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.
no subject
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.