walking_napalm | Upstairs at Milliways

"Can break it down." Red offers, head bent so his lips are against hers as he backs her against the wood.

The door is opened just in time and he crosses the threshold and closes it quickly behind them while pulling out off his trench coat, which has already been shrugged down his shoulders quite a ways.

Liz's vest follows swiftly, hitting the ground with a heavy clunk (clearly, she forgot about the ammunition and amulets in a couple of the pockets, but it's fine -- that stuff will survive), and she leans up and kisses Red again.

"I'd rather," she murmurs between kisses, "not get billed for that."

Her hands slide down his chest and torso to his belt, and start unbuckling it.

Jackets off first; guns second.

The coat ends up somewhere around where her vest does and he keeps his lips pressed to hers as she handles his belt.

Taking it from her he's a little more careful about placing it on a dresser (the Samaritan doesn't have a safety after all) then he was with his trench and then he's back to her.

Her gun joins his and his arms wrap around her, pulling her close for a deep kiss as he starts moving her back again, this time for the bed.

"Mmph," Liz says into his mouth, but that is not a complaint. One hand closes around a fistful of black fabric just over his shoulder blade and the other slips under his shirt, fingers pressing up, following his spine.

She kicks her boots off as they go. This has the unintended side effect of making her just that much shorter, and she pulls herself up a little higher.

His arm is there to help pull her up to him. His fingers are at the hem of her shirt, pulling it up so his hand can slip to the small of her back underneath.

His boots are quickly taken care of and then they're against the mattress. He breaks the kiss to bend so she can help tug his shirt off.

The left sleeve and torso go over his head easily enough, Liz running her hands up his skin as the hem rises. The other sleeve takes a little more work -- it's a tight shirt, and Red's right hand isn't what you might call small -- but the pair of them are practiced at this, by now, and quickly, Liz is pulling Red's shirt down over stone fingers. She drops it on the floor.

She cups one side of his face in one hand, smiling; leans up to press her lips to his in a brief, closed-mouthed kiss, her thumb sweeping across his cheek, and then she pulls her own long-sleeved shirt off over her head. Just as quick, she tugs off the black tank top that was underneath and tosses that, too, leaving her in pants, a black bra, and the small cross that she always wears under her shirt.

She sits down on the edge of the bed, looking up at him, and crooks a finger. Everything about the gesture and her expression says, Get down here, you big ape.

He lowers onto the bed, most of his weight on the stone hand, smiling before pushing her back against the mattress with another kiss.

His fingers tuck a lock behind her ear then thread through her hair. Trailing from her shoulder down her arm his fingertips run lightly over her skin as his chest presses to hers.

Liz goes more than willingly, winding her arms around his neck. Her eyes fall to half mast, heavy-lidded, under the light touch of his hand; her chest rises and falls more quickly against his.

Her mouth is curved upward, unguarded; she can be impetuous and impatient, but this is worth the wait. She turns her head to press her small smile against his neck and plant a couple of kisses there, slow and warm, her thumb tracing meaningless patterns into the back of his neck.

His head dips to kiss her again; mouth, cheek, jawline, neck and to her collarbone. Soft but each a little more urgent.

On a trek back up her arm his hand rests just below her shoulder and his thumb toys with her bra strap.

She arches her head back as his mouth moves down; makes it easier for him to kiss her throat, even if it isn't entirely a conscious thought on her part. Her hand curls around his bicep and as the kisses become more pressing, a low noise escapes her, something of a cross between an exhale and a stifled, quiet groan.

When he touches a loose bra strap, it's easy enough to shrug it off her shoulder. On second thought, though, what will be easier still is -- Liz reaches behind herself, between her back and the mattress (it's accomplished by a little wiggling, and if said wiggling is up against Red, Liz isn't necessarily against this turn of events), and unhooks her bra.

Red can deal with the rest, because at the moment, she's kissing his temple and sliding her hand down his broad back to hook her fingers under the waistband of his pants.

Edited 2008-11-04 09:06 (UTC)

His finger hooks the now unclasped strap and slips it down her arm, pulling it away from her hand and then off her other arm so that the bra comes completely free.

It gets tossed haphazardly over his shoulder and his hand returns to smooth across her naked chest. The contrast of red flesh against her pale skin is sharp as his palm slides over her.

His blood is starting to boil when he feels her hands on his pants and he turns his head so he can capture her lips with his again.

That quiet noise is a little less quiet this time.

She fumbles but recovers swiftly, and then she's kissing him back, hard, urgent. She tangles her legs with his; shifts her hips restlessly under his familiar bulk.

