hell_in_highheels | [oom: Dinner with captainryan]

He feels much better about that, then.

"We're looking for room 417," he murmurs between kisses. "It should be this way." He shoots a glance at a room number, glad to see it's one he passed this morning. The hallways haven't reshuffled recently, then. Good.

He starts digging for his key. The door will be just around the next corner.

She's giddy, laughing and trying to be quiet at the same time. She's allowed to touch him now, hands roaming over his back, lower, teasing. The firearm is noted and quickly ignored. A surprise, but not an alarming one.

"417," she repeats, giggling. "There. Hurry."

His slacks are still wet. It makes it hard to get anything out, but the key is soon freed anyway. After two years he can find the lock without looking and he takes advantage of this by sneaking another kiss while the mechanism clicks.

It's a simple room that barely qualifies as an apartment but he's never spent enough time here to think it worth upgrading. There's a bed along one wall, large enough for two people. The comforter on it is covered with short black and tan hairs. Next to the bed is a night stand with a lamp and alarm clock.

The wall across holds a simple wooden desk. There's a yellowed folder on its surface, covered with a thin layer of dust. On the floor next to it are a water bowl and food dish full of kibble and on the other is the door leading to the bathroom.

The last wall holds the modest entertainment centre in its corner. Most of the shelves are filled with books rather than films, though one holds a small black box. There's a large comfortable looking chair settled under the window and a dresser is nestled in the corner behind it. An interesting figurine sits on its top.

Scattered across the floor are chew toys in various stages of disrepair. Ryan kicks these aside as he heads for the bed.

It's dim, but she doesn't need to see. He's guiding her, and she's tugging at his shirt, wanting bare skin beneath her hands.

"Shit," she says, squinting her eyes tight shut in frustration. "Hold on." She bends to undo the double knotted laces on her field boots. "Knew I wore the wrong shoes!"

Ryan laughs, genuinely amused. "It's all right," he says, folding the comforter down before sitting on the bed. He watches her bend for a moment, intent, before doubling over to get at his own boots.

"I'm in the same boat."

Edited 2009-02-18 06:46 (UTC)

Laces undone, River toes her boots off in a rush. Socks next, another giddy laugh on her lips.

She feels in the dark for him, her hand coming to rest on his head, trailing down to his shoulder as she moves to sit on the bed beside him. Her fingers hold tight to his sleeve.

Her scent tells him she's adjusting to the space, the intimacy of being in his room, in his bed.

It's getting harder to think again.

He's working on his second boot as she starts tracing on his skin, head tilted her way until the sensation mellows when she hits fabric.

She could probably start working that outer shirt off, if she wanted. He's just going to finish tugging his boot off, 'kay?

As he finishes tugging off his boots, she leans away a bit and he sees her tshirt fall on the ground beside him, followed quickly by a cream coloured bra. Then she is leaning on his arm again, nuzzling the curve of his ear, her breath warm against his skin. Warm, open-mouthed kisses along the side of his neck, just the barest graze of her teeth.

Edited 2009-02-19 06:08 (UTC)

...the socks can stay on, right? Right.

Ryan growls, playful, turning to meet her. No hands, yet, just his mouth as he starts to shrug out of his shirt. His arms disappear behind his back as he tugs the sleeves down over his wrists.

There. His hands free once more, he starts exploring her a bit more thoroughly.

Her hands are tugging, pulling up the teeshirt as she captures his mouth again. Her kisses are hungry, breathless, a little wild as she licks his lips, biting at his chin.

She gasps aloud as her fingertips find bare skin, the hard plane of his stomach, his ribs. The first thing she feels is the heat of his body, warming her palms. And then, she feels the scars. She pushes his shirt up farther, wanting to see, to know this very important thing about him.

It's too dark to see, so her hands roam, reading him with her fingertips.

There's four long parallel slashes. The second is the longest, stretching from his right pectoral and ending just above the centre of his abdomen. And then there's the tiny, almost insignificant one to the right of his breast bone. His dog tags are there, too, warm metal that clinks together dully as he moves.

His own hands are rough and callused on her skin, though he keeps his touch light. She's giving off a good deal of heat herself, and Richard runs one hand down her legs and the other up her side just...feeling.

It's been a long time.

She shivers under his touch, a quiet 'oh' escaping her lips. He's too far away again, and she tugs insistently at his shirt until he lifts his arms and lets her strip it away.

And then she's kissing him again, arms wrapped around his neck, breasts crushed against his chest. She leans back, gently, inviting him to follow her down.

He can't kiss her when his shirt is in the way!

Never mind that he's opting to nuzzle down the side of her neck, now, arching forward as she pulls away from him. He growls a little as she moves, subsonic, a vibration to his chest as he starts nibbling lower.

