tangling in his jumpsuit as she tries to keep herself under control.
She breaks the kiss just for a moment, just long enough to answer him, because she thinks he needs to hear it. "I'm not going anywhere this time." It's shaky and whispered, and then she gives up on being coherent altogether when her lips meet his again.
He does need to hear it, and it sounds like far more of a promise than perhaps the words were meant to imply - or perhaps they were meant to give just as much promise as they did. He meets her hungry kiss regardless, hips rolling against her with a little more force than he meant, the need to be close and to feel her against him momentarily overriding his judgement. His fingers curl into a firm grip around her breast, kneading, and he breaks off the kiss only so he can duck his head down and press a few slightly feverish kisses to her sternum, ignoring the bunched up fabric as he shifted down, groaning against her as he trailed kisses, beard brushing both her skin and his own fingers as his lips finally found the crest of her breast, and he gently pulled her nipple into his lips with his teeth.
Bobbie gasps, recognizing distantly that she's breathing too quickly, but every time he groans, it makes her heart race. Her hands slide down to his hips, gripping the belt loops of his jumpsuit to keep him flush against her, and it's just instinct to grind up against him.
That, combined with how tense she is from trying to go so easy, is what finally does it. Her back arches and her stitches pull painfully, and this time when she gasps, it isn't a pleased sound.
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"What can I do to help?"
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"You having made it is already more than I could ask from you, Gunny. For a second there, I - I don't think even the flotilla blowin' up would have even reached me. You were all I could see."
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"I wouldn't have made it without you."
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Me thought about how he should reply for about two seconds, and then he was moving, before he could either speak or think too hard. He let his hand cup her jaw and then pull her a few inches closer, pressing his lips to her with a quiet longing need.
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Relief spread through him instantly, the warring parts of him arguing about how he was too old, too boring, too much of a friend to be anything else suddenly disappearing. His heart slammed with yearning against his ribs, and the hand that had been resting on her jaw slid back into her hair, gripping the back of her head as he held her harder against him, the groan low in the back of his throat as he gave in, completely, to what he's been trying to deny he'd wanted this whole time.
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one day they'll have a first kiss that doesn't involved grave bodily harm
He did break the kiss, but only so that he could breathe, and in a low rumbled drawl murmur, "Careful, Gunny."
WILL THEY THOUGH
"Come here, then."
ONE DAY. SOME MEME. SOMEWHERE. modern au meme....
wtf a modern au would be cute
we should do it
Oh, he was already sliding a leg over her thighs, careful to avoid the wound, planting his hand next to her head as he leaned in again, taking a hungry kiss.
Instinct was taking precedence over thought, apparently.
The thought did catch up, however, and - without breaking the kiss - he muttered breathlessly into her lips: "You do remember you've just been shot, right?"
WE SHOULD TBH
"Guess you're just going to have to be gentle then, huh?"
He's barely even leaning his weight on her. She can definitely handle it.
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This was real, and was actually happening, and wasn't just an idle fantasy that played in his head while he was lying in his bunk and turning over their last video conversation, snatched between duties and planets. She was here, she wanted to be here, she was staying here, and she was kissing him.
He let out a breathy chuckle as he leaned down again, pressing a warm kiss to her lips, his own parted as he deepened it, drinking her in. The reality was far better than any idle fantasy he'd ever had - in those she always ended up laughing and shoving him off. Even if he'd tried to imagine them together, in a deeper form of passion, it always ended up like a game of chicken that she had to laugh and remind him wasn't real.
But damn, she tasted like nothing else he'd ever known, and he was pretty sure he'd be dreaming about it for a long time, even if she never kissed him again.
He broke the kiss again, but only so he could tilt his head, pressing a heated kiss to her jaw, then another to her ear, his heart rate starting to gallop.
"Just how gentle do you want me to be, Gunny?" He asked, and his voice was far huskier than it had been even a minute ago.
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"How gentle do you think you can manage?" The question comes out teasing, but her voice is already little rough.
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Maybe it was because he didn't want to waste time and maybe it was because he just wanted to feel alive and maybe it was because he was half afraid that she'd change her mind - but god damn did her words have an effect on him.
He swallowed, shifting his hips back a little so that he could put a little weight on her thighs, pressing a kiss to her throat as his free hand came up and cupped the other side of her face.
"Flyin' takes a very delicate touch," he murmured against her skin, trying to ignore the way his heart was slamming almost erratically against his ribs. And Christ, but he wanted to touch her. "I think I can manage, long as you tell me if I ain't--"
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"You're not going to hurt me," she manages. "Give me a crash course, sailor."
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He's careful not to actually angle his hips down against hers, as much as he wants to - he's pretty sure any weight there will definitely not help the wound.
In fact he's pretty sure none of this will help the wound but he also can't quite bring himself to stop. It's a terrible plan, but it's hard not to notice the way that her breath catches, or the way her body shifts with his, and any idea he had that this might not be fully reciprocated is evaporating.
He groaned, his head ducking further, lips trailing down her throat, parting as he moved down, tracing the line of her tank top down from her shoulder. He should stop. He should stop? He should definitely stop. And yet, instead, his free hand is gently tugging at the edge of her shirt - the opposite side from the wound - and carefully, oh so carefully so that the fabric doesn't pull at the bandage - he starts sliding it up her stomach, fingers trailing on her skin as he did.
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She's already trembling with anticipation as he works his way down, and by the time his hand slips under her shirt, she's struggling to catch her breath, his touch coaxing a quiet moan from her. Usually, she'd be more involved than this, but she knows that if she moves much, this whole terrible plan is going to disintegrate instantly, so she just tangles her fingers in his hair and forces herself to stay where she is.
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He continues to slowly push the fabric of her shirt up, keeping one eye on he wound and the other on the quiver in her lips, the flutter of her chest. He groans when her fingers tighten in his hair, and he resists putting a hand down between his legs. Instead he just let his fingers trace each of her ribs as they were exposed.
He moved, finally, shifting up to press a kiss to her lips just as the shirt slipped up high enough to bare a sliver of a curve - the underside of a bare breast - and it made Alex's heart stutter. "I missed you," he admitted in a husky whisper, "if I'd lost you--" he cut off, his hand making a point completely different from the one his lips was making as the backs of two fingers trailed down the underside of her breast. Christ, it was soft. Way too soft for something attached to a Martian marine, and yet.:.
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Bobbie shifts just enough to get a leg in between his, so she can press her thigh up against his groin, trying to offer some sort of friction even though she can't rock her hips against his like she desperately wants to. "I missed you, too," she murmurs back, her voice shaky with need and the struggle to control herself. "I missed you every god damn day we were apart."
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The words have almost as much of an effect as the motion does, and a warm pleased flush spreads through him, pressing a kiss to her chest as he rocked against her. "God, Gunny, watchin' you go was the worst thing that-- I would have rather been beat up by a bunch of kids, again, a hundred more times --"
He cuts off because he finally regained his capacity to think, and his first thought is that he needs to kiss her, badly, and so he does, taking her lips with a deep longing, as if making up for lost time. His hand remembers what it was doing, too, and his fingers slide up under fabric, tracing along the curve of her breast, his thumb brushing against incredibly soft skin with a feather-light touch, just barely brushing her nipple on the first pass.
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She breaks the kiss just for a moment, just long enough to answer him, because she thinks he needs to hear it. "I'm not going anywhere this time." It's shaky and whispered, and then she gives up on being coherent altogether when her lips meet his again.
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That, combined with how tense she is from trying to go so easy, is what finally does it. Her back arches and her stitches pull painfully, and this time when she gasps, it isn't a pleased sound.
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