For a second, she's focused on holding on to him, muscle in her arms standing out, and on effectively sharing one breath. She nips at his lower lip; finds his tongue with hers. The heat that starts low and rolls its way up is more physical than it would be for most people, though for the moment, it's only that -- warmth just under her skin, already hotter to the touch.

Then she remembers her original thought and she slips her hands between them (not an easy feat, given how closely they're pressed together), fingers tracing down his stomach, and starts unfastening his pants.

Edited 2008-11-05 02:35 (UTC)

His tongue tangles with hers and he can feel the heat that's starting to come off her and smirks to himself.

Drawing back a bit to make her work easier he uses the separation so he can also get to her pants and get those undone.

It's not the easiest task with just one hand but he's had some practice at it.

Liz is winning the battle of the pants. (She had a head start, and the use of two hands.)

Glancing up and seeing the look on his face, she swats his arm. "Jesus, you're smug," she says (maybe amused, but only the tilt of her head and the corner of her mouth telegraph it), and she shoves his pants down his hips and then uses the new space between the two of them to pull herself out from under him, scooting farther into the bed.

Sitting up on her feet, Liz reaches back and unclasps her necklace -- the metal already starting to take on a white-hot glow -- and sets it on the bedside table. "Haven't even done anything yet," she tells him, and she's grinning to herself a little now as she wriggles out of (unfastened; Red does good work one-handed) black jeans and drops them over the side of the bed.

"What?" The smirk doesn't go anywhere.

He steps out of the last of his clothes and follows her onto the bed.

When her pants go over the bed he trails his palm along her thigh and up, skating her side with his fingertips while leaning to press his lips to her collarbone.

"Thought I was the impatient one." He mumbles against her skin.

"Most of the time," she murmurs, after a quiet intake of breath.

She half-smiles against the top of his head; plants a kiss between his horn stumps.

She amends, more honestly: "Sometimes."

She slides her hands along either side of his jaw and tips his head back up, and -- up on her knees, momentarily (barely) the taller of the two of them -- she lowers her chin to kiss him. She throws a leg over him and slips into his lap, pressing close, and not letting up on that kiss for a second.

Until she mouths down his chin, his throat, his broad chest, her hands moving along with her lips; running down his skin, hot fingers brushing a nipple.

For all his usual ego, stubborness and strength, in this situation, alone, with her, he's more than happy to let her have the lead. To let her choose the pace and let her actions dictate his.

His head tips back with the guidance of her hands and it stays that way as she moves lower along his body. His eyes close and he swallows, hot shivers running across his skin where her fingers and lips fall.

Liz's smirk against his skin is small and maybe it's her turn to be a little smug. She tastes the curve of his right pectoral, and she follows the swirl of the grooved design in his skin up to his shoulder, with her tongue. She indicates with deft hands -- mostly through a light shove -- that he should lie back.

She follows, as he goes; rests her weight on her knees (one on either side of his stomach), though she is, in effect, sitting on him. She leans over Red and smiles at him, tiny and unselfconscious and right up close, as she takes a half a second to tuck her hair behind one ear, then the other. Then she bends down the last inch or two and kisses him, slow and firm, one hand curled around the back of his neck while her thumb strokes his sideburn.

Edited 2008-11-14 02:08 (UTC)

He gives a throaty groan as her tongue moves over his skin as his shoulderblades hit the mattress.

His left hand runs up and down her side and his eyes are locked on her, watching her actions until she kisses him again; then they slide closed as he meets her in the kiss, hand stilling on her waist and hips arching against her.

Liz rides out the movement, still straddling him. She pulls away from his mouth -- which is a feat in and of itself -- but it's only to kiss his chin, his neck, the hollow of his throat; lips marking a determined trail down his chest, his tight stomach, lower.

(He told her once that he wished he could change how he looked, for her.

In moments like these, Liz is reminded of just how much she wouldn't change a thing about the way he looks.)

Her hair tickles along his skin as she shifts her weight and keeps moving down; she nudges his knees so she can settle between them. She drags her lower lip across his waist to his hip, which she nips. Her eyes flick up and she watches him through her bangs, for a second, as she lets her hands come to rest on his hips, hot thumb stroking the spot that she just gently bit.

She settles still lower and she --

presses her cheek against his high inner thigh, and plants a kiss there. It's impossible to say from sight, as her hair tumbled into the way when she bent her head, but her mouth is tangibly quirked up against his skin.

She's teasing.

His breath hitches in anticipation and gets let out in a small, breathy laugh.

