captainryan | (no subject)

Her fingers are dug into his shirt and she's still giggling, still half-heartedly squirming, though he can tell she's winded. He can scent her own pleasure and rich amusement at her predicament.

"I hope you don't think this is over just because you caught me," she whispers, her voice full of wicked promise. "Oh no. You. Are in a world of hurt, Mister."

"Oh look," Richard answers as he fits the key to the lock. "I'm shaking in my boots."

He turns his head and nips her sharply in the side as they pass through the threshold.

She yipes, twisting away from him, trying to hold on and not bash her head on the door frame. "You'll spoil your dessert, if you keep that up!"

Once through the door, she's squirming again, her muscles all a bit wobbly from the mad dash through the meadow.

He presses his mouth against her side, teeth bared to imprint against her. "I don't think so. I'm very hungry."

He turns carefully to shut the door.

And then he stands there, head tilted, trying to decide on couch, bed, shower, table, or floor.

River goes limp.

This is a strategy. She thinks.

playful anticipation, intense longing, wantneedtrustlove

It's hard when your scent gives every thing away.

He pokes her again.

She stays limp.

Tricksy she is.

Not grinning. NOT GRINNING.

Uh huh. Okay then. Hmm. Hmhmhm. He drums his fingers along her ass, thinking.

Screw it, bed is fine.

He starts walking still drumming his fingers.

Woe is the plight of she.

She tries going even more boneless. She exhales, letting all the tension drain from her body. It makes his shoulder dig a little deeper into her diaphragm, but this is acting. No pain too great for one's art.

She is the proverbial sack of potatoes. Very soft, very boneless, completely harmless potatoes.

"I'm not falling for that," he says calmly, a grin in his scent.

Honestly? He isn't really sure what she's planning. (For once, he's okay with not knowing.)

He gets to the bed and sits down before attempting to get his boots off while she's still on his shoulder. It's an interesting process.

Well, she's not really sure either. He sits and she very slightly shifts her weight, starting to slip down his back. The goal is to make him have to choose between balancing her on his shoulder or letting her slide down to the bed. She does this slight shift every time he bends to reach for his boots. It's very subtle and she's biting her lip to keep from laughing now.

She's not going to make this easy, that much is certain.

"What are you doing?" He lets her lay across his back while he works on his boots, bent near in half. In fact, in that position with that much of her weight that far back, he can work on them with both hands.

They come off pretty fast, then.

Now's the part where he tries to sit up again. Um.

Not making it easy, that much should be apparent.

A little giggle escapes, quickly stifled.

If he's not holding onto her, she'll slip down his back, a harmless puddle of fox.

And keep rolling right off the bed.

"Hey!" He turns, but she's already gone. He quickly pulls his feet up off the floor, then undoes his holster and sets it aside.

He sniffs the air, not that it tells him anything besides what he already knows, and creeps for the other side of the bed to peer over the edge.

Well, if he hadn't taken the time to undo his holster, he might have caught her, but now? No, she's gone. Take a look, see for yourself. Vanished.

He feels the bed thump once quietly, hears her curse softly, but by the time he looks, all he sees is a flash of colour. Have a face full of skirt, sadly bereft of anything but the scent of aroused fox.

He can hear her giggle receding into the living room again.

Now who's fast?

He pulls off his socks to give himself better traction on the hard wood floor, then gets off the bed with his nose buried in her skirt.

God, he wants her.

He silently reaches the door to the living room, pausing in the jamb to peer around for her.

"Too many clothes," she singsongs. But from where?

"I can fix that." He drops her skirt and pulls off his shirt in one smooth movement. Then he's prowling into the room, sniffing uselessly (her scent is everywhere).

A light catches his eye when he sees the arch to the study. The armoury door is open just a crack and he pads towards it, stalking.

Peek-a-boo?

She's taken off her sweater and undergarments, and is down to her birthday suit now. She watches from her hiding place, her skin aching to touch him. He smells divine and he's right there.

Sadly, he's still wearing pants.

She whispers this time, not directly at him but passed him, using the acoustics of the high ceiling to her advantage.

"Too. Many. Clothes."

He doesn't think that came from the armoury. He shuts the door anyway. If it did, she's in there and he now has the upper hand. If not...

He puts his back to the wall and undoes his trouser button. The zip opens but his slacks still manage to stay up, clinging to his hips.

"Like this?" He watches the room carefully, waiting.

Oh so not fair. She takes a good long look at him, admiring the planes of his chest, his shoulders, his pecs (she doesn't even notice the scars anymore; they're simply part of him), his stomach, that light dusting of dark fur disappearing down... She has to close her eyes for a moment to catch her breath.

He might hear that little exhalation, that 'oh' of appreciation. It came from beside his desk, not five feet away.

He gives no sign of noticing, but continues to drop his trousers and pants, sliding them down until he can kick them aside.

Then he darts for where he heard her, hands outstretched and feeling just a bit foolish.

Her longing far outstrips any desire to win this little game. His second step breaks the plane of the privacy screen and on the other side, his fox is waiting for him, just as bare as he is. She's a starry eyed, grinning like a fool, her own hands reaching for him.

"Like this," she breathes against his cheek, melting against him from shoulder to knee.

He kisses her soundly as he pulls her to him, not letting up until he has to breathe.

"I almost expected you to be blue," he murmurs against her lips.

Breathing is overrated. She's still laughing, though, hands running over his head and neck, petting him, caressing him, devouring him with her hands.

"That one's.. in pieces.. for further study..." she answers between mouthfuls, kissing down his jaw to the hollow beneath his ear, breathing him in.

"God I want you." As she speaks the word, her embrace tightens around him, and he can feel it, smell it, taste it on her lips.

Edited 2009-07-30 06:52 (UTC)