[oom: Dinner with captainryan]

[hell_in_highheels]

[from here]

River arrives in the bar just before seven in the evening, and secures a table for two in a cozy corner of the bar.  She's dressed casually, wearing her favourite Irish sweater, jeans and her tan field boots.  But she has to confess, she's spent a bit more time with her hair and her face.

For as interesting as Richard is, he is also a good looking man.

She orders a glass of pinot noir, and waits, watching the faces in the crowd.  When she sees him, she smiles broadly and holds up a hand.

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[captainryan.livejournal.com]

He breathes in deeply, then exhales shakily through his nose. The turn of her head has put her face just below his own.

She smells of so many things, an emotional cocktail of hope and wondering and want, of the dinner she's just finished on her breath, of the human base of prey that he's used to ignoring, of the desire he's finding he can't.

It's bewildering. He's used to other people smelling like this, other couples (other?) in the bar, but it's never been directed at him. Maybe before he died, but he wouldn't have noticed it then.

He's noticing it now. How can he not with her face just below his own, nothing but their breath between them? He closes his eyes, trying to clear his head.

It doesn't work quite so well when your brain can build pictures off of scent.

[hell_in_highheels]

She inhales again, drawing his breath into her mouth. Still too far away. She hums quietly in the back of her throat, frustration, want that is starting to feel like need.

She pulls away just enough to gently draw their clasped hands between them, turning her body into his like a dancer, drawing his captured hand to her waist.

He isn't any less formidable this close, but she's never been easily intimidated. And she's come too far to turn back now.

Her free hand comes up to touch his cheek and she's rising on her tip toes.

[captainryan.livejournal.com]

It's not that simple, he thinks.

It is that simple, the rest of him answers.

Ryan- Richard leans into her hand even as he tilts his head to meet her partway. His free arm winds around her back, hand pressing into her shoulder blades.

It has been a long time since he kissed anyone like this.

[hell_in_highheels]

She sighs as he nuzzles her hand. Her eyes close and time stops as his mouth meets her own.

He is gentle, almost too gentle, and that's okay. She's feeling more and more fragile with every passing moment. Whatever this is coalescing between them, it demands more than a moment's consideration.

Any lingering doubts about his presence here dissipate with the strength of his embrace. She melts against him, shoulder to knee. Such a primitive thing, a distant part of her observes, how the hard masculine lines of his body make her feel even more feminine in contrast.

Both of her hands snake around his neck, urging him closer still. Her lips part against his mouth.

[captainryan.livejournal.com]

He's not just smelling her any more, he's tasting her, too. A chill runs down his spine as he presses against her, hungry in a way that has nothing to do with food. One hand curves around her ass, supporting her weight, while the one at her shoulders starts moving up along her neck and into her hair.

[hell_in_highheels]

She rises to meet him, her kiss answering his hunger, mouthful by mouthful. Any trepidation she might have had quickly fades as she feels his hands moving on her skin. She pulls him close, her hands revelling every detail, the strength of his head and neck, the prickle of his hair against her palms. The heat of his skin.

He fills her senses. She arches against him, the kiss growing more heated by the moment.

[captainryan.livejournal.com]

His brain is just...off. All his fears and doubts and suspicions have been overwhelmed by this moment.

Overwhelmed, but not washed away.

He can feel his own heat reflected back at him by her mass, can use it to detect every single part of him she's touching. He doesn't even mind that he's being petted.

[hell_in_highheels]

River savours his mouth, her tongue teasing along his. He is a furnace against her, and her desire spikes, wanting to feel his bare skin against hers. Her hips press forward instinctually, and she can't contain the low moan in the back of her throat.

[captainryan.livejournal.com]

He's panting now, quick short little breathes as he pulls her in tighter, closer, adjusting his centre of gravity so they don't both fall. He kisses her harder at the whine, wanting to hear it again, wanting to cause it again.

How did he ever go so long without this?

[hell_in_highheels]

River obliges him, a low hungry sigh on her lips. But he can feel her hands coming back to his face, coming down to fist in his shirt. She pulls away just enough to rest her forehead against his, her breath ragged. Everything about her screams receptive female.

"Richard," she whispers, but true language is beyond her. She closes her eyes and leans in to whisper against his ear. "Bed."

[captainryan.livejournal.com]

He shivers again, an eager whine in his throat, but he doesn't let her go.

Not until he knows, "Where?"

[hell_in_highheels]

"Not here. Not in the machine." Her hands are clenching and unclenching on his shirt front and she leans in to capture his mouth again, her whole body shivering. Praying to herself, please let him know a place, please let it be close.

[captainryan.livejournal.com]

He'd nearly forgotten they were in a computer.

He forgets again as they kiss once more. The kiss becomes a nuzzle as he shifts his head to follow her chin up to her ear.

"There's my room," he manages, giving in to the urge to gently nibble.

[hell_in_highheels]

She contracts around that nibbling kiss, a shuddering gasp on her lips. She's nodding, holding tight to him, her body screaming at her to move. "Yes, please."

[captainryan.livejournal.com]

He grins a little, pleased with himself.

"Back to," nibble, "the bar, then." He loosens his hold enough so they can both walk, reluctant to let her go completely, let alone even that much. He wants her touch.

He wants her.

[hell_in_highheels]

She is flushed, her hair a little wild, her lips swollen from his kisses and ruddy from the stubble of his beard. She can't take her eyes off of him. The very tenor of his voice seems knitted to the sweet ache between her thighs.

She tries to put a little space, to smooth her shirt and hair, but she is drawn back in, kissing his chin, nuzzling beneath his jaw, licking and kissing the side of his neck.

It's a long walk back to the portal, and she doesn't remember an inch of it, just him, touching her.

[captainryan.livejournal.com]

He groans appreciatively, leaning towards her kissing her when he can, letting her nuzzle when he can't, trying to keep his head low enough that she can reach without too much trouble.

He guides them into the bar once she's opened the Door, weaving them through tables and chairs towards the stairs. He's no longer entirely focused on her, casting little glances at the room at large to be sure they're in the clear.

It's his job to keep them safe.

[hell_in_highheels]

The moment they're through the door, she backs off, holding onto one of his hands with both of hers. She's not a teenager to be seen in public hanging off him like a remora.

But her eyes never leave him. Not for an instance.

There might be a stolen kiss or two on the stairs, the moment they're alone together again.

[captainryan.livejournal.com]

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.

[hell_in_highheels]

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."

[captainryan.livejournal.com]

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.

[hell_in_highheels]

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!"

[captainryan.livejournal.com]

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."

[hell_in_highheels]

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.

[captainryan.livejournal.com]

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?