She's teasing him and he knows it.

His fingers thread through her hair and he grins down at her.

"You're killin' me here, Liz."

A beat and he adds.

"Not that I mind."

She grins broadly against his thigh and presses another kiss there, this one brief and perfunctory; a silent, fond 'you're a patient, patient man.' When it comes to Liz, anyway. Red's style may be to act first, think later, but he'll wait for Liz til the cows come home.

(Literally, this one time that involved zombie livestock.)

Liz likes that.

The long lick that she bestows upon him is not a tease, and it's definitely not delivered to his leg. Another one for good measure, slower, and then she's sliding up in bed. She presses close against his side, nuzzles his neck with her nose, and reaches down to slip a hand around him.

She strokes him once; readjusts her grip (better) and strokes again, harder this time. The temperature of her hand would be causing some very unfortunate scalding right now, if this were anyone but Red, but this is Red. Liz really doesn't even think about it anymore. There are better things to think about.

Like the heat in the pit of her stomach, and the steady, firm rhythm that her hand is setting, and Red. Mostly Red.

Stone grinds as his right hand clenches against the mattress at his side from her attentions.

When she comes back up his left hand wraps around her. His fingertips trail along the smooth flesh of her back, following her spine.

The heat coming off her fuels his passion and want for her. To him it's proof that they belong together and they were made for each other.

It also means he's doing a good job.

Right now she's doing all the work but with her in reach once more he starts kissing her again. His lips plant against her temple, then her cheek, and he moves them across her soft skin to her ear, trailing his tongue along the shell of it.

All the while his hand traces her backbone then finds her hip, her thigh, and trails along to the inside of her leg.

Liz bites her lip, breathing unsteadily and not quite stifling a quiet sound at his breath in her ear; she shivers and arches into his hand, restlessly lifts her leg just a little bit higher. She plants her free hand on his chest and breaks the rhythm of the other to run her thumb across the head of his erection.

There's fire moving under her skin, half-visible under her fingernails and knuckles; her eyes are slowly changing color, closer to blue-white after every blink.

When she shifts his fingers find her center, running over her slit slowly, teasingly.

The teasing doesn't last long. Her heat and her hand fuels his desire. Turning his head his lips press against hers as a pair of fingers slowly dip inside of her.

Her breath hitches in her throat and his mouth muffles her low gasp; she slides her hand up his chest and neck to cup the side of his face as she kisses him back, hard. They're close enough that it doesn't take much movement to put her leg over his nearer one, so that she is half-sprawled on top of him.

Edited 2008-11-24 02:18 (UTC)

His hand pulls away when she moves and wraps around her back, pulling her closer so her bare chest connects with his.

Bending his knee slightly he grinds his thigh against her as she straddles his leg and his lips still press against hers, tongues tangling as the temperature seems to rise.

She lets go of him and shifts her hand up to clutch his shoulder (which is something that, given the strength in her grip, Red should probably be thankful for), and then she breaks off the kiss, panting. She puts her leg over his opposite hip and rests her forehead against his; closes her eyes.

Blue flames ripple up with a quiet whump. They're thin tendrils, low and kept dancing at a maximum height of a foot or two (because if she doesn't put in the initial effort, Liz has been known to blow out lights), but the column of fire envelops the two of them from head to toe.

Liz shifts so that, while their faces are still close, she can steadily look him in the eyes. There's color high in her cheeks and her eyes are unearthly blue, white-hot.

"Come on, you big ape."

The palm of his stone hand turns up as fire licks over it and he stares back at her, golden eyes locked on hers.

"Liz, I want you."

His arousal presses against her, then into her and his breath sticks in his lungs. Heart thudding against his chest he doesn't even notice as the flame enveloping them starts to spread, he just holds her tighter.

She lowers herself onto him as he arches up; she lets him fill her and God, God. She anchors herself with one hand on his shoulder and the other on his chest, her mouth brushing his jaw, and she rocks her hips.

"Red--"

The fire is all-consuming; it's impossible to pay attention to anything but its familiar singing in her veins and along her skin, and Red underneath her, moving with her (in her).

He lets her set the pace to start, making sure she's comfortable before he begins thrusting into her.

The flames tingle along his skin and his head falls back as her mouth moves against his jaw.

His hand strokes along her side, then her back and his fingers find their way up to thread through her hair.

His tail, which has been twisting itself into loose knots up until now, settles against the back of her knees and draws her closer still.

Liz kisses her way to his mouth, the trail only a little shaky. She slides her hand down his right shoulder and bicep to his stone hand, which she unceremoniously picks up by the pointer finger, and she draws his arm over and drapes it across her back.

The pace is slow, if historically unlikely to stay that way. He thrusts up again and her pant turns into a sharp, needy noise, captive flames stabbing higher.

She's hot and wrapped up with him (figuratively and literally), but she hears the shrill beep immediately.

Red catches it in the same instant; Liz lifts her head sharply and they share a swift glance, and she gets the faintest impression of orange-yellow-gold fire, through the blue haze surrounding them, and the smell of burning fabric --

-- and then what feels like an Arctic waterfall is unceremoniously dumped on them.

Liz yelps and sputters under the freezing onslaught from the sprinklers, almost immediately drenched. The fire -- the regular one, the one she hadn't realized was burning because at home there's stuff that prevents this -- is instantaneously drowned under the huge flow of water, extinguishing with a loud hiss.

The smoke detector is still going off. The sprinklers are still pouring down, if at a slightly less prodigious rate than the original deluge. Liz, stunned, is still on fire, steaming with every drop of cold water.

Beat.

The blue flames curl into her skin and disappear.

Edited 2008-11-25 02:25 (UTC)

Red is stunned too, but when the blue flames go out he snaps out of it and clearly he's not happy.

Sputtering water he tries to curse, gets another mouthful of water, and sputters more.

This is certainly not the highlight of his day.

Liz lets her forehead fall to his shoulder.

Muffled, resigned:

"Shit."

Beat.

Less resigned, more annoyed: "Goddamn it." The water is freezing; she pushes herself up and off of him.

Someone's yelling out in the hallway; a door slams, then another. Somebody else, sounding very confused, is shouting back about water.

"Oh," says Liz tightly, "my God," and, sitting on the edge of the bed, she presses her hand to her face.

Red rolls over in the opposite direction and stands, looking up.

The water seems to be coming from everywhere so there's nothing he can do to stop it. Fixing the ceiling with a glare he shakes his head then bows it and swipes water from his face, searching for his pants.

Pulling the soggy clothing on isn't a great sensation and he makes an unhappy face when he does it then walks around to the otherside of the bed towards Liz.

"What're they doin', draining the lake in here?" He mutters before looking her over. "You all right, Liz?"

"I'm fine," she says into her palm. She lowers her hand and scoops her tank top off the floor so she can peel it on; glances up, as he comes around to her side of the bed.

She shoves her wet hair out of her face and lets her hand fall, sharp and frustrated, into her lap; she sighs, her shoulders hunched. "Sorry."

This wasn't the plan.

"Liz, don't worry about it." He shakes his head at her.

Looking around again he finds his coat on the floor and picks it up, moving over to wrap around her back but keeping the top half lifted over her head, shielding it from the still falling water.

"After that mission I probably needed a shower anyways." He offers her a smile, trying to help.

She smiles a little bit (despite herself), at him; curls her hand into the lapel of his coat and pulls it more securely around her.

"Yeah, well, Alû aren't exactly known for their levels of personal hygiene." She picks up her shirt and stands up to step into her underwear and black jeans, determinedly not pulling a face as she tugs them on.

Pants dealt with, Liz steps in and rests a hand over Red's heart, palm and fingers flat, and leans up to kiss his cheek. It's a quiet gesture, silently grateful.

She pats his chest gently and lowers her hand so she can wring out her shirt and yank it over her head, working around the coat; her boots receive a glance, but they're soaked inside and out, and God only knows where her socks are. She can go without.

She folds her arms. "Wanna go talk the bar into getting us a dry room?" Beat. "If there is one."

Edited 2008-11-26 22:50 (UTC)

He smiles down at her softly after the kiss, waiting until she's ready. Offering his coat to her (it's wet but at least it's a shield from the rest of the water dropping) he nods.

"Yeah, cup of coffee might be nice, too."

Liz is dwarfed by the coat, but she isn't about to turn down the offer. She tugs it on -- ignoring the way that the sleeves fall well past her hands -- and pulls it around herself, crossing her arms to hold it in place.

"Sounds like a good idea to me," she says.

It is a good idea, and a necessary one; it's wet and cold as hell in the room.

Of course, that doesn't mean that Liz is particularly looking forward to facing the bar at large, even if logically, no one will know that this was all her. She sets her mouth in a thin, determined line, and heads for the door.

He wraps an arm around her to help keep the coat in place and moves with her towards the door.

Knowing she's not happy with what just happened he's watching and ready to handle anyone who happens to give them any trouble, or sideways looks, as they head out into the hallway.

Upstairs at Milliways

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