There were words, on her lips, words she needed to say and he's stealing them, each touch of his mouth to her skin. Her hands cradle his head, alternately stroking and gripping him. The growl goes through her like electricity, and she inhales in a slow, shuddering gasp.

Her head tips back onto the bed and she moans audibly as his mouth reaches the soft skin between her breasts.

Ryan nibbles up the soft hill to his left, gently using his teeth to keep her attention. When he reaches the peak, he turns gentler, alternating licking and sucking based on her scent and sounds.

His hands are busy working on her trousers.

Her scent is pure desire, her breath ragged, the urgent press of her hands guiding him where she wants him, the peak of her nipple standing up hard against his tongue, and all of it urges him on. Her stomach muscles flutter where his hand slips beneath her waist band and her hips rise up. The button on her trousers give way, and the sound of the zip makes her freeze.

Her scent changes, desire warring with concern.

"Richard," she breathes and he feels her hand rest gently on the back of his. Her voice is a hurried whisper, almost babbling.

"I just want you to know, I didn't set out to seduce you. I want this, I want you, god I want you, but I don't want just a one night stand. I like you, I mean really like you. God, I hope you don't think I'm --"

He looks up at her, eyes unfocused, and it takes him a moment to realize that it's more than sound coming from her mouth, it's words.

He recognizes a babble when he hears one. Suzi's taught him well.

"Hey," he says softly, grinning at her. And if it looks a little sad, well, that's just a lack of light. "It's not like I'm going anywhere, now is it?"

She'll leave, someday. But it isn't right now and right now is all he cares about at the moment.

A lump forms in her throat. For a widow whose husband never stayed with her for more than a few days, a man whose whole life revolved around dashing off on a mad caper every other day, a man who never had any intention of settling down and making a place together, those words strike deep and hard.

She never expected life after death to hold such a miracle as this man, here in her arms.

Her scent changes, subtly, desire and hope and something else, something powerful. She nods, shakily. "Come here to me," she whispers, pulling him back up to kiss his mouth, gentle and hungry, her hands trembling against his face.

And he does, trying to kiss away the hurt, both their hurts. Later, he'll think about it and what this changes.

Later.

Right now he wants nothing more than to hear her moan again, to know she's happy. He breathes her scent in, desire and hope and something powerful, and kisses her deeply.
Don't hurt. I'll take care of you. Don't hurt.

He is a powerful man, and his touch is every bit as intoxicating as she had imagined it would be. Even more so here in this room, where she is flesh and blood, not a memory worn thin from being replayed over and over. He tastes even better than he smells, and she can feel his hands as they stroke down her back, painting her skin with sensation.

touch me everywhere i want to feel you everywhere touch me taste me need this need you

His hunger makes her feel so very alive. She strokes his neck and shoulders, down his well-muscled ribs, caressing the small of his back, wanting to learn every curve and plane of his body. Later she will catalogue each detail with her lips and her tongue, but right now they are better occupied.

everywhere touch me taste me need you in me feel you everywhere

He feels her hands brush over his sides and slip between their bodies, fumbling with his belt, teasing lower, wanting to touch him.

need to feel you everywhere all of you everywhere need you everywhere

Edited 2009-02-20 22:16 (UTC)

"Wait," he gasps, fumbling for his belt himself. He pulls the strap free of the loops with one hand on his holster. A moment later the belt's been tossed on the floor and the gun has been carefully placed on the night stand.

want you need you can't get enough

"All right," he amends, returning to her mouth with a passion. One hand tries to assist her with his trousers, though he's distracted by what her hands are doing.

She's grinning, nibbling along his jaw as he sets the gun aside, her voice purring in his ear.

everywhere touch me need you please

Fingertips slip beneath fabric, touching heated skin, caressing, marking the line of his arousal with the softness of her palm.

She inhales, holds her breath, focused entirely on the sound of his voice, the weight of his flesh and blood in her hand.

He inhales sharply, all her hope and desire and how could he ever have not noticed all these smells? A heady mixture of need and want and pleasure filling his head, and he knows he smells the same way.

He leans into her touch, moaning a bit himself.

A moment of pressure, sweet friction, her voice next to his ear, sighing in concert with his own exhalation. And then, ever practical, her hands are back to pushing his trousers over his hips, smoothing over his flanks.

everywhere

"More," she breathes. "Please."

touch me everywhere

"Yes," he agrees breathlessly, arching to a kneeling position to try and make it easier.

He can't keep his hands off her, though, as he runs them down her abdomen - her skin's so smooth - and begins tugging at her own trousers.

[oom: Dinner with captainryan